Gilded Words: Yeats

(Via George Charles Beresford)

"No longer in Lethean foliage caught

Begin the preparation for your death

And from the fortieth winter by that thought

Test every work of intellect or faith

And everything that your own hands have wrought,
And call those works extravagance of breath

That are not suited for such men as come

Proud, open-eyed and laughing to the tomb."

                                                                            

                                                                – W. B. Yeats, from "Vacillation," part III.     

Hello, all! :)

        Welcome to my next post series, Gilded Words! :D As you can see, it is simply a collection of excerpts drawn from my daily reading, taken whenever I have found something that I've loved and thought might interest you, as well. I hope that these authors' snippets will be as beneficial to you as they have been to me. :)

        For today's excerpt, I selected a passage from The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats that is dear to me. I have not always agreed with Yeats' worldview. Like any good poet will, however, he sometimes strikes a vein of gold* hidden amongst what seems to be the chaotic jumble of life, as seen from our finite perspective. At times  I think that this occurs despite himself, as a result of his subconscious picking away at the apparent disorder of the universe and looking for structure and purpose, like it is in all of our natures to do.  Though he claims that he "would be – for no knowledge is worth a straw –/ Ignorant and wanton as the dawn,"  the content and even the very style of his poetry belie his inherent, human desire for meaning.

      In this stanza, for example, an attempt to dismiss Yeats' attitude as so-called "brave nihilism" dissolves upon further consideration. The main reason for this is fairly simple: Namely, that there is no dignity in death for the nihilist. Death for the nihilist is, of course, simply a nothingness, the end of human experience, the last eternal silence, the only infinite thing in nihilistic philosophy. Because humans do not experience anything lasting, there is no enduring purpose, and thus nothing to do but fulfill one's own desires while one still has desires to fill. No delight is an "extravagance of breath," no matter what its consequences might be. 

      Yeats' approach, however, is markedly different. What allows men to go "Proud, open-eyed and laughing to the tomb"? According to the previous lines, it is only certain works, measured by an apparently exacting scale (which itself is also contrary to nihilism), that allow men to carry themselves with confidence and honor into the grave. Thus, by claiming an objective standard of worth, by maintaining a dignified attitude towards death, and by implying that the value of one's work gives purpose to life, Yeats precludes the possibility of hopeless nihilism in his philosophy.

     If what a man believes about death reveals what he believes about life, and if my half-baked syllogisms are sound,  it warms my heart to know that Yeats had a more hopeful approach towards death than one would assume from the rest of his pretensions about life.

What do you think? Does Yeats sound like a nihilist to you?

With that, I will bid you adieu, and wish you merry success in all your endeavors. :) Best!

L.

* Get it? ;D Heh heh.