planned and stored up much for his future life. It will often be repeated, but not too often for a society so full of sciolists and disbelievers, — men who are so self-satisfied as not to require teaching, — that Coleridge never was an idle man; and that, if nothing else remained, the progress he made in intellectual acquirements during his residence at Stowey and his short stay in Germany, might be instanced. Before he quitted this country to embark in fresh studies we have his own statement:
“I became convinced, that religion, as both the cornerstone and the keystone of morality, must have a ‘moral’ origin; so far, at least, that the evidence of its doctrines could not, like the truths of abstract science, be ‘wholly’ independent of the will.
It was therefore to be expected, that its ‘fundamental’ truth would be such as MIGHT be denied, though only by the fool, and even by the fool from madness of ‘heart’ alone!
The question then concerning our faith in the existence of a God, not only as the ground of the universe by his essence, but by his wisdom and holy will as its maker and judge, appeared to stand thus: the sciential reason, the objects of wit are purely theoretical, remains neutral, as long as its name and semblance are not usurped by the opponents of the doctrine; but it ‘then’ becomes an effective ally by exposing the false show of demonstration, or by evincing the equal demonstrability of the contrary from premises equally logical. The ‘understanding’, meantime suggests, the analogy of ‘experience’ facilitates, the belief. Nature excites and recalls it, as by a perpetual revelation. Our feelings almost necessitate it; and the law of conscience peremptorily commands it. The arguments that all apply to, are in its favor; and there is nothing against it, but its own sublimity.
It could not be intellectually more evident without becoming morally less effective; without counteracting its own end by sacrificing the ‘life’ of faith to the cold mechanism of a worthless, because compulsory assent. The belief of a God and a future state (if a passive acquiescence may be flattered with the name of ‘belief’) does not, indeed, always beget a good heart; but a good heart so naturally begets the belief, that the very few exceptions must be regarded as strange anomalies from strange and unfortunate circumstances.
From these premises I proceeded to draw the following conclusions, — first, that having once fully admitted the existence of an infinite yet selfconscious Creator, we are not allowed to ground the irrationality of any other article of faith on arguments which would equally prove ‘that’ to be irrational, which we had allowed to be ‘real’. Secondly, that whatever is deducible from the admission of a ‘self-comprehending’ and ‘creative’ spirit, may be legitimately used in proof of the ‘possibility’ of any further mystery concerning the Divine Nature.
“Possibilitatem mysteriorum (Trinitatis, &c.) contra insultus infidelium et hereticorum a contradictionibus vindico; haud quidem veritatem, quæ revelatione sola stabiliri possit;” says Leibnitz, in a letter to his duke. He then adds the following just and important remark. “In vain will tradition or texts of Scripture be adduced in support of a doctrine, ‘donec clava impossibilitatis et contradictionis e manibus horum Herculum extorta fuerit.’ For the heretic will still reply, that texts, the literal sense of which is not so much above as directly against all reason, must be understood figuratively, as Herod is a Fox, &c.
These principles,” says he, “I held philosophically, while in respect of revealed religion, I remained a zealous Unitarian. I considered the idea of a Trinity a fair scholastic inference from the being of God, as a creative intelligence; and that it was therefore entitled to the rank of an esoteric doctrine of natural religion: but seeing in the same no practical or moral bearing, I confined it to the schools of philosophy. The admission of the Logos, as hypostasized (i.e. neither a mere attribute nor a personification), in no respect removed my doubts concerning the incarnation and the redemption by the cross; which I could neither reconcile in ‘reason’ with the impassiveness of the Divine Being, nor in my moral feelings with the sacred distinction between things and persons, the vicarious payment of a debt and the vicarious expiation of guilt.
A more thorough revolution in my philosophic principles, and a deeper insight into my own heart were yet wanting. Nevertheless, I cannot doubt, that the difference of my metaphysical notions from those of Unitarians in general ‘contributed’ to my final reconversion to the ‘whole truth’ in ‘Christ;’ even as according to his own confession the books of certain Platonic philosophers (Libri quorundam Platonicorum) commenced the rescue of St. Augustine’s faith from the same error, aggravated by the far darker accompaniment of the Manichean heresy.”
Perhaps it is right also to state, that no small share of his final reconversion was attributable to that zeal and powerful genius, and to his great desire that others should become sharers in his own acquirements, which he was so desirous to communicate. During his residence at the foot of Quantock, his thoughts and studies were not only directed to an enquiry into the great truths of religion, but, while he stayed at Stowey, he was in the habit of preaching often at the Unitarian Chapel at Taunton, and was greatly respected by all the better and educated classes in the neighbourhood.
He spoke of Stowey with warmth and affection to the latest hours of his life. Here, as before mentioned, dwelt his friend Mr. Thomas Poole — the friend (justly so termed) to whom he alludes in his beautiful dedicatory poem to his brother the Rev. George Coleridge, and in which, when referring to himself, he says,
”To me the Eternal Wisdom hath dispensed
A different fortune and more different mind —
Me from the spot where first I sprang to light
Too soon transplanted, ere my soul had fix’d
Its first domestic loves; and hence through life
Chasing chance-started friendships. A brief while
Some have preserved me from life’s pelting ills;
But, like a tree with leaves of feeble stem,
If the clouds lasted, and a sudden breeze
Ruffled the boughs, they on my head at once
Dropp’d the collected shower; and some most false,
False and fair foliaged as the Manchineel,
Have tempted me to slumber in their shade
E’en mid the storm; then breathing subtlest damps,
Mix’d their own venom with the rain from Heaven,
That I woke poison’d! But, all praise to Him
Who gives us all things, more have yielded me
Permanent shelter; and beside one friend,
Beneath the impervious covert of one oak,
I’ve raised a lowly shed, and know the names
Of husband and of father; not unhearing
Of that divine and nightly-whispering voice,
Which from my childhood to maturer years
Spake to me of predestinated wreaths,
Bright with no fading colours!”
These beautiful and affecting lines to his brother are dated May 26th, 1797, Nether Stowey, Somerset. In his will, dated Highgate, July 2nd, 1830, he again refers to this friend, and directs his executor to present a plain gold mourning ring to Thomas Poole, Esq., of Nether Stowey.
“The Dedicatory Poem to my ‘Juvenile Poems,’ and my ‘Fears in Solitude,’ render it unnecessary to say more than what I then, in my early manhood, thought and felt, I now, a gray-headed man, still think and feel.”
In this volume, dedicated to his brother, are to be found several poems in early youth and upwards, none of later date than 1796.
The “Ode,” he says, “on the Departing Year, was written on the 24th, 25th, and 26th of December, 1796, and published separately on the last day of that year. ‘The Religious Musings’ were written as early as Christmas 1794.”
He then was about to enter his 23rd year. The preface to this volume