|
The Beast and the Lion
Issues of transcendence in the poetry of Yeats and Iqbal
by Khurram Ali Shafique
About what do they ask one another?
About the awesome tiding
On which they disagree.
Nay, but in time they will come to understand.
And once again: Nay, but in time they will come to understand!
The Quran
Chapter 78, ‘The Tiding’, Lines 1—5
I can fulfill the need of all of you, with one and the same piece
of money. If you honestly give me your trust, your one coin will
become as four; and four at odds will become as one united.
Rumi (1207—1273)
Contents
1. Things As They Are
2. Principles
3. Potentials
4. Contrasts
5. Resurrection
1. Things As They Are
How should we respond to the fact that the rough beast slouching
towards Bethlehem, as described by W. B. Yeats in ‘The Second
Coming’ was also sighted by Iqbal a dozen years ago and described
in an equally apocalyptic poem?
1
Yeats’ description of the beast was:
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
This poem was first published in 1919 and anthologized in 1921.
Iqbal, in his poem ‘March 1907’, had written twelve
years ago:
The lion which leapt out of the desert and overturned the Great
Roman Empire
Will be reawakened, or so have I heard from angels.
Contemporary poets can consciously or unconsciously deal with common
images without knowing each other, and it would be best if such
images are not interpreted in isolation. As such, it need not concern
us whether Yeats was familiar with Iqbal’s vision or not.
Yet, for the sake of curiosity if nothing else, the questions seems
to be unavoidable.
While we cannot be sure that Yeats had heard about Iqbal’s
poem, the possibility need not sound as far-fetched as it does.
In 1912, the Irish writer wrote preface to the first English translation
of the most notable contemporary from Iqbal’s homeland, Rabindranath
Tagore. Among the Bloomsbury, E. M. Forster was familiar with the
poetry of Iqbal at least since 1916 when he probably also met the
poet in India (and developed a close relationship with Sir Ross
Masud whom Iqbal would later nominate as a trustee for his own children).
Around the time when Yeats was writing ‘The Second Coming’,
Iqbal’s Persian poem ‘Asrar-i-Khudi’ was being
translated at Cambridge by the renowned scholar R. A. Nicholson
(already famous for translating selections from Rumi). The translation
would be published as The Secrets of the Self soon after the first
printing of Yeats’ poem, and would be reviewed by Forster,
E. G. Browne, Nicholson himself and Lowes Dickinson.
All of these personalities were well-known in the literary circles
of England, and all except Forster had known Iqbal from more than
a decade ago when he used to study in Cambridge (and there he may
also have met Thomas Hardy, who happened to be a good friend of
Iqbal’s supervisor McTaggart, while McTaggart himself being
one of the ‘Apostles’ of Cambridge may have had some
most unexpected inroads of his own into the literary circles).
Moreover, in the reviews of The Secret of the Self, we find at least
one allusion to Yeats’ poem. It is from Lowes Dickinson who
seemed to be identifying the “beast” of Yeats’
nightmare with the appearance of Iqbal. He mentioned “some
wistful Westerners, hopeless of their own countrymen” who
were turning once more “to look for a star in the East.”
Not only is this statement ringing with allusion to Yeats’
poem ‘The Second Coming’ but even the rest of the paragraph
is almost certainly an allusion to that poem:
And what do they find? Not the star of Bethlehem, but this blood-red
planet. If this book [Iqbal’s Secrets of the Self] be prophetic,
the last hope seems taken away. The East, if it arms, may indeed
end by conquering the West. But if so, it will conquer no salvation
for mankind. The old bloody duel will swing backwards and forwards
across the distracted and tortured world. And that is all. Is this
really Mr. Iqbal’s last word?
Yeats may have been influenced by some ground realities closer to
his own country (Ireland was going through turbulent times those
days), but that need not deter us from seeking a wider interpretation
and application of Yeats’ vision. It is quite safe to presume
that at least in the minds of some Western readers, such as Dickinson,
the two poets must have appeared to be talking about the same thing
but from opposite perspectives.
Both poets were evoking the same imagery: a lion with human attributes,
the backdrop of the desert, a threat for the dominant world civilization,
a reawakening of some sort, and a supernatural source of information
(angels in the case of Iqbal and Spiritus Mundi in the case of Yeats).
However, while the omen was bad for Yeats, it was good for Iqbal.
Moreover, it cannot be denied that both poets were dealing with
a common entity, i.e. Time, and this entity was universal and uniform
(perhaps the most universal and uniform). Since both were living
in the same period of history, their observations about Time could
not have been entirely unrelated, especially when they were focusing
on the same function of Time: the birth of new epochs.
Therefore, let’s study the texts of the two poems now and
see what they are talking about – and whether it can help
us resolve some of the confusions about our age.
2
The Second Coming
W. B. Yeats, 1919/1921
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
March 1907
Dr. Sir Muhammad Iqbal, 1907/1924
It is now the Age of Openness; now Beauty will be revealed to all
And the secret concealed by silence will come out.
Bygone are the days, O Saki, when wine was taken secretly;
The whole world will now become a tavern and everyone drinking.
Those who wandered in madness will return to dwellings,
Bare feet like before but new thorns to bleed them.
The silence of Arabia at last delivered message to the awaiting
ears:
The compact made with the desert-dwellers will be revived once again;
The lion that leapt out of the desert and overturned the Great Roman
Empire
Will be reawakened, or so have I heard from angels.
Ah, when Saki mentioned me to the fellowship of the Tavern,
The sage of the Tavern remarked, “He has a big mouth, he’ll
make a fool of himself!”
O peoples of the West! God’s earth is not a marketplace;
That which you reckon as currency will now become counterfeit.
Your civilization will commit suicide with its own dagger:
Nest built on a weak branch cannot be durable.
The caravan of feeble ants will make canoe of a rose petal
And reach across the river, however rough the tide may be.
The tulip is showing its spots to every flower-bud in the garden,
Since it knows that by this pretence it shall be counted among lovers.
O sight! That which was One you showed us as a thousand;
If this is what you do then who will hold you credible?
As I said to the dove one day, “The free here are beholden
to the ground”;
The blossoms began to say, “He must be a confidante of our
garden!”
Lovers of God are many and they roam around in jungles;
I will be the slave of the one who loves the slaves of God.
O heart! The convention of the finite world forbids even the movement
of the eye;
How shall we be respected if you become impatient here?
I will take my weary caravan into the darkness of the night:
My sigh will shed sparks, and my breath will exhale fire.
If your life has no purpose beyond getting noticed,
Like the spark you’ll be extinguished with a single glow.
Do not ask about Iqbal, he is yet in the same state;
He must be sitting somewhere by the road, still awaiting anxiously.
Yeats’ poem can be divided into five segments for the convenience
of a thematic study:
(i) Lines 1—3: An age is coming to an end and the widening
of the gyre (or movement from the center towards the circumference
) is a sign of corruption and decay
(ii) Lines 4—8: In this age, virtue is withering away and
dying out while evil rejuvenates from within and aspires to dominate
the world
(iii) Lines 9—10: These are the signs of the Time, since the
Second Coming is at hand when a new age shall begin
(iv) Lines 11—17: In a vision of Spiritus Mundi, or the Great
Memory, Yeats observes a pitiless man-lion in the act of copulation
(v) Lines 18—22: Yeats now concludes that the upcoming age
is going to be dreadful: the Second Coming will not bring back Jesus
Christ but a rough beast
Amazingly, Iqbal’s poem, written twelve years ago, had contained
parallels to all these in the form of antithesis. He categorized
his poem as a ghazal, which means that each couplet (two lines)
could be read separately. As such the poem should not be divided
into thematic segments but parallels and contrasts with Yeats’s
later poem become obvious in the first sixteen lines:
(i) Lines 1—2: Unlike Yeats, Iqbal had interpreted the signs
of Time as omens of an age of spiritual elevation. Yeats called
his times the widening of the gyre but Iqbal described them as lifting
of the veil – “It is now the Age of Openness; now Beauty
will be revealed to all / And the secret concealed by silence will
come out.”
(ii) Lines 3—6: According to Iqbal, the virtuous were being
rejuvenated from within. Unlike Yeats, he welcomed the change –
“The whole world will now become a tavern and everyone will
be drinking” (the taking of wine in this case was a symbol
of spiritual growth). Unlike Yeats, Iqbal sees the “best”
as full of conviction and passionate intensity – “Those
who wandered in madness will return to dwellings, / Bare feet like
before but new thorns to bleed them.”
(iii) Lines 7—8: Just as Yeats thought about the Second Coming,
Iqbal had also dwelled upon a compact made with God long ago –
“The silence of Arabia at last delivered the message to the
awaiting ears: The compact made with the desert-dwellers will be
revived once again.”
(iv) Lines 9—10: Yeats got his vision from Spiritus Mundi,
and Iqbal also heard his news from angels – “The lion
that leapt out of the desert and overturned the Great Roman Empire
/ Will be reawakened, or so have I heard from angels.”
(v) Lines 11—16: According to Yeats, the worst were full of
passionate intensity while Iqbal himself was full of it so unmistakably
– “Ah, when the Saki mentioned me to the fellowship
of the Tavern,” Iqbal had said. “The sage of the Tavern
remarked, ‘He has a big mouth, he’ll make a fool of
himself” While Yeats described his vision as a bad news for
the whole world, Iqbal had interpreted the signs as bad omen for
the West and a good omen for the East – “O peoples of
the West! God’s earth is not a marketplace…” and
“The caravan of the feeble ants will make canoe of a rose
petal / And reach across the river…”
3
The parallels are exactly opposed to each other but the most startling
factor is the common vision of the man-lion, who was about to be
reawakened in 1907 when Iqbal “heard” about it, and
was fully awake and rejuvenating by 1919 when Yeats “saw”
it.
What Yeats was attempting to describe as a cosmic evil was in fact
the same thing which Iqbal, some dozen years earlier, had interpreted
as the reawakening of Islam (and by implication a reawakening of
the East). Is it too much to conjecture, then, that the beast which
scared the Irishman was, therefore, the resurgence of the East?
It is true that Yeats – just like his junior contemporary
Eliot – had humanitarian pretensions and therefore the prevalent
impression about him has been that he may not have been pro-colonialist.
Despite this, some have tried to look for an elitist bias in his
mind and works. However, such discussions need not hamper us too
much. Suffice it to say that artists are sometimes not completely
aware of every plausible interpretation of their vision and literary
critics have always claimed the right to be go beyond appearances
in their quest for meaning – like Joseph who interpreted “stories
and events” in order to foretell destinies of individuals
and nations.
3. Principles
1
Cutting to the core of the two visions, we observe:
? According to ‘March 1907’, the modern times are passing
but good and should be accepted
? According to ‘The Second Coming’, the modern times
are permanent and bad, and should be rejected
It is interesting to note that neither of these two positions is
unique. The first is a typically romantic premise common among people
who gain political ascendancy or are about to gain it – a
hundred years ago this was the position of Wordsworth, Coleridge,
Shelley, Keats and Byron in England (and Goethe, Beethoven and others
elsewhere).
The second premise, i.e. the premise of Yeats, has also been common
in history. It is the typical attitude of people who have lost political
power (especially an empire), or are on the verge of losing it –
Muslims after the fall of Baghdad in 1258 or in the last days of
the Mughal Empire. That the leading poets of Europe should be entertaining
this attitude at the beginning of the twentieth century could be
because at least unconsciously they foresaw the impending doom of
the world order to which they belong – even as dissidents.
Let’s take three basic questions which everyone needs to answer
at some level:
1. Are the modern times passing or permanent?
2. Are they good or bad?
3. Should they be accepted or rejected?
From Iqbal’s perspective, the answer is, “The modern
times are passing but good and should be accepted.” The answer
from Yeats’ perspective is, “The modern times are permanent
and bad, and should be rejected.” However, this isn’t
how a typical European might be thinking a hundred years earlier,
since unprecedented changes were happening around that time and
many more were expected. Hence, a hundred years before Yeats, four
conclusions were possible:
(a) The modern times are passing but good and should be accepted
(b) They are passing but bad and should be rejected
(c) They are passing and good, and yet they should be rejected
(d) They are passing and bad, and yet they should be accepted
Those who took the first position were Romantics (such as the ones
mentioned above), while the second position was upheld by conservatives
(such as William Blake) and later by Marxists. The third and fourth
positions were logically impossible.
Ironically, European imperialism could only be propagated by distributing
the fruits of Enlightenment but since Enlightenment was essentially
anti-imperialist, it meant that colonialism itself would come to
an end through it. This paradox became evident to various people
at various stages. The French learnt it at Waterloo in 1814 while
the British had to wait till the birth of the Indian National Congress
in 1885.
In the East, the awareness of this paradox popularized the Romantic
stance – Sir Syed Ahmad Khan and his school of thought cooperated
with the British on the basis of the Quranic suggestion that the
rise and fall of nations was an ongoing process and therefore no
imperialism could last forever.
With the reawakening of the East, it could be considered possible
and desirable for the European elite to presume that changes brought
about by the Enlightenment were permanent (such a presumption had
the added advantage of giving a much-needed booster to ego). However,
there was an inherent pessimism about perceiving any age as permanent,
since even good things tend to become overbearing if one doesn’t
have the freedom to alter them. Hence all propositions about modern
times derived from an assumption of its permanence were pessimistic:
(e) The modern times are permanent and good, and should be accepted.
(f) They are permanent and bad, and should be rejected.
(g) They are permanent and bad, but must be accepted.
(h) They are permanent and good, but must be rejected.
The first of these was the position of such imperialist writers
as Rudyard Kipling – the modern times were permanent and good
and should be accepted. Although chauvinistic, it still held some
semblance of benevolence and goodwill towards humanity, even if
expressed in dubious analogies likes “the white man’s
burden”. With the movement of the West to the second position,
which happened in different European nations at different times,
even that semblance was gone: modern times are permanent and bad,
and should be rejected.
The second position was different from that of the old-fashioned
conservatives, such as William Blake. They had also opposed the
modern times as a passing phase in history, hoping that it would
be soon over. The new conservatives were hopeless about the future
and believed the “evils” of their age to be permanent.
Regardless of what one considers to be “evil”, the logical
outcome of this position is suicide (and if decadent European artists
of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries could be regarded as suicide
attackers on the frontiers of human thought, then the militants
of today would turn out to be their practical corollaries and our
world will start making sense again)!
2
In the late nineteenth century the idea that modern times were bad
but permanent may have held the greatest appeal for the elite in
those European nations which had failed to have a pie in the cake
of imperialism, or who had lost empires (could it be just a coincidence
that the flagships of pessimism were led by the intellectual elite
of Sweden, Norway, Ireland, France and Holland?). In any case, writers
from these “left behind nations” of Europe practically
invented the famous “Decadence” – based on the
premise that the modern times are bad and permanent.
Yeats might have been destiny’s own choice for transforming
decadence from an elitist fad into a philosophy of life (The attempt
by some European critics, beginning with Yeats himself, to include
Yeats among Romantics is based on a failure to understand what Romanticism
is all about (and quite appropriately, these critics often begin
by confessing their ignorance, such as the editors of The Oxford
Anthology of English Literature: “Romanticism resists its
definers, who can fix neither its characteristics nor its dates,”
p. 3).
Either through some influence of his environment or from his own
bent of mind, Yeats developed at an early stage in his career the
strange notion of the “death of Time,” which he attributed
to Shelley (but his interpretation of Shelley, like his interpretation
of some others including Shakespeare, could be merely a reflection
of his own fantasy). Hence in his essay ‘The Philosophy of
Shelley’s Poetry’ (1900), Yeats found solace in the
idea, found in Shelley’s Prometheus Unbound, of “at
last Time being borne ‘to his tomb in eternity.’”
If the future is not a possibility then culture can only be sought
in the past. Hence in his foundational essay ‘The Irish National
Literary Society’ (1892), Yeats suggested that the Irish history
was “full of incidents well worthy of drama, story and song”
and “if we can but put those tumultuous centuries into tale
or drama, the whole world will listen to us and sit at our feet
like children who hear a new story.” It is significant that
the “new story” he wanted his people to tell the world
was a re-statement of the past and the world ought to listen to
it “like children”—rather than helping the world
to grow up and mature through the literature of Ireland, he desired
to bring it down to a level where it may not ask whether the storyteller
took enough pains to reinterpret the material with relevance to
the present or the future:
And if history and the living present fail us, do there not lie
hid among those spear heads and golden collars over the way in the
New Museum, suggestions of that age before history when the art
legends and wild mythology of earliest Ireland rose out of the void?”
Yeats concluded, “There alone is enough of the stuff that
dreams are made on to keep us busy a thousand years.” Hence,
if “history and the living present” failed him, he would
turn, not to the future, but to “that age before history”.
In ‘The Symbolism of Poetry’ (1900) he wrote, “If
one begins the reverie with any beautiful lines that one can remember,
one finds they are like those by Burns…” and the lines
he quoted there included the phrase, “And Time is setting
with me, O!” Working from the idea that Time is dead, Yeats
sought death in general as his concept of beauty: practically all
other examples of “beautiful lines” from Blake, Nash
and Shakespeare in that essay deal with only one theme: death.
“I see in the arts of every country those faint lights and
faint colors and faint outlines and faint energies which many call
‘the decadence’,” he wrote in his literary manifesto,
‘The Autumn of the Body’ (1898). “Which I, because
I believe that the arts lie dreaming of things to come, prefer to
call the autumn of the body.” These dreams “of things
to come” were not of fresh possibilities, since in his mind
Time was dead. “Man has wooed and won the world,” he
wrote. “And has fallen weary, and not, I think, for a time,
but with a weariness that will not end until the last autumn, when
the stars shall be blown away like withered leaves.” Ultimately,
he defined his ideal as poetry of “essences”, which
he hoped to rise from decadent literature and replace the poetry
of “things” which he saw as a fallacy perpetuated by
the likes of Homer, Shakespeare, Goethe, Wordsworth and Browning.
3
With the possible exception of Homer, all the rest were role models
and ideals for Iqbal. Therefore it should not surprise us to see
that what Yeats would call “the poetry of essences”,
Iqbal would denounce as a conspiracy against life, and condemn not
only these poets but also their metaphysical godfather – about
Plato he wrote in ‘The Secrets of the Self’ (1915):
His Pegasus went astray in the darkness of idealism, and dropped
its shoe amidst the rocks of actuality.
He was so fascinated by the invisible that he made hand, eye, and
ear of no account.
“To die,” said he, “is the secret of Life: the
candle is glorified by being put out.”
Likewise, Yeats fits Iqbal’s description of poets who must
be shunned:
Woe to a people that resigns itself to death and whose poet turns
away from the joy of living!
His mirror shows beauty as ugliness, his honey leaves a hundred
stings in the heart.
His kiss robs the rose of freshness; he takes away from the nightingale's
heart the joy of flying.
The sinews are relaxed by his opium; you pay for his song with the
life.
He bereaves the cypress of delight in its beauty; his cold breath
makes a pheasant of the male falcon.
He is a fish and from the breast upward a man – like the Sirens
in the ocean.
With his song he enchants the pilot and casts the ship to the bottom
of the sea.
His melodies steal firmness from your heart; his magic persuades
you that death is life.
He takes from your soul the desire of existence; he extracts from
your mine the blushing ruby.
He dresses gain in the garb of loss, he makes everything praiseworthy
blameful,
He plunges you in a sea of thought and makes you a stranger to action.
He is sick, and by his words our sickness is increased; the more
his cup goes round, the more sick are they that quaff it.
There are no lightning rains in his April; his garden is a mirage
of colour and perfume.
His beauty hath no dealings with Truth, there are none but flawed
pearls in his sea.
Slumber he deemed sweeter than waking: Our fire was quenched by
his breath.
By the chant of his nightingale the heart was poisoned: under his
heap of roses lurked a snake.
Beware of his decanter and cup! Beware of his sparkling wine!
3. Potential
1
It seems that Iqbal’s premise led him to envisage new possibilities:
there are no images of violence in ‘March 1907’. The
only exception is the prophecy about Western imperialism committing
suicide but even there the East does not hold the dagger nor plunges
it into the heart of the West. The West itself, moved by its own
impulses, is bent upon taking its own life (which is understandable
in the light of its decadent literature).
Also, the action of the “lion” is not depicted as devouring
or slaying but simply an overturning, as if the graceful cat with
its mighty paw was tipping over a great empire. In the light of
the opening lines of the poem, which are also its central theme,
this tipping over could be an act of bringing out an inner reality:
the overturning of imperialism may bring out whatever good was hidden
in the soul of Europe but was stifled by the dehumanizing impulses
of gold hunt: “It is now the Age of Openness; now Beauty will
be revealed to all/ And the secret concealed by silence will come
out.”
2
This prediction can only be understood if future is perceived as
capable of bringing out good things that haven’t been here
before. Unfortunately, that was an option which the European intellectual
didn’t seem to be willing to consider and Iqbal was quick
to point it out. Replying to Low Dickinson through Nicholson, Iqbal
wrote on January 26, 1921:
I am afraid the old European idea of a blood-thirsty Islam is still
lingering in the mind of Mr. Dickinson. All men and not Muslims
alone are meant for the kingdom of God on earth, provided they say
good-bye to their idols of race and nationality, and treat one another
as personalities.
With a subtlety befitting his literary stature, Iqbal’s statement
seemed to be pointing out four problems that faced Europe at that
time:
(a) inability to perceive fresh possibilities in future
(b) worshipping the idol of race
(c) worshipping the idol of nationality
(d) failing to treat others as personalities
The first of these is directly related to the limited potential
of the decadent school of thought. Just like Yeats, Iqbal had also
started with an aspiration for cultural revival but while Yeats
looked back to “suggestions of that age before history”,
Iqbal looked forward – he concluded his first monograph ‘The
Doctrine of Absolute Unity as Expounded by Abdul Karim al-Jilani’
(1900) with the following note about the fourteenth-century Sufi:
In the garb of mysticism he has dropped remarks which might be developed
so as to result in a philosophical system but it is a matter for
regret that this sort of Idealistic Speculation did not find much
favor with later Islamic thinkers.
This search for discovering a deeper reality in the living past
took him to Europe where he submitted his thesis on The Development
of Metaphysics in Persia to Cambridge University in March 1907 and
wrote, apparently in the same month, the poem which bore that title.
Modern literature does not know of a poem in which the future is
glorified more than here.
3
In the Age of Openness even the surface reality of things may change.
Secrets that lay buried deep may be floating on the surface now:
laws of Nature which took a lifetime of hard work for a genius like
Sir Isaac Newton are now learnt by children at school, and books
which were once rare or forbidden may now be downloaded from the
Internet. The steam engine made it possible to do away with slavery
and democracy became a norm but these appearances may not yield
their hidden meaning as long as one accepts contradictions. An effort
needs to be made in order to recognize the spiritual counterpart
of the law of non-contradiction, i.e. the Oneness of God.
4. Contrasts
Iqbal might have been crusading for Muslim culture but he also ended
up vindicating the spirit of modern times and defending those best
elements of Western civilization which Yeats and his contemporaries
were bent upon discarding – the sacred treasures of Shakespeare,
Goethe, Wordsworth and Browning.
1
This last point could be illustrated through an unsuspected harmony
between John Keats (1795 – 1821) and Iqbal. As an Englishman,
Keats should be closer to the spirit of Yeats than of Iqbal, but
this is not the case.
Since Keats belonged to the first wave Romanticism of Europe, his
basic premise about history in his own times was the same as that
of Iqbal, i.e. the modern times are passing but good and should
be accepted. On this principle, when he came face to face with an
object of immense beauty created by the people of an age long bygone,
his response to the unbearable immensity was, in ‘An Ode on
a Grecian Urn’:
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared,
Pipe to the spirit deities of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
An artifact of immense beauty from a bygone age brings us face to
face with the question of immortality. Since Keats believed his
own times to be good, he withstood the pull of the past and assuming
the gesture of polite nobility, said, “ye soft pipes, play
on.” But he knew his own age to be passing too – and
hence the inevitability of other times when other spectators would
observe the same urn. Without claiming knowledge of the future,
Keats could still know what fellow poets after him would feel upon
beholding that urn. They would feel the same, and therefore:
‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.’
2
Beauty can be truth only if the onlooker is invested with a power
to see through appearances. As a conservative, Blake could only
describe as exuberance, and that premise was accepted by Yeats at
an early age. Consequently, when he felt the same pull towards the
past which Keats had survived, he succumbed. Being allured by the
past to the extent of committing treason against one’s own
times is suicide, and Yeats attempted it in ‘Sailing to Byzantium’:
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
Such is the nature of life and death that those who desire death
are the most terrified by it while those who love life are less
afraid of death. Keats could be amused by the prospect of an age
when he would be no more, but Yeats answered the fear of death by
wishing that he had never been born in the first place. He wanted
to escape his “human abstract” and be converted into
an object crafted, not by Nature, but by the hand of some other
human artist.
Keats didn’t wish that he were the Grecian urn – he
gazed at it and was thankful to the hand which created such beauty.
Yeats wished to become that which he admired – which was less
than human, and not even the handiwork of God but of another human
being long dead. In other words, Keats was envious of the artist
but Yeats was envious of the object itself – since his basic
premise was that the modern times were permanent and bad, and should
be rejected, therefore his conclusion was, “No Future”.
This applies to inanimate objects, which are futureless while things
with souls have a life even beyond their bodies.
3
‘Sailing to Byzantium’ was written in 1926 and anthologized
in 1928. It was comparable, as an antithesis, to Iqbal’s poem
‘Sicily’ written twenty years ago but Iqbal’s
greatest poem on this theme was the one he was about to write in
1933:
O Shrine of Cordoba! You owe your existence to Love;
Love is permanence entire, in which there is no past.
Be it color, brick or stone, be it string, word or voice,
The miracle of art springs from lifeblood itself.
A drop of blood transforms a piece of rock into a heart,
Forever the source of desire, pleasure and music!
Your air illumines hearts; my voice makes them throb;
You draw hearts to a vision, I untie their knots.
The human breast is no less exalted than the Exalted Throne,
Despite the limit of azure skies set upon a handful of dust.
What if the beings of light have the privilege of prostrating,
They don’t know the verve and warmth of prostrations!
I am an Indian infidel, but look at my fervor and ardor:
Blessings and peace upon the Prophet, says my heart, and my lips.
Aspiration is my tune, aspiration is its instrument;
The song of Allah hoo! resonates in every fiber of my being.
Keats and Iqbal had little in common except the basic Romantic premise:
The modern times are passing but good and should be accepted. This
much affinity was sufficient to make ‘The Mosque of Cordoba’
an antithesis of Yeats and a magnificent belated installment to
the legacy of the Romantics.
Like Keats, and unlike Yeats, Iqbal too feels proud of his human
faculties—“What if the beings of light have the privilege
of prostrating,/ They don’t know the verve and warmth of prostrations!”
However, while Keats glorifies Beauty and hence lays an emphasis
on the artifact itself, Iqbal emphasizes Love and draws our attention
to the human source of the artifact – while Divine Beauty
in a thing of Nature is the handiwork of God, its reflection in
a human artifact betrays that love which the artisan must have felt.
Hence, the premise of Iqbal called for readjustments to changes.
He stated his understanding of these changes, what they held for
the East and the West, and on what terms both could benefit. The
perspective of “No Future” may have been attractive
for the European elite at that time because it meant that even if
East became free, it would still not get any better because the
modern times were permanent and bad. In any case this approach nurtured
that decadence which we find in the work of Yeats.
Resurrection
1
By the beginning of the twentieth century, the very word “modern”
had come to mean “Western”, and some in the West may
have wanted it to stay that way. If modern times were passing then
soon the word “modern” would come to mean “Eastern”:
election of an Indian prime minister by independent voters could
be called “modern” while the British voters electing
a prime minister may appear “traditional”. The age of
European Enlightenment itself may become outdated as compared to
the age of “Eastern” Enlightenment! Was Yeats unconsciously
trying to paint the reawakening of the East in such colors that
it should horrify the East itself? Was Euro-centric literary criticism
adopting the creed of “speak globally, think locally”?
A glaring example may be seen in Yeats’ famous preface to
Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore, written in 1912. The quotations
in that preface turn out to be just the kind of things European
imperialists may have been wanting to hear after a decade of terrorist
attacks from rowdy Indian nationalists:
They build their houses with sand and they play with empty shells.
With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float
them on the vast deep. Children have their play on the seashore
of worlds. They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast
nets. Pearl fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships,
while children gather pebbles and scatter them again. They seek
not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.
This “literary hypocrisy” has lingered on long after
the actual demise of imperialism. For instance, in The Oxford Anthology
of English Literature (1973) edited by Kermode and Hollander, it
is written about ‘The Second Coming’ (p.1700):
In general the poem meets an understanding response not because
we accept its peculiar doctrine but because its apocalyptic feeling—the
terror and decadence of the last days of an epoch—is widely
shared.
The ring of universalism in this passage, highlighted by such phrases
as “in general” and “widely shared”, is
false and deceptive. Since this book was published in 1973 when,
according to one estimate, there were more people speaking English
outside Britain than all born in Britain up to that time, “in
general” must mean not only in Britain but all over the world
where this poem was being taught in universities. Similarly, a “widely
shared” feeling should mean a feeling prevalent all over the
world, including Asia and Africa, since the poem was also well-known
there. Since “the last days of an epoch” were the last
days of European imperialism, why should there be terror and decadence
“in general”? Indeed, there was joy and regeneration
in the majority of the world – in Asia and Africa (and even
in America due to any number motives, noble or otherwise). “The
centre” that didn’t hold was the seat of European masters,
things did not “fall apart” but became independent and
they weren’t “things” but nations of the East.
At the beginning of the twentieth century, it may have had been
painful for the European elite to foresee the birth of a new epoch
occurring in Ankara, Tehran, Cairo or Delhi and it may have thanked
Yeats because his rough beast “slouches towards Bethlehem
to be born.”
2
The truth is that the end of European imperialism was not the end
of the world. The Second World War was a great tragedy but the world
has moved on – or is at least trying to. It is learning its
lessons. The United Nations may have many failings but it has proven
to be a better and more effective organization than the League of
Nations which was founded after the First World War – and
incidentally, unlike the League of Nations, the majority of members
in the UN is from Asia, Africa and South America.
Yeats may have rung a false alarm. He vilified time and maligned
the phenomenon of Christ’s comeback but was it really because
he saw a rough beast taking the place of Christ? Or was it actually
because of what has to happen on the Second Coming in any case:
The meek shall inherit the earth? Rough beast or no beast, the prospect
of the meet inheriting the earth could itself have given nightmares
to the European elite of the early twentieth century.
3
We may never be able to know whether the world can become as good
as Iqbal foresaw, or whether it is doomed to be as bad as Yeats
predicted. Whichever of the two we choose, we should choose with
awareness.
Unfortunately that hasn’t been the case far. Even in Pakistan,
the country which claims to have been envisioned by Iqbal, ‘The
Second Coming’ is taught like a realistic depiction of things
to come – and among hundreds of thousands of students, teachers
and scholars who have studied English literature since in Pakistan
since the birth of that country, it has never occurred to any one
to mark the striking similarity in the imagery of Yeats and Iqbal,
and to understand the difference between their messages.
For decades, English literature and Iqbal Studies have been taught
in isolation – and seldom to the same students. However, an
ever greater and more perverse danger is rising now. Some scholars
attempting comparative study of Iqbal and modern literature have
taken it for granted that Iqbal could not have differed from his
Western contemporaries. These apologetics are now trying to show
that Iqbal had the same worldview as Yeats, and that the poetry
of Iqbal should be studied according to the poetics of Yeats or
T. S. Eliot.
This is suicide – and we cannot help asking whether the sudden
outpouring of suicide killers from the world of Islam is not a result
of intellectual suicide which the best of the minds in the East
have been committing for decades?
This paper cannot explore all the connected issues. Its purpose
was simply to show that the vision of Iqbal is different from Yeats
and what is good for one is bad for the other. What is good for
us is something which only we can decide for ourselves but at least
we should make an informed choice.
|
Au.
|
|