Sublime Intent

The English language has its limitations. To call something ‘awesome’ is commonplace and usually means we’re impressed, but if we said instead that we were filled with awe, that sentimental expression would be met with perplexity. Designers who seek more than an appreciation for the practical may be motivated to impress others with the novelty of their work. It is one thing to say that their work defies the imagination, but does it prompt wonder in the spectator who wants more of it? What can possibly be wonderful – full of wonder – today when the ability of computer simulation is so advanced that the imitation of reality is nearly indistinguishable from reality itself?

Ancient philosophers starting with Longinus considered the sublime an aesthetic category distinct from the experience of the pleasant or beautiful. In literature, the sublime went beyond appearances and had the ability to elevate thought with noble sentiment. Strong emotion, eloquent diction and figures of speech as well as dignified word arrangement produced an effect that went beyond sensory perception and mental understanding, and entered the imagination. In life, the wonders of nature (in America this first included Niagara Falls, the Natural Bridge in Virginia and Yosemite Valley, and then the Grand Canyon) produced reactions at the very limit of human understanding that are hard to describe and impossible to recreate.

Landscape architectural theory from the 18^th century shifted the unbuildable sublime to the picturesque. That aesthetic category had a vocabulary: evergreen trees, rough angular surfaces, dark shadows, mysterious spaces and unfolding sequences that lead to experiences of surprise and delight that were only slightly and safely terrifying. This contrasted with the beautiful where orderly geometric designs of classical rationality were displayed. The risk, of course, was that the picturesque landscape caused confused and chaotic feelings, while the beautiful garden was subject to determinations of tastefulness, appreciated but predictable, and sometimes boring.

Beethoven spent four years near the end of his life composing a Mass in D major, Opus 123. Known as Missa solemnis, this is a massive musical undertaking. Performing the difficult score requires a full orchestra, large choral ensemble and multiple soloists, and for this reason it is seldom performed. To say that the complexity and volume of sound is astonishing is an understatement. Beethoven is said to have been motivated to outdo even himself in his attempt at the ultimate compositional form meant to awaken and inspire spiritual feelings. The feverish pitch is surmounted time and again, nevertheless the sublime moment occurs in a rare passage where the lead violinist and flutist exchanged a melody; perhaps one representing the Holy Spirit and the other the eternal struggle of mortals. Just as Missa solumnis ends with a plea, “Grant us peace,” the sublime achievement in design may be found less in attempts to overwhelm and impress, and more in the simple experience of a awesome exchange between a person and something that has nothing to do with human intentions sublime or otherwise, such as the peace granted when contemplating an old tree.