Blake seeks to provide the Golden String which can lead us through the labyrinth of our experience or his own poetry.

Thursday, May 21, 2026

Reading the Gospel


British Museum
Illustrations to Young's Night Thoughts


First posted Nov 2010

How Blake Read the Gospel

All his life Blake read the Bible, loved it, and engaged in dialogue with its immortal authors. Virtually every line of his poetry and every picture he painted had direct reference to some biblical idea that Blake had meditated upon.

In vivid contrast many of the orthodox don't read the Bible at all; they just wave it! Little wonder they dislike Blake. His early ironic description of his work as the Bible of Hell certainly helped to confirm their prejudice.
__________________________________________________________________

"Thou read'st black where I read white."
(Everlasting Gospel)

There are essentially two ways to read the Bible; Blake referred to them as black and white. What did he mean? We might look at Urizen's Book of Brass as the black book. It's a book of rules, a book of law. It tells people what to do, and more poignantly, what not to do.

Even today ordinary people see the Bible in this way, which helps to explain why hardly anyone reads it today. The few who do read it do so dutifully and dully. Such a reading constrains consciousness; it makes the reader obedient and unimaginative. The faithful few who feel that they should read their Bible often approach it in a child like way bordering on the childish. Reading the black book inhibits the imagination, deadens the mind and prevents spiritual development. At its worst it has led to many instances of religious persecution and violence against dissenters.

But Blake read it white. The white book is not a book of rules, but a book of visions, a book of wonders. It provokes thought, causes the imagination to soar. Blake must have learned to read at about the age of four, when he had his first vision-- the frightful face at the window. Perhaps we've all been frightened by the Bible in one way or another; many people have had a sufficiently negative experience to leave it strictly alone. But little William overcame his fright and kept reading, and the next vision we hear of was more positive--a tree full of angels.

All the evidence suggests that for the next sixty five years Blake's Bible reading and his visions went hand in hand; his art is the record of it all. Whoever becomes really interested in Blake's visions will find himself reading the Bible because that's where most of them begin. In spite of this his secular critics have looked all over the world for his sources.

One of the greatest things that Blake has to offer the reader is that he makes you see and read the Bible in a new and better way. Not for nothing did the youthful circle of admirers of Blake's last years refer to him as the Interpreter.

The black book has most often been read as law, as history, in a restricted, literal interpretation. If the priest can get people to see it this way, and only this way, then he has secure control over his flock of sheep. In contrast Blake suggests that it's symbolic. Although written in categories of time and space, the temporal dimension is only instrumental; it points to the Beyond, the Eternal, the Real.

Too often people reading 'black' concern themselves with foolish questions such as "Did it really happen? Was Jonah really swallowed by the whale, or rather by the big fish?" But in Blake's vision that isn't the important thing. The important thing is "What does it mean?" The reader of the black book gets himself tied up in knots about the veracity or historicity of Jonah and his aquatic friend.

Blake shows you the Jonah in your psyche and helps you get some grasp of what the turbulent sea means to you personally. It's experiential, exciting! it puts you in touch with reality!, which is not material at all but spiritual. Literal or symbolic is black or white, and probably the two minds will never meet. At this point I simply urge you to join Blake and read white:
    "Why is the Bible more Entertaining & Instructive than any other book? Is it not because [it is] addressed to the Imagination which is Spiritual Sensation, and but mediately to the Understanding or Reason?"

(Letter To Trusler; Erdman 702-3)                                                                                                   

All of the above is taken from Chapter Six of the Blake Primer. 


Friday, May 15, 2026

BLAKE'S MENTAL TRAVELLER

 

National Gallery of Art
Christian with the Shield of Faith,
Taking Leave of His Companions

These are the posts from 2010 concerning Blake's poem  The Mental Traveller.

MENTAL TRAVELLER 1-3

https://ramhornd.blogspot.com/2010/09/mental-traveller-1-3.html

https://ramhornd.blogspot.com/2010/09/mental-traveller-4-6.html

https://ramhornd.blogspot.com/2010/09/mental-traveller-7-9.html

https://ramhornd.blogspot.com/2010/09/mental-traveller-10-12.html

https://ramhornd.blogspot.com/2010/09/mental-traveller-13-15.html

https://ramhornd.blogspot.com/2010/09/mental-traveller-16-18.html

https://ramhornd.blogspot.com/2010/09/mental-traveller-19-21.html

https://ramhornd.blogspot.com/2010/09/mental-traveller-21-24.html

https://ramhornd.blogspot.com/2010/09/mental-traveller-25-26.html

https://ramhornd.blogspot.com/2010/09/mental-traveller-conclusion.html



READING MENTAL TRAVELLER

Pickering Manuscript
The Mental Traveller

In about 1804 Blake gathered together ten poems he had written but not published.  He made fair copies which he saved in a booklet. Among the poems was The Mental Traveller, an enigmatic poem in twenty six verses. Pickering acquired the manuscript in 1865. The following year he published Songs of Innocence and Experience, and Other Poems, edited by R. H. Shepherd and including the ten poems in his manuscript. Three years later Edwin John Ellis and William Butler Yeats included The Mental Traveller in The Works of William Blake: Poetic, Symbolic and CriticalThe original manuscript in Blake's hand now resides in The Morgan Library and Museum.

Yeats confessed that "When Edwin J. Ellis and I had finished ourt big book on the philosophy of William Blake, I felt that we had no understanding of this poem."

Songs and Ballads, (E 483)
"The Mental Traveller          
I traveld thro' a Land of Men
A Land of Men & Women too
And heard & saw such dreadful things
As cold Earth wanderers never knew

For there the Babe is born in joy   
That was begotten in dire woe
   
Just as we Reap in joy the fruit
Which we in bitter tears did sow

And if the Babe is born a Boy
He's given to a Woman Old      
Who nails him down upon a rock
Catches his Shrieks in Cups of gold

She binds iron thorns around his head
She pierces both his hands & feet
She cuts his heart out at his side   
To make it feel both cold & heat

Her fingers number every Nerve
just as a Miser counts his gold
She lives upon his shrieks & cries
And She grows young as he grows old   

Till he becomes a bleeding youth
And she becomes a Virgin bright
Then he rends up his Manacles
And binds her down for his delight

He plants himself in all her Nerves   
Just as a Husbandman his mould
And She becomes his dwelling place
And Garden fruitful Seventy fold

An aged Shadow soon he fades
Wandring round an Earthly Cot  
Full filled all with gems & gold
Which he by industry had got

And these are the gems of the Human Soul
The rubies & pearls of a lovesick eye
The countless gold of the akeing heart  
The martyrs groan & the lovers sigh

They are his meat they are his drink
He feeds the Beggar & the Poor
And the way faring Traveller
For ever open is his door       

His grief is their eternal joy
They make the roofs & walls to ring
Till from the fire on the hearth
A little Female Babe does spring

And she is all of solid fire     
And gems & gold that none his hand
Dares stretch to touch her Baby form
Or wrap her in his swaddling-band

But She comes to the Man she loves
If young or old or rich or poor    
They soon drive out the aged Host
A Begger at anothers door

He wanders weeping far away
Untill some other take him in
Oft blind & age-bent sore distrest   
Untill he can a Maiden win

And to Allay his freezing Age
The Poor Man takes her in his arms
The Cottage fades before his Sight
The Garden & its lovely Charms    

The Guests are scatterd thro' the land
For the Eye altering alters all
The Senses roll themselves in fear
And the flat Earth becomes a Ball

The Stars Sun Moon all shrink away  
A desart vast without a bound
And nothing left to eat or drink
And a dark desart all around

The honey of her Infant lips
The bread & wine of her sweet smile  
The wild game of her roving Eye
Does him to Infancy beguile

For as he eats & drinks he grows
Younger & younger every day
And on the desart wild they both    
Wander in terror & dismay

Like the wild Stag she flees away
Her fear plants many a thicket wild
While he pursues her night & day
By various arts of Love beguild    

By various arts of Love & Hate
Till the wide desart planted oer
With Labyrinths of wayward Love
Where roams the Lion Wolf & Boar   

Till he becomes a wayward Babe     
And she a weeping Woman Old        
Then many a Lover wanders here       
The Sun & Stars are nearer rolld

The trees bring forth sweet Extacy
To all who in the desart roam     
Till many a City there is Built
And many a pleasant Shepherds home

But when they find the frowning Babe
Terror strikes thro the region wide
They cry the Babe the Babe is Born    
And flee away on Every side                   

For who dare touch the frowning form
His arm is witherd to its root
Lions Boars Wolves all howling flee
And every Tree does shed its fruit    

And none can touch that frowning form
Except it be a Woman Old
She nails him down upon the Rock
And all is done as I have told"

Links to earlier posts which attempt to clarify some of what Blake was saying in his poem will be presented in the next post. 


Saturday, May 2, 2026

OPEN THE DOOR

 First posted Oct 2020

Wikipedia Commons
Book of Urizen
Copy G, Plate 26
 

When I asked Larry which of Blake's pictures he liked best he selected this one without an explanation. His response to the picture was not rational but emotional and intuitive. I can now give a rational explanation to his reaction to the image.

Larry saw through the image to those who stand outside of the closed door. The pleading child and the howling dog are on the outside without a way to get in. To Larry and to Blake this was the plight of humanity; the door is not closed because we are locked out of Eden but because we fail to open it. Built into the mind of man is his Divine Humanity but it is up to the conscious man to open the door or gate and invite the expression of his spirit into his expanded mind.

The poignancy of this image to me is that in adolescence when individuals are re-accessing the assumptions of their childhood, they may close the door to a perception of the internal vision of the Divine. Once the door is closed there has to be a decisive action to reopen it. If the mind of the individual has been turned over to the reasoning faculty exclusively, and the intuition and imagination have been stifled, there is little probability that the door to spiritual experience will be reopened. 

But all is not lost. Some become disillusioned with a one-sided dependence on reason through seeing its failure to provide a balanced way of living. Some are given an opening into a fuller life through a spontaneous awakening of the spirit. Some quietly find the lost piece from their childhood by continuing to seek for it in beauty, truth and love. As Pilgrim learned in Pilgrim's Progress we already possess the key, we needn't wait for someone to give it to us.

Milton Plate 2, (E 96)
"Come into my hand
By your mild power; descending down the Nerves of my right arm
From out the Portals of my Brain, where by your ministry
The Eternal Great Humanity Divine. planted his Paradise,
And in it caus'd the Spectres of the Dead to take sweet forms
In likeness of himself. Tell also of the False Tongue! vegetated
Beneath your land of shadows: of its sacrifices. and
Its offerings; even till Jesus, the image of the Invisible God
Became its prey; a curec, an offering, and an atonement,
For Death Eternal in the heavens of Albion, & before the Gates
Of Jerusalem his Emanation, in the heavens beneath Beulah" 

Milton, Plate 10 [11], (E 104)
"The nature of a Female Space is this: it shrinks the Organs
Of Life till they become Finite & Itself seems Infinite.   

And Satan vibrated in the immensity of the Space! Limited
To those without but Infinite to those within: it fell down and
Became Canaan: closing Los from Eternity in Albions Cliffs     
A mighty Fiend against the Divine Humanity mustring to War"

Milton, Plate 13 [14], (E 107)
"The Bard replied. I am Inspired! I know it is Truth! for I Sing Plate 14 [15] According to the inspiration of the Poetic Genius Who is the eternal all-protecting Divine Humanity To whom be Glory & Power & Dominion Evermore Amen" Milton 30 [33], (E 129) "But to The Sons of Eden the moony habitations of Beulah, Are from Great Eternity a mild & pleasant Rest. And it is thus Created. Lo the Eternal Great Humanity To whom be Glory & Dominion Evermore Amen Walks among all his awful Family seen in every face As the breath of the Almighty. such are the words of man to man In the great Wars of Eternity, in fury of Poetic Inspiration, To build the Universe stupendous: Mental forms Creating" Jerusalem, Plate 19, (E 164) "And Los was roofd in from Eternity in Albions Cliffs Which stand upon the ends of Beulah, and withoutside, all Appear'd a rocky form against the Divine Humanity. Albions Circumference was clos'd: his Center began darkning Into the Night of Beulah, and the Moon of Beulah rose Clouded with storms: Los his strong Guard walkd round beneath the Moon And Albion fled inward among the currents of his rivers." Four Zoas, Night II, PAGE 36, (E 325) "To listen to the hungry ravens cry in wintry season When the red blood is filld with wine & with the marrow of lambs It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moan To see a god on every wind & a blessing on every blast To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies house To rejoice in the blight that covers his field, & the sickness that cuts off his children While our olive & vine sing & laugh round our door & our children bring fruits & flowers Then the groan & the dolor are quite forgotten & the slave grinding at the mill And the captive in chains & the poor in the prison, & the soldier in the field When the shatterd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity Thus could I sing & thus rejoice, but it is not so with me!"
Urizen, Plate 24, (E 81) "4. He in darkness clos'd, view'd all his race, And his soul sicken'd! he curs'd Both sons & daughters; for he saw That no flesh nor spirit could keep His iron laws one moment. 5. For he saw that life liv'd upon death Plate 25 The Ox in the slaughter house moans The Dog at the wintry door And he wept, & he called it Pity And his tears flowed down on the winds"