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Samuel Taylor ColeridgeA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
For Coleridge, as for philosophers since Plato, perception is intrinsic to fathoming human life. As Edmund Burke wrote:
“The mind of man possesses a sort of creative power on its own; either in representing at pleasure the images of things in the order and manner in which they were received by the senses, or in combining those images in a new manner, and according to a different order. This power is called imagination.” (Burke, Edmund. A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful. 1757.)
Though in the conclusion of Biographia Literaria Coleridge resists being associated with metaphysics, he praises Wordsworth’s “mysticism” and admits that “metaphysics and psychology have long been my hobby horse” (29). It is this interest in something akin to what Locke termed “introspection” that invests poetry with such importance for Coleridge. His famous vision in “Kubla Khan” of the poet being “drunk the milk of paradise” similarly suggests an intimate connection between the divine, ultimate reality, and poetry. The Christian God referenced in the conclusion as “an infinite yet self-conscious creator” noticeably takes the form of a poet (72).
For Coleridge, imagination referred to consciousness as a plastic function essential to the perception of reality. More precisely, he defines Imagination as the “esemplastic power,” a coinage he derives from the Greek verb for “to shape” and from Schelling’s “Ineinsbildung,” meaning the incorporation of opposites (31). Toward the end of Chapter 12, Coleridge arrives at Thesis 10, which content “that the act of self-consciousness is for us the source and principle of goal of possible knowledge” (91). Coleridge clarifies this further when he writes that Imagination is the “living power and prime agent of all human perception” and “a repetition in the finite mind of the eternal act of creation in the infinite I am” (102). A secondary form is a derivative of the first, differing only in degree. Imagination, or consciousness, is thus how we come to know things and the source and substance of truth.
It may seem contradictory to modern readers for Coleridge to associate imagination with the accurate perception of reality. We remain heavily influenced by empiricism. For Coleridge, “inward” (226) contemplation, far from being unscientific, offers recourse to the center of reality:
“the natural philosopher directs his view to the objective […] on the other hand, the transcendental or intelligential philosopher is anxious to preclude all interpellation of the objective into the subjective principles of his science” (84).
Anxious to defend his deductions against empiricism, Coleridge asserts: “if it be said that [transcendental philosophy] is idealism, let it be remembered that it is only so far idealism, as it is at the same time, and on that very account, the truest and most blinding realism” (87). This is where life and literature meet in Coleridge’s Biographia Literaria.
It is Coleridge’s conception of the Imagination that lies at the heart of his aesthetic ideas. He elaborates them in Chapter 9, which deals with the “deduction of the imagination, and with it the principles of production and of genial criticism in the fine arts” (88). Just as Coleridge defines his philosophy in counterpoint to empiricism, he is also keen to emphasize the “contradistinction” between the Greek “phantasia,” the Latin “imaginato,” and “fancy” (30). While imagination is vital and shapes, fancy pertains to associations between fixed matter (95). Another binary apparent in his thinking is elaborated on in Chapter 18, when he writes: “existence is distinguished from essence by the superinduction of reality” (132). Whereas “natural philosophy” pertains simply to the sensory world, “transcendental philosophy” and poetry access “essence” via Imagination (132).
It is in this point that Coleridge’s theory of poetry most directly counters Wordsworth’s. Coleridge argues that in great poetry, “the operation consists in the excitement of surprise by the juxtaposition and apparent reconciliation of widely different or incompatible things” (145). Coleridge offers examples, including the famous conceit in John Donne’s “The Sun Rising.” Thus, Coleridge’s philosophical deductions about Imagination are intrinsically linked with his ideas about poetic form. Where Wordsworth advocates a “spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings.” (Wordsworth, William. “Preface to the Lyrical Ballads.” 1801.) Coleridge contradicts him by arguing that meter generates and regulates excitement: “meter in itself is simply a stimulant of the attention, and therefore excites the question: why is the attention to be thus stimulated?” (135). For Coleridge, the answer is found not in “mechanical […] morphosis” but in poesis and Imagination (132).
In JMW Turner’s painting Regulus, the viewer’s vision is distorted by the apparent brightness of the sun, so that observers literally see through the eyes of the unfortunate general. Regulus’s eyelids were removed in punishment, and he was blinded by the very light source that enables vision. The painter must have been moved by the tale of blindness. Turner, whose paintings regularly represent the simultaneously revelatory and occlusive quality of light, is, like Coleridge, simultaneously mesmerized and blinded by the sun and all it symbolizes. Discoursing on perception, Coleridge writes:
“In order to direct the view aright, it behoves that the beholder should have made himself congenerous and similar to the object beheld. Never could I have the help of the Sun, had not its own essence been solid form, (i.e. prefigured to light by a similarity the essence with that of light) neither can a soul not beautiful not attain to an intuition of beauty” (35).
Coleridge sees the sun as the ultimate symbol, especially in association with its homonym, Christ, the “son” of God. It is no coincidence that Coleridge cites John Donne’s “Sun Rising” as the exemplar of the ideal poetic conceit. The sun was the center of the Neoplatonic universe and of Coleridge’s own cosmology.
Coleridge resists any association with Neoplatonism throughout Biographia Literaria; he is eager to distance his view from Platonism’s “visionary flights” (222) and from “Platonic preexistence” (167). Yet Coleridge’s perspective is deeply indebted to Platonic philosophy. He claims that even Neoplatonism has not “passed beyond a speculative point of science” (44). “Speculative” is a revealing choice of term, since the sun is inherently connected with the specular for Coleridge, who quotes “Thee, eye of heaven! […] O! Vouchsafe to look, / And shew my story in thy eternal book” (148), and later, “it is the opening eye; the dawning light” (224). Coleridge makes the reason for this connection clear in Chapter 12: “The optical phenomena are a geometry, the lines of which are drawn by light” (86). Thus, the sun represents the humanistic capacity to divine the truth. It is an essential metaphor for Coleridge because “the materiality of this light itself has already become a matter of doubt” (86).
Coleridge’s Imagination inducts the poet into a more direct communion with reality than is possible through direct apprehension of the material world. Coleridge hails Wordsworth as this kind of mystic poet, calling him a “contemplator” of a Form-like reality (171). What takes the poet beyond Neoplatonism is his capacity to access the very source of consciousness, to see into the ultimate nature of reality. The poet’s “power” is primarily one of perception, which distinguishes him from the “string of blind men, each holding the skirt of the man before him” (88). In this sense, Coleridge’s poet assumes a prophetic role, spouting lines of mystic truth like the classical oracle of Delphi or the blind poet Homer. Poets are nonetheless affiliated with Enlightenment reason through their skepticism of the “interpellation of the objective into subjective” (86). The “flashing eyes” of Coleridge’s poet in “Kubla Khan” verge on the Luciferian before the poem breaks off, as though blinded by the brightness of its own presumptive vision. In closing, Coleridge writes:
“the outward beholding is fixed on the sparks twinkling in the awful depth, though suns of other worlds, only to preserve the soul steady and collected in its pure act of inward adoration to the great I AM, and to the filial WORD” (226).
Thus, Biographia Literaria closes with one final dedication to the ultimate reality, the sun as Christ.
Milton wove republicanism through his masterpiece Paradise Lost, a poem about the fall of man. Though problematic from a theological perspective, Milton’s political activism invests the poem with a profound sense of urgency. Coleridge’s depiction of the poet as having “drunk the milk of Paradise” in “Kubla Khan” seems to suggest that he too drinks from the cup of republicanism. The intimate and longstanding connection between the literati and politics is a precarious one. While the appetite for revolution among the bourgeoisie vacillated in France, its appeal in theory initially attracted both Coleridge and Wordsworth to the pro-Revolutionary ranks.
A century ahead of Nietzsche, the presumptive “will to power” was a temptation that afflicted Europe, stirred by the French Revolution and colonialism. Coleridge writes ambivalently of “the true sublimity of a modern misanthropic heroism” (213), which finds resonance in both the echo of the Miltonic Satan in “Kubla Khan” and his interest in Don Juan, as expressed in Chapter 23: “the sublimity of whose angel-sin rivals the starbright apostate, (that is, who was so proud as Lucifer, and is wicked as the devil)” (215). In a less eloquent form, the saying “one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter” can be detected in the ambivalent “holy dread” that animates the poet of “Kubla Khan”:
“Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.” (Lines 49-54)
The “circle” around his head may coronate him as a king, transform him into a Christlike figure, or associate him with demonic incantations.
Coleridge writes that he was “conscientiously opposed to the first revolutionary war, yet with my eyes thoroughly opened to the true character and impotence of the favourers of revolutionary principles in England” (58). He claims to have abandoned his political efforts and “retired to a cottage in Stowey” (58). Perhaps in response to the political unrest around him, Coleridge also retired into the harmony of Neoplatonic ideas and sought unity through abstractions such as geometry, mathematics, and aesthetics. Coleridge praises the conservative politician Edmund Burke multiple times in Biographia Literaria, incongruously pronouncing him a “scientific statesman; and therefore a seer” (60). Yet for Coleridge, Burke is endowed with perspicacity, and it is this “visionary” quality that empowers Burke to bring unity to quell the civil unrest. Coleridge’s aesthetic vision, then, is understandably one that can “reconcile incompatible things” (132).
By Samuel Taylor Coleridge