In Yeats‘s private mythology, Byzantium (called Constantinople in Roman times and Istanbul today) symbolizes art, artifice, sophistication, and eternity as opposed to the natural world and physicality. For a BBC broadcast in 1931, Yeats wrote:“Byzantium was the center of European civilization and the source of its spiritual philosophy, so I symbolize the search for spiritual life by a journey to that city.”Of the ancient city of Byzantium-on the site of modern Istanbul, capital of the Eastern Roman Empire, and the center, especially in the fifth and sixth centuries, of highly developed and characteristic forms of art and architecture-Yeats made a many-faceted symbol, which, since it is a symbol, should not be brought within the limits of too narrowly specific interpretation. Byzantine painting and the mosaics that decorated its churches (Yeats had seen later derivatives of these mosaics in Italy and elsewhere) were stylized and formal, making no attempt at the full naturalistic rendering of human forms, so that the city and its art can propriately symbolize a way of life in which art is frankly accepted and proclaimed as artifice. As artifice, as a work of the intellect, this art is not subject to the decay and death that overtake the life of “natural things”. But while such an opposition of artifice and nature is central to the poem, there are references to Byzantium in Yeats’ prose that suggest the wider range of meaning that the city held for him. In A Vision, Byzantium is described at about the end of the first Christian millennium. It is a holy city, as the capital of eastern Christianity, and as the place where God exists because of the life after death Yeats imagines existing there. His description of Byzantium in A Vision particularly,shows an exemplar of a civilization that had achieved “Unity of Being”:
“1 think if I could be given a month of Antiquity and leave to spend it where I chose, I would spend it in Byzantium, a little before Justinian [who ruled at Byzantium from 527 to 565] opened St. Sophia and closed the Academy of Plato. I think I could find in some little wine-shop some philosophical worker in mosaic who could answer all my questions, the supernatural descending nearer to him than to him than to Plotinus even, for the pride of his delicate skill would make what was all instrument of power to princes and clerics, a murderous madness in the mob, show as a lovely flexible presence like that of a perfect human body.
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