Mimesis (94 page)

EPILOGUE

T
HE
subject of this book, the interpretation of reality through literary representation or “imitation,” has occupied me for a long time. My original starting point was Plato’s discussion in book 10 of the
Republic
—mimesis ranking third after truth—in conjunction with Dante’s assertion that in the
Commedia
he presented true reality. As I studied the various methods of interpreting human events in the literature of Europe, I found my interest becoming more precise and focused. Some guiding ideas began to crystallize, and these I sought to pursue.

The first of these ideas concerns the doctrine of the ancients regarding the several levels of literary representation—a doctrine which was taken up again by every later classicistic movement. I came to understand that modern realism in the form it reached in France in the early nineteenth century is, as an aesthetic phenomenon, characterized by complete emancipation from that doctrine. This emancipation is more complete, and more significant for later literary forms of the imitation of life, than the mixture of
le sublime
with
le grotesque
proclaimed by the contemporary romanticists. When Stendhal and Balzac took random individuals from daily life in their dependence upon current historical circumstances and made them the subjects of serious, problematic, and even tragic representation, they broke with the classical rule of distinct levels of style, for according to this rule, everyday practical reality could find a place in literature only within the frame of a low or intermediate kind of style, that is to say, as either grotesquely comic or pleasant, light, colorful, and elegant entertainment. They thus completed a development which had long been in preparation (since the time of the novel of manners and the
comédie larmoyante
of the eighteenth century, and more pronouncedly since the
Sturm und Drang
and early romanticism). And they opened the way for modern realism, which has ever since developed in increasingly rich forms, in keeping with the constantly changing and expanding reality of modern life.

Looking at the problem in this fashion, I came to realize that the revolution early in the nineteenth century against the classical doctrine of levels of style could not possibly have been the first of its kind. The barriers which the romanticists and the contemporary realists tore down had been erected only toward the end of the sixteenth century and during the seventeenth by the advocates of a rigorous imitation of antique literature. Before that time, both during the Middle Ages
and on through the Renaissance, a serious realism had existed. It had been possible in literature as well as in the visual arts to represent the most everyday phenomena of reality in a serious and significant context. The doctrine of the levels of style had no absolute validity. However different medieval and modern realism may be, they are at one in this basic attitude. And it had long been clear to me how this medieval conception of art had evolved, and when and how the first break with the classical theory had come about. It was the story of Christ, with its ruthless mixture of everyday reality and the highest and most sublime tragedy, which had conquered the classical rule of styles.

But if one compares the two breaks with the doctrine of stylistic levels, one cannot but see at once that they came about under completely different conditions and yielded completely different results. The view of reality expressed in the Christian works of late antiquity and the Middle Ages differs completely from that of modern realism. It is very difficult to formulate the specific character of the older Christian view in such a way that the essential points are brought out and all of the pertinent phenomena are included. A solution which struck me as on the whole satisfactory resulted from an investigation of the semantic history of the word
figura
. For this reason I use the term figural to identify the conception of reality in late antiquity and the Christian Middle Ages. What I mean by it is repeatedly explained in this book (for example, pp. 73ff.); a detailed presentation is to be found in my essay on
figura
(which has been reprinted in my
Neue Dante-Studien, Istanbuler Schriften
No. 5, Istanbul 1944, now Berne). In this conception, an occurrence on earth signifies not only itself but at the same time another, which it predicts or confirms, without prejudice to the power of its concrete reality here and now. The connection between occurrences is not regarded as primarily a chronological or causal development but as a oneness within the divine plan, of which all occurrences are parts and reflections. Their direct earthly connection is of secondary importance, and often their interpretation can altogether dispense with any knowledge of it.

These three closely related ideas, which gave the original problem form, though at the same time they narrowed its scope, are the base upon which the entire study is built. Naturally it involves a variety of other motifs and problems inherent in the abundance of historical phenomena which had to be treated. But most of these are in some way related to the ideas mentioned, and at any rate those ideas form the constant point of reference.

As for the methods employed, they have been discussed in an earlier context (p. 548). A systematic and complete history of realism would not only have been impossible, it would not have served my purpose. For the guiding ideas had delimited the subject matter in a very specific way. I was no longer concerned with realism in general, the question was to what degree and in what manner realistic subjects were treated seriously, problematically, or tragically. As a result, merely comic works, works which indubitably remained within the realm of the low style, were excluded. They could at most be referred to occasionally as contrasting illustrations, in the same sense in which completely unrealistic works in the elevated style were to be mentioned from time to time. The category of “realistic works of serious style and character” has never been treated or even conceived as such. I have not seen fit to analyze it theoretically and to describe it systematically. To do that would have necessitated an arduous and, from the reader’s point of view, a tiresome search for definitions at the very beginning of my study. (Not even the term “realistic” is unambiguous.) And it is most probable that I could not have managed without an unusual and clumsy terminology. The procedure I have employed—that of citing for every epoch a number of texts and using these as test cases for my ideas—takes the reader directly into the subject and makes him sense what is at issue long before he is expected to cope with anything theoretical.

The method of textual interpretation gives the interpreter a certain leeway. He can choose and emphasize as he pleases. It must naturally be possible to find what he claims in the text. My interpretations are no doubt guided by a specific purpose. Yet this purpose assumed form only as I went along, playing as it were with my texts, and for long stretches of my way I have been guided only by the texts themselves. Furthermore, the great majority of the texts were chosen at random, on the basis of accidental acquaintance and personal preference rather than in view of a definite purpose. Studies of this kind do not deal with laws but with trends and tendencies, which cross and complement one another in the most varied ways. I was by no means interested merely in presenting what would serve my purpose in the narrowest sense; on the contrary, it was my endeavor to accommodate multiplex data and to make my formulations correspondingly elastic.

The individual chapters treat individual epochs, in some cases comparatively short ones, as little as half a century, in others much longer. There are frequent gaps—that is to say, periods which have not
been treated at all: antiquity for example, which I use only by way of introduction, or the early Middle Ages, from which but too little has been preserved. Additional chapters could have been inserted later to deal with English, German, and Spanish texts. I should have liked to treat the
siglo de oro
more extensively; I should especially have liked to add a special chapter on German realism of the seventeenth century. But the difficulties were too great. As it was, I had to deal with texts ranging over three thousand years, and I was often obliged to go beyond the confines of my own field, that of the romance literatures. I may also mention that the book was written during the war and at Istanbul, where the libraries are not well equipped for European studies. International communications were impeded; I had to dispense with almost all periodicals, with almost all the more recent investigations, and in some cases with reliable critical editions of my texts. Hence it is possible and even probable that I overlooked things which I ought to have considered and that I occasionally assert something which modern research has disproved or modified. I trust that these probable errors include none which affect the core of my argument. The lack of technical literature and periodicals may also serve to explain that my book has no notes. Aside from the texts, I quote comparatively little, and that little it was easy to include in the body of the book. On the other hand it is quite possible that the book owes its existence to just this lack of a rich and specialized library. If it had been possible for me to acquaint myself with all the work that has been done on so many subjects, I might never have reached the point of writing.

With this I have said all that I thought the reader would wish me to explain. Nothing now remains but to find him—to find the reader, that is. I hope that my study will reach its readers—both my friends of former years, if they are still alive, as well as all the others for whom it was intended. And may it contribute to bringing together again those whose love for our western history has serenely persevered.

APPENDIX: “EPILEGOMENA TO
MIMESIS
”
*

by Erich Auerbach
Translated by Jan M. Ziolkowski

S
INCE
the publication of the book more than six years have passed; numerous reviews have appeared, among which many have been very extensive. It can be assumed that most of the critical ideas that
Mimesis
can prompt have been expressed in them. For that reason I would like now to say something in reply to some of these ideas. Only to some: it would be wholly impossible to give due recognition to everything instructive and interesting that has been presented by so many commentators, mostly well informed and understanding. I have selected topics that are especially close to my heart—either because I have something to concede or because I believe that I am obliged to defend my views against misunderstandings.

I expected that the most serious objections against the train of thought in the book would come from the direction of classical philology, for ancient literature is treated in my book above all as a counterexample. According to the statement of the basic theme, I had to show what ancient literature does not possess. The one-sidedness that results from this can disturb and perhaps even offend a reader who is a philologist of ancient literature, and it could be moderated, but not altogether avoided. I was gratified that both of the reviews by classical philologists—Otto Regenbogen [1891-1966]
¹
and Ludwig Edelstein [1902-1965]
²
—formulated their objections with much understanding and consideration for the overall intent of the book.

The two reviews have much in common: both try to contest or to weaken my view on the limits of ancient realism, both offer examples in opposition, and both engage in polemic against one passage (
Mimesis
, pp. 38-39) where I turn to speaking of the limits of ancient historiography. The much more extensive review by Regenbogen (which is most especially interesting for me) introduces, in addition, a criticism of my handling of Homer and Augustine.
³

Here I have to admit, first of all, that the themes of Homers lack of tension and “foregrounding” were emphasized all too strongly in the initial chapter, and that I am on the whole not entirely satisfied with my first chapter. On many points I am in agreement with what Regenbogen says, especially on pages 12 and 13 of his review; this first chapter might have dealt with other literary documents of archaic Greece (to bring into consideration ones from Homer himself, from Aeschylus, perhaps from Hesiod, and even perhaps the art of the sixth century) in which something very closely related to existential realism is sometimes expressed. However, that would have given the book an entirely new dimension, so to speak, into early antiquity, and I recoiled from that. I considered for a moment letting the Homer chapter fall entirely by the wayside. For my purposes it would have sufficed to begin with the time around the birth of Christ. But it proved not to be feasible to find an introduction that would have been able to measure up to the Homer chapter in clarity and effectiveness for presenting the problem, and so I let it stand, somewhat toned down in regard to the first draft. It seemed to me justified to stress themes that matter in the context of the book and that have been properly viewed, even if developed in a one-sided way. But I emphasize the one-sidedness of the presentation here expressly because, time and again, there are readers who especially praise the first chapter in particular.

Perhaps I should also have refrained, in the second chapter, from the remarks about ancient historiography; perhaps then it would have been possible to avoid this complex of problems. For an undertaking like my book, it is advisable to confine oneself to what is absolutely necessary for the development of one’s thoughts; and it is always difficult to choose one’s expressions, in the treatment of a problem as broadly layered as is the problem of ancient historical writing, so that they characterize adequately the totality of the phenomena—as in this case, for example, Herodotus, Thucydides, Polybius, and the later historians. For instance, Herodotus is not comprehended in my terminology (rhetorically and moralistically), even if one understands the expression “moralistically” as it is meant in the context of my thought (in opposition to “historically”). But I can make no further concession. In the decade that has passed since the editing of the Petronius chapter, my views on the difference between ancient and modern historiography have become stronger in relation to the presentation of the problem and the shaping of the idea. To explain them again here would go beyond the framework of an essay;
vita comite
(“if I live so long”), as a Carolingian author was accustomed to say, I will return once
again to the topic.
⁴
Yet I wish to remind readers that I did not compare Thucydides or Tacitus with figures like them in modern times (it would be difficult even to find figures like them there!) but rather with a modern, albeit prominent, professor of history—just to show how the bases for the presentation of the problem and the shaping of the idea have changed.
⁵
I wish also to remind readers that the modern perspectival and “historicist” examination of history has been fully developed for just barely a century and a half. And finally I wish to state that the word “limits” of ancient historical writing contains no negative value judgment at all. Quite the contrary. The unity, drama, plasticity, and humanity, which come into being through the restriction to a narrow circle of people acting with and against one another, have become unattainable.