When the sublime is carried to its due height and circumscribed within proper bounds, it inchants the mind and raises the most delightful of all emotions. The reader, ingrossed by a sublime object, feels himself raised as it were to a higher rank. When such is the case, it is not wonderful that the history of conquerors and heroes should be universally the favourite entertainment. And this fairly accounts for what I once erroneously suspected to be a wrong bias originally in human nature. The grossest acts of oppression and injustice, scarce blemish the character of a great conqueror. We notwithstanding warmly espouse his interest, accompany him in his exploits, and are anxious for his success. The splendor and enthusiasm of the hero transfused into the readers, elevate their minds far above the rules of justice, and render them in a great measure insensible of the wrong that is done:
For in those days might only shall be admir’d
And valour and heroic virtue call’d;
To overcome in battle, and subdue
Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite
Manslaughter, shall be held the highest pitch
Of human glory, and for glory done
Of triumph, to be styl’d great conquerors,
Patrons of mankind, gods, and sons of gods.
Destroyers rightlier called, and plagues of men.
Thus fame shall be atchiev’d, renown on earth,
And what most merits fame in silence hid.
Milton, b. 11.
The attachment we have to things grand or lofty may be thought to proceed from an unwearied inclination we have to be exalted. No desire is more universal than to be respected and honoured. Upon that account chiefly, are we ambitious of power, riches, titles, fame, which would suddenly lose their relish, did they not raise us above others, and command submission and deference[60]. But the preference given to things grand and sublime must have a deeper root in human nature. Many bestow their time upon low and trifling amusements, without showing any desire to be exalted. Yet these very persons talk the same language with the rest of mankind; and at least in their judgement, if not in their taste, prefer the more elevated pleasures. They acknowledge a more refined taste, and are ashamed of their own as low and groveling. This sentiment, constant and universal, must be the work of nature; and it plainly indicates an original attachment in human nature to every object that elevates the mind. Some men may have a greater relish for an object not of the highest rank: but they are conscious of the common nature of man, and that it ought not to be subjected to their peculiar taste.
The irregular influence of grandeur, reaches also to other matters. However good, honest, or useful, a man may be, he is not so much respected, as one of a more elevated character is, though of less integrity; nor do the misfortunes of the former affect us so much as those of the latter. I add, because it cannot be disguised, that the remorse which attends breach of engagement, is in a great measure proportioned to the figure that the injured person makes. The vows and protestations of lovers are an illustrious example of this observation; for these commonly are little regarded when made to women of inferior rank.
What I have said suggests a capital rule for reaching the sublime in such works of art as are susceptible of it; and that is, to put in view those parts or circumstances only which make the greatest figure, keeping out of sight every thing that is low or trivial. Such judicious selection of capital circumstances, is by an eminent critic styled grandeur of manner[61]. The mind, from an elevation inspired by important objects, cannot, without reluctance, be forced down to bestow any share of its attention upon trifles. In none of the fine arts is there so great scope for this rule as in poetry, which, by that means, enjoys a remarkable power of bestowing upon objects and events an air of grandeur. When we are spectators, every minute object presents itself in its order. But in describing at second hand, these are laid aside, and the capital objects are brought close together. A judicious taste in selecting, after this manner, the most interesting incidents to give them an united force, accounts for a fact which at first sight may appear surprising, that we are more moved by a poetical narrative at second hand, than when we are spectators of the event itself in all its circumstanccs.
Longinus exemplifies the foregoing rule by a comparison of two passages[62]. The first from Aristæus is thus translated.
Ye pow’rs, what madness! how on ships so frail
(Tremendous thought!) can thoughtless mortals sail?
For stormy seas they quit the pleasing plain,
Plant woods in waves and dwell amidst the main.
Far o’er the deep (a trackless path) they go,
And wander oceans in pursuit of wo.
No ease their hearts, no rest their eyes can find,
On heaven their looks, and on the waves their mind.
Sunk are their spirits, while their arms they rear,
And gods are wearied with their fruitless prayer.
The other from Homer I shall give in Pope’s translation.
Bursts as a wave that from the cloud impends,
And swell’d with tempests on the ship descends.
White are the decks with foam: the winds aloud
Howl o’er the masts, and sing through every shrowd.
Pale, trembling, tir’d, the sailors freeze with fears,
And instant death on every wave appears.
In the latter passage, the most striking circumstances are selected to fill the mind with the grand and terrible. The former is a collection of minute and low circumstances, which scatter the thought and make no impression. The passage at the same time is full of verbal antitheses and low conceit, extremely improper in a scene of distress. But this last observation is made occasionally only, as it belongs not to the present subject.