II. ARISTOTLE
Much that is at most implied in Plato is made explicit
by Aristotle. There
is a shift in the underlying meta-
physical
presuppositions and these yield a theory that
is at once richer, more
accessible and comfortable, and
more “realistic.”
The main points of departure lie in two develop-
ments of Platonic positions by Aristotle: imitation and
the
ultimate objectives of human existence. Imitation
is broadened so that its
validity is not constrained
within the limits of the
“real”; and one key concept
introduced by Aristotle
to vindicate man's existence
is “leisure” (schole).
We are told in the Poetics that art imitates not only
what is (as in Plato), but what “ought to be” and
what
“might be.” The latter two liberate the Platonic
theory
from its offensive literalness and dogmatism. What
ought to be represents the morally ideal and only
incidentally
concerns us here; but what might be refers
directly to our theme.
Imagination is not bound by
the actual, but is free to range over the
possible and
the plausible. The latter is given even more significance
than the former, because the mind may grant credence
to something factually
impossible, but accepted as
plausible for the sake of some argument the
value of
which does not rest on factual truth. Here (Poetics, Ch.
26) Aristotle relies, as Plato does (Theaetetus 191B,
Republic IX, 588C ff.) on the ability of the mind to
juxtapose images disparately drawn from experience
in order to construct
monsters and other imaginary
beings and situations, sometimes for some
immediate
further purpose (if only to frighten children), but not
necessarily so. Aristotle draws attention to the power
of creating
metaphors as a sign of genius, “the one
thing that cannot be
taught.”
This position does not differ significantly from the
Kantian notion of the
free play of the imagination, and
it also anticipates a further element of
great impor-
tance in later thought. This is
the balance between
factual (or logical) and aesthetic truth. The former
is
“objective” and serious; the latter
“subjective” and
playful. Yet if the latter is to be
redeemed of frivolity
and childishness some connection with factual
truth
must be maintained. In Aristotle the connection is
somewhat
stronger than Coleridge's “willing suspen-
sion of disbelief.” It was Aristotle who
first drew atten-
tion to the confusion
between the two, as illustrated
by the yokel in the audience who rushes on
stage to
prevent one character from killing another. This in-
volves the inability to follow out all the
implications
of a situation allowed ex hypothesi; or to follow a set
of self-imposed rules or conventions not sanctioned by
external reality:
yet these are features of play at every
level.
The interrelation of art and play in drama is illus-
trated by two senses of vicarious experience: (1) what
can I
learn from what has happened to another, and
(2) what can be learned from
the imaginable alterna-
tives to any given
situation. Both senses rely on the
assumption that art is justified by its
indirect service
to knowledge and individual resource in facing future
situations; and as such may be seen as a development
of the propaedeutic
justification for children's play and
the adult agon. The manner of art, i.e., the depiction
of universals, further
enhances its usefulness for these
ends. By stripping away the fortuitous
and accidental
circumstances in which individual occurrences arise,
“poetry is more universal than history” because it
can
crystallize the essence of a situation. We are thus
exposed to all
the advantages of the widest conceivable
range of experience without
exposure to dangers that
might rather crush than edify. The notable difference
between
Greek and Roman sports and plays supports
this view: Greek games were never
bloody, nor was
bloodshed ever directly shown in the Greek theater.
The doctrine of catharsis may be viewed in the same
context as applicable to
the emotions aroused by ideal
situations. Pity edifies though terror
crushes, and the
two together perform the function of
play—serious but
harmless. Pity or compassion is the emotion by
which
we empathize with the tragic hero, seeing ourselves
in him. We
use him as surrogate for what we dare not
do ourselves. He carries out in a
postulated reality all
our secret desires, our blasphemies, our
impossible
quests. Our elation is intensified by his temporary
successes: almost we could wish to follow him, but our
fascination is no
less morbid and we as much desire
his failure. His daring is a reproach to
our mediocrity,
and so the inevitability of his doom reflects our con-
sciousness of human limitations as much
as the jealousy
of the gods.
The play element lies in a series of “as if” proposi-
tions pursued with logical rigor to
an inevitable con-
clusion: let there be a
hero nobler by birth and breed-
ing than any
member of the audience; let him be wiser,
stronger, shrewder, prideful as
befits these qualities, but
still recognizably human; let him challenge the
peace
of the gods; and let the gods prove the power of their
sanctions. We are content with the thought that if the
hero, preeminently
possessed of all human virtues,
cannot succeed, then how much less can we
expect
of ourselves. We are thus reconciled to the governance
of the
cosmos and of our lowly role in its economy.
Aristotle seems to be the originator of, or at least
the first to write
about, leisure as the basis of culture.
The discussion in Politics II is long, but a few major
points should be presented.
A truly human nature can
be fulfilled only on the assumption that an
environment
can be created within which the individual can actu-
alize all his potentialities. But an
individual who is
obliged to satisfy his needs by his own resources
alone
would be forced to function at a very limited level
of activity,
living from hand to mouth with no respite
from those activities needed
merely to sustain life. The
division of labor serves the dual function of
enabling
the individual to confine his activities to what he can
do
best, and of furnishing leisure for some individuals
in a society to think
of matters that transcend the
exigencies of the moment. There will be many
ways
in which such thought accrues to the benefit of the
society; only
some of these, of course, will bear directly
on play and art.
There is a typology of human nature in Aristotle,
not unlike the class
structure of the Republic: some
people will be
content with practical and productive
activities, and for these the value of art and play lies
largely in recreation and entertainment, the restoration
of energies
exhausted in labor, or the dissipation of
excess energy when no purposive
activity is needed,
as in the interval between seeding and harvesting
crops,
or for simple variety or change of pace, or to keep
physical
and mental capacities sharpened. But other
individuals have superior needs:
theoretical and
mythopoetic; and these point to the stationing of some
men in Aristotle's hierarchy of being above common
men and below the gods,
though following his advice
“to be as divine as they can
be” (Nicomachean Ethics
X. vii). For
these the object of all lower activities is
to provide the leisure needed
for contemplation and
those modes of creation appropriate to such men:
both
part of and operating upon nature. The relationship
in Aristotle
between activities instrumental for some
higher ends and those
intrinsically good in themselves
is not always clear—nor,
perhaps, can it be, in view
of his well-known antipathy to infinite
regress. At the
end of the line, as concerns human activity, are found
such notions as happiness and leisure. The latter he
mostly (e.g., Ethics X. vii) speaks of as instrumental,
enabling
further happiness-inducing activities distin-
guished by their not being engaged in under the duress
of need
(and thus sharing a key aspect of play); indeed,
leisure comes close to
being an end itself and a goal
of human existence, which in its moments of
leisure
enjoys the highest felicity. Aristotle quotes with ap-
proval (Ethics X. vi)
“The maxim of Anacharsis, 'Play
so that you may be
serious.'”
