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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.
Coleridge provides context for his letters from Germany. Mr. Whitbread’s failed proposal to revitalize Drury Lane Theatre attracted public interest, and Coleridge turns to a discussion of Charles Maturin’s play Bertram, which debuted there in 1816. First, however, Coleridge reviews German drama. Lessing showed that Shakespeare reflected the precepts of Aristotle to a greater degree than any other poet. The elements of German drama are of the “literary brood of the Castle of Otranto” (206). Coleridge claims that German drama is English in origin and “by re-adoption” (206).
Atheista Fulminatio is a popular Spanish play “so grotesque and extravagant” that it “claims and merits philosophical attention and investigation” (206). Coleridge compares Don Juan with Milton’s Satan: “the super-human entireness of Don Juan’s agency, prevents the wickedness from shocking us” (207). Power is integral to virtue yet also the first temptation. Intellectual power is the attraction of Shakespeare’s male characters and enables us to suspend our disbelief during “the wildest tales,” for instance the appearance of the ghost in Don Juan (207). Don Juan offers a moral: the demonstration of “utter indifference to vice and virtue” (211). Coleridge considers Bertram’s shipwreck “miraculous” (212) and applauds the character of Clotilda and the scene depicting Bertram’s “trance” (215). Watching the play with “mingled horror and disgust,” Coleridge is shocked by its positive reception by the English audience (216). The play concludes in more folly.
Coleridge asserts that we are sometimes unfairly punished for our faults. Eternity revealing itself to the soul offers comfort amid painful confusion, as in catharsis. Coleridge reflects on his life and Christian faith, observing that many years have passed since the publication of his popular poem “Christabel.” Since this success Coleridge claims he has “with very few exceptions […] heard nothing but abuse,” claiming he has been “condemned beforehand” (222). Coleridge praises the critic of a predominantly metaphysical poem of his, and acquits himself of “personal infidelity” (224). He affirms his Christianity and argues that he has only been accused of irreligiousness due to his openness about his doubts. Nor does Coleridge deny Unitarians are Christian. Finally, Coleridge declares that “with this my personal as well as my literary life might conclude!” (226). Religion is the extension of the eye of reason, engaged in a “pure act of inward adoration to the great I AM” (226).
Readers may wonder why Coleridge composes such a bathetic ending to his serious work on the nature of art and reality. Shakespeare’s line “All the world’s a stage” echoes behind Coleridge’s choice of subject matter for the penultimate chapter, which offers light relief before the profundity of his conclusion. (Shakespeare, William. As You Like It. 1603.) In noting the influences of German and English drama on each other, Coleridge atones for his satire on Klopstock and documents and remarks upon his own literary influences, and those of his era. German Romanticism was hugely influential in the literary and general consciousness inhabited by Coleridge. His attentiveness to the ghosts in Don Juan and The Castle of Otranto are suggestive of what Harold Bloom would call the “anxiety of influence,” or the perennial question of the emulation of one’s literary forefathers and heritage. (Bloom, Harold. The Anxiety of Influence. 1973.)
Naturally enough for Coleridge’s readers, the question of ghosts in drama would have incited associations with the ghost of Hamlet’s father. Problematic listening and inheritance are thematic in Biographia Literaria, as they are in Hamlet. The question of critical reception, to which Coleridge returns explicitly in these chapters, is in play. Coleridge writes of Bertram’s Clotilda: “she reminds us very much of those puppet heroines, for whom the showman contrives to dialogue without any skill in ventriloquism” (214).
The notion of disembodied voices, or prosopopoeia, is at the heart of Coleridge’s ideas about poetry. Imagination is what saves poetry from becoming a purely “mechanical art,” as Clotilda comically simulates. Coleridge’s discussion of the “speaking portrait” in Chapter 23 quibbles over the question of artistic representation, which is traditionally associated with the questionable faithfulness of both womankind and lovers. Coleridge has already discussed the problematic dual associations of “painted” in relation to Shakespeare’s Winter’s Tale on Page 124.
In response to these anxieties about artistic representation and deceptive appearances, Coleridge introduces the idea of faith. He “zooms out” from the worldliness and folly of the penultimate chapter to an undeniably Neoplatonic contemplation of absolute reality within the universe. In his concluding paragraph Coleridge writes that religion “passes out of the ken of reason only where the eye of reason has reached its own horizon” (226). Religion is like a telescope for reason, enabling reason’s eye to penetrate further into the mysteries of the universe, just as the telescopes in Coleridge’s native London were unveiling new discoveries. In this final image of peering out into the inky night sky, Coleridge reminds his readers of London’s Greenwich Observatory, trained in Coleridge’s time on fathoming not only space but also time. The Shepherd master clock, installed there in 1852, was the first clock to make Greenwich Mean Time (GMT) visible to the public, altering the experience of time forever. Coleridge thus places his readers in the crucible of problems of perception and proffers poetry as the apparatus for the direct apprehension of reality.
By Samuel Taylor Coleridge