Stephen the Martyr

            

                      

            The torment that Stephen experiences towards the end of Chapter 3 is difficult to interpret, but this confusion that the reader experiences (or at least that I experienced) in interpreting this section stems from the contradictions present in Stephen's tortured suffering.  To begin with, Joyce does not, for the most part, provide the reader with any traditional sense of time.  He even writes at one point, “Time passed,” which does not help to orient the reader in the least.  However, this disappearance of time reflects the consuming nature of Stephen’s pain.  He himself is no longer conscious of earthly time.  Instead, and this is hard to articulate, he becomes aware only of a sort of “spiritual time,” if you will, meaning he envisions himself as being in the world of his soul.  He is able to feel physically the pain of hell gnawing at his flesh, as he fearfully considers the sinfulness of his own soul and the arrival of the Last Judgment.

            While on the surface Stephen’s suffering may seem melodramatic, I do think that his spiritual torment is genuine.  Through his artistic sensitivity, he sincerely feels hell eating away at both his body and soul because he considers his sinful self to be irreconcilably removed from God and the Virgin Mary.  However, that is not to say that Stephen’s suffering is not without flaws.  As Justin points, his torment is bizarrely self-centered.  For example, Stephen views himself as being responsible for corrupting Emma’s innocence.  He has such an aggrandized sense of self-importance and of his own supposed martyrdom that he obliviously believes his own lustfulness affects the eternal well-being of those around him.  Furthermore, Joyce mocks the selfish nature of Stephen’s suffering by highlighting the contradictions in his view towards women.  Stephen has the utmost reverence for the Virgin Mary, and he aspires to experience Mary’s divine purity.  Just as he surrenders himself to her grace and holiness, he likewise surrenders himself to the prostitute, seeking to discover himself in her.  Although Stephen notices that the lips with which he praises Mary were also used to kiss a prostitute, he does not make the connection that he is ultimately using them for the same purpose.  He seeks to escape to a higher order through both Mary and the prostitutes, but he continues to idealize Mary while objectifying the prostitutes. 

            Lastly, it seems as if Stephen’s struggles stem from his inability to reconcile his Catholic and artistic urgings.  It has become clear that he is different than other teenagers and that he has an artistic sensibility.  The artist in him seeks to experience the world and to act upon his extreme emotions and desires, which is ultimately why he fulfills his sexual urgings with prostitutes.  However, at the same time, his intensity of feeling, which appears to be the origin of his lustfulness, is what also prompts him to subject himself to such tormented self-condemnation.  Is this a reasonable proposal?  Is the cause of Stephen’s spiritual crisis his inability to reconcile the artistic and religious sides of his character?  And, if this is true, is the rest of the novel going to center on Stephen’s choosing one of the two or attempting to join these two sides?

Soul Cleansing

Towards the end of our last class, Mr. Kennedy brought our attention to the scene where Stephen appears that he will break away from the Church because he feels that his soul is beyond fixing.  Mr. Kennedy focused on the lines, “It was his own soul going forth to experience, unfolding itself sin by sin, spreading abroad the balefire of its burning stars and folding back upon itself, fading slowly, quenching its own lights and fires.” (90).  This clearly shows that Stephen feels that he is doing damage to his soul through his sins.  He knows the dangers of doing this, but he feels that his sins are fueling themselves and cannot be stopped. 

After Stephen experiences the retreat, his perspective towards the salvation of his soul starts to change.  In a thought, while confessing his sins, that is very similar in structure to the previous statement, Stephen thinks that, “His sins trickled from his lips, one by one, trickled in shameful drops from his soul festering and oozing like a sore, a squalid stream of vice.  The last sins oozed forth sluggish, filthy” (126).  As Mr. Kennedy stated, this sentence structure is an important motif that comes up a few times in the novel.  While his soul is engulfed in sin in the first passage, this passage gives a picture of Stephen’s soul that has been mostly cleaned of the sins and has potential to either become filled with good or to return to a state of sin.  So with this scene set as the middle part of the book, it seems this is suppose to be the start of a new adventure for Stephen, in which he will ultimately have to choose, or forced into, one of these two states of the soul.

 Should we believe that Stephen wants to choose the good and righteous path because he truly wants to or because he is fearful of spending eternity in hell?  Also if the second option is true, does that speak more to Stephen as a person or the culture of the Church at the time?

Perspective: It Builds Character

Well, he finally did something about it (it being his depraved soul). After all the florid language of Stephen’s thoughts and all the heartache about his teenage hell-bound impiety, a nightmare about goats at last spurs him on. I’m skeptical.

Maybe I’m slightly disenchanted with the language of this subsection. Don’t get me wrong though: I concede that Joyce is a linguistic artist. But really, reading these pages, I found that much of it was overblown and points to Stephen’s egregious lack of perspective, which emerges from something resembling narcissism. Take, for example, Stephen’s course of action after having the nightmare with the “rictus of cruel malignity” (131 in my edition): “He flung the blankets from him madly to free his face and neck.” (Ok I’m fine with this) “That was his hell.” (Here we go) “God had allowed him to see the hell reserved for his sins: stinking, bestial, malignant, a hell of lecherous goatish fiends. For him! For him!” (I mean, come on.) I’m not sure if Joyce is criticizing Stephen along with me, but I’m certainly criticizing Stephen. Regardless, the language of Stephen’s thoughts becomes laughably self-centered on his way to confession: “He wept for the innocence he had lost,” “He cowered in the shadow of the thought, abasing himself in the awe of God Who had made all things and all men…he prayed mutely to his angel guardian to drive away with his sword the demon that was whispering to his brain” (133). What we see here is the worst of the Catholic tradition, of which I’m critical, and the worst of Stephen’s self-importance, of which I’m critical, and the downright ridiculousness of this entire episode, of which I’m taking note.

And then, after confession, suddenly everything is fine and dandy, but still overblown: “his prayer ascended to heaven from his purified heart like perfume streaming upwards from a heart of white rose” (139). I suppose Joyce is calling attention to the reality that Stephen places far too much value in confession and does not effect an sort of internal change. He feels a change, but does not seem to actually reform himself. Ultimately, I think Joyce and I could be on the same page—Stephen lacks perspective because he is so far steeped in a backward Catholic tradition and stuck in his own head. We’ve mentioned this sentiment in class before, but I really felt it resonated with me tonight in this reading.

Emma the Angel?

Stephen worshipping Emma as his intercessor

            Throughout the first two chapters, we saw Stephen admire Eileen and E. C., and seek a relationship with them only in order to ultimately want to reject them in a Monte Cristo “I never eat muscatel grapes” style. Stephen was a shy boy who fantasized about girls, but never did anything in order to form relationships with them. Although E.C. clearly liked him, Stephen remained passive when he talked with her in the tram. He waited for his first sexual experience in order to be transfigured – to become strong, manly and bold.

            In chapter three of the novel, Stephen continues his worship of girls, and even takes it to a further extent by describing Emma as a sort of intercessor to God. He believes that God and Mary are too grand for him: “He tried to raise his soul from its abject powerlessness. God and the Blessed Virgin were too far from him. . . But he imagined that he stood near Emma. . . humbly and in tears, bent and kissed the elbow of her sleeve” (102). We still see that Stephen reveres the female object of his admiration, but now he sees her as someone who minimizes and shares his fault as, “they stood together, children that had erred. Their error had offended deeply God’s majesty, though it was the error of two children” (102).

Calling to mind Stephen’s earlier, dominance-thirsty and shy attitude toward girls, and seeing how it contrasts with his view of Emma as his intercessor, is it fair to say that Stephen’s view of girls and his objective in his relationships with them has changed? Does this show his maturation and development, or is he still stuck in his narrow-minded worship of girls?

False Alarm

At the beginning of section III, Stephen reflects on his soul. This seems to be a moment when Stephen will break away from the Church’s ideals completely because he no longer seems to care what happens to him. He believes that his soul is beyond redemption so what is really the point anymore. He speaks of his “false homage to the Allseeing and Allknowing.” (90). It seems he will completely forgo religion because he already feels he is in so much sin so why not keep on indulging in his desires.

When reading this I thought this was going to be the theme of the rest of the section, the break away and indulging of passions, but this is not what happened at all. Stephen almost immediately starts thinking about the Virgin Mary. On the retreat Stephen seems to be scared straight by the whole experience. When listening to the sermon Stephen starts to imagine the pains being described being experienced in hell are also happening to him as well. This reaction to the sermon also further shows Stephen as an outsider when concerning those around him. While the others talked casually about it, it has really affected Stephen further showing the differences they have between them. It also proves that Stephen still does care about his soul, and that he still cannot totally forgo religion either.

Hail Mary

The pure, white image of Mary as Stephen likely imagines it

Stephen's thoughts during the retreat provide further evidence of his deep reverence of the Virgin Mary. While we first saw Stephen's worship of Mary as merely a result of his religious education, we see in Chapter 3 that he separates God and Mary quite definitely: "Their error had offended deeply God's majesty...but it had not offended her whose beauty is not like earthly beauty, dangerous to look upon, but like the morning star which is its emblem, bright and musical."(102). Although Stephen recognizes his "sin", i. e. his sexual encounter with the prostitute, and fears God's punishment, he views Mary as a graceful divine being who will forgive him. Stephen has apparently always seen the Mother of God as such a forgiving figure, for even with the prostitute he does not act and instead "surrenders" himself to her maternal nature. I also find it interesting that he uses a quote in which Mary is identified as "musical" since we learned on the first page of the novel that Stephen's own mother plays music. This leads me to believe that Stephen suffers from the Madonna-whore complex, and he sees every woman as a pure figure with whom he should not engage sexually, but his yearning for masculinity urges him toward sexuality as well. As a result Stephen has clearly become extremely confused sexually. It seems, however, that the retreat has inspired a change in Stephen. What is this resolution he has found? Has his fear of God's wrath and his wish to please Mary inspired him into denying his own sexuality?

Stephen on Quest

In the beginning of part 3, Stephen is at a crossroads: he loves prostitutes, worries about his soul, and hates the Church. Typical high school boy stuff (besides the soul thing) with a level of intellectual sophistication that many of us lack. In terms of his sexual development, his trips to the brothel give him a “tremor of fear and joy” (102) showing a continued struggle with his sexual behavior. He fully understands his actions are degrading and damning, but he can’t seem to stop his “sinloving soul.” (102) Interestingly, I think he uses this as a way to justify his dissent from the Church.

Stephen justifies not praying by citing that “his soul lusted after its own destruction.” (103) On one level, this strikes me as the basic self-loathing of the type of person that frequents brothels. Moreover, this has the underpinnings of an adolescent that sees himself and his problems as above the church and outside of the realm of divinity. Why pray to a “false Allseeing and Allknowing” (103) God when your problems are so grave? His problems are far too real to put faith into unproven entities.

His love for Mary makes this point both murkier and more legitimate. While the institutional Church (and God for that matter) has the unsightly burden of a checkered history of failings and intolerance, Mary is the beacon of purity. She went through life without sin, and specifically a virgin, qualities that Stephen clearly seeks to emulate. The latin passage praising Mary as an organic pseudo-deity roughly translates to this: I was exalted like a cedar in Libanus, and as a cypress on Mount Sion. I was exalted like a palm tree in its fate, and as a rose plant in Jericho. As if it were in the fields, the pastures of the uliva as a plane tree by the water in the streets, was I exalted. And I have given a smell like cinnamon, and balsam aromatical I yielded a pleasant odor like the best myrrh.

Justifying his disdain for the institutional Church, Stephen must go on the worst retreat of all time. Immediately after Stephen rattles off a list of gripes with a fundamental understanding of Catholicism, the retreat puts him face-to-face with the embodiment of the institution. The way the priest describes missions as “winning” souls sends shivers up and down my spine. Souls are not toys to be won at a carnival, but precious gifts that need religious nourishment. Force-feeding a group of teenage boys stories of St. Francis Xavier will not make good Catholics. Only small circle conversations, group discussions, amongst other similar activities (that will go unnamed) can do that. If Stephen went of Quest, he would finally find and outlet outside of the dark confines of his mind to express and explore his true feelings on religion. Otherwise, he will continually be pushed away by the rigged, unmovable Church around him. 

Stephen's Secretive Sexuality

What is the deal with Stephen's sexuality?

             Before part two, many of the hints that suggested Stephen might be a closeted or unsure homosexual lay in unsubstantiated grounds, but I'm starting to find it very difficult to think of any identification that might be used  to accurately describe him or explain away his many oddities. 

            When visiting his father's alma mater, Stephen notes the word 'foetus', an alternate spelling of fetus, carved into the desk, and he considers it one of many "monstrous images". Before this incident, he had always imagined that he alone suffered from a "brutish and individual malady of his own mind", revealing an oblivious nature for a young man of sixteen or eighteen. He reveals that he typically "sickens himself" when thinking of the same kind of topics. But what is so very 'disgusting' about a typical sexuality? He certainly suffered bullying in the past, when Heron tried to make him admit to some form of a hetero sexual experience with E-C-, so he ought to be aware that this kind of thought is normal? Is his unease because it deals with a fetus, which obviously not overtly sexual, only by implication?

             Even the poem he earlier wrote for E-C-, modeled on Lord Byron's work and written for a girl, is a hint at some kind of homosexual tendencies. Heron and a few other boys viciously attack him for preferring Byron to Tennyson, yelling about Byron's "immorality", but I'd argue that this has little to with Byron's affair and more of a recognition by the other boys that something is unusual about Stephen that they don't like and want to change. After all, his teacher absolves him of any "heresy" and Stephen names a Cardinal as his favorite prose author. But they push him, searching for some defect which they can attack. Schoolboys probably wouldn't go out of their way to pick on a normal kid who miswrote a phrase, but if he was already queer in their eyes, they'd take the opportunity presented. It might be only a coincidence (although probably not) since Joyce loved Byron, but Lord Byron was a reputed to have a strange sexuality even outside of his affairs and many scholars today believe that he was likely bisexual. Therefore, it makes double sense that Stephen finds himself attracted to Byron's work. 

                And most obviously, Stephen's first sexual encounter with a prostitute was sweeter and less perverted than one might expect. He never objectifies her, cries upon the sight of her heaving bosom, became "strong and fearless and sure of himself when with her", and finally "surrenders" to her advances. The experience was more comforting and maternal than a deliberate attempt at physical pleasure. He could feel like a man with her in a way he couldn't with other women, including his own mother. It was a way of satisfying his psychological desire to be a man and, just once, act like other men. 

If Stephen is not read in this way, I think we'll find it much more difficult to understand his idea of sexuality, and ultimately his entire character. Are there any other alternate theories that explain not only all of these strange thoughts and experiences, but all the others that pop up as well? Or does anyone think that all this is irrelevant? 

For D-Day, January 27th

"She's Not There"

Who's Stephen so in love with?

Not Eileen, right? He recalls the day "he and Eileen had stood looking into the hotel grounds," and seems to compare her intentions to those of the new, anonymous girl. Even Stephen's identity seems to dissolve somewhat in the preceding paragraphs. During the Mabel Hunter scene, he becomes "the boy" who "mauled the edges of the paper." His adolescent obsession becomes clear, but the identity of the adolescent does not.

We have seen this before in Dubliners, so I wonder if the same readings could apply here. Does Stephen's angst depersonalize him? Why? Is it simply the truth of every Irish boy? I think that lends itself to the confusing she, identified in a note as Emma. Why does the story not name her until later? Her identity must not matter to Stephen, remaining instead excluded from his consciousness  and thus does not appear in the narration. That explains, along with his fondness for Byron, Stephen's belief "he had heard their tale before," his romanticization of the tram ride as a long fated meeting. It heightens, too, his eventual disappointment when "he tore his ticket into shreds."

For Stephen sexuality means maturity, the total conviction that "weakness and timidity and inexperience would fall from him in that magic moment." Yet, his moments of flirtation are difficult to interpret, because the events themselves overlap with his romantic imaginations, like those of Mercedes.  Oddly, the section focuses on two themes-sexuality and time. How does time progress so rapidly and inconsistently and why does Stephen's perception of sexuality matter so much to it? Joyce's association of the two seems to heighten the importance of sexuality, as both a political and personal issue. Does it deserve such emphasis? Is that even occurring here? Or is mine a misguided adolescent read?