Studying Aristotle’s “Poetics” — Part 25: Impossible and Improbable

As I’ve been interviewing screenwriters, I typically ask what some of their influences are. One book title comes up over and over again: Aristotle’s “Poetics.” I confess I’ve never read the entire thing, only bits and pieces. So I thought, why not do a daily series to provide a structure to compel me to go through it. That way we’d all benefit from the process.

For background on Aristotle, you can go here to see an article on him in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy.

To download “Poetics,” you can go here.

Part 25: Impossible and Improbable

With respect to critical difficulties and their solutions, the number
and nature of the sources from which they may be drawn may be thus
exhibited.

The poet being an imitator, like a painter or any other artist, must
of necessity imitate one of three objects- things as they were or
are, things as they are said or thought to be, or things as they ought
to be. The vehicle of expression is language- either current terms
or, it may be, rare words or metaphors. There are also many modifications
of language, which we concede to the poets. Add to this, that the
standard of correctness is not the same in poetry and politics, any
more than in poetry and any other art. Within the art of poetry itself
there are two kinds of faults- those which touch its essence, and
those which are accidental. If a poet has chosen to imitate something,
[but has imitated it incorrectly] through want of capacity, the error
is inherent in the poetry. But if the failure is due to a wrong choice-
if he has represented a horse as throwing out both his off legs at
once, or introduced technical inaccuracies in medicine, for example,
or in any other art- the error is not essential to the poetry. These
are the points of view from which we should consider and answer the
objections raised by the critics.

First as to matters which concern the poet’s own art. If he describes
the impossible, he is guilty of an error; but the error may be justified,
if the end of the art be thereby attained (the end being that already
mentioned)- if, that is, the effect of this or any other part of the
poem is thus rendered more striking. A case in point is the pursuit
of Hector. if, however, the end might have been as well, or better,
attained without violating the special rules of the poetic art, the
error is not justified: for every kind of error should, if possible,
be avoided.

Again, does the error touch the essentials of the poetic art, or some
accident of it? For example, not to know that a hind has no horns
is a less serious matter than to paint it inartistically.

Further, if it be objected that the description is not true to fact,
the poet may perhaps reply, ‘But the objects are as they ought to
be’; just as Sophocles said that he drew men as they ought to be;
Euripides, as they are. In this way the objection may be met. If,
however, the representation be of neither kind, the poet may answer,
‘This is how men say the thing is.’ applies to tales about the gods.
It may well be that these stories are not higher than fact nor yet
true to fact: they are, very possibly, what Xenophanes says of them.
But anyhow, ‘this is what is said.’ Again, a description may be no
better than the fact: ‘Still, it was the fact’; as in the passage
about the arms: ‘Upright upon their butt-ends stood the spears.’ This
was the custom then, as it now is among the Illyrians.

Again, in examining whether what has been said or done by some one
is poetically right or not, we must not look merely to the particular
act or saying, and ask whether it is poetically good or bad. We must
also consider by whom it is said or done, to whom, when, by what means,
or for what end; whether, for instance, it be to secure a greater
good, or avert a greater evil.

Other difficulties may be resolved by due regard to the usage of language.
We may note a rare word, as in oureas men proton, ‘the mules first
[he killed],’ where the poet perhaps employs oureas not in the sense
of mules, but of sentinels. So, again, of Dolon: ‘ill-favored indeed
he was to look upon.’ It is not meant that his body was ill-shaped
but that his face was ugly; for the Cretans use the word eueides,
‘well-flavored’ to denote a fair face. Again, zoroteron de keraie,
‘mix the drink livelier’ does not mean ‘mix it stronger’ as for hard
drinkers, but ‘mix it quicker.’

Sometimes an expression is metaphorical, as ‘Now all gods and men
were sleeping through the night,’ while at the same time the poet
says: ‘Often indeed as he turned his gaze to the Trojan plain, he
marveled at the sound of flutes and pipes.’ ‘All’ is here used metaphorically
for ‘many,’ all being a species of many. So in the verse, ‘alone she
hath no part… , oie, ‘alone’ is metaphorical; for the best known
may be called the only one.

Again, the solution may depend upon accent or breathing. Thus Hippias
of Thasos solved the difficulties in the lines, didomen (didomen)
de hoi, and to men hou (ou) kataputhetai ombro.

Or again, the question may be solved by punctuation, as in Empedocles:
‘Of a sudden things became mortal that before had learnt to be immortal,
and things unmixed before mixed.’

Or again, by ambiguity of meaning, as parocheken de pleo nux, where
the word pleo is ambiguous.

Or by the usage of language. Thus any mixed drink is called oinos,
‘wine’. Hence Ganymede is said ‘to pour the wine to Zeus,’ though
the gods do not drink wine. So too workers in iron are called chalkeas,
or ‘workers in bronze.’ This, however, may also be taken as a metaphor.

Again, when a word seems to involve some inconsistency of meaning,
we should consider how many senses it may bear in the particular passage.
For example: ‘there was stayed the spear of bronze’- we should ask
in how many ways we may take ‘being checked there.’ The true mode
of interpretation is the precise opposite of what Glaucon mentions.
Critics, he says, jump at certain groundless conclusions; they pass
adverse judgement and then proceed to reason on it; and, assuming
that the poet has said whatever they happen to think, find fault if
a thing is inconsistent with their own fancy.

The question about Icarius has been treated in this fashion. The critics
imagine he was a Lacedaemonian. They think it strange, therefore,
that Telemachus should not have met him when he went to Lacedaemon.
But the Cephallenian story may perhaps be the true one. They allege
that Odysseus took a wife from among themselves, and that her father
was Icadius, not Icarius. It is merely a mistake, then, that gives
plausibility to the objection.

In general, the impossible must be justified by reference to artistic
requirements, or to the higher reality, or to received opinion. With
respect to the requirements of art, a probable impossibility is to
be preferred to a thing improbable and yet possible.Again, it may
be impossible that there should be men such as Zeuxis painted. ‘Yes,’
we say, ‘but the impossible is the higher thing; for the ideal type
must surpass the realty.’ To justify the irrational, we appeal to
what is commonly said to be. In addition to which, we urge that the
irrational sometimes does not violate reason; just as ‘it is probable
that a thing may happen contrary to probability.’

Things that sound contradictory should be examined by the same rules
as in dialectical refutation- whether the same thing is meant, in
the same relation, and in the same sense. We should therefore solve
the question by reference to what the poet says himself, or to what
is tacitly assumed by a person of intelligence.

The element of the irrational, and, similarly, depravity of character,
are justly censured when there is no inner necessity for introducing
them. Such is the irrational element in the introduction of Aegeus
by Euripides and the badness of Menelaus in the Orestes.

Thus, there are five sources from which critical objections are drawn.
Things are censured either as impossible, or irrational, or morally
hurtful, or contradictory, or contrary to artistic correctness. The
answers should be sought under the twelve heads above mentioned.

Well… huh. That’s a lot of words! I mean, I went to UVA and Yale, and I had to slog my way through it. Clearly it would be a benefit to be steeped in classical Greek history and literature, and know the language intimately in order to divine much of what’s going on here. While I did take classical Greek and have read some of the classics, not nearly enough to parse what’s going on in much of XXV.

Which means a shout out to our loyal band of Aristotelians…

Help!

In using brain cells I hadn’t awakened since graduate school, I was particularly perplexed by this:

“With respect to the requirements of art, a probable impossibility is to be preferred to a thing improbable and yet possible.”

First of all, what the heck is a probable impossibility? If it’s impossible, how can it be probable?

Second, why would a probable impossibility be “preferred” to an improbable possibility? This seems completely counter to a dude who in Part IX not only discusses probability and possibility, but also necessity and the singular importance of unity of action.

In other words, it seems that Aristotle contradicts himself.

But then I looked at this:

“If he describes the impossible, he is guilty of an error; but the error may be justified, if the end of the art be thereby attained”.

And I had a moment of understanding, not necessarily what Aristotle intended, but the truth of these two assertions as they pertain to Story (in general) and Movies (in particular).

If we, as writers, describe a circumstance in a story that is impossible, we are guilty of an error in terms of logic. But while logic has its place in our writing, readers and moviegoers look to Stories to entertain. And that I would take to be what this means: “If the end of the art be thereby attained.”

Let’s explore this idea further.

As writers, we put characters in impossible situations all the time. This is one way we make our stories compelling, raising a fundamental question that exists throughout the narrative: How will the Protagonist possibly prevail?

What we may call Rational Logic dictates the Heroine cannot succeed. But by the rule of Emotional Logic as it exists in the realm of Story, it almost always means she does prevail. Such as the impossible task of a farm boy in a single X-Wing fighter destroying an entire Death Star:

Or a lowly Hobbit succeeding in an impossible quest to destroy the One Ring in the bowels of Mt. Doom:

Or the impossible feat of a wounded and desperate Katniss Everdeen bringing down The Hunger Games arena with one arrow sent skyward:

The longer the odds the Protagonist faces, the greater the drama. The greater the drama, the more compelling the story. And in the end when they succeed in an impossible circumstance, the story reader or moviegoer has a wholly satisfactory experience because we want — in a powerful way — for them to succeed.

In the realm of stories, Emotional Logic ultimately trumps Rational Logic, something I explored here in a lengthy post analyzing the movie Super 8.

Now in terms of academics, I could be flat wrong in my interpretation of the excerpts quoted above from XXV. However in terms of screenwriting, I believe this interpretation to be true.

If we establish a plausible story universe…
If it achieves a sense of versimilitude with a reader…
If we create odds so long against the Protagonist, the goal would seem to be impossible…
If in their journey, the Protagonist learns Wisdom that feeds their development and understanding…
If we lead the Protagonist to a decisive Final Struggle moment where everything is on the line…
No matter how impossible the effort required, if the Protagonist succeeds, the reader will buy into the result because it makes sense, both in relation to the narrative and the emotional experience of the reader.

And that is where “the end of the art” is “thereby attained,” and the “error” of the “impossible” is “justified.”

A reminder: I am looking at “Poetics” through the lens of screenwriting, what is its relevance to the craft in contemporary times. And I welcome the observations of any Aristotle experts to set me straight as I’m just trying to work my way through this content the best I can.

I invite each of you, especially our wonderful group of Aristotelians, to join me in comments to continue our discussion.

See you here tomorrow for the final installment of this series!

Comment Archive

For the entire series, go here.