The Correspondence Between Paul Claudel and André Gide

(1899-1926)

I went to this book driven by my attraction toward, and interest in, the French intellectual life of the end of the 19^th, and first half of the 20^th century. Yes, this is an intellectual milieu (era and location) that I find very appealing  - thus what I was looking for in this book was to encounter a slice (a living, pulsating slice) of this life, and thus to engage in a vicarious partaking in “the life of the artist”. And I did find this, or a good measure of it; however, what this Claudel-Gide correspondence is (ultimately) about is something else – namely, a spiritual struggle, whose protagonists are the Catholic convert (and artist) Paul Claudel, and the struggling and prideful (intellectual) André Gide; and this is a struggle about Gide’s soul.

I used the word “prideful”, about Gide, and yet by that I do not mean “pridefulness” in his relationship with Claudel; if anything, Gide seemed to generally humble himself, in his relationship with Claudel - humility rooted in his genuine admiration for Claudel the artist, but also in the fact that Claudel played a role of spiritual reference point for Gide (in his searching, in his struggles). “Prideful,” however, does refer to a core part of Gide’s personality – of his spiritual, moral and intellectual being - and this side of Gide will eventually play its part in the undoing of their friendship - of their relationship.

Because their relationship was one of friendship – which might seem surprising, at first, based on the retrospective image that we have of the two; as said, one being the epitomic Catholic convert (prominent socially, artistically, even politically, in early twentieth century France), the other (retrospectively) a flag-bearer of unbelief, and (even) of an inimical relationship to the faith - or at least to the Church.

Inimical, yes, but not to every kind of faith - as Gide will later (famously) become a fellow traveler of the totalitarian Soviet regime...; yes, that ersatz religion of ideology, to which so many subscribed, in the West, under the pale cover of good, progressive, even humanistic intentions.

So I did not find exactly what I went looking for, in this volume of correspondence, but what I did find, and what I did learn, from reading it, did in fact clarify some aspects of what I went looking for (and I will explain what I mean by this in a moment). Yes, there is a lot, in this correspondence, about the daily work in the artist’s workshop; minutia about typesetting, editing, about struggling with publishing houses; about launching (and about failing) publications; about contributing to this or to that magazine; and so on. Yes, I did enjoy this part, just as I enjoyed the behind the scenes information about Claudel’s efforts to balance his diplomatic career (endeavored mostly in far-off China, but also in Poland) with his artistic work (which was more important, of course; but one does need to earn, as well, to support one’s family). There were also interesting bits about their relationship to Pascal, and (partially) Jansenism; it seems to me that Pascal has faded, to a large degree, from our interests, which is why it is striking to discover how important he (and Port-Royal, the center of Jansenism) was for these two protagonists. Some of this minutia also has the inevitable drabness of the daily grind of the working artist (yet not in an unpleasant, but rather in an instructive way, I find); and sometimes the discussion of other artists veers close, perhaps, to gossip, or at least to “politicking” (which does not interest me, but which is informative as a sort of anthropology of the artistic milieu).

And their discussions about other cultural figures of the day, with whom they had personal and intellectual entanglements, were also most welcome, because for me one of the great gains of reading, say, intellectual autobiographies, monographies about a specific era, or collections of correspondence such as this one, is the opportunity to discover new figures, artists and thinkers, with whom I am less, or not at all, familiar. Since often these (new) figures are (intellectually or personally) close and akin to the author whose memoirs I have chosen to read, there is a good chance that they might appeal to me, as well; in any case, this is a good way for them to enter my own intellectual purview (to be looked at, and to be engaged, later); to obtain further “road markers” for one’s own intellectual journey. And the same thing happened here – names I jotted down, people and works that I need to look into.

*

Paul Claudel

But I mentioned that, although I did not find exactly what I started after, I did however find aspects that helped me in that regard, as well. What do I mean by this? Well, the very fact that the “on art and artists” dimension of this correspondence is soon enough taken over, even overwhelmed, by a different theme, namely of the spiritual struggle, reveals certain useful things about the relationship of art to spirituality, for Claudel. What do I mean by this?

Well, not long after reading this volume, I picked up and read Second Thoughts, which is a book of essays (on art and life) by François Mauriac. And what a soothing and liberating encounter that was – in comparison! – for me... And what I mean by this is that I found Mauriac’s approach to the relationship between life and art – and, inevitably, and centrally, faith – much more akin, or suitable, to me, than Claudel’s. Paul Claudel, of whom I am, and have always been, quite fond; but whom I have always found just a bit “heavy,” a tad cumbersome, maybe... in ways that are not easy to explain. And I am not necessarily referring here to his art – although it is reflected in that, as well; but more, I don’t know, in terms of his personality (maybe spirituality). I am talking here about a certain “angularity,” rigidity even; about an embodiment - of an otherwise honest, genuine, deeply devout soul - that I find a tad bit heavier, more burdensome, than I would prefer. To put it differently, it seems to me that Claudel’s artistic “flight” is much more burdened by... well, by other considerations; while, in comparison, Mauriac appears to see and approach everything through art, which in turn endows it (his art) with a kind of inner freedom (which I much prefer). There is, then, a certain "weightiness" to Claudel - which (for lack of a better way of expressing it) is related to how his (genuine, clear) soul manifests itself outwardly - toward others, and in art.  

Let me try to explain this a bit further. Well, it seems to me (but I might be wrong) that Mauriac lives faith through and by being an artist, through art, with an artist’s soul; on the other hand, in Claudel’s case, while his exquisite artistry is very much rooted in and expressive of his faith, the two seem to follow different paths, and to ultimately part ways, overall. To put it differently – art can be seen as the very way of living faith (Mauriac) - or, instead, as a craft, that is put in the service of, that expresses, yet also remains somewhat externally related to, faith (Claudel). Or so it seems to me. But let us not push these distinctions too far, because I also do not think that one can draw too thick of a line of separation, as the artist’s engagement with his artistry fluctuates and takes different shapes, at different times. But there is a difference between the two, I dare say, in this regard; and I do find Mauriac’s way more akin, and more attractive, to me.

But let me also add here, before anyone gets the wrong idea, that I was always, and remain, quite fond of Claudel; and that he is one of the greatest playwrights of the last century, and also one of its major poets. So what I am discussing here is not about the quality of his artistry, but about a specific existential approach, a specific take on the condition of the artist, and on the relationship between art and faith.

*

However, this essay is not intended to be a comparison between Claudel and Mauriac – nor would it be able to endeavor such a thing, based solely on these two books. So, going back to our Claudel-Gide subject, let us pick up the thread of the conversation by continuing our discussion of (what I called) Claudel’s “angularity,” that "heaviness". Well, what do we learn from this book - did Gide also notice this (or does it only exist in my own reading, in my fantasy)? He did, and in this sense I recall a fragment from a Gide journal (which is included in the book) in which he describes (and this is toward the end of their friendship) the aesthetic and psychological impact that Claudel’s physical presence made on him, in one occasion - referring to (and I paraphrase) Claudel’s stoutness, rockiness, to his straight-lined solidity (as he was sitting there, in his armchair). And these remarks are not, in fact, about Claudel’s physicality, are they? No, they seem to be expressions of the way in which the overly-sensitive Gide perceived, then, Claudel’s being.

And my concern is, of course, not with physical angularity, heaviness - but with interior angularity or rigidity. An example of this "rigidity" in action might be the somewhat abrupt way in which Claudel (eventually) handled Gide’s spiritual (and especially moral) struggles. Yes, Claudel was right, in his positions – but his imperative tone, his norms-based suggestions, instructions even, struck me as counterproductive – especially given Gide’s over-sensitive nature. But Claudel did have, I think, a harsh(er), perhaps more volcanic (although I think also a bit melancholic) temperament; and temperament is not something that we can choose, no more than we can skip over our own shadow. (In addition, we always live in a state of “inherent ignorance”, represented by the limits of our understanding or wisdom at the given moment; limits which, by their very nature, are invisible to us, at that moment; and which we sometimes discover later, retrospectively, realizing “how stupid I was!”, or, “how blind we were!”) Thus I am not emitting a judgment on Claudel – of whom I've always been quite fond. To the contrary, it is because I admire Claudel, that I am interested in understanding him better (as an artist, as a man of faith, and as a human being).

So, that Gidean spiritual struggle – what was it about? Why was there a “struggle”? And why was that a theme, a central theme, of their correspondence? Well - God, the faith, and religion being at the center of Claudel’s life (and how could they not be, as what else is there, in ultimate terms?), they naturally became central topics of conversation with Gide, as well. And not because Claudel "pushed" them. No, Gide himself (like many other figures of that time and of that place) was deeply preoccupied with the ideas of faith, God, the Church; he was, as it were, searching, or seeking, struggling - with all this. Furthermore, as mentioned before, Claudel represented for Gide both an admired (genius) artist, and also a spiritual partner of conversation, point of reference, even tentative guide (recall here again Claudel’s very prominent position, in France, at that time, as the emblematic Catholic artist).

So what was Gide's struggle about? Well, I would classify these inner conflicts into two categories: on the one hand, there seemed to be the specifically modern conflict between a “Cartesian” approach to reality (in which something is, only inasmuch as I can demonstrate its being; I think, therefore I am - instead of I am, which then allows me to think) - and (the nature and condition of) faith. And, if this was Gide's spiritual-intellectual struggle, there was also another one, of a moral nature, which was related to Gide’s sensuality (which included his homosexuality, and, some say, his ephebo-, even pedo-philia) – all in all, what I would more broadly call his sensuality, or the role and burden of the sensuous within one's self. So, on the one hand, the intellectual-spiritual conflict involving modern rationality and faith; and, on the other, the moral struggle with one’s overbearing sensual drives.

Sadly, both of these will bring their contributions to the radical break which will intervene after decades of intellectual and personal friendship between the two; as on both accounts Gide will take (as said) a proud and stubborn path of radical defiance - and even, at times, of enmity - toward faith (or at least the Church) and (from Claudel’s and from our perspective) toward the truth. And I do not know (nor do I recall if this is ever made clear) which came first: Gide’s turn (away), or Claudel break with him. Overall, I think that these happened more or less at the same time, in parallel - one action responding to and reinforcing the other. One key moment that I do seem to recall is Gide asking to use a Claudel quote as a motto or epigraph for one of his books, which Claudel agreed to, only to be horrified to discover the use (or, rather, misuse) to which that quote was put - the book reflecting the very opposite of what that quote (and Claudel) intended, and stood for. But, all in all, it seems that Gide was already going (down) on a certain route, notwithstanding his conversations with Claudel.

And I mentioned heaviness, and rigidity – and here’s again why; because I do think that, notwithstanding Gide’s doings, even the more egregious ones, Claudel could have remained at least at an arm’s length, or somewhere, removed, but still within Gide’s line of sight - as a possible (because, who knows what can happen?) life line, a secours in a time of desperate need. But take this with a grain of salt - as I am equally quick to note here that some of the things that Gide did (read: wrote) became so egregious (for Claudel), that they became simply unacceptable, and unassumable (for Claudel). And I understand that – just as I understand that expecting from Claudel to be someone else, of a different temperament, personality, personal history - would be nonsensical, an impossibility.

And perhaps their paths were destined to break off from each other, to split... After all, weren’t they just too different? Weren’t they not set on completely different paths? And Gide, after all, made his own decisions - notwithstanding everything, notwithstanding their conversations.

*

But let’s get back to the aforementioned two aspects of the struggle. Regarding the first aspect, Gide seems to have been stuck, indeed, in that Cartesian position that leads to an inability to even understand what faith might be, i.e. to understand faith as a “different” kind of knowing. And, indeed, it is very, very difficult, to even come to grasp the distinctiveness of faith, if one’s criterion of truth, i.e. of accepting what there is, is one’s own powers and ability to demonstrate it. (And isn’t this a very familiar position? – so familiar, that it seems to be the only possible position, the only possible approach to the idea of knowledge, today?)

The Cartesian position – by which I mean, rooted not necessarily in what Descartes thought (who was a believer), but in the ulterior implications of his “cogito ergo sum”.

But, but... am I really the measure of what there is – or, as classical philosophy has affirmed, am I only a guest in a cosmos that is not of my doing and making, an invitee, whose purpose and mission is to acquire, recognize, and pursue the truth that is out there? Am I the truth, and thus its measure - or is reality, what there is, out there, the (measure of) truth? And yes, today many, millions of people encounter these same questions, and find themselves stuck in this struggle, simply by virtue of the fact that in our intellectual and cultural context (which was shaped, to a good degree, by the Enlightenment – by its deep errors as much as by its relative gains) we just do not know of any other means of pursuing the truth... And yet, if this limited I is the criterion of truth – instead of being the pursuer thereof... If we measure a grander reality with a limited instrument, will not the result be a limited (image of) reality? The measure used does determine the results obtained.

But what is the solution? I mentioned the word "pride" – and the word has its due place here. The limiting and centering of our pursuit of the truth in the I carries with it an inherent pridefulness (even if the pursuer does not intend it that way) and stubbornness. What is then the alternative? The alternative is a position of inherent humility - of the pursuit of truth that starts from wonder, from an acknowledgment of one’s inherent ignorance; from knowing that one is not the truth, nor its measure; that Truth is out there, and one is only its pursuer; and thus from the desire to shape oneself according to this Truth - and not vice versa. And this humility also understands – it is forced to – that natural reason has its inherent limits; that just because our intellective powers are finite, it does not mean that the truth is equally finite; thus opening us to other ways of knowing – namely faith, which is not in contradiction, but in continuation of, and in complementarity with, natural reason; rational faith, and faithful reason. (But to have access to this kind of knowledge one needs the humility to at least be open to the fact that, after a certain point, our understanding fails; and to be open to the gift of understanding that one receives, beyond and above the limits of one's own intellective powers; to grace, therefore.)¹

*

The other dimension or kind of struggle, as said, related to Gide’s sexuality; or, more broadly understood, to the tremendous pull and weight and burden of the sensuous within the person. And, in Gide’s case (as evidenced by his life, up to its end), this was not something that he was able or willing to part with, or to fight against – to not allow for it to become the determinant force in his life. (A heavy burden, indeed - and is this struggle any easier today, in this age of mass addiction to, and boundless consumption of, pornography? Another issue, then, from this correspondence – and from his struggles – that is very much of current relevance.)  And in this aspect Gide was equally indecisive, and coy - perpetually oscillating, perpetually pulled in various directions – yet gradually and consistently pursuing, in fact, a chosen path - the path away from Claudel and from what Claudel stood for. (Oh, yes, not all major decisions are taken in one clear moment, through one definite act; many, perhaps most choices, are gradual, incremental - often being a sliding down that is not noticeable in the moment, but whose accumulated effects will become clear in time...)

*

This, then, is the story that emerges from this volume: of two writers of whom we usually think as representing radically different positions on the spiritual-literary spectrum, but who, for many years, were in close intellectual and personal contact, even friendship. And, yes, I did not find exactly what I went looking for, in this book – not entirely. I did learn, however, things about Claudel (some of which I had perceived before, to a degree); things that, together with what I learned later from Mauriac, further clarified certain important aspects about art, faith, and the condition of the artist.

Finally, this volume of correspondence also illuminated some of the dramas which remain also core dramas of our age, of our own existence: one, the difficulty that we face in even beginning to approach faith, let alone comprehend it as a distinct way of knowledge, because of our embeddedness in a Cartesian understanding of the very nature of knowing; and, two, the heavy burden of the sensuous, which is very much a contemporary challenge, as well, and which is related to said Cartesian limitations on our understanding (after all, isn’t “follow your desires” one of the dominant ways of defining living truthfully and meaningfully, today? following your desires, appetites, isn't this proposed today as a "recipe for happiness"? while Plato characterized the same appetites as the unruly, wild horses which, uncontrolled, will devastate the soul?)²

A very instructive reading, then – both for reasons of personal ruminations on art, faith, and the artist – and for additional illuminations on some of our peculiarly modern dilemmas.

***

FOOTNOTES

1. And, to continue this discussion – there is also an opposite type of error, which comes however from the same separation of reason and faith; in this, one "take the side" of a faith that is understood in opposition to reason - a-rational, even ir-rational. And this position has of course its roots (to a good degree) in Luther - and in his distrust, even dismissal, of reason. This approach to faith as the irrational goes counter, however, to the millennium and a half old Tradition that preceded Luther (Tradition that continued after him, as well); a Tradition in which reason and faith are seen as two different (and complementary) forms of human understanding, i.e. of the human pursuit of the same Truth. 

And, lo and behold, Gide was indeed raised as a Huguenot, as a Calvinist (i.e. at this other end of the spectrum) - which might have contributed to his struggle with integrating faith and reason, in the sense of swinging from one end (dismissal of reason, following irrational faith) to the other (dismissal of faith, as irrational, and only trusting what empirical reason can certify). Indeed, the position of equilibrium, the balanced integration of faith and reason, as the "two wings on which the human spirit rises to the contemplation of truth", while harmonious, may be the hardest to hold, especially if one does not have a tradition or an authority to reinforce this position.).

2. See Plato’s discussion of the soul which, like a chariot, is aimless and gets ravaged, when pulled hither and thither, back and forth, right and left, by the uncontrolled, unruly, wild horses of the desires, of our appetites. To the contrary, in the ordered, harmonious soul of the wise person, the higher understanding (nous) takes charge and orders these unruly forces of the appetites (knowing their power and dangerousness), directing them according to what it (the higher understanding) knows to be the Truth.

So why or how is this relevant to us? Do we not live in an age in which “science” (which is supposed to be the pinnacle and also the sole path of knowledge) is meant to be the measure and ruler of everything? To be the most powerful force, governing (in a sense) society? But, then, how come that we are still, society-wide, ravaged by these unruly desires and appetites; how come that, simultaneously with the apparent worship of science, we are also told that the goal of life is to “follow your desires”, that “fulfilling one’s appetites” is so essential that it becomes a "basic right" of the human being? And, implicitly, that chasing one’s appetites is the path to happiness, to truth? So, how can we reconcile these two, apparently opposite things – praising a form of rationality (science), but ultimately being driven by one’s appetites?

Our classical friends can come to our aid here, as well. Yes, we do seem to (at least apparently, or formally) worship (or at least pretend to respect) reason; yes, but this is not the type of reason (or understanding) that, in Plato, leads to the knowledge of the Truth; instead, it is a lower kind of rationality, that Aristotle refers to as techne: instrumental, technical knowledge, which helps us to explain and to manipulate how things work – but which is not able to tell us anything about the why, about meaning and purpose. 

Techne, in other words, does not and can not talk about the Truth; and yet, only the kind of knowledge that can talk about it, that can attain to the Truth (or the Good) can give the human being – the self – a direction. Still, even bringing up the need for this kind of knowledge, the need for asking these questions, about Truth, about the Good, is no longer socially acceptable, kosher, "in polite society", today. So we renounce asking these questions (the most important questions) - and pursuing the (only) answers (that can give direction to our lives). And, then, what remains? 

Well, our selves (just like a chariot) never remain driverless. Just because we fail to, or give up on, putting a driver on the chariot  (a driver that can take us home), it does not mean that the chariot will not be driven (pulled). But, driverless, it will be be pulled - hither and thither - by the unleashed, unruly, wild and self-seeking horses  - namely, our powerful appetites, the desires - pulling the entire chariot (our self) to its destruction.