VI

δοκεῖ μοι τῆς συνθετικῆς ἐπιστήμης τρία ἔργα εἶναι· ἓν      15
μὲν ἰδεῖν, τί μετὰ τίνος ἁρμοττόμενον πέφυκε καλὴν καὶ
ἡδεῖαν λήψεσθαι συζυγίαν· ἕτερον δὲ γνῶναι τῶν ἁρμόττεσθαι
μελλόντων πρὸς ἄλληλα πῶς ἂν ἕκαστον σχηματισθὲν κρείττονα
ποιήσειε φαίνεσθαι τὴν ἁρμονίαν· τρίτον δ’ εἴ τι δεῖται μετασκευῆς
τῶν λαμβανομένων, ἀφαιρέσεως λέγω καὶ προσθέσεως      20
καὶ ἀλλοιώσεως, γνῶναί τε καὶ πρὸς τὴν μέλλουσαν χρείαν
οἰκείως ἐξεργάσασθαι. ὅ τι δὲ τούτων ἕκαστον δύναται, σαφέστερον
ἐρῶ χρησάμενος εἰκόσι τῶν δημιουργικῶν τεχνῶν τισιν

[105]

possesses that I recall this mental process now. I have cited those manuals on dialectic not because I think it necessary to have them, but in order to prevent anyone from supposing that they contain anything of real service for the present inquiry, and from regarding it as important to study them. It is easy to be inveigled by their titles, which suggest some affinity with the subject; or by the reputation of their compilers.

I will now revert to the original proposition, from which I have strayed into these digressions. It was that the ancients (poets and historians, philosophers and rhetoricians) were greatly preoccupied with this branch of inquiry. They never thought that words, clauses, or periods should be combined at haphazard. They had rules and principles of their own; and it was by following these that they composed so well. What these principles were, I shall try to explain so far as I can; stating, not all, but just the most essential, of those that I have been able to investigate.