Lakhasly

can assert," Thomas DeQuincey declared in 1834, "upon my long and intimate knowledge of Coleridge's mind, that logic, the most severe, was as inalienable from his modes of thinking, as grammar from his language". What, then, is the "logic" of the Biographia Literaria?They trace the growth of Coleridge's philosophic consciousness, his rejection of empirical epistemology and the influence on his thought of German idealism, and they lead, in chapter 12, to an outline (heavily dependent on Schelling) of his own "dynamic" philosophy -- an outline intended as the metaphysical substratum from which was to arise the promised (but undelivered) deduction of a theory of imagination. Chapters 5-7 are devoted to a detailed refutation of associationist psychology, especially that of David Hartley, among whose fervent adherents Coleridge had once (and Wordsworth still) counted himself; chapter 8 deals, briefly but effectively, with the problem of Cartesian dualism and the inadequacy of post-Cartesian materialism; and chapter 9 sketches Coleridge's intellectual obligations, in breaking free of materialism and associationism, to the mystics (such as Jacob Boehme) who "contributed to keep alive the heart in the head", to Immanuel Kant who "took possession of me as with a giant's hand", and to the post-Kantian idealists, especially Schelling, in whose work "I first found a genial coincidence with much that I had toiled out for myself, and a powerful assistance in what I had yet to do" (BL, i 98-9, 102).In short, then, Wordsworth is omnipresent; and Whalley argues convincingly that, with the long examination of Wordsworth's work in chapters 14-22, "the Biographia Literaria comes full circle, spun upon the firm centre of Coleridge's poetic and philosophic life, his admiration for Wordsworth's work, his need to utter forth an intuition [fancy-imagination] that had long haunted and enlightened his thinking". Although dissenting voices may still be heard, Whalley's position has been endorsed -- sometimes enthusiastically -- by most recent commentators. Subsequent readers have often wished to modify or qualify Whalley's conclusions, or to adjust the emphasis of the argument by focusing on other unifying threads in Biographia Literaria. Thus, J.E. Barcus, for example, argues that "if the Biographia Literaria is read in the light of Coleridge's own literary principles, it becomes a practical demonstration of the principles he was propagating"; and George Watson, although part of his argument is untenable, finds in the work a "peculiarly Coleridgean" unity in the fact that here Coleridge succeeds for the first and (so far) for the last time in English criticism in marrying the twin studies of philosophy and literature, not simply by writing about both within the boards of a single book or by insisting that such a marriage should be, but in discovering a causal link between the two in the century-old preoccupation of English critics with the theory of the poet's imagination.While still at Cambridge, Coleridge had read Wordsworth's Descriptive Sketches, and "seldom, if ever," (he declared) "was the emergence of an original poetic genius above the literary horizon more evidently announced" (BL, i 56). The full revelation of Wordsworth's genius and power, however, came two years later in September or October 1795, when, at their first meeting, Wordsworth recited his manuscript poem Guilt and Sorrow. The effect of this reading on Coleridge was instant, profound and revolutionary: what made "so unusual an impression on my feelings immediately, and subsequently on my judgement" was the union of deep feeling with profound thought; the fine balance of truth in observing, with the imaginative faculty in modifying the objects observed; and above all the original gift of spreading the tone, the atmosphere, and with it the depth and height of the ideal world around forms, incidents, and situations, of which, for the common view, custom had bedimmed all the lustre, had dried up the sparkle and the dewdrops.Both these desires come to fruition in Biographia Literaria and, in the final analysis, it is Coleridge's view of Wordsworth that imparts unity and purpose of design to this soi-disant "immethodical miscellany". A substantial portion of the work, of course, is devoted to a critical appraisal and exposition of Wordsworth's theory and poetic achievement. Most of the second volume (chs 14-22) deals directly with these matters. The largely philosophic first volume, on the other hand, prepares the ground for the literary analysis to follow and deals, sometimes directly, sometimes by implication, with Wordsworth. Certainly, the philosophical chapters are not gratuitous metaphysical embroidery unrelated to the book's central concerns, and (as Whalley observes) it is not often enough remembered that "the centre of the philosophical critique -- the distinction between Fancy and Imagination -- arose from Wordsworth's poetry and was intended to elucidate it".T. S. Eliot, for example, saw reflected in Biographia Literaria the "state of lethargy" produced by "the disastrous effects of long dissipation and stupefaction of [Coleridge's] powers in transcendental metaphysics"; and Maurice Carpenter, for whom the book was "a long monologue" of incorrigible heterogeneity, felt justified as late as 1954 in dismissing it as "the most exasperating book in the English language". The first serious attempt to dispel the prevailing notion of Biographia as "a whimsical and absent-minded improvisation, a mushroom growth in which toughness of fibre is scarcely to be expected", was made by George Whalley in 1953.In the poetry of Bowles he first caught the accents of the true voice of feeling, and what he heard led him to appreciate that the epigrammatic couplets of fashionable eighteenth-century verse were artificial and were characterized "not so much by poetic thoughts, as by thoughts translated into the language of poetry" (BL, i 11). These insights from Boyer and Bowles originated in Coleridge's mind the whole question of the nature of poetry, and they prompted him to labour at establishing "a solid foundation, on which permanently to ground my opinions, in the component faculties of the human mind itself, and their comparative dignity and importance" (BL, i 14).Wherein lay the source of this "freshness of sensation"? What was it in Wordsworth's poetry, what power there manifested itself, that distinguished his poetry from that of eighteenth-century writers? (BL, i 60-l) The desynonymisation of fancy and imagination lies at the heart of Biographia Literaria and is, in a very real sense, its raison d'etre. Coleridge's object in the work is "to investigate the seminal principle" of imagination and, in so doing, "to present an intelligible statement of my poetic creed; not as my opinions, which weigh for nothing, but as deductions from established premises" (BL, i 65).First, he refutes the view that it was a hasty improvisation by pointing out that the issues which it explores had been in Coleridge's mind for well over a decade and that the work "has many indelible marks of prolonged, patient, and mature consideration". Second, he stresses the centrality of Wordsworth, both in the early development and in the final execution of Biographia Literaria. The original motivation to compose the work was rooted in Coleridge's desire to explain the novel power of Wordsworth's art and the related desire to solve the "radical Difference" between his own and Wordsworth's theoretical opinions about poetry.Boyer and Bowles provided indispensable preliminary insights, but Wordsworth struck him with the disturbing force of radical revelation.

can assert," Thomas DeQuincey declared in 1834, "upon my long and intimate knowledge of Coleridge's mind, that logic, the most severe, was as inalienable from his modes of thinking, as grammar from his language". What, then, is the "logic" of the Biographia Literaria? How, and on what principles, is the work structured -- or, indeed, has it any structure at all? Adverse criticism begins (as is not unusual) with Coleridge himself, who deprecatingly refers to Biographia Literaria as an "immethodical miscellany" and a "semi-narrative" (BL, i 64, 110). Early reviewers took the author at his word: the kindest epithet any of them could manage for the work was "strange medley", and usually they were searing in their condemnation of its rambling structure. The legacy of these early reviewers persisted unchallenged until well into the present century. T. S. Eliot, for example, saw reflected in Biographia Literaria the "state of lethargy" produced by "the disastrous effects of long dissipation and stupefaction of [Coleridge's] powers in transcendental metaphysics"; and Maurice Carpenter, for whom the book was "a long monologue" of incorrigible heterogeneity, felt justified as late as 1954 in dismissing it as "the most exasperating book in the English language". The first serious attempt to dispel the prevailing notion of Biographia as "a whimsical and absent-minded improvisation, a mushroom growth in which toughness of fibre is scarcely to be expected", was made by George Whalley in 1953. Whalley's defence of the structural integrity of Biographia Literaria proceeds along two lines. First, he refutes the view that it was a hasty improvisation by pointing out that the issues which it explores had been in Coleridge's mind for well over a decade and that the work "has many indelible marks of prolonged, patient, and mature consideration". Second, he stresses the centrality of Wordsworth, both in the early development and in the final execution of Biographia Literaria. The original motivation to compose the work was rooted in Coleridge's desire to explain the novel power of Wordsworth's art and the related desire to solve the "radical Difference" between his own and Wordsworth's theoretical opinions about poetry. Both these desires come to fruition in Biographia Literaria and, in the final analysis, it is Coleridge's view of Wordsworth that imparts unity and purpose of design to this soi-disant "immethodical miscellany". A substantial portion of the work, of course, is devoted to a critical appraisal and exposition of Wordsworth's theory and poetic achievement. Most of the second volume (chs 14-22) deals directly with these matters. The largely philosophic first volume, on the other hand, prepares the ground for the literary analysis to follow and deals, sometimes directly, sometimes by implication, with Wordsworth. Certainly, the philosophical chapters are not gratuitous metaphysical embroidery unrelated to the book's central concerns, and (as Whalley observes) it is not often enough remembered that "the centre of the philosophical critique -- the distinction between Fancy and Imagination -- arose from Wordsworth's poetry and was intended to elucidate it". In short, then, Wordsworth is omnipresent; and Whalley argues convincingly that, with the long examination of Wordsworth's work in chapters 14-22, "the Biographia Literaria comes full circle, spun upon the firm centre of Coleridge's poetic and philosophic life, his admiration for Wordsworth's work, his need to utter forth an intuition [fancy-imagination] that had long haunted and enlightened his thinking". Although dissenting voices may still be heard, Whalley's position has been endorsed -- sometimes enthusiastically -- by most recent commentators. Subsequent readers have often wished to modify or qualify Whalley's conclusions, or to adjust the emphasis of the argument by focusing on other unifying threads in Biographia Literaria. Thus, J.E. Barcus, for example, argues that "if the Biographia Literaria is read in the light of Coleridge's own literary principles, it becomes a practical demonstration of the principles he was propagating"; and George Watson, although part of his argument is untenable, finds in the work a "peculiarly Coleridgean" unity in the fact that here Coleridge succeeds for the first and (so far) for the last time in English criticism in marrying the twin studies of philosophy and literature, not simply by writing about both within the boards of a single book or by insisting that such a marriage should be, but in discovering a causal link between the two in the century-old preoccupation of English critics with the theory of the poet's imagination. (BL[W], p. xix) What Whalley has taught us to see (wherever we may choose to place the emphasis) is that Biographia Literaria is not without method or purpose. The point no longer is whether or not the book is unified, but rather to identify the nature (and degree) of its thematic and structural organisation. Coleridge's success is, of course, debatable: some critics (most notably J.A. Appleyard) regard the Biographia as "a remarkable failure, an important fragment"; others, such as Lynn M. Grow, find it to be "a coherent expression . . . a cogent and compelling statement". These opposing arguments, in their elaboration, often show the defects of their qualities; and a true assessment lies in a middle ground where these extremes meet. In the opening paragraph of Biographia Literaria Coleridge states, clearly and concisely, the scope and purpose of his book: I It will be found, that the least of what I have written concerns myself personally. have used the narration chiefly for the purpose of giving a continuity to the work, in part for the sake of the miscellaneous reflections suggested to me by particular events, but still more as introductory to the statement of my principles in Politics, Religion, and Philosophy, and an application of the rules, deduced from philosophical principles, to poetry and criticism. But of the objects, which I proposed to myself, it was not the least important to effect, as far as possible, a settlement of the long continued controversy concerning the true nature of poetic diction; and at the same time to define with the utmost impartiality the real poetic character of the poet, by whose writings this controversy was first kindled, and has since been fuelled and fanned. (BL, i 1-2) The book is not, then, an autobiography in any usual sense of the term. Rather, autobiography is a thread used to give continuity to the central themes and concerns of the work: (a) a statement of Coleridge's principles in politics, religion, philosophy, and literary theory, (b) a philosophic investigation of the principles governing poetry and criticism, (c) the practical application of these principles, once established, to the poetry and poetic theory of Wordsworth. At the heart of the book stands, not Coleridge himself, but Coleridge's principles -- the general laws which underlie and direct his judgement. Biographia Literaria, then, is not an expository outline of its author's life and times, but an exploration of the formative stages of his intellectual development. It is, too, a selective history of mental and moral growth, concentrating on poetry; however, the homogeneity of the principles to which he has been guided (and which he hopes to explicate and to illustrate) allows him without being irrelevant to explore their exfoliation into the fields of politics, theology and philosophy. But this procedure is not without its difficulties and drawbacks. It involves Coleridge, for example, in a paradox -- for he finds himself engaged simultaneously in the two quite different activities of exploring and expounding fundamental principles. That is, he sees his task as the philosophic deduction of principles; yet, at the same time, he is concerned with applying to politics and religion and (especially) literary theory the very principles that he is involved in deducing. "One has the sense", as M.G. Cooke observes, "of his reporting his universe in order to be able to see it". The dilemma of Biographia Literaria is that it is both process and product. Whether or not Coleridge is able to reconcile these methodological difficulties, and the degree of his success, are debatable issues. Although Biographia Literaria is concerned primarily with Coleridge's response to Wordsworth, the introductory chapters deal with preliminary matters and acknowledge debts predating his association with Wordsworth. The opening chapter emphasises the formative influence exerted on Coleridge's understanding of poetry by James Boyer and William Lisle Bowles. From Boyer, his headmaster at Christ's Hospital, Coleridge learned that poetry was fundamentally and formally distinct from other modes of writing and that it possessed "a logic of its own, as severe as that of science; and more difficult, because more subtle, more complex, and dependent on more, and more fugitive causes" (BL, i 4). From Bowles, whom he considered the first modern poet to combine "natural thoughts with natural diction", he learned that poetry could (and should) bring together thought and feeling, that it should reconcile the workings of both the head and the heart. In the poetry of Bowles he first caught the accents of the true voice of feeling, and what he heard led him to appreciate that the epigrammatic couplets of fashionable eighteenth-century verse were artificial and were characterized "not so much by poetic thoughts, as by thoughts translated into the language of poetry" (BL, i 11). These insights from Boyer and Bowles originated in Coleridge's mind the whole question of the nature of poetry, and they prompted him to labour at establishing "a solid foundation, on which permanently to ground my opinions, in the component faculties of the human mind itself, and their comparative dignity and importance" (BL, i 14). From the outset, then, philosophy and psychology were intimately connected with poetry and poetic experience in the search for aesthetic principles and an individual poetic vision. In chapters 2 and 3, which superficially appear gratuitously digressive, Coleridge exposes the malicious inadequacy of the pseudo-criticism of anonymous reviewers, whose views, unsupported by sound principles, are both wrongheaded and uncritical. Since Coleridge's purpose in Biographia Literaria is to establish sound critical principles as the basis for literary judgement, these chapters are far from irrelevant. In chapter 4 Coleridge returns to the early formation of his poetic creed and to the third (and most important) influence upon it -- the poetry of Wordsworth. Boyer and Bowles provided indispensable preliminary insights, but Wordsworth struck him with the disturbing force of radical revelation. While still at Cambridge, Coleridge had read Wordsworth's Descriptive Sketches, and "seldom, if ever," (he declared) "was the emergence of an original poetic genius above the literary horizon more evidently announced" (BL, i 56). The full revelation of Wordsworth's genius and power, however, came two years later in September or October 1795, when, at their first meeting, Wordsworth recited his manuscript poem Guilt and Sorrow. The effect of this reading on Coleridge was instant, profound and revolutionary: what made "so unusual an impression on my feelings immediately, and subsequently on my judgement" was the union of deep feeling with profound thought; the fine balance of truth in observing, with the imaginative faculty in modifying the objects observed; and above all the original gift of spreading the tone, the atmosphere, and with it the depth and height of the ideal world around forms, incidents, and situations, of which, for the common view, custom had bedimmed all the lustre, had dried up the sparkle and the dewdrops. (BL, i 59) Here was the seminal insight, though Coleridge found it difficult to define its nature precisely. To a degree unknown in English literature since Milton, Wordsworth had unified thought and feeling in poetic utterance, had both realised and idealised the commonplace, had made the reader see man and nature as if he were seeing them for the first time. Wherein lay the source of this "freshness of sensation"? What was it in Wordsworth's poetry, what power there manifested itself, that distinguished his poetry from that of eighteenth-century writers? "Repeated meditations", says Coleridge, anticipating yet laying the ground-work for arguments and illustrations to follow, led me first to suspect, (and a more intimate analysis of the human faculties, their appropriate marks, functions, and effects matured my conjecture into full conviction,) that fancy and imagination were two distinct and widely different faculties, instead of being, according to the general belief, either two names with one meaning, or, at furthest, the lower and higher degree of one and the same power. (BL, i 60-l) The desynonymisation of fancy and imagination lies at the heart of Biographia Literaria and is, in a very real sense, its raison d'être. Coleridge's object in the work is "to investigate the seminal principle" of imagination and, in so doing, "to present an intelligible statement of my poetic creed; not as my opinions, which weigh for nothing, but as deductions from established premises" (BL, i 65). The terminus a quo of this investigation is largely Wordsworth, whose Guilt and Sorrow first directed Coleridge's attention to the subject of poetic imagination; the terminus ad quem, which will follow the philosophic deduction of the imagination, is a mature assessment of Wordsworth's poetic achievement. Chapters 5-13 constitute the philosophic core of the Biographia Literaria -- and the major stumbling-block for the majority of its readers. They are, certainly, difficult reading; but they are integral to the book's purpose and meaning. They trace the growth of Coleridge's philosophic consciousness, his rejection of empirical epistemology and the influence on his thought of German idealism, and they lead, in chapter 12, to an outline (heavily dependent on Schelling) of his own "dynamic" philosophy -- an outline intended as the metaphysical substratum from which was to arise the promised (but undelivered) deduction of a theory of imagination. Chapters 5-7 are devoted to a detailed refutation of associationist psychology, especially that of David Hartley, among whose fervent adherents Coleridge had once (and Wordsworth still) counted himself; chapter 8 deals, briefly but effectively, with the problem of Cartesian dualism and the inadequacy of post-Cartesian materialism; and chapter 9 sketches Coleridge's intellectual obligations, in breaking free of materialism and associationism, to the mystics (such as Jacob Boehme) who "contributed to keep alive the heart in the head", to Immanuel Kant who "took possession of me as with a giant's hand", and to the post-Kantian idealists, especially Schelling, in whose work "I first found a genial coincidence with much that I had toiled out for myself, and a powerful assistance in what I had yet to do" (BL, i 98-9, 102). There is, as J.A. Appleyard observes, an imbalance in these chapters (5-9) that is not easily explained and is, in the final analysis