Sidney--An Apology for Poetry

Four arguments against poetry:

1) poetry is a waste of time;

2) poetry is the "mother of lies";

3) poetry is the "nurse of abuse, infecting us with many pestilent desires"; and

4) poetry was banished from Plato's imaginary republic so it must be dangerous.

Four responses:

1) How can poetry be a waste of time if learning leads to virtue and poetry is the
best way to learning?

2) Poetry is outside of the realm of truth and falsehood: "for the poet, he nothing
affirms, and therefore never lieth." Since the poet never claims that he is presenting
absolute truth in the first place, the accusation of falsehood leveled at poetry is
merely irrelevant.

3) The abuse of any art (or thing) should not condemn that art: poetry is not to
blame for the abuses committed against it by bad poets

4) Plato banished "the abuse, not the thing," and that by being wary of poetry's
power, Plato honored rather than condemned poetry.

Poetry serves a noble purpose--Poetry is better equipped to teach right behavior than
either philosophy or history. Poetry shows history more brilliantly than history,
and explains philosophy more cogently than philosophy.
Poetry has noble roots--much of the Bible is written in poetic form. Philosophy
originally appeared in poetic form.
Comic poetry--holds vices up to such ridicule that no one would want to be like the
ridiculous, vice-ridden characters portrayed therein.

Sidney draws on various sources (most notably, Plato, Aristotle, Horace, and
Scaliger) in defending poetry against the usual laundry list of charges.
He begins by arguing that poetry may be found at all times in all cultures. The
first artists and learned men were poets. Sidney gives as examples Musaeus, Homer, and
Hesiod--three poets whose works are at the foundations of Western culture. Philosophy
originally appeared in poetic form: Thales, Empedocles, and Parmenides wrote natural
philosophy (the forerunner of our modern physical sciences) in verse, while Pythagoras
and Phocylides wrote moral philosophy in verse. Plato--that famous banisher of poets and
poetry--wrote using poetic devices such as metaphor, description, and dialogue. Even
historians such as Herodotus relied on poetic techniques in writing their works.
Sidney considers the prophetic (Latin vates) and creative (Greek poiein--to make)
functions of the poet and of poetry. the poet (somewhat like the artist in Plotinus)
improves upon nature: "Her world is brazen, the poets only deliver a golden."
Sidney follows (with some embellishment) Aristotle in defining poetry as an "art of
imitation," and he divides this imitation into three kinds:

1) poetry which imitates "the inconceivable excellencies of God";

2) poetry which deals with moral philosophy (Tyrtaeus, Phocylides, and Cato),
natural philosophy (Lucretius), astronomical philosophy (Manilius and Pontanus),
or historical philosophy (Lucan); and

3) "right poets" whose works "most properly do imitate to teach and delight, and to
imitate borrow nothing of what is, hath been or shall be; but range only reined with
learned discretion into the divine consideration of what may be, and should be."

Sidney's primary assumption is that the end of learning (and by extension the
end/goal of art) is virtuous action/behavior. Poetry is better equipped to teach right
behavior than either philosophy or history. Philosophy deals in the abstract and the
universal, but not in the particular. History deals only in the particular, not with general
principles. Poetry deals with both, illustrating universal principles with particular
examples or embodiments of those principles:
Now doth the peerless poet perform both: for whatsoever the philosopher saith should be
done, he giveth a perfect picture of it in someone by whom he presupposeth it was done;
so as he coupleth the general notion with the particular example.
Another advantage poetry has over philosophy is greater clarity:

the philosopher teacheth, but he teacheth obscurely, so as the learned only can understand
him; that is to say, he teacheth them that are already taught. But the poet is the food for
the tenderest stomachs, the poet is indeed the right popular philosopher.

Essentially, poetry shows history more brilliantly than history,

and explains philosophy more cogently than philosophy.
Sidney defends comic poetry by arguing that it holds vices up to such ridicule that
no one would want to be like the ridiculous, vice-ridden characters portrayed
therein.
He goes on to defend poetry in general by pointing out that much of the Bible is
written in poetic form. Nathan recalls David (and the reader) to virtue by telling a
story; Christ teaches by means of parables which (when compared to unadorned
didactic lectures) "more constantly . . . inhabit both the memory and judgment.
Sidney then takes on four arguments against poetry:
1) poetry is a waste of time;
2) poetry is the "mother of lies";
3) poetry is the "nurse of abuse, infecting us with many pestilent desires"; and
4) poetry was banished from Plato's imaginary republic so it must be dangerous.
The first objection Sidney dismisses as begging the question. How can poetry be a
waste of time if learning leads to virtue and poetry is the best way to learning? this
counter-argument depends, of course, on the reader having accepted Sidney's earlier
definitions of what constitutes poetry. The second objection (that poetry is the "mother of
lies"--a phrase redolent with the Biblical associations to the Father of Lies, Satan himself)
he answers by placing poetry outside of the realm of truth and falsehood:"for the poet,
he nothing affirms, and therefore never lieth." Since the poet never claims that he is
presenting absolute truth in the first place, the accusation of falsehood leveled at poetry is
merely irrelevant. The third objection (that poetry abuses men's wits, leading them into
temptation as it were--hearing an echo of Boethius here?) he answers by arguing that the
abuse of any art (or thing) should not condemn that art: poetry is not to blame for
the abuses committed against it by bad poets (if it were, college creative writing
classes would have to be made illegal). the fourth objection (that Plato expelled poetry
and poets from his republic) he responds to a bit slickly: he says that Plato banished
"the abuse, not the thing," and that by being wary of poetry's power, Plato honored
rather than condemned poetry.
Sidney devotes some space to complaining about the laxness of English dramatists
in conforming to the unities of space, time, and action, and then he goes on to a
discussion of the merits of English as a poetic language.

Plato’s banishment of the poets in the Republic is based upon an ideological and moral
accusation: poets are imitators of things removed from reality and they cater to the emotions
—the irrational nature of pity and fear. These two concepts, “imitation” and “pity and fear,”
are at the heart of Aristotle’s Poetics. The Poetics posits a defense for these two criteria,
and, according to Aristotle, represent integral elements in all poetics, especially tragedy.
Imitation, to Plato, was without access to truth and reality because it focuses on actions by
human beings. Simple imitation of these actions, in the sensible world, is inferior to the reality
and truth of the Forms. Most of Plato’s commentary on aesthetics addresses poetic
inspiration, not imitation. Aristotle takes a different ethos, suggesting that imitation is a
valuable tool for projecting reality and truth because it deals with the experiences of life and
it is a valuable extension of these experiences. Gerald Else states: “Thus, whereas for Plato
‘imitation’ had been a self-defeating, sterile activity, for Aristotle it is a positive and fruitful one
—within its allowed limits.” (6)
Furthermore, Aristotle gives only one brief mention of poetic inspiration, and parenthetically
at that: “(Hence the composition of poetry is an affair of either the well-endowed or the manic
individual; for of these two types the ones are impressionable while the others are liable to
be ‘possessed’ from time to time.)” (48). Seemingly, Aristotle offers his Poetics as a practical
guide for those poets who are of their right minds and “impressionable.”
Mimêsis is introduced at the very outset of the Poetics where music is said to be an “imitative
process.” In chapter 3, Aristotle suggests that tragedy “tends to imitate better people, and
comedy worse people, than the average.” Chapter 4 shows the three modes of imitation,
namely: mixed (narration and drama), straight narrative, and straight dramatic. In chapter 6,
Aristotle shows that this imitation is not merely a copying of miscellaneous detail, but that it
lies at the center of the human instinct of mimicry (20). The “habit” of imitation is congruous
in the human since childhood, as is the pleasure derived from this imitation. Proof of this,
states Aristotle, lies in experience. Experiences, both pleasant and unpleasant, provide the
fodder for imitation which produces images that provide pleasure in learning. The persons
who are more adept at this imitation become poets in accordance with the two kinds of
character: “the soberer spirits were imitating noble actions … while the cheaper ones were
imitating those of the worthless” (21). This progression gives birth to plot, which is the
imitation of a human action.
Actions which have taken place are put into poetry through plot, which, Aristotle states, “are
more than [the poet’s] verses, insofar as he is a poet by virtue of his imitations and what he
imitates is actions” (26). This idea leads suggests that the poet is indeed a maker because
there is nothing to stop what has happened from being something that can happen. This
conclusion justifies Aristotle’s position that the poet is more philosophical than the historian.
A poet, then, is a maker even though he imitates. This ostensible paradox does not seem to
bother Aristotle, nor should it. Perhaps a poet imitates that which he experiences, but adds
his own, unique perspective in making his verses.
This making—depending on what genre the poet is making—is governed by the unities and
six elements of tragedy. (Since Aristotle holds tragedy up as the best poetical form because
it imitates actions of magnitude performed by great men—he offers the elements of tragedy
as a foundation for all poetical works.) These elements are: plot, characters, verbal
expression, thought, visual adornment, and song composition (26). All of these elements,
expertly combined, help to bring about the emotional reaction: pity and fear.

Aristotle never makes it obvious just who is supposed to experience the pity and fear; does
the poet, the tragic protagonist, or the audience experience the catharsis? Aristotle
discusses briefly the concept of “catharsis,” which seems to have something to do with the
purgation of pity and fear. This purgation is an integral part of tragedy by supplying a relief,
or purification, of these emotions and leaves a feeling of akin to the afterglow of vomiting.
Aristotle’s definition, however, leaves one wondering just what catharsis meant for him and
how he thought “pity and fear” produce the necessary purgation.

I have heard several different interpretations of catharsis or the effects thereof: tragedy
forces the spectator to fear for himself when he observes the disastrous outcome from a
character’s passions; the viewing of pity and fear on stage suffices to counteract those
disturbing elements in the spectator; and this purgation is simply the expulsion of disturbing
drives and conflicts. Again, is the catharsis an experience of the poet, the protagonist, or the
audience?

Else avers that all the various definitions of catharsis “have in common a focus on pity and
fear which are aroused in the spectator” (98). He goes on to say that the catharsis is a
cleansing of whatever is “filthy” or “polluted” in the pathos, or the tragic act (98). This all
centers around intent; was the tragic hero conscious or unconscious of his intentional tragic
act? The former would seem to indicate that the character is of dubious moral standing, and
is therefore not deserving the audience’s pity or fear, but instead a repugnance or a self-
righteous disdain. On the other hand, the latter’s action would be “pure” to the audience’s
satisfaction, and must be proved thus. For example: Oedipus’ slaying of his father at the
crossroads was an intentional act, but also an unconscious one; therefore a “pure” one.
Later, when Oedipus blinds himself, the audience is capable of exhibiting the correct
emotional response: that of pity and fear. This act, after Oedipus’ recognition of his error,
proves that he feels remorse for his actions and shows the audience that he would never
have performed them had he known the facts. Therefore, Oedipus’ self-inflicted blindness is,
in effect, his “purification” of his pathos and makes him a proper recipient for the audience’s
pity and fear. So a catharsis is either a “purification” (a reduction to a beneficent order and
proportion), or a “purgation” (an expelling from our emotional system) by the drama, but
there seems to be a subtle, moral dimension to catharsis as well. Does this differentiate
between the feelings we have for Oedipus and those we have for Macbeth? If a character’s
moral standing is doubtful, will that affect the catharsis?
This question would also appear significant to Aristotle’s first clause in his definition of the
tragic character: that he be good (43). The quality of an action is concomitant with the mind
of the doer and is not based on one single action, but the whole of his actions throughout the
play. We must not look at Oedipus’ one action, albeit his tragic mistake (hamartia), but it is
his various actions that denote his true character. While Oedipus was impetuous and hasty
causing his true error, the audience can still have the correct reaction of pity because of his
moral purity in ignorance.
Oedipus’ act is also most terrible according to chapter 14 of the Poetics: when these tragic
deeds are “done to one another by persons who are bound by natural ties of affection …
when a brother kills or intends to kill a brother, or a son a father” in the case of Oedipus. This
will also stimulate the correct fearful response. Aristotle said, tragedy “tends to imitate better
people;” people that we would obviously look-up to, or even venerate, are ones that would
incite the best response to their downfall. Whether or not the catharsis is meant to happen in
the viewer or the character, it will still have the same effect. The viewer will experience this
purging vicariously through the actions of the tragic hero, with whom we can relate so well.
This brings up another interesting point, one of spectacle. While Aristotle believed that the
visual elements, i.e. the masks, costumes, etc., are important for the lasting effect of the
tragedy, graphic depictions of gory details is unessential and unwanted within the aesthetic
of the drama. These actions, it would seem to Aristotle, would take away from the true effect
of the catharsis by offering cheap thrills with spilled blood. Also, excitement, while it keeps
the attention of an audience, it is not enough to invoke pity and fear; this is the difference
between tragedy and melodrama.

Catharsis would seem to be an integral part of the tragedy, but can it stand alone? Aristotle
speaks of recognition, which he defines as a shift from ignorance to awareness” (36).
Tragedy cannot exist solely on fear and pity, otherwise there would be little distinction
between Hamlet and a typical revenge drama. A greatly stylized tragedy will combine pity
and fear with an “enlightenment” (anagnoresis). The actions of the play up until the moment
of higher wisdom (experienced in the protagonist) have brought about a catharsis which
precipitates the release of pity and fear; the audience, then, is left with a higher rational
concept that can be related to the tragic hero’s “higher wisdom.”
This enlightenment exists in harmony with pity and fear; in fact, without it the actions and
meaning of the play would have been for naught—superficial and fleeting. The
enlightenment supports, or justifies, the emotional response and helps the viewer to
remember the events and gain knowledge from those events. Who would remember the
significance of Oedipus Rex without its anguish?
Catharsis seems to delve much deeper than Plato’s medical treatment of it as a “release of
emotion.” It contains an enlightenment for the tragic hero as well as for the audience.
Through pity and fear we are enlightened, and through enlightenment we can attain sagacity
by the acknowledgement and understanding of our emotions. The audience, then, partakes
in the catharsis in order to purge themselves of their quotidian frustration that fester like
poison in the soul. Tragedy, or all art, helps with the release that all humans need fairly
often.

Aristotle’s emphatic defense of imitation is based upon the same grounds as Plato’s
dismissal of it as unreal. Aristotle suggests that imitation of human action is the way through
which we attain knowledge. By viewing an excellent imitation we foster theoretical, practical,
and productive knowledge; through imitation poets become better makers. Perhaps the
catharsis happens in the poet; he must clean out his store of verse in order to make a place
for the new.

Finally, moderation and balance appear to be the glue holding Aristotle’s poetical model
together. A work of poetry should be moderate, or “good sized” (24). If a poem is “good
sized,” then it may be said to have a length appropriate to its genre: a tragedy must address
a single issue that can be adequately covered in one performance while an epic will many
issues and take considerably longer than one sitting. This unity of time, i.e., the golden mean
between too long and too short, translates into all aspects of poetry. And using this idea as a
metaphor for life, the catharsis seems to be the key in which we unlock the aggression, the
door which lets out the flood, the purging of the garbage which allows for a higher wisdom.

Epic poetry, finally, imitates men of noble action, like tragedy. But epic poetry only
allows one kind of meter and is narrative in form. Moreover, tragedy usually confines
itself to a single day, whereas epic poetry has no limits of time. Ultimately, all the
elements of an epic poem are found in tragedy, but not all the elements of tragedy
aEpic poetry is like tragedy in that it reveals man to be better than he is - but it is
narrative in form, depending either on an omniscient first-person narrator, a third-
person narrator, or a first-person narrating hero. A tragedy, meanwhile, involves the
dialogue of two or more characters. Additionally, tragedy and epic poetry differ in
length -- tragedy is confined usually to a single day, in the efforts to reveal a quick
devolution of the hero. Epic poetry, meanwhile, often continues for a man's full
lifetime. Ultimately it seems that tragedy grew from epic poetry, so we find all the
qualities of the latter in the former, but an epic poem need not contain all the
elements of a tragedy.re found in an epic poem.