Poetry, History, and Dramatic Unity

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.

What has been said also makes clear that the poet’s task is not to describe what has happened. It is to describe what may happen, what is possible according to probability or necessity. The poet and the historian do not differ because one writes in verse and the other in prose. The work of Herodotus could be put into verse, and it would still be history, with or without meter. The real difference is that the historian describes what has happened, while the poet describes what may happen. Poetry is therefore more philosophical and higher than history. Poetry tends to express what is universal, while history expresses what is particular. By the universal, I mean how a certain type of person will sometimes speak or act, according to probability or necessity. Poetry aims at this universality when it gives names to its characters. The particular is, for example, what Alcibiades did or suffered. This is already clear in comedy. The poet first constructs a plot according to probability, then gives the characters names that suit them. Lampooners, by contrast, write about particular individuals. Tragedians still use real names. They do so because what is possible is believable. We do not immediately feel sure that something is possible if it has not happened. But what has happened is clearly possible. Otherwise, it would not have happened. Still, some tragedies have only one or two well known names, with the rest invented. In others, none of the names are well known. One example is Agathon’s Antheus, in which both the events and the names are invented. Yet they give no less pleasure for that. We should not, therefore, insist at all costs on keeping to the traditional legends that are tragedy’s usual subjects. Indeed, it would be absurd to try. Even familiar subjects are known only to a few, yet they give pleasure to all. It clearly follows that the poet, or "maker", should make plots rather than verses. A poet is a poet because he imitates, and what he imitates is action. Even if he happens to take a historical subject, he is no less a poet. Some events that actually happened may also conform to what is probable and possible. It is by virtue of that quality that 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.

Of all plots and actions, episodic ones are the worst. I call a plot 'episodic' when its episodes or acts follow one another without a probable or necessary connection. Bad poets write such pieces through their own fault. Good poets do so to please the actors. They write showpieces for competitions, so they stretch the plot beyond what it can bear. As a result, they are often forced to break its 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 surprise; 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.

But tragedy represents not only a complete action, but also events that inspire fear or pity. These events have the strongest effect when they take us by surprise. The effect is even stronger when the events also follow from one another as cause and effect. This creates more tragic wonder than if the events happened on their own or by accident. Even coincidences are most striking when they seem to have been planned. Take the statue of Mitys at Argos. It fell on his murderer, who was watching a festival, and killed him. Such events do not seem to be due to mere chance. Plots constructed on these principles are therefore necessarily the best.