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Tuesday, 1 July 2008

Breaking the chains or recreating the prison? 2

Before the Romantics

Some of the characteristics of this period can be illustrated from the writings of George Crabbe, who, in 1783, a year after he was appointed chaplain to the Duke of Rutland published his poem ‘The Village’. Crabbe’s sombre view of society was part of that great wave of seriousness and social conscience seen most clearly in the life and works of William Wilberforce and the Evangelicals. In other respects, Crabbe was fully in the eighteenth century tradition. His interest in the life of the lower classes was reminiscent of Defoe and his real compassion for poverty came nearest to that of Johnson. He had a strict religious and moral code, though he disliked religious enthusiasm. He was no social reformer and had no political axe to grind. He did not rail against enclosure or blame the landowners and seemed scarcely aware of the existence of an Industrial Revolution. Want and hardship were facts of nature and must be borne; life did have occasional pleasures, but they were only temporary relief from pain:

“For what is Pleasure, that we toil to gain

Tis but a slow or rapid flight from Pain.”

He did not share the Romantic attitude to nature; to him it was not a subject of mysticism but merely a relentless repetition against which people played out their lives. His writings did, however, have a strong sense of realism. Not for him the idyllic themes of shepherd and shepherdesses in rustic harmony. He knew better and had seen too much poverty to idealise it. Poetry was poor compensation for cold and hunger when poets failed to recognise that distress was the normal experience. Rural life was not a story of rustic contentment but an endless routine of labour from dawn to dusk, in heat and cold, until age and sickness reduced men and women to penury, the workhouse and the grave:

“No longer truth, though shown in verse, disdain

But own the Village Life a life of pain.”

Crabbe made a deep impression on contemporaries. The Edinburgh Review in 1807 declared: “There is a truth and a force in these descriptions of rural life, that is calculated to sink deep into the memory; and, being confirmed by daily observation, they are recalled upon innumerable occasions when the ideal pictures of more fanciful authors have lost all their interest.”  His was a grim picture but one that touched the conscience of the age. It was echoed in a long succession of writers from Coleridge and Cobbett to Carlyle and the Chartists; but unlike them, Crabbe called for no specific social remedies. William Hazlitt did not enjoy Crabbe’s poetry. He wrote in The Spirit of the Age that, “His song is one sad reality, one unraised, unvaried note of unavailing woe...” He dated a change of taste from about the date of Crabbe’s poem: “We cannot help thinking that a taste for the sort of poetry which leans for support on the truth and fidelity of its imitation of nature, began to display itself much about that time…in consequence of the direction of the public taste to the subject of painting.”

Like Crabbe, the young Wordsworth and Coleridge were acutely aware of the hardships suffered by the poor. Wordsworth, who had fought a difficult case to gain possession of his small patrimony from the hands of the Earl of Lonsdale, was very much aware of the oppressive weight of the aristocracy on the countryside and of the sufferings of the poor in periods of unemployment and distress. But ultimately theirs was a different vision.

The meaning of romanticism

The word ‘romantic’ seems to have first come into use in England in the mid-seventeenth century when it meant ‘having the wild or exciting qualities of medieval romances’. In the eighteenth century it was often used as a term of abuse implying what was irrational. Doctor Johnson, for example, wrote of “romantic absurdities” but it was also occasionally used to describe a scene such as a moonlit landscape that aroused pleasurable sensations of mystery and loneliness.

It was German philosophers who first used ‘romantic’ as the antithesis of ‘classical’. They rejected the philosophy of the Enlightenment with its assumption that people lived in a rational universe in which all problems had a rational answer. They sought to explore the irrational, to discover meaning on a deeper level than was explored by science and reason. In England, the conflict between the romantic and the classical was less marked than on the continent because the fundamentals of classical thought had already been eroded by the empirical philosophy of the eighteenth century. Yet in England too, Wordsworth accompanied his poetical experiments with an attack on Alexander Pope and Edmund Burke jeered at the philosophy of Bolingbroke.

The Romantic poets sought to give new dimensions both to nature and the human mind. Coleridge suggested that there was a two-fold approach to the problem while commenting on the composition of the Lyrical Ballads. “It was agreed that my efforts should be directed to persons and characters supernatural, or at least romantic, yet so as to transfer from our inward nature these shadows of imagination that willing suspension of disbelief for the moment which constitutes poetic faith. Mr Wordsworth, on the other hand, was to propose to himself as his object to give the charm of novelty to things of every day and to excite a feeling analogous to the supernatural, by awakening the mind’s attention from the lethargy of custom and directing it to the loveliness and the wonders of the world before us....”

There were not, however, two separate operations but different aspects of the same exploration of the ‘inward nature’ of which Coleridge wrote. In a sense, however, Coleridge’s attitude was the more ‘romantic’ because he was dealing more directly with the faculty of the imagination. Wordsworth, on the other hand, was more conscious of the existence of a spirit in wild nature that existed independent of men's minds but that reflected the same stirrings as moved humanity: it was the idea of the mind being in accord with the spirit of nature that so inspired him. This was why William Blake so distrusted Wordsworth for the idea to him smacked too much of naturalism. For to Blake it was not Nature but the spirit of man that was important.

The attitudes of the Romantics to nature might be esoteric, sublime and difficult to understand, but it their simple appreciation of wild scenery they were reflecting a general opinion. The Edinburgh Review, hardly a poetic journal, commented in May 1811 that, “There is the sublime impression of the Mighty Power which piled the massive cliffs upon each other and rent the mountains asunder and scattered their giant fragments at their base....Add to all this the traces of vast and obscure antiquity that are impressed on the language and habits of the people; and on the cliffs and caves and gulfy torrents of the land; and the solemn and touching reflection perpetually recurring, of the weakness and insignificance of perishable man...”

This does not specially express romanticism, but rather the generally accepted view in 1811. But it does underline some of its important constituents: a new sense of history, of people retaining their ancient traditions through long periods of time and all of this taking place against the backdrop of nature. This is not a ‘breaking free’ from the constraints of the past but rather a conservative reflection of the importance of traditions. The Romantic poet and philosopher started from the assumption that empirical science and philosophy were inadequate as a means of answering all the most important questions of human life. The argument is clearly put in Shelley’s A Defence of Poetry and can be summarised as follows.

  1. Locke and his followers operated upon a certain level of thought that was limited by the confines of empiricism. Their thought led directly to utilitarianism.
  2. The Utilitarians regarded the selfish and transitory interests of man as alone of significance: the object was to achieve ‘the greatest happiness for the greatest number’. Shelley argued that this led to the politics and philosophy of selfishness.
  3. What was needed was to transfer the argument to a higher place of reality, that of the permanent and universal. This was why Shelley placed poets above what he called “reasoners and mechanists” and imagination above reason. He therefore called upon the arts of music, poetry, architecture and painting to restore imagination to its rightful place in human affairs. The idea is essentially Platonic; the poet apprehends a harmony that exists in the universe beneath the conflicting fragments and transitory details of daily life.

To the Augustans the mind was a kind of mirror reflecting and recording the external world, and since that world was a rational world governed by ascertainable laws, all that was needed for its comprehension was knowledge and the power of judgement. To the Romantics it was different. There was a material world but it was transcended by an ideal world of the mind, a world that created harmony.

In emphasising the importance of the power of imagination the poet laid himself open to the accusation that he was merely creating a world of his own, which had no necessary connection to anyone else's world. The danger was that Romantics might come to think of themselves as Gods creating their own moral standards. Byron was certainly not free from this. Wordsworth was more humble and sought patiently for the spirit of the universe as expressed by Nature. Shelley thought he had found it in the spirit of love and Blake saw the imagination as the “Divine Vision”. Despite the lofty intellectualism of their principles, the Romantic poets did not consider themselves as living in ivory towers remote from reality. They saw themselves as men of action. Wordsworth wished to be seen above all as a teacher. Shelley declared that all the great authors of revolution in the world’s history were poets[1]; “poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world”. In this we have the fundamental difference between the Romantics and the Augustans. To the latter poets and artists were interpreters of the world. To the Romantics they were creators.

The Romantic dilemma

In general, the Romantic poet was aware of an ideal world, often more real than the material world; but it was also a world of imponderable force that he could never fully understand. The imagination could create it in part, but there was always something that eluded his grasp; he was always aware of the gulf between the ideal and its attainment. This gulf became a mystery to be described and, if possible, explained. The quest for a bridge between reality and the imagination was created in a variety of ways:

  1. Some poets like Coleridge sought, through mind-expanding drugs like opium, to expand their consciousness of the supernatural. This can be seen particularly in Kublai Khan and The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.
  2. Interest in the supernatural was often accompanied by a revival of interest in medieval history and romance. Horace Walpole pointed the way towards the Gothic novel in his The Castle of Otranto. His interest in Gothic architecture, with its darkness, its clanging halls, winding passages and hanging tapestries, led him to reconstruct a fantastic story of the supernatural that contained most of the elements of Romantic medievalism. This was taken further in the work of Anne Radcliffe in her novels A Sicilian Romance, The Mysteries of Udolpho and The Italian and by Mary Shelley in Frankenstein.

In making the gulf between reality and imagination, as Keats called it “the burden of a mystery” the Romantics in their quest for truth created a prison for themselves. It has been suggested that they were social misfits, weak and vapid in their idealism and superficially there may appear to be some truth in this assertion. Keats, Shelley and Byron all died young, their idealism intact. Shelley was a rebel; Byron a social outcast; William Blake a mystic; John Clare went mad; Coleridge was a drug addict and only he and Wordsworth lived on with changed increasingly Tory views to enjoy a respectable if drab old age. Yet their romanticism was, for all its vapidity, deeply concerned with the philosophical significance of life. They all agreed in making the highest possible claims for the importance of poetry, resting their claims upon the importance of the human heart and the faculty of imagination in the pursuit of truth. All were deeply interested in the political problems of their day and Shelley and Coleridge at least made important contributions to the political thought of their time.

Romanticism sought to break the chains that bound people to the rationalist Enlightenment agenda and in this they were, within limits, successful. In doing so, however, they recreated the rationalist prison. In their search to understand the ‘mystery’ of the rift between reality and imagination they used the past with all its traditional conservatism to bolster their case. In raising radical questions about the nature of the individual, of society and of the relationship between the individual and the state they posed fundamental questions but they found no solutions. Solutions are ultimately about responding to real rather than imagined scenarios. The Romantics lost in their world of the idealised intellect had difficulty in expounding their philosophies to an audience set in the real world. This was their dilemma and ultimately their failure.


[1] This may well be why Plato in The Republic sought to ban poets from his polity.

Monday, 30 June 2008

Breaking the chains or recreating the prison?

The decades between 1790 and 1830 saw an outpouring of creative energies in British culture that was and probably remains unique. In literature, art and political theory the values of the eighteenth century grounded in principles of rationalism and realism were challenged by the emotions and naturalism of the Romantics. This ‘breaking of the chains’ with tradition and accepted values was initially seen as radical even revolutionary. Poets like Wordsworth, Coleridge and later Shelley and Byron questioned the nature of existing social structures and literary values. Their project, in many senses a joint one, was to break free from what they perceived as the constraints of Augustan writing and move the boundaries of literature away from the sterile and limiting agenda of ‘polite’ literature towards a freeing of the spirit through symbiosis with the natural world and its undefiled and pure features. Through this process they believed that man could ‘find himself’[1].

If this was their objective, then it was a short-lived one. Those bright, young things of the 1790s had become figures of the Establishment by the late 1830s or, in the case of Shelley, Byron and Keats had succumbed early to water, fire and disease. There is much in the lives of the Romantic poets that is reminiscent of the response of many to the challenge of the 1960s when the Establishment was assailed from all sides, seemed likely to crumble and yet survived buoyed up precisely by those who had been amongst its most ardent critics: the Hippies of the 1960s became the merchant bankers and venture capitalists of the 1980s and 1990s. The aim of this paper is to try and explain the context in which Wordsworth and his fellow poets wrote and why their original project was ultimately to fail. It was not so much a case of breaking free as a reconstruction of the prison of traditionalism. The ‘angry young men’ irrevocably became conservatives in old age.

‘Breaking free’

Jean Jacques Rousseau wrote, in his most infamous work The Social Contract in the early 1760s that, “Man is born free and yet everywhere he is in chains.” The meaning of this seemingly simple sentence is at the heart of the Romantic dilemma and has been a cause of much misunderstanding about the precise nature of the Romantic agenda. Rousseau was writing in a Europe in which the Enlightenment was at its height; in fact he was one of its prominent luminaries. In Europe the Enlightenment project was a self-conscious assault on the principles of Absolutism in which the rights of the individual were subsumed within the authority of the State. Its aim was to raise the level of political awareness by pointing to the inadequacies of existing political systems and suggesting that more democratic alternatives were necessary. In this, the Enlightenment marked an important ‘breaking free’ from the constraints of existing social and political structures. For those who espoused this perspective the American Revolution between 1775 and 1783 and the French Revolution after 1789 were beacons marking the end of the old order, the Ancien Regime: what William Blake called “the witness against the Beast”.

Yet there was much in English life and thought that was simply a continuation of the earlier eighteenth century. Continuity was as much a part of life between 1790 and 1830 as was change. Beau Brummel, the favourite of the Prince Regent in the early nineteenth century, would have found little difficulty in adapting himself to the age of Beau Nash who dominated the life and manners of Bath a century earlier; the patrons of Henry Holland to the architecture of William Kent and the classicist Palladians, or Francis Jeffrey to the world of Addison, Swift and Pope. But there were changes of thought and attitude after 1790 that were both crucial and fundamental and it is clear that they were intimately connected to the political and social changes of the period.

The loss of the American colonies in 1783 was a shock to national pride and within a decade Britain was embarked on a war with France that was to last for the next twenty-two years. Both the American and French wars began as wars of ideas -- the case of the former according to the recently published and contentious work of Jonathan Clark as a war of religion between the Dissenting Americans and the Anglican British; for the latter as a war between constitutional monarchy and republican dictatorship[2]. Both led to political values being questioned and defended with new determination and clarity. Political discourse became fundamental, as they had not done since the 1730s, with the assertion of radicalism on the one hand and the defence of conservatism on the other. England came under the influence not only of foreign revolutionary ideas but the rapid growth of population, urbanisation, trade dislocations and widespread ‘distress’ led to increased social misery. This bred discontent and potentially revolt creating among the governing classes a mixture of fear, misgivings and social conscience, what I will refer to as a sense of ‘revolutionary paranoia’. This was a problem of such magnitude that no contemporaries fully understood it or had an adequate solution for it. There were few writers of the period who were not touched by it for the seriousness of the problem burnt itself into the minds of all who thought about it.

Demands for parliamentary reform emerged in the 1770s and 1780s and thought they were influenced by events in America and France, they were primarily a ‘home-grown’ product. These demands meant different things to different people. It might mean the end of royal patronage, or the increase in the number of country gentlemen in Parliament; or the abolition of rotten boroughs where very small numbers of electors had the right to vote and bribery was rife; or it might mean votes for all adult men. But there was always the underlying idea that it would end the corruption and inefficiencies of government revealed during the American war. The reformers were themselves divided and many were cured of their desire for change by the onset of the French Revolution. ‘Breaking free’ had its limits. Radicalism, though its origins were in the seventeenth century, received a fillip from the revolutionary activities in France. Thomas Paine attacked all established institutions and his Rights of Man became essential reading for any self-respecting radical and the Jacobinism it spawned became a considerable force in the 1790s. Radicalism also included those Dissenters and Roman Catholics (the latter chiefly in Ireland) who demanded the end of religious discrimination; and socialists like Thomas Spence and Robert Owen who called for the end of either land-ownership or capitalism or both. William Cobbett sought by means of parliamentary democracy to save the individuality of workers and farmer labourers threatened by the three-fold Leviathan of government, enclosures and capitalism. Despite pressure, sometimes almost intolerable, the governing classes held and specific radical achievements in this period were few though it did produce a growing working-class consciousness and an atmosphere favourable to the broadly middle-class reforms of the 1820s and the Reform Act of 1832.

Equally in reaction to the social problems of the time, a great ‘seriousness’ swept over an important part of the nation, a deep concern for morality, an acute sense of guilt and sin, on both a personal and national level. This resulted in a re-examination of personal and social morality and was accompanied by an urgent sense of the need for a return to religion. The Evangelicals made a deep imprint on the thought of this period and much of what we today call ‘Victorian values’ have their origin before 1830. Evangelicals for the most part rejected the principles of individualism that underlay radical thought and were thus opposed to parliamentary reform. They feared any attack on the social order but wished to replace the selfish instincts that underlay ‘laissez-faire’ principles by a new code of social morality based on a more personal Christianity.

Demands for social cohesion and a new view of the nature of society were closely linked to a new sense of the importance of history and of organic growth. Eighteenth century rationalists had found it easy to dismiss the whole historical process as falling into a simplistic three-fold pattern: the classical age of Greece and Rome followed by medieval darkness and superstition culminating in the triumph of Enlightenment. David Hume pointed the way to the study of the past for its own sake and to see it as an organic process[3]. This was a route followed in monumental style by Edward Gibbon in his The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire published in 1776. Edmund Burke provided the philosophical accompaniment in his Reflections on the Revolution in France and Sir Walter Scott supplied the romantic nostalgia through his many historical novels. History was, however, used as a mode of political argument to buttress the radical and conservative cases and it is not surprising that England did not produce a first-class historian between Hume and Gibbon in the 1760s and 1770s and Macaulay, Carlyle and Stubbs in the 1840s and 1850s. The study of History perhaps flourishes best in more settled times than those between 1790 and 1830.


[1] This paper was written in the summer of 1999 and revisited in 2007.

[2] See J.C.D. Clark The Language of Liberty 1660-1832, Cambridge University Press, 1993.

[3] David Hume The History of England, first published in 1753.