Sublime
I’d never thought about the word sublime as much as I did after listening to an episode of How I Write discussing Robert Greene’s upcoming book The Law of the Sublime. The word kept returning to me in the days after.
What I learned in that episode was that I never really knew there was a deeper meaning to the word. I knew the word as something beyond greatness, using it for anything world-class, like a fabulous goal in soccer, a marvelous movie scene that makes your eyes wet, stunning music, or a surprisingly delicious meal. I used the word in different contexts, but never realized what it truly is about. (And I won’t claim I fully grasp it now.)
It’s about uplifting, elevating, rising above greatness and as such—and here is the new thing for me—the sublime inspires awe and veneration. It’s a tension between fear and attraction.
So, what does that mean? When is something sublime? What is the sublime? I didn’t know it was a philosophical concept that many thinkers wrote about. Writing about it is like trying to describe the indescribable.
I’m not going to try that myself, but I love reading about it. And I’m fascinated by the fact that the sublime can be found in nature, paintings, poetry, music, morality and more.
In the podcast they talked about Van Gogh, how his works relate to the sublime, and that he, diagnosed with epilepsy, might have seen things differently, resulting in these expressive paintings where everything seems to be in a constant flux that speaks to the eye, yet is a little unsettling at the same time.
According to Kant, comparing the beautiful and the sublime, the first is connected with the form of an object and therefore has limits, while the latter is boundless: the sublime is a notion of absolute greatness not constrained by any idea of limitation.
In other words: the sublime reminds us that although our imagination cannot grasp this infinity, our reason is capable of understanding the concept of absolute boundlessness.
Or as Greene’s book description states:
The Sublime connects us to the immense forces in the universe, to the inner worlds of other people, and even to other species, lifting us out of ourselves and giving us the dimensions and depths we yearn for in our lives.
Would I still call a wonderful goal sublime after weighty sentences like the above? I’d use the word with more care now, but the goals in this post still qualify if you ask me. They are sublime not because of their beauty, but because for a second they seem impossible, more than your mind can take in. You can’t really put it into words. You have to see it.
