The ancient Greek term "mimesis" (my-mees-is), "holding a mirror up to nature" or in English "imitation" - which carries many negative, or at least sub-par connotations, is the starting point for all human expression - in this case, literature.
Aristotle, in his The Poetics, marveled at how certain black marks on white background - or certain sounds and tone in the ear - when strung together in the right order and sequence, could transfrom into a timeless epic tale about human adventure such as The Odyssey. He was, however, at odds with an even more authoritative philosopher than himself - his teacher and mentor - Plato.
Plato was an idealist and a rationalist. While he applauded the aesthetic qualities of these imitations, he viewed them as mere shadows of reality, cheap tricks to inspire emotional, not rational, responses. In his The Republic, he argued that fictional literature, poetry, was all a flight of fancy, subjective, illegitimate, and superficial - a waste of time. Plato wished to exile all poets. Truth was not the province of the artist, but belonged to the more serious and logical problem-solvers - the philosopher-kings. These "beautiful lies" of poets led to irrational thinking, spontaneous and reckless choices, and futile and unproductive living - selfish thinking and selfish lives. In short, there are so many real and actual events to discuss, why waste time on what is unreal - what never happened? If it did't happen, why talk about it?
Aristotle, however, objected. The genres of literary art, whether tragedy or comedy or epic, are not bogged down or confused with the randomness of humanity's confusion, accidents, mistakes, or unintentional successes. They can cut away all the fat - stab right into the heart of the matter - and ring that funny bone of universal truth inside a human. A thing needs not be real to be true - as in the old fable, The Boy Who Cried Wolf. There may never have been a boy who continued calling a false 'wolf' alarm, but the truth that if you continue to lie, then nobody will believe you, even when you speak true, is a universal truth that everyone understands in their core.
Or, another, in the words of Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy, "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way". Literature can trim a lesson down to the basic and most simple truth.
Plato's second objection is that we spend all our emotions on fictional characters (like Leonardo DiCaprio dying in Titanic) but ignore the starving beggar outside the theater. But Aristotle countered that art and literature offer catharsis - a purging of emotions that leaves one calmer and more collected - with a clearer mind and more ready to see the world with reason and purpose. As Milton said in Samson Agonistes, "calm of mind, all passion spent".
Does this mean, however, that simply making "tear-jerkers" or using cheap tricks to trigger emotions, offers better catharsis than good literature? This argument has been made.
Plato argued to exile the poets. Aristotle argued to keep them inside the city. George Orwell argued exile is necessary and where true writers belong. Solzhenitsyn, exiled in 1973, wrote more powerful literature than all the hacks who lingered within the safety of the Soviet Union's walls. James Joyce argued writers should be forcefully isolated to be truly cunning. Marxist writer Bertolt Brecht warned that mimesis was the drug of literature and dangerously could lure people away from reality and should be avoided.
Shakespeare loved the idea of mimesis. Hamlet tells the visiting players, "hold as 'twere mirror up to nature". He played with it in Midsummer Night's Dream, with the theater crew desperately using mechanics to mimic nature, and said, "the lover, the lunatic and the poet/ Are of imagination all compact."
What think you, reader? Is fiction a useful tool for thoughtful reflection and contemplation - to purge our emotions in cathartic experience and leave us with a clear head, as Aristotle argued - or was Plato right to wave away fanciful fairy tale distractions from the real problems of life?
(above is a paraphrasing of chapter 1 of John Sutherland's 50 Literature Ideas...)
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