Edmund Burke on The Sublime in Art and Nature
In his Critique of Judgment, Emmanuel Kant categorized the work of art as having the quality of sublime. Edmund Burke had previously explored the psychology of the sublime in his, "A Philosophical Inquiry Into The Origin Of Our Ideas Of The Sublime And Beautiful With An Introductory Discourse Concerning Taste, And Several Other Additions (1756)". In Section V, 'Power', Burke writes:
“We have continually about us animals of a strength that is considerable, but not pernicious. Among these we never look for the sublime; it comes upon us in the gloomy forest, and in the howling wilderness, in the form of the lion, the tiger, the panther, or rhinoceros.”
Go to the Lion House at the zoo and listen to them at their scheduled feeding time. What you will hear is not a movie-production, sound effects “roar.” What you will hear is more of a “yawn”, in both a literal and figurative sense, and, in particular, as “low.” It's a much deeper sound than the “yowl” which domestic cats make at feeding time. The deep register of the lion's howl – at feeding time – might be compared (figuratively) to the much lower register of the bass instruments of the symphony orchestra, to the high-pitch timbre of the piccolo. It is perceived by the zoo visitor as a primordial warning, as a yet distant sound, not an immediate danger. It is not the lion's roar of attacking ferocity.
The Lion House lion's howl, at feeding time, may be rationalized as behavioral conditioning – Pavlov – than the big cat's snarl of the kill. It might even be characterized as the inarticulate expression of bored impatience: "We've been waiting." -the lions seem to say. Note the royal "we." For, although caged, the lion is the undefeated king of the jungle. Also notice (although it is not a real threat - as a direct confrontation with a wild lion would be), that the mind instinctively estimates the proximity of danger, and reacts measurably. It is this measure of any threat's proportion – by the fight-or-flight response – that “sublimates” the perception of danger by the senses.
From personal visits to the Lion House, I can testify that it is an eerie sound indeed. It provokes a visceral tightening of the throat muscles, familiar from other instances of irrational fear -as for example the fear as a child of impending punishment for misdeeds. It is the delayed reaction of not knowing the full extent of the danger that exaggerates the fear all out of proportion to reality. Knowing that the lion, at meal time, is confined to its cage stimulates a secondary reflex of relief. “Whew,” one says to oneself, “that was close.” The quick flipping of the responses is experienced as a “thrill” of excitement, much as the brief, free-fall heart palpitation of a skyscraper's elevator's precipitous descent.
The flash of panic upon perception of danger is an impromptu drama with a climax and a denouement. Once the crisis has passed, the audience squirms in its seat, with a flush of shame for having abandoned reason so easily. The artist Francisco Goya published, in 1799, his most famous print, “The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters.” It has received extensive comment, and fairly captures the neurological condition of fear. Monsters are imagined. Whether a true dream, or a day dream in the artist's studio, the fantasy comes from the mind. Sublimation is creation, a work of art.
“I saw my life flash before my eyes,” is a trite, but fair characterization of the 'flash' effect of the experience of the sublime in art and reality, because the speaker is (presumably) still alive to tell his tale. It is participation in, as well as the experience of, a drama. The “I almost died” expression, leads to the literary expression, "from the sublime to the ridiculous." It is both a literary trope – or turn – and a physiological response; as if the heart – for an instant – stopped beating. The complete experience of the sublime is that of a cycle.
The phrase, "from the sublime to the ridiculous", is originated in French and English literature. It is explicitly stated, by the French proverb, "Du sublime au ridicule, il n'y a qu'un pas", which is translated: "From the sublime to the ridiculous, there is only one step." It was articulated by the French writer and philosopher Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr, in his 1848 book, "Les Guêpes" (The Wasps). The concept was used by the political theorist Thomas Paine in his 1794 writing, “The Age of Reason”, in which he wrote, "The sublime and the ridiculous are often so nearly related, that it is difficult to class them separately. One step above the sublime makes the ridiculous, and one step above the ridiculous makes the sublime again."
This idea of a fine line – an edge – between grandeur and absurdity became widely recognized as extending beyond art, characterizing real world conditions of government and society. The phrase gained prominence through its association with Napoleon Bonaparte. It is frequently attributed to him, particularly in reference to the retreat of his army from Moscow in 1812, where he reportedly remarked that there was “only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.” This attribution, though popular, is debated. Regardless of particular attribution, the phrase is a common idiom used to critique sudden reversals of fate and fortune.