University of Tulsa

James Joyce and Stephen Dedalus: The Theory of Aesthetics

Author(s): Thomas W. Grayson
Source: James Joyce Quarterly, Vol. 4, No. 4 (Summer, 1967), pp. 310-319
Published by: University of Tulsa
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James Joyce and Stephen Dedalus.

The Theory of Aesthetics
by Thomas W. Grayson

A number of valuable and learned commentaries have appeared

in the scholarly journals and as book-length studies which treat

Joyce's aesthetic theories.1 In general these studies indicate the na

ture of Joyce's debt to Aquinas and attempt to show the point or
points at which Joyce departs from Thomistic thought. Were the re
marks which follow merely an attempt to cover that same carefully
harvested field in an effort to glean a few miniscule grains after the
winnowing of such diligent scholarship, they would be profitless and

vain. Instead, this discussion will apply certain aspects of Joyce's

aesthetic theories with a somewhat different emphasis than is usually
given them, and, in consequence, a somewhat different reading will
be given to A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

Before turning directly to Portrait and the aesthetic theories, a

few prefatory remarks are in order. It has become something of a
critical truism to recognize that all of Joyce's fictional works bear
a relationship to each other which is much more than coincidental.
There is, in fact, a tendency to read his fiction as if it were one con

tinuous story?certainly the tendency is to see Ulysses as a con

tinuation of sorts to Portrait. The justification for this view is im

pressively plausible: Stephen Dedalus, the nominal hero of Portrait,
appears as one of the major characters in Ulysses, and several char
acters from Dubliners and Portrait appear in the later novel.

Although this approach to Joyce's fiction is not only plausible

but necessary in order to gain access to some of the themes the

writer was obviously interested in working out, it is not the only

valid way to read his fiction. We are, after all, dealing with fictional

characters who are presented to us in fictional units (stories and

novels) and these units are subject to formal organization or struc

ture: each one is an autonomous element which is not really depend
ent upon the other stories and novels for its meaning. Joyce's artistic
intentions for Stephen Dedalus in Portrait are necessarily different

from those he had for him in Ulysses. Though Stephen is a sur

rogate for Joyce in both novels, we should not make the mistake of
seeing him as a direct counterpart for the author. He is a fictional
character, and as such he represents an aspect or several aspects of

the author, just as Leopold Bloom does. The fact is that Joyce's

relationship to Stephen seems to have been one of almost continuous

310

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THOMAS W. GRAYSON 311

flux. After the fourth chapter of Portrait, the author's attitude toward

Stephen becomes one of estrangement. It is almost as if Portrait

serves to exorcize Stephen from the personality of Joyce, thereby
permitting the emergence of the artist.
In illustrating the manner in which Stephen serves to show forth
various aspects of Joyce, it is helpful to turn to the definition of
irony which Northrop Frye borrows from Aristotle and develops.

He says:

The conception of irony meets us in Aristotle's Ethics, where

the eiron is the man who deprecates himself, as opposed to the

ahzzon. Such a man makes himself invulnerable, and, though

Aristotle disapproves of him, there is no question that he is a
predestined artist, just as the alazon is one of his predestined

victims. The term irony, then, indicates a technique cf ?aying as

little and meaning as much as possible, or, in a more general

way, a pattern of words that turns away from direct statement

or its own obvious meaning.2

In Stephen we find a character who might well qualify as both

eiron and alazon. In one relation to Joyce, who "remains within or

behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible," (215) Ste

phen has the character of an alazon, a miles gloriosus of the arts.
In another relation, he seems to be approximately identifiable with
Joyce himself; at various points their knowing and feeling coincide.

And in yet another relation he seems to occupy a position at mid

point between the alazon and the eiron. In this last position he func
tions in the more or less traditional role of the hero of the novel; he
is the central element in a kind of prose trope which might be con
sidered an "objective correlative." If the term "objective correlative"
is to be admitted at all in connection with Joyce's use of Stephen as
a character in the novel, it must, of course, be admitted whenever the
narrative thread becomes a situation or 3 chain of events which is
the formula of a particular emotion, and, therefore, he might func
tion in this capacity as alazon or eiron. But it is in this third relation

?that point between the two extremes of trov, Jazon and eiron?
where Stephea consistently remains during the first four chapters of
the novel. In the fifth chapter Stephen's experiences are not essentially

formative, as they had been throughout ti e first four chapters, and

Joyce seems to regard him as a suitable victim of irony. Whereas the
first four chapters tell Stephen's story in terms of the forces that
act upon his life, the fifth and final chapter is primarily the story

of his reaction.

Through the greater part of the fifth chapter we see Stephen as

alazon. Throughout the fragments cf Stephen Hero which survive,
Stephen also maintains the posture of the alazon. He is consistently

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312 JAMES JOYCE QUARTERLY

"a poet with malice aforethought." (SH, 26) His attitude in Stephen
Hero is characterized in the sentence, "The monster in Stephen had
lately taken to misbehaving himself and on the least provocation was
ready for bloodshed." (SH, 29) In Chapter V of Portrait he reeks of
insolence and self-satisfaction. As he allows his mother to scrub his
neck and clean his ears, one is strangely reminded of the crocodile
being served and preened by the trochilus bird. As Stephen leaves
the house and slowly chooses his way toward the university?he is

already hopelessly late?he hears the cry of a mad nun screeching

from the nuns' madhouse. Here Joyce provides auctorial commentary

to reveal the state of Stephen's mind in response to the nun's wailing
for Jesus and in response to the world around him in general:

He shook the sound out of his ears by an angry toss of his

head and hurried on, stumbling through the mouldering offal,

his heart already bitten by an ache of loathing and bitterness.
His father's whistle, his mother's mutterings, the screech of an

unseen maniac were to him now so many voices offending and

threatening to humble the pride of his youth. He drove their
echoes even out of his heart with an execration. (175-176)

As Stephen strolls on toward the university, Joyce or his narrator

surrogate continues to reveal the condition of Stephen's mind. In

response to the morning light and the smell of the trees in the rain,

"his soul was loosed of her miseries." (176) The images that are

evoked in his mind are not images of flesh and blood girls but "mem
ories of the girls and women in the plays of Gerhart Hauptmann,"
and he experiences "a mood of quiet joy." Indeed, all of the images

he evokes are literary ones. At this point in the life of the artist
the "esthetic image" would seem to be an image useful in filling
the vacuum created when the voices of real people are driven from
erne's heart?with an execration.

As Stephen surveys the pleasures he will have in contemplating

the style of Newman at one point and the dark humor of Caval

canti at another, we are suddenly brought up short with a discordant

image: "as he went by Baird's stone cutting works in Talbot Place

the spirit of Ibsen would blow through him like a keen wind, a

spirit of wayward boyish beauty." (176)

That part of Joyce still faintly visible in the novel, a persona

who narrates the story, tells us here what we are compelled to accept

as a truthful revelation of the state of Stephen's mind, and that

state of mind is rather confused. Stephen is indulging here in a

kind of free association based upon his literary favorites. There is

no basis for his being reminded of Ibsen simply because he passes
the stone works. That is, the stone cutting works do not, in them

selves, have an Ibsen-like quality. Perhaps Stephen associates the

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THOMAS W. GRAYSON 313

stone with Rubek, the sculptor in When We Dead Awaken, Ibsen's

last play. If so, then Joyce is using a single allusion on two separate
levels of association: one for Stephen and one for the narrator. Ste
phen thinks of the stone, then of Rubek, the artist, and in doing so
he thrills to the thought of himself as artist. This chain of associa
tions partially explains his sense of Ibsen's spirit blowing through
him "like a keen wind." But in Ibsen's play Rubek awakens too late
from the spiritual death in which he had been imprisoned ever since

he had finished his magnum opus. He awakens from his "death"

only to be swept away in an avalanche of snow and ice. Rubek's
"death" had been a loveless condition?much like the condition
Stephen is now in?in which he cut himself off from the life around
him, and, hence, was sterile to produce any more works of art. The
thought of Ibsen's spirit as a "keen wind" provides us with awareness
of the intensity of Ibsen's impact upon Stephen, but there is also a
strangely macabre quality in die image. The incongruity of this asso

ciation is extended by equating the "keen wind" with a "spirit of

wayward boyish beauty."
When we reach the metaphors relating to Ibsen, we are stopped

short, wrenched out of an apathy which had permitted us to read the

preceding paragraph with the light-heartedness and "quiet joy" that
has settled upon Stephen. We are compelled to re-examine the para
graph with a closer and more critical eye.

Here and elsewhere in the novel we discover a complex fugal

treatment of point of view as an isolated and objectified technique

of narration, capable of being lifted out of the story line momentarily
and scrutinized as a thing in itself, but at the same time utterly in
dispensable to the progress of the story?a thing without which the
story, as a story, cannot move forward. The counterpoint is worked
out in a lambent play between the consciousness of Stephen and that
of Joyce's narrator persona, the persona's consciousness operating on
a higher level than Stephen's and in a sense commenting on it. By
higher level is meant in the direction toward the artist and away from
the direction of the alazon.

The persona or mask for the artist allows him great latitude in
exploiting the ironic possibilities of narration. George T. Wright says
of the mask: "For the mask of drama is not what it is in our ordinary
usage, a device for disguising or hiding the face. On the contrary,
the mask of drama, or of primitive dance, is clearly intended to reveal
more than it hides, to affirm more than it obscures. In these forms
the face is not important, but the stylized mask symbolizes, stands

for, something?an attitude, a view of life, one aspect of the uni

verse?which is of too great significance for the expressiveness of
any human face to be able to convey."3 Here the narrative mask
serves Joyce well: it allqws him to establish?for the first time in the

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314 JAMES JOYCE QUARTERLY

novel?a clearly recognizable distance between himself and Stephen,

for here the values implicit in the narrator's commentary are ob
viously at variance to those of Stephen; there is a tone which comes
close to ridicule which permeates the narrator's report of this morn
ing walk. Furthermore, the narrative mask here becomes the closest
thing we get to a portrait of an authentic artist in the novel, and
that portrait is in keeping with the aesthetic theories Stephen ex
pounds to Lynch and Joyce records in his notebooks; the personality

of the artist has "refined itself out of existence"; it has "imper

sonalized itself;" it is "within or behind or beyond or above its
handiwork, invisible." (215)

In the first image in the passage, that of the "rain laden trees,"
we find the experience itself evoking for Stephen a memory of the
girls and women in the plays of Gerhart Hauptmann. Hauptmann's
female characters are, for the most part, woebegone and hopeless
creatures; they are crushed and beaten and overwhelmed by life.
In Stephen's transubstantiation of experience the movement is from

a concrete and corporeal or sensual image?the rain laden trees?

to an abstract or artistic image?Hauptmann's women and girls?
and finally to what for him must be regarded as a "pure" experience

?the experience of a "pale sorrow" which mingles in "a mood of

quiet joy." This for Stephen is an "esthetic image." The attainment
of this esthetic image is through a process which has three stages:

experience of the reality of an external world, experience of the

reality of the world of art, and experience of the internal reality

of feeling. For Stephen this pattern is a consistent one; it is his

formula for particularizing emotion.
The persona or narrator, on the other hand, does not seem to be
caught up in this process; he is dissociated from it; he is behind or

above it. His own emotional response to the situation is one of in

difference. He sees and knows and records, and we might well
imagine him paring his fingernails.

As Stephen contemplates his walk to the university, he knows

that he will think of Newman as he passes the sloblands, Cavalcanti

as he passes the provision shops, and Ibsen as he passes the stone

cutting works. Stephen can predetermine his emotional reactions with

the same certainty he can impose upon the direction in which he

walks, and always the process is one which implicitly at least negates
and cancels out the external world of reality. Rain laden trees are
converted ultimately to pale sorrow and quiet joy through the medium

of Hauptmann's art. The sloblands of Fairview will be converted

into something which is at once more tangible and more valuable
in Stephen's mind?the "cloistral and silverveined prose of New

man." In using the term sloblands for marshes, Joyce is toying with

the Gaelic etymology of the word. Denotively the word simply

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THOMAS W. GRAYSON 315

means marsh or muddy tract of ground, but the connotation of the

word suggests that it might designate a place or land for boorish or
slovenly persons. There is something of the same wryly risible quality
in the "pale sorrow" suffered by the females of Hauptmann. The Pale

is, of course, English jurisdictional territory. In Ireland the Pale

is English Ireland. Are the pale sorrows of Hauptmann's women
sorrows that somehow relate to English domination? Stephen is
unaware of this possible implication, but one can't be sure about
Joyce. Stephen's word choice of sloblands suggests the pejorative

attitude which is residual in Stephen's mind for the world of which

those marshes are a part. He prefers the "silverveined prose" of New
man. One senses that the view at Fairview is far fairer than Stephen
is able to realize and that the sloblands themselves, though they lack
solidity of the kind upon which structures are erected, are far more
substantial than Stephen would grant. The same process of cancel
ing out the world of things and people is seen in Stephen's treatment

of the provision shops?presumably hung with slaughtered beefs and

piled high with other viands?and in his contemplation of the stone

cutting works. Stephen seems not to see his world- as a world in

which one can live?especially if one thinks of himself as an artist.

Stephen's Weltanschauung here is clearly not that of the persona
who records these events. The narrator has retained a dispassionate
objectivity. Were he to indulge in the free play of mind and emo
tion, the undisciplined and self-centered consciousness that Stephen
here indulges in, he could not capture and record the scene with all
the concreteness and cohesiveness which it retains.

At this point Stephen is no artist nor is he to become an artist

either in this novel or in Ulysses where he still flounders and is vic

timized by the eddy currents of his own passions and self-aggrandiz
ing flashes of intelligence. If this episode is a portion of a portrait,
and if that portrait is of an artist, we must conclude that the real sub
ject of the study is that all but invisible persona who sees and knows
and records. The artist being portrayed is Joyce not Stephen. But the
real James Joyce, unlike the guest celebrity of a popular television
show, refuses to rise at a command and identify himself. He remains
a multi-faceted personality who embraces and contains Stephen and
his persona and innumerable other identities.
At this point we can hardly take Stephen seriously as an aesthete
if we judge him by his own aesthetic theories. In his long lecture to

Lynch, Stephen first defines beauty as that, the apprehension of

which pleases. (186) As he extends this position, he says that

"beauty is beheld by the imagination which is appeased by the

most satisfying relations of the sensible." (208) He goes on to say,

"The first step in the direction of beauty is to understand the frame
and scope of the imagination, to comprehend the act itself of esthetic

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316 JAMES JOYCE QUARTERLY

apprehension," and finally, "Three things are needed for beauty,

wholeness, harmony and radiance." (211) By wholeness or integritas

he means that the thing must be apprehended as a unified, single

thing, seen as a distinct and separate entity. By harmony or con

sonantia he means that the thing apprehended must be seen as a

thing "complex, multiple, divisible, separable, made up of its parts."

(212) And by radiance or clarita? he means that the thing must be

apprehended as the thing it is, that it must be apprehended in

terms of its whatness.

It will be clear that Stephen's morning walk to the university af

fords him no experience of beauty in the terms that he, himself,
uses to define beauty. There is for Stephen no apprehension of any
relations of the sensible which can be said to be satisfying. For him

there is no clear apprehension at all?only a disjunctive chain of

associations which separates the world of sensible phenomena from

the world of imagination. To the extent that Stephen fails to appre
hend relations, he fails to encounter beauty.

Underlying the Thomistic aesthetic philosophy, which for St.

Thomas is merely a minor offshoot of his ethical philosophy but
upon which Stephen bases his own aesthetic theories, is the assump
tion that the creation is beautiful since it proceeds from God; there

fore all things are inherently beautiful. Nowhere does Stephen's

theory challenge this view. Stephen even seems to assent to Mac
Alister's imputation that his theory is "applied Aquinas." (209) But
he does not perceive the inherent beauty of the things which form
his world; for him there is no intellection per ?e, no fundamental un

derstanding or appreaension of the things v Mch allows him to sec

them in relation to other things. In his own quest for beauty, which
seems for him to be a kind of spiritual condition of rest, we find
Stephen departing from his theories in significant ways, though we
do not find Joyce or his persona departing from them.
We recall Stephen's contention that "The first step in the direction
of beauty is to understand the frame and scope of the imagination,
to comprehend the act itself of esthetic apprehension." (208) We are
not told how to accomplish this minor miracle, but we may safely
assume that Stephen means that the quest for beauty begins with

an understanding of the way in which the mind works, and that

"apprehension" is going to be a key to his definition of beauty.

Joyce worked out his theories of beauty and apprehension in 1904
and recorded them in his "Pola Notebook."4 His notebook entry for
the 15th of November is headed with the Latin phrase: Pulchra sunt
quae visa placent. The Latin is a misquote from the Summa Theolog

ica. St. Thomas actually said: "pulchra enim dicuntur ea quae visa

placent."5 Joyce's phrase can be translated as follows: 'Those things

are beautiful the apprehension of which pleases.' St Thomas's phrase

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THOMAS W GRAYSON 117

should be translated: Those things are said to be beautiful the ap

prehension of which pleases.' Though the difference seems slight on
the surface, it is nonetheless significant. In Joyce's view the sugges
tion is that beauty is dependent upon apprehension or intellection
and is not an a priori condition of things themselves. His choice of
the verb sunt implies a temporal contiguity of the object, the appre
hending mind, and the quality of beauty. The question here is not
one of verifying an accepted truth through inductive reasoning as

opposed to deductive reasoning. It is far more basic than that and

raises ontological questions about the nature of beauty. If beauty

is inextricably linked to apprehension, it seems clear that beauty is

not a quality of things but a quality of the mind which perceives and

apprehends. Beauty, then, is the result of human activity. For

Aquinas the choice of the verb dicuntur suggests that beauty is pre
existent and residual in the thing itself and that the mind which is

pleased in the apprehension of this quality simply identifies the

quality as beauty. For St. Thomas the question of beauty can never
be divorced from a consideration of a final cause. That is, beauty is
the quality of "due proportion" which is everywhere evident in the
universe. Beauty itself, says Aquinas, "properly belongs to the nature
of a formal cause."6 That is, beauty is an ideal form or conception
which precedes the resultant apprehension. Beauty, for Aquinas, is
clearly a quality of things themselves which results from God's real
ization and development of the possibility of an ordered universe?
the final cause. Beauty is in the nature of a formal cause which stands
in mediate relation to God and man. But Joyce's theories, as they
are expressed in the notebook and in Portrait, seem to place a dif
ferent construction on the concept of beauty.
As Joyce discusses beauty, he turns immediately to the question

of apprehension. He says that apprehension involves at least two

activities: cognition or simple perception, and recognition. By recog

nition he means: "an activity of decision; and in accordance with

this activity in all conceivable cases a sensible object is said to be

satisfying or dissatisfying." (CW, 147) His notebook entry for the

following day, the 16th of November, introduces a third condition
of the act of apprehension. He calls this condition satisfaction. Of
this he says:
By reason of the fact that these three activities are ail pleasant

themselves every sensible object that has been apprehended

must be doubly and may be trebly beautiful. In practical

aesthetic philosophy the epithets 'beautiful' and 'ugly' are

applied with regard chiefly to the third activity, with regard,,

that is, to the nature, degree and duration of the satisfacion

resultant from the apprehension of any sensible object and
therefore any sensible object to which in practical aesthetic

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318 JAMES JOYCE QUARTERLY

philosophy the epithet 'beautiful' is applied, must be trebly beau
tiful, must have encountered, that is, the three activities which

are involved in the act of apprehension in its most complete

form. Practically then the quality of beauty in itself must in
volve three constituents to encounter each of these three ac

tivities. (CW, 147)

If "the quality of beauty . . . must involve three constituents to en

counter each of these three activities," it seems clear that, for Joyce,
the quality of beauty is not an absolute quality, as it is for Aquinas.

Joyce's theory of aesthetics?and Stephen's?may be said to be

relativistic. It is, of course, beyond the scope of this discussion to

consider in detail the implications of relativistic phiosophy. Wylie

Sypher's discussion of what he calls the "cubist perspective"7 is a

brilliant and subtle handling of the artistic implications of "relati

vism." In his discussion Sypher quotes Ortega y Gasset:
Perspective is one of the component parts of reality. Far from
being a disturbance of its fabric, it is its organizing element. A

reality which remained the same from whatever point of view

it was observed would be a ridiculous conception.Every

life is a point of view directed upon the universe. Strictly speak

ing, what one life sees, no other can.The persistent error

.is the supposition that reality possesses in itself, inde

pendently of the point of view from which it is observed, a

physiognomy of its own.But reality happens to be, like

a landscape, possessed of an infinite number of perspectives,

all equally veracious and authentic. The sole false perspective is

that which claims to be the only one there is.8

Underlying this view is the assumption that reality has an existence

which cannot ultimately be separated from the perceiver?that real
ity is a continuum which embraces the perceiving mind and the object

of perception.

When Stephen speaks of the "act itself of esthetic apprehension"

in terms of "wholeness, harmony and radiance," he seems to recog
nize the essential linkage between the subject and the object ol per
ception, and he seems to indicate that a valid or accurate perception
is one which produces that stasis which he calls beauty. Joyce has
this basic orientation when he rejects the epithets "beautiful" and
"ugly" and contends that the sensible object must be trebly beauti
ful which has encountered "the three activities which are involved
in the act of apprehension in its most complete form." (CW, 148)

But in the passage we have been considering, Stephen is not en

gaged in apprehension in the sense of its being constituted of three

activities. He does not perceive, recognize and become satisfied. On
the contrary, he casts most of his perceptions of reality out of his

iiourt with an execration. He does not perceive; he engages in

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THOMAS W. GRAYSON 319

literary fantasy. If we grant that Stephen is an aesthetician, we must

do so at the cost of denying that he is an artist or an aesthete.
The passage we have been considering is not unusual in the fifth

chapter of Portrait. We see the same tension between Stephen and

Joyce's persona in the episode with the dean of studies, in the com

position of the villanelle and in the journal at the close of the novel.
And it is in terms of this constant ironic posturing of Stephen, the
ostensible hero-artist9 of the novel, that we discover Joyce's dramatic
form for the particular "esthetic image" with which this novel is
concerned. Joyce maintains a clear-sighted perspective of his "sensible
or intelligible matter" with which he makes "human disposition for
an esthetic end." His subject matter is at once Stephen and himself,
for in a very real sense?though not necessarily a biographically ac
curate one?Stephen is Joyce. He is Joyce in the sense of being "life
purified in and reprojected from the human imagination." (215) He
is, just as every other fictional character is, a stylized version of life,
or, as Joyce puts it, a "purified" version. The process of purifying life
in the imagination of the artist apparently for Joyce is one which
depends heavily upon the use of irony.

Kent State University

1 See Thomas E. Connolly, Joyce's Portrait: Criticism and Critiques (New York, 1962),
329-335 for a selected bibliography.
2 Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism (Princeton, 1957), p. 40.
3 George T. Wright, The Poet in the Poem: The Personae of Eliot, Yeats, and Pound
(Los Angeles, 1962), p. 9.
4 James Joyce, The Critical Writings of James Joyce, ed. Ellsworth Mason and Richard
Ellmann (New York, 1954), pp. 141-148.

5 Summa Theologica I, a. 5, art. 4

6 Summa Theologica, trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province (New York,
1947), p. 26.
7 Wylie Sypher, Rococo to Cubism in Art and Literature (New York, 1960), pp. 257-330.
8 Sypher, p. 287.
9 The irony of this theme in Portrait is particularly poignant when seen in connection

with the 19th century's fondness for treating the artist-hero as a literary theme.

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