A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful

When I attempt to reason concerning the origin or the use of any of the internal senses, I hesitate, and am embarrassed by a difficulty which I cannot overcome. There is in man, I see, a faculty which I do not possess; and, of course, can neither judge of, nor describe it. In like manner, when I attempt to reason concerning those powers, which affect the imagination, and raise all sorts of passions and emotions, I am embarrassed by a sort of consciousness, that I want principles, or language, to describe properly the varied and subtile operations, which I would explain.

To this difficulty I am the more exposed, in that I address myself chiefly to persons of sensibility, to those, whose imaginations are more likely to be affected, and whose feelings are therefore the subjects of enquiry. If their impressions be more lively than mine, my analysis will seem inadequate; if less, it will be thought erroneous: and between both there will be some hesitation and some weakness of proof.

To avoid, as much as possible, this embarrassment, I shall carefully distinguish that of which I have experience, from that of which I have not; and, in the former, I shall content myself with reporting accurately my own sensations. From such reports I hope to deduce certain general rules; and in the exposition of these rules I shall endeavour to be plain, not proud of subtilty; to display, rather than to create surprizes; and to seek only after the light of nature, not after the ornaments of philosophy.

In treating the subject before me, I shall confine myself to the two ideas which immediately present themselves; the sublime and the beautiful. Of these two I shall endeavour to ascertain their causes, effect, and properties; and to determine what objects produce them, and by what laws the imagination is affected. Though these words are taken from common language, yet the sense in which I use them is not exactly the same as in vulgar speech; and therefore a brief explanation is necessary.

By the sublime, I mean that which is capable of producing the strongest emotion the mind is capable of feeling. Whatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain and danger, that is to say, of pain and danger, considered as that which cannot be avoided, or when we consider the object as absolutely superior to our faculties, as infinite, boundless, or uncontrollable; by this I mean the sublime. On the other hand, that which excites ideas of love, of tenderness, or of pleasure, is called beautiful.

The sublime and the beautiful, then, are two different sources of pleasure. They are distinct, and often opposite, in their causes and effects; yet they are both capable of producing emotions which we call delightful. The passion caused by the sublime is astonishment; and astonishment is that state of the soul, in which all its motions are suspended, with some degree of horror. The passion caused by the beautiful is love, or amiable affection; and it diminishes, at least it does not increase the activity of the mind in the same manner.

The distinction here laid down will, I hope, be useful, yet it is attended with some difficulties. For objects of great greatness, or of great smallness, may be both affecting; and sometimes the same object may produce in different persons, or even in the same person at different times, different emotions. I shall therefore proceed with caution, and endeavour to trace the causes of these passions, rather than to confine them to narrow definitions.

I begin with the sublime; because, though it is the more violent passion, it is, perhaps, the more simple. The sublime is commonly connected with vastness, whether of space or of power. Whatever is in any sort terrible, or astounding, that is, whatever is fitted to excite the idea of pain and danger, may be said to partake of the sublime: but the sublime may arise also from the incomprehensible, from the obscure, and from that which is great beyond measure.

The means by which the sublime is produced are chiefly three: the passion of terror, the passion of astonishment, and certain modes of greatness, which excite in us, by their very magnitude, an idea of our own nothingness. The passion of terror, when it is excited in a timid soul, is the most powerful source of the sublime; and it is often by the appearance of danger, though not always attended with real danger, that the strongest emotions are raised.