Imagining! With William Blake

In Literature today, we finally looked at Blake's Milton - and did those feet in ancient time...and I was struck anew by the immensity of his creative vision. He really believed that he could reform the ills of society - the dark Satanic mills, the slavery, the child chimney-sweepers, the mind-forg'd manacles - through his pen and paintbrush. A self-appointed visionary and peculiar prophet, he became a kind of Old Testament pariah, riding through the skies in a chariot of fire, shooting arrows into the heart of industrial corruption, and heralding the coming of New Jerusalem. Come with me! He shouted. Would that you were all prophets and could see what I see! He fervently believed that God had spoken to him through this vision and was restless to see it fulfilled.

I'm not sure that Blake was a Christian, given the way he mashed together myths and theology to create his brilliantly twisted worldview, but he certainly believed in the divinity of his own imagination.

Like Blake, I'm convinced that I've occasionally written things that are not of myself; when I'm sure that some muse has inhabited my mind and pen to create something wonderful. (Not for quite a while, though). I do believe that creative expression and imagination are of God, like Blake does; a spiritual gift! Unlike Blake, however, I don't think that imagination makes us Godly. I think it makes us God-like, insofar as we are created in His image. Creating marvellous works of imagination shouldn't exalt us - and Blake, unfortunately, does exalt his own vision to the exclusion of everything else - but rather, it should humble us and cause us to reflect on the ultimate Creator. And who is this Creator whom we resemble?

The heavens declare the glory of God,

and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.

Day to day pours out speech,

and night to night reveals knowledge.

There is no speech, nor are there words,

whose voice is not heard.

Their measuring line goes out through all the earth,

and their words to the end of the world.

In them he has set a tent for the sun,

which comes out like a bridegroom leaving his chamber,

and, like a strong man, runs its course with joy.

Psalm 19: 1-5

Ah Blakey, Blakey. If only you knew this God, who has the whole world in his hands, in whom you might rest! The ills of this world are not for you and you alone to fix. The chimney-sweeper - the little black slave boy - the maimed factory worker - the soldier dying in his own blood - these are his. You, William Blake, are not alone in perceiving oppression, and your imagination will not save the oppressed. The world is already saved by the Lamb, of whom you write so often.