In spite of the fact that we are not
seriously
asked to
believe in it, it does beautifully and strikingly crystallize the poet's
determination to show us things that go past the reach of common
knowledge.
believe in it, it does beautifully and strikingly crystallize the poet's
determination to show us things that go past the reach of common
knowledge.
Lascelle Abercrombie
The
immortals are there, they are the occasion of splendid poetry; they do
what they are intended to do--they declare, namely, by their speech and
their action, the importance to the world of what is going on in the
poem. Only--there is no obligation to believe in them; and will not that
mean, no obligation to believe in their concern for the subject, and all
that that implies? Homer begins this paradox. Think of that lovely and
exquisitely mischievous passage in the _Iliad_ called _The Cheating of
Zeus_. The salvationist school of commentators calls this an
interpolation; but the spirit of it is implicit throughout the whole of
Homer's dealing with the gods; whenever, at least, he deals with them at
length, and not merely incidentally. Not to accept that spirit is not to
accept Homer. The manner of describing the Olympian family at the end of
the first book is quite continuous throughout, and simply reaches its
climax in the fourteenth book. Nobody ever believed in Homer's gods, as
he must believe in Hektor and Achilles. (Puritans like Xenophanes were
annoyed not with the gods for being as Homer described them, but with
Homer for describing them as he did. ) Virgil is more decorous; but can
we imagine Virgil praying, or anybody praying, to the gods of the
_Aeneid_? The supernatural machinery of Camoens and Tasso is frankly
absurd; they are not only careless of credibility, but of sanity. Lucan
tried to do without gods; but his witchcraft engages belief even more
faintly than the mingled Paganism and Christianity of Camoens, and
merely shows how strongly the most rationalistic of epic poets felt the
value of some imaginary relaxation in the limits of human existence. Is
it, then, only as such a relaxation that supernatural machinery is
valuable? Or only as a superlative kind of ornament? It is surely more
than that.
In spite of the fact that we are not seriously asked to
believe in it, it does beautifully and strikingly crystallize the poet's
determination to show us things that go past the reach of common
knowledge. But by putting it, whether instinctively or deliberately, on
a lower plane of credibility than the main action, the poet obeys his
deepest and gravest necessity: the necessity of keeping his poem
emphatically an affair of recognizable _human_ events. It is of man, and
man's purpose in the world, that the epic poet has to sing; not of the
purpose of gods. The gods must only illustrate man's destiny; and they
must be kept within the bounds of beautiful illustration. But it
requires a finer genius than most epic poets have possessed, to keep
supernatural machinery just sufficiently fanciful without missing its
function. Perhaps only Homer and Virgil have done that perfectly.
Milton's revolutionary development marks a crisis in the general process
of epic so important, that it can only be discussed when that process is
considered, in the following chapter, as a whole.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 5: Such as similes and episodes. It is as if a man were to
say, the essential thing about a bridge is that it should be painted. ]
IV.
THE EPIC SERIES
By the general process of epic poetry, I mean the way this form of art
has constantly responded to the profound needs of the society in which
it was made. But the development of human society does not go straight
forward; and the epic process will therefore be a recurring process, the
series a recurring series--though not in exact repetition. Thus, the
Homeric poems, the _Argonautica_, the _Aeneid_, the _Pharsalia_, and the
later Latin epics, form one series: the _Aeneid_ would be the climax of
the series, which thence declines, were it not that the whole originates
with the incomparable genius of Homer--a fact which makes it seem to
decline from start to finish. Then the process begins again, and again
fulfils itself, in the series which goes from _Beowulf_, the _Song of
Roland_, and the _Nibelungenlied_, through Camoens and Tasso up to
Milton. And in this case Milton is plainly the climax. There is nothing
like _Paradise Lost_ in the preceding poems, and epic poetry has done
nothing since but decline from that towering glory.
immortals are there, they are the occasion of splendid poetry; they do
what they are intended to do--they declare, namely, by their speech and
their action, the importance to the world of what is going on in the
poem. Only--there is no obligation to believe in them; and will not that
mean, no obligation to believe in their concern for the subject, and all
that that implies? Homer begins this paradox. Think of that lovely and
exquisitely mischievous passage in the _Iliad_ called _The Cheating of
Zeus_. The salvationist school of commentators calls this an
interpolation; but the spirit of it is implicit throughout the whole of
Homer's dealing with the gods; whenever, at least, he deals with them at
length, and not merely incidentally. Not to accept that spirit is not to
accept Homer. The manner of describing the Olympian family at the end of
the first book is quite continuous throughout, and simply reaches its
climax in the fourteenth book. Nobody ever believed in Homer's gods, as
he must believe in Hektor and Achilles. (Puritans like Xenophanes were
annoyed not with the gods for being as Homer described them, but with
Homer for describing them as he did. ) Virgil is more decorous; but can
we imagine Virgil praying, or anybody praying, to the gods of the
_Aeneid_? The supernatural machinery of Camoens and Tasso is frankly
absurd; they are not only careless of credibility, but of sanity. Lucan
tried to do without gods; but his witchcraft engages belief even more
faintly than the mingled Paganism and Christianity of Camoens, and
merely shows how strongly the most rationalistic of epic poets felt the
value of some imaginary relaxation in the limits of human existence. Is
it, then, only as such a relaxation that supernatural machinery is
valuable? Or only as a superlative kind of ornament? It is surely more
than that.
In spite of the fact that we are not seriously asked to
believe in it, it does beautifully and strikingly crystallize the poet's
determination to show us things that go past the reach of common
knowledge. But by putting it, whether instinctively or deliberately, on
a lower plane of credibility than the main action, the poet obeys his
deepest and gravest necessity: the necessity of keeping his poem
emphatically an affair of recognizable _human_ events. It is of man, and
man's purpose in the world, that the epic poet has to sing; not of the
purpose of gods. The gods must only illustrate man's destiny; and they
must be kept within the bounds of beautiful illustration. But it
requires a finer genius than most epic poets have possessed, to keep
supernatural machinery just sufficiently fanciful without missing its
function. Perhaps only Homer and Virgil have done that perfectly.
Milton's revolutionary development marks a crisis in the general process
of epic so important, that it can only be discussed when that process is
considered, in the following chapter, as a whole.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 5: Such as similes and episodes. It is as if a man were to
say, the essential thing about a bridge is that it should be painted. ]
IV.
THE EPIC SERIES
By the general process of epic poetry, I mean the way this form of art
has constantly responded to the profound needs of the society in which
it was made. But the development of human society does not go straight
forward; and the epic process will therefore be a recurring process, the
series a recurring series--though not in exact repetition. Thus, the
Homeric poems, the _Argonautica_, the _Aeneid_, the _Pharsalia_, and the
later Latin epics, form one series: the _Aeneid_ would be the climax of
the series, which thence declines, were it not that the whole originates
with the incomparable genius of Homer--a fact which makes it seem to
decline from start to finish. Then the process begins again, and again
fulfils itself, in the series which goes from _Beowulf_, the _Song of
Roland_, and the _Nibelungenlied_, through Camoens and Tasso up to
Milton. And in this case Milton is plainly the climax. There is nothing
like _Paradise Lost_ in the preceding poems, and epic poetry has done
nothing since but decline from that towering glory.
