Aesthetical Essays of Friedrich Schiller
From the moment that the simple poet is content to follow simple nature
and feeling, that he is contented with the imitation of the real world,
he can only be placed, with regard to his subject, in a single relation.
And in this respect he has no choice as to the manner of treating it. If
simple poetry produces different impressions--I do not, of course, speak
of the impressions that are connected with the nature of the subject, but
only of those that are dependent on poetic execution--the whole
difference is in the degree; there is only one way of feeling, which
varies from more to less; even the diversity of external forms changes
nothing in the quality of aesthetic impressions. Whether the form be
lyric or epic, dramatic or descriptive, we can receive an impression
either stronger or weaker, but if we remove what is connected with the
nature of the subject, we shall always be affected in the same way. The
feeling we experience is absolutely identical; it proceeds entirely from
one single and the same element to such a degree that we are unable to
make any distinction. The very difference of tongues and that of times
does not here occasion any diversity, for their strict unity of origin
and of effect is precisely a characteristic of simple poetry.
It is quite different with sentimental poetry. The sentimental poet
reflects on the impression produced on him by objects; and it is only on
this reflection that his poetic force is based. It follows that the
sentimental poet is always concerned with two opposite forces, has two
modes of representing objects to himself, and of feeling them; these are,
the real or limited, and the ideal or infinite; and the mixed feeling
that he will awaken will always testify to this duality of origin.
Sentimental poetry thus admitting more than one principle, it remains to
know which of the two will be predominant in the poet, both in his
fashion of feeling and in that of representing the object; and
consequently a difference in the mode of treating it is possible. Here,
then, a new subject is presented: shall the poet attach himself to the
real or the ideal? to the real as an object of aversion and of disgust,
or to the ideal as an object of inclination? The poet will therefore be
able to treat the same subject either in its satirical aspect or in its
elegiac aspect,--taking these words in a larger sense, which will be
explained in the sequel: every sentimental poet will of necessity become
attached to one or the other of these two modes of feeling.
SATIRICAL POETRY.
The poet is a satirist when he takes as subject the distance at which
things are from nature, and the contrast between reality and the ideal:
as regards the impression received by the soul, these two subjects blend
into the same. In the execution, he may place earnestness and passion,
or jests and levity, according as he takes pleasure in the domain of the
will or in that of the understanding. In the former case it is avenging
and pathetic satire; in the second case it is sportive, humorous, and
mirthful satire.
Properly speaking, the object of poetry is not compatible either with the
tone of punishment or that of amusement. The former is too grave for
play, which should be the main feature of poetry; the latter is too
trifling for seriousness, which should form the basis of all poetic play.
Our mind is necessarily interested in moral contradictions, and these
deprive the mind of its liberty. Nevertheless, all personal interest,
and reference to a personal necessity, should be banished from poetic
feeling. But mental contradictions do not touch the heart, nevertheless
the poet deals with the highest interests of the heart--nature and the
ideal. Accordingly it is a hard matter for him not to violate the poetic
form in pathetic satire, because this form consists in the liberty of
movement; and in sportive satire he is very apt to miss the true spirit
of poetry, which ought to be the infinite. The problem can only be
solved in one way: by the pathetic satire assuming the character of the
sublime, and the playful satire acquiring poetic substance by enveloping
the theme in beauty.
In satire, the real as imperfection is opposed to the ideal, considered
as the highest reality. In other respects it is by no means essential
that the ideal should be expressly represented, provided the poet knows
how to awaken it in our souls, but he must in all cases awaken it,
otherwise he will exert absolutely no poetic action. Thus reality is
here a necessary object of aversion; but it is also necessary, for the
whole question centres here, that this aversion should come necessarily
from the ideal, which is opposed to reality. To make this clear--this
aversion might proceed from a purely sensuous source, and repose only on
a want of which the satisfaction finds obstacles in the real. How often,
in fact, we think we feel, against society a moral discontent, while we
are simply soured by the obstacles that it opposes to our inclination.
It is this entirely material interest that the vulgar satirist brings
into play; and as by this road he never fails to call forth in us
movements connected with the affections, he fancies that he holds our
heart in his hand, and thinks he has graduated in the pathetic. But all
pathos derived from this source is unworthy of poetry, which ought only
to move us through the medium of ideas, and reach our heart only by
passing through the reason. Moreover, this impure and material pathos
will never have its effect on minds, except by over-exciting the
affective faculties and by occupying our hearts with painful feelings; in
this it differs entirely from the truly poetic pathos, which raises in us
the feeling of moral independence, and which is recognized by the freedom
of our mind persisting in it even while it is in the state of affection.
And, in fact, when the emotion emanates from the ideal opposed to the
real, the sublime beauty of the ideal corrects all impression of
restraint; and the grandeur of the idea with which we are imbued raises
us above all the limits of experience. Thus in the representation of
some revolting reality, the essential thing is that the necessary be the
foundation on which the poet or the narrator places the real: that he
know how to dispose our mind for ideas. Provided the point from which we
see and judge be elevated, it matters little if the object be low and far
beneath us. When the historian Tacitus depicts the profound decadence of
the Romans of the first century, it is a great soul which from a loftier
position lets his looks drop down on a low object; and the disposition in
which he places us is truly poetic, because it is the height where he is
himself placed, and where he has succeeded in raising us, which alone
renders so perceptible the baseness of the object.
Accordingly the satire of pathos must always issue from a mind deeply
imbued with the ideal. It is nothing but an impulsion towards harmony
that can give rise to that deep feeling of moral opposition and that
ardent indignation against moral obliquity which amounted to the fulness
of enthusiasm in Juvenal, Swift, Rousseau, Haller, and others. These
same poets would have succeeded equally well in forms of poetry relating
to all that is tender and touching in feeling, and it was only the
accidents of life in their early days that diverted their minds into
other walks. Nay, some amongst them actually tried their hand
successfully in these other branches of poetry. The poets whose names
have been just mentioned lived either at a period of degeneracy, and had
scenes of painful moral obliquity presented to their view, or personal
troubles had combined to fill their souls with bitter feelings. The
strictly austere spirit in which Rousseau, Haller, and others paint
reality is a natural result, moreover, of the philosophical mind, when
with rigid adherence to laws of thought it separates the mere phenomenon
from the substance of things. Yet these outer and contingent influences,
which always put restraint on the mind, should never be allowed to do
more than decide the direction taken by enthusiasm, nor should they ever
give the material for it. The substance ought always to remain
unchanged, emancipated from all external motion or stimulus, and it ought
to issue from an ardent impulsion towards the ideal, which forms the only
true motive that can be put forth for satirical poetry, and indeed for
all sentimental poetry.
While the satire of pathos is only adapted to elevated minds, playful
satire can only be adequately represented by a heart imbued with beauty.
The former is preserved from triviality by the serious nature of the
theme; but the latter, whose proper sphere is confined to the treatment
of subjects of morally unimportant nature, would infallibly adopt the
form of frivolity, and be deprived of all poetic dignity, were it not
that the substance is ennobled by the form, and did not the personal
dignity of the poet compensate for the insignificance of the subject.
Now, it is only given to mind imbued with beauty to impress its
character, its entire image, on each of its manifestations, independently
of the object of its manifestations. A sublime soul can only make itself
known as such by single victories over the rebellion of the senses, only
in certain moments of exaltation, and by efforts of short duration. In a
mind imbued with beauty, on the contrary, the ideal acts in the same
manner as nature, and therefore continuously; accordingly it can manifest
itself in it in a state of repose. The deep sea never appears more
sublime than when it is agitated; the true beauty of a clear stream is in
its peaceful course.
The question has often been raised as to the comparative preference to be
awarded to tragedy or comedy. If the question is confined merely to
their respective themes, it is certain that tragedy has the advantage.
But if our inquiry be directed to ascertain which has the more important
personality, it is probable that a decision may be given in favor of
comedy. In tragedy the theme in itself does great things; in comedy the
object does nothing and the poet all. Now, as in the judgments of taste
no account must be kept of the matter treated of, it follows naturally
that the aesthetic value of these two kinds will be in an inverse ratio
to the proper importance of their themes.
The tragic poet is supported by the theme, while the comic poet, on the
contrary, has to keep up the aesthetic character of his theme by his own
individual influence. The former may soar, which is not a very difficult
matter, but the latter has to remain one and the same in tone; he has to
be in the elevated region of art, where he must be at home, but where the
tragic poet has to be projected and elevated by a bound. And this is
precisely what distinguishes a soul of beauty from a sublime soul. A
soul of beauty bears in itself by anticipation all great ideas; they flow
without constraint and without difficulty from its very nature--an
infinite nature, at least in potency, at whatever point of its career you
seize it. A sublime soul can rise to all kinds of greatness, but by an
effort; it can tear itself from all bondage, to all that limits and
constrains it, but only by strength of will. Consequently the sublime
soul is only free by broken efforts; the other with ease and always.
The noble task of comedy is to produce and keep up in us this freedom of
mind, just as the end of tragedy is to re-establish in us this freedom of
mind by aesthetic ways, when it has been violently suspended by passion.
Consequently it is necessary that in tragedy the poet, as if he made an
experiment, should artificially suspend our freedom of mind, since
tragedy shows its poetic virtue by re-establishing it; in comedy, on the