In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy and Literature 28.2 (2004) 324-341 [Access article in PDF] Charles Lamb: Professor of Indifference Tim Milnes University of Edinburgh Nothing puzzles me more than time and space, and yet nothing puzzles me less, for I never think about them.1 I The name of Charles Lamb—essayist, poet, and notorious punster—does not loom large in studies of the philosophy of the English Romantics. The reasons for this initially unsurprising fact (...) range from the personal and obvious to the cultural and curious. Tied for most of his adult life to a clerk's desk at the East India Company, and to the care of his mentally ill sister at home, Lamb was rarely permitted the leisure even to dally in the expansive visionary landscapes explored in the epic works of consciousness of his friends Samuel Taylor Coleridge, William Wordsworth and Robert Southey. And yet, as the 1810 quip to Manning recorded above suggests, his reluctance to engage with philosophy is not merely attributable to the straitened life of the journeyman scribe. Such a remark is quite typical of Lamb's conscious attempt, in the face of a culture increasingly driven by the dissemination of knowledge, to cultivate an imaginative space the reverse of the knowing or "philosophical." It is this attitude that makes him more, not less, interesting alike for the intellectual historian and the philosopher.Lamb's avowed carelessness about matters philosophical is as familiar to his readers as the persona of "Elia" adopted for the essays he wrote for the London Magazine in the early 1820s. It is also just as beguiling and intriguing. Lamb's resistance to philosophy and his epistemic insouciance both trade on the suggestion that the desirable mind is the [End Page 324] ironic mind, reflecting—or, perhaps, refracting—a transitional and forever "imperfect" subjectivity. Correspondingly, his essays frequently invoke figures of liminality, of being in two or more states at once: whether between dreams and consciousness in "Witches, and other Night Fears" (1821); past and present in "Distant Correspondents" (1822); truth and lies in "Imperfect Sympathies" (1821); or literal and figurative selves in the imponderable relationship between "Lamb" of "On Christ's Hospital" (1813) and "Elia" of "Christ's Hospital Five and Thirty Years Ago" (1820).2 Moreover, this self-styled figure of the writer as always between alternate and often contrary conditions, beliefs and identities—what Lamb termed his "bi-parted nature"—has itself become a stock descriptor among Lamb's commentators.3 It is not difficult, for example, to detect its presence in Coleridge's portrayal of his friend as "one hovering between earth and heaven,"4 as well as De Quincey's depiction of a sleeping Lamb as "the image of repose midway between life and death, like the repose of a sculpture."5 More recently, it has shaped Jane Aaron's exploration of his proclaimed "double singleness"6 and Seamus Perry's characterisation of his "borderland," "serious-non-seriousness."7Understandably, critics of a certain bent have sought to link these features of Lamb's work, arguing that the centrifugal properties of his writing display an aversion to categorical "difference" that is directly related to his suspicion of the dualisms of systematic belief-systems. Gerald Monsman, for example, argues that insofar as Lamb's essays undermine "all transcendental reconciliations or definitive closures," they "appear to be sly critiques of the central dogmas of romanticism."8 However, to class Lamb's writing as radically decentred or self-deconstructing is to miss the profound nostalgia it evinces at critical moments for a neutral ground and a sense of belonging. Lamb's indifference to knowledge, and to philosophy as the pursuit of certain knowledge, is constantly challenged by his fear of imaginative dissolution. Correspondingly, Lamb/Elia's indifferent location between the real and the fictive never quite manages completely to repress the desire for truth. And yet, "indifference," quite apart from being a term that both fascinated and repelled Lamb himself, aptly characterises both his attitude to philosophy and knowledge on one hand, and the liminal properties of his prose on the other. Freud provides a... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Eclipsing Art: Method and Metaphysics in Coleridge’s Biographia Literaria *Tim MilnesColeridge’s PredicamentIn his self-addressed “letter” which precipitates the abrupt end to the thirteenth chapter (and with it, the first volume) of the Biographia Literaria, Coleridge likens the current state of his argument to “the fragments of the winding steps of an old ruined tower.” 1 The suggestion of intellectual ascent in this is revealing and is echoed a few (...) years later by his explanation of the pedagogical function of the “Landing-Places” between the essays in The Friend (1818). 2 The underlying idea, as usual with Coleridge, is akin to that of an exercise in intellectual and spiritual mountaineering. The thinker, having established a safe base camp in fixed first principles, gradually ascends to higher truths, which are at the same time taken to be foundational and which form the ground of the whole process. The logical return here is what Coleridge elsewhere explains as the “seeming argumentum in circulo, incident to all spiritual Truths.” 3 In the Biographia, however, this process of simultaneous levitation and descent remains notoriously incomplete, left over for the projected but never completed “great book on the constructive philosophy.” 4 Thus, the procedure initiated in the philosophical [End Page 125] theses of chapter twelve having been arrested, the project of chapter thirteen, “in which the results [of the theses] will be applied to the deduction of the imagination, and with it the principles of production and genial criticism in the fine arts,” 5 is left as a fragmentary exposition in the hugely influential but attenuated and gnomic sequence of distinctions between primary and secondary imagination, and fancy.Consequently, students of Coleridge have been left to puzzle over the “missing” argument for themselves and to explain why Coleridge seems to give up at this point. At least since Thomas McFarland’s Coleridge and the Pantheist Tradition it has been accepted that a significant part of the problem lies with the “counter-pull” 6 exerted upon Coleridge’s thought at this point in time between Kant and Schelling (or, as McFarland sees it, between Kant and Schelling / Spinoza). In other words, it is the pull between a system in which free will is preserved at the price of being declared noumenal and one in which free will is imperilled but set against the goal of a system of total and undivided philosophy at ease with the infinite. The difference between the methodologies of Kant and Schelling, as Gian Orsini noted, is the product of their contrasting first postulates, or philosophical starting-points. While Kant sets out from the epistemological problem of to what extent objects can be said to conform to human knowledge, Schelling asks, “do we deduce Mind from Nature or Nature from Mind?” 7 Each of these presumes a completely different kind of enquiry from the other, and thus a different method; a fact Coleridge appears to have fully appreciated only during the composition of the Biographia.The Biographia’s problems have provoked a diverse range of critical responses over the years. 8 Among these, however, there is a more or less settled [End Page 126] opinion that Coleridge’s failure at this stage to come to terms with the Kant / Fichte / Schelling debate merely added to the difficulty of a work which, having begun its life as a reply to and a rebuttal of Wordsworth’s empirical and associative definition of imagination as set out in the Preface to his Poems (1815), had already far exceeded its initial plan both in scope and size. As the statement of his poetic principles and critique of Wordsworth had turned into a literary life, and this into a broader exploration of his developing views on epistemology, religion, and the history of language, so the “Preface” to the Sibylline Leaves (as it had originally been conceived) now dwarfed that work. Coleridge’s printer’s decision to produce the Biographia in two volumes only served to emphasize the break between its “philosophical” and literary-critical planes and the failure of Coleridge’s declared intention to apply the rules of art, “deduced from philosophical principles, to poetry and criticism.” 9Yet there was always something... (shrink)

This book offers a new account of the relationship between empiricism and the essay in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Exploring topics such as trust, testimony, virtue, and language, it offers new perspectives on connections between philosophy and literature, empiricism and transcendentalism, and Enlightenment and Romanticism.