The representation of such a man’s feelings must be interesting, if consistently drawn.  We all naturally take pleasure, says Aristotle,[4] in any imitation or representation whatever:  this is the basis of our love of poetry:  and we take pleasure in them, he adds, because all knowledge is naturally agreeable to us; not to the philosopher only, but to mankind at large.  Every representation therefore which is consistently drawn may be supposed to be interesting, inasmuch as it gratifies this natural interest in knowledge of all kinds.  What is not interesting, is that which does not add to our knowledge of any kind; that which is vaguely conceived and loosely drawn; a representation which is general, indeterminate, and faint, instead of being particular, precise, and firm.

Any accurate representation may therefore be expected to be interesting; but, if the representation be a poetical one, more than this is demanded.  It is demanded, not only that it shall interest, but also that it shall inspirit and rejoice the reader:  that it shall convey a charm, and infuse delight.  For the Muses, as Hesiod[5] says, were born that they might be “a forgetfulness of evils, and a truce from cares”:  and it is not enough that the poet should add to the knowledge of men, it is required of him also that he should add to their happiness.  “All art,” says Schiller, “is dedicated to joy, and there is no higher and no more serious problem, than how to make men happy.  The right art is that alone, which creates the highest enjoyment.”

A poetical work, therefore, is not yet justified when it has been shown to be an accurate, and therefore interesting representation; it has to be shown also that it is a representation from which men can derive enjoyment.  In presence of the most tragic circumstances, represented in a work of art, the feeling of enjoyment, as is well known, may still subsist:  the representation of the most utter calamity, of the liveliest anguish, is not sufficient to destroy it:  the more tragic the situation, the deeper becomes the enjoyment; and the situation is more tragic in proportion as it becomes more terrible.

What then are the situations, from the representation of which, though accurate, no poetical enjoyment can be derived?  They are those in which the suffering finds no vent in action; in which a continuous state of mental distress is prolonged, unrelieved by incident, hope, or resistance; in which there is everything to be endured, nothing to be done.  In such situations there is inevitably something morbid, in the description of them something monotonous.  When they occur in actual life, they are painful, not tragic; the representation of them in poetry is painful also.

To this class of situations, poetically faulty as it appears to me, that of Empedocles, as I have endeavored to represent him, belongs; and I have therefore excluded the poem from the present collection.