Kathryn Peterson

Research Colloquium

Professor Lynn Voskuil

March 5, 2000

Claudel and his Muse: Ambition and Arrogance in The Five Grand Odes

In this postmodern era, if intelligent readers consider Christian faith matters at all, they tend to reject the direct, often proselytizing appeal to the soul in favor of writers like Flannery O'Connor or Graham Greene, who deliver their messages of grace through descriptions of violence and epiphanies by Holy fools. It is as if in order to talk about Christ in this century, writers have had to resort to the rhetoric of subversion, going undercover to the point that their Christianity, while scrutinized and objected to by careful readers and scholars, often is unrecognized by their fellow believers. Perhaps this is why some postmodern critics find it easy to reject both the scope and the exuberance of Paul Claudel's The Five Odes.

[Quote from LeMasters and other key critics who identify Claudel's ambition and "Truth Claims" as a problem]

It is true that Claudel rarely hides his vision; in fact, his poetic aspirations are so closely intertwined with his worldview that the poetry of Claudel almost becomes the poetry of the Christ within him. Almost. Even I have to admit a certain level of skepticism here, and I do not think Claudel entirely believed his soul and work to be so fused. Christian Claudel would undoubtedly realize that his state of human imperfection would not allow for a pure translation of inspired thought. He gets quite close to such purity with the first of the odes, but even these inspired words must be channelled through the imprecision of language and the inadequacy of the poet's flesh.

How, then, do we read The Five Great Odes? Is there a way to come to terms with Claudel's ambition and arrogance without deflecting the message that he intends for us? I argue that it is possible for the postmodern reader, whether or not a Christian, to understand and even admire Claudel's poetic structure and content, if we see Claudel as, like Milton, trying to "Assert Eternal Providence/And Justify the Ways of God to Man." (Paradise Lost) We may even become more sympathetic when we realize that Claudel is taking Milton's moral purpose and turning it inward, and that these odes can be read as Claudel justifying to himself the ways of God. I do not see Claudel as a figure entirely free of doubt. Of the certainty of his conviction, there is no question, but when we look deeper into Claudel's work and the Catholicism that informs it, we can see a man who wrestles, as do many Christians, with the question of how to live out the commitment he has made to God. In the Odes, he grapples with his uncertainty of how to act out his initial conversion, and as he constructs both Muse and poet, he recreates and realigns the poetic world. The resulting Claudellian universe is a reinterpretation of humanity's history, with a spiritual and literary emphasis.

In the "First Ode: The Muses," Claudel surprises his readers by reestablishing the Greek conception of the universe. Knowing Claudel as we will by the end of the Odes and by his other works, we cannot escape being delightfully surprised by his evocation of the pantheistic epic. In fact, the element of surprise seems to be one Claudel wants from us, as we read his first line: "The Nine Muses, and in the midst of them Terpsichore!" (Claudel 9) The line bursts from the page, an exclamatory statement with little context. While Claudel does reveal the source of his inspiration-a sarcophagus in the Louvre museum-by the short parenthetical notation that precedes the poem, we have the sense of beginning, as many Greek epics do, en medias res. It is as if Claudel summons us suddenly from wherever we have been, and drops us into his universe, where he stands addressing the scene before him much the same way Keats addressed the Grecian urn. The difference here, though, is that Claudel seizes the dramatic implications of this sarcophagus, and builds his own world of Muses, which is dynamic and vibrant rather than a static relic. In Claudel's vision, the Muses appear before everything else, "Full of impatient frenzy to beat the first measure!" Through Claudel we can experience their excitement, the "quickening of the world about to be born!" (9)

Claudel uses his epic invocation throughout "The Muses" to both establish a tone of feverish excitement and attempt to chronicle the whole of Western tradition and thought. During the ode, he provides each Muse with her own lineage, and uses that lineage to reorder Western history. For instance, Clio and Melpomene, the muses of comedy and tragedy, provide Claudel an avenue through which to discuss Greek drama. From their "wombs" leap all the characters in these dramas, as well as the actors who will bring them to life. "Oedipus, blinded, the guesser of riddles!" along with other famous Greek characters, "Stands in the Theban gate," in a limbo-like state, awaiting "the appointed hour" of his appearance in history (Claudel 15-16). Claudel also, perhaps unintentionally announces his poetic mission in the form of a reference to Pindar. Although, literally, it is the Pindaric ode, "pure as a body that is beautiful and naked, all shining with sun and with oil," that "Takes each of the gods by the hand, to mingle them all in its choir" (16), we can read the allusion as a reference to Claudel's own poetry, because he is taking each of the muses by the hand and orchestrating them in his own reenactment of the world's history.

After Claudel recreates the Greek history of man, he steps even further back, and begins telling the Genesis version of creation. By addressing to Polymnia, the muse of poetry, Adam's naming of the animals, Claudel suggests that poetry is as primitive to humanity as is thirst for order and power. Indeed, Claudel envisions humankind as participants with God in the whole creation process:

When He created the Universe, when He ordered the Game in its beauty,

when He unleashed the whole ceremony,

Something of us was with Him, seeing all, rejoicing in his handiwork. According to Claudel, as poets (and writers), each time we put pen to paper, we "Like a father . . . mysteriously summon" the "essence" of that which we name: "Just as you once had a part in creating it, you partake of its existence./ Every word a repetition" (Claudel 17-18). This is how Claudel sees himself, the spiritual poet as opposed to the earthly poet, allowing God to speak through him and engage him in the creation process so repeatedly that the whole act of producing art becomes almost a primitive ritual, and the earth itself "an insatiable poem" that will be filled "by the production of grain" and the harvesting of fruits (18). According to Edward Lucie-Smith in "The Cinq Grandes Odes of Paul Claudel," this idea "that everything has existed from the beginning in the mind of God" is a Thomist idea (Lucie-Smith 83). Lucie-Smith, who is responsible for the most widely-used English translation of Claudel's work {check that], reminds us that this method of symbolism, whether purely inspired or not, does grant Claudel several poetic opportunities. By employing the Creation metaphor, for instance, Claudel is "able to relate the events of a single life (his own) to the energies of the world" (83). I think readers may question just how personally allied with the text Claudel is, but like Lucie-Smith, I believe that there is a great deal of Claudel's own heart and spirit here, often only thinly disguised by his construction of the poet.

Claudel's universe shifts slightly in "The Spirit and the Water," the "Second Ode." Instead of focusing so much on the collective state of humanity, the ode shifts inward, to the poet himself, "captive within the walls of Peking," and also backward, to the swirling of the waters before they grant Earth life (Claudel 23-25). Water here represents both the unifying force of humanity and Earth as well as the Spirit of God. In his "Argument" prologue to the ode, Claudel explains the reason for this: "We are linked to him [God] by the fluid element, spirit or water, by which all things are permeated" (23) Thus, the need for water binds together all living creatures physically, while the need for God's Spirit links us all spiritually. Claudel explores this Biblical metaphor fully by allowing the poem's speaker to compare himself to water: "Were I the Sea, crucified by thousands of arms upon my two continents . . .I would draw to me, summon through all my routs, the Ganges, the Mississippi/The thick tuft of the Orinoco, the long thread of the Rhine, the Nile with its double bladder" (26).

As in "The Muses," Claudel is again using metaphor to chronicle human existence, to tell, in effect, the greatest epic story of all. This time, though, the poem takes more of a spiritual and personal turn, replete with Biblical allusions. For instance, Claudel echoes the apostle Paul when his speaker declares, "I am not the sea, but the spirit! And, as water/Runs to water, the spirit knows the spirit,/The spirit, the secret inspiration . . ." (Claudel 26) This idea is quite similar, if not identical, to that expressed in the 1 Corinthians 2:11 verse, which asks, "For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the man's spirit within him? In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God." The idea that Claudel's speaker claims to receive "secret inspiration" may sound arrogant, and we may question why God chose to confide his secrets to Claudel and not some other poet. It is easy to resist this ode if we succumb to such a viewpoint; if, however, we consider Claudel's particular brand of Catholicism, we can understand why he has constructed the speaker this way.

"When considering the matter of Claudel's egotism," Lucie-Smith writes, it is important to consider that his poems "must correspond to his idea of the Church." Because Claudel believes that as a Christian he now possesses, as described later in 1 Corinthians, "the mind of Christ," he believes "he has no right not to attempt the largest " (Griffith 84-85). This is why he writes "Grand" Odes, because he sees himself as merely a conduit for God. Claudel alone might not be able to write great poetry, for instance, but he believes the Christ within him can. Thus, he is not arrogant, but ambitious, and his ambition exists only because he sees his writing as a calling, and because he does not doubt God's will. In "The Muse Who Is Grace," Claudel addresses this point specifically when the poem's speaker asks the Muse, "What is the writer good for, if not to keep the accounts?" (Claudel 56) The muse in this ode is of course, Christ, and although Claudel is not necessarily the speaker/poet of the Strophe sections, we can be sure that at least some of Claudel is here beneath the figurative language. If we read the poem as Claudel dialoging with Christ instead of a conversation between poet and muse, we can begin to understand the poetic aspirations that might otherwise be termed as arrogance.

Claudel admits, through his speaker, that he questions his place in the universe he inhabits: "But wherein lies my own necessity? . . . Am I necessary?" (Claudel 62) He wants to know that his place on Earth is secure and that there is a definite purpose for his life. He wants to live out the commitment he has made to God, but he is not sure how. He only knows that he falls short of his destiny because he does not always allow God to speak through him. The speaker confesses, in fact, that he does not say what the muse wants him to say. By acknowledging that his necessity lies "only within you whom I do not see," Claudel continues to comment on the burden of duty, answering his earlier question. He finds the burden of creation almost too much to bear, as the calls out to the Muse: "What do you ask of Me? Must I create the whole world to understand it?/ Must I engender the world and bring it out of the womb?" (63).

Having difficulty making the final sacrifice of himself to Christ, Claudel's speaker laments his limitations. He continues to work, but without the knowledge of destiny, his work is aimless. Without direction, his spirit, "in a mortal spasm/Jets the words out of itself, like a spring knowing only/ Its own force and the weight of the sky." (Claduel 63).

This, then, is where we finally see Claudel doubt. He obviously does not doubt either the existence of God or the central miracle of Christianity. His doubt aligns itself most closely with self-doubt. We will see later in the ode that one of the reasons for this doubt is the speaker's insistence upon continuing a particular fleshly relationship, the relationship that he will turn to above all by the end of the poem. Claudel believes that to receive genuine inspiration, a poet's flesh and spirit should blend into one. There should be no chasm between the spiritual lives of people and their fleshly lives. Claudel doubts his own resistance to sin, and therefore his own potential to create fully inspired work. We can view the Muse's reply to his searching questions as his own soul reminding him that his acceptance of Christ has freed him from any burdens of duty and sacrifice. Grace reminds him that "if you look for the reason, it is simply/ This love which exists between you and me." (Claudel 64) Furthermore, the Muse even points to the Calvinist concept of predestination when she tells the poet that it was never up to him in the first place, that she "chose you [him] before even you were born" (63).

The Muse then admonishes the speaker for binding God inside his words, and not allowing Him to be free. It is almost as if Claudel is having second thoughts himself about whether he should make God the subject of his poetry. To be sure, rendering God within a poem or other work of art, is to capture only a small part of Him, and perhaps Claudel, who likes the large scope of an epic work, sees this limitation as producing work that is untruthful. He realizes, along with the poet, that the Muse is right to berate him for attempting, through words, to recreate and give back to God the entire world. This idea ties in very closely with that expressed in Matthew 16:26: "What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?" If , in fact, the whole world is rendered through Claudel's poetry, but his soul is lost, the words themselves lose their meaning.

It is unclear how closely here Claudel identifies with the speaker. We assume that be the Ode's very construction and the admonitions from the Muse, that Claudel, at least in part, agrees with the Muse and either addresses himself at an earlier age or those poets, artists, or other kinds of believers who are attempting to grip their salvation by their own works and actions. However, as Lucie-Smith notes, "Despite his denunciation of 'geniuses' and 'heroes,' his final aim was to be ranked among their number." Indeed, in the final lines of "The Muse Who Is Grace," Claudel's speaker actually rejects this Grace who offers herself to him. She tells him there is no cost, other than the cost of his own life, reminding him that, "It is you I ask for" (64). Alas, this is the one price the speaker cannot pay. Earthly desires course through his veins, and he now prefers the mundane to the sublime: "Bite the earth, and the taste stays in your teeth./ Taste blood, and there's no more nourishment in sparkling water and fiery honey" (64). He has many human longings, including of course, his fleshly love: "Love the human soul, compact your Soul once with another and you are captured forever./ Something of yourself lives henceforth outside you, on the bread of another body." Given Claudel's diaries and other writings, we cannot believe that Claudel is entirely one with this speaker. We know, if nothing else, that he does accept and understand grace. He is, however, not entirely removed from the speaker, either, because there is so much of himself in these verses. So, through his adaptation of the classical form of strophe and antistrophe, Claudel has made us "aware of the divisions within the writer himself" (Griffith 88). Lucie-Smith believes, in fact, that Claudel himself rejects the transcendental. I am not inclined to go that far, but I do believe that through this` fourth Ode, Claudel shows us something quite different from unqualified belief and jubilation. I believe that during this ode, he lets slip the mask he has created for his speakers and himself.

Some readers may find this conflicted Claudel too contradictory, and may therefore believe him. What we have to keep in mind, however, is that the clash between sinful and godly desires is one of the central tensions within the Christian faith. The idea is that the spirit that lives inside the Christian is forcefully attracted to doing God's will, while the fleshly nature also dwelling there desires just as passionately to commit sinful acts. In one of the most familiar passages of the New Testament, for instance, Romans 7:15-20, the apostle Paul discusses his own battling desires: "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. . . "

I quote this both to remind Christian readers as well as to explain to other readers what may be a crucial perspective and key to understanding Claudel's characterization of his speaker.

In order to give Claudel the fullest, closest, and most sympathetic reading we can, readers must understand, even if they don't accept the Christian perspective. With such an understanding, we can justify the ways of Claudel to ourselves. Like John Milton and William Blake before him, Claudel attempts to engage his reader in metaphysical matters, using poetry as a vehicle for experiencing the sublime. Since this is his aim, we may not agree with the premises of his work, but we must nevertheless admire and respect his intelligence, honesty, and courage.

Note, explanation, etc:

In lieu of the Keats paper I had planned to do, I'm giving you all this short piece about the Five Great Odes of Paul Claudel. I wrote the original piece last semester in Adam Zagajewski's Modern Thought class, and that version was more focused on my own ideas about Claudel as well as responding to class discussions and dialogues that occurred during the seminar. Adam liked some of my embryonic thoughts, and at one point suggested to me that I work that draft up for a journal article or conference presentation.

My two concerns are this: first, do I have an argument rather than simply a rumination? I ask this because I've tried to adapt a loose set of impressions into a more theoretical argument. Secondly, where do I need to expand my discussion of the text and where do I need to bring in other critics? Again, since the first paper was not a critical paper per se, I am trying now to go back and research to substantiate the claims I make. I realize this is sort of backwards from the usual process, and I hope you can follow it. I do want to reference at one point exerpts from Claudel's journals where he talks about his faith and his conversion experience. I think these are important to understanding the Catholicism that informs his writing, but they're not here yet.

Another concern I have is about the audience for the piece. I have in mind people who are not Claudel specialists, but who have read his work. Do you think I'm right in "pitching" the article in this way?