The Sublime: the Soul Trembling Beauty Experience

A philosophical discussion of the sublime, cathartic purification of soul and mind

As previously written, the difference between the beautiful and the sublime concerns the difference between order and chaos; between symmetry and asymmetry; between predictability and unpredictability; between demarcation and boundlessness; between form and formlessness; between proportion and irregularity; and, finally, between the kind of aesthetic experience that nurtures one’s comfort zone and that which challenges or breaks it.

The beautiful and the sublime are at once diametrically opposed and mutually dependent on each other. In a sense, they embody the yin and yang of aesthetics. They are fundamentally different, but existentially dependent. For instance, it is nonsensical to speak about symmetry without at the same time understanding the concept of asymmetry, just as harmony cannot be grasped completely without its opposite, disharmony.

In 18th-century aesthetic and philosophical treatises, the idea of the sublime comes to the fore in a big way. The sublime is generally considered a counterpoint to classic beauty, and thereby as something formless, chaotic, horrific, and alien.

The sublime is the antithesis to the proportioned, symmetrical, and elegant. The first to name the difference between beautiful and sublime aesthetic experiences is British critic Joseph Addison (1672–1719). However, Aristotle (384–322 BC), in Poetics from around 335 BC, had already called attention to the multifaceted nature of aesthetic experiences. Using the concept of catharsis, he discusses the nature of aesthetics, touching upon the curious phenomenon of how human beings are drawn to moments of emotional release — such as bawling at sentimental films — even finding comfort in doing so. Although of a different affective nature, experiencing shock or disgust in the face of terrifying art pieces are also considered cathartic, in the Aristotelian optic. Clearly, then, the terrible or terrifying consist of a kind of pleasure that is markedly different from “pure” enjoyment.

Briefly put, catharsis names the effect that a well-composed tragedy has on its audience. It is a form of purification of soul or mind, connected as it is to pity and fear, which entails a transformation from intense and painful passion to a balanced, calm, or elevated frame of mind. For catharsis to take effect, Aristotle says, there must exist between the audience and the tragic performance itself a certain distance, an appropriate distance that is neither too small or too great.

In a dramatic situation of close proximity between audience and stage, the audience will be drawn into the action to a degree such as they forget that they are in fact safe from the action on stage; this will cause the audience to lose themselves in the play through an all-encompassing feeling of fear and pity with the hero of the play. However, if the distance between audience and stage is too great, the heart will not be moved — the experience will seem insignificant and ineffectual. The proper aesthetic distance, on the contrary, involves the human audience (the spectator of tragedy in Aristotle’s world) emotionally, but only in an observational capacity.

The soul-shocking pleasure, which reminds of the sublime aesthetic experience, can only come about if the experiencing subject’s distance to the overwhelming action is maintained.

Through the “good” tragedy, a transformation from pain to an elevated, balanced frame of mind occurs in the spectator. The tragic spectator can experience all kinds of adversities: unhappy love, birth, death, hate, lost love, grief, etc, without giving in fully to the power of emotion. From a safe position, comfortably seated in a theatre row, the on-stage troubles can be followed, experienced, challenged, tested, and felt, perhaps (preferably) aided by tears. And when the cathartic end of the tragedy has been played through, the spectator is free to stand up and venture out into the world, rejuvenated by the fictitious human experiences just witnessed.

With a purified soul and mind.

The sublime aesthetic experience contains a process, or a structure, which is not unlike the classic Buildungsroman progression of “home-away-home”; the sublime experience is structured as follows: “order-chaos-(new and improved)-experience of order”.

In A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful from 1757, Edmund Burke (1729–1797) connects the sublime to vast, redoubtable (nature-)experiences. Thus inspired, one could depict a scenographic, sensuous image to illustrate the sublime aesthetic experience, which, customary of the time, was bound to nature.

The scene unfolds like this: A wanderer is climbing a steep mountainside. At long last, he reaches the top; he is met by a glorious, breathtaking view, which makes him feel infinitely small. The sheer size and force of nature is overwhelming. Suddenly, dark, threatening clouds appear on the horizon. The wanderer immediately seeks refuge in a rockside cave, from which he can safely observe the scene unfolding outside. The storm hits. Rain, hail, and lighting erupt from the sky. The wanderer senses immediate danger. The situation is overwhelming — so overwhelming, in fact, to be paralyzing. But, at once, the threat seems to dissipate. He realizes that he is not actually in any physical danger; he is sheltered by the cave, and the storm will eventually pass. Instead of alarming, the power of nature now seems fascinating. Relief and a sense of calm wash over the wanderer. His senses, which only moments ago were in a state of paralysis, are beginning to intensify. Different smells, sounds, sights — all contribute to a new experience of self, intensified by the shift in mood. Using the power of reason, the wanderer has triumphed in the face of danger.

Structurally, the above depicted narrative of the sublime moves from order to chaos and then, lastly, to a new and improved sense of order:

1. Order: The mountain climb is described as the starting point of an experience of being in control; the wanderer has just conquered a steep mountain side and is confronted with a glorious view of the landscape below.
2. Chaos: Soon after, however, chaos hits. The tempestuous storm leads to a brutal break with the wanderer’s comfort zone — followed by a seeming loss of control and self.
3. (New and improved) Order: Having sought refuge in a cave, the wanderer experiences a newfound feeling of safety, and this experience engenders a blissful sense of being able to rationalize what had just seemed so dangerous and terrible. The senses are intensified, expanded, stretched — and a feeling of being fully alive and present sets in. The momentary loss of self, then, had the function of catharsis, purifying and evolving the self.

This three-step process accurately summarizes the sublime experience.

In my forthcoming article I will discuss how the sublime aesthetic experience can beneficially inspire the aesthetic sustainable design experience.

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