Technique of
Part 1
History of Dramatic Thought
European dramatic thought has its origin in the Greek theatre. Contemporary theories of technique are still based to a remarkable degree on Aristotle’s principles. Chapter I undertakes a brief appraisal of the Aristotelian heritage.
Chapter II brings us to the Renaissance flowering of the drama in the sixteenth century. There is no historical justification for this hiatus of eighteen centuries. However, it may be justified in dealing with dramatic theory. For theory in any formal sense was at a standstill during the middle ages. Minstrelsy, rural festivals, and cathedral rites created an enduring theatrical tradition. But the tradition was not subjected to any critical evaluation until the theatre of the Renaissance, and even then theory lagged far behind practice. While the Elizabethans stormed the heavens with their poetry, critical thought ignored the drama or repeated the formal classical rules.
The later seventeenth century, the age of Molière in France and Restoration comedy in England, may be regarded either as the backwash of the Renaissance or as the beginning of the realistic treatment of sex, marriage, and money that was to exert a decisive influence on the further development of the theatre. The change was accompanied by a new approach to dramatic technique; the panorama of Elizabethan action was contracted to fit the picture-frame stage. We conclude the second chapter with this turning point in dramatic thought.
Chapter III deals with the eighteenth century. The bourgeoisie, driving toward the American and French revolutions, produced a rational philosophy, an emphasis on the rights and obligations of the individual, that could no longer be satisfied with the money and sex situations of seventeenth-century comedy.
The nineteenth century brought the full development of bourgeois society, with its inescapable contradictions and deepening class conflicts. The problem of the middle class, torn between abstract ideals and practical necessities, was elaborated in the philosophy of Hegel. The dualism of Hegel’s thought reflected the conflict between the ‘free’ individual and the conditions imposed by his environment between the soul’s aspiration and the subjection of the human will to mean and ignoble ends. The Hegelian dilemma was dramatized in Goethe’s Faust.
The problem posed with such intellectual power in Faust cast its shadow across the later years of the nineteenth century. The shadow moved across the make-believe world of the stage, forcing a choice between illusion and reality. The hopes of the middle class in a period of economic growth and competitive opportunity were reflected in the laissez-faire economics and romantic individualism of the early nineteenth century. As the
concentration of economic power reduced the area of laissez-faire, conflict no longer appeared as a healthy competition between individuals; it appeared in a threatening light as
the cleavage of social classes. The area of conflict in which the conscious will could operate without facing fundamental social issues became constricted. The drama lost passion and conviction.
Since nineteenth-century thought provides the basis for the technique of the modern play, it is essential, to review the period in some detail. Therefore, a slight variation in the arrangement of the text of Chapter IV, with subdivisions under separate headings, seems permissible as a means of clarifying the presentation.
The dramatic culture of the nineteenth century is most completely embodied in Ibsen’s work. Having considered the general trend in Chapter IV, Ibsen’s specific contribution is analyzed in Chapter V.
Chapter 1 Aristotle
Aristotle, the encyclopedist of the ancient world, has exercised a vast influence on human thought. But in no field of thought has his domination been so complete and so
unchallenged as in dramatic theory. What remains to us of the Poetics is only a fragment; but even in its fragmentary form Aristotle’s statement of the laws of playwriting is remarkable for its precision and breadth.
One of the most famous principles in the Poetics relates to the purgation of the emotions through pity and terror. The passage, in spite of its suggestiveness, offers no accurate explanation of the meaning of ‘purgation’ or how it is brought about. But the passage is significant, because it is the only point at which Aristotle touches on the psychological problems (the feelings which bind the writer to his material and which also seem to create the bond between the play and the audience) that puzzle the modern student of the drama. Aristotle’s approach is structural: he described tragedy as ‘the imitation of an action that is complete and whole and of a certain magnitude.’32 The question of
magnitude has caused a great deal of discussion, but Aristotle’s explanation is sufficiently clear: “There may be a whole that is wanting in magnitude. A whole is that which has a beginning, middle and end.” Dramas which are properly composed “must neither begin nor end at haphazard.” He regarded magnitude as a measure which is neither so small as to preclude distinguishing the parts nor so large as to prevent us from understanding the whole. In regard to an object which is too small, “the view of it is confused, the object being seen in an almost imperceptible moment of time… So in the plot, a certain length is necessary, and a length which can be easily embraced by the memory.” Thus
“magnitude” means architectural proportion. “Beauty depends on magnitude and order.” He described the “structural union of the parts being such that, if any one of them is displaced or removed, the whole will be disjointed and disturbed. For a thing whose presence or absence makes no visible difference, is not an organic part of the whole.” The unities of time and place are supposed to derive from Aristotle, but this is
inaccurate.33 He made no mention of unity of place, and his only reference to time is the
following: “Tragedy endeavors, as far as possible, to confine itself to a single revolution of the sun, or but slightly to exceed this limit.” The writers of Greek tragedy frequently failed to observe this limitation. But at a later period, among the Italian and French classicists, the unities became a fetish. Corneille, in a mood of wild radicalism, ventured to say that he “would not scruple to extend the duration of the action even to thirty hours.” Voltaire was very emphatic about the unities: “If the poet makes the action last fifteen days, he must account for what passes during these fifteen days, because I am in the theatre to learn what happens.”34
32 All quotations from Aristotle are from S.H. Butcher’s Aristotle’s Theory of Poetry and Fine Art (New
York, 1907). Reprinted by permission of The Macmillan Company.
33 Lodovico Castelvetro, an Italian critic writing in 1570, is responsible for the first formulation of the
triple unities: ‘The time of the representation and that of the action represented must be exactly
coincident... and the scene of the action must be constant.’ He wrongly attributed this idea to Aristotle, and began a controversy which continued for several hundred years.
Aristotle defined style as avoiding both the commonplace and the magniloquent, “to be clear without being mean.” He discussed plausibility, saying that dramatic effect derives from what is probable and not from what is possible. He advised the playwright to construct his plot with consideration for the limitations of the playhouse.
He associated action with a reversal of fortune, a change in social relationships. The action must be such that “the sequence of events, according to the law of probability or necessity, will admit of a change from bad fortune to good or from good fortune to bad.” He gave the name of “peripeteia” (revolution) to the sudden intrusion of an event which affects the life of the hero and turns the action in a new direction. Another form of reversal of action is the “anagnorisis” or recognition scene, the finding of friends or enemies unexpectedly.
Aristotle maintained that action, not character, is the basic ingredient of drama, and that “character comes in as a subsidiary to the actions.” This is very widely accepted as one of the cornerstones of technical theory. George Pierce Baker says, “History shows
indisputably that drama, in its beginnings, no matter where we look, depended most on action.” Gordon Craig, rebelling against the wordy theatre of the nineteen hundreds, says that “the father of the dramatist was the dancer.” Brander Matthews, says: “A wise critic once declared that the skeleton of a good play is a pantomime.” Roy Mitchell remarks that “literature crosses the threshold of the theatre only as the servant of
motion.” The turbulent poetry of Shakespeare is an example of literature which functions admirably as “the servant of motion.”
The simple statement that action is the root of drama conveys an essential truth – but the interpretation of this truth is by no means simple. The term must be defined; we cannot suppose that the theatre deals with any kind of action. We must therefore distinguish between dramatic action and action in general. Aristotle made no clear distinction along these lines. Later theorists seem to take the idea of action for granted, and to assume that it means whatever the particular writer would prefer to have it mean. One also finds that action is often viewed in a mechanical, rather than in a living sense. Those who protest (very properly) against the idea of mechanical movement as a dramatic value, are apt to go to the other extreme and insist that character is prior to, and more vital than, action. There is probably more confusion on this point than on any other aspect of technique – a confusion which grows out of an abstract approach to theatre problems; character and action tend to become abstractions, existing theoretically on opposite sides of a
theoretical fence. The inter-dependence of character and action has been clarified by the conception of drama as a conflict of will, which has played a prominent part in
nineteenth century dramatic thought. Ashley H. Thorndike points out that Aristotle “devoted much attention to the requirements of the plot. He did not, moreover, recognize the importance of the element of conflict, whether between man and
circumstance, or between men, or within the mind of man.”35 This is true. Aristotle failed
to grasp the rôle of the human will, which places man in conflict with other men and with the totality of his environment. He viewed the reversal of fortune (which is actually the climax of a conflict of will) as an objective event, neglecting its psychological aspect.
He saw that character is an accessory to action, but his conception of character was limited and static: “An action implies personal agents, who necessarily possess certain distinctive qualities both of character and thought; for it is by these that we qualify actions themselves, and these – thought and character – are the two natural causes from which actions spring, and on actions again all success or failure depends… By character I mean that in virtue of which we ascribe certain qualities to the agents.”
Aristotle’s view of character as a collection of qualities made it impossible for him to study the way in which character functions. Instead of seeing character as part of the process of action, he drew an artificial line between qualities and activities. He also drew a line between character and thought. From a modern point of view, this mechanical way of treating the subject is valueless, and must be attributed to Aristotle’s limited
knowledge of psychology and sociology. Psychologists have long been aware that character must be studied in terms of activity – the action of stimuli upon the sense organs and the resulting action of ideas, feelings, volitions. This inner action is part of the whole action which includes the individual and the totality of his environment. Aristotle was right when he said that “life consists in action, and its end is a mode of action, not a quality.” He was therefore right in maintaining that action is basic, and that “character comes in as a subsidiary to the actions.” His mistake lay in his inability to understand character as itself a mode of action which is subsidiary to the whole action because it is a living part of the whole.
The theory of the conflict of wills amends, and in no way contradicts, Aristotle’s theory of action. A conflict of wills, whether it be between man and circumstance, or between men, or inside the mind of man, is a conflict in which the environment plays an
important part. We cannot imagine a mental conflict which does not involve an
adjustment to the environment. Action covers the individual and the environment, and the whole interconnection between them. Character has meaning only in relation to events; the human will is continually modified, transformed, weakened, strengthened, in relation to the system of events in which it operates. If we describe a play as an action, it is evident that this is a useful description; but a play cannot be defined as a character, or a group of characters.
In spite of his wooden treatment of psychological qualities, Aristotle put his finger on two fundamental truths which are as valid today as when the Poetics was written: (1) the playwright is concerned with what people do; he is concerned with what they think or what they are only insofar as it is revealed in what they do. (2) The action is not simply an aspect of the construction, but is the construction itself. Aristotle regarded action as synonymous with plot – a view which most later theorists have failed to grasp: “The plot then is the first principle, and, as it were, the soul of the tragedy.” This is a valuable key to the problem of unity. Unity and action are generally considered separately, but Aristotle treated them as a single concept. Plot is frequently regarded as an artificial arrangement, the form of events as opposed to their content. Aristotle ignored such a distinction. In speaking of the whole play as “an action,” in regarding the plot (or action, or system of events) as “the soul of the tragedy,” he took the first step toward an organic theory of the drama.
In considering the later course of dramatic thought, there is one point in regard to Aristotle which cannot be disregarded, and which may in some measure account for the unique position which he occupies. From the fourth century B.C. to the present day, Aristotle represents the only attempt to analyze the technique of the drama in
conjunction with a comprehensive system of scientific thought. Many philosophers have written about dramatic art: David Hume wrote an Essay on Tragedy; Hegel’s
formulation of the theory of tragic conflict was of great importance. But these and other philosophers were interested in the theatre only in relation to general esthetics, and gave no thought to its more technical aspects.
The great critics of the drama, in spite of all they have contributed toward our knowledge of its laws, have failed to connect these laws with the science and thought of their period. Goethe made extensive investigations in biology, physics, chemistry and botany; he incorporated the results of these investigations in his plays; but his views of the drama were emotional, unsystematic, and quite divorced from scientific thought.
Goethe and most of his contemporaries agreed that art is emotional and mysterious. Such a view would have been inconceivable to Aristotle, who took the theatre in his stride as part of a rational inquiry into the processes of man and nature.
Aristotle had the advantage of studying the theatre logically. But he could not possibly study it sociologically. He made no mention of the social or moral problems which were dealt with by the Greek poets. It never occurred to him that a writer’s technique might be affected by his social orientation.
There is a widespread idea that Attic tragedy shows men trapped and destroyed by blind fate, destructive, unrelenting, unforeseen. Fate, as personified by the will of the gods or the forces of nature, plays a major part in Greek drama. But it is not an irrational or mystic fate; it represents definite social laws. The modern idea of destiny tends to be either religious or Nihilistic; it is based either on a belief in the mysterious will of God or on a belief in the inherent lawlessness and purposelessness of the universe. Either of these beliefs would have been incomprehensible to the Greek audience which was moved by the plays of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripedes.
These were social problem plays. They dealt with the family as the social unit, and with a system of taboos which govern the family relationship, and whose violation must be punished. A vital part of the system was the belief that moral guilt can be transmitted or inherited. The taboo, the violation, the punishment, constitute the moral law on which Greek tragedy rests. This law does not make the individual helpless or irresponsible; it emphasizes his responsibility, forcing him to face the consequences of his own acts. In The Furies, the last play of the trilogy of the House of Atreus, Aechylus shows Orestes, pursued by the Furies, coming to the Temple of Pallas in Athens, and being judged by the council of citizens for having murdered his mother. Orestes accepts full responsibility, saying that he did the deed of his own will. He defends himself by saying that he was compelled to revenge his father, who had been killed by his mother. But the chorus tells him that Clytemnestra was less guilty than he, because the man she murdered
was not of her own blood. The votes of the Athenians are equally divided for and against Orestes, but Athena casts the deciding vote and permits him to go free.
There is a more definite irony in Sophocles, and a suggested questioning of man’s
responsibility for the unconscious violation of social laws. In Euripides, we find that the question of justice, and its relation to problems of the will, has taken on a new and
profound meaning. Gilbert Murray says: “Euripides seems at times to hate the revenge of the oppressed almost as much as the original cruelty of the oppressors.”
Aristotle took no interest in the development of ideas which led from Aeschylus to Euripides, nor in the technical differences in the work of these playwrights. He wrote the Poetics one hundred years after the great period of Greek tragedy, but he made no
comparison between his own ethical ideas and those of the tragic masterpieces. His