For many years Christianity and repression were for him synonymous terms.
His craving was for expression. Parents, teachers, priests, kings,
governments, were enemies to spontaneous self-expression. Then they must
go. His youthful exuberance admitted of no half-measures. Like Ezekiel and
Christ, he poured out his invective against hireling shepherds: unlike
them, he ceased for a time to believe in good shepherds. One and all they
were out to repress men's instincts and passions, until, driven in, the
pent-up passion poisoned their whole nature, or in the weaker sort was
rendered passive. Blake proclaimed his doctrine with vehemence, but no one
regarded him.
Pursuing this course for many years, he perceived some wonderful things.
Art is expression; and he made an application of all the glories of art to
human character. Teach men to express themselves, and then instead of
their being as dull and similar as a flock of sheep governed by the herd
instinct, they would grow into a beautiful variety. Man would create
himself as an artist creates his works. The same law governed both.
Repression when successful induced a nerveless, sapless type. Man became
an overwhipped dog. Expression produced a strong, beautiful character
above all petty and tiresome rules of conduct. The conduct of such is
carelessly right.
It was by Blake's frank proclamation of the _ego_ that he anticipated so
much of what the modern apostles of the superman have made us all familiar
with. From Ibsen's _Doll's House_ to Nietzsche's _Thus spake Zarathustra_,
confidence in the _ego_ has been proclaimed as the means to liberty,
beauty, and sovereignty; and this has been accompanied by revivals on a
large scale of those ancient mystery religions that turn on the culture of
the divine _ego_.
This was a road of excess which Blake pursued as far as an individual
might. In the nineteenth century the law of the _ego_, the struggle for
life, the survival of the fittest, brute force, were regarded as all one,
and transferred from the individual to the State, till in a few years the
world was plunged into war.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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