As it's been established, the poem argues about the struggles between religion and freedom; the narrator feels that his joys and desires are being locked away from him by the church and its rules, and thus his garden is being turned into a graveyard.
I mentioned in the discussion board that it was a comfort to read this and see that even people in Blake's day thought about this and struggled with religion and freedom. For some reason it never occurred to me that it wasn't just our generation, it's been something many generations have been dealing with.
Typically in most religions one must follow a strict set of rules in order to be in good graces with their God, deities, or what have you. This of course means to give up anything deemed as sinful behavior and devote yourself wholly to your religion. But it's hard, you see, and many look longingly to their garden where they used to find happiness and they begin to feel suffocated by religious authority.
I see it all around me in my generation--this struggle with religion and authority, whether it's internal or the youth curse to the skies that God isn't really there. You see religious and non-religious folk tear at each others throats. Solution: If you don't believe, then don't talk about it. If you do believe, then it probably states somewhere in your texts not to be a douche to others--thus don't force your beliefs onto another person. It's simple, but it won't fix anything.
Anyway I shouldn't get too political about this. So for a brief moment let me relate to this poem, personally.
I'm a Christian (Nondenominational) and to this day I struggle with what Blake talked about in his poem. So reading this poem was a comfort to me in a way. I don't see things the way a lot of Christians, such as my mom, see things. I know I'm not the ideal Christian, and sometimes when I look at what I'm doing and what other Christians are doing or what I'm supposed to be doing I get uncomfortable. Yet I don't know if I could live the strict life style that I see so many people on my Facebook feed living, or seeing all the things my grandparents restrict themselves from doing.
Example: I love to curse
That might not exactly be a biblical thing (I can't remember) but it might as well be when it comes to my grandparents and, to an extent, my mom and dad. I drop F bombs quite a bit amongst other things, though of course I can control myself. That being said, I don't know if I could give that up very easily. Especially given that I work in retail.
Example #2: I don't keep the Sabbath day holy.
In my defense I usually end up working on Sundays. My real reason is because I don't usually feel the need to congregate with fellow Christians when I prefer to keep my business and worship between God. It's no one else's business in my eyes. Thus in a sense I'm still traipsing about this garden that's being turned into a graveyard and checking out all the tombstones and not even listening to the church's warnings and demands. Whoops.
These are just two tiny examples of course. I could go on.
I by no means am trying to offend anyone. That's just how I roll when it comes to my personal chapel and garden. I have internal struggles about my beliefs and how they should be executed all the time. What I'm trying to say is that I think all of us tend to struggle with it, at least on occasion. You start to wonder if that chapel is worth your happiness-- and I think it's normal and will continue to be normal for a long time. Ultimately it's up to the individual what they want to do with their chapels and gardens and no one else's. So long as they aren't devastating society by going around and killing and stealing and just ultimately making life unpleasant for the rest of the world, I really don't care.
That's just my take on it though-- literature is open to hundreds of interpretations, especially poetry. So speculate away, my fellow literary inspectors. May your gardens flourish and your chapels chime lovely tunes.
Peace~
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