Before (And After) Longinus

자료: Google books, The Sublime by Philip Shaw

1.1. Ecstasy and Instruction

^Peri Hupos^ or ^On Sublimity^, sometimes attributed to the Greek critic Dionysius Longinus, is widely acknowleged to be the first properly theoretical discussion of the sublime. Dating from around the first century CE, the nature and focus of ^On Sublimity^ is primarily rhetorical; basically it sets out to teach those oratorical devices that enable a speaker to move or persuade an audience. As such, Longinus was part of a long tradition of practical instructors going back to the Latin orator, philosopher, and poet Cicero(106-43 BCE) and linked to the republican ethos of political speech. What distinguishes ^On Sublimity^ from its predecessors, however, is the stress its author places on a mode of speech that is indeterminate or without form, a quality that renders the pedagogical aspect of the work extremely problematic. Whilst standard devices (see Crystal 1995; 70) such as ^inventio^(the gathering of relevant subject matter), ^dispositio^(the process of composition), ^elocution^(the use of rhetorical style to suit the occasion), ^memoria^(the putting to memory of the various elements of the discourse), and ^actio^(the delivery or punctuation of speech) could be taught and put into practice before assemblies or tribunals, the sublime seemed to elude definition. Reading ^On Sublimity^, therefore, it is easy to conclude that the author secretly stress on novelty and invention certainly chimed with the aesthetic concerns of his 17th-century French translator, Despéraux Boileau. As Jean-François Lyotard comments, for Boileau, 'the sublime cannot be taught...[it] is not linked to rules that can be determined through poetics'. It requires a certain 'je ne sais quoi' to detect the presence of this 'inexplicable' and 'hidden' phenomenon; it takes a 'genius' to master its use(Lyotard 1989; 201). Boileau's Baroque emphasis on the novelty and circumstance of sublime discourse continues to influence modern appropriations of his work. Thus, the English critic D. A. Russell maintains that while the work is undoubtedly a 'how to' rhetorical manual (Longinus 1964: ix), its emphasis on rote learning is qualified by a fascination with the mysterious influence of genius which 'inspires and possesses our words with a kind of madness and divine spirit' (Longinus 1965:9). Again, the sublime is something that the elevated individual instinctively knows: one does not learn the sublime; one catches it, like a divine contagion.

In a general sense, therefore, the sublime is beyond definition; we cannot point to a rule that will govern its regulation in the same way that we can with the rhetorical devices mentioned above. What we can do, however, its point to its effect:

For grandeur produces ecstasy rather than persuation in the hearer; and the combination of wonder and astonishment always proves superior to the merely persuasive and pleasant. This is because persuasion is on the whole something we can control, whereas amazement and wonder exert invincible power and force and get the better of every hearer. Experience in invention and ability to order and arrange material cannot be detected in single passages; we begin to appreciate them only when we see the whole context. Sublimity, on the other hand, tears everything up like a whirlwind [or 'pulverizes all the facts like a thunderbolt'; see Longinus 1964: 62], and exhibits the orator's whole power at a single blow. (Longinus 1965:2)

Against the standard course of rhetorical instruction, which proceeds methodically and with due care to the entire range of the work, the thunderbolt of sublimity can emerge from a single phrase. What strikes an audience with wonder(^ekplexis^) is more powerful than what merely persuades or pleases us. Unlike conventional public speech, therefore, the sublime is a discourse of domination; it seeks to ravish and intoxicate the audience so that a grand conception may be instilled in the mind without any bothersome appeal to reason or justice. As the 18th century critic Thomas Reid would go on to note, 'What [Longinus] call[s] sublime in description... carries the hearer along with it involuntarily, and by a kind of violence rather than by cool conviction' (Ashfield and de Bolla 1996: 178)

This description would suggest that the sublime is a product of nature rather than of art. Yet, as Longinus insists, although 'nature is on the whole a law unto herself in matters of emotion and elevation, she is not a random force and does not work altogether without method'(1965:2) Feelings, in other words, may arise in nature, but art is required to give them shape and coherence. The author goes on to describe a number of devices that may be employed to sublime effect, a list that includes hyperbole, periphrasis (circumambulatory or round-about speaking), comparisons, similes, and metaphore.

The emphasis on categorisation fails, however, to elide the fundamental sense in which the sublime escapes the grasp of its teacher; one can use hyperbole, for example, without inducing the sublime, and the same is true of all the devices Longinus cites. All that remains essential to the sublime is a state of feeling, which may be loosely described as wonder, awe, rapture, astonishment, ecstasy, or elevation, terms that rest uncomfortably with the increasingly functional nature of public speech (see Auerbach 1965: 194-5), or, for that matter, with the protocoles of didactic instruction.

It is in this latter respect that Longinus differs from his great Augustan precursors, the poet and critic Horace (65-8 BCE). In his verse epistle ^Arts Poetica^(^The Art of Poetry^, c. 10 BCE), Horace lays great store on the idea of ^ars^ as a 'practiced mastery of craft, as a systematic knowledge of theory and technique, and as a capacity for objective self-criticism' (Leitch 2001: 122). For Horace, great thoughts and strong emotions must be subordinated to the rules of 'decortum', to 'the discernment and use of appropriateness, property, proportion, and unity in the arts'(123). Whilst Longinus agrees with Horace on a number of points, for example on the use of imitation, he is critical of the idea that technical accomplishment should count for all.

Longinus's criticism of the Horatian or formalist approach to literature is directied mainly at his rival Caecilius, author of an earlier, as yet undiscovered, treatise on the sublime. Sublimity, according to Longinus' reading of Caecilius, equated with rhetorical excellence. But whilst a 'faultless and pure writer' such as the orator Lysias may show more decorum than the philosopher Plato, the latter, for all his faults, is more inspired and thus more sublime (Longinus 1965: 39). For Longinus, 'intensity' is greater than sobriety, 'living emotions' are higher than 'good breeding', 'speed ... vehemence and power' compensates for lack of 'fluency, smoothness' and 'charm'. Thus the orator Demosthenes 'redeems all his mistakes many times over by a single sublime stroke'(43). Hyperides, Bacchylides, Lysias, and Ion may be 'impeccable, uniformly beautiful writers'(42), but for Longinus the electric shock of sublimity is all.

1.2 Rhetoric and Nobility

A wayward genius is thus preferable to a faultless pedant. But in privileging the expression if elemental human passions Longinus does not fabour a return to aesthetic primitivism. His genius is not the wild-eyed, raving bard of Romantic imaginings, but a cultivated, noble, and urbane poet, aware of the distinction between the exhibition of raw, untutored feeling and the measured expression of weighty thoughts. Sublimity is thus 'the echo of a noble mind' and in many instances occurrs 'apart from emotion' or even 'verbal expression'. In Longinus' view 'a mere idea' can 'sometimes be admired for its nobility--just as Ajax's silence in the Vision of the Dead[from Homer's ^Odyssey^, scroll 11. 563] is grand and indeed more sublime than any words could have been'(1965:9).

Longinus' interest in the sublimity of the noble mind extends, then, even to the concealment of its slavish dependence on the materiality of words. 'A figure', he argues, 'is generally thought to be best when the fact that it is a figure is concealed'(26). In the treatise, this point is exemplified in a startling analysis of the words of Dionysius the Phocaean in Herodotus'(c. 480-425 BCE) ^History^: 'Now, for our affairs are on the razor's edge, men of Ionia, whether we are to be free or slaves...so if you will bear hardships now, you will suffer temporarily but be able to overcome you enemies.' Here, Longinus notes, the 'natural order' would have been: 'Men of Ionia, now is the time for you to bear hardships, for our affairs are on the razor's edge.' The inverted order of expression, which appears so natural, lends urgency to the situation and creates an impression of power and authority, so that the Ionians are effectively seduced into obeying the commander's will. 'The result', Longinus concludes, 'is that he seems to be giving bot a premeditated speech but one forced on him by circumstances'(30).

To grant further support to his argument, Longinus looks back to ancient Greek models, in particular to Homer and the great epics, the ^Iliad^ and the ^Odyssey^(c. 800 BCE). Key to Homer's 'pure' sublime is the sense in which rhetorical devices are effaced by the sheer power of the sublime style. AS Erich Auerbach points out, however, Longinus is not averse to recasting the Iliad in order to support his theory. Thus, the passage in ^On Sublimity^ that reads, 'The high mountains and the wood, the peaks and the city of the Troyans and the ships of the Achaens shook beneath the immortal feet of striding Poseidon' (trans. Auerbach 1965: 225-6) is based on a conflation of ^Iliad^ 13 (lines 18-19) and 20(line 60). The sentence that continues the quotation is take from ^Iliad^ 13, lines 27-9: 'He guided the chariot over the waves; below him the sea monsters sprang from their clefts on all sides and recognized their lord; joyously the sea parted; but [the steeds] surged onward... .' According to Auercach:

Longinus has made the scene even more grandiose and long-rolling than it is in Homer by skipping the relatively tranquil interruption in which the palace, the horses, Poseidon's garment and scourge, are described; probably not by design but unconsciously in his enthusiasm for the sublime, he has ignored the wording, which in the first lines refers plainly to a journey on foot and in the others to a chariot ride. (1965: 226)

The ideal conception of the sublime, as presented by Longinus, is the product of a radically altered text. By omitting Homer's 'tranquil interruption', the emphasis falls exclusively on the delayed verb 'shook' in line 19 and on the rapid transition from the roused sea monsters of line 28 to the parted sea of line 29. Longinus claims that the passage 'represent[s] the divine nature as it really is, pure, majestic, and undefiled'. Yet this claim is acceptable only with the cutting of the middle lines, along with the surrounding context of the passage, referring to Poseidon's passionate enthusiasm for the Aechaens and his anger against Zeus.

But there is a more serious point to make here. Earlier on in the treatise Longinus states that the orator Demosthenes conceals the figures in his speech 'by sheer brilliance. ... As fainter light disappears when the sunshine surrounds them, so the sophisms of rhetoric are dimmed when they are enveloped in encircling grandeur' (cited by Herz 1985: 17). The method of concealment, as Neil Herz points out, is, however, 'itself a figure, a simile using the language of light and darkness'(17). Longinus's frustration with the ineluctable materiality of language is expressed elsewhere via comparisons with the 'filthy and contemptible' nature of the body. Just as nature conceals 'the private parts' of the body, 'so as not to spoil the beauty of the creature as a whole', so sublimity works to hide its shameful dependence on the stuff of language (1965: 50). As the contemporary French poet and essayist Michel Deguy comments, this no doubt explains Longinus' enthusiasm for the silence of Ajax: a silence that is more sublime than any speech(1993: 24).

The distrust of figures may be extended to Longinus's comments on genius. Like the 'pure' divinity of Poseidon, Longinus seems to believe that 'the ideas and emotions of the genius precede ... linguistic "ornamentation" (Leitch 2001: 137). In maintaining this view, Longinus departs again from Horace, who in the ^Ars Poetica^ emphasizes the importance of rhetorical analysis, whilst downplaying the consideration of emotional psychology. Horace and Longinus stand, therefore, for two competing approaches to literature: on the one hand, a tradition that focuses exclusively on the intrinsic or formal aspects of texts, and, on the other, an approach that considers extrinsic or non-formal aspects. We will return to examime the problems arising from both approaches in subsequent chapter.

A further aspect of Longinus' idea of nobility requires explanation at this point. At the beginning of the treatise it is made clear that the 'public man' for whom he writes should be a man of 'worth, sincerity, and gravity'(1965: xiv). Intellectual distinction is thus related to morality. The problem is of course that sublimity tends to vitiate conventional standards of behaviour. How, for example, should we equate Demosthenes's 'violence' with the requirements of 'service and utility'? The inspired genius ravishes his audience; how can he also raise them up" The relation between sublimity and the erratic and ungovernable force of literature remains problematic, therefore. This relation also raises a question mark over its political worth. Can the domineering aspects of sublimity co-exist with democratic notions of justice, truth, and fairness?

Longinus does, however, insist that sublimity has an ethical dimension. Whilst in conventional terms it may be better to act as well as to write free from 'blame'(42), the risk-taking impulse of the sublime preserves a social function. Towards the end of the treatise, for example, Longinus lends his concept to a mordant denunciation of what is a precursor of commodity culture, with its emphasis upon desire, acquisition and pleasure:

But I wonder whether what destroys great minds is not the peace of the world, but the unlimited war which lays hold on our desires, and all the passions wich beset and ravage our modern life. Avarice, the insatiable disease from which we all suffer, and love of pleasure is base through and through. I cannot see how we can honour, or rather deify, unlimited wealth as we do without admitting into our soul the evils which attach to it. (52)

As the echo of a noble mind, the sublime elevates man above the tawdry concern with wealth and status. However, as Longinus's text proceeds, something strange begins to happen. Wealth is at its most dangerous when its power is 'measureless'. The parity between this notion of wealth and the nature of the sublime is, however, merely formal. For, unlike the sublime, the grandeur of wealth is superficial and does not work to elevate the soul but rather to wither and ruin it. The implication of Longinus' observation is, therefore, that the true sublime is on the side of morality.

1.3 God and the sublime

The men of 'service and utility... for all their faults, tower far above mortal stature', and while other 'literary qualities prove their users to be human; sublimity raises us towards the spiritual greatness of god'(42). ^On Sublimity^ makes frequent references to concepts of deity. Plato is 'divine'(6). The orator Demosthenes has 'divine gifts'(41), and while 'accuracy' may be admired in art and nature, 'something higher than human is sought in literature'(43). Significantly, Longinus cites as one of the highest examples of the sublime chapter 1, vers2 3 of the Book of Genesis: 'God said... Let there be light'(^Holy Bible^ 2001). As Richard Macksey argues, 'the pervasiveness of the author's metaphorics of light--in the manner of Philo[Alexandrian philosopher, 20 BCE-40 CE, who developed a synthesis of Greek and Hebrew wisdom]'--suggests that Longinus may have been a Hellenized Jew(1997: 2; see Longinus 1964: xxix-xxx). Hebraic concepts of the sublime would have been familiar to Longinus from Scripture dating from the same period as the ^Iliad^. Psalm 139, for example, mentioned earlier, presents a God too 'high' (the Hebrew word is ^sagab^) for human comprehension. In Isaiah verse 55, line 9, the Lord announces that 'as the heavens are higher that the earth, so are my ways are higher than your ways, and my thoughts that your thoughts' and in 1 Kings 8, line 27, Solomon, the builder of a temple, proclaims 'heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain thee; how much less this house which I have build!'

The text of the New Testament, composed around the same time as ^On Sublimity^, presents an entirely different rendering of ^sagab^, the significance of which is crucial for our understanding of subsequent theorizations. The Gospel According to John(80-98 CE), for example, begins with an invocation of Genesis verse 3, line 1: 'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.' Where John differs from Genesis, however, is in his understanding that the Word, under the new covenant, is both transcendant ^and^ material: 'And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth' (verse 1, line 14). Central to this new covenant is the idea of the Incarnation. According to Erich Auerbach, the 'humility of the Incarnation derives its full force from the contrast with Christ's divine nature: man and God, lowly and sublime, ^humilis et sublimis^' (1965: 41). In the Christ story, the sublime is derived from the historical, linguistic, ...... (미리 보기를 할 수 없습니다).....

(On the page 22:) ... see the 'one' from whom the souls of the damned flee. Like the Iliad, Dante employs a style in which rhetorical devices, though present, are barely perceptible. As Auterbach comments, 'there is nothing petty, erudite, or bombastic in this rhetoric; there is no exaggeration of the rhetorical that would destroy the effect of the sublime'(230). The poem departs from the Homeric model, however, in its treatment of the striding god. Where Homer nominates his god at the end of the first two lines, Dante delays this revelation, and even then does not state explicitly who the 'one' may be. But the distinction goes beyond mere style to embrace the theological. Dante scholars conjecture that the 'one' 'represents the figure of Christ and symbolizes Christ's descent into hell'(231). The divine, in other words, is once again humiliated by contact with the profane, only to be raised up again as a result of such contact. The humanizing of the sublime is given further emphasis when we consider the position of the poems' narrators. Homer is removed from his poem. He describes the passions of men and gods but the underlying tone is always the same: 'it is the tone of narrative neurtrality, a kind of sublime serenity, equatable, untroubled, almost playful, and by virtue of evenness and unbiased serenity, almost divinely sublime'. Dante, by contrast, is not only the narrator, he is also the suffering hero. Unlike the externalised sublime of the ^Iliad^, the ^Divine Comedy^'s sublime is internal; in echo of Augustine but in a manner that anticipates the Romantic sublime, examined in chapter 5, the poem describes events occurring within the psyche.

1 John chapter 4, verse 16 makes the connection between the human and the divine complete: 'God is love.' But love in this context is different from love as it is normally understood. The Ancient Greek text of the New Testament makes a clear distinction between ^philia^, fondness, ^eros^, sexual love, and ^agape^, selfless or self-giving love. In this respect, Christianity departs from Platonism, which, for all its stress on the primacy of minde over matter, nevertheless associates judgments of beauty with the force of erotic desire. Despite the focus on the suffering body of Christ, the love of Christianity, and hence the aesthetics of the Christian sublime, seeks to overcome its origins in the flesh. Through ^agape^ the Christian sublime, one might say, is purged of ^eros^, and just as the Father, out of love for humanity, sacrificed His only son, so the Christian loves selflessly and without reserve. Sublimity thus becomes in this sense an act of self-abnegation, an impulse that springs from the soul rather than from the body. This is why, as Paul writes in his first letter to the Corinthians, love is 'greater' than knowledge. If now 'we see in a mirror dimly', then we will see 'face to face'; if now we 'know in part', then we 'shall know fully' just as we have been 'fully known'(chapter 13 ^passim^); if now we glimpse at the lightning flash of truth, then we will abide with 'the

Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change'(James chapter 1, verse 17). As Dante realises, at the close of the ^Divine Comedy^, union with the Father comes only when the temporality of ^eros^, manifested in the hero's love for the woman Beatrice, is displaced by the eternity of light (see Milibank 2004: 218-20).

1.4. Gender and Excess