Burke, Williams, and the Hierarchy of Human Emotion Regarding the Nature of the Sublime. The sublime, or the passion distinguished by the aesthetic defined by Edmund Burke in his Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and the Beautiful is characterized by “astonishment […] in which all its motions are suspended, with some degree of horror” (57). These sentiments pervade the texts of his Reflections on the Revolution in France and Helen Maria Williams’ Letters Written in France. Though the two authors clearly have opposing views concerning the French Revolution, both explore the implications of human emotion and its role pertaining to the rights of man. Both authors vigorously appeal to the heart, but differ over the question of authority regarding human emotion, specifically pertaining to the sublime. Human emotion both works is employed to function as an authority in the measurement of man’s actions, but whereas the legitimacy of emotion for Burke is socially hierarchical, Williams’ notion of the sublime is more democratic. More specifically, the sublime when associated with the common man for Burke is a pejorative term whose end results in revolution. His appeal to the heart strives to achieve the aesthetic of the beauty, that is, the qualities of order and logic. For Williams, on the other hand, the height of human passion produces a sublime free from astonishment and horror and welcomes the participation of the collective to piece together an entity she describes to be inherently indefinable to one. Distinctions concerning the legitimacy of the human emotion are made explicit in the characterizations of the French Revolution by Burke and Williams. Burke defines the Revolution as a “monstrous tragic-comic scene” where “the most opposite passions necessarily succeed and sometimes mix with each other in the mind: alternate contempt and indignation, alternate laughter and tear, alternate scored and horror” (418). Williams, on the other hand, in her attempt to illustrate scenes of the federations, admits, “It is not to be described! One must have been present to form any judgment of a scene, the sublimity of which depended much less on its external magnificence than on the effect it produced on the minds of the spectators” (64). When comparing these two brands of the sublime, Burke appears to portray himself to be an authority when it comes to interpreting the aesthetic, even more so as he delineates the passions associated with it. The binary nature of his rhetoric reveals that he fears an amalgamation of opposing emotions, passions that if put together would be difficult to define. Williams, however, does not fear this inability, but welcomes it. She recognizes her own limitations in being able to illustrate the sublime, especially since language fails her when she attempts to describe it. Further, Williams argues in the opening of her Letters, “It is much easier to feel what is sublime than to paint it; and all I shall be able to give you will be a faint sketch, to which your own imagination must add colouring and spirit” (63). That is, Williams democratizes the sublime, arguing that the essence of the moment can only be captured in the collective imagination, a notion made explicit as she calls out to her readers for assistance in reconstructing the feeling of the revolutionary moment. Burke, however, assumes his authority on his ability to logically interpret human emotion, underscoring that only a select few, that is, the highly educated class of society, can correctly comprehend it. Under this assumption, Burke asserts that the revolutionary zeal of the collective imagination perpetuates “sublime speculations” that “temper and harden the breast, in order to prepare it for the desperate strokes which are sometimes used in extreme occasions” (444-5). Further, alluding to the passions of the common man that led to the revolution of the French monarchy, Burke asserts that government is a “science […] a matter which requires experience, and even more experience than any person can gain in his whole life, however sagacious and observing he may be” (443). He labors on this scientific metaphor by describing government as having “metaphysic rights” and “like rays of light which pierce into a dense medium, are, by laws of Nature refracted from their straight line.” In conjunction, Burke claims that “the nature of man is intricate; the objects of society are of the greatest possible complexity,” and therefore transmits “a variety of refractions and reflections.” Thus, as argued before, Burke fears the mixing of opposites, emotion and science in this case. His rhetoric on government and the dangers facing it operate on a number of levels. First he infuses his characterizations of government with a scientific vernacular and provides tangible examples, such as the light metaphor, that appear sealed within the natural law of the universe. Secondly, by illustrating government as a science he insinuates that a very selective group possesses the understanding of it. In sum, what Burke truly fears and disparages is the combination of matters of government and the passions of the common man, which would result in a subliminal moment if mixed. Williams, however, refuses to deride the emotions of the common man and asserts that its authority derives from the nature of man’s subliminal peak. For example, Williams, consumed by the sublime, states, “If the splendour of a despotic throne can only shine like the radiance of lightning, while all around is involved in gloom and horror, in the name of heaven let its baleful luster extinguished for ever. May no such strong contrast of light and shade again exist in the political system of France!” (74) Unlike Burke, Williams does not fear mixing of any kind. Whereas the language of Burke’s sublime is selective in its specificity of description, the metaphorical tone of Williams’ sublime, most notably her use of “light,” allowing for multiple levels of comprehension, not just that of the elite classes. She celebrates the passions of the common man, calling the French Revolution the “triumph of human kind; it was man asserting the noblest privileges of his nature; and it required but the common feelings of humanity to become in that moment a citizen of the world. For myself, I acknowledge that my heart caught with enthusiasm the general sympathy; my eyes were filled with tears” (69). Imperative to take note here is the role the heart plays in Williams’ brand of the sublime. In the midst of celebrating the actions of the French, perpetuated by the “common feelings” of the collective, Williams’ own language breaks down, becoming part of the moment herself. That is, for Williams, the sublime, or human passions in general, cannot be readily delineated as Burke so easily does. Human action is most valid when it reaches a state of sublimity distinguished by a breakdown the logical, like the prevention of being able to utter a single word. Both Williams and Burke make appeals to the heart in their arguments for and against the French Revolution, for they believe instances of human passion to be sound indicators of man’s actions. This ability for Burke, however, is socially hierarchical in that only those of the educated elite can properly interpret their passions, with the interpretations of anyone else being a product of the monstrous mixing that is the sublime. Human emotion, in other words, has its authority in its being orderly and definable. Conversly, Williams democratizes the authority of human passion. Emotion for Williams, in its most legitimate form, cannot easily be defined, even to the point where language fails to describe it. More importantly, she acknowledges one’s inability to illustrate these pinnacles of feeling. Rather, she argues, that the height of the sublime is achieved through the collective imagination, for feeling is most potent through a shared emotional state and participatory sympathy. Thus, in essence, Williams replaces Burke’s hierarchical structure of subliminal interpretation with a horizontal, more democratic one. Whereas Burke defines the sublime as something illogical, that is, the mixing of entities that he feels to be opposite, like government and the common man, Williams’ brand of the sublime welcomes an element of vagueness. Her version of the sublime, rather, demands participation of the collective, and is free from the shackles of terror and astonishment that Burke is quick to attribute to it.