If poetry and the arts do anything, they can fortify your inner

Seamus Heaney, the poet of Ireland’s fields and struggles, once declared: “If poetry and the arts do anything, they can fortify your inner life, your inwardness.” These words, though quiet in tone, carry the weight of steel and stone. For in a world that demands our outward performance, our labor, our masks and duties, it is the inner life that is most often neglected—and yet it is the foundation of strength. Heaney knew that the arts do not simply entertain; they are nourishment for the soul, armor for the spirit, light for the inward path.

The ancients, too, understood this truth. They turned to epic songs, to tragedy and myth, not merely for pleasure but to fortify the heart against despair. The Greeks did not watch Antigone or The Iliad as idle diversions—they let the poetry enter them, shape them, and prepare them to face the harshness of fate. The arts have always been humanity’s way of speaking to the unseen part of ourselves, of strengthening the inwardness that cannot be measured by coin or conquered by violence.

History gives us vivid testimony. During the long nightmare of apartheid in South Africa, people turned to songs, to poems, to theater. Even when stripped of freedom, their inner lives could not be broken, because the arts gave them courage and identity. The words of poets like Keorapetse Kgositsile and the voices of freedom songs became shields for the spirit. They did not topple oppression in a single stroke, but they fortified the inwardness of a people until liberation became inevitable. This is the power Heaney spoke of—the quiet, invisible strength that comes from beauty, truth, and art.

Heaney himself was born into conflict, living through the violence of Northern Ireland. He did not believe poetry could stop bullets, but he believed it could help human beings endure them. His own work, rooted in the soil and struggles of his homeland, fortified his readers with a sense of meaning, belonging, and resilience. For Heaney, the arts were not escape—they were endurance. They gave form to the unspeakable, hope in the midst of fear, and dignity to the oppressed.

The meaning of his words, then, is both simple and profound: cultivate your inwardness, for the world will test you. Outward success may crumble, power may fade, but the fortified inner life stands firm. Poetry and the arts are the builders of that inner fortress. They remind us who we are, they restore our sense of humanity, they deepen us when life threatens to make us shallow. Inwardness is not weakness—it is the hidden well from which strength flows.

The lesson is clear: do not neglect your inner life. Do not think the arts are luxuries for idle hours; they are provisions for the journey, shields for the spirit. Read poetry, not only for knowledge but for resilience. Listen to music that awakens your soul. Contemplate paintings, stories, and plays that reveal to you the depths of human experience. Let them shape your inwardness, so that when trials come, you are not easily shaken.

Practical action follows: make time each day to feed your soul with art. Carry a poem in your pocket, read a verse before sleep, or let music accompany your solitude. When you feel weary, do not only seek distraction—seek nourishment. The arts will not erase your struggles, but they will fortify you to endure them with grace.

Thus, remember Heaney’s wisdom: “If poetry and the arts do anything, they can fortify your inner life, your inwardness.” Build that fortress of the spirit. Strengthen the hidden core of your being. For when storms arise, it is not the outward show that will sustain you, but the inner life fortified by beauty, truth, and the eternal voice of art.