Ahh, here we go on from Milton to Blake! A fitting transition, I think, since the lines Phil cites in his comment to a previous post actually come from Blake's Milton, rather than from his Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience.
By the way, I have a lovely videotape of my then 2 year old son Rafe reciting the first verse of one of Blake's Songs of Experience:
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
I'm curious why Phil reads the Songs as a social commentary, rather than what Blake states they are--"shewing the two contrary states of the human soul." (Yes, there are those poor little chimney sweeps, who strangely are actually worse off in the songs of innocence than in the songs of experience.)
I think it must be because our cultural life has never truly recovered from the impact of the romantics of the industrial age--Marx, Engels, and a few others thrown in there with the poet Blake--who believed that industrial capitalism and life in the dark, Satanic mills was contorting the human soul. Though I believe wholeheartedly that Blake's artistic critiques have more depth of reality and persistent insight in them than the entire corpus of Marx and all his followers.
Surely the industrial age was one of tremendous social change, turmoil, and dislocation that we have yet fully to understand. Historians, along with Dickens, still tell us of the bleak houses of the working poor and the predations of the greedy capitalists. We are in need of more good revisionist scholarship to balance the scales that judge capitalism so precipitously. I, for one, don't want to live as the subject of the landed aristocracy of Augustan Britain nor as a cog in the Administrative Wheel of state socialism.
I often wonder what it is that the modern progressive, who enshrines material progress and translates moral progress as the transvaluation of values, would have us undo between the industrial age and our own? Mustn't we in truth accept and strive to understand the industrial age as that which gave rise to the world which is ours, somehow, despite the tensions of human experience and art to which Phil rightly points us--
The end result of the poems taken together is a third state, existing in the dialectical tension between the first two. Blake called that state, "achieved innocence." That would be my goal. Not to applaud the small, often self-serving and hypocritical blessings of largess, charity, faith based initiatives, thousand points of light, and Bill Bennett style moralizing, nor to merely to provide an ironic or satiric counterpoint, but to include both in a single vision, in which we still affirm the small blessings and do our best to light that one candle.
I do not suggest that we have to fall in love with the industrial age and wish to return there as if to some idyllic shore, but rather to recognize what the coming of industrial capitalism called forth from the spirit of our own ancestors--the energy of innovation and enterprise that allowed for material progress, the expanded social conscience (borne on the back of both labor and leisure) that allowed us to imagine a wider scope for human dignity and liberty. As Blake called it forth, Awake! Albion, Awake!
Blake's work on Milton is indeed a work of prophecy, and his allusion to the dark Satanic Mills, turns in the next verse to the industrialism of his own zeal to bring the new Jerusalem to life on Albion's shores. The tools of this industry, however, are those of the artist and prophet waging a "mental fight," armed with a bow of burning gold, arrows of desire, a spear to unfold the clouds, and carried forth in a Chariot of Fire. The tools of the faithful prophet choosing to call upon the Lamb, not the nihilism of the social and political reformers who in seeking the Good of All would reduce all to the valence of atoms spinning in the void of some historical determinism.
Blake toys obliquely with the odd conundrum of our freedom to choose and its resultant responsibility. In Jerusalem he writes:
Let the Indefinite be explored, and let every Man be Judged
By his own Work. Let all Indefinites be thrown into Demonstrations,
To be pounded to dust & melted in the Furnaces of Affliction.
He who would do good to another must do it in Minute Particulars:
General Good is the plea of the scoundrel, hypocrite & flatterer,
For Art & Science cannot exist but in minutely organized Particulars
And not in generalizing Demonstrations of the Rational Power.
And again strangely relevant to our musings here are these lines from Milton:
He [the idiot Questioner] smiles with condescension, he talks of Benevolence and Virtue,
And those who act with Benevolence and Virtue they murder time on time.
I wonder what this observation of Blake as Milton has to do with the Song of Experience he titles The Clod and the Pebble, and what these competing views of love itself have to do with our beliefs about beneficence and philanthropy and our "doings good"...
"Love seeketh not Itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
but for another give its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair."
So sung a little Clod of Clay
Trodden with the cattle's feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:
"Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to Its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite."