nd strip ourselves of
all that is body, on the knowledge of the true and the practice of duty.
Once when we are there, it abandons us, for its realm is limited to the
world of sense; its earthly wings could not carry it beyond. But at this
moment the other companion steps upon the stage, silent and grave, and
with his powerful arm carries us beyond the precipice that made us giddy.

In the former of these genii we recognize the feeling of the beautiful,
in the other the feeling of the sublime. No doubt the beautiful itself
is already an expression of liberty. This liberty is not the kind that
raises us above the power of nature, and that sets us free from all
bodily influence, but it is only the liberty which we enjoy as men,
without issuing from the limits of nature. In the presence of beauty we
feel ourselves free, because the sensuous instincts are in harmony with
the laws of reason. In presence of the sublime we feel ourselves
sublime, because the sensuous instincts have no influence over the
jurisdiction of reason, because it is then the pure spirit that acts in
us as if it were not absolutely subject to any other laws than its own.

The feeling of the sublime is a mixed feeling. It is at once a painful
state, which in its paroxysm is manifested by a kind of shudder, and a
joyous state, that may rise to rapture, and which, without being properly
a pleasure, is greatly preferred to every kind of pleasure by delicate
souls. This union of two contrary sensations in one and the same feeling
proves in a peremptory manner our moral independence. For as it is
absolutely impossible that the same object should be with us in two
opposite relations, it follows that it is we ourselves who sustain two
different relations with the object. It follows that these two opposed
natures should be united in us, which, on the idea of this object, are
brought into play in two perfectly opposite ways. Thus we experience by
the feeling of the beautiful that the state of our spiritual nature is
not necessarily determined by the state of our sensuous nature; that the
laws of nature are not necessarily our laws; and that there is in us an
autonomous principle independent of all sensuous impressions.

The sublime object may be considered in two lights. We either represent
it to our comprehension, and we try in vain to make an image or idea of
it, or we refer it to our vital force, and we consider it as a power
before which ours is nothing. But