v. Aristoteles Graece ex recognitione Immanuelis Bekkeri. v. 3. Aristoteles latine interpretibus variis. v. 4. Scholia in. Aristotelis opera. by: Aristòtil, Immanuel Bekker. Publication date: Publisher : E Typographeo Academico. Collection: americana. Aristotelis opera, Volume 3. Front Cover · Aristotle. apud G. Reimerum, 1 Review Editors, Immanuel Bekker, Christian August Brandis. Contributor.
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Aristotelis opera. Author / Editor: Aristoteles ; Bekker, Immanuel ; Brandis, Christian August ; Aristoteles ; Bekker, Immanuel ; Brandis, Christian August. ARISTOTELIS OPERA. [in the original Greek]. ex recensione. IMMANUELIS BEKKERI. accedunt. Indices Sylburgiani. Aristoteles: Aristotelis Opera. eBook (PDF): Photomechan. Nachdr. der Ausg. Reprint Publication Date: ; Copyright year: ; ISBN.
See Botfield, ; Sicherl and C. Wimmer, iii, fragment V, Wimmer, iii, fragment II, pp.
Wimmer, iii, fragment VI, For a discussion of the authorship and the manuscripts used for this edition see Sicherl Aldus acknowledges the editorial contribution of Franciscus Caballus d. After b 18 the text is ordered as follows: a a 28, b a 11, a b 8, b b 13; see Aristoteles ed. For the manuscripts sources used for this edition see Sicherl While the authorship was disputed in the nineteenth century, the work is now thought to be genuine; see Aristotle, De motu animalium, ed.
Nussbaum Princeton, , For the origin of this work see W. For the authorship see H. The text does not contain the last passage of Bekker's edition, ending on b For a summary of arguments about its authenticity see J. De Melisso Xenophane Gorgia, columns most of the work is derived directly or indirectly from several works of Theophrastus. See also B. Coulet and P.
Hadot Paris, , I Chaney and P. Mack Woodbridge, , n. Isingrin, , I , possibly on the basis of a note in Conrad Gesner's copy of Aristotle; see Isingrin's introductory letter. The first edition of the classical pseudo-Aristotelian work was published by Henricus Stephanus in ; see Harlfinger Wimmer, iii, fragment VIII, Wimmer, iii, fragment VII, Wimmer, iii, fragment IV, Wimmer, iii, fragment IX, Bekker b b 15 follows a 6; see Aristotle ed.
Balme , xi Aldus apologizes for inserting book X of the Historia animalium here, explaining that the text was not available in time for inclusion with the other books.
Part IV. Botfield Wimmer, i, See Wehrli Wimmer, ii, Julius Ludwig Ideler Berlin, , See F. For authorship see Heribert M. Rose and S. Flashar and Wimmer, iii, fragment XII, Ross and F. Fobes Oxford, , Aldo Manuzio editore, ed. Powell, Collectanea Alexandrina Oxford , For the manuscript sources for this edition see Sicherl Bekker a b See Flashar , also and See Flashar, , , , and In five parts, dated: I 1 Nov.
All with irregular printed foliation. Woodcut borders and initials. LCN: , , , , , , , Copies: A 1 First copy Bound in five volumes. In vol. The text enclosed within rules in red ink. Ingram Bywater ; Elenchus, no. Bequeathed in A 2 Second copy For this copy see Printing Greek, no. Parts I—IV only, bound in five volumes. In part III, a printed strip correcting the last line of text on v.
All with staple-marks of a hasp. Pastedowns for vol. Sir John Fortescue ? Part III bound before part I. Richard Rawlinson ? Perhaps bequeathed in A 4 Fourth copy Part II only. A 5 Fifth copy Part IV only.
Blind-tooled sheep over pasteboards with four three-line frames, corners mitred. Outer border of a lozenge between two trefoils repeated; inner border of a repeated flower; a stylized flower-head repeated in a cruciform composition in the centre.
Four pairs of modern leather ties. Plain edges. Title in ink along the lower edge. Another set of axioms for the relation between the whole and parts in poetry is no less Aristotelian: the whole is logically prior to the parts, the whole inheres in every part, a poem is unity in multeity. That exploration is not concerned to establish fixed conclusions but to open up a fruitful field of enquiry. It does suggest, however, that the allusions to Coleridge in the commentary on the Poetics are not merely incidental, nor are they the casual associations of a man who just happened to be working on both figures; they are part of a more comprehensive vision.
And the influx of the Coleridgean perspective is what distinguishes most sharply the work of George Whalley from that of Gerald Else. When he first wrote to Else, in August of , he seems to have thought of his own undertaking as fundamentally an extension of Aristotle's Poetics: The Argument "so much of this depends upon - and indeed simply is - your work, that I could not think of doing it other than with your consent and cooperation, and preferably with your collaboration.
By the following summer, he could say to Robin Strachan: "I intend to go and see Gerald Else as soon as he has had a chance to read my draft translation, but I now see his place in this as much less central.
At first I thought I would be virtually re-presenting his work; but what has now come about is genuinely my own. Fortunately Kassel's text had already been published and D. Lucas's commentary came soon after. Understandably I owe a heavy debt to your work and to Lucas's; and the tensions between the two have forced me to make up my own mind for myself on a number of points. But something not mentioned in the letter, and of greater interest, is also happening.
He begins to exploit the tensions, or at least the differences which in his handling tend to become tensions, between Else's Argument and Else's translation, and xviii Preface to discover in this way more and more of his own impetus and momentum - his own voice.
Whalley appears to have travelled to Ann Arbor in January of to meet with Else. One of the later drafts of his translation-and-commentary has a pencilled note on the title page in Whalley's handwriting that reads, "Gerald Else's Corrigenda.
The traces that remain on the typescript are a series of pencil markings: underlined words or phrases, vertical lines in the margins, an occasional arrow or question mark. There are some fifty-three such markings. Presumably, the two men discussed the matter in detail. Succeeding drafts show significant alterations at precisely these points in thirty cases. What Else thought of the overall project is not revealed, at least not in the written record among Whalley's papers.
It seems fair to suppose that his willingness to take the time and trouble to make fairly detailed recommendations indicates some level of interest and encouragement. He was also in possession of a typescript of "On Translating Aristotle's Poetics," which may indicate some degree of approval for the general principles, format, and strategy. On the other hand, there are at least one or two significant queries that are, perhaps even more significantly, resisted.
At i a 2O, for example, Else has underlined the word "imaginatively. Moreover, the draft that Else had scrutinized seems to have consisted of only the first half, or approximately twelve or thirteen chapters. It breaks off shortly before a section crucial for illustrating both Whalley's indebtedness and his independence. Having discussed simple and complex plots, reversals and recognitions, Aristotle injects a quick summary and a potent addition i b io.
Else's translation reads as follows: These then are two elements of plot: peripety and recognition; third is the pathos. Of these, peripety and recognition have been discussed; a pathos is a destructive or painful act, such as deaths on stage, paroxysms of pain, woundings, and all that sort of thing. Most twentieth-century translators, up to and including Grube and Else, render this as "on stage.
Janko has deaths "in full view"; Halliwell, "visible" deaths. In what way visible? Whalley's translation takes a different tack, with some remarkable implications.
These then - peripeteia and recognition - are two elements of the [complex] plot; a third element is pathos. A pathos is a murderous or cruel transaction, such as killings - [taken as] real - and atrocious pain and woundings and all that sort of thing. The root phainein cause to appear, bring to light, reveal, disclose naturally claims the notion of presentation to the sense of sight.
Else in the Argument states convincingly that "The real function of the pathos is not to shock the audience by its physical occurrence. It is a premiss on which the plot is built," and translates the phrase "in the visible realm"; but in his translation he returns to the traditional phrase "on stage" - which Lucas considers "the obvious meaning. Else, I think, was on the right track in the Argument.
Phaneros is used in the phrase for 'real property' and 'hard cash', i. I have used the phrase "[taken as] real" - 'real' as distinct from 'actual' - to imply that the killing etc. Whatever is held "in the perceptual mode" is - if only momentarily - 'real', whether or not it is actual.
The phrase en toi phaneroi points not to the method of presentation but to the quality of apprehension secured in the presentation: in Coleridgean terms it points to the "illusion of reality" that it is the function of imagination to secure 90—2. Where he is most deeply indebted to Else he is also most firmly his own man. Whether he is also right is another matter. Classicists may wish to rule out "imagination" as sheer anachronism. But if we deprive ourselves of this term, we may make it virtually impossible to come to grips with just how profound an interest Aristotle has in the way vivid representations act upon the soul of the individual, whether poet, character, or member of the audience.
The implications, of course, are not restricted to this small passage in the Poetics. If the process Whalley decribes is anything close to being accurate, it will affect our understanding of several other points. For one thing, Aristotle's claim that the tragic effect may be experienced without the benefit of stage performance would then turn out to be something more positive than the anti-theatrical prejudice it is sometimes taken to be.
He would appear to count on a certain vividness of apprehension in the mind of the auditor or reader. For the poet in the act of composing it gives, as Whalley remarks, "additional depth to the injunction And at least two other important points are also implicated.
Aristotle remarks in a paradoxical way on events that are somehow outside the drama but not outside the plot.
These are often events which are said to occur before the time of the play's opening but that have sufficient force to generate or motivate the action: one thinks of the report of the sacrifice of Iphigenia in the Agamemnon or the murder of Hamlet's father in Hamkt. Neither event takes place "on stage" though both have a vivid and intense effect on certain characters and presumably then on members of an audience.
In such cases, the "quality of apprehension" is surely the important thing. The other point has to do with the question of what makes for the best kind of recognition. Aristotle comes at this question more than once, and it's not clear that his answers remain consistent.
Most curious is the claim, in chapter 14, that the best sort of recognition may be illustrated by the Iphigenia in Tauris, in which the recognitions of brother and sister precede and thus avert the actuality of disastrous killing. This seems to mean that the vivid apprehension of the threat of death - the imagined reality - may be of sufficient intensity to elicit tragic effects without death actually occurring. Again, making sense of such claims would seem to involve some recourse to the sort of vocabulary Whalley invokes.
George Whalley on the Poetics xxi Like the phrase en toi phanewi, the word pathos in the short passage above has given translators trouble. The main English equivalents, 'suffering' or 'painful acts', pull the meaning either towards an emotion or towards an action.
To avoid a reductive meaning, Whalley chooses transliteration rather than translation "a pathos is a murderous or cruel transaction" , and comments on what he sees as the advantages: Pathos from paschein, 'suffer' primarily means something 'suffered', something that happens to a person - the complement to something done.
Yet Aristotle says that a pathos is a praxis, an 'act'. I find it difficult to agree with Lucas that pathos in this short section is not a special term comparable to peripeteia and anagnorisis. The paradoxical term pathos-as-praxis seems to imply that the crucial event is to be seen both as suffered and as inflicted.
Aristotle's choice of the word praxis - which he regularly uses elsewhere for the single overarching tragic action as distinct from the separate pragmata events of which the praxis is composed - suggests further that the pathos as an event is both pregnant and determinate, the beginning of a process.
I have therefore rendered praxis here as a 'transaction' to indicate the pathosaction paradox and to preserve the processive potential of the word praxis Again, much of the thinking here grows directly out of the work of Gerald Else, who says: "The pathos is the foundation stone of the tragic structure In fact it appears that the happening or threatened happening Both the word 'transaction' and the term pathos-as-praxis insist on seeing the tragic action less in terms of isolated individuals, or heroes, and more in terms of relationship.
Whalley says elsewhere that 'hero' is not Aristotle's word but a later coinage, and it is clear in this instance that he is thinking not simply of such pathos-centred tragedies as Ajax or Samson Agonistes, but of the way that all tragedies - from Oedipus to Othello - turn crucially on relationships.
Pathos-as-praxis is a bold formulation that incites a radical rethinking of just what is meant by the standard account of a tragic action. Whalley's originality once again shows up most clearly in the context of his connections to Else. But the more clearly the originality is established, the more we may begin to wonder whether it veers off into eccentricity. Has he achieved his independence at the expense of his Aris- xxii Preface totelianism?
Has he been left behind by the last two decades of Poetics study? Something of the range of work is indicated by the twenty contributors to Essays on Aristotle's Poetics, edited by Amelie Oksenberg Rorty. In addition, two of those contributors, Richard Janko and Stephen Halliwell, published translations of their own in A great deal hinges on mimesis. Janko declines for the most part to use the traditional option, "imitation," but depends instead on "representation" as the nearest English equivalent.
Halliwell, who offers a masterly survey of the word's history, is nothing if not suspicious of a Coleridgean angle, and he castigates LJ. Potts' Aristotle and the Art of Fiction for its "thoroughly confused assimilation of mimesis As Gerald Else suggests, in work published posthumously in , mimesis, in Aristotle's way of using it "becomes the closest neighbor to creation: not out of nothing - no Greek ever believed in creation ex nihilo- but out of carefully observed 'universal' human tendencies to thought and action.
Walton has shown how useful a model there is in child's play for understanding the various arts Aristotle considers mimetic Still, mimesis is not the same as make-believe, though it does aim to make us believe certain things.
Our response to mimesis may involve make-believe, in so far as we are in cahoots with the artist - like adults joining a child's game of make-believe. But what the Aristotelian artist George Whalley on the Poetics xxiii does to draw us in, so that we accept at some level the truth of his work, and are moved by it - that is the heart of mimesis. Having the "heart" of the matter, do we also have the soul? What "level" of truth are we talking about here?
Halliwell is particularly concerned about unwarranted intrusions of neo-platonic "levels. Having, for example, set out an essentially neo-platonic interpretation of the poet's work as the embodiment of ideas and invention which go beyond the limits of nature, Sidney then offers his definition of poetry: "an art of imitation, for so Aristotle termeth it in the word mimesis Coleridge, by Halliwell's account, is one of the chief perpetrators: This passage [from chapter 9] had lent itself as early as the Renaissance to reinterpretation in the light of neo-platonic belief in the idealizing and transcendent powers of art In the Biographia Literaria he tells us in ch.
This is confirmed by Coleridge's later inaccurate paraphrase, in ch. The ambitions of romanticism are clearly visible in the quoted parts, and are no doubt inflated. But Coleridge, even in the Biographia, is more elusive than this treatment acknowledges. Consider the remarks about Shakespeare's "Venus and Adonis" in chapter XV: It is throughout as if a superior spirit more intuitive, more intimately conscious, even than the characters themselves, not only of ever 7 outward look and act, but of the flux and reflux of the mind in all its subtlest thoughts and feelings, were placing the whole before our view; himself meanwhile unparticipating in the passions, and actuated only by that pleasurable excitement, which had resulted from the energetic fervor of his own spirit in so vividly exhibiting, what it had so accurately and profoundly contemplated.
This, put simply, is a superb description of the activity of mimesis even though Coleridge does not use the term and of the pleasures it occasions, and it calls for a corresponding readiness in the reader - a "perpetual activity of attention" - to participate in the process or, to use Halliwell's preferred term, the enactment: "you seem to be told nothing, but to see and hear every thing.
Halliwell is right, however, in some of his misgivings about Coleridge's eclecticism. Coleridge's direct dealings with the Poetics are never more than piece-meal, and a work such as the Biographia sends mixed signals.
For a Coleridgean account of the Poetics we must look not to Coleridge, but to Whalley. That this account remains Aristotelian and avoids the abstractions of neo-platonism is clear, I think, from the axiom that Whalley seizes on in Coleridge: that poetry "flows seamlessly from perception. Is it, all the same, worth the effort to try to pin it down? The reasons for answering 'yes' to this question may be hinted at by pointing to the number of times the concept of the imagination appears in the Rorty collection.
Especially interesting are those places where the word, or a related word, underwrites the nub or high point of an argument. A good illustration of this is Jonathan Lear on "Katharsis.
Whether his 'emotivist' interpretation is superior to the 'cognitivist' stand of his opponents - those who see catharsis as clarifying and educating the emotions of pity and fear - or whether his view that it happens in the audience rather than principally in the action of the play as Whalley and Else believe , is not what interests me at the moment.
Whatever the merits of his case, they depend crucially on an appeal to 'imagination': For in the theatre we can imaginatively bring what we take to be a remote possibility closer to home The tragic poet awakens us to the fact that there are certain emotional possibilities which we ignore in ordinary life.
On the one hand, these possibilities are remote, so it is not completely unreasonable to ignore them in ordinary life; on the other hand, they lend content to the idea that in ordinary life we are living "inside the plain": and they fuel our desire imaginatively to experience life outside the plain Tragic poetry provides an arena in which one can imaginatively experience the tragic emotions: the performance of a play "captures our souls.
We imaginatively live life to the full, but we risk nothing. The relief is thus not that of "releasing pent-up emotions" per se, it is the relief of "releasing" these emotions in a safe environment. How could we live life to the full if we risk nothing?
Risk is a part of life. Even if we never lose sight of the fact that we are enjoying a work of art, why should we suppose that makes the environment "safe"? And what would Plato say, for whom "safe poetry" was as close to being an oxymoron as "safe sex" has recently become for us? How could something which imaginatively captures our souls ever be completely riskfree?
The interpretation of catharsis as a kind of relief may turn out to be correct for all I know, but it's clear that if the argument is to be pursued along these lines, more work needs to be done to illuminate the connection between mimesis and imagination, to measure the ways in which the imaginative performs, in Whalley's terms, a "realising function.
If an action is said to be unified, then presumably the enactment, or re-enactment, of it must also be unified, even though mimesis and praxis have to remain in some ways two different things, distinct. But Rudiger Bittner, for one, thinks there is "no satisfactory account of 'one action' on Aristotelian lines. Any piece of activity may be treated as such.
Aristotle mentions repeatedly that in tragedy things happen according to what is prob- xxvi Preface able or necessary. But the necessity involved here is not imposed by an alien power crushing human endeavor. Nor is it fate, predetermining the course of events. It is a necessity immanent to the action. All that is happening is tied together by its constituting this sort of action. Not consequences, strictly speaking, are inevitable, since consequences are something distinct from what they are consequences of.
Not punishment is imposed on the hero, for the same reason. It is all the one action that takes its course, and the suffering at the end is part of it. Admittedly, doubts arise at this point whether under such strict conditions of immanence there exist any tragedies worth the name. But it seems to imply that the suffering, the pathos, comes only at the end, and by spotlighting a tragic "hero" Bittner obscures the central role of tragic relationships.
In any case, if the suffering is part of it, why not also the punishment and the consequences?
The argument seems to suppose that what is distinct is also separable, which need not be true. Moreover, what if a pathos is not simply a consequence of a praxis arriving at the end , but is in some way a constituent of it from the first, as Whalley's formulation pathos-as-praxis suggests? And what if the major consequences, and perhaps also the most important punishments, centre on the recognitions of that fact? There is no doubt that Aristotle emphasizes the importance for tragedy of what happens according to probability or necessity; but these may involve more than a mechanical chain of cause and effect, which could in theory arbitrarily begin or end anywhere.
Perhaps we should be looking for a more intimate kind of necessity. And there are degrees of recognition. Not all tragic figures see the full meaning of their pathos, not all are aware of the full transactive, or interactive, nature of their deeds, of their ineluctable involvement with fellow human beings, especially blood relations. But without some degree of imaginative realization of the pathos and the praxis, and of both together, there is no tragedy.
As Stephen White says, in drawing connections between Aristotle's favorite tragedies, both Oedipus Tyrannus and Iphigenia at Tauris "dramatize a movement from hamartia to recognition that reveals the depths of the protagonists' concern for the people harmed or threatened by their actions.
A final note on the question of genre similarly challenges the notion of a doctrinaire Aristotle. There is a fairly widespread assumption that Aristotle aims mainly to define, and then rank, George Whalley on the Poetics xxvii various genres. This assumption frequently underpins a further assumption that the Poetics has very limited relevance to literature produced since Aristotle's time, many new species having been invented, including new sub-species within the genre of tragedy itself.
Wayne Booth, for example, makes both assumptions: almost nothing [Aristotle has to say after he has] explained why plot is the soul of tragedy i45O b can be applied directly to any but a very few of the species [modern] criticism addresses.
Even when you discuss works that seem to belong to the species of tragedy, you will find You will make hash of Othello or The Mayor of Casterbridge or Death of a Salesman if you apply, unmodified, [his] criteria for the best tragedy. You will likely make hash if you insist on a concept of Othello as "hero"; you might stand a better chance of acquiring a more discriminating taste if you work from the dynamic pathos of the relationship between Othello and Desdemona. Whalley, for his part, may overstate the case in the opposite direction when he claims that "the radical error This may be a valid-enough way to think of these things, but it happens not to be Aristotle's way" Still, Whalley is, I think, on the right track in supposing that Aristotle is less interested in differentiating tragedy from epic than in exploring the intriguing fact, as he sees it, that it was Homer who taught the dramatists how to be dramatic and how to be tragic.
Aristotle's interest is not simply in what tragedy is, but how it developed, what it developed from, how it works. His approach by way of inductive inference rather than deduction makes the Poetics more radically germane to the discussion of all imaginative literature.
It is one of the chief virtues of George Whalley's translation-andcommentary that it opens the way for a wider participation in that discussion. Students of English have much to gain from entering Whalley's workshop. But the benefits are not all one-way. The problems Aristotle wrestled with - mimesis, catharsis, praxis, and the rest - have not been sewed up, or solved once and for all.
As Ben Jonson says in "Discoveries": xxviii Preface I know nothing can conduce more to letters, than to examine the writings of the ancients, and not to rest in their sole authority, or take all upon trust from them; provided the plagues of judging, and pronouncing against them, be away; such as are envy, bitterness, precipitation, impudence, and scurrile scoffing.
For to all the observations of the ancients, we have our own experience: which, if we will use, and apply, we have better means to pronounce. It is true they opened the gates, and made the way, that went before us; but as guides, not commanders. The translation-andcommentary is bracketed by the essays reprinted here from the University of Toronto Quarterly.
The middle parts, by contrast, may feel somewhat awkward since they duplicate examples that reappear in the translation-and-commentary.