The sublime is a concept in aesthetics that stands for the quality of greatness that leads to experiencing positive and negative emotions (e.g. fear and wonder) at the same time. This paradoxical emotion is often experienced in natural surroundings, during confrontations with natural phenomena that overwhelm oneself due to their size or power. This is known as the natural sublime (there are other types, which I will describe later). The philosophers and writers who examined the experience of the sublime offered examples of natural things, landscapes, and phenomena that may elicit it: mountains, cliffs, hurricanes, deserts, oceans, volcanoes, thunderclouds, and the starry night sky.
These natural phenomena can evoke the sublime because they feel both threatening (which they are, since they can overpower us) and attractive. On one level, we know that we are insignificant in the face of such phenomena and at the mercy of these natural objects and forces, which are indifferent to us. But on another level, the magnitude and power of a tornado, for example, impresses and fascinates us. A tornado naturally captures our gaze and attention. This helps explain why tornado chasers are a phenomenon in the US. These people want to experience an intense feeling of the sublime, dancing on the edge between safety and danger.
Tornado chasing may appear somewhat irresponsible and reckless. However, the sublime is felt to be not just a form of thrill-seeking but an elevated emotion that has mystical connotations: feeling one’s insignificance in the face of nature can be a spiritual, humbling experience. Moreover, the experience of the sublime (more commonly known as awe) is associated with a range of psychological benefits, including reductions in stress, the quieting of the inner critic, less individualism, increased altruism, and a greater sense of connection to others and the world. Many of these benefits can be linked to the fact that the sublime makes the self and our worries appear smaller and less significant.
One common thread tying in experiences of the sublime is travel: venturing away from home towards another landscape that evokes this unique emotion, which may have a lasting impact on one’s worldview, attitudes, behaviour, and psychological health. For example, the British writer Joseph Addison recounted his experience of the sublime during the Grand Tour (a customary trip through Europe that young upper-class men undertook in the 17th and 18th centuries). Both he and fellow British writer John Dennis described the feeling of the sublime when journeying through the Alps. The paradoxical feeling of fear and delight they experienced made an indelible impression on them.
This got me thinking about my own experiences of travel and which memories have the strongest emotional component, and many of these include the feeling of the sublime. In various mountainous landscapes, I have been struck by the sense of mountain peaks towering above me and feeling insignificant and powerless relative to them. It seemed unsurprising to me that people would feel the impulse to revere and deify these titanic masses of rock. Of course, the bigger and taller the mountain, the more likely it is to evoke the feeling of the sublime or stronger versions of it – the sense of being towered over by a giant.
There are certain landscapes or natural events I experienced in my travels that stand out as particularly awe-inspiring, which I am continually grateful for having had the opportunity to experience. These would include the wide expanse of Salar de Tara in the Atacama Desert, the magnitude and thunderous roar of the cascading water at Iguazu Falls, and the explosive force of ice calving at Viedma Glacier in Patagonia. Being in Salar de Tara was the first time I had the feeling of being in an endless landscape.
Salar de Tara
The feeling of the sublime experienced at Iguazu Falls was different, as this was awe elicited not by vastness but by the sense of power or force. I was there during the rainy season, when the volume of water was at its greatest in the year, so the falls were particularly noisy and strong. It was like the sound of a million cymbals crashing all around me. At Iguazu Falls, there are platforms where you can get closer to the falls, and there was one platform that many visitors seemed to be avoiding since you would get soaked if you went to the furthest edge of it. But I wanted to experience the tumbling and crashing of this volume of water up close. Standing at the end of this viewing platform, the sound of the falling water was deafening and the sheer power was overwhelming. It was undeniable that this force of nature could wipe me out in an instant.
Me at Iguazu Falls
But I think the strongest feeling of the sublime I experienced was during a walk on Viedma Glacier in southern Argentinian Patagonia. At the end of the tour, as our group was walking back towards the boat to head back to town (El Chalten), we could hear loud cracks coming from the glacial wall. We followed the guide to a spot where we could see the glacier in full view.
Suddenly, a giant chunk of ice fell from the top, making us cheer and whoop as it crashed into the icy lake below. But then, the whole right section of the wall began cracking and breaking apart, with increasingly larger pieces splintering off, until everything began collapsing, like a building detonated with explosives. As the front layer tumbled down, more and more of the glacier continued to break off, creating massive waves and a fireworks display of ice. Giant chunks of deep blue ice were now being swept away. It was hard to believe that just moments before the glacier was so intact.
Everyone was cheering hysterically and I joined in the collective “wows”. As it was happening I was thinking, I should record this, but I didn’t want to miss any of it. The scene was too captivating; I was transfixed by the unfolding of events: the increasing intensity – a natural domino-like effect of initial destruction having the knock-on effect of even greater destruction. Others, however, had their phones out, capturing this rare and intense moment. (Luckily, I got the email of someone else in the group who recorded some of the ice calving: see the video below.)
I was remarkably lucky to have been able to witness something like that. The guide said he had never seen ice calving on that scale before. I can distinctly remember the feeling of being there: the mixture of awe, terror, and astonishment. No photo or video can properly encapsulate or communicate that kind of feeling. I had the sense of something going wrong, that this shouldn’t be happening, and that we might be in imminent danger. We were eventually hurried along to the boat, and once safely on board, the group shared in the amazement of what we witnessed.
I think one of the unappreciated benefits of travel, then, is the opportunity to experience the sublime. But you don’t have to travel far to experience it. There can be natural features and events within one’s country that are awe-inspiring. But as a city dweller, it is often necessary to travel somewhere to feel the sublime (although weather events may also provoke this feeling). Light pollution means that city dwellers are deprived of seeing the starry night sky in all its glory, and green spaces in cities don’t tend to exemplify the magnitude or force necessary to make oneself feel tiny.
One could argue, however, that human technological creations like skyscrapers could lead to this emotional experience, which the historian David Nye has dubbed the technological sublime. But this experience tends to be qualitatively different to standing in front of a mountain. This could be because the skyscraper, and other impressive technological and engineering creations, are human-made, not nature-made. Because of this, our sense of self and significance may not shrink to the same degree (if these creations make us think of how impressive humans are).
The fact that a skyscraper is human-made may also endow us with a sense of power and control of the world around us, whereas natural objects and phenomena can feel distinctly outside of human control (which they are). I also think that human-made objects, no matter how impressive they are, may lack the awe-inspiring quality that comes from our attribution of will, agency, and god-like powers to natural things and phenomena like mountains, the sea, and thunder. Awe-inspiring experiences in nature are also more psychologically beneficial (I doubt that a city worker would experience the same benefits staring up at skyscrapers every day as someone would staring up at mountain peaks on a daily basis). Furthermore, looking at something like a skyscraper may involve the kind of negative connotations that are absent when in natural surroundings: themes like corruption, money, capitalism, and power. In any case, travelling can allow one to experience the technological sublime (by visiting lofty buildings like Burj Khalifa in Dubai and Merdeka 118 in Kuala Lumpur: the tallest and second-tallest buildings, respectively).
One may avoid the negative connotations of the technological sublime, conversely, by appreciating other grand human constructions, such as religious architecture. This would be an example of the architectural sublime. Sacred buildings can impress us not just in terms of their size but also because of the way they are designed. In Islamic architecture, for instance, the geometric designs that adorn the walls and vaulted domes of mosques can give the viewer an intimation of infinity, a concept that philosophers such as Edmund Burke have tied to the experience of the sublime. Or as the French art critic Charles Blanc argued, “The sublime is like a sudden glimpse of infinity.” But again, the architectural sublime may not quite match the kind or degree of awe that is experienced in a natural setting.
If one is interested in experiencing the sublime, travel can often serve this desire. Moreover, by purposefully designing trips that take us to impressive natural landscapes or buildings, we can enjoy not just emotionally richer travel but experiences that benefit us longer after the trip is over, perhaps even permanently changing our outlook on ourselves, life, and the world.
