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Part IISections IX - XXII.
Sections IX - XXII.
Sect. IX.
Succession and Uniformity
[Footnote 1: Mr. Addison, in the Spectator, concerning the pleasures of
imagination, thinks it is because in the rotund at one glance you see half the
building. This I do not imagine to be the real cause.]
Succession and uniformity of parts are what constitute the artificial
infinite. 1. Succession; which is requisite that the parts may be continued so
long and in such a direction, as by their frequent impulses on the sense to
impress the imagination with an idea of their progress beyond their actual
limits. 2 Uniformity; because if the figures of the parts should be changed,
the imagination at every change finds a check; you are presented at every
alteration with the termination of one idea, and the beginning of another; by
which means it becomes impossible to continue that uninterrupted progression,
which alone can stamp on bounded objects the character of infinity.^1 It is in
this kind of artificial infinity, I believe, we ought to look for the cause
why a rotund has such a noble effect. For in a rotund, whether it be a
building or a plantation, you can nowhere fix a boundary; turn which way you
will, the same object still seems to continue, and the imagination has no
rest. But the parts must be uniform, as well as circularly disposed, to give
this figure its full force; because any difference, whether it be in the
disposition, or in the figure, or even in the color of the parts, is highly
prejudicial to the idea of infinity, which every change must check and
interrupt, at every alteration commencing a new series. On the same principles
of succession and uniformity, the grand appearance of the ancient heathen
temples, which were generally oblong forms, with a range of uniform pillars on
every side, will be easily accounted for. From the same cause also may be
derived the grand effect of the aisles in many of our own old cathedrals. The
form of a cross used in some churches seems to me not so eligible as the
parallelogram of the ancients; at least, I imagine it is not so proper for
the outside. For, supposing the arms of the cross every way equal, if you
stand in a direction parallel to any of the side walls, or colonnades, instead
of a deception that makes the building more extended than it is, you are cut
off from a considerable part (two-thirds) of its actual length; and to prevent
all possibility of progression, the arms of the cross, taking a new direction,
make a right angle with the beam, and thereby wholly turn the imagination from
the repetition of the former idea. Or suppose the spectator placed where he
may take a direct view of such a building, what will be the consequence? The
necessary consequence will be, that a good part of the basis of each angle
formed by the intersection of the arms of the cross, must be inevitably lost;
the whole must of course assume a broken, unconnected figure; the lights must
be unequal, here strong, and there weak; without that noble gradation which
the perspective always effects on parts disposed uninterruptedly in a right
line. Some or all of these objections will lie against every figure of a
cross, in whatever view you take it. I exemplified them in the Greek cross, in
which these faults appear the most strongly; but they appear in some degree in
all sorts of crosses. Indeed there is nothing more prejudicial to the grandeur
of buildings, than to abound in angles; a fault obvious in many; and owing to
an inordinate thirst for variety, which, whenever it prevails, is sure to
leave very little true taste.
Sect. X.
Magnitude In Building
To the sublime in building, greatness of dimension seems requisite; for
on a few parts, and those small, the imagination cannot rise to any idea of
infinity. No greatness in the manner can effectually compensate for the want
of proper dimensions. There is no danger of drawing men into extravagant
designs by this rule; it carries its own caution along with it. Because too
great a length in buildings destroys the purpose of greatness, which it was
intended to promote; the perspective will lessen it in height as it gains in
length; and will bring it at last to a point; turning the whole figure into a
sort of triangle, the poorest in its effect of almost any figure that can be
presented to the eye. I have ever observed, that colonnades and avenues of
trees of a moderate length, were, without comparison, far grander, than when
they were suffered to run to immense distances. A true artist should put a
generous deceit on the spectators, and effect the noblest designs by easy
methods. Designs that are vast only by their dimensions, are always the sign
of a common and low imagination. No work of art can be great, but as it
deceives; to be otherwise is the prerogative of nature only. A good eye will
fix the medium betwixt an excessive length or height, (for the same objection
lies against both,) and a short or broken quantity; and perhaps it might be
ascertained to a tolerable degree of exactness, if it was my purpose to
descend far into the particulars of any art.
Sect. XI.
Infinity In Pleasing Objects
Infinity, though of another kind, causes much of our pleasure in
agreeable, as well as of our delight in sublime, images. The spring is the
pleasantest of the seasons; and the young of most animals, though far from
being completely fashioned, afford a more agreeable sensation than the
full-grown; because the imagination is entertained with the promise of
something more, and does not acquiesce in the present object of the sense. In
unfinished sketches of drawing, I have often seen something which pleased me
beyond the best finishing; and this I believe proceeds from the cause I have
just now assigned.
Sect. XII.
Difficulty
Another^1 source of greatness is Difficulty. When any work seems to have
required immense force and labor to effect it, the idea is grand. Stonehenge,
neither for disposition nor ornament, has anything admirable; but those huge
rude masses of stone, set on end, and piled each on other, turn the mind on
the immense force necessary for such a work. Nay, the rudeness of the work
increases this cause of grandeur, as it excludes the idea of art and
contrivance; for dexterity produces another sort of effect, which is different
enough from this.
[Footnote 1: Part IV. sect. 4-6.]
Sect. XIII.
Magnificence
Magnificence is likewise a source of the sublime. A great profusion of
things, which are splendid or valuable in themselves, is magnificent. The
starry heaven, though it occurs so very frequently to our view, never fails
to excite an idea of grandeur. This cannot be owing to the stars themselves,
separately considered. The number is certainly the cause. The apparent
disorder augments the grandeur, for the appearance of care is highly contrary
to our idea of magnificence. Besides, the stars lie in such apparent
confusion, as makes it impossible on ordinary occasions to reckon them. This
gives them the advantage of a sort of infinity. In works of art, this kind of
grandeur, which consists in multitude, is to be very courteously admitted;
because a profusion of excellent things is not to be attained, or with too
much difficulty; and because in many cases this splendid confusion would
destroy all use, which should be attended to in most of the works of art with
the greatest care; besides, it is to be considered, that unless you can
produce an appearance of infinity by your disorder, you will have disorder
only without magnificence. There are, however, a sort of fireworks, and some
other things, that in this way succeed well, and are truly grand. There are
also many descriptions in the poets and orators, which owe their sublimity to
a richness and profusion of images, in which the mind is so dazzled as to make
it impossible to attend to that exact coherence and agreement of the
allusions, which we should require on every other occasion. I do not now
remember a more striking example of this, than the description which is given
of the king`s army in the play of Henry the Fourth:
-All furnished, all in arms,
All plumed like ostriches that with the wind
Baited like eagles having lately bathed:
As full of spirit as the month of May,
And gorgeous as the sun in Midsummer,
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
I saw young Harry with his beaver on
Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury;
And vaulted with such ease into his seat,
As if an angel dropp`d down from the clouds
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus.
In that excellent book, so remarkable for the vivacity of its
descriptions as well as the solidity and penetration of its sentences, the
Wisdom of the Son of Sirach, there is a noble panegyric on the high priest
Simon the son of Onias; and it is a very fine example of the point before us:
How was he honoured in the midst of the people, in his coming out of the
sanctuary! He was as the morning star in the midst of a cloud, and as the moon
at the full; as the sun shining upon the temple of the Most High, and as the
rainbow giving light in the bright clouds: and as the flower of roses in the
spring of the year, as lilies by the rivers of waters, and as the frankincense
tree in summer; as fire and incense in the censer, and as a vessel of gold set
with precious stones; as a fair olive tree budding forth fruit, and as a
cypress which groweth up to the clouds. When he put on the robe of honour, and
was clothed with the perfection of glory, when he went up to the holy altar,
he made the garment of holiness honourable. He himself stood by the hearth of
the altar, compassed with his brethren round about; as a young cedar in
Libanus, and as palm trees compassed they him about. So were all the sons of
Aaron in their glory, and the oblations of the Lord in their hands, &c.
Sect. XIV.
Light
Having considered extension, so far as it is capable of raising ideas of
greatness; colour comes next under consideration. All colours depend on
light. Light therefore ought previously to be examined; and with its opposite,
darkness. With regard to light, to make it a cause capable of producing the
sublime, it must be attended with some circumstances, besides its bare faculty
of showing other objects. Mere light is too common a thing to make a strong
impression on the mind, and without a strong impression nothing can be
sublime. But such a light as that of the sun, immediately exerted on the eye,
as it overpowers the sense, is a very great idea. Light of an inferior
strength to this, if it moves with great celerity, has the same power; for
lightning is certainly productive of grandeur, which it owes chiefly to the
extreme velocity of its motion. A quick transition from light to darkness, or
from darkness to light, has yet a greater effect. But darkness is more
productive of sublime ideas than light. Our great poet was convinced of this;
and indeed so full was he of this idea, so entirely possessed with the power
of a well-managed darkness, that in describing the appearance of the Deity,
amidst that profusion of magnificent images, which the grandeur of his subject
provokes him to pour out upon every side, he is far from forgetting the
obscurity which surrounds the most incomprehensible of all beings, but
-With majesty of darkness round
Circles his throne. -
And what is no less remarkable, our author had the secret of preserving
this idea, even when he seemed to depart the farthest from it, when he
describes the light and glory which flows from the Divine presence; a light
which by its very excess is converted into a species of darkness.
Dark with excessive light thy skirts appear.
Here is an idea not only poetical in a high degree, but strictly and
philosophically just. Extreme light, by overcoming the organs of sight,
obliterates all objects, so as in its effect exactly to resemble darkness.
After looking for some time at the sun, two black spots, the impression which
it leaves, seem to dance before our eyes. Thus are two ideas as opposite as
can be imagined reconciled in the extremes of both; and both, in spite of
their opposite nature, brought to concur in producing the sublime. And this is
not the only instance wherein the opposite extremes operate equally in favour
of the sublime, which in all things abhors mediocrity.
Sect. XV.
Light In Building
As the management of light is a matter of importance in architecture, it
is worth inquiring, how far this remark is applicable to building. I think
then, that all edifices calculated to produce an idea of the sublime, ought
rather to be dark and gloomy, and this for two reasons; the first is, that
darkness itself on other occasions is known by experience to have a greater
effect on the passions than light. The second is, that to make an object very
striking, we should make it as different as possible from the objects with
which we have been immediately conversant; when therefore you enter a
building, you cannot pass into a greater light than you had in the open air;
to go into one some few degrees less luminous, can make only a trifling
change; but to make the transition thoroughly striking, you ought to pass from
the greatest light, to as much darkness as is consistent with the uses of
architecture. A night the contrary rule will hold, but for the very same
reason; and the more highly a room is then illuminated, the grander will the
passion be.
Sect. XVI.
Colour Considered As Productive Of The Sublime
Among colours, such as are soft or cheerful (except perhaps a strong red
which is cheerful) are unfit to produce grand images. An immense mountain
covered with a shining green turf, is nothing, in this respect, to one dark
and gloomy; the cloudy sky is more grand than the blue; and night more
sublime and solemn than day. Therefore in historical painting, a gay or gaudy
drapery can never have a happy effect: and in buildings, when the highest
degree of the sublime is intended, the materials and ornaments ought neither
to be white, nor green, nor yellow, nor blue, nor a pale red, nor violet, nor
spotted, but of sad and fuscous colours, as black, or brown, or deep purple,
and the like. Much of gilding, mosaics, painting, or statues, contribute but
little to the sublime. This rule need not be put in practice, except where an
uniform degree of the most striking sublimity is to be produced, and that in
every particular; for it ought to be observed, that this melancholy kind of
greatness, though it be certainly the highest, ought not to be studied in all
sorts of edifices, where yet grandeur must be studied: in such cases the
sublimity must be drawn from the other sources; with a strict caution however
against anything light and riant; as nothing so effectually deadens the whole
taste of the sublime.
Sect. XVII.
Sound And Loudness
The eye is not the only organ of sensation by which a sublime passion
may be produced. Sounds have a great power in these as in most other passions.
I do not mean words, because words do not affect simply by their sounds, but
by means altogether different. Excessive loudness alone is sufficient to
overpower the soul, to suspend its action, and to fill it with terror. The
noise of vast cataracts, raging storms, thunder, or artillery, awakes a great
and awful sensation in the mind, though we can observe no nicety or artifice
in those sorts of music. The shouting of multitudes has a similar effect; and,
by the sole strength of the sound, so amazes and confounds the imagination,
that, in this staggering and hurry of the mind, the best-established tempers
can scarcely forbear being borne down, and joining in the common cry, and
common resolution of the crowd.
Sect. XVIII.
Suddenness
A sudden beginning or sudden cessation of sound of any considerable
force, has the name power. The attention is roused by this; and the faculties
driven forward, as it were, on their guard. Whatever, either in sights or
sounds, makes the transition from one extreme to the other easy, causes no
terror, and consequently can be no cause of greatness. In everything sudden
and unexpected, we are apt to start; that is, we have a perception of danger,
and our nature rouses us to guard against it. It may be observed that a single
sound of some strength, though but of short duration, if repeated after
intervals, has a grand effect. Few things are more awful than the striking of
a great clock, when the silence of the night prevents the attention from being
too much dissipated. The same may be said of a single stroke on a drum,
repeated with pauses; and of the successive firing of cannon at a distance.
All the effects mentioned in this section have causes very nearly alike.
Sect. XIX.
Intermitting
[Footnote 1: Sect. 3.]
A low, tremulous, intermitting sound, though it seems in some respects
opposite to that just mentioned, is productive of the sublime. It is worth
while to examine this a little. The fact itself must be determined by every
man`s own experience and reflection. I have already observed,^1 that night
increases our terror, more perhaps than anything else; it is our nature, when
we do not know what may happen to us, to fear the worst that can happen; and
hence it is, that uncertainty is so terrible, that we often seek to be rid of
it, at the hazard of certain mischief. Now, some low, confused, uncertain
sounds, leave us in the same fearful anxiety concerning their causes, that no
light, or an uncertain light, does concerning the objects that surround us.
Quale per incertam lunam sub luce maligna
Est iter in sylvis. -
-A faint shadow of uncertain light,
Like as a lamp, whose life doth fade away;
Or as the moon clothed with cloudy night
Doth show to him who walks in fear and great affright.
Spenser.
But light now appearing and now leaving us, and so off and on, is even
more terrible than total darkness: and a sort of uncertain sounds are, when
the necessary dispositions concur, more alarming than a total silence.
Sect. XX.
The Cries Of Animals
Such sounds as imitate the natural inarticulate voices of men, or any
animals in pain or danger, are capable of conveying great ideas; unless it be
the well-known voice of some creature, on which we are used to look with
contempt. The angry tones of wild beasts are equally capable of causing a
great and awful sensation.
Hinc exaudiri gemitus iraeque leonum
Vincla recusantum, et sera sub nocte rudentum;
Setigerique sues, atque in praesepibus ursi
Saevire; et formae magnorum ululare luporum.
It might seem that these modulations of sound carry some connexion with
the nature of the things they represent, and are not merely arbitrary; because
the natural cries of all animals, even of those animals with whom we have not
been acquainted, never fail to make themselves sufficiently understood; this
cannot be said of language. The modifications of sound, which may be
productive of the sublime, are almost infinite. Those I have mentioned are
only a few instances to show on what principles they are all built.
Sect. XXI.
Smell And Taste. Bitters And Stenches
Smells and Tastes have some share too in ideas of greatness; but it is a
small one, weak in its nature, and confined in its operations. I shall only
observe, that no smells or tastes can produce a grand sensation, except
excessive bitters, and intolerable stenches. It is true, that these affections
of the smell and taste, when they are in their full force, and lean directly
upon the sensory, are simply painful, and accompanied with no sort of delight;
but when they are moderated, as in a description or narrative, they become
sources of the sublime, as genuine as any other, and upon the very same
principle of a moderated pain. "A cup of bitterness;" "to drain the bitter
cup of fortune;" "the bitter apples of Sodom;" these are all ideas suitable to
a sublime description. Nor is this passage of Virgil without sublimity, where
the stench of the vapour in Albunea conspires so happily with the sacred
horror and gloominess of that prophetic forest:
At rex sollicitus monstris oracula Fauni
Fatidici genitoris adit, lucosque sub alta
Consulit Albunea, nemorum quae maxima sacro
Fonte sonat; saevamque exhalat opaca Mephitim.
In the sixth book, and in a very sublime description, the poisonous
exhalation of Acheron is not forgotten, nor does it all disagree with the
other images amongst which it is introduced:
Spelunca alta fuit, vastoque immanis hiatu,
Scrupea, tuta lacu nigro, nemorumque tenebris;
Quam super haud ullae poterant impune volantes
Tendere iter pennis: talis sese halitus atris
Faucibus effundens supera ad convexa ferebat.
I have added these examples, because some friends, for whose judgment I
have great deference, were of opinion that if the sentiment stood nakedly by
itself, it would be subject, at first view, to burlesque and ridicule; but
this I imagine would principally arise from considering the bitterness and
stench in company with mean and contemptible ideas, with which it must be
owned they are often united; such an union degrades the sublime in all other
instances as well as in those. But it is one of the tests by which the
sublimity of an image is to be tried, not whether it becomes mean when
associated with mean ideas; but whether, when united with images of an allowed
grandeur, the whole composition is supported with dignity. Things which are
terrible are always great; but when things possess disagreeable qualities, or
such as have indeed some degree of danger, but of a danger easily overcome,
they are merely odious; as toads and spiders.
Sect. XXII.
Feeling. Pain
Of feeling, little more can be said than that the idea of bodily pain, in
all the modes and degrees of labour, pain, anguish, torment, is productive of
the sublime,; and nothing else in this sense can produce it. I need not
give here any fresh instances, as those given in the former sections
abundantly illustrate a remark that, in reality, wants only an attention to
nature, to be made by everybody.
Having thus run through the causes of the sublime with reference to all
the senses, my first observation (sect. 7) will be found very nearly true;
that the sublime is an idea belonging to self-preservation; that it is
therefore one of the most affecting we have; that its strongest emotion is an
emotion distress; and that no pleasure^1 from a positive cause belongs to it.
Numberless examples, besides those mentioned, might be brought in support of
these truths, and many perhaps useful consequences drawn from them-
[Footnote 1: Vide Part I. sect. 6.]
Sed fugit interea, fugit irrevocabile tempus,
Singula dum capti circumvectamur amore.
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