James Joyce and the Mythology of Modernism Volume 3 Volume

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ibidem Melikoğlu by Koray Edited STUDIES IN ENGLISH LITERATURES IN ENGLISH STUDIES Daniel M. Shea Daniel M. James Joyce and the Mythology of Modernism Volume 3 Volume

Daniel M. Shea James Joyce and the Mythology of Modernism - - ibidem James Joyce Literary Supplement ISBN: 978-3-89821-574-9 Daniel M. Shea is Assistant Professor of English at Mount Saint Mary York. College in upstate New A comprehensive and successful analysis of the genealogy of Joyce’s con Joyce’s of genealogy the of analysis successful and comprehensive A ing within “Ulysses”. Like the mythopoets before him—Homer, Dante, Milton, Blake—Joyce consciously sets out to encapsulate his vision of a splintered and rapidly changing reality into a new aesthetic which alone is capable of successfully rendering the fullness of life in a meaningful Already way. reeling from the humanistic implications of an impersonal Newtonian universe, the Modern world now faced an Einsteinian one, a re-evaluation which includes awakening Stephen’s from the “nightmare” of history, a re-definition of deity, and Bloom’s urban identity. Written with both the experienced Joycean and the beginner in mind, this book tells how the Joycean myth is our own conception of the Modern- definitively human as (re)defined becomes universe the being, in place our and human. final affirmation, profoundly Molly Bloom’s ist, yet still, through well- clearly scholar a through Joyce at look fresh a .] . [. myth. of ception thought. versed in both Catholic and Classical “James “James Joyce and the Mythology of Modernism” examines myth anew exists in how Joyce’s fiction. Using Joyce’s idiosyncratic appropriation religion rejected the how explores study this Catholicism, of myths the of still acts as a foundational aesthetic for a new mythology of the Modern age starting with “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” and matur STUDIES IN ENGLISH LITERATURES

Herausgegeben von Koray Melikoğlu und Özden Sözalan

Daniel M. Shea

James Joyce and the Mythology of Modernism STUDIES IN ENGLISH LITERATURES Edited by Koray Melikoğlu

ISSN 1614-4651

9 Shafquat Towheed (ed.) New Readings in the Literature of British India, c.1780-1947 ISBN 978-3-89821-673-9

10 Paola Baseotto “Disdeining life, desiring leaue to die” Spenser and the Psychology of Despair ISBN 978-3-89821-567-1

11 Annie Gagiano Dealing with Evils Essays on Writing from Africa ISBN 978-3-89821-867-2

12 Thomas F. Halloran James Joyce: Developing Irish Identity A Study of the Development of Postcolonial Irish Identity in the Novels of James Joyce ISBN 978-3-89821-571-8

13 Pablo Armellino Ob-scene Spaces in Australian Narrative An Account of the Socio-topographic Construction of Space in Australian Literature ISBN 978-3-89821-873-3

14 Lance Weldy Seeking a Felicitous Space on the Frontier The Progression of the Modern American Woman in O. E. Rölvaag, Laura Ingalls Wilder, and Willa Cather ISBN 978-3-89821-535-0

15 Rana Tekcan The Biographer and the Subject A Study on Biographical Distance ISBN 978-3-89821-995-2

16 Paola Brusasco Writing Within/Without/About Sri Lanka Discourses of Cartography, History and Translation in Selected Works by Michael Ondaatje and Carl Muller ISBN 978-3-8382-0075-0

17 Zeynep Z. Atayurt Excess and Embodiment in Contemporary Women's Writing ISBN 978-3-89821-978-5

18 Gianluca Delfino Time, History, and Philosophy in the Works of Wilson Harris ISBN 978-3-8382-0265-5

Daniel M. Shea

JAMES JOYCE AND THE MYTHOLOGY OF MODERNISM

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Cover illustration: Celtic cross with knotwork, by Petr Vodicka.

ISSN: 1614-4651 ISBN-13: 978-3-8382-5574-3 © ibidem-Verlag / ibidem Press Stuttgart, Germany 2014

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Table of Contents

“The Mythical Method”: The Need for a New Myth 1

“The Priest of the Eternal Imagination”: Joyce’s Catholic Aesthetic 29

“A Praiser of His Own Past”: Myth in History, History in Myth 55

“Squaring the Circle”: Science, Fiction and Myth 87

“The Dio Boia”: Divinity, Heresy and Evil 109

“Dear, Dirty Dublin”: Myth and the Modern City 131

“If Ulysses Isn’t Fit to Read, Life Isn’t Fit to Live”: The Abiding Relevance of Ulysses 149

“Unconquered Hero”: The Myth of Modernity 171

Bibliography 179

“The Mythical Method”: The Need for a New Myth

When the Catholic novelist closes his own eyes and tries to see with the eyes of the Church, the result is another addition to that large body of pious trash for which we have so long been famous. Flannery O’Connor

Perhaps the one universal arising from the decades of Joyce criti- cism is the tacit agreement that the author’s arsenal was a formi- dable one. The range of reading, integration of languages, socio- cultural insight, and psychological renderings are all interlaced and mutually supported in his art in ways that only become more complicated the longer the reader contemplates. With such a reality facing the critic, let alone the common reader (though Joyce makes us all specialists), one can hardly help creating a James Joyce in his or her own image as a measure to come to terms with genius, as J. Mitchell Morse observes (ix). And so we have seen Joyce the Feminist and the Chauvinist, Joyce the Marxist and the Elitist, Joyce the Postmodernist and the Classicist, Joyce the Heretic and the Christian Apologist. With a text as massive as, say, Ulysses, the possibilities for this re-creative agenda are legion. As early as 1961, S. L. Goldberg noted this tendency and marveled at the range and depth of Joycean study and actually suspected that the limits might soon be reached (3). Thankfully, we have not arrived at that point yet. In the academy’s search for new perspectives, some of the more obvious dimensions of Joyce’s aesthetic, though recognized, are James Joyce and the Mythology of Modernism not explored as deeply as they might be, in favor of the more ar- cane critical paths. For example, Hamlet, the Commedia and the Odyssey are each commonly accepted to structure Ulysses. Yet the import of these works in Ulysses usually lies within specific refer- ences or organization. The scope, though, of these works is enor- mous and universal in their embrace of what lies beyond the limits of human art, achievement and experience: the “theater of the world,” as Harold Bloom collectively calls them (383). Each attempts to engage that element of human existence outside of the material: the universal, the metaphysical, the divine. Why can we not look at Joyce’s works in the same light as we approach them? Forty-odd years after Goldberg’s observation of the fullness of Joyceana, this study purports to be no different, as I propose a vision of James Joyce as a mythopoeic writer whose agenda was no less than the artistic representation of his entire world beyond the material and towards the divine. In this respect, Joyce’s approach towards mythology is one such item in the current arsenal of evaluations that has been softly, qui- etly and complacently accepted. As early as Stuart Gilbert and T. S. Eliot, the implications of Joyce’s “mythical method” have been well documented, if not always well understood. The usual approach is to see Joyce’s mythology as a way of structuring his fiction or to see the mythic allusions as ironic, Swiftian mirrors by which we can see the problems facing this much-reduced modern world. Daedalus, Odysseus, Satan, Fionn MacCumhal share in the spotlight of Joyce’s cosmological weavings, with well-understood implications in each instance: Daedalus the artificer, the labyrinth

2 “The Mythical Method” maker and escaper, the “old father” who will help Stephen to es- cape Ireland (P 253); Odysseus the wanderer and home-seeker; Lucifer/Satan, symbol of overwhelming pride and non serviam; or Fionn, the Irish hero rumored, like King Arthur or Frederick der Rothbart, to return to his country in its time of need. And when they are taken together, as Finnegans Wake prompts us to do, we see then, as Joseph Campbell suggests, that these stories all point to the “monomyth,” a Viconian master mythic narrative that serves to simultaneously represent the specific and the universal. When this path is taken, though, the critical lens too often blinds itself to the realities of Joyce’s own milieu, and it is this point in particular that provides the thrust of this study. Myth, as a vital force in art, should never be divorced completely from the culture from which it springs. On the other hand of course, the ability to reach across culture and era is the quintessence of myth; symbols continue to resonate as Freud and Jung well knew and even we jaded Postmoderns can appreciate the irony in the wisdom of blind Tiresias. However, it is not until the cultural matrix is understood that the depth of the tale can be fully appreciated. How much richer Homer becomes when we understand the demands of areté upon Achilles, the rigors of simultaneous recollec- tion/composition/performance in the oral tradition, or even the epics themselves as poetic responses to invasions and displacements? Thus it is important to treat myth as a culturally vital narrative art, rather than a collection of disparate story arcs that somehow describe the origins of rituals. The drive to read myths anthropo- logically was tremendously strong, fueled particularly by the writ-

3 James Joyce and the Mythology of Modernism ings and discoveries of J. E. Harrison and Heinrich Schliemann. Modernism, however, maintained an uneasy relationship with this position, simultaneously acknowledging its veracity as well as de- crying its inefficacy. Joyce was aware of the connection between ritual and myth, but the sterility of ritual (think of Eliot’s Waste Land) rules out any significant presence in his fiction, not through any inherent weakness, but rather through a loss of impact and meaning when disconnected from an aesthetic center. As I will discuss more fully later, Joyce still, for example, found the Mass of the Easter Passion to be “good drama,” and since the dramatic maintained a pivotal role in his hierarchy of art, this particular relationship, especially in its connection to drama’s rise from myth, is a valuable perspective. Closer to the Joycean model are the mythopoeic projects of other writers such as Goethe and Blake, both heavy influences. Blake especially impressed Joyce with the Swedenborgian vision of Eternity as a “heavenly man,” a precursor to the universal Fin- negan and HCE (CW 221). Blake’s enthusiastic insistence upon the human participation in the divine—indeed, even identification with it—presents a revolutionary alternative to traditional dualism. Blake’s euphoria, though, is balanced and complicated by the “scrupulous meanness” of Joyce’s realism. Likewise, Goethe’s Mephistopheles and Blake’s Urizen, variations on the Satan theme, complicate Stephen’s Miltonic vision of his own role in creation, moving the identity of evil away from a traditional Biblical source and towards something more human. In both cases, the artist recognized the necessity of shaping a familiar mythological subject

4 “The Mythical Method” matter to a contemporary context, and the tension between the old and the new is the source of poetic drama. In addition, Goethe’s Faust—in particular Part II—vitally rests upon the clash and col- lusion of Christian and pagan myths. The influence of these stories is no less great for being “constructed” and separated from the usual socio-political concerns that myths embrace. Though studied for insight into their surrounding culture, these myths evade the usual criteria of myth (e.g. ritual and historical veracity) that inter- ested Joyce, although he deliberately set out to encounter these criteria. On the other hand, the Christian myth must be considered to be much more fundamental to Joyce’s aesthetic. Even this tradition, though, is subject to the same tendency to see myth as simply more artistic borrowing: Bloom as Christ figure, the Black Mass(es) in Ulysses, Stephen as Satan (whose presence in Joyce’s work owes far more to Milton and Blake specifically than to any ostensibly religious source), or even Werner’s recognition of the Garden of Eden parody in the opening of “Araby” (87). Although fruitful, insightful and illuminating, these types of approach tend to treat the mythology in Joyce’s writings as artifacts and sign- posts, subtly directing the reader to other stories through which his own story gains meaning. Yet this also bolsters a duality unfairly enforced upon myth: it is seen either as a falsehood (i.e. simply as something untrue) or as a creative effort of peoples separated from the Modern age by both time and sensibilities, thus shaping an ironical meaning through distance and difference. In either case, such assumptions are both unwarranted and misleading.

5 James Joyce and the Mythology of Modernism

In this study, I argue that rather than simply seeing Joyce’s use of mythology as merely one more piece in his mosaic of resources, we should recognize the full implications of the “mythical method.” Ulysses is, in fact, the mythology of the modern world with all of the far-reaching and deeply-penetrating implications of the term. If the scope of the novel brings to mind comparisons to epics, especially those by Homer, Dante, and Milton, then we must recognize the same mythopoeic forces at work in Joyce. The un- fortunate tendency of critics to separate the text from its mythic import has diverted critical attention away from Joyce’s own work in accomplishing what his forebears had done. What, though, is meant by mythology, especially in regards to how this idea has been affected by the tectonic changes of Mod- ernism? It is as difficult to determine a working definition of mythology as it is to determine a working definition of Modernism. Dictionaries are of little use here, for most are likely to dismiss myth out of hand as a falsehood. Even the Oxford English Dic- tionary moves immediately from a ritual-based assessment to the understanding that it is a story that is simply not true. Tales simply of gods and mortals may seem to suffice, yet there is undeniably a quality to these stories other than mere entertainment, though this is a characteristic that cannot be undervalued. There is something culturally necessary about mythologies, phrased nicely by David Greene who notes that they are “simply the cement that holds society together” (2). Some scholars such as Raphael Patai or Joseph Campbell suggest that myths are stories/narratives by which we unconsciously structure our lives.

6 “The Mythical Method”

Patai further defines this perspective by stating that myths are “dramatic stories that form a sacred charter either authorizing the continuance of ancient institutions, customs, rites and beliefs in the area where they are current, or approving alterations” (2). He clear-sightedly acknowledges the presence and effect of myth in modern society, although he is too quick to include such narratives as the James Bond films in the rubric of “myth,” mistaking the fantastic or escapist nature of contemporary stories with the deeply felt and necessary preter- or supernatural strangeness of the old myths. The issue of escapism likewise colors Philip Rahv’s approach to myth, as he sees mythology as an attempt to avoid the “powerhouse” of history. Rahv’s idea subsequently sets up yet another distinction between the “truth” of history and the “falsity” of myth, a distinction Joyce actually explores in Ulysses. Perhaps the greatest mistake one can make in constructing a definition of mythology is to claim that it is something monolithic, unified, purporting to say something unambiguous about creation. Gregory Lucente falls into this error when he sets myth in opposi- tion to realism. The mythic, he states, “are those repeating elements of narrative which approach an existence apart from the specificity of space and time, which at their core involve unified and idealized figures, and which establish and depend upon a relationship of unquestioning belief” (42). Realism, on the other hand, claims “a clear and definite position in space and time (and so in culture), that involve figures whose relation to experience is not idealized, and that invite an attitude of analysis or even skepticism rather than immediate faith” (42). To be sure, realism does insist

7 James Joyce and the Mythology of Modernism upon a level of “actuality” not generally found in mythologies, but, to his credit, Lucente acknowledges that successful fiction demon- strates varying degrees of a mixture between the two. Anything else would seem to privilege fact over fiction. The true sticking point here is that the nature of “belief” is never quite defined by those who, though rightfully, identify it as a fundamental element within mythology. Belief is, indeed, an aspect of myth, though not “unquestioning” as Lucente sees it. But, what sort of belief (unquestioning or not) do we deal with in terms of myth? Since this present study deals with Joyce, let us look at Odysseus as a sample mythic figure. In terms of belief, what are we—or Homer’s audience for that matter—asked to believe? That Odysseus was an actual person? Or that Odysseus actually did all the things that the Odyssey states that he did (a doubly difficult question as the man is a notorious liar. . . .)? Or that Odysseus is a believable character in this story? Most likely, the avenue of “belief” seen by most critics taken is the first question, but this leads merely to the less-than-helpful definition of myth as an untrue story. Besides, the approach is complicated by the difficult relationship between mythology and history, itself an unwarranted conflict, and one that calls all fiction into question. More useful by far is the belief in character, for this is the direction of Joycean art, no matter the realism demonstrated in his art. In this vein, one of the best definitions of myth comes from Richard Chase, who identifies it as

8 “The Mythical Method”

an aesthetic device for bringing the imaginary but power- ful world of preternatural forces into a manageable col- laboration with the objective [i.e., experienced] facts of life in such a way as to excite a sense of reality amenable to both the unconscious passions and the conscious mind. (16)

In other words, mythology attempts to assimilate the entire human experience: divine, mundane, mental and artistic. Naturally, then, with so many intangibles to engage, a traditional mythopoet’s ad- herence to realism and “believable” situations would be more of a hindrance than aid. At the same time, no myth would be an artistic success without some recognition of the demands of the age. Thus, Joyce, writing in an age that privileged skepticism and naturalistic perspective, was forced to write with just such elements in mind. Perhaps it is precisely the difficulty with the terms “myth” and “mythology” that has created such confusion in the role that this type of art plays within Joyce’s aesthetic. My choice in referring to mythology as an art form seemingly distinct from “literature” is deliberate and, in fact, necessary, for the strength and appeal of mythology lies, as Joyce notes of drama in “Drama and Life,” in its timelessness and not in any link to specificity in time or place. Indeed, the connection between myth and drama, well-known to Joyce, is fundamental to understanding the nature of his project, and it can therefore be argued that no other art form has had as deep an impact upon his writings as myth. Like the older, more familiar myths, Ulysses is, first and foremost, a story whose agon engages anxieties regarding the human condition in its relationship

9 James Joyce and the Mythology of Modernism to the surrounding universe, complete with the requisite musings upon the nature of Divinity. Indeed, it is the nature of Divinity which illuminates Joyce’s common ground for these conflicting mythic traditions: the tenets of the Catholic myths and rituals, though certainly neither traditional nor orthodox when borrowing from the Church. As will be demonstrated later, such key elements as the mystical state of Fa- therhood, the mysteries of the Incarnation, transubstantiation, and the Trinity itself are fundamental to Joyce’s burgeoning aesthetic and mythopoesis. Of course, Joyce’s actual position in relationship to the Church in itself is an often-debated subject, with many scholars identifying Joyce either as a heretic (e.g. J. Mitchell Morse) or as a more traditional Catholic (e.g. Boyle). Two mem- bers of Joyce’s own family even disagree on his relationship to the Church. While Stanislaus considered that his brother’s “attitude toward Catholicism was more like that of the gargoyles outside the Church than that of the saints within it,” his sister was equally confident that Joyce’s interest in the Church was genuine (S. Joyce 130). Whichever may be true is hardly relevant to the issue; a Catholic perspective is certainly not characterized by agreement with the Church. Flannery O’Connor, for example, a far more as- tute critic of Catholicism in literature than most scholars, under- stands that the nature of the Catholic in literature does not stem from an overtly positive outlook on life or even from a respectful treatment of the Catholic Church as an institution. This is a common failing among many readers who are themselves unable to distinguish between myth and religion: no one demands belief in

10 “The Mythical Method”

Zeus as a requisite for reading the Iliad. Admittedly, though, sev- ering a writer from a de facto religious context may be disingenu- ous. Symbols, narratives and drama are not literary and artistic cu- riosities; they are vitally experienced aesthetic events. If we are to understand the extent of Joyce’s “mythical method,” it is vital to recognize Joyce’s interest in the Church as something far beyond mere adversarial. Instead of the “either/or” path these arguments inevitably blaze, the most cogent approach to this issue of Joyce’s religious attitude is probably taken by those critics who, like Beryl Schlossman, recognize that the “persistence of Irish paganism within the Catholic position produces Irish heterogeneity” (183). Perhaps the most easily recognizable symbol of this heterogeneity is the Celtic cross, an amalgamation of the Christian and Pagan, Roman Catho- lic and Celtic Irish traditions, culminating in the juxtapositional and homophonic symbol of son/sun. This easy assimilation of different philosophical perspectives is succinctly expressed by Joyce in “Grace” in the figure of Mrs. Kernan who could “believe also in the banshee and in the Holy Ghost” without any discernable difficulty (Dubliners 127). The assimilative ability goes far beyond any seeming simplicity on her part, and instead speaks to a greater sen- sibility. Joyce’s brand of Catholicism is far more idiosyncratically Irish in this manner than most give him credit for. Competing mythologies are not as problematic as many make them out to be. Much of the thrust of Ulysses is the assimilation of different perspectives; in fact, the role of mythology can be and indeed should be seen as artistically synthesizing such conflicting world-views.

11 James Joyce and the Mythology of Modernism

One specific example should clarify this movement. Joyce provides the answer to an entire series of creative contrarieties and conflicting mythologies in the fullness of Stephen’s name. In its combination of both Christian and Hellenic elements, this “strange name,” which he had already felt at an early age to be “a proph- ecy” signals the union of several competing, yet parallel mythic streams (P 168). Well before the literary Stephen first appeared, when Joyce was using the pseudonym of “Stephen Daedalus” to sign articles and reviews, it was plainly obvious that the name meant to involve both the idea of martyrdom as well as the mythic maze-escaper. Names in the mythic tradition have often manifested this kind of tension, setting the hero apart from the rest of society. In true mythic fashion, then, Joyce follows a traditional mythological trope in making his protagonist’s name significant or even ironic. For example, the nature and personality of Odysseus become even more intriguing when one learns that his name means “man of pain,” though whether this indicates that he causes it or endures it seems to depend solely upon where he finds himself. Heracles, or “glory of Hera,” is another Greek figure whose name we may puz- zle over. Along the same lines of odd nomenclature is the Irish figure Cuchullain, whose name means “Culan’s hound,” for, after killing a blacksmith’s guard dog, the hero offered to take its place until a replacement had been trained. Nor is this limited to works of European descent. The West African story of Sunjata presents a variation of the tale in which the hero’s original name—Naareng

12 “The Mythical Method”

Makhang Konnate—is altered to the more familiar and eponymous “Sunjata,” for he had stolen a strip of cloth (Suso 8). Most of these names are ironic, though, as if to somehow defuse or contain the potential danger of the mythical heroic figure. Yet we do not know if Stephen’s name is symbolic, as is the case with Odysseus, or something more ironic, as with Cuchullain, for we have yet to find out if he can fly like his mystical father or share the fate of Icarus. More important, though and more vital, is how this name functions. What we learn from the juxtaposition inherent in Stephen’s name is the mixture of the Christian and the Greek, and this is vital in Joyce’s leap from the theory of aesthetic appre- hension delineated in A Portrait to the unspoken theory of aesthetic creation. Like Mrs. Kernan before him, Stephen moves to embrace two competing myths as metaphors of creation. And like Stephen, Mrs. Kernan’s belief “in the banshee and in the Holy Ghost” is an indication of a mind that “had very few illusions left” (Dubliners 127). Neither mythic current has a monopoly on the truth. There is, however, some controversy as to whether a myth for modern times is even possible, given the general sense of skepticism and relativism that characterizes the age. As previously men- tioned, Raphael Patai is quite confident that new myths—though ostensible reflections of the old—crop up every day. On the other hand, the prevailing sense of skepticism which Lucente sees domi- nating modernity certainly seems to preclude the active presence of myth as a cultural unifier in the traditional manner. Divinity has been replaced by society, by the inherent value of the common

13 James Joyce and the Mythology of Modernism man, or, as Joyce’s brother suggests more pointedly, “serious literature has taken the place of religion” (109). I have stated that Joyce offers his art as a substitute for divinity in traditional Catholicism, with himself as the Creator standing somewhere close by. If, however, Joyce maintains this god-like stance within his own work, what is to prevent the label of dio boia—or hangman god—from being attached to him as well? Like many other Catholic writers, the problems of Good and Evil and the struggle of the individual, not simple ethics or even morality, occupy Joyce in his reconstruction of Dublin as the modern world. The implications of the Catholicism underlying Joyce’s mythology of Modernity can be seen not only in his construction of art as the new religion, but also in his vivid sense of Good and Evil in the world today. Growing industrialization, rabid (or even dispassion- ate) nationalisms, and a declining sense of spiritualism cloud this recognition. The relentless challenges posed by Modernity to art, knowledge, culture, humanity itself, complicate our sense of reality, even to the point wherein we argue even about what this reality may be (or even if it is), and to this epistemological uncertainty Joyce speaks directly. The new mythology, like those before it, takes into account the nature of reality, the scope of the universe as it is presently perceived, and places the human being within its context. It is, in its own way, a new Commedia, for it firmly places the human being in a universe that potentially makes sense and is, at the same time, meaningful. The meaning of this universe, though, is not always sensible, nor does Joyce necessarily claim it to be so. As we read Joyce, we