The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats, Vol. 6 (of 8): Ideas of Good and Evil

In Short

This collection of essays serves as a manifesto for the Irish Literary Revival at the turn of the twentieth century. Through meditations on folk tradition, the theater, and the visionary works of William Blake and Percy Bysshe Shelley, the author argues that true art is a form of secular religion. By stripping away "externality"—the obsession with physical detail and moral instruction—the artist can tap into a "great memory" of human experience. It remains a vital document for those interested in the intersections of mysticism, nationalism, and aesthetic theory.

The Story

The narrative begins with the author’s early realization that Irish literature was suffering from a shallow, political imitation of English styles. Seeking a more profound foundation, he moves away from the "popular poetry" of his youth, which served merely to stir patriotic fervor, toward a deeper exploration of ancient legend and folk belief. He posits that the poet acts as a priest of a forgotten faith, whose duty is to distill the disparate emotions of a people into symbols that resonate with the "Divine Essence."

As the argument progresses, the focus shifts to the mechanics of this transformation. He examines the works of visionaries like William Blake, arguing that Blake’s rejection of the "reason" imposed by the senses allowed him to access a universal, imaginative reality. To the author, Blake’s defiance of social convention and his embrace of passion represent the ultimate freedom of the artist. This exploration leads naturally into a critique of contemporary theater. He laments that the modern stage is a "trade" rather than an art, hampered by naturalistic scenery that overwhelms the delicate, symbolic truth of the spoken word. He advocates for a more decorative, ritualistic approach to staging that mirrors the fluidity of dreams.

The arc concludes by broadening the scope to European literature, noting a shift toward the "autumn of the body"—a movement where writers, increasingly disillusioned by scientific materialism, turn toward the spiritual and the evanescent. He observes that modern art is shedding the need for plot and character in favor of a "frail and tremulous" subjectivity. By the final pages, the author arrives at a synthesis: the artist is a guardian of symbols that are not merely literary tools, but talismans capable of unlocking the hidden memories of humanity. He envisions an Ireland—and a world—reconnected to its own "natural magic," where poetry serves as a bridge between the mortal, weary world and an eternal, imaginative paradise. Through this trajectory, the book transforms from a critique of Irish balladry into a comprehensive philosophy of the soul, ending not with a solution, but with a call for the artist to adopt the "method and fervour of a priesthood" to keep the flame of the ideal alive in an increasingly industrial age.

How It Unfolds

The search for a style The author recounts his early efforts to move beyond mere political polemics, searching for a literary voice that is distinctly Irish, musical, and rooted in legend rather than opinion.

The anatomy of the symbol He argues that symbols are the most potent tools of the artist, capable of accessing a "great memory" that connects individual human experience to timeless, universal passions.

The visionary example Turning to the life and work of William Blake, he asserts that imagination is the "body of God" and that art is the only valid response to a world governed by materialistic laws.

The reform of the stage He criticizes the modern, "half-round" theater for its reliance on naturalistic scenery, proposing instead a decorative, non-representational aesthetic that preserves the mystery of the poet's vision.

The shifting tide The author surveys contemporary European literature, welcoming a transition away from descriptive, "picturesque" writing toward a more spiritual, impressionistic mode of expression.

The priestly duty The book closes with a stark assessment of the modern condition, calling for a new generation of artists to act as a priesthood, baptizing and preaching to restore the sanctity of the imagination.

The People

The author acts as both observer and guide, a man caught between his own artistic development and his desire to lead a national movement. He is humble enough to admit his own past failures—such as his youthful tendency to write "picturesque" prose—yet proud in his conviction that the artist occupies a sacred space.

William Blake serves as the book's primary moral and intellectual North Star. To the author, Blake represents the ideal artist: someone who possesses the "faith" that perfect things are final things. Blake stands in opposition to the economists and rationalists of his day, who are blinded by the "spectre" of sensory experience. Through Blake, the author illustrates that the forgiveness of sins is synonymous with the imaginative sympathy found in art.

Percy Bysshe Shelley and the French symbolist writers, such as Maurice Maeterlinck and Villiers de L’Isle Adam, provide the supporting evidence for the author’s theories. Shelley is analyzed for his complex, tower-and-cave symbolism, while the French writers are praised for their departure from "externality." These figures act as proof that the movement toward a "spiritual and unemphatic" art is a continental phenomenon, not merely an Irish one.

In Its Own Voice

"If somebody could make a style which would not be an English style and yet would be musical and full of colour, many others would catch fire from him, and we would have a really great school of ballad poetry in Ireland."

The author reflects on his early ambition to forge a unique Irish literary tradition.

"Our thoughts and emotions are often but spray flung up from hidden tides that follow a moon no eye can see."

This line introduces his meditation on how the subconscious mind, rather than the conscious will, drives the creative impulse.

"We who care deeply about the arts find ourselves the priesthood of an almost forgotten faith, and we must, I think, if we would win the people again, take upon ourselves the method and the fervour of a priesthood."

He issues a final directive, urging artists to abandon the role of entertainer in favor of a spiritual, transformative function.

What It's Really About

The central argument is that art must be an act of spiritual liberation. The author contends that the modern world—obsessed with scientific measurement, economic productivity, and political posturing—has effectively silenced the human imagination. The text explores the tension between "the reason," which binds us to our mortal, clashing interests, and "the imagination," which binds us to each other through the shared, eternal language of symbols. Ultimately, the book asks whether a society can survive without the "perfected emotion" that only art can provide, framing the cultivation of the imagination not as a luxury, but as a necessary defense against the "sapless" and "faded" reality of modern existence.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the intersection of philosophy and aesthetics will find this volume deeply rewarding, though it requires patience. The author’s prose is deliberate and often dense, reflecting a nineteenth-century penchant for elevated, rhythmic language. Those unfamiliar with the specific Irish political climate of the 1890s may find some references to "Young Ireland" or "ballad writers" obscure, yet the underlying questions remain startlingly relevant.

The book captures a specific, fragile moment in time—the transition from the Victorian age into the modern era—and the anxiety of a writer watching the "arts fail" in the face of mass culture. It feels less like a textbook and more like a series of long, intimate conversations with a brilliant, sometimes eccentric mind. You will find yourself pausing often, struck by the author's ability to turn a phrase or capture the "wavering, meditative" quality of his own thoughts. It is not a book for those seeking a quick, plot-driven experience; rather, it is for the reader who wants to understand the intellectual machinery behind one of literature's most influential voices. If you are willing to embrace its period attitudes and its occasional, lofty detachment, you will walk away with a richer understanding of why beauty, in its most symbolic and elusive form, remains the most resilient of human pursuits.