Anthony House
English 109-01
Prof. Betz
28 February 2001

Station in Life and the Search for Meaning for Thel and Rasselas

For their historic proximity to one another, deep rifts of ideology and society separated Samuel Johnson and William Blake. Johnson was the intellectual powerhouse of The Club, an elite group of London scholars, and an eminent literary figure in his own time. His prerogatives are firmly neoclassical, despite the occasional unorthodox comment. Blake’s story is quite different. Though he too made his home in London, his existence was altogether more meager than that of Dr. Johnson. He was largely unappreciated until many years after his death, and his romantic poems coincide nicely with his romantic position at the far edges of British literary society. Even a cursory reading of Johnson’s The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia and Blake’s The Book of Thel would allow for substantial comparison of the works. This may come as a surprise, given the unique perspectives of the two authors. Despite differences of form—Johnson’s prose running verbose circles around the Blake’s more concisely worded verse—the two works share many features. Both begin with the title characters’ dissatisfaction with seemingly utopic surroundings. Both characters consider their plights, and both choose to pursue experience outside the familiar. The works even share a central question: dissatisfied with a life devoid of immediate needs, where does one find meaning? A critical analysis of the texts reveals the different approaches Johnson and Blake take to answering that question. In the end, the unique ways in which Rasselas and Thel pursue their searches for meaning grow from differences in their stations in life.

Substantial debate surrounds the question of Thel’s identity. Blake’s poem is decidedly ambiguous, supporting both of the predominant notions of Thel’s nature—as either a pre-mortal soul considering human existence or a virgin at the brink of sexual experience. A simpler, more concrete interpretation of the poem is often overlooked, however. Thel’s motto, which begins the poem, is the focus of much critical attention pertaining to the identity debate. It questions whether "the Eagle know[s] what is in the pit? / Or wilt thou go ask the Mole? / Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod? / Or Love in a golden bowl?" (lns 1-4). Adherents to both of the traditional interpretations of Thel view her as the Eagle; the implied remoteness from earthly experience can reasonably support notions of her as either a virgin unknowing of the pit physical pleasure or a soul with no notion of mortal life. Perhaps, however, Thel is neither the Eagle nor the Mole, but an entity with the capacity to question both. Such an interpretation is consistent with Thel’s later interactions with both Cloud and Clay. While the images of the rod and the bowl fit neatly into western fertility symbolism, the immediate jump to a sexual interpretation overlooks the obvious: Thel’s motto warns of searching for the ephemeral in the concrete. Viewed in such a way, the sexual symbolism becomes secondary to an admonition of the search for easy answers to difficult questions. The original poem’s engraving: a man with sword and shield (manifestations of the rod and bowl) is therefore not the triumphant ravisher of the woman who accompanies him in the image, but a fool who controls neither wisdom nor love. Blake’s depiction of the vales of Har is also interpreted in two exclusive ways. The surreal elements of the setting—its idyllic description, references to Seraphim, and the anthropomorphism of Lilly, Cloud, Worm, and Clay—support the contention that Thel is a soul afraid of mortality. Given Blake’s general propensity to intermingle the natural with the preternatural, however, the description of the vales of Har does not necessarily preclude a realistic interpretation of the setting. The other predominant interpretation of the poem, though, confounds the realistic setting with Thel’s exploration of sexual experience. Such a false dialectic overlooks the middle ground, a more holistic interpretation of the poem, in which Thel is alive and her misgivings about sexual experience are secondary to her concerns about life’s impermanence.

The interpretation of Thel as a living woman is consistent with textual evidence found throughout the poem. Thel is the youngest daughter of Mne Seraphim, a description that is counterintuitive to the traditional notion of the soul as ageless. She claims to be "like a watry bow, and like a parting cloud…like music in the air" (lns 12, 15). If Thel were pre-mortal, she would properly voice her lamentations as future woes, rather than present ones. It is not that she will be "Like a reflection in a glass, like shadows in the water," but that she is already like these symbolic manifestations of transience (ln. 13). The Cloud and the Clod of Clay describe her as both the "virgin of the skies" and the "Queen of the vales," implying a comparison between Thel and Mary (lns 72, 104). While such a comparison provides further evidence of Thel’s having entered mortal existence, the comparison is weak at best: where Mary accepts her role, however, Thel laments. Equally important, Thel expresses her concerns in a manner exceptionally sympathetic to the limits of human life: "I complained in the mild air, because I fade away" (ln. 102). There is no direct evidence in the poem to support the notion that Thel ever had control over becoming mortal, and the way she describes herself (as well as the way others describe her) suggest that she is, in fact, a living being. Despite significant textual ambiguity, Thel’s reaction to her obliged existence shapes her obsessive search for purpose.

Thel’s life in the vales of Har is not without occupation; still, she lacks purpose. She and her sisters pass their days leading "their sunny flocks" through their idyllic home. Her pastoral life is not an intrinsically solitary existence. Thel, however, rejects the company of the other daughters of Mne Seraphim to seek "the secret air," implying that her fellow shepherdesses do not share her dissatisfaction with life in the vales of Har. Thel is not specifically dissatisfied with her life, however; she is merely concerned with the impermanence of her existence. Her search is as much for comfort as for meaning. Thel, in her youth, fears death: "O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water? / Why fade these children of the spring? born but to smile & fall" (lns 10, 11). When Thel likens herself to the Lilly, she hopes that the flower’s answer might satisfy her insecurities about mortality. The Lilly assures Thel that her existence, despite its transience, is purposeful, and that "summer’s heat," which melts her "beside the fountains and the springs," ensures that she will "flourish in eternal vales" (lns 28, 29). Thel is unsatisfied with the Lilly’s explanation. Thel’s search for purpose clearly does not extend beyond her current life, and the Lilly’s promise of residence in "eternal vales" offers Thel no comfort. She next calls on a Cloud, asking it, "Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away?" (ln 49). Being lifeless, the Cloud cannot (and does not) assure Thel that his present purpose depends on the reward of eternal life. The Cloud’s response, however, is no more acceptable to Thel than was the Lilly’s. The Cloud assures the Queen of the vales that his true utility is only realized through his fading away. Thel only laments more bitterly at the Cloud’s revelation: "all shall say ‘Without a use this shining woman liv’d, / Or did she only live to be at death the food of worms?’" (lns 69, 70). The cloud reiterates that such utility is noble, since "Every thing that lives / Lives not alone, nor for itself" (lns 73, 74). Having rebuffed two attempts at comfort, Thel’s lamentations seem less the result of true humility of heart than of arrogance: Thel demands purpose beyond that afforded her by both spirituality and nature. She continues to press for an explanation of her purpose, though, and finds herself at the mouth of the netherworld.

Thel’s descent into the earth from the vales of Har reinforces her previous lamentations. The invitation to enter safely into the underworld follows her final dialogue with nature, in which she is assured of God’s commitment to both the cold earth and the lowly worm. For the first time, she takes some comfort from a conversation, though it too is based in her arrogance, for if God would cherish a lowly worm "With milk and oil," Thel envisions herself as entitled to greater kindness (ln 101). Stepping through the gates into the underworld, however, is a rude awakening. Thel finds herself wandering through "A land of sorrows & of tears where never smile was seen" (ln 112). Eventually, she comes to her own grave. There, she hears her own postmortem voice. Its message extends Thel’s living complaints, though its dark tone creates urgency not felt above ground. Thel’s concern with her own mortality is the lamentation of the voice issuing from her grave: "Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction?" (ln 118). The "little curtain of flesh on the bed of…desire" is not necessarily a lightly veiled allusion to Thel’s sexuality (ln 127). Acknowledging the contemporary use of the word bed as a euphemism for grave, the voice’s final warning fits more neatly into the passage as a whole: In dwelling on her eventual death, Thel neglects to live.

By the time Blake began work on Thel, Samuel Johnson had been dead for five years. His History of Rasselas had been in circulation for three decades, and his preeminence as both a writer and a critic remained part of the British literary tradition well after his passing. Similarities between the two works are numerous, though some of Johnson’s asides in Rasselas (his focus on the role of the poet, for example) betray the neoclassical roots of the work. Likewise, the setting, language, and form of Blake’s poem link it more closely to the emerging romantic tradition than anything palatable to Johnson. Some of the obvious contrasts between the two works grow from the ideological differences of their authors. The similarly utopic valleys, for example, are actually quite distinct: Johnson fills his valley with human society, while Blake reserves his for pastoral serenity. The unique characteristics of either character’s struggle to find meaning, however, also grow from their individual differences.

Rasselas’ station in life provides little of the ambiguous difficulty that permeates Thel. Indeed, Johnson’s lengthy explanation of the prince of Abyssinia’s situation leaves little to interpret. Rasselas, quite simply, is the "fourth son of the mighty emperor" of the upper Nile (335). His daily life is one of retirement in the "security and delight" of an idyllic valley (336). He knows nothing of physical want. As Blake oft contended, though, in the absence of opposites there can be no progression. Having only known sufficiency, Rasselas cannot experience contentment as happiness. While Thel’s search for meaning stems from her discomfort with her own mortality, Rasselas’ parallel search grows from a life of excessive comfort. He is completely unconcerned with the prospect of his own death. Thel’s occupation does not satisfy her; she requires greater purpose. Conversely, Rasselas disregards any notion of higher purpose, and seeks an occupation of his time that will ensure happiness in life. He fancies that he "should be happy if [he] had something to pursue" (339). The disparate worldviews represented by Rasselas and Thel account for their different approaches to finding meaning in life. Though similar in their mutual dissatisfaction with their utopic valleys, Rasselas and Thel diverge in their method of moving beyond that dissatisfaction. Thel’s search for purpose is defined by intellectual exploration exercised from the safety of the vales. Her single, very brief experience in a less idyllic setting is secondary. Rasselas, on the other hand, reflects only briefly on his initial situation, choosing to actively pursue an alternative. While still imprisoned in his happy valley, Rasselas finds sympathizers where Thel finds none. Hearing the story of the sage Imlac’s journey to the valley, Rasselas inquires whether he has found happiness at last. Imlac admits that he knows "not one of all [Rasselas’] attendants who does not lament the hour when he entered this retreat" (357). His sister, too, admits her weariness with the "tasteless tranquility" of life in the valley (360). United in their distaste for the unvarying luxury of their common life, the three resolve to escape without further ado.

Rasselas’ exploration of life outside the happy valley is a search for true happiness. The utopia from which he emerges does not offer him the satisfaction he seeks, and his extensive travels represent a sincere effort to discover the true source of human happiness. His travels bring him into contact with people who have no knowledge of the carefree valley of his origins. Rasselas’ search for happiness is methodical, and he surveys the merits of a number of definitions of happiness. He begins his "experiments" with an examination of youth, which he exclaims "is the time of gladness" (364). Rasselas soon discovers that such gladness is not necessarily happy: "He that never thinks never can be wise. Perpetual levity must end in ignorance" (365). Rasselas seeks happiness next in the wisdom of old age. He finds a sage, however, distraught at the death of his daughter. Wisdom, he realizes, has no strength "to arm the heart against calamity" (367). Disillusioned with the "emptiness of rhetorical sound, and the inefficacy of polished periods and studied sentences," Rasselas resolves to search for happiness in the pastoral life (367). The discontent of the shepherds he encounters, however, is readily apparent, and the prince of Abyssinia realizes he must look elsewhere. His insatiable quest to discover the true nature of happiness meets only failure. Rasselas examines lives characterized by prosperity, solitude, scholasticism, worldly power, and domesticity. Nowhere, however, can he find the happiness he had believed would lay outside his home. After years have passed, his journey begins to wind to a close. Imlac admonishes him for his insatiable search: "While you are making the choice of life, you neglect to live" (383). Thel’s postmortem voice offers her a similar, if more ambiguous warning. Thel’s disconsolate lamentations and Rasselas’ ceaseless search for human happiness are different means to one end: a wasted life. Fortunately, both are given chances to reform.

Both Rasselas and Thel return to their happy valleys, and the reader is left to interpret the utility of either character’s search for meaning in the unfamiliar. In the midst of a flood, Rasselas realizes the emptiness of his desires and resolves, "when the inundation should cease, to return to Abyssinia" (418). Likewise, Thel responds to the grave voice by fleeing "back unhindered until she [comes] into the vales of Har" (ln 129). The common interpretation of Thel’s flight—which views it as a rejection of new experience—dismisses out of hand the possibility that her experience in the netherworld has given her a new appreciation for the true value of her pastoral life in the vales of Har. The future is ambiguous, though, for both Thel and Rasselas. The fact that both return to their points of origin suggests that the search for greener grass is an empty one, regardless the motivations behind it. Still, there is no evidence that either character suffers substantially for his or her new experiences. In the end, the unique ways in which the Thel and Rasselas search for the meaning of life lead to one conclusion: such a search is futile if it interferes with living. That lesson is universal. It transcends station in life and ideology alike, and serves as a lesson to reader and protagonist alike.