Blake's depiction of Urizen from the First Book of Urizen, Plate 23, is one of my favourite illustrations in the whole of Blake's illustated prophecies. Luckily, the print is on display in the excellent Romantics exhibition in the Tate Britain gallery in London. Urizen is one of the more tragic figures in Blake. In many ways the character is conceived as a parody of enlightenment, rationalist thinking, being constantly presented in isolation, poring over his books in abject misery. He is also, however, Blake's symbol of repressive legalism and a pastiche of the "creator" God found in such biblical passages as Genesis 2-3. In many of Blake's works, he is cast as the villain of the piece, mercilessly persecuting his adversaries or indeed those under his control (as, memorably, in The Four Zoas). The point Blake is making, is that rationalist thinking, far from liberating humanity through a scientific understanding of the world, actually enslaves through the restriction of imagination and inspiration. That is not to say that reason has no place in Blake's image of redeemed humanity. Rather, Urizen is a tragic figure because his attempts at creation are in essence divine because they are inspired and creative, but become fallen and repressive by Urizen's desire to dominate the other facets of human personality.
For me, this illustration firmly underscores the inherent tragedy in Blake's presentation of Urizen. The red, spiky orb which he carries with him is possibly the world, corrputed by his cold rationalism. Pushing wearily at the edge of the painting, Urizen's eyes behold the lion in the bottom right of the picture. At a number of points, the Lion represents for Blake the notion of empire ("For Empire is no more, and now the Lion & Wolf shall cease." - America, Plate 6, Line 15). And in The Four Zoas, Urizen creates the oppressive and exploitative "Universal Empire". Yet in this picture, Urizen looks down at the lion, and yet empire simply can't meet his gaze. Urizen's campaign to understand and to rationalise the world alienates him from the very concepts and structures he is responsible for. The life of the rationalist (and, indeed the God of creation) is one doomed to loneliness and isolation.
It's a fairly worrying fate to consider. Especially as I currently write this sitting in the Bodleian library, with books spread out in front of me, and the beautiful sunshine of an Oxford spring day lying frustratingly beyond a closed, blinded window. Is it any wonder that I feel nothing but sympathy for poor Urizen?
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