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Apollo, Mnemosyne, and Poetry

Chapter 9 from Gods, Heroes and Us (Bruges Group, May, 2025)

by James Sale

Our last chapter discussed the imperative for distinguishing between Truth (Veritas) and Falsehood (Mendacium), and how in our modern, digital era this is becoming increasingly difficult. Also, we talked about a shift from the individual hero to the more collective effort to resist falsehood; falsehood, which is also, of course, another name for evil. For to spell it out again, and to use the metaphor that we had in the original myth, falsehood has no feet, and so falls over; which is another way of saying, it generates disorder—to use Yeats’ expression , ‘… things fall apart; the centre cannot hold…’ It acts against the very cohesion of the cosmos; it defies Zeus.

It is because this is so that we need to return to a god whom we have already encountered in chapter 2: Apollo. Apollo is the god par excellence whose maxims advocate civility, restraint, moderation, order and … truth. Why? Well, for one thing Apollo is the god of the sun, and so god of light; and light is always not only physical light in ancient texts, but the light of illumination—of knowledge and insight and prophecy: an understanding of the deep things of the dark where light probes, penetrates, and prevails.

It should be no surprise to learn, then, that not only is Apollo god of light, but he is also god of healing—light that heals and enables growth—and god of poetry and the arts. And this is important for our discussion in the last chapter: how do we overcome Mendacium or falsehood? Clearly, there is no easy answer, but one strand towards an answer is understanding the importance of the arts, but in particular of poetry in our culture generally and in our education system specifically. Poetry—and alongside it, myth— is one massive antidote to Mendacium.

Before looking at this in more detail, what exactly is the relationship between Apollo and poetry? Apollo, in Greek mythology, is deeply connected with poetry as he is regarded as the god of music, poetry, and the arts, among other things. His association with poetry primarily comes from his role as a patron of the Muses, who are the goddesses of artistic inspiration, including epic poetry, lyric poetry, and music. Apollo was often depicted with a lyre, symbolizing his influence over both music and the harmonious nature of poetic expression.

There are several layers to Apollo’s connection with poetry. First, is the generally accepted fact that he was the leader (and patron) of the Muses. Who were the Muses? These were the immortal beings—nine of them—who inspired artists, poets, musicians in nine areas of the artistic domains:

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1. Calliope – Muse of epic poetry.
2. Clio – Muse of history.
3. Erato – Muse of love poetry.
4. Euterpe – Muse of music and lyric poetry.
5. Melpomene – Muse of tragedy.
6. Polyhymnia – Muse of sacred hymns and poetry.
7. Terpsichore – Muse of dance.
8. Thalia – Muse of comedy.
9. Urania – Muse of astronomy.

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Calliope, muse of epic poetry (considered the greatest of the nine domains) is the leader within the Nine, but Apollo is the leader of the Nine. It is instructive to reflect on the origins of the Muses: they were begotten in the nine nights of love-making between Zeus and Mnemosyne, the Titaness of memory.
Two things need comment here: first, memory is involved in all artistic acts. We cannot forget the past. As G.K. Chesterton noted, “The boldest plans for the future invoke the authority of the past.” The stupidest— and modernist—idea (expressed in Ezra Pound’s dictum: “Make it new”) is that we can erase the past and build everything new and shining and perfect from scratch; this really is an idea for the birds, as well as being an aspect of that general drive for utopia that infects all minds that accept it. But just as important is the notion that the Muses were begotten: in other words, through sexual acts. That there were nine nights of lovemaking indicates the level of arousal and passion that Zeus and Memory experienced towards each other! So not a one-night stand then. Keep in mind here, too, that the coupling of Zeus with the Titaness (remember the Titans from Chapter 1?) is the joining of the old order with the new so that a yet more new order can be produced—and critically, one that displays more beauty.

If all that weren’t enough, Apollo’s interest in poetry is extensive: Apollo’s instrument is the lyre, which is not just a symbol of music but also of lyric poetry, which in ancient Greece was often sung to musical accompaniment. Poets and bards looked to Apollo for inspiration in creating works that were melodious and expressive. Further, at the Oracle of Delphi, as the god of prophecy and the sun, Apollo had an association with truth and enlightenment, central themes in poetic expression. Poets often sought to reveal truths about human nature and the world, much as Apollo’s oracle would reveal divine truths. This aspect also aligns with poetry’s power to convey wisdom, vision, and insight, drawing a parallel between the clarity of prophecy and the clarity poetry can bring to complex emotions and ideas. Apollo was also the patron of poetic competitions in ancient Greece, most notably at the Pythian Games, held in his honour at Delphi. These contests included not just athletic competitions but also artistic events, where poets, musicians, and performers would compete for Apollo’s favour.

Finally, as we’ve already intimated, Apollo is often seen as the leader of the Muses, who are the goddesses of different artistic domains, including poetry. The relationship between Apollo and the Muses underscores his role as the god who inspires poets and artists, guiding them to create works of beauty, harmony, and truth. In essence, Apollo’s connection to poetry is deeply intertwined with his broader role as a god of arts, prophecy, and enlightenment, highlighting poetry’s power to both inspire and communicate deeper truths.

So, inspire and communicate deeper truths—the opposite of Mendacium. Let’s look at this issue, then, in a little more detail. And first, consider what literature—and poetry particularly—should be. To understand that, we need to use traditional writings naturally! To keep it simple, I would say that poetry has to represent the good, the true and most importantly of all, the beautiful. Philosophical and religious texts can be good and true, but it is the special quality of literature—of poetry—to be beautiful. The reason for the beauty is, of course, form: form is where we have structure and order, and this impresses itself upon our senses.

However, it is important to deflate one implication of this which the modern mind just loves to deduce and mock: namely, that wanting beauty means wanting the saccharine, the bland and the non-challenging types of writing; a kind of literature that is the equivalent to an old-fashioned Disney film—no sex, no real violence, and no issues that might tax us; in other words, sugary versions of pure nostalgia and escapism. But any consideration of, say, the great traditional and even sacred (for example, The Psalms) texts such as Homer or Dante or Shakespeare would utterly refute this. But unlike modern and postmodern texts, which simply revel in sex, violence, horror, perversion and revulsion for their own sakes—and for the sake of being real and realistic—the classics frame these things so that they are—despite the horrors of life, especially modern life—still good, true, and beautiful.

Homer is full of violence, but it is profound and true to human nature; and alongside it go other qualities, such as when at last the anger of Achilles is satisfied, and with his enemy, king Priam, both men mourn together and suffer their respective losses. Through this their common and shared humanity is established. Dante explores sex, violence and revulsion and more besides, but always in the context of the first line of his poem: Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita—“in the middle of OUR life,” not just his. We are journeying to heaven with him, and this provides an overarching meaning to all the troubles we experience on Earth. And as for Shakespeare, where to begin? So many works—but who matches Macbeth in ambition, treachery and violence? How deep, though, the depiction of all this; and how inevitable its outcome, demonstrating—though with some degree of ambiguity which, for example, Polanski’s film version evinces—goodness in its triumph over evil. One genius aspect of this triumph is of course the fact of how evil defeats itself, although seemingly invincible.

Now this is all very well, but why should we have such great classics on our school and university curricula? What does goodness, truth and beauty mean in that context? Aren’t these words just abstractions? They are, but their substance seems to me entirely practical, for it leads me to conclude that a study of the great classics—inspired by Apollo—provides us with three overarching benefits. These are:

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1. Role models of greatness
2. Deeper understandings of ourselves and others
3. Appreciation of form—hence beauty

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Let’s briefly consider each of these three Apollonian benefits.

First, role models of greatness. It says in the Bible that “without vision the people perish.” This applies to all levels of society: at a family level, community level, with our schools and colleges, with our institutions and businesses, and at government level. We have all experienced that sickening sense of drift and chaos that occurs where there is no vision; and where does vision come from? Great men and great women who galvanise those around them. But where does their vision come from? From role models of greatness: either in real life—for example, a great mother, a great father, a great teacher and so on—or from great books and great literature.

It would be blindingly too obvious to cite all the great men and women whom the Bible has inspired to provide vision to their contemporaries—there are so many. But take Mother Teresa or take Martin Luther King—they were great, they had a vision, and they were inspired by what they read in the Bible.
In the same way, others have been inspired by poetry: Alexander was inspired by Homer. Almost the greatest miracle that Alexander could conceive of was that Homer might return from the dead; and he based his whole life on imitating Achilles, the great Homeric hero. You might say, ‘But that’s not great— Alexander was not a man of peace.’ But that is us imposing our values on him: at the time, everyone knew that he was great, they named him ‘the Great’, and for all that, with all the evil in him (Dante assigned him to a river of blood in Canto 12 of his Inferno), he had certain qualities we all can admire: his courage was simply legendary. Like Achilles—his hero—he was fearless. Courage is timeless—and in poetry we can experience it perfected.

But if that seems a step too far: take Winston Churchill, the great British war leader in World War II. His great role model was his own ancestor, John Marlborough, Duke of Blenheim, who won the Battle of Blenheim (1704) in the early Eighteenth century, and so prevented the European continent being dominated by France for a century (till the rise of Napoleon). So far so historical. But who inspired Marlborough? Marlborough claimed that Shakespeare was essential to his education and ideas-they inspired him, especially the History plays. But who inspired Shakespeare? Step forward the great Roman writer Plutarch. And if at this suggestion you want to say, Plutarch isn’t a poet, but an historian, keep in mind the Nine Muses we mentioned earlier, including astronomy, comedy, dance, eloquence, epic, history, music, amatory poetry, and tragedy. Homer was epic (Calliope); Plutarch history (Clio)!

Finally, on the topic of role models: this is not something just about the noteworthies of yesteryear. Watch young people wanting to be Harry Potter; watch old and young adults at Star Wars conventions identifying with their heroes. Part of our selfconcept is the ‘ideal self’—the person we aspire to be. Literature gives us great models we can emulate; and poetry gives us the very greatest models (aside from religious personages). The corollary of this is: if the literature does not promote goodness, truth and beauty, what does it encourage? And the answer is obvious: corruption, mendacity and ugliness. Does that sound familiar?

Does that sound a lot like modern art and poetry? As Allan Bloom expressed it, “Failure of culture is now culture.”

The second wonder of studying and reading the great classics is the way it enables us to understand ourselves more deeply, as well as others. This should be clear anyway from what we have already said about Marlborough learning from Shakespeare who learnt from Plutarch. But what did he learn? Essentially, he learnt about statesmanship (because that interested him; others, of course, will learn other things). What is statesmanship? It is about conducting the business of a government and shaping its policies whilst being a wise, skilful, and respected political leader. If that doesn’t require a profound understanding of human nature—of self and of others—it’s difficult to imagine what would count!

Furthermore, to understand ourselves we need to remember G.K. Chesterton’s admonishment: “Every man has forgotten who he is. One may understand the cosmos, but never the ego; the self is more distant than any star.” Perseus cannot face his greatest fear (none of us can!). Who/What is his greatest fear? Why, Medusa, the Gorgon, of course! But the goddess Athene, the goddess of wisdom, instructs him how he can face her: by using his polished shield as a mirror—we approach reality through reflection. In literary terms, we approach it through metaphor (which is why Aristotle said the mastery of metaphor was a sign of genius); and so metaphor—poetry—is for approaching our self that we have forgotten and cannot find because, as St. Francis of Assisi allegedly observed: “What you are looking for is what is looking.” The eye—the I—which sees everything, cannot see itself, except by reflection. Thus, literature, poetry and theatre especially, provides us with just that reflection: we get to see ourselves as we truly are.

Finally, in this all too brief overview, the appreciation of form. The deployment of form(s) and its appreciation is on the one hand a skill and knowledge set. Shakespeare writes blank verse; we not only see it on the page, but we hear it on stage or in our minds as we read. But on the other hand, it is much more than that. Dante’s The Divine Comedy is possibly, in the non-religious domain, the greatest and most successfully structured poem ever written: the numerology involved in the 100 cantos is astonishing, but then so is, at the micro-level, the actual form of terza rima itself: 3-line stanzas representing a profound tribute to the triune God whom we will encounter in the final canto of the sequence.  The rhyming scheme of the poem is simply awesome in its power, complexity and sustained brilliance and beauty. Short lyricists may be compared to 100 or even 800-meter runners; and longer formal poems may be compared to 1,500 to 10,000-meter performances; but Dante’s Comedy is the Marathon of them all— that sustained, long run that draws on the very deepest levels of the human spirit and soul. It is perhaps no coincidence that in making this comparison we know that the very first Marathon runner (Pheidippides) completed his task for Greece, and then promptly died; it seems this more or less happened to Dante—having finished the Comedy for Italy and the Italian language, he too died very soon after. Heroic, or what?

If it’s not clear already, then let me be more explicit: the beauty that we want—that our souls want—is to be found in form. Without form, there is no beauty; there is randomness, there is chaos, there is subjective whim, there is ego, and there is ugliness. Does this sound too subjective, or just an opinion? Consider then Eric Hedin’s recent comment: “Oftentimes we hear it said that beauty is only ‘in the eye of the beholder’. But [Thomas] Dubay maintains that ‘both science and theology agree on the objectivity of beauty.’” In its characteristics of simplicity and elegance, beauty not only appeals to our minds, but also helps us identify scientific theories that correspond to reality. Physicist Paul Davies has said, “It is widely believed among scientists that beauty is a reliable guide to truth”. The great architect and inventor, R. Buckminster Fuller, attested to it too: “When I’m working on a problem, I never think about beauty, I think only how to solve the problem. But when I have finished, if the solution is not beautiful, I know it is wrong.”

The poet John Keats—naturally as a poet might!—reached this conclusion without any research two centuries before. In his poem, Ode on a Grecian Urn, he concluded, “Beauty is Truth, Truth Beauty.—that is all / Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.” And he also said , “The excellence of every Art is its intensity, making all disagreeables evaporate, from their being in close relationship with Beauty and Truth.” Beauty is not some idle luxury—it is itself creative and the source of creativity in others who experience it; and perhaps the final word on this is from Joachim-Ernst Berendt, “…one needs rhythms and meters to reach heavenly goals. Of Brahma it is said: ‘he meditated a hundred thousand years and the result of his meditation was the creation of sound and music.’”

If we are to live, as the Bible enjoins us to do, we need to reestablish a new vision of the great Tradition and the living poetry without which our citizens are immersed in mendacious ugliness, and cut off from the vital springs of creativity that alone can renew us.

What is poetry’s unique power in fostering human connection to memory, to the past, and ultimately, to truth? Memory, embodied by Mnemosyne, the mother of the Muses, is far more than mere recollection. It is a bridge between generations, ideas, and values—an essential conduit for maintaining societal order and resisting chaos. As discussed earlier, Apollo stands at the crossroads of light, truth, and poetry, casting away the shadows of falsehood. Mnemosyne complements him by ensuring that humanity remembers its origins, its stories, and, critically, its purpose.

Consider, for a moment, the ancients who gathered around fires to listen to poets recite epics—these were not mere entertainment. They were a method of engraving collective memory into the hearts of those who listened. It was through poetry, through the rhythm of verse and meter, that civilizations remembered who they were. The Iliad, for instance, was not just a story of war; it was a reflection on honour, rage, loss, and reconciliation. The Odyssey, too, served as a testament to the journey of life, the wandering soul returning home. Without these narratives rooted in the memory of past glories, societies would lose their moorings, drifting away from the shores of understanding and truth.

In this sense, Mnemosyne’s role becomes clear: she is not merely the goddess of memory, but the guardian of cultural continuity. Without her, the works of the Muses would dissipate into oblivion, unmoored from context, significance, and depth. Her union with Zeus was not just a creative act; it was a vital coupling that allowed the wisdom of the past to be transmitted into the future. And Apollo, by leading the Muses, ensures that this memory is not static but dynamic—continually refreshed, renewed, and brought into the light for all to see.

But in our current age, where truth is so often distorted and fragmented, we must ask: what is the modern equivalent of this transmission of memory? Is it still poetry? In many ways, yes. Poetry today, though often side-lined, continues to serve as a vessel for deep reflection, offering not just beauty, but a profound engagement with the world’s enduring truths. Whether it be in the works of Edwin Muir, J.R.R. Tolkien, Joseph Salemi, Joseph Sale (yes, full disclosure: my son, a brilliant poet), Angela Alaimo O’Donnell or Andrew Benson Brown, poetry captures what is timeless, echoing Mnemosyne’s role in preserving the essence of humanity.

Yet there is a struggle. Poetry is under threat in the modern world, its relevance questioned, its place in education diminished. In times past, poetry was central to learning—both as a form of intellectual exercise and as a moral compass. Today, however, with education often focused on the pragmatic, the technical, and the material, poetry is relegated to a niche discipline. This, in itself, is a kind of Mendacium—a falsehood that claims poetry is no longer necessary. But if we neglect it, we lose an essential tool for grappling with truth, memory, and ultimately, ourselves.

This brings us back to Apollo and his relationship with truth. Poetry, under Apollo’s guidance, is not just art for art’s sake. It is a disciplined practice, an effort to bring order to chaos, to give form to the formless. In the same way that Apollo’s light dispels darkness, poetry sheds light on the complexities of human experience. It is not only a reflection of truth but an act of creation, building something where before there was nothing but uncertainty and shadow.

And here lies the key: if we abandon poetry, we abandon a critical means of fighting Mendacium. Without poetry’s beauty, its structure, and its capacity to resonate with the soul, we become susceptible to the disorder and fragmentation that falsehood brings. Apollo, as god of both light and poetry, reminds us that truth is not always self-evident—it must be pursued, crafted, and brought into the light, just as the poet painstakingly crafts verses to reflect the deepest aspects of human existence.

In conclusion, poetry, as guided by Apollo and begotten by Mnemosyne, is more than just an artistic endeavour. It is a means of survival—culturally, spiritually, and intellectually. In resisting the spread of falsehood in our time, we would do well to remember the lessons of the ancients: that truth is often complex, multifaceted, and elusive. But through poetry, we are given a path— a way to navigate the uncertainties of life and connect with the deeper truths that bind us to one another, across time and space. As long as poetry endures, Mendacium will never fully prevail, for poetry is a testament to the enduring power of truth, memory, and the human spirit.

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James Sale has had over 50 books published, most recently, “Mapping Motivation for Top Performing Teams” (Routledge, 2021). He has been nominated by The Hong Kong Review for the 2022 Pushcart Prize for poetry, has won first prize in The Society of Classical Poets 2017 annual competition, and performed in New York in 2019. He is a regular contributor to The Epoch Times. His most recent poetry collection is “StairWell.” For more information about the author, and about his Dante project, visit https://englishcantos.home.blog. To subscribe to his brief, free and monthly poetry newsletter, contact him at [email protected]

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25 Responses

  1. Roy Eugene Peterson

    James, this is a great soliloquy on the power of poetry to present truth, beauty, and the substantive aspects of the human spirit and soul. Classical poetry rises above the “mendacity” of the modernistic carnal wallowing of wayward so-called poets who are sham artist pretenders failing to find the good, truth, and beauty in humanity and place them on their proper pedestal of cultural successes, triumphs, and laudable achievements. I was particularly impressed with how you wove together mythology, the Bible, references to past and present poets, and your own innate logic. Inspired is only one of the many accolades that comes to mind.

    Reply
  2. Joseph S. Salemi

    This is a well-written and compelling chapter from what must be a top-notch text. You give a thorough and carefully detailed exegesis of the character and attributes of the god Apollo, and their crucial linkage to the arts and to the attainments of human intelligence and ingenuity. Apollo has always been the god of achievement in the arts, as well as of enlightenment. The adjective “Apollonian” is traditionally used to describe an approach to style and taste that is governed by order, balance, and rigorous craft.

    I would add one other thing. Apollo is also the god who destroys all ugliness, filth, and inferiority. As “The Far Shooter,” he uses his bow and arrows to kill anything that is a blight on beauty, or that is intrinsically poisonous and degrading. His killing of the monstrous creature that guarded the Omphalos of the world is an early myth that portrays him as one who cleanses and purifies, and thereby clears the path for the creation of true excellence.

    You can correctly call the enemy of Apollo by the name of Mendacium (falsehood), but this falsehood is more than just mere lying. It can been seen as a larger metaphor for ugliness, inferiority, shoddy work, absurdity, and — most especially in our time — for the deliberate disfigurement of beauty and civilizational grace by the conscious attack of the modern anti-aesthetic mentality.

    Reply
    • James Sale

      Thanks Joe: “top-notch” is just right for the book! And I am glad you have added more on Apollo, but you should know there is a lot more exciting stuff on him in the book itself: in the earlier chapter 2 (this is chapter 9) – he is a principle agent of his father Zeus in detecting and punishing hubris. It gets all very Dantean – Capaneus the proud et al – I think you’ll love it!

      Reply
  3. ABB

    This is a great chapter from a timely and important book. Having read the entire thing I can testify to the fact that there is an awful lot going on in between these pages. In my ET review I focused on other aspects of it and ran out of space before I got around to the topic of poetry. But its discussion here is fabulous.
    I think you make an important observation about beauty being more than the equivalent of a Disney film, as many who both favor the idea of beauty and oppose it do seem to see it as that.

    Reply
    • Joseph S. Salemi

      Yes, Andrew — well said. Too many self-styled defenders of “beauty, goodness, and truth” see that trinity as a label for sentimentalism, warmth, piety, cutesy-poo niceness, and vapid moralizing. Such an attitude is that of Disneyfied, bourgeois pew-warmers. Real poetry, when necessary, can be gritty, harsh, and offensively in-your-face.

      Reply
      • Patricia Redfern

        Three cheers, Joseph! I am in alignment with you on “real poetry!” There is not enough poetry that is harsh and in your face. Life is not all a cabaret, nor sweet!
        ,shop! Some sites demand poetry all be sugary sweet or your poetry is removed,
        Grosss! PR

      • Joseph S. Salemi

        Thank you, Patricia. There are some poetry sites so saccharine and syrupy that you risk going into sugar shock when you visit them.

    • James Sale

      You have done a great deal – along with Evan – to promote this book Andrew, so thank you for that. Running out of space is a terrible problem, if not a crime: I am running into it all the time!

      Reply
  4. Brian Yapko

    James, I loved reading this excerpt from your book. Your analysis of poetry, art and its relationship to its mythological roots is fascinating and insightful. I particularly enjoyed what feels like a deep connection to Apollo and the aesthetic values this connection to him and the Muses yields.

    I’m fully with you on the fighting Mendacium front and I fully agree that poetry can yield great insights – aspects of Truth – which can indeed confront and counter falsehood. One of the reasons I love the SCP is because it consistently allows for the submission of work that is “in your face” concerning questions and insights of the day. In other words, it has a strong truth-seeking mission.

    I also think that Beauty is an important aspect of poetry. Now this is a subject which could fill a book and cause philosophers and literature professors to come to blows. What is Beauty? You yourself ponder the question at length and although you offer answers, they strike me as only partial answers –threads in a larger tapestry which is damned difficult to see. The clarification I seek – and you generally provide – is that these qualities of poetry and art in general are aspirational. Obviously, not all poetry is beautiful or truthful. In other words, bad poetry is still poetry. Disagreeable poetry is still poetry. So your discussion of “beauty” is really about “Good” poetry. But that’s still a difficult point to get a handle on.

    I am interested in the discussion here concerning beauty in which you have clarified and concerning which Dr. Salemi and ABB have offered additional insights. The problem here, of course, is one of subjectivity versus objectivity. There are no objective standards for beauty in poetry anymore than there are in music or sculpture or painting. I myself tend to fall back on “I know it when I see it.” I find it difficult to sit through anything by Philip Glass but find that there are many who find his music beautiful. Similarly, I find it difficult to find beauty in hip-hop music or the paintings of Pollock or Banksy. You describe objective standards for beauty and this is something I still find improbable. I agree with you that much modern art – poetry included – is not beautiful. Your quote of Allan Bloom is spot on: “Failure of culture is now culture.”

    But I can’t help feeling that there’s more to this. When it comes to poetry, I could never understand why one of my poetry professors ooh’d and aaah’d over much rather coarse 20th Century work. One of the things that she particularly admired was visual poetry – especially work by a German poet named Reinhard Dohl who came up with the shape of an apple created out of the repeated word: Apfel, Apfel, Apfel (x 50) and then varied once with the word Wurm. Is that poetry? In my view, it’s dreck. Yet there’s at least one highly educated professor out there who thinks this is “beautiful.”

    And then there are the cultural differences. I cannot sit through Peking Opera but my personal taste doesn’t really matter — it has literally millions of fans in and outside of China. Just so with Mongolian throat-singing and a great deal of music from the Middle East and Africa. My tastes are clearly Western – which goes to show (at least for me) how much the culture one is raised in can influence once’s taste.

    I’m not criticizing your chapter here so much as taking it as the basis for a discussion which could go on and on as I try to grasp in some meaningful way what it means when we talk about “beauty” and “truth” in art and, particularly, in poetry. I rather feel that we are stretching them beyond their dictionary definitions into terms of art wherein “beauty” and “truth” as interrelated are really quantified not necessarily by the subjective pleasure they give but by how effectively a piece of art reflects or distills in the reader some aspect of reality – preferably one that is fresh and novel. That way I don’t have to like it – I simply can acknowledge and respect it for capturing some aspect of human experience and translating it effectively into words.

    Sorry to ramble on, James. It’s a tribute to how much your discussion has intrigued me. Thank you for this wonderful work.

    And, lastly, Apollo is my favorite of the Greco-Roman gods.

    Reply
    • James Sale

      Thanks for a really thoughtful reply Brian – it is a speciality of yours. Yes, the subject of beauty is troubling and we need more books on the topic. But the one thing you don’t mention in your survey of this chapter is the fact that I mention ‘form’ as being of the essence of beauty; actually many of the so-called subjective POV would disappear if each one of us knew more about (as in detecting what it is in each case) ‘form’ – be it in poetry, music, art etc. There is a form in hip-hop but it is so puerile that like you I cannot stand it. On the other hand, Philip Glass is not someone I would naturally like, but to listen to his Satyagraha, Act 1, Scene 1 (full version: 18.46 long: NY City Opera) is to experience sublimity where the form effectively overwhelms with its power; as he is a modernist I don’t want to admit it, but it is true. I hope you get the whole book and leave an Amazon review for me – that would be great. And when I get to America again, I hope we can have a real and detailed chat about … everything!

      Reply
      • Brian Yapko

        You’re so right, James — form matters deeply. Structure is, to a large degree the antidote to chaos just as discipline is superior to sloth. And at the same time, we don’t want slavish obedience to form. Beethoven’s Ninth delights and surprises us by extending the symphony form to allow for a choral movement.

        I’ll have to give your Philip Glass piece a listen. And I’ll be happy to purchase your book and write a review! Looking forward to your in-person visit!

    • Joseph S. Salemi

      Brian — more than one professor out there was enamored of Reinhard Dohl’s idiotic “Apfel” poem. I suppose that most of us here at the SCP recognize “Apfel” as nothing but a puerile gimmick called “concrete poetry.” And it wasn’t just the third-rate academic timeservers who celebrated this kind of pseudo-art. Even the eminent Russian philologist Mikhail Gasparov, the author of a brilliant philological text titled “A History of European Versification,” praised Dohl’s poem as an exciting experiment.

      The points you bring up about poems that are Good and True and Beautiful, and whether there are objective (versus subjective) standards for making judgments in the matter, are at the heart of aesthetic thinking and discourse. Many of us fall back on the old Latin saying: De gustibus non est disputandum (“there is no disputing tastes”). And that certainly is true when it comes to choosing our meals off a menu, or picking a wife. We all chose what we like. Similarly, the people who enjoy Dohl’s poem are no doubt sincere, and probably think that my preference for Pope’s “The Rape of the Lock” is ludicrously atavistic.

      OK — so there are no OBJECTIVE standards for judging poems, and SUBJECTIVE standards leave us with no room for argument. But there is a way out of this dilemma.

      Forget about “objective standards” if you mean standards that are part of the fixed structure of the universe, like gravity or the periodic table. There are no objective standards like that for a human artifact called poetry.

      What is really important is not “objective,” but what is CULTURAL. There are inherited, traditional, and long-established CULTURAL standards for good poetry that we can follow, depending on what culture we have been raised and trained in. For those of us here, it is the canon of English poetry written before the modernist blight, and which has survived through the last century despite modernism’s triumph. That canon has even been augmented by several excellent twentieth-century writers, and continues to be expanded by those of us who are true to our heritage, or who have chosen to be a part of that heritage.

      Cultural standards are two-fold: we have to learn them, and we have to voluntarily choose them. Once those two things happen, we become part of the tradition. In the case of English poetry, because it is intimately connected with the entire European literary tradition going back to Greece and Rome, we are also connected with innumerable treasure-troves of small sub-traditions in many European languages.

      CULTURE is where we get our standards for what is Good and True and Beautiful in poetry, and in all the arts. We don’t get them from religion, or from philosophy, or from fashion, or from political ideology, or from personal feelings. None of that stuff matters. What matters is what we have learned and internalized from our culture and its history, and what techniques we have mastered by reading earlier poets from our English-speaking culture, and from the wider culture of European civilization.

      Reply
  5. Patricia Redfern

    Dearest James, I am glad the article is here as well as Epoch times! You know the deepest respect I hold in my heart for you!! I am blown away by your accomplishments… your compassion, even for someone like me who has no or little classical poetic background. Do you know what I am up to this day,. And by the way, I heard Andrew’s review at a Time he did a fantastic job it’s much easier for me to hear than read right now. And Andrew is par excellance, I only know that I’ve had that very few great people in my life, and I am proud to say that you are one of them and my friend. Let me thank you deeply and say how much I appreciate your humanity and your talents..

    Reply
    • James Sale

      Dear Patricia – thank you so much, and I am so pleased that you are enjoying Andrew so much: he is a fantastic reader and performer and makes so many things come alive. Your appreciation of my work is really very touching and I am so pleased it has spoken to you. I will be in touch.

      Reply
  6. Margaret Coats

    And if that olde bookes were aweye,
    Yloren were of remembraunce the keye.

    I’m especially interested in the foregrounding of Mnemosyne and memory, which comes somewhat later in the process of vision. “Without vision the people perish.” One must have Truth, and goodness that emerges in the light of truth, to have something worth remembering. And focusing on your conclusion, James, that is where we find poetry, itself capable of shedding light in an act of creation. Excellent points in favor of the poetic classics as essential to education. Your argument against Mendacium is a worthy one–which is not always the case with the practically universal outcry against “lies, lies, lies.” “Lies” ordinarily means, of course, what one does not believe or does not wish to consider. And with everyone his own judge (beauty in the eye of the beholder), there is much mendacious ugliness to be seen and heard. I myself found that I was equipped against absurdities of literary theory by majoring in physics at the same time as English, and therefore I was also glad to hear your praise of “simplicity and elegance” in science as characteristics of beauty in scientific statements. Can’t tell you how many times physics students are exhorted to greater “elegance”: few variables and fewer equations to solve a problem, without any unnecessary array of conditions and stipulations. Surprisingly, then, those who wrote the most prose in presenting lab reports tended to get the better grades. All things considered because all are REMEMBERED when the problem is addressed–and only then does the solution have the clarity of truth!

    Reply
    • James Sale

      Thanks Margaret: ‘shedding light in an act of creation’ – yes, where the images are to be found, for any image has to be light for it to be seen at all. In creating ‘light’, God created all the images, and creativity is that striving to let that light in so that the word speaks it. I am so pleased to learn of your scientific background and how it has led to greater elegance – elegance being an expression of beauty itself. And certainly, we each of us must struggle against the temptation of thinking that our own desires validate ‘truth” on the contrary, when we speak just to validate our own wants, we usually deny the truth – and politics is where this is an art form.

      Reply
  7. C.B. Anderson

    As Vernon Howard told his students in his Philosophy of Art class, one of the key attributes of good art is density of meaning. And we may justifiably consider the the statement, “Sunlight is the best disinfectant,” to be an Apollonian dictum.

    Reply
    • James Sale

      Simultaneously profound and droll, CB! Density of meaning is a good way of putting it: gold is dense but helium is light. And yes, it is wonderfully healing.

      Reply
  8. Cynthia L Erlandson

    Really heavy stuff, James, but definitely worth the read! So interesting that you named Edwin Muir; I’ve just recently discovered him and am going through some of his books.

    Reply
    • James Sale

      Thanks Cynthia – Edwin Muir is a very great and underestimated and under-appreciated poet. If our civilisation survives, his star will only shine brighter! I could quote from his poetry, but how about from his prose: “Poetry too has its object, which is not knowledge in the scientific or philosophical sense, but the creation of a true image of life. We all help to create that image, for imagination is a faculty as natural to us as the desire to see and to know … This means that the first allegiance of any poet is to imaginative truth, and that if he
      is to serve mankind, that is the only way in which he can do it.”

      Reply
      • Joseph S. Salemi

        James, Muir’s comment is a perfect definition of fictive mimesis.

  9. Susan Jarvis Bryant

    James, I love this. Thank you! For me, your thoughtful and informative words shine a much-needed light (courtesy of Apollo) on the enduring value of the Good, the True, and the Beautiful in poetry and the arts. I am especially drawn to the recognition that great literature and poetry do not merely entertain but serve as antidotes to falsehood and disorder. Perhaps that’s because I love to write satire which I try my darndest to create with truth and beauty in mind. After all, satire was central to Greek comedy, and the use of coarse language and explicit jokes was not only accepted but expected in the context of the theatre, with the purpose of exposing hypocrisy, challenging authority, and entertaining the audience – the sort of writing in danger of being labelled “hate speech” today. I believe poetry shouldn’t be reduced to mere sentimentality and escapism as your very own ‘The English Cantos’ trilogy and some of the greatest works in the Western canon convey. I believe poetry and the arts are necessities for civilization and that much like C.S. Lewis, I believe that our responses to beauty are not simply matters of taste but are rooted in reality. The classics endure not because of arbitrary cultural preference, but because they reveal to us something real. While poetry is a human artifact, the values it embodies—truth, beauty, and goodness—are not arbitrary cultural constructs. I believe culture is a medium for access to standards of beauty, but I don’t believe culture dictates the value of poetry. I believe beauty transcends culture. It speaks of something universal. As ever, my mind is open and I’m ready to broaden my outlook, which is why I’ve ordered your book.

    I could never have made this comment without reading the comments section as well as your essay. One of the greatest gifts of the SCP is that I never stop learning.

    Reply
    • James Sale

      Yes, Joe, I think so too. And yes, Susan, the ongoing learning is vital. On the topic of the objectivity of beauty, Iain McGilchrist expressed it well: “Beauty is not just whatever we agree to call it, nor does it go away if we ignore it. Art theory can pronounce the death of beauty, but in doing so it revives memories of King Canute… Purely intellectualised, consciously derived art is congenial to the age because it is easy and therefore democratic. It can be made to happen on a whim without the long experience of apprenticeship leading to skill and without the necessity for intuition, both of which are in part gifts and therefore unpredictable and undemocratic.” There we have it! Thanks for your excellent comments – like your poetry, first rate!

      Reply

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