P A R T O N E
It is not possible to be ignorant of the end of things if we know their beginning.- St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica
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In the summer of 1793, after his return from the Isle of Wight, Wordsworth "spent two days in wandering on foot over Salisbury Plain",1 and then continued, by way of Bristol and Tintern, up the river Wye.2 Five years later, in the summer of 1798, he revisited the banks of the Wye; the impressions he had while on this tour were such that he wrote Lines written a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the banks of the Wye during a tour on July 13, 1798. From this poem we gain considerable insight to the immense importance that Wordsworth placed on the powers of association and memory, and from this can see the importance that these memories have for our personal identity, continuity, and being. Even the event of writing the poem itself possessed this power, as Wordsworth recalls in 1843,3 telling us that
[n]o poem of mine was composed under circumstances more pleasant to remember than this. . .
Not a line of it was altered, and not any part of it written down till I reached Bristol.
He tells us that this was approximately four or five days' time,4 and this fact seems to eloquently demonstrate that which is being expressed in the poem itself - the power of memory. Had he written this poem down as he thought of the lines, it would be remarkable enough, as we shall see in examining the poem. But he stresses that "[n]ot a line of it was altered, and not any part of it written down until [he] reached Bristol", which would illustrate that the impressions and thoughts that he had upon going back to the banks of the Wye were so intense that four days could pass before he wrote down what he was thinking upon being there, without "alter[ing]" it, either the lines or the scene. This is evident even in the title of the piece: Lines written a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the banks of the Wye on a tour. At first this would seem to be merely a biographical comment, that he was there once before, and that now, upon returning to the area, he decided to write a poem. This is, in its essence, what the poem is about. However, these seemingly simple circumstances prove to be much more complex as one examines the words and thoughts expressed in the piece. In doing this we can see both how an association can recall a memory, which, in turn, recalls the feelings associated with that memory, and how it is the sum of these memories that constitute that which is "us". Through this we can begin to discuss ideas on immortality, and what its possibilities are.
Wordsworth begins Tintern Abbey by way of creating a temporal landscape, rather than a visual one, as he writes:
Five years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! (ll. 1-2)
By starting the poem in this manner, Wordsworth makes us aware of a past event, for we are told that "[f]ive years have past", introducing an event that happened five years previously, something that, since it is in the past and he is recalling it, is a memory. This sense of time is exaggerated in the words that follow, specifically with the repetition of the word "five", the word "length", which ends line one, and the word "long", which draws out the feeling of "length". "[L]ength" is used in relation to the "five summers", stressing and extending this period of "five years"; if "five summers" was not long enough, it is joined "with the length/ Of five long winters". The extended period of time that has passed since this event happened is fully demonstrated by describing the "five years", something that could be easily enough read over, without any feeling for the length of time it implies, with the inclusion of the two extremes of the year, summer and winter, and the fact that for "[f]ive years [to] have past", "five summers, with the length/ Of five long winters" must also pass.
Although this amount of time has gone by, nearly immediately Wordsworth remembers having been here before:
and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a sweet inland murmur. - Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
Which on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky. (ll. 2-8)
The word "again", which is repeated four times in the first fourteen lines of the poem (on lines 2, 4, 9, and 15), stresses both the fact that he has been here previously, and the fact that he remembers these things having been present when last he was here: "...again I hear/ These waters... Once again/ Do I behold... The day is come when I again repose... Once again I see/ These hedge-rows...". This, in and of itself, is enough to establish that it is memories being recalled in this poem - but Wordsworth takes the process in which these recollections occur one step further in telling us, by way of different examples, how these memories are recalled. He "hear[s]/ These waters", he "behold[s] these steep and lofty cliffs", he "repose[s]...under this dark sycamore", and "see[s]/ These hedge-rows"; he perceives and experiences this place, and by doing this "again" he is filled with the memories and feelings he had when he first did these things. His memories are thus recalled in these sensations, and by way of this he is pleased.
It would seem obvious that "hear[ing]" a sound or "see[ing]" a place again would bring back memories of that place, of the events that took place when there on previous occasions, especially if that place created particularly strong associations; this is a phenomena that occurs nearly every day, as we see something or hear a song or a sound that brings back to us the feelings present when that sight or sound impressed itself as memories. The questions that arise from this are why it is that these memories are so important? and how it is that perceptions can be turned into memories, memories can be altered into imaginations, and perceptions of associations can recall memories?
These questions we shall consider throughout our discussion of immortal possibilities, the first, why these memories are so important, we shall attempt to find an answer for in reading further in Tintern Abbey.
After relating to us that this scene before him is one that has been visited previously, Wordsworth clarifies himself, saying,
Though absent long,
These forms of beauty have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind
With tranquil restoration: - feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure[.] (ll. 23-32)
This clarification, that "[t]hese forms of beauty have not been...[a]s is a landscape to a blind man's eye", tells us that although he has not physically seen this place for five years, he has still been able to see it. Where he has been able to see it, if not with the physical eye, is an issue we will address later, at length;5 for the time being we shall examine how he has seen "these forms of beauty" "though [they have been] absent long".
We read that it is "oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din/ Of towns and cities" that these "forms" come to him, bringing "sensations sweet" "[i]n [his] hours of weariness", and by way of this there is "tranquil restoration". These memories allow him to "see" the scene, and renew the extra-ordinary feelings he had when he visited there five years earlier, when all around him is exceedingly ordinary, as in the "din/ Of towns and cities", or solitary, "lonely". These memories, these "sensations sweet", allow him to escape, as in a daydream, to the thoughts of the "forms of beauty", and the "din" and "lonely rooms" are made less so as the memories are "[f]elt in the blood, and felt along the heart;/ And passing even into [his] purer mind". "[F]eelings too/ Of unremembered pleasure" can accompany these memories, as they are inherent parts of the recalled event, making the "sensations" even "sweet[er]". The only way in which these "feelings" are "[o]f unremembered pleasure", which would seem to imply that part of the memory were lost, is in the fact that as the memory is recalled, the "feelings" had at the time, which were not (in this case) the first things recalled, flood in, and are remembered, making the memory whole. From this we can see how these memories have healing powers, a subject that Wordsworth reiterates as the poem continues. Before we examine these laudations, however, it proves essential to discuss the next five lines, 32 to 36, which offer a slightly different nuance of the powers of memory.
Until this point, we have been seeing the importance of memory from a first-person perspective; I experience something and enjoy the experience, the experience becomes a memory, and in times that I find myself in "lonely rooms" and amongst the "din" of everyday life, I can recall that memory and be revitalized by its replay. In this manner that event, part of my existence, is given continuity within life, never ending as a memory. However, there is another aspect of memories, more of a third-person perspective on the issue that offers another, although somewhat less connected to personal continuity, possibility of immortality, which is epitaphs. We continue to read Tintern Abbey and see that, in addition to the personal healing powers inherent in memories, there are powers
such, perhaps,
As may have had no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life;
His little, nameless, unremembered acts
Of kindness and love. (ll. 32-36)
These lines allow for two interpretations, one concerned with a first-person benefit, the other, more intriguing one, with a third-person benefit. At first reading it would seem that these five lines are designed to explain that it is not only the events that greatly impress themselves upon our minds that have these healing powers, that even one's "little, nameless, unremembered acts/ Of kindness and love" can be revitalizing, and thereby they "have no slight or trivial influence". This would seem to be a fair enough statement, as the smallest object, slightest smell, or most indistinct sound can be enough to recall a memory that makes us extremely joyous, a memory that had been previously "unremembered". However, there is another level to these lines, one that is less beneficial to us and more beneficial to others.
Being human, being alive, means that at some point we must physically die. Our physical death, however, does not necessarily mean that we entirely cease to be. This last statement is one of many implications, some of which shall be addressed as we attempt to discover what our Romantic hints at immortal possibilities are. In this case, however, it is meant to stress that, when we physically die, others, who are still living, can have memories of us, and therefore, from a third-person perspective, we do not entirely cease to exist. This is, in the words of Edmund Burke,
the mode of existence decreed to a permanent body composed of transitory parts; wherein, by the disposition of a stupendous wisdom, moulding together the great mysterious incorporation of the human race, the whole, at one time, is never old, or middle-aged, or young, but, in a condition of unchangeable constancy, moves on through the varied tenour of perpetual decay, fall, renovation, and progression.6
Although this statement is one related to the human race, we can see how it also provides us with its connection to memories, as it allows for one's continuity after physical death in other people's memories (and beyond that, from generation to generation). As long as there is one person who remembers, has memories of, the person who is no longer living, then the person who is no longer physically living is "alive" in the memories of that person who remembers. This is abundantly evident in the construction of epitaphs for those who die by those who remember them, and want to have those memories continue, both for themselves and for others who might read the epitaph.7 Admittedly, epitaphs, as they appear on some sort of monument or gravestone, some material object, have a physical side to them, which, in turn, recalls memories of the person to whom the monument is erected; this physical, material side of epitaphs is not that which we are concerned with here, apart from the memory that the sight or recollection of such a monument brings about, as we are concerned more with the direct memory of the person, incurred by the epitaph, and not the material object associated with the epitaph. The association of the physical monument upon which the epitaph is inscribed can by itself be enough to continue the memory of the deceased person, but, as Wordsworth says, in his Essay upon Epitaphs,8 "...epitaphs were inscribed upon these monuments...in order that their intention might be more surely and adequately fulfilled." A monument alone is not enough to insure that future generations of people will know who the monument is dedicated to, is not enough to insure the memory of the deceased person to continue to exist. The letters and words placed upon the monument, letters and words that recall the person, allow this memory to exist, in some manner, by way of the continuity of one's being. However, we must remember that even an epitaph is not immortal, as the words carved on the monument are subject to being worn away by time and the elements. Epitaphs allow us to side-step death for a time, in the thoughts the words evoke.
Wordsworth appends the notion that an epitaph can be used to make others aware of who a person was while s/he was alive, as he reminds us:
But, to entitle an epitaph to praise, more than this is necessary. It ought to contain some thought or feeling belonging to the mortal or immortal part of our nature touchingly expressed; and if that be done, however general or even trite the sentiment may be, every man of pure mind will read the words with pleasure and gratitude.9
To simply praise the person is not enough to evoke a feeling that will create a lasting memory from the reading of the epitaph. Wordsworth continues to describe what is necessary in an epitaph for it to be powerful enough to have the memory of the deceased be immortal. He says that
it should speak, in a tone which shall sink into the heart, the general language of humanity as connected with the subject of death - the source from which an epitaph proceeds - of death, and of life. To be born and to die are the two points in which all men feel themselves to be in absolute coincidence. . . It will be found to lie in a due proportion of the common or universal feeling of humanity to sensations excited by a distinct and clear conception, conveyed to the reader's mind, of the individual whose death is deplored and whose memory is to be preserved. . . The general sympathy ought to be quickened, provoked, and diversified, by particular thoughts, actions, images...10
By doing this the memory of the person is preserved, and "[t]hus is death disarmed of its sting, and affliction unsubstantialised".11 In this manner, by casting in stone these epitaphs, does Wordsworth see "...proof of the propriety with which sepulchral inscriptions were referred to the consciousness of immortality as their primal source".12 We attempt to preserve the memory of others, and by doing so place some belief in immortality. This perhaps demonstrates to us a link between memory and immortality, through the continuity of one's being in others' memories. This, however, does not have any personal benefit; we may remain "alive" in others' thoughts, as long as someone knows of our life, but this is not us - it is someone's memory of us.
Although this third-person memory of a person is not as personally beneficial for the person whose memory is being remembered in these epitaphs, it does not change what Wordsworth is expressing in Tintern Abbey, that memories have considerable healing powers. The act of experience is stressed, for these experiences are what our memories are made up of, and theses experiences are capable of recalling other memories, other experiences. In returning to the poem, and to a more personal perspective on memories power, we can observe how it is through personal memories that the creation of epitaphs is capable of keeping the memory of the person who has died alive. We continue to see Wordsworth praise the healing power that memories have in our lives as we read:
Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lighten'd[.] (ll. 36-42)
Admittedly, Wordsworth is initially concerned with the landscape, the "banks of the Wye", both temporally and physically, and the effect that it has on him, and not with people directly, in this poem. This does not change the fact that, be it landscape or people, the action of experience is the same in either case. If we see a mountain fringed with trees, and that event becomes a memory, it is no different than when we see a person and that event becomes a memory. It is the experience that is the key, the experience that, in turn, becomes a memory. This we see in the lines above, which are reminiscent of lines 26 to 32, with the repetition of the word "owed", and the general feel given to the power of memory, that of great vitality. But, unlike lines 26 and 27, where we must presume Wordsworth's feeling of melancholy from "lonely rooms" and "the din/ Of the town and cities", events of everyday life, here he tells us outright that these day-to-day happenings, "the heavy and the weary weight/ Of all this unintelligible world", are the reasons that these memories are providing us with "that blessed mood", by "lighten[ing]" "the burthen of the mystery".
As we continue to read of what these recollections can do, Wordsworth presents us with another aspect of memories, one that would appear to be metaphorical for the immortality of these memories, in a realm that would seem to allow for personal continuity after death. He tells us that "the affections [of memories] gently lead us on" (line 43) into "that serene and blessed mood" (line 42),
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things. (ll. 44-50)
This would seem to imply that, once "the breath of this corporeal frame" and "the motion of our human blood" is "suspended", our memories will still be intact, for the "[w]hile" on line 48 places us "see[ing] into the life of things" as the "suspen[sion]" occurs. In this manner it would equate the "living soul" with these memories, for if the "eye [has been] made quiet" and the "corporeal frame" is no longer "breath[ing]", then that which is "see[ing]" is "[a]lmost" not physical, it is this "living soul", it is these memories. There is a definite connection between the "living soul" and "the life of things", by way of the "harmony" on line 49, a connection that we will see is related to the "presence" of line 95, where an active feeling is present, especially in lines 98 through 103. Here, however, we see that this is more of a contemplative thought, with the "power/ Of harmony, and the deep power of joy" allowing for the sight given to the "living soul" so that it can "see into the life of things".
Christopher Wordsworth, in 1851,13 advises us that "...some portions of this poem [Tintern Abbey] might be perverted to serve the purposes of a popular and pantheistic philosophy..." and that one "... will remember that the author of the Lines on Tintern Abbey, composed also the Evening Voluntaries...has explained the sense in which he wishes these words to be understood, by saying, that,
'By grace divine,
Not otherwise, O Nature, we are thine.'"14
This may be true, that Wordsworth did not want it to be seen that he was worshipping "Nature", indirectly here through his memories, more than he was a Christian deity - however, he does not say this in Tintern Abbey. We must remember that this quote is taken from Evening Voluntaries, Stanza IV, written in 1834, thirty-six years after Tintern Abbey was written, when Wordsworth's writing was considerably less naturalistic, and more Christian. Christopher Wordsworth's commentary is correct - the same author wrote Evening Voluntaries as well as Tintern Abbey. However, it is essential to notice when the former was written, and realize that, because of the year written, it does not weaken the argument that it is our memories that are being praised. Wordsworth does not ask God to bring the "beauteous forms" back to him; on the contrary, he addresses that which is the source of his "serene and blessed mood":
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer through the woods,
How often has my spirit turned to thee! (ll. 56-58)
It is his "spirit [that has] turned to" the "sylvan Wye" for rejuvenation, for its associative powers that recall the memories and feelings of "pleasure" from five years ago. This stress must be made, for this "spirit" is his own spirit, "my spirit", not a "spirit" that is removed from him, or Christian (as in "Holy Spirit"). If the possessive "my" for "spirit" were not enough to determine that Wordsworth is concerned with his own experiences via memory, there is the repetition of "turned to thee", on line 56, and again on 58, where the "sylvan Wye" is what "thee" is. This ascertains beyond a doubt that it is this place, and the memory of this place, that is the benefactor of these restorative powers. This established, Wordsworth commences with describing how it is
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. (ll. 65-66)
In September of 1790, Wordsworth, while in the Alps, remarked that
At this moment when many of these landscapes are floating before my mind, I feel a high enjoyment in reflecting that scarce a day in my life will pass in which I shall not derive some happiness from these images.15
This seems to be reflected in the lines of Tintern Abbey as we read why it is that "these images", be they from the Alps or the banks of the Wye, are so vital. He tells us that "[t]he coarser pleasures of [his] boyish days,/ And their glad animal movements [are] all gone by", at lines 74 to 75. At that time, to him, "nature...was all in all" (73, 76). He is now an adult, subject to "lonely rooms" and "the heavy and weary weight/ Of all this unintelligible world", and the only chance he has to return to those "coarser pleasures" is through these memories. As a child, in his "boyish days", he "had no need of a remoter charm" (82) for that which he experienced, and this he sees still in his sister, Dorothy:
in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! (ll. 117-122)
"[W]hat I was once", "my former heart", "[m]y former pleasures", these are all still observable in Dorothy's being,16 but for Wordsworth,
[t]hat time has passed[.]
* * * *
Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur: other gifts
Have followed, for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompense. For I have learned
To look on nature, (ll. 84, 86-90)
with these "other gifts", which allow him to recall "gleams/ Of past existence" (150) of his childhood by feeling and absorbing the "sense sublime" (96). This "sense sublime" is the "presence" from line 95, "that disturbs [him] with the joy/ Of elevated thoughts" (95-96). This, he tells us, is
[o]f something far more deeply interfused
Whose dwelling is the light of the setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man,
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. (ll. 97-103)
Here we see the more active and less contemplative approach to this assertion. As mentioned above, there is the connection between this "presence" and the earlier "living soul" (47) and "life of things" (50), the latter which is again stressed by "roll[ing] through all things", which creates a feeling of movement ("rolls", with the "motion" of line 101). There is the "deep interfus[ion]" between these experiences and the "motion and spirit", our "spirit", as in lines 56 and 58, which seems to have more force than the previous "harmony" (49); the interaction between experience and memory is more powerful and active. Through this we can see how we maintain our personal continuity, by way of remembering these past events, and how this "sense sublime" works, by "impel[ling]/ All thinking things", that is, creating memories from perceptions, and allowing for the recollection of these memories by way of the perception of associations that are related in some manner to the event remembered. This is illustrated by Wordsworth; he alludes to the transformation of perceptions into memories, and the subsequent powers that the memories have upon recall, as he tells us to
let the moon
Shine on thee in solitary walk
And let the misty mountain winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into sober pleasure, when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; (ll. 136-143)
if "solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief" (144) should affect us, then the thoughts of these "wild ecstasies", which have turned into "sober pleasure", will be "healing thoughts" (145). This would seem to hint at some unknown stage in the transformation of perceptions into memories, a stage that changes the "wild ecstasies" into "sober pleasure", a stage that would seem to be metaphorical for imagination, as is implied earlier at lines 106 to 108, where Wordsworth mentions
of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear, both what they half- create,
And what perceive[.]
"[T]he mighty world/ Of eye...and ear" is how we perceive (as well as of sound, and touch, and smell), and as these memories are stored, imagination adds, "half-create[s]", and becomes an integral part of the memories. The subject of imagination will be addressed later;17 at this point it is sufficient to say that memories, that is, our "spirit" and its "sense sublime", have a power that is necessary for us to exist, with or without the additions from imagination. Without memories we would have no way of remembering things we have done in the past, much less who we were, for there would be no context for us to live within. These memories then are crucial for our present continuation and personal identity, and, as we shall observe as we continue to examine the works of Wordsworth, and, eventually, Shelley, offer us some possibility of immortality.
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From the argument expressed in Wordsworth's Tintern Abbey, it would seem to be apparent that the faculty of memory is of the utmost importance for our existence; without this faculty there can be no possibility of immortality, be it personal or otherwise. In continuing to examine Wordsworth, we can see that the ideas related to the "sensations sweet" are carried into his other works, echoing and strengthening the notion that our memories have a healing power that aids us in our day-to-day lives.
In 1798, the same year that he "revisit[ed] the banks of the Wye", Wordsworth, in working on ideas for The Recluse (1800?), established the philosophical ideas that were to be the groundwork for several of the pieces he was to write within the next sixteen years, among them, The Excursion (1814), The Prelude (1798-99), and Ode: Intimations of Immortality (1802). Although The Recluse was never finished, Wordsworth used a revised edition of part of what he had finished of it, Home at Grasmere (1800), as a "Prospectus" for the 1814 edition of The Excursion. If we look to the earliest, most complete manuscript for what was to become the "Prospectus" some fourteen years later, we read:
On Man, on Nature, and on human Life,
Thinking in solitude, from time to time
I feel sweet passions traversing my Soul
Like Music; unto these, where'er I may,
I would give utterance in numerous verse.
Of truth, of grandeur, beauty, love, and hope -
Hope for this earth and hope beyond the grave;
Of virtue and of intellectual power;
Of blessed consolations in distress;
Of joy in widest commonality spread;
Of the individual mind that keeps its own
Inviolate retirement, and consists
With being limitless, the one Great life[.] (ll. 959-971)
Could it be that the "sweet passions" that he "feel[s]...traversing [his] Soul" are his memories, as in the "sensations sweet" experienced via memory in Tintern Abbey? It would seem to be extremely likely that they are, as we are told that they are "[o]f virtue...intellectual power;...blessed consolations in distress;...joy in the widest commonality[;]...[o]f the individual mind", and that of all of these "consists...the one Great life". These "sweet passions" are present when he is "[t]hinking in solitude", "[t]hinking" about "Man,...Nature, and...human Life". And while he is "[t]hinking" about these three subjects, and the "sweet passions [are] traversing [his] Soul", he tells us that he "give[s] utterance", thoughts of "[h]ope for this earth and hope beyond the grave". It is the combination of his thoughts while "in solitude" and these memories that amounts to Wordsworth's "hope" for immortality, "hope beyond the grave". These memories, then, are what "the one great Life" is made up of, for the memories, and therefore the associations that recall them, are what connect "Man,...Nature, and...human Life" to one another.
From Dove Cottage MS 16, we see that two years earlier, in 1798, Wordsworth wrote the following,18
There is an active principle alive in all things;
In all things, in all nature, in the flowers
And in the trees, in every pebbly stone
That paves the brooks, the stationary rocks,
The moving waters and the invisible air. (ll. 1-5)
This is echoed in the lines looked at above, but seems to be attempting to explain the connection between memory and association, rather than alluding to it by way of telling us that "sweet passions" come when he is "[t]hinking in solitude". "There is an active principle alive in all things", that is, there is something "in all things" that can create memories and, by way of association, recall those memories. This, it would seem, is observation and experience, which, although it precedes memory, is essential for memories to be, and therefore is essential for the recollection of memories. Lines two through five are reminiscent of lines 98 to 103 in Tintern Abbey19 where we are told of "[a] motion and a spirit...[that] rolls through all things", the "motion and...spirit" being the same as this "active principle". This "active principle" is integral for our existence, for, without it, we would have no way of recalling memories as there would be no memories to recall. Wordsworth is not discussing memory per se in this passage, as he is in Tintern Abbey, but more the act of observation and experience, and its "active principle". This "active principle" is required for us to have a sense of continuity, which is dependent upon memory, the past. To be without it would mean that not only would we not have "sensations sweet" to elevate us from the ordinary occurrences of daily life, but, more importantly, that we would not even be able to know who we are, unable to recall that which we have done, that which is us. Without this there would be no hope at all for anything "beyond the grave", for before "the grave" would be meaningless were we unable to remember that which we have done in our past, be it two minutes ago, this morning, or years ago.
Wordsworth describes further this "active principle", and in doing so he makes it evident that the faculty of memory is not something that should be taken lightly:
All beings have their properties which spread
Beyond themselves, a power by which they make
Some other being conscious of their life,
Spirit that knows no insulated spot,
No chasm, no solitude, from link to link
It circulates the soul of all the worlds.
This is the freedom of the universe,
Unfolded still the more, more visible,
The more we know, and yet is reverenced least
And respected least in the human mind,
Its most apparent home. The food of hope
Is meditated action; robbed of this
Her sole support, she languishes and dies.
We perish also, for we live by hope
And by desire; they are the very blood
By which we move, we see by the sweet light
And breathe the sweet air of futurity;
And so we live, or else we have no life[.] (ll. 6-24)
These observations and experiences, created by this "active principle", are to be found "in the human mind,/ [Their] most apparent home". The "properties which spread/ Beyond ["all things"]" not only "make/ Some other being conscious of their life", but would seem to continue to do so as memories, once the initial memory is "ma[d]e". There is an interaction, a "harmony" and "interfus[ion]", between the outer world and "the human mind" that is crucial, that is "more visible,/ The more we know". This stressed particularly in the last four lines of this section, lines 21 to 24, which ends by telling us "[a]nd so we live, or else we have no life". From this we can see what the terms of "life" are; we must be able to recall the memories we have gathered throughout our years, for that is how "we live". In this way we do not enter into an inescapable "chasm" or "solitude", for this "Spirit", our own "spirit", which is echoed here in the "power" of line 8, "knows no insulated spot", that is, even when we are physically apart from anyone else, we are able to recall past events, and not be entirely alone. This is the healing power that memory has, the power to prevent despair, the power to prevent us from ever having to be absolutely alone.
In 1814, Wordsworth extensively re-wrote the remaining fifty lines of this section of the 1798 manuscript, developing it into Book IX of The Excursion. However, we can see similarities in the thoughts expressed, here with lines 29 to 36 of the 1798 text, where we read that
we know
That when we stand upon our native soil,
Unelbowed by such objects as constrain
Our active powers, those powers themselves become
Subversive of our noxious qualities,
And by the substitution of delight
And by new influxes of strength suppress
All evil[.]
In the 1814 text of Book IX of The Excursion, lines 44 to 48, we are told,
Do not think
That good and wise ever will be allowed,
Though strength decay, to breathe in such estate
As shall divide them wholly from the stir
Of hopeful nature.
The 1798 manuscript seems to be more philosophical than the later version from The Excursion. Wordsworth's language in the 1798 text is more direct, telling us that "[o]ur active powers" are what will bring about the "substitution of delight" that "suppress[es]/ All evil"; the language in The Excursion is more ambiguous, "[t]hat the good and wise" do not have to worry about being "divide[d]" "from the stir/ Of hopeful nature". We can see the similarities, that the "hopeful nature" is our experiences, "our active powers", but can not be sure that Wordsworth is including everyone in "the good and wise" who have this "hopeful nature", whereas in 1798 there is no question about who is in possession of "active powers" - it is "we". "[W]e", all of us, possess these "active powers", powers that are inherent in our very nature, required for our personal identity, "active powers" that are connected to the powers of memory.20
After line 36, the 1798 manuscript turns into a description of a metaphorical "prison-house" (75) that we fall into with the "never-ending life...of human laws" (74-75). This we see repeated in Stanza V of Ode: Intimations of Immortality (1802), which we shall examine shortly. To more fully examine this we must first look at what the 1798 text became in 1814, in The Excursion, and how that echoes what Wordsworth wrote in the second part of the two-part Prelude, in 1798-1799. By doing this we will be able to attain what would seem to be our first definite clue for what our immortal possibilities are.
In the 1814 text of The Excursion, Wordsworth, through the Wanderer, asks us
why in age
Do we revert so fondly to the walks
Of childhood - but that there the Soul discerns
The dear memorial footsteps unimpaired
Of her own native vigour; thence can hear
Reverberations[.] (IX.36-41)
In the second part of the 1798-1799 text of the two-part Prelude we read
I was only then
Contented when with bliss ineffable
I felt the sentiment of being spread
O'er all that moves, and all that seemeth still,
O'er all, that, lost beyond the reach of thought
And human knowledge, to the human eye
Invisible, yet liveth to the heart,
O'er all that leaps, and runs, and shouts and sings,
Or beats the gladsome air, o'er all that glides
Beneath the wave, yea, in the wave itself
And mighty depth of waters: wonder not
If such my transports were, for in all things
I saw one life and felt that it was joy.
One song they sang, and it was audible,
Most audible then when the fleshly ear,
O'ercome by grosser prelude of that strain,
Forgot its functions, and slept undisturbed. (ll. 448-64)
Although these lines from The Excursion precede those looked at earlier, it is important that we examine them out of textual order, as the lines that follow them aid us in examining them. These lines are what the "hopeful nature" (48) is made up of - our childhood memories. "The dear memorial footsteps", his "native vigour", are what comprise his "hopeful nature". These two passages address our childhood, and the importance of the memories from that time of our life for our adult life. It is there, in "the walks/ Of childhood", that "the Soul...can hear/ Reverberations". Childhood is a time during which, he tells us, "...in all things/ I saw one life". The usage of "all things" (460) returns one's thoughts to the "all things" which "[t]here is an active principle alive in", and which is therefore related to the "one life", reminiscent of the "power" and "Spirit" of lines 7 and 11 in Dove Cottage MS 16, due to its context. Through the use of the past tense he tells us that this is way of seeing, experiencing, is one that is now gone, save for the memories of it. This is reminiscent of Tintern Abbey, especially lines 89 to 112. There is something evident in our childhood mode of experiencing that we lose, or becomes weakened, as we enter into adulthood, subject to the "heavy and weary weight/ Of all this unintelligible world". "[O]nly then", when he was a child, did Wordsworth have a "bliss ineffable", "only then" could he "fe[el] the Being spread/ O'er all that moves...O'er all that leaps, and runs, and shouts, and sings". When childhood is past and we can not gain that "bliss ineffable" simply by experiencing that which is around us, "we [must] revert...fondly to the walks/ Of childhood" if we are to be able to substitute "sweet passions" for the "bliss ineffable". We must utilize the healing powers of memory to re-gain our knowledge of the "active powers" "in all things". Thus it would seem that these childhood memories are of paramount importance for our existence, not only for their powers of revitalization when we are amongst "the din/ Of the towns and cities", but for our personal identity and continuity as well. And if it is that these childhood memories are what we are made of (in part), then it is these that we should look to for "intimations of immortality".
Notes for Part One:
1 From the "Advertisement" to the 1842 edition of Guilt and Sorrow.
2 Wordsworth, Christopher, D.D., Memoirs of William Wordsworth, Poet-Laureate, D.C.L., in two volumes, edited by Henry Reed, Volume I, p. 81, Boston: Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, 1851.
3 In the Isabella Fenwick notes.
4 Ibid. More likely it was three or four days' time, not "four or five", as Wordsworth recalls forty-five years later, for, as we read in Christopher Wordsworth's Memoirs (pp. 118-119):
"In the following summer Wordsworth and his sister made a short tour on the banks of the Wye. 'We left Alfoxden on Monday morning, the 26th of June, stayed with Coleridge till the Monday following, then set forth on foot towards Bristol. We were at Cottle's for a week, and thence went toward the banks of the Wye. We crossed the Severn Ferry, and walked ten miles further to Tintern Abbey, a very beautiful ruin on the Wye. The next morning we walked along the river through Monmouth to Goderich Castle, there slept, and returned the next day to Tintern, thence to Chepstow, and from Chepstow back again in a boat to Tintern, where we slept, and thence back in a small vessel to Bristol.'"
From this we can see that it was three days, possibly four, that passed before the writing down of Tintern Abbey: if June 26 is a Monday, then Wordsworth and his sister left Coleridge on Monday, July 3, stay with Cottle until July 10, Monday, on which day Tintern Abbey is visited. If the poem was written on July 13, Thursday, then that allows for three full days to have passed before its being written down on paper, four days including the Monday on which the abbey is visited, and the lines composed.
5 In Part Three.
6 Burke, Edmund, Reflections on the French Revolution, 1790, 1906 edition, edited with introduction and notes by F.G. Selby, M.A., p. 37 (ll. 4-11), London: Macmillan and Co., Limited.
7 Wordsworth himself seemed to be obsessed with graveyards, the home for epitaphs, as can be seen in The Brothers, We are Seven, The Prelude, and The Excursion, for example.
8 Wordsworth, William, Essay upon Epitaphs, first published in The Friend, February 22, 1810.
9 Ibid.
10 Ibid.
11 Ibid. The quote alludes to 1 Corinthians, xv.55, "Death, where's thy sting? Grace, where's thy victory?"
12 Ibid.
13 Memoirs of William Wordsworth, p. 120.
14 Ibid. The quote from William Wordsworth comes from Evening Voluntaries, Stanza IV (1834).
15 Wordsworth, letters 6 and 16, September, 1790.
16 Although she is not a child; being only a year and a half younger than Wordsworth himself, she would have been 26, nearly 27 years old, at the time of this poem.
17 In Part Four, pp. 133-36.
18 Much of this was incorporated into Book IX of The Excursion.
19 See above, p. 21.
20 These "active powers" we shall examine further in Wordsworth's "spots of time" (Part One of the 1798-1799 Prelude, ll. 288-96, and Book XI of the 1805 Prelude, ll. 258-65, 274-76) in Part Three, pp. 84-91.