Imagine: Sir Francis Bacon On "Hymn to Intellectual Beauty"

I am studying Sir Francis Bacon in my Renaissance Literature course at the moment, and I think this essay provides an interesting backdrop for which to think about Shelley's poem. Specifically, Bacon's last paragraph seems to converse well with the poem (although the two authors obviously lived in very different eras--Bacon was writing largely in the 16th century). Bacon seems to believe that the "first entrance" into nature makes it easy to become disposed to atheism. But, he counters, "wading deep" into nature, becoming very entrenched, will actually "bring about men's mind to religion." This philosophy is interesting to think about in relation to all of the romantic poets we have studied thus far, I think. As a class, we have frequently discussed the seeming presence of a spirit in nature throughout the romantic works. How do the different poets interact with/view this spirit? What would each of them say about Bacon's argument? Does Shelley have a true grasp of his own spirituality? Lastly, it seems like Shelley recognizes much of the same wonders in nature that Wordsworth does, so why does this lead him in particular to atheism? Below is Sir Francis Bacon's essay:

SIR FRANCIS BACON: OF ATHEISM.

"The fool hath said in his heart there is no God."

First, it is to be noted, that the Scripture saith, "The fool hath said in his heart, and not thought in his heart;" that is to say, he doth not so fully think it in judgment, as he hath a good will to be of that belief; for seeing it makes not for him that there should be a God, he doth seek by all means accordingly to persuade and resolve himself, and studies to affirm, prove, and verify it to himself as some theme or position: all which labour, notwithstanding that sparkle of our creation light, whereby men acknowledge a Deity burneth still within; and in vain doth he strive utterly to alienate it or put it out, so that it is out of the corruption of his heart and will, and not out of the natural apprehension of his brain and conceit, that he doth set down his opinion, as the comical poet saith, "Then came my mind to be of mine opinion," as if himself and his mind had been two divers things; therefore the atheist hath rather said, and held it in his heart, than thought or believed in his heart that there is no God; secondly, it is to be observed, that he hath said in his heart, and not spoken it with his mouth. But again you shall note, that this smothering of this persuasion within the heart cometh to pass tor fear of government and of speech amongst men; for, as he saith, "To deny God in a public argument were much, but in a familiar conference were current enough:" for if this bridle were removed, there is no heresy which would contend more to spread and multiply, and disseminate itself abroad, than atheism: neither shall you see those men which are drenched in this frenzy of mind to breathe almost any thing else, or to inculcate even without occasion any thing more than speech tending to atheism, as may appear in Lucrecius the epicure, who makes of his invectives against religion as it were a burden or verse of return to all his other discourses; the reason seems to be, for that the atheist not relying sufficiently upon himself, floating in mind and unsatisfied, and enduring within many faintings, and as it were fails of his opinion, desires by other men's opinions agreeing with his, to be recovered and brought again; for it is a true saying, "Whoso laboureth earnestly to prove an opinion to another, himself distrusts it:" thirdly, it is a fool that hath so said in his heart, which is most true; not only in respect that he hath no taste in those things which are supernatural and divine; but in respect of human and civil wisdom: for first of all, if you mark the wits and dispositions which are inclined to atheism, you shall find them light, scoffing, impudent, and vain; briefly of such a constitution as is most contrary to wisdom and moral gravity.

Secondly, amongst statesmen and politics, those which have been of greatest depths and compass, and of largest and most universal understanding, have not only in cunning made their profit in seeming religious to the people, but in truth have been touched with an inward sense of the knowledge of Deity, as they which you shall evermore note to have attributed much to fortune and providence.

Contrariwise, those who ascribed all things to their own cunning and practices, and to the immediate, and apparent causes, and as the prophet saith, "Have sacrificed to their own nets," have been always but petty counterfeit statesman, and not capable of the greatest actions.

Lastly, this I dare affirm in knowledge of nature, that a little natural philosophy, and the first entrance into it, doth dispose the opinion to atheism; but on the other side, much natural philosophy and wading deep into it, will bring about men's minds to religion; wherefore atheism every way seems to be combined with folly and ignorance, seeing nothing can can be more justly allotted to be the saying of fools than this, "There is no God"

He is not dead, he doth not sleep - He hath awaken from the dream of life.

Percy Shelley directly addresses Wordsworth in this poem and ends the sonnet by saying “Thou leavest me to grieve, / Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.” My first interpretation of this poem, without any background knowledge, was that Shelley was mourning the death of Wordsworth. Shelley speaks about Wordsworth as if he no longer exists and he discusses the works of Wordsworth’s past. But Wordsworth outlived Shelley by a number of years.

Shelley happened to write this poem around the time that Wordsworth strayed from his original, radical philosophies and converted into a conservative, fundamentalist. During this time too, Wordsworth started to work for the government, almost completely abandoning his poetry. This most likely seemed very un-romantic and was considered shameful to Shelley because he wrote this poem which speaks of Wordsworth as if he no longer existed.  It’s almost as if Shelley suggests that Wordsworth was nothing without his poetry and that he was somewhat of a coward for abandoning his craft.

This entire poem is meant to defy Wordsworth and his career decisions which makes the structure particularly interesting to me. Wordsworth loved to write sonnets and he usually wrote sonnets in the traditional form: octave and sestet. Instead this poem is written with the sestet first and the octave last. Wordsworth’s poetry usually had an abbaabba rhyme scheme while this poem has an ababcdcd pattern (until we get closer to the last six lines where things get weird.)

Knowing the background information about this poem makes it pretty hilarious to me. It’s really funny that Shelley wrote a sonnet about Wordsworth’s life changes as if his changes made him lose his original identity, which lead to his death (or lack of existence.) 

To Wordsworth

The first footnote prefaces this poem by suggesting that Shelley's motivations involved his shift to a more conservative view. Initially reading the footnote I was slightly confused as to why Shelley would feel the need, not only to inform Wordsworth in such dramatic fashion of this shift in thinking, but also why Shelley would want this seemingly private conversation to be published. After reading the poem, I could not help but compare this poem to something of a love poem. It is not that the content of the poem that signifies this romance, but more the tone of the poem. Shelley starts the poem by referring to Wordsworth as the "Poet of Nature" (1), not only is this a very generous title to give a poet, but it is also very similar to the way couples give one another pet-names. Beginning the poem in this way is almost like writing a letter to a significant other and addressing him or her as "My love." He then insinuates that Wordsworth is so moved by Shelley's knew perspective that he expects Wordsworth to have "wept" (1), once again evoking the image of a relationship.
Shelley goes on to discuss all that he has lost now that his views are more conservative, and many of these losses seem to suggest that Shelley has lost the ability to be a romantic, yet the irony is, as Shelley writes about how "friendship and love's first glow / have fled like sweet dreams" (3-4), he is gushing to Wordsworth, almost begging for attention. Shelley also refers to Wordsworth at one point as "a lone star" (7), and then Shelley continues with this image as he discusses how Wordsworth's "light did shine" (7), and it is all very beautiful, but I just cannot figure out how the tone of the poem fits with what Shelley is actually saying. Why is Shelley so emotionally attached to what Wordsworth would think of all this in the first place, and if Shelley is so concerned with Wordsworth's opinion, enough to "grieve" (13), how can he possibly say that he has lost love and friendship when he is addressing Wordsworth as if they are romantically involved?

What Silence Can Do: Coleridge's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner"

My grandfather once told me he hated poetry because of Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” Despite being the child of German immigrants in the less-than-ideal New York City public school system in the first half of the 20^th century, a man who learned to read by having individual English words thrown up on a wall one-by-one (as opposed to hearing sounds strung together), my grandfather became, as an adult, a voracious reader. Yet, he remained (and perhaps still is) rather opposed to poetry, all because of his initial forced experience with Coleridge’s long poem. My grandfather, like the Wedding Guest, could not “choose but hear” and was thus made weary (18) (38).

Last week I discussed sound in Coleridge’s “Frost at Midnight.” Sound and the senses are what draw me to Coleridge’s work. I had long avoided “Rime” because of my grandfather’s omen (what many parallels there are here, weirdly, with the poem itself). Upon encountering it for the first time, I was amazed by how difficult the poem was to follow (even with the glosses, which often served to only confuse me further at points, sometimes similar to Eliot’s notes on The Waste Land). But I was further amazed by how monosyllabic and non-melodic the poem sounded.

The voice of the Mariner, while eloquent or melodramatic, often relies on repetition of key phrases that are almost childlike. “Water, water every where,” he recalls. “And all the boards did shrink; / Water, water, every where, / Nor any drop to drink” (119-122). At times, I found myself laughing at the poem because of its “darkness” that was told in such a simple spirit. Examples abound of this kind of repeated vocabulary: “As idle as a painted ship / Upon a painted ocean” (117-118), “Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs / Upon the slimy sea” (125-126), “A weary time! a weary time! / How glazed each weary eye” (145-146), and “Alone, alone, all, all, alone, / Alone on the wide wide sea!” (232-233). I found the last example actually moving and indicative of one of the ways the repetition works in the poem. Although it is haunting and ghostly, the narrative often seems rather plodding, not unlike being out on the sea where, in every direction, everything looks the same wave to wave “on the wide wide sea!” We feel adrift like the mariner himself does, or did.

The repetition also gives voice to the “silence” of the poem. The crew finds themselves mute, and this silence is a curse and a tragedy: “And every tongue, through utter drought, / Was withered at the root; / We could not speak, nore more than if / We had been choked with soot” (135-139). For “all dumb we stood!” (159) – this not long before each crew member, save the Mariner, drops dead like the albatross he shot at the start of the poem. They become silent like the sea – save a recognized boy, they are undifferentiated and alike, like the waves to each wave. The silence, from the moon (or nature in general), and from ghosts, heightens the supernatural quality of the piece.

Perhaps the Mariner feels too ill-equipped to tell this tale, though he feels, as he relates by the end of “Rime,” that it is his duty to do so. “O happy living things!” he cries. “No tongue Their beauty might declare” (282-283). Those things that are happy and living, like those that are sad and dead, cannot be described by the tongue.

But silence moves and acts in the poem: dead things are like things alive – i.e, life-in-Death. They are certainly different, but the similarity is striking. “But soon there breathed a wind on me, / Nor sound nor motion made: / Its path was not upon the sea, / In ripple or in shade,” the Mariner relates, showing how the wind could breath and act without sound or motion (452-455). Later, there is “No voice; but oh! The silence sank / Like music on my heart” (498-499). Silence sinks; silence somehow comes and goes without sound or motion. This paradox transgressed throughout the poem seems its central tension and force. How it relates to the overall framing of the poem with the held up wedding guest I don’t know, but it does seem like maybe it has to do with motion/inertia. The “moving” or riveting tale is told completely to a man who is stopped; it is the story of a journey, but a failed journey. Something happens and, yet, nothing really does happen. Instead we find our poor guest, and perhaps ourselves, as “he went like one that hath been stunned” (622). We go, yet we are knocked to a standstill. Perhaps this paradox made no sense to my grandfather, a man who was and is always on-the-go and traveling and has no time for archaic-sounding rimes, told by ancient mariners or otherwise. Yet exploring this tension is what gives the poem, I think, its bizarre power and makes one feel a little less forlorn (623).

the Sidenotes are Strange

For the most part the notes on the side of the poem read to me like footnotes but more authentic, since they appear to be a part of the poem. I’m not sure how it was formatted originally, though (?). Still, I felt they were things that I could have figured out if I’d read the poem carefully, and this made them seem more like anxiety on the poet’s (speaker's?) part—a way for him to be a part of a poem that perhaps leaves him out, as well as a way for him to be sure that the reader understood the plot of the poem. Perhaps this is because Coleridge, so focused on language, didn’t take care to make sure—or thought that he didn’t, at least—that the actual plot of the poem was clear. In that sense, this then makes the plot even more important, because he takes time he doesn’t take in other poems to explain it. Although it is maybe evident in other poems to a lesser degree—at least in “This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison” he starts out with a description of the setting (one that is then layered interestingly again with the anthology’s footnote—he only describes the incident as “an accident, which disabled him from walking”—I get the impression Coleridge might be less than enthused to know that the exact nature of the accident was described for the reader along with the poem).

Around line 119 of “Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” the side note “And the Albatross beings to be avenged” seemed to give the notes a purpose they didn't have before. I couldn’t find anything in the accompanying stanza—“Water, water, every where…” (119) that I would have been able to clearly interprete as the albatross being avenged without having read the note. It felt like the first one that added something completely new to the poem. Of course, this may only indicate that there is something in every note that adds a new understanding to the poem, it is just more subtle in some places than others. The notes definitely serve as a way for the poet (speaker?) to control when the reader realizes what is happening. The inconsistency is odd, though—there are some points, such as the note for lines 216-219 “His shipmates drop down dead”—where the sentiment in the side note is pretty obvious from the stanza—“With a heavy thump, a lifeless lump/They dropped down one by one” (218-9).

I suppose that despite the inconsistency in their usefullness as far as understanding plot, all of the foot notes work to add another layer to the poem’s narrative. There is the story, then the Mariner telling it to the Wedding guest, then the speaker telling the story of the Mariner telling his story to the guest, then a further speaker writing the explanatory notes, and then the poet (we can maybe condense some of those—we could consider the notes the poet, or the notes the speaker of the poem, or all three the same—but they can be separated, too). The distance that this creates is mythlike—as though Coleridge wanted to create a new myth and throw it back through time so that it wasn’t a new story anymore. 

Not within the narrative, but another aspect of the story are all the implied times that the Mariner has had/will continue to have to tell the story to different people. This is another odd aspect to the poem—it suggests that this story does not exist only within the poem. Not the base story, that is—this is only one story of the story being told, of which there are perhaps as many as there are people the Mariner runs into. This makes it even more mythic—it creates an illusion that there could be different versions to the story, that this poem is only one and therefore perhaps less valuable, and in a way succeeds in making the poem appear as though it is not as carefully constructed as it is.

The intricate construction to make the poem into a myth is interesting also when considering the expression “albatross around one’s neck” that we use now—the poem has become a myth we reference, which gives it another layer when we read it now.

Here’s a relevant song! (although it maybe confuses the metaphor since it tells you both to shoot your albatross down and let it go when it's already around your neck? still, interesting):

The Mariner's Setting

A major part of Coleridge’s appeal in “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” is his ability to enthrall the reader in the mariner’s tale. The audience becomes devoid of a physical setting when the mariner’s tale becomes the entire textual landscape, overshadowing the larger narrative it is part of. This separation occurs whenever the audience forgets the story is inside of a poem and that it does not constitute the poem entirely. Despite this performance of skill, it feels pertinent to, in fact, keep in mind the poem’s setting and to put that in dialogue with the somewhat obscured moral of the piece. The setting seems especially important because the story’s telling comes due to epiphany as the mariner recites at the end, “I pass, like night, from land to land;/ I have strange power of speech;/ That moment that his face I see,/ I know the man that must hear me:/ To him my tale I teach” (586-90). The mariner has no home and roams on telling his story, giving Coleridge endless settings in which to place this telling, which makes this particular utterance at this particular setting important.
So what can we glean from the comparison? Well if we want to utilize the historical author, it can be fathomed that the poem contains some of Coleridge’s own anxieties about marriage (his own marriage failing several years after the poem’s initial publication). The albatross, a vague and general symbol, could then come to represent anything from the promise of marriage to virginity; its white feathers like “moon-shine” (78) representing anything comparable to purity or hope.

At the end of the text itself, there seems to be little indication that the poem is explicitly about marriage. The narrator (whether it be the mariner or some form of omniscient third party) makes claims about a man’s relationship to God and what role solitude has in a life, but no direct lessons about marriage. Except in lines 601-4 where the narrator says, “O sweeter than the marriage-feast,/ ‘Tis sweeter far to me,/ To walk together to the kirk/ With a goodly company!-” Here, the narrator says he would prefer company to food, but “marriage-feast” can also be read more generally as the bounty of marriage. Thus, though through a stretch of interpretation, the narrator seems to say good company cannot come with marriage, that marriage in some way curses and corrupts company as the dead albatross corrupts the mariner’s voyage.

The Ancient Mariner's Sun and Moon

On the same note of repetition, Coleridge uses the sun and moon repeatedly throughout the poem as symbols to foreshadow what is coming in the mariner's tale. This begins at line 24, as the mariner first reports that "the sun camp up upon the left"and "higher" everyday until a storm came.
When the albatross first makes its appearance, it is known to be a good sign and is "glimmer[ing] the white moon-shine" (78). After the mariner shoots the albatross, "the Sun now rose upon the right" (82).
The sun and the moon not only contrast each other but they don't exist together. In Part 2, "the bloody Sun, at noon" is said to be "no bigger than the Moon". While the sun now symbolizes the vengeance of the albatross, the moon begins to symbolize the spirit that will guide the mariner home. This stanza represents their opposition as well as the idea that one is not bigger or better than the other.
The sun is repeatedly mentioned as the skeleton ship holding Death and Life-in-Death. The ship silhouette is set against the sun and "her sails glance in the Sun" as she gets closer and closer. In this section, the sun is linked heavily with this foreboding ship representing the crew's death.
As the mariner is stuck on this ship with a dead crew, he searches for hope and looks at the "moving Moon". This leads to him having loving thoughts towards the water-snakes because they are God's creatures which begins to break the spell.
The moon repeats its magic when "Beneath the lighting and the moon / The dead men gave a groan" (329 - 330).
Vengeance is brought up again when the "Sun, right above the mast" led the ship to suddenly jolt, leading the mariner to hit his head and be knocked out.
In his sleep, spirits begin to talk to each other, mentioning that the mariner's "great bright eye most silently / Up to the Moon is cast" which is why the ship is moving without any wind.
This is where an idea is revealed that the mariner has the ability to even hypnotize the moon as a way of aiding his journey.
I find this to be an interesting idea, especially since the moon affects the tides of the ocean. It's as if in looking at the moon with hope and love, the mariner ended up affecting the tide itself.