Interpretation of Blake's Divine and Human Image(s)

Introduction

William Blake needs to be read as a spiritual realist: he thought that spirits are real, not fictions as the materialists of his day would have said. However, he did not speak directly about spiritual matters; rather, he expressed his visions and prophecies mythically and poetically.

Throughout his life, Blake would revise and rearticulate his spiritual visions and prophecies. His willingness to reinterpret scripture and revise his own complex mythos suggests that he was not a literalist. Rather than conveying information, spiritual visions express and orient us to lived truths (not static propositions) by engaging us; one cannot understand mythopoetic expression by simply passively listening to or reading it. To paraphrase an ancient proverb, the one who works gets the bread.

The spiritual realism of Blake may seem to stand in tension with his non-literal, expressive approach since we often associate those who are most confident about the reality of spirits and “the spiritual realm” with being invested in the literal truth of the stories presented in scriptures and religious traditions. This cannot be said of Blake; in fact, I think he assumes the exact opposite: the spirit world can never be fully adequately spoken about, yet we cannot (and should not) fail to speak about it.

(An analogous idea was expressed in the opening lines of the ancient Taoist book, Tao Te Ching: “The way that can be spoken is not the Eternal Way.” Just as Lao Tzu goes on to speak at length about what he has said one cannot speak about, so too Blake writes at length about what must fundamentally be experienced and cannot adequately be stated.)

That having been said, Blake is not a relativist. Throughout his writings, he makes it evident that the fullness of the divine spirit needs to be seen (witnessed) and experienced, and upon being witnessed, he says, it challenges what the heart knows. See the inscription from the frontispiece of Visions of the Daughters of Albion: "The eye sees more than the heart knows."

One’s prejudiced and inherited ways of understanding reality are not necessarily true; my condition of life and reality can be wrong. Blake does not claim that all understandings of reality are true simply because one holds them. Rather, he thinks one must look and see, though not in the way empiricists suggest.

Similarly, Blake is not an egoist. In his view, spiritual truths challenge and undermine egoism; they move one out of egoism and into the universal communion of all being. Awareness of, and being tied to, one’s ego is simultaneously an obstacle to be overcome and the condition for the possibility of a fully conscious spirit. Put directly, you must do the work to see reality as it is, as animated and spirit-full.

On Blake’s view, discursive reasoning and intellect only partially and misleadingly reveal truth. Mythopoetic expression is more effective and honest because it doesn’t lie by stating (asserting) everything in a strictly discursive manner. Even when something is asserted in the context of a mythical poem — for example, through the speech of a hero, a god, or a divine messenger — the mythical context shifts the meaning and significance of the claim. Poetry isn’t rational argumentation, documentary description, or the straightforward conveyance of information; poiesis is the act of forming or creating, of bringing into being or transforming being. Mere description is not creative in this sense.

Put another way, the images and symbols in mythos, particularly Blake’s mythos, are (or ought to be) icons not idols. They are meant to reorient us rather than merely describe where we’re at.

All of this is a necessary introduction because I am now — somewhat perversely — going to force a discursive, rational meaning on what Blake would arguably say cannot be adequately translated in such a manner. Such is the life and job description of an academic! I beg your (and Blake’s) pardon by pointing out that this discursive interpretation is not a substitute for doing the work of seeing what he is gesturing to; it is offered in the spirit of helping you appreciate what he is gesturing to and to “see along” with him.

“The Divine Image”

In his poem, “The Divine Image,” Blake presents a rather optimistic and humanistic song of praise and guidance. It is, as he categorized it, a “song of innocence” in the sense that it is naïve in a childlike manner; it is idealistic, aspirational, and unsullied by experience.

The first few stanzas of the poem present some rather uncontroversial statements that could be restated as follows:

• The object of proper prayer is that we might come to be merciful, sympathetic, peaceful, and loving; these are the things that thoughtful people pray that they might possess, and when they find that these virtues prevail over vices or temptations to act wickedly, thoughtful persons are grateful.

• Mercy, pity, peace, and love are the very essence of what we take to be God (they are “our father dear”).

• Mercy, pity, peace, and love are ordered to the care of the father’s children (i.e., humanity).

The latter stanzas express a somewhat more controversial perspective, though it continues to be presented in a voice of childlike innocence and simplicity: namely, that mercy, pity, peace, and love cannot be understood except in relation to our fellow humans.

For Mercy has a human heart
Pity, a human face:
And Love, the human form divine.
And Peace, the human dress.

From the conjunction of these two broad insights — that we pray for and desire these virtues as ends in themselves and that they are quite human or humane — the innocent voice puts forth an intermediate conclusion: namely, whoever truly prays can be said to pray to the human form — i.e., they pray that they, as human being, will be transformed so that they may better respect and relate to other humans, for they value human life.

In this sense, where mercy, pity, peace, and love are present, God is present. Hence, the ultimate conclusion: for the prayerful and pious person, their mercy, pity, peace, and love should not be restricted or withheld.

Assessment

In one sense, the first stanza of “The Divine Image” is descriptively inaccurate: people do not take themselves to pray to Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love; they pray for these virtues — i.e., that they might have such virtues and be virtuous.

To orient ourselves to what Blake is up to here, we could imagine him asking the following questions:

• Do you want mercy, pity, peace, and love as such, regardless of whether a god provides them to you?

• When you find yourself being merciful, sympathetic, in a state of peace, and giving and receiving love, do you delight in and value these things as such, regardless of whether they are provided by the agent (god) whom you suppose is their source?

These questions can be taken as open, rather than closed, and thus they are existential in nature; they probe the way we fundamentally orient ourselves to life and other people. When taken in this way, these questions strike me as a (more or less) serviceable substitute for the mythopoetic expressions that appear to be statements. Although Blake’s poem **superficially asserts propositions (those surveyed above), its meaning is far richer than that which is associated with mere assertion.

If we answer these questions in the affirmative, what is presented in the second half of the poem becomes more plausible. We can appreciatively understand the notion that human beings are capable of holiness in the manner described, and all that is holy or divine is fundamentally rooted in human nature.

“A Divine Image”

In juxtaposition to “The Divine Image,” the similarly titled, “A Divine Image” is pessimistic and bleak. Whereas the former indicated that human beings are the source, object, and agents of all that is holy and good, this poem expresses that we are the source, object, and agent of all that is wicked and evil.

Cruelty has a Human Heart
And Jealousy a Human Face

Notice that he is moving from the “inside” to the “outside.” He begins with a reference to the heart and then moves to the face.

The next line is difficult:

Terror, the Human Form Divine

To understand the sense in which this is possible, think of the most terrifying agent imaginable. We might suppose that such a being is not only powerful and maleficent but also intelligent. A powerful brute is one thing; an omnipotent but malicious deity is another. Of course, we could drop the malevolence and this being would still be awesome and terrifying. Indeed, throughout history, people have thought of personified gods and the messengers (angels) of such gods as terrifying.

If this sounds bizarre or disconnected from your understanding of Jewish and Christian religious consciousness, consider the first two stanzas from the well-known hymn, “God the All-Terrible! King Who Ordainest.” The title is sufficiently informative. Also bear in mind that in scripture angels often have to tell people, “Be not afraid” precisely because they are terrifying, as in the case of the Ophanim, depicted here.

We are the knowing animal, the animal with a rational life. Yet it is our deified form — a rational life conceived as a god or supernatural being — that is terrifying.

Synthesis

Despite the fact that these poems could be understood as standing in a contradictory relationship — the first asserting the thesis that the human person is the subject and object of prayerful devotion and the second asserting the antithesis, highlighting our demonic nature — they do not really contradict one another. Blake is effectively presenting a humanistic perspective of good and evil. We are capable of good — and what is good is defined in relation to our nature — but we are also capable of evil, and all wickedness stems from our nature. Christians often acknowledge the latter but deny the former. They acknowledge that wickedness stems from humans themselves, but they associate the good with God who is not identical to humanity or human nature. Blake is different. He thinks that both good and evil in their fullness are human.

This complex view of humanity runs through all of Blake’s work, including the third poem we read, “The Human Abstract.”

Analysis of Blake’s “Human Abstract” 

Pity would be no more
If we did not make somebody poor,
And Mercy no more could be
If all were as happy as we.

Pity and mercy are clearly “virtues” only in the sense that Augustine discussed the them: namely, as having the task of “waging perpetual war on vices”¹ and helping us live in this world that is shot through with sin and suffering.

And mutual fear brings Peace,
Till the selfish loves increase;
Then Cruelty knits a snare,
And spreads his baits with care.

The first verse in this stanza brings to mind Thomas Hobbes’s conception of the origin of civil society in Leviathan, as well as Plato’s earlier account of “justice as compromise” (put forth by his brother, Glaucon) in Republic, Book II. Roughly, both posit that political rule derives from the fact that it would be in every individual’s self-interest to act with impunity toward others in pursuit of their needs and desires. However, it is in no individual’s interest to live in proximity to others who are so motivated or inclined. Hence, rational, self-interested individuals agree to enter into a covenant, or social contract, to secure a relative peace.

However, Blake imagines that cruelty follows from, rather than precedes, the establishment of this social contract. So although fear motivates the creation of a civil order, cruelty seems to be a social creation. In this regard, Blake sounds closer to Rousseau than Hobbes.

He [Cruelty] sits down with holy fears,
And waters the ground with tears;
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.

Are these “holy fears” different than the “mutual fear” referenced in the second stanza? I imagine so, for I suspect Blake is indicating that there is a social origin of religiosity. Perhaps he has in mind the fact that early religions were not terribly concerned with individuals per se but, rather, with tribes and nations. Anxiety in relation to a transcendent reality in its alterity, and attempts to appease this divine Other (or Others) were communal-level concerns, animated by the worry that a people (not merely the aggregate of individuals) had an identity, a past, and an unassured future. Certainly in the Abrahamic tradition, the Jews perennially faced the question of how they could sustain themselves as a people and whether they had abided by the terms of their covenant with YHWH. If they had not, was that not due to pride? Humility is the “virtue” that wages war on pride.

Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of Mystery over his head,
And the caterpillar and fly
Feed on the Mystery.

Out of humility before a transcendent Other, human beings increasingly become estranged from their own humanity. They cannot help but attribute to their god(s) the very best qualities that are found within their people: wisdom, strength, love, etc. But to the extent that these belong to their god(s), they are inhuman; it would be a betrayal of the humility they have cultivated out of fear to claim these qualities as belonging properly to them.

But as their god becomes increasingly alienated from and other-than them, it becomes ever more mysterious and incomprehensible. A special class of persons must meditate and offer oblations. Only they, the priests, will have access to the tabernacle or the holy of holies. And they—the caterpillars and flies—will thrive in such a situation, occupying an unparalleled status in the community.

And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
Ruddy and sweet to eat,
And the raven his nest has made
In its thickest shade.

From this situation of power and prestige, the class of priests will multiply the mysteries, consolidating power and securing their continued necessity within the community. In so doing, they offer a sweet reward to their common brethren. Perhaps Blake has in mind here the power to absolve sin, for what can be sweeter than to sin without consequence?² Or perhaps he is still operating in the more distant past—say, for example, with the disclosure of the law to Moses? This latter possibility would perhaps render the reference to the raven—a symbol of death—more sensible, for as Paul the Apostle knew, consciousness of sin under the law led Israel to become a body death.³

The gods of the earth and sea
Sought through nature to find this tree,
But their search was all in vain:
There grows one in the human Brain.

Here it would appear that Blake is alluding to the notion that the gods of nature, which more innocent peoples recognized as the transcendent forces that impinged themselves on their lives, were not surrounded by such an air mystery. Their natures were apparent, at least insofar as they were objects of the intellect. But for this reason, they did not survive. Had they been able to muster for themselves such unfathomable mysteriousness as the “I AM” of Genesis, perhaps they would have survived in the religious consciousness.

But there is no need for them to attain such mysterious status: we will supply it. The seeds and fruits of mystery, like all good and evil, is within us.

Notes

1. Augustine, City of God.

2. See Dostoevsky’s “Grand Inquisitor” for a diabolical meditation on the forgiveness of sins.

3. Aiden Kavanagh