No More Learning

Then in craftsmanship, the two kinds of epic are equally
deliberate, equally concerned with careful art; but "literary" epic has
been able to take such advantage of the habit of reading that, with the
single exception of Homer, it has achieved a diction much more
answerable to the greatness of epic matter than the "authentic" poems.
We may, then, in a general survey, regard epic poetry as being in all
ages essentially the same kind of art, fulfilling always a similar,
though constantly developing, intention. Whatever sort of society he
lives in, whether he be surrounded by illiterate heroism or placid
culture, the epic poet has a definite function to perform. We see him
accepting, and with his genius transfiguring, the general circumstance
of his time; we see him symbolizing, in some appropriate form, whatever
sense of the significance of life he feels acting as the accepted
unconscious metaphysic of his age. To do this, he takes some great story
which has been absorbed into the prevailing consciousness of his people.
As a rule, though not quite invariably, the story will be of things
which are, or seem, so far back in the past, that anything may credibly
happen in it; so imagination has its freedom, and so significance is
displayed. But quite invariably, the materials of the story will have an
unmistakable air of actuality; that is, they come profoundly out of
human experience, whether they declare legendary heroism, as in Homer
and Virgil, or myth, as in _Beowulf_ and _Paradise Lost_, or actual
history, as in Lucan and Camoens and Tasso. And he sets out this story
and its significance in poetry as lofty and as elaborate as he can
compass. That, roughly, is what we see the epic poets doing, whether
they be "literary" or "authentic"; and if this can be agreed on, we
should now have come tolerably close to a definition of epic poetry.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 4: From the version of the Marquise de Sainte-Aulaire. ]




III.


THE NATURE OF EPIC

Rigid definitions in literature are, however, dangerous. At bottom, it
is what we feel, not what we think, that makes us put certain poems
together and apart from others; and feelings cannot be defined, but only
related. If we define a poem, we say what we think about it; and that
may not sufficiently imply the essential thing the poem does for us.
Hence the definition is liable either to be too strict, or to admit work
which does not properly satisfy the criterion of feeling.
It seems
probable that, in the last resort, classification in literature rests on
that least tangible, least definable matter, style; for style is the
sign of the poem's spirit, and it is the spirit that we feel. If we can
get some notion of how those poems, which we call epic, agree with one
another in style, it is likely we shall be as close as may be to a
definition of epic. I use the word "style," of course, in its largest
sense--manner of conception as well as manner of composition.

An easy way to define epic, though not a very profitable way, would be
to say simply, that an epic is a poem which produces feelings similar to
those produced by _Paradise Lost_ or the _Iliad_, _Beowulf_ or the _Song
of Roland_. Indeed, you might include all the epics of Europe in this
definition without losing your breath; for the epic poet is the rarest
kind of artist. And while it is not a simple matter to say off-hand what
it is that is common to all these poems, there seems to be general
acknowledgment that they are clearly separable from other kinds of
poetry; and this although the word epic has been rather badly abused.
For instance, _The Faery Queene_ and _La Divina Commedia_ have been
called epic poems; but I do not think that anyone could fail to admit,
on a little pressure, that the experience of reading _The Faery Queene_
or _La Divina Commedia_ is not in the least like the experience of
reading _Paradise Lost_ or the _Iliad_. But as a poem may have lyrical
qualities without being a lyric, so a poem may have epical qualities
without being an epic. In all the poems which the world has agreed to
call epics, there is a story told, and well told. But Dante's poem
attempts no story at all, and Spenser's, though it attempts several,
does not tell them well--it scarcely attempts to make the reader believe
in them, being much more concerned with the decoration and the
implication of its fables than with the fables themselves. What epic
quality, detached from epic proper, do these poems possess, then, apart
from the mere fact that they take up a great many pages? It is simply a
question of their style--the style of their conception and the style of
their writing; the whole style of their imagination, in fact. They take
us into a region in which nothing happens that is not deeply
significant; a dominant, noticeably symbolic, purpose presides over each
poem, moulds it greatly and informs it throughout.

This takes us some little way towards deciding the nature of epic. It
must be a story, and the story must be told well and greatly; and,
whether in the story itself or in the telling of it, significance must
be implied. Does that mean that the epic must be allegorical?