Aristotle’s Poetics of Purging

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.

Note

Poetics. ed. Gerald Else. 1967. All other citations of the Poetics are taken from this edition.

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