Portrait

The journey of Stephen Dadelus in James Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is known to be a rich commentary not only on Joyce’s own life, but on the political and social climate of Ireland at the time of Joyce’s personal coming of age. Stephen is the product of an Ireland wrestling with its independence, it’s cultural heritage and identity, and it’s future. Stephen, like Joyce, is raised a strict Catholic, and is faced early on with the dilemma of being a good, pious, and humble Catholic; acknowledging, appreciating, and working towards greater Irish independence and cultural autonomy; and respectfully communicating and living with those who wanted Ireland’s relationship with and reliance upon Great Britain to continue. This is a common thread among Irish literature of this era, and it is a topic touched upon to a greater or lesser degree by the majority of Ireland’s authors, artists, and critics during and following the period of the Irish Revival. One such author is W.B. Yeats, who’s works regarding the independence and identity of Ireland contain ideas reflective of and sympathetic to the Irish majority: devout Catholics who celebrated Ireland’s unique cultural heritage and struggles, and who wished to see her freed of the yoke of English influence and governing.
Stephen Dadelus, however, is a character of James Joyce’s experiences and imagination who seems to come to a different conclusion regarding the state of his mother country and the nature of her struggle for independence and recognition. Stephen’s journey towards independence, self-realization, and honest self-expression begins amidst an atmosphere of strict Catholic observance, both cultivated and embodied by Stephen’s mother Mary Dadelus. This baseline framework by which Stephen experiences the world seems reasonable and sensible to the young adolescent; although the degree to which it affects Stephen’s views and understanding of Emma Clery underscores its ultimate fallibility – it is too stark, too moralistic, too black-and-white to allow room for the subtleties of genuine human beings to be accounted for. Hence, Emma becomes iconic of all things pure and feminine; not unlike Stephen’s probable vision of his mother at this juncture in his life, or the virtues of the Virgin Mother Mary, held in such holy regard by Catholics.
Stephen’s view of the world, and therefore his actions and his character, change once he begins having sexual affairs with prostitutes, and indulging in other morally forbidden behaviors. This phase of his life contrasts starkly with his pious religious upbringing, and with it comes intense guilt and shame. This period of Stephen’s life comes to an abrupt end when the young man is audience to three especially fiery and topical sermons; these well-timed messages ring true to the adolescent, and he returns once more to the Catholic fold, this time with a pious zeal which is undeniably noticeable to all those around him.
Stephen’s roller-coaster ride of personal exploration, reflection, and identity crisis is tempered all along by his artistic nature, his love of beauty, and his philosophical consideration of how best to live his life. It is this side of the now-young adult which ultimately comes to fruition; Stephen’s observation of a young and beautiful girl wading at the beach one day brings about an epiphany that aesthetic beauty is a real and undeniable and worthwhile principle by which to guide one’s life. Following this epiphany, Stephen departs for college, where he finds among conversations with is friends a fully realized synthesis of the young artist’s views and philosophies regarding art, beauty, creativity, and existence itself. He concludes that to be fully himself, he must simultaneously renounce the constrictions which have been culturally engrained in him, while also paying heed and homage to those people and movements which have undeniably shaped his world and experiences thus far.
This ultimate acknowledgement and acceptance of personal balance and honest expression is in contrast with those Irish authors and artists who found it natural to fully support Ireland’s movement for independence. This form of nationalism was and is both common and understandable; however, the lesson of Joyce’s Stephen Dadelus (and, for that matter, Joyce’s own perspective on the issue) is that in order for an artist – or indeed any human being seeking to be fully genuine and authentic – to be completely self-realized and not just a product of a time and place, they must look beyond the social and cultural movements of their day in order to find out who they truly are, what is truly important to them, and what is necessary for them to fulfill their obligation of genuine self-expression. This is difficult to do when one is nearly or entirely defined by the social agenda and values handed to them by way of random chance (i.e., where and when they were born).
It is interesting to note that Stephen Dadelus’ process and conclusion of authentic self-exploration and –realization, as both a young man and as an artist, has parallels in other spiritual and philosophical coming-of-age stories. I was personally struck by the common aspects between Stephen’s journey of perception and understanding with the Buddha’s procession from sensual prince to ascetic pauper to balanced and enlightened teacher, who taught living by “the Middle Path.” Where the Buddha found purely sensual and purely spiritual/ascetic ways of living to be equally unrealistic and detrimental, so too does Stephen find neither his strict Catholic piety nor his attempts at living in pure indulgent debauchery to be fully authentic, engaging, or satisfying. In this light, it seems perhaps inevitable that one must explore the extremes of one’s experience before they can honestly and contentedly express a more objective, realistic, and pragmatic approach to living their life.