It is, moreover, evident from what
has been said, that it is not the function of the
poet to relate what has happened, but what may happen,—
what is possible according to the law of probability
or necessity. The poet and the historian differ
not by writing in verse or in prose. The work
of Herodotus might be put into verse, and it would
still be a species of history, with metre no less
than without it. The true difference is that
one relates what has happened, the other what may
happen. Poetry, therefore, is a more philosophical
and a higher thing than history: for poetry tends
to express the universal, history the particular.
By the universal, I mean how a person of a certain
type will on occasion speak or act, according to the
law of probability or necessity; and it is this universality
at which poetry aims in the names she attaches to
the personages. The particular is—for
example—what Alcibiades did or suffered.
In Comedy this is already apparent: for here
the poet first constructs the plot on the lines of
probability, and then inserts characteristic names;—unlike
the lampooners who write about particular individuals.
But tragedians still keep to real names, the reason
being that what is possible is credible: what
has not happened we do not at once feel sure to be
possible: but what has happened is manifestly
possible: otherwise it would not have happened.
Still there are even some tragedies in which there
are only one or two well known names, the rest being
fictitious. In others, none are well known, as
in Agathon’s Antheus, where incidents and names
alike are fictitious, and yet they give none the less
pleasure. We must not, therefore, at all costs
keep to the received legends, which are the usual subjects
of Tragedy. Indeed, it would be absurd to attempt
it; for even subjects that are known are known only
to a few, and yet give pleasure to all. It clearly
follows that the poet or ‘maker’ should
be the maker of plots rather than of verses; since
he is a poet because he imitates, and what he imitates
are actions. And even if he chances to take an
historical subject, he is none the less a poet; for
there is no reason why some events that have actually
happened should not conform to the law of the probable
and possible, and in virtue of that quality in them
he is their poet or maker.
Of all plots and actions the epeisodic
are the worst. I call a plot ‘epeisodic’
in which the episodes or acts succeed one another without
probable or necessary sequence. Bad poets compose
such pieces by their own fault, good poets, to please
the players; for, as they write show pieces for competition,
they stretch the plot beyond its capacity, and are
often forced to break the natural continuity.
But again, Tragedy is an imitation
not only of a complete action, but of events inspiring
fear or pity. Such an effect is best produced
when the events come on us by sunrise; and the effect
is heightened when, at the same time, they follow
as cause and effect. The tragic wonder will thee
be greater than if they happened of themselves or by
accident; for even coincidences are most striking
when they have an air of design. We may instance
the statue of Mitys at Argos, which fell upon his murderer
while he was a spectator at a festival, and killed
him. Such events seem not to be due to mere chance.
Plots, therefore, constructed on these principles
are necessarily the best.