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COL Coleridge to proceed to the university of Göttingen, where he completed his education according to his own scheme. Shortly after his return in 1800, in which year was published the translation of "Wallenstein," he and his family settled for some years with Southey, at Keswick. Wordsworth had also by this time come to the north, and was then living in the vale of Grasmere. Coleridge now finally abandoned his unitarian tenets. In the first volume of his "Biographia Literaria," referring to an early period of his life, he says—"I was at that time, and long after, though a trinitarian (i.e., ad normam Platonis) in philosophy, yet a zealous unitarian in religion; more accurately, I was a psilanthropist, one of those who believe our Lord to have been the real son of Joseph, and who lay the main stress on the resurrection rather than the crucifixion." His groping after religious truth had been long and difficult. Even before he had arrived at the stage where he fully embraced "the truth as it is in Jesus," he tells us that "his head was with Spinoza and Leibnitz, while his heart was with Paul and John."

His habit of opium-eating having now begun to tell with terrible effect on his health, Coleridge made a voyage to Malta in the year 1804, in search of convalescence. His friend Dr. Stoddart was then king's advocate in that island. He introduced him to Sir Alexander Ball, one of Nelson's old captains, and then governor of Malta. Sir Alexander was so much pleased with the eloquent philosopher, that he appointed him secretary to the government, at a salary of £800 a-year. But a farther acquaintance discovered that there was little congeniality of mind between the governor and his secretary. The consequence was that the latter came home within the year. The fact that Coleridge afterwards devoted a number or two of his "Friend" to a highly-wrought eulogium on Sir Alexander Ball, a man whom nobody else regarded as remarkable for anything, points to one of the enigmatical features of his character. From his return from Malta till the year 1816, he lived a very unsettled, miserable life, now with his family, now with one friend, again with another. In 1809-10 he issued from Penrith in Cumberland, twenty-seven numbers of the "Friend" which were afterwards republished with additions in three volumes. This periodical proving a failure, he went to London, where he lived for some time with Mr. Basil Montagu. He contributed to newspapers—the Morning Post and the Courier; and delivered lectures at public institutes. This was the most wretched period of his life: that in which the punishment of his habitual sin of opium-eating—for such it was in a very high degree—overtook him, and violently struck him to the ground. It were almost to be wished that the glimpses which we have of his condition during these years of his London life, and of the shifts to which he was put, had been altogether withheld. The depths to which this "rapt one of the godlike forehead" had fallen, cannot be better described than in his own words:—"Conceive a poor, miserable wretch, who for many years has been attempting to beat off pain by a constant recurrence to the vice that produces it. Conceive a spirit in hell, employed in tracing out for others the road to that heaven from which his crimes exclude him. In short, conceive whatever is most wretched, helpless, and hopeless, and you will form as tolerable a notion of my state as it is possible for a good man to have. I used to think the text in St. James, that "he who offends in one point, offends in all," very harsh; but now I feel the awful, the tremendous truth of it. In the one crime of opium, what crime have I not made myself guilty of. Ingratitude to my Maker and benefactors, injustice and unnatural cruelty to my poor children, self-contempt for my repeated promise, breach of it, nay, actual falsehood." Silence were best here.

In the year 1816 he placed himself under the care of his friend Mr. Gillman, surgeon, Highgate, in whose family he remained till his death on the 25th of July, 1834. Here he was in the habit of holding weekly conversazioni, when he indulged to their full bent those powers of conversation which were the wonder of all who heard him. The influence which in this manner he exercised on ardent young men from the universities and others is quite incalculable, to this period, too, belong some of the most valuable of his works—the two "Lay Sermons;" "Aids to Reflection, in the formation of a manly character, on the several grounds of Prudence, Morality, and Religion, illustrated by passages from our elder divines, especially from Archbishop Leighton;" the "Biographia Literaria;" and the "Constitution of Church and State, according to the idea of each." His gradual and, we believe, at last, complete emancipation from his almost life-long bondage brought back somewhat of the happiness and peace which he had known in his earlier years; and long before the final scene closed, his naturally intense religious nature found all its longings fully satisfied in that peace which passeth all understanding. A few days before his death he wrote a letter to his godchild, Adam Steinmetz K____, near the conclusion of which occur these words—"I thus, on the very brink of the grave, solemnly bear witness to you that the Almighty Redeemer, most gracious in his promises to them that truly seek him, is faithful to perform what he has promised, and has preserved under all my pains and infirmities the inward peace that passeth all understanding, with the supporting assurance of a reconciled God, who will not withdraw his Spirit from me in the conflict, and in his own time will deliver me from the evil one."

Wordsworth has described his friend as "a noticeable man, with large grey eyes."

It is not our purpose, neither does it consist with our limits, to present an account of the philosophical system of Coleridge. The fact is, that he did not build up a compact logical system. His works are all fragmentary. "The whole labours of Coleridge," it has been said, "present the appearance of an unfinished city—the outline of the streets exhibits only how splendid they might have been: the basement of a pillar shows how gorgeous might have been the capital." His opinions embrace a wide range of subjects—mental, moral, political, literary, and theological; and they are sometimes found jumbled together in a manner that might well bewilder the ordinary reader. The uncouth terminology of his metaphysical writings forms another hinderance to his extensive popularity. He followed the modern Germans in their abstruse doctrines of the "absolute" and the "practical reason," and was the first to introduce the transcendental philosophy into England. He insisted perpetually on what he termed the important distinctions between the "reason" and "understanding"—between "genius" and "talent." From talent without genius—that is, from the exclusive exercise of the understanding, he expects only a swarm of clever, well-informed men—an anarchy of minds—a despotism of maxims. And thence despotism of finance in government and legislation—of vanity and sciolism in the intercourse of life—of presumption, temerity, and hardness of heart in political action. He has a horror of "idealess facts," misnamed proofs from history, and of the substitution of the grounds of experience for principles and the insight derived from them. He waged continual war with the utilitarians, and boldly contended that they had substituted the guess-work of general consequences for moral and political philosophy. The philosophy of Locke and Paley he represented as almost the exact opposite of that which he himself taught in all his writings. "The pith of my system," he says, "is to make the senses out of the mind, not the mind out of the senses, as Locke did." he elsewhere gives a more extended description of his philosophy, or rather of the end at which it aimed. "My system, if I may venture to give it so fine a name, is the only attempt I know ever made to reduce all knowledge into harmony. It opposes no other system, but shows what was true in each; and how that which was true in this particular, in each of them became error, because it was only half the truth. I have endeavoured to unite the insulated fragments of truth, and therewith to frame a perfect mirror. I show to each system that I fully understand and rightfully appreciate what that system means; but then I lift up that system to a higher point of view, from which I enable it to see its former position; where it was, indeed, but under another light, and with different relations. So that the fragment of truth is not only acknowledged but explained. .  .  I wish, in short, to connect, by a moral cupola, natural history with political history; or, in other words, to make history scientific, and science historical—to take from history its accidentality, and from science its fatalism." It is needless to say that this system was not worked out. But in all his writings there are fixed principles which, however imperfectly stated, will, as the reader grows familiar with them, and with their extensive bearings, gradually fashion themselves into recognizable shape.

The mind of Coleridge turned ever more fondly towards theology as his years increased. It is impossible to state here the services which he has rendered to this highest of all studies; or to do more than merely notice his invaluable tractate on the