As I finished chapter four and delved into the fifth chapter of The Portrait of the Artists as a Young Man, I stopped so bitterly disliking Stephen Dedalus. Having seen him swing from the two extremes of absolute piety and reckless abandon, I was losing patience with him. The end of chapter four offered a glimpse of hope, as we saw him mature a bit more. He decided to to go to university, and to make art with his life. Of course, he's still self-absorbed, but his desire to create something of worth is admirable. At least in this way, he can contribute something meaningful to the world, whereas if he had gone into the priesthood, his virtue would have been insincere and worth little.
We also see him growing in other ways. When he visits home, he feels pity for his siblings who are already weary of the world due to the family's financial standing. Although it's clear that he is rather detached from them, this empathy is surprising coming from him, since up until this point, it is the first example of him expressing any concern for the emotions of others.
In chapter four, the focus on Stephen's mind rather than his surroundings continues, but we see him taking more interest in the people around him. For instance, he is enthralled by a girl he sees at the beach. Still, a glance is enough, and he immediately transfigures her in his mind so that she can become a part of his psychic reality rather than someone to interact with in the real world.
In chapter five, we see Stephen has developed many friendships at the university, further shifting the focus of his consciousness to the the external world. His conversations certainly seem focused on his own interests, however, as he lectures his friends on the aesthetics of beauty and art. Nonetheless, I can't help having new respect for him. Perhaps it is just the fact that he is openly being himself with the world. He is no longer thrusting himself at the mercy of either sin or God. He just exists and converses and contemplates, more like a normal human being.
Even as we see Stephen developing more substantive relationships, he still seems to have a certain level of detachment that draws him toward the philosophy of aesthetics. It allows him to look at the world through a lens as we have seen him so prone to doing throughout his life. But, perhaps this dedication to studying his world in such an impartial manner is what allows his artistic sensibilities to thrive.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
How Do Narcissists Come of Age?
The third chapter of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is a rush of religious experience, plunging the reader into the fiery depths of hell as Stephen Dedalus pictures it. The strange thing is how he seems to feel a fear of hell, and a shame for disappointing God, rather than guilt for having treated the people around him coldly. There's clearly a kind of narcissism going on here where he thinks he is beyond his peers and is at a level with God.
His concept of conscience is unrelated to seeing and treating people as equals. The irony is shown when Stephen Dedalus sees the peasant girls on the street, and feels pity for himself that their souls were "dearer to God than his." This is supposed to be a turning point in which Stephen Dedalus seeks to give up his life of sin, but rather than despise his own actions, he is once again looking down his nose at others. In this moment, he commits two sins, pride and envy, and those are part of what compel him to repent. His idea of virtue is clearly warped and motivated by self interest.
I see that Stephen Dedalus has in many ways developed very little throughout the chapter. He started the chapter indifferent to his peers, seeing himself as superior and them as dull and indistinguishable. By the end of the chapter, he is once again seeing others as lesser to himself when he perceives the peasant girls as unworthy of being closer to God than him. Thus far in the novel, I have noticed Stephen Dedalus has been consistently distant from other people. It's as though everyone around him is vague and undefined, and he only sees himself clearly. In fact, his sense of self is so piercing that he often puts himself next to God. He describes sin as being consequential merely because it has "covered him from the sight of God," and when he repents, he immediately feels relieved of all guilt since he believes God has forgiven him. The feelings of those he may have hurt are irrelevant to him.
This narcissism is perturbing, and I wonder how this effects his coming-of-age. If coming of age has to do with developing a personal moral code, I'm not sure which direction Stephen Dedalus is heading. At the beginning of the book, he followed the words of others too closely, and obsessed over right and wrong. By this point, Dedalus seems to have a complete disinterest for what others have to say. Earlier on, he would eagerly refer to the words of the fellows or his father when seeking the right answer. Now, he allows the principles of Catholic theology to be his moral compass, even if he chooses not to obey them. In both cases, I see a very artificial distinction between right and wrong. This is largely a problem of a lack of empathy. He doesn't seem to be able to relate to the people around him enough to permit him much moral intuition, so he relies on some external form of judgement, be it his peers or God.
I think a major way that Stephen Dedalus deals with coming of age in a way that allows self-development is his tactic of taking things directly to God. His self-absorption prevents him from building meaningful relationships with the people around him which is a part of growing up that can largely shape someone's character. He, however, thrives on this intense connection to God. He sees God watching his every move as he sins, and he sees God as the sole worthy judge of his actions. I would expect him to be more concerned about what his father thinks of his actions, but he never even mentions a kind of shame at imagining his father see him like this when he is spending his nights in brothels. Also linked to Dedalus's isolation is the sheer lack of relationships he has with other boys his age. Most adolescents effect each other immensely as they experience similar changes simultaneously. Yet Stephen Dedalus doesn't spare his peers a second thought, and he comes of age very much on his own.
Perhaps I am being too harsh to describe Stephen Dedalus as egotistical and lacking in empathy. We do see some glimpse of awareness of others when he describes seeing the shame his eyes invoked in the prostitutes. But even then, he his senses are "stultified only by his desire," and when he repents, he expresses no regret for wounding these women, only remorse for losing God's good graces. I'm interested to see if Dedalus will ever grow in his ability to form relationships and empathize with others as he continues to come of age.
His concept of conscience is unrelated to seeing and treating people as equals. The irony is shown when Stephen Dedalus sees the peasant girls on the street, and feels pity for himself that their souls were "dearer to God than his." This is supposed to be a turning point in which Stephen Dedalus seeks to give up his life of sin, but rather than despise his own actions, he is once again looking down his nose at others. In this moment, he commits two sins, pride and envy, and those are part of what compel him to repent. His idea of virtue is clearly warped and motivated by self interest.
I see that Stephen Dedalus has in many ways developed very little throughout the chapter. He started the chapter indifferent to his peers, seeing himself as superior and them as dull and indistinguishable. By the end of the chapter, he is once again seeing others as lesser to himself when he perceives the peasant girls as unworthy of being closer to God than him. Thus far in the novel, I have noticed Stephen Dedalus has been consistently distant from other people. It's as though everyone around him is vague and undefined, and he only sees himself clearly. In fact, his sense of self is so piercing that he often puts himself next to God. He describes sin as being consequential merely because it has "covered him from the sight of God," and when he repents, he immediately feels relieved of all guilt since he believes God has forgiven him. The feelings of those he may have hurt are irrelevant to him.
This narcissism is perturbing, and I wonder how this effects his coming-of-age. If coming of age has to do with developing a personal moral code, I'm not sure which direction Stephen Dedalus is heading. At the beginning of the book, he followed the words of others too closely, and obsessed over right and wrong. By this point, Dedalus seems to have a complete disinterest for what others have to say. Earlier on, he would eagerly refer to the words of the fellows or his father when seeking the right answer. Now, he allows the principles of Catholic theology to be his moral compass, even if he chooses not to obey them. In both cases, I see a very artificial distinction between right and wrong. This is largely a problem of a lack of empathy. He doesn't seem to be able to relate to the people around him enough to permit him much moral intuition, so he relies on some external form of judgement, be it his peers or God.
I think a major way that Stephen Dedalus deals with coming of age in a way that allows self-development is his tactic of taking things directly to God. His self-absorption prevents him from building meaningful relationships with the people around him which is a part of growing up that can largely shape someone's character. He, however, thrives on this intense connection to God. He sees God watching his every move as he sins, and he sees God as the sole worthy judge of his actions. I would expect him to be more concerned about what his father thinks of his actions, but he never even mentions a kind of shame at imagining his father see him like this when he is spending his nights in brothels. Also linked to Dedalus's isolation is the sheer lack of relationships he has with other boys his age. Most adolescents effect each other immensely as they experience similar changes simultaneously. Yet Stephen Dedalus doesn't spare his peers a second thought, and he comes of age very much on his own.
Perhaps I am being too harsh to describe Stephen Dedalus as egotistical and lacking in empathy. We do see some glimpse of awareness of others when he describes seeing the shame his eyes invoked in the prostitutes. But even then, he his senses are "stultified only by his desire," and when he repents, he expresses no regret for wounding these women, only remorse for losing God's good graces. I'm interested to see if Dedalus will ever grow in his ability to form relationships and empathize with others as he continues to come of age.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Ice Cream and Adult Antics
As we read Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, the role adults play in Stephen Dedalus's life fascinates me as we see his perception of them change as he approaches his own "coming of age." In the first chapter, he idolizes adults completely, only certain of his own actions when legitimized by an adult's approval. At one point, we see his struggle for certainty unfold as he considers whether or not to tell the authorities that his peer, Wells, pushed him into the ditch. He remembers that his father told him "never to peach on a fellow," and so he doesn't and feels confident that he has done the right thing.
The narrative encouraged me to explore my own memory in search of how my perspective of adults has developed over time. The whole "never peach on a fellow" scenario strikes me as somewhat strange considering that in my own childhood, children were often only too eager to tell on each other for the smallest things. Yet the reasons were the same. We were seeking an adult's authority where we were uncertain. I can remember the constant need to differentiate right from wrong as a child, and the reassurance of having an adult extinguish the confusion by asserting what was good or bad.
Later on in chapter one, we see that Dedalus's perspective is shaken when the prefect of studies scolds him for not doing his work with the rest of the class. In this moment, we see Dedalus silently sure that he is being wronged, for the doctor had advised him not to write with his glasses broken. We see that Dedalus is growing in his own sense of morality as he is able to be certain that the prefect is not in the right. Of course, he is still relying on the doctor's words for backing, but it is a step up from the immediate compliance to the words of adults that we see in the beginning with his interactions between him and his father.
I can identify with this jolting disorientation when faced with the infallibility of adults. When I was in first grade, I had a bizarrely optimistic teacher who I was inclined to gain the approval of from the beginning due to an upbringing in which I always looked up to adults. Yet as the days rolled by, her irritating antics slipped out one by one. If a student complained about something she would grit her teeth and force a frighteningly wide grin, crying, "Smile and say you love first grade!" If she was ever in a mood that was anything less than a hundred percent chipper she would remind us that the the trick to not being sad was to force yourself to laugh until you felt happy. She wanted everyone to be happy all the time, and I was the pensive, sober youth that clearly irked her. She would always single me out and reprimand me before the classroom for small things such as writing messily or daydreaming. At first, I was certain I was being a very bad student, although it puzzled me because I had never been perceived this way by teachers before. Yet there came a day when I finally realized that she was, well, a little insane. I had come back from recess a bit late and she punished me by purchasing Baskin Robbins ice cream for the entire class. The entire class received a little paper cup of chocolate ice cream, except for me. Now, that was just cruel. And I realized that a woman who would exclude me from the class's ice cream consumption was, in my first-grade vocabulary, "bad."
So is realizing that one adult authority is wrong "coming of age?" No. But, it's definitely something that can trigger the start of the process of self discovery. It's symbolic of a moment when we are relying on ourselves as moral compasses, and not simply the words of others.
The narrative encouraged me to explore my own memory in search of how my perspective of adults has developed over time. The whole "never peach on a fellow" scenario strikes me as somewhat strange considering that in my own childhood, children were often only too eager to tell on each other for the smallest things. Yet the reasons were the same. We were seeking an adult's authority where we were uncertain. I can remember the constant need to differentiate right from wrong as a child, and the reassurance of having an adult extinguish the confusion by asserting what was good or bad.
Later on in chapter one, we see that Dedalus's perspective is shaken when the prefect of studies scolds him for not doing his work with the rest of the class. In this moment, we see Dedalus silently sure that he is being wronged, for the doctor had advised him not to write with his glasses broken. We see that Dedalus is growing in his own sense of morality as he is able to be certain that the prefect is not in the right. Of course, he is still relying on the doctor's words for backing, but it is a step up from the immediate compliance to the words of adults that we see in the beginning with his interactions between him and his father.
I can identify with this jolting disorientation when faced with the infallibility of adults. When I was in first grade, I had a bizarrely optimistic teacher who I was inclined to gain the approval of from the beginning due to an upbringing in which I always looked up to adults. Yet as the days rolled by, her irritating antics slipped out one by one. If a student complained about something she would grit her teeth and force a frighteningly wide grin, crying, "Smile and say you love first grade!" If she was ever in a mood that was anything less than a hundred percent chipper she would remind us that the the trick to not being sad was to force yourself to laugh until you felt happy. She wanted everyone to be happy all the time, and I was the pensive, sober youth that clearly irked her. She would always single me out and reprimand me before the classroom for small things such as writing messily or daydreaming. At first, I was certain I was being a very bad student, although it puzzled me because I had never been perceived this way by teachers before. Yet there came a day when I finally realized that she was, well, a little insane. I had come back from recess a bit late and she punished me by purchasing Baskin Robbins ice cream for the entire class. The entire class received a little paper cup of chocolate ice cream, except for me. Now, that was just cruel. And I realized that a woman who would exclude me from the class's ice cream consumption was, in my first-grade vocabulary, "bad."
So is realizing that one adult authority is wrong "coming of age?" No. But, it's definitely something that can trigger the start of the process of self discovery. It's symbolic of a moment when we are relying on ourselves as moral compasses, and not simply the words of others.
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