Human Nature in Sherdian and Burke

The play The School for Scandal by Sheridan and Burke’s A Philosophical Enquiry explore human nature, and the complexities that emerge from social interactions, or perhaps more internally, through our own disposition. Sheridan’s satire took on the scandalmongering of the trendy London society of 1770 with stock characters, such as the flirt, the gossip, the wastrel, the bore, and the rich uncle, among others. In The School for Scandal, personified names, witty dialogue, and schemes all intertwine, creating a successful play. The thesis of this essay aims to compare both the play, more specifically the final act, and Burke’s Enquiry, and explore their similarities and their respective ways of portraying human emotion and human nature in their own ways.

Crucially, Burke raises an important explanation as to why humans act in the way that they do, due to his Philosophical Enquiry focusing on sympathy, and its effect on tragedy and imitation. He states that ‘the objects which in the reality would shock, are in tragically…the source of a very high species of pleasure’ essentially claiming that any pain inflicted on a person will always trigger sympathy from a person, almost without realisation. Clearly, this idea is reflective of a society in London whose very existence, at least in Sheridan’s plays, depends on scandal and the demise of others. From the two antagonists, Lady Sneerwell and Joseph Surface, who seek to destroy the relationship between the frivolous, and indulgent Charles Surface, to the double-deceiving servant Snake, all of whom live for scheming and sabotage – all prove Burke’s theory, insinuating that humans, essentially, thrive of others’ misfortunes. Additionally, Burke raises the significance of ‘Imitation,’ in which there is a consensus of ‘belonging’ which may not necessarily may be a product of societal influence, but much rather, something which is engraved into our human nature.

Thus, a direct comparison can be made with Sheridan’s play through his characterisation, more overtly in the character of Mrs Candour, who can create the theme of hypocrisy, despite her little to no stage presence, due to her supposed disapproval of gossip despite being ruthless in her spreading of gossip. She directly demonstrates Burke’s theory of imitation, as she spreads rumours mainly because of the fact it was effectively in fashion, and perhaps a little for her own enjoyment – which again, Burke discusses in his inquiry. Sheridan’s intentional use of satirical comedy and hypocrisy allowed him to correct social absurdities – perhaps acting as a social commentator, much like Henrik Ibsen in his play A Doll’s House gender inequalities in a physical and emotional sense, or even Arthur Miller’s in the play All My Sons begging the question, what is more important, family or your role for society? Indeed, these plays take more serious approach to their respective issues, which is exactly what Sheridan avoids doing, which might have more success in the eyes of Burke. The discussion of the ‘sublime’ defined as ‘the contemplation of a landscape or of a dramatic tragedy is often painful and threatening.’ Perhaps Burke would have argued that if Sheridan avoided his satirical style then he might have had a deeper and more intellectual effect on his audience, meaning his would have achieved his theatrical aim more successfully. However, as Sheridan’s play and Burke’s Philosophical Enquiry have differing forms, catechising the question, is there still a valid comparison between the two? While their forms may differ, there still can be a strong synergy between the two texts, as Burke’s analysis provides central theories on human sentiment, all of which is fundamental to Sheridan’s play.

With regards to reception, evidently both works together received positive and negative criticism, challenging their authority of their texts, and ultimately their ability to accurately reflect a reality with success. With a focus on the final scene of Sheridan’s play, where the Peripeteia is made clear to the audience, we can unravel all the lies and sabotage through unintentional admission of guilt (or in the case of Lady Sneerwell, understand a character left with no other choice). Critics such as James Thompson, argue that ‘It is, moreover, a poorly, or at least a very loosely, constructed play, with two separate plots clumsily grafted together’which is veritable, as Moore fills ‘The Life of Sheridan’’ with extracts of notes and drafts from two distinct plays – one containing the machinery of the scandalous college, to have possibly being called ‘The Slanderers’, and the other setting before us ‘The Teasles and the Surfaces’ This lack cohesiveness, and difficulty in finding a tangible plot contrasts entirely to Burke’s writings. Of course, his works have had massive appraisal and add an immense magnitude on the literary works; even his writing style and fluidity is prized ‘wrote marvellously, with incredible freshness of imagery and inexhaustible passion—a passion informed by principle’ It could be inferred that Burke understood society as The University of Bookman explains: ‘Burke understood that the modern world had lost its center, that it was in an intellectual and spiritual mess. He scented the rise of totalitarian ideological thinking in the French Revolution and its aftermath’ Burke’s full comprehension of the world he lived in allows him to explore, define and explain certain emotions, and the reasoning behind them. Therefore, Burke can reflect a reality with authority, and with concrete evidence, whereas Sheridan is simply reflecting the society that he lived in a romanticized, witty and with a playful attitude.

Nevertheless, in order to criticise both works with regards to reality, it is important to understand the difficulty in defining ‘reality’ as a concept – Young argues that ‘Literature is thus consumed by the ideological preoccupations of the critic’s perceptions of current reality’ meaning that reality is a personal mode of thinking, it’s defined by a variety of influences varying from person to person – This means that Burke’s Philosophical Enquiry is only reflective of a reality that he believes, and the same approach must be taken for any critical analysis of both Burke’s and Sheridan’s works. This is a vital factor in comparing the two works: but, both raise important issues in their own ways. From the overall voice of Burke’s inquiry, it takes an informative tone while simultaneously consistently asking the reader to consider their own actions in certain situations, using interrogative statements such as ‘But suppose a fatal accident happened…who would have never been content to see London in all its glory?’ which a more direct way of encouraging reflection, rather than the wit shown in Sheridan’s play in the last scene ‘And may you live as happily together as Lady Teazle and I intend to do!’ with its satirical tone.’

A major comparison can be made from both The School for Scandal and A Philosophical Enquiry with regards to gender and the ‘Sublime’. Burke begins to discuss this in ‘that this passion may either partake of the nature of those which regard, self-preservation, and turning upon pain may be a source of the, sublime or it may turn upon ideas of pleasure’ Which has strong connotations of a being male, and a patriarchal force as critics suggest. A similar exploration of male attributes, in the character of snake in Sheridan’s play. Is snake representative of male evil as deceives twice, both his victims and his accomplice? Or does he represent the man of the time, or even Joseph Surface’s interior motives – perhaps highlighting the moral corruption that exists. Although, Snake begs for forgiveness ‘I live by the badness of my character; and, if it were once known that I had been betrayed into an honest action, I should lose every friend I have in the world.’ Linking to Burke touching upon the desires to feel included, and a part of a group. Even those that commit wrong doings create a group, the desire the imitate others actions despite full acknowledgement of their actions. Sheridan is able to successfully show the audience that such actions exist, and one does not need to hide behind their true self. The remaining actors all fulfil Snake’s wishes of keeping his good actions secret, to show the audience that they shouldn’t accept that, almost mocking their ignorance of Snake. The characters are able to sympathise with Snake, showing that they all fear social exclusion and ostracising – a trait defined, and explore by Burke. Furthermore, links can be made with the Peripeteia of the play and tragedy as explained by Burke ‘it is absolutely necessary my life should be out of any imminent hazard before I can take delight in the sufferings of others’. This statement summarizes the entire catalyst of the play, in that the characters ensure that they are not in harm’s way before they gossip about each other, they mock anything until it concerns themselves. Therefore, a strong argument could be made, suggesting that Sheridan was fully aware of the selfish attitude among the 18th century society, simply by satirising what happens every day in a scandal ridden London.

Evidently, both The School For Scandal and A Philosophical Inquiry share distinct similarities in their explorations of human sentiment, and the reasoning behind them. Burke takes a more informative approach, encouraging a reflective attitude about an ignorance of others feelings after distress, that society incites this. However, Sheridan dramatized message through wit, humour and scandal ensures that his audience are aware of the scandal and absurdities that exists around them, perhaps more directly promoting self-reflection, more so than Burke. From an academic perspective, one would favour Burke’s Enquiry, but for a more expansive comprehension of human sentiment, and to target society as a social commentator, the writer who excels in this regard is Sheridan.

Edmund Burke’s Reflections on the Sublime

In his aesthetic treatise A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origins of Our Ideas of the Sublime and the Beautiful (1757), Edmund Burke (1729-1797) proposes his concept of the sublime. Although several eighteenth-century commentators had attempted the same thing, Burke’s Enquiry far exceeds the others in both scope and intellectual acuity. The sublime has a long history, dating back to the first century C.E. when the Greek critic Longinus first presented his concept of the sublime in his aesthetic treatise On Sublime (Peri hypsous). The root word is the Latin sublimis, an amalgamation of “sub” (up to) and “limen” (literally, the top piece of a door). According to Tom Furniss, the central task of Burke’s Enquiry is to develop a set of theoretical principles to demonstrate that the sublime and the beautiful are extremely repugnant to each other. This idea leads to the conventional distinction between pleasure and pain. Burke also makes another significant and controversial distinction between pleasure and delight; he characterizes the former as the enjoyment of some “positive” stimulus of the senses, while the latter for him emerges from the diminution of pain or danger. According to Burke, it is the idea of self-preservation that gives rise to delight, on the condition that the pain and danger inexorably associated with the former “do not press too nearly” but engage us only through the effects of empathy, curiosity, or imitation. The second division of passions — those related to “the society of the sexes… and general society” — are accompanied by positive pleasure. This distinction between the passions of self-preservation and society is fundamental, for it leads him to define his principal aesthetic categories and the distinction between them:

Then passions which belong to self-preservation turn on pain and danger… they are delightful when we have an idea of pain and danger, without being actually in such circumstances… whatever excites this delight I call sublime.
Beauty…is a name I shall apply to all such qualities in things as induce in us a sense of affection and tenderness, or some other passions they most nearly resemble. The passion of love has its rise in positive pleasure.
Moreover, for Burke the effect of the sublime in the highest degree is astonishment — “that state of the soul in which all its motions are suspended, with some degree of horror.” Sublimity, then, can be said to refer to a state in which the capacity to comprehend, to discern, and to articulate a thought or feeling is defeated. Nevertheless, through this very defeat, the mind gets a sensation for that which lies beyond thought and language. Moreover, Burke’s emphasis on the negative aspects of the sublime marks a significant departure from earlier commentators on the sublime. While for Addison the sublime is “liberating and exhilarating, a kind of happy aggrandizement,” Burke sees it as “alienating and diminishing.” For Burke, the source of the sublime is “whatever is in any sort terrible or conversant about terrible objects or operates in a manner analogous to terror… that is, it is productive of the strongest emotion which the mind is capable of feeling.” The consideration of terror as the chief cause of the sublime reflects a move away from “literal” causes of heightened responses, such as qualities inherent in natural objects, toward the possibility that sublime effect may be produced through figuration. Moreover, as Philip Shaw suggests, the sentence itself becomes vague and unfathomable, which conveys the sense of sublimity through “a formal demonstration of the expressive uncertainty,” which in turn seems to suggest that the origins of the sublime lie in words rather than ideas. Although Burke does not admit this radical possibility of sublimity being merely an effect of language, he seems repeatedly on the verge it.As an empiricist, Burke asserts that our knowledge of the world is obtained exclusively from the evidence of the senses — sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch. While in this the influence of Baillie is palpable, the latter limited the importance of the senses to sight and hearing. According to Boulton, “despite the resulting absurdities, Burke at least tries to produce an aesthetic theory which accounts for the whole range of human responses.” Moreover, Burke’s argument makes it entirely secular, in contrast to his predecessors, as God is no longer needed to guarantee the genuineness of our experience. For instance, Burke sees the ocean as a source of terror not because it is an expression of God’s magnanimity, but because in contemplating a large body “the eye is struck by a vast number of distinct points.” With its capability stretched to the limit, the eye “vibrating in all its parts must approach to the nature of what causes pain and consequently must produce an idea of the sublime.” Moreover, throughout the Enquiry, Burke’s distinction between the sublime and the beautiful is a gendered one; he associates the former with a vigorous masculine power and the latter as its inert feminine foil. This distinction, however, is not new to Burke, for in Longinus as well the sublime speech “ravishes” the listener. Whereas the sublime dwells on “large objects and terrible” and is related to the intense sensations of awe, pain, and terror, the beautiful focuses on “small ones and pleasing” and appeals mainly to the domestic affections of love, compassion, and pity. With the sublime “we submit to what we admire,” whereas in case of the beautiful “we love what submits to us.” Moreover, for Burke beauty is of a lower ethical order. Burke’s Freudian biographer Isaac Kramnick observes:
In the Enquiry sublime virtues are embodied in the authority of the father, venerable and distant… mothers and women in general are creatures of “compassion and amiable social virtues”… the masculine realm is associated with pain and terror; the feminine is affect — friendship and love associated with pleasure and compassion.
Another critic, Ronald Paulson, goes to the extent of employing Freud’s formulation of the Oedipal Complex to Burke by citing a number of passages from the Enquiry, where the father and the son compete for the person of the mother. (Paulson uses Burke’s allusion to Milton’s portrayal of Satan in Book II of Paradise Lost, the description of Death in Book II itself, and so on, to prove his point). In this view, while the father (Satan) and the son (death) contend for power, the role of Sin — “the mother-lover of Death” and the “daughter-lover of Satan” — is limited to that of a mediator and a peacemaker, one who intervenes to pacify the sublime rage of the masculine principles. However, a closer investigation reveals that the role of the mother in Burke is more ambivalent and complex than Paulson concedes; the feminine in Burke is “defined not so much by her passivity as by her capacity for material excess.” Recognizing that the “cause of beauty is some quality in bodies… acting mechanically upon the human mind by then intervention of the sense,” Burke sustains a conventional difference between feminine matter and masculine intellect. While the latter’s dark and mysterious power instigates awe and wonder, the former merely entertains. Yet, as Shaw suggests, in practice the relation between beauty and convention is not as benign as it might at first appear, for there is a sense in which the repeated exposure to the sublime runs the risk of draining its intensity. Thus, the sublime’s capacity to provoke awe and fright is reduced by being subjected to convention. In that sense, the sublime always seems to be under threat, on the threshold of conversion into customary beauty.At times, however, such is the indefinite nature of Burke’s distinction that beauty “all too often presents a puzzling even excessive, face to the eye of the beholder.” Burke writes:
Observe that part of a beautiful woman where she is perhaps the most beautiful, about the neck and breasts; the smoothness; the softness… the variety of the surface, which is never for the smallest space the same; the deceitful maze, through which the unsteady eye slides giddily.
Moreover, for Burke, beauty almost carries with it an idea of feebleness and imperfection and women, as agents of it, learn “to counterfeit weakness and even sickness.” It is apparent that, like the sublime, the beautiful is also endowed with a power, but it is of a devious, uncertain nature. While in the case of the former “we are forced to submit to what we admire,” in the latter case, “we are flattered into compliance.” Hence, although the sublime may induce fear and terror in its subjects, it at least has the virtue of not being deceptive. However, despite all of Burke’s negation of beauty, there becomes visible a constant threat from it to his privileged category of the sublime. As Shaw mentions, “the phallocentricism of his treatise is under constant threat from the excluded feminine other.” This becomes very evident in the attention Burke gives to the vitiating effects of beauty. Writing on “love,” Burke notes how the “body falls into a kind of stupor which is accompanied with an inward sense of melting and languor.” In opposition to the tension and the toil of the sublime is the unperturbed mediocrity of love, “a mode of the beautiful in which the rigours of the identity become softened, relaxed, enervated, dissolved, melted away by pleasure.” Thus, feminine stupefaction again gains an upper hand over the masculine authority of the sublime. Yet, Burke’s example from Homer’s Iliad shows his non-acceptance of the former assertion. According to him, because Homer wants to excite our compassion for the Trojans, he gives more amiable and social virtues to them than he does to the Greeks, thereby attempting to raise pity for the former. On the other hand, the Greeks are made superior in the military and political virtues, which make them admired and revered but not loveable. So, although pity might be extended to the vanquished, it is the victors who are venerated. For Burke, therefore, the problem with love is that it encourages identification with the weak, whereas sublime admiration maintains the noble virtues of valor and honor. The sublime, moreover, “acts as the antidote to the dissolution produced by beautiful. All its straining follows the dictates of the work ethic. The best remedy for these evils (produced by the beautiful) is exercise or labour.” His text seems to be at an interminable war with female indolence. That society should be allied with domestic or feminine qualities and self-preservation with masculine values of heroic exemption presents Burke with a fundamental problem, for it implies that everyday life is based on deception. As Fergusson comments:
For while tyrants are sublime in the Enquiry, only the beautiful, with its commitment to companionable resemblance between humans, disguises the disequilibrium of power so effectively that we all, like Adam, become accomplices to our own deaths. Although the sublime masters us while we are superior to the power of the beautiful, the Enquiry suggests that we invariably misconstrue those power relationships by failing to recognize that what we term the weaker has greater sway over us than the sublime with its palpably awesome force.
Burke’s aesthetic theories can be connected to his political doctrines. As Neal Wood suggests, “Burke’s two basic aesthetic categories, the Sublime and the Beautiful, inform and shape several of his fundamental political ideas.” That Burke’s most significant political treatise, Reflections on the Revolution in France (1790) was influenced by his earlier aesthetic treatise can be seen from his 1789 letter to Lord Charlemont. For him the revolution is an event of sublime theatricality — “a wonderful spectacle… an enigmatic thing” which leaves those who gaze at it paralyzed with “astonishment.” Burke also realizes the threat, however: “the old Parisian ferocity has broken out in a shocking manner,” not only to France, but to England as well. As Shaw mentions, “the possibility that such ferocity might exceed its national boundary, infecting our English home with the germ of insurrectionary violence, provides a disturbing counterpoint to the overarching attempt at contemplative detachment.” In the Enquiry too, the distinction between theatrical and actual display of violence was touched upon, and although Burke accords primacy to the latter, the response educed in the mind of the spectators is the same in both cases.In the Reflections, Burke still considers the Revolution to be “astonishing and wonderful,” but here it is shown to be brought about by “means,” “modes,” and “instruments that are the most contemptible,” thereby linking the sublime and the ridiculous. Tom Furniss and Terry Eagleton have argued that it is possible to see in both Enquiry and Reflections allegories for the emergence and persistence of modern bourgeois identity. As Shaw argues “the Reflections sets out to achieve a reclamation of the Sublime, based on a distinction between the pernicious inflation of revolutionary discourse and the ‘natural’ hierarchy embedded in the British constitution.” For Burke, “the spirit of freedom, leading in France to misrule and excesses, is tempered (in Britain) by an awful gravity.” In contrast to the French “citizen” who bases his enthusiasm on the false glower of revolutionary fervor, the British “subject” is bound by indestructible ties to ancient and noble traditions. In other words, the British constitution is sublime because it maintains “awe, reverence and respect” in its subjects, while the French system is insidious because it encourages a “multitude” to revolutionary intemperance.Burke raises important questions in his account of the sublime about the relationship between mind and matter, asking whether the sublime is a quality that exists in objects of natural magnificence, whether it has wholly subjective origins, or whether it is produced by the interaction of the two. Another radical possibility that he raises is whether it is merely an effect of language. As Peter De Bolla argues, while Burke makes no overt claims for the discursive origins of the sublime, both the Enquiry and the Reflections operate beyond the conscious control of the author to suggest this as a possibility. It is true that greatness of dimension had been regarded as a source of sublimity from Longinus onward; Addison, Hume, and others had attempted a psychological explanation, but it was only Burke who attempted a physiological one. According to Boulton, although the association of the sublime with terror had been found in Dennis and slightly in Smith’s comments on Longinus, as a whole his theory had no precedent. Despite the fact that Burke’s treatment of the sublime differs in some ways dramatically from his British contemporaries, it has come to represent eighteenth-century British thought and is often compared to the Kantian sublime. Yet, as Vanessa Ryan argues, “even at the point where the British tradition comes closest to the Kantian, namely, in the writings of Burke, it also most clearly marks its distance from it.” The essential difference between Burke and Kant is that while Kant’s transcendent sublime lets us “recognize our limitlessness; Burke’s physiological sublime presents us with our limitedness.”Works ConsultedArbor, Ann. The Philosophy of Edmund Burke. Michigan, 1960.Ashfield, A. and Peter de Bolla (Eds). The Sublime: A Reader in Eighteenth-Century Aesthetic Theory. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996.Burke, Edmund. A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and the Beautiful, Editor James T. Boulton. London: Routledge, 2008. Burke, Edmund. The Works of the Right Honorable Edmund Burke, Vol. I. (of 12). (http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/0/4/15043/).Cobban, Alfred. Edmund Burke and the Revolt Against the Eighteenth Century. George Allen and Unwin Limited, London, 1960-2nd edition.Eagleton, Terry. “Aesthetics and Politics in Edmund Burke” (Source: History Workshop, No. 28 (Autumn, 1989), pp. 53-62, Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4288924).Furniss, T. Edmund Burke’s Aesthetic Ideology: Language, Gender and Political Economy in Revolution. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993.Kramnick, Isaac. The Rage of Edmund Burke: Portrait of an Ambivalent Conservative. New York: Basic Books, 1977.Milton, John. Paradise Lost, Editor Gordon Teskey. New York and London, W. W. Norton and Company, 2005.Monk, Ian H. (ed.) Edmund Burke. Ashgate, 2009.Monk, S. H. The Sublime: A Study in Critical Theories in 18th-Century England. New York: Modern Languages Association, 1960.Quinton, Anthony: “Burke on the Sublime and Beautiful” (Source: Philosophy, Vol. 36, No. 136 (Jan., 1961), pp. 71-73, Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of Royal Institute of Philosophy, Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3748935).Ryan, Vanessa L.: “The Physiological Sublime: Burke’s Critique of Reason” (Source: Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol. 62, No. 2 (Apr., 2001), pp. 265-279, Published by: University of Pennsylvania Press, Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3654358).Shaw, Philip. The Sublime. London and New York: Routledge, 2006. Swann, Karen: “The Sublime and the Vulgar” (Source: College English, Vol. 52, No. 1 (Jan., 1990), pp. 7-20, Published by: National Council of Teachers of English, Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/377403). Wark, R. R.: “A Note on James Barry and Edmund Burke” (Source: Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, Vol. 17, No. 3/4 (1954), pp. 382-384, Published by: The Warburg Institute, Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/750333).

Exploring the Sublime: Burke and Frankenstein’s Monster

Nate RagoliaProfessor JonesEnglish 45647 December 2003Exploring the Sublime: Burke and Frankenstein’s Monster Wholly defining the sublime seems to lead to a near endless compilation of puzzle pieces, all of which fill in only a small portion of the final picture. Edmund Burke attempts to assemble an authoritative definition of the sublime-and the human experience that accompanies it-in A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful. Burke’s definition proclaims that “whatever is in any sort terrible” (Burke 499) invokes the sublime, which he considers “the strongest emotion which the mind is capable of feeling” (Burke 499). In Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein the monster exemplifies the Burkian sublime. Shelley’s descriptions of the monster and his actions cohere with Burke’s definitions and his categories of Obscurity, Power, Terror, Difficulty and Vastness, each of which facilitate sublime experiences. Also, the monster elicits feelings of extreme fear, astonishment and terror (each necessary for Burke) in Victor, Walton, and the De Lacey family, but in no case harms or kills any of them. By not enacting direct physical harm on the above characters, the monster holds his power and dangerousness at a “certain distance” (Burke 500), which fulfills Burke’s requirement for the delightful astonishment of sublimity. The monster further embodies the sublime because of his perpetual liminal state. The monster is elementarily human, but remains an inhuman creation; physically immense, yet recounts his experience learning to read and speak as a child would. The liminality contributes to Burke’s concept of the Obscurity that causes the sublime experience. Even the monster’s ultimate end maintains an air of sublimity, as Shelley never clearly states what happens beyond Walton’s view.In A Philosophical Enquiry (from Difficulty) Burke states, “When any work seems to have required immense force and labour to effect it, the idea is grand” (503). The great effort Victor puts forth in assembling and bringing the monster to life in Chapter IV of Frankenstein falls nothing short of the difficulty Burke deems sufficient to create a sublime experience. Victor ruminates on the process by which he created the monster and the emotional experience. Shelley writes, “No one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like a hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success” (32). Victor cannot adequately describe the emotional attachment he holds for his creation and the difficulty of the endeavor, and defaults to a metaphorical hurricane. The power and force of a hurricane seems to adhere to Burke’s notion of feeling the strongest emotion possible as the outcome of the sublime, which alludes to the monster’s inherent sublimity. As the monster comes to life, the sublime effect on Victor becomes apparent in the following lines: I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body […] but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart (Shelley 34). The monster’s appearance overwhelms Victor, reminding him of the incredible effort-“worked hard for nearly two years”-he invested in something he does not see as beautiful. Victor’s disappointment in the monster’s form fills him with a nearly painful fear that resembles the sublime astonishment Burke postulates in the section: Of the passion caused by the Sublime. Even as the monster lies motionless on the table, Victor overflows with a disheartening and powerful emotion that is nothing short of sublime. The monster’s physical construction further fulfills Burke’s image of the sublime from Difficulty because “His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath” (Shelley 34) corresponds to the concept that “the rudeness of the work increases [the] cause of grandeur” (Burke 503). Although the monster lives his incomplete form with uncovered muscles removes any semblance of perfection, and thereby makes its creation even more Burkian sublime. Imperfection seems to be a precept of the horror genre, making a single frightening flaw or eccentricity the root of the danger. Obscurity stands as another of Burke’s sources of sublime events. His definition stretches beyond the unknown, citing the natural apprehension that comes with the unclear. The monster is ultimately the “dark, confused, uncertain image” (Burke 501) that has “greater power” according to Burke. The monster’s body, made of several different bodies sewn together and reanimated, remains an obscure example of humanity. He is both a living being and the undead combination of other beings. How can the question of his true state be reconciled without considering the importance of obscurity? In Volume II, Chapter IV of Frankenstein the monster recounts his first months of life in the hovel amidst the cottagers and his experience learning about the world: “I discovered the names that were given to some of the most familiar objects of discourse: I learned and applied the words fire, milk, bread, and wood” (Shelley 75). This quote is relevant to Burke’s notion of Obscurity in two ways. Firstly, considering the monster’s size, “about eight feet in height, and proportionably large” (Shelley 32) the idea that he still needed to learn the basic tenets of language seems problematic. The sort of elementary learning the monster in which the monster describes taking part indicates that at the point described in the quote, he would have had the intellect of an infant and the form of a giant man. This confusion of outside appearance and inner reality seems representative of obscurity in the Burkian sense. Another important aspect of the quotation from page 75 revolves around the diction. Including the words “discovered,” “discourse,” and “applied” indicates an eloquence that readers do not normally associate with monsters. Arguably, the disparity between a monstrous form and an eloquent tongue fulfills the example Burke lays out of obscurity. The true nature of the monster is uncertain and confused because it straddles the line between human and inhuman. Also, the monster is literally nameless. Throughout the novel, he is referred to only as “the monster.” His nameless nature compliments his obscurity of form, and makes him difficult-if not impossible-to completely discern. Due to the obscurity of the monster, he wields great power (as Burke might say) from the inability of others to discern and understand him, which leads to the fearful thoughts that accompany the sublime. Another Burkian facet of the sublime is Vastness. Burke states, “Greatness of dimension is a powerful cause of the sublime […] greatness of dimension, vastness of extent, or quantity, has the most striking effect” (502), which applies intuitively to Victor’s monster and his physical form. As stated before, the monster’s size, close to eight feet tall and proportionally large, a “being of gigantic stature” (Shelley 32), clearly demonstrates the monster’s vastness. Besides being obviously intimidating in size, the monster’s proportional largeness indicates an even greater mass. Merely the monster’s dimensions demand attention and embody an undeniable vastness. Imagining any human or creature of that size, the reader must accept that such a creation would evoke an intense admiration and astonishment. Throughout the novel Shelley returns to descriptions of the monster’s extent and a notable example occurs near the end of the novel when Walton-a ship captain trapped in the arctic and new acquaintance of Victor’s-first sees the monster himself. “Over [Victor] hung a form which I cannot find words to describe; gigantic in stature, yet uncouth and distorted in its proportions” (Shelley 152). After acknowledging the great size of the creature, Walton “shut [his] eyes involuntarily” (152), and attempts to recollect himself. The intense physical reaction to the monster that Walton describes parallels the sort of powerful emotional response Burke derives from sublime incidence. Through his appearance, the monster exemplifies the concept of Vastness and attends well to Burke’s definition for the sublime. In studying the Power and Terror qualities of the sublime which Burke describes, the monster seems, almost elementary, to typify both. Victor’s monster is unquestionably terrible, eliciting extreme fear in Victor and Walton as quoted above. The “breathless horror and disgust” (Shelley 34) that Victor feels at first gazing upon the living monster clearly equates to fear, or for Burke’s sake terror. Walton calls the monster’s appearance “appalling hideousness” (152) and his reaction cannot be considered anything but terrible fear. The terror the monster educes in those people who see him stays to Burke’s belief that fear can induce the sublime. Also, Burke maintains, “Whatever therefore is terrible, with regard to sight, is sublime too” (501). Considering the monster’s horrific, gigantic and disturbing appearance he easily fits with Burke’s idea of something visually terrible, which makes the monster inherently sublime. The monster is also the ultimate “modification of power” (Burke 501) and that intensifies the danger and fear, which lead to the sublime. The ease at which the monster snuffs out the lives of Victor’s friends and loved ones shows the power the monster possesses. In Volume II, Chapter VII of Frankenstein, the monster describes his encounter and murder of Victor’s brother William, The child still struggled, and loaded me with epithets which carried despair to my heart: I grasped his throat to silence him, and in a moment he lay dead at my feet (Shelley 97). The monster grabs the William’s throat only in an attempt to quiet him, but because of the great power he possesses the child dies. Although the monster reacts strongly to his murderous work, the way in which his attempt to hush William went wrong seems to indicate that even the monster cannot foresee the power he boasts. The monster moves quickly and powerfully too, as he pursues Victor, and Shelley describes him, “advancing towards [Victor] with superhuman speed. [The monster] bounded over the crevices in the ice, among which [Victor] had walked with caution” (65). The diction “superhuman” seems especially relevant in reference to the power the monster possesses. By exceeding the abilities normally attributed to humans the monster demonstrates a sublime might. Imagining such an occurrence evokes astonishment almost instantly and begs the question of how a creature so amazingly robust could exist. Superhuman speed is the sort that would also bring terror and fear to the viewer who may wonder if such speed would be used against them. For Burke, the fear intrinsic to the sublime occurs “wheresoever we find strength, and in what light soever we look upon power” (502) that is “the concomitant of terror” (502). So, any strength that causes fear for the observer is sublime in nature. The monster bears immense power that intimidates and frightens Victor and thereby brings about the sublime. Burke emphasizes early in A Philosophical Enquiry that the sublime occurs only when the pain, danger and fear are viewed or experienced from a distance. Experiencing pain first hand rends it “incapable of giving any delight” (Burke 500), but when the pain and danger is implied by Terror, Obscurity, Power, Difficulty and Vastness then the sublime occurs bringing with it feelings of astonishment. Although Victor perceives himself to be in imminent danger throughout the Frankenstein, the monster never attacks or harms him-Victor dies before the monster finally reaches him. Instead, the monster converses with Victor, relating to him his life experiences. In practice, the monster is eloquent, polite and unthreatening to Victor, and this creates the distance that Burke believes must exist for sublime fear. This distance asserts again in the danger the De Lacey family and Walton perceive during their respective encounters with the monster. When Walton first beholds the monster he is struck by the creature’s terrible appearance, but once the monster turns to him miserably Walton has a change of heart: His voice seemed suffocated; and my first impulses, which had suggested to me the duty of obeying the dying request of my friend, in destroying his enemy, were now suspended by a mixture of curiosity and compassion (Shelley 153).Walton’s perception of true danger abates in the above passage because he realizes that the monster means him no real harm or pain, and that creates the “certain distance” (Burke 500), that allows him to feel a sublime delight and empathy. Interestingly, once the distance appears Walton’s entire thought process becomes “suspended” by new powerful emotions that overwhelm his original vengeful hatred for the monster. A similar scene occurs between the monster and De Lacey as the monster attempts to make a connection with the old man, hoping that his disturbing appearance will not prejudice a blind man. Without his vision, De Lacey cannot perceive the monster through any means beyond conversation and that works in the monster’s favor. De Lacey calls the monster his “best and only benefactor” (Shelley 91) clearly showing that blindness creates the distance between the terrible monster and the man. De Lacey delights in his discourse with the monster, and continues to until his housemate, Felix, returns and sees the monster’s form, effectively collapsing the distance and the sublime delight that accompanies it. In the above scenes, the monster never hurts the character with whom he interacts. His power and terrible nature sit at a distance that allows them to be perceived as astonishing, delightful and subsequently sublime. Through Edmund Burke’s definition of the sublime he posits the causes and requirements and lead to such an obscure and emotional experience. Burke considers fear, Power, Vastness, Obscurity, Terror, and Vastness as key qualities of the sublime. Having applied these concepts to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, the monster emerges as an example of Burkian sublime. The monster possesses great power and size, but is wrought with contradictions, confusions and uncertainties. He instills great terror in the human character he encounters, but also evokes feelings of astonishment, empathy, and caring. Even as the monster threatens and harms some of the novel’s secondary characters, he creates a distance between himself and Victor, Walden and De Lacey that allows him to be primarily dangerous in perception only. Shelley creates a monster that fulfills Burke’s requirements, and gives readers a character that embodies the sublime.Works CitedBurke, Edmund. A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful. 1757, 1759. The Longman Anthology of British Literature. Vol. 2A. Ed. David Damrosch. New York: Longman 2003. 499-505.Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft. Frankenstein. 1818. Ed. J. Paul Hunter. New York: Norton, 1996.