French Sculptors, English Anchoresses, and Existential Questions

Today was one of those Big Question days.

We were discussing sculpture, and the relationship between Camille Claudel and Auguste Rodin came up.  Claudel was a female sculpture student who met Rodin when he started teaching at her academy.  A tumultuous romance ensued, filled with passion and not a few problems: a 25-year age difference, “other women,” and a rumored abortion, for starters.  After about 15 years the relationship ended.

As Rodin ascended the artistic and cultural spheres, Claudel descended into seclusion and bouts of madness.  She destroyed most of her artwork, and her family–staunchly Catholic and unsupportive of Claudel’s artistic career and romantic affair–placed her in an insane asylum where she died thirty years later. They didn’t attend her funeral, and she was buried in a common grave.

“Rodin was a true artist, but a true man as well,” someone in our group commented. “Yes, a true man! All men are like that–cads,” was the wry, pseudo-jest of one of the gentlemen. “Don’t be silly! Not all men are like that!” was someone else’s retort.

This exchange got me thinking.  Are we really all “like that,” or not? And regarding men, I began to wonder: why do we foist all the blame on Rodin? Wasn’t Claudel–like all our tragic Didos and Héloïses and Anne Boleyns and Francescas–also to blame for her misery?  And what about Claudel’s family: supposedly faithful Catholics, yet vindictively shunning the Magdalen in their midst?  Aren’t they responsible for this sad history, too?

I’ve been reading Julian of Norwich lately, a medieval English anchoress and visionary (which I know is the total opposite of Parisian-bohemian-artist, but bear with me).   At age 30 Julian was on her deathbed and recieved a series of visions before miraculously recovering. She spent the rest of her life trying to understand the visions and eventually wrote them down.

 This question–whom do we blame for the world’s misery?–is dealt with throughout her text.  For Julian “sin is befitting,” a necessary part of our journey towards God.  Sin “has no sort of substance nor portion of being, nor could it be recognized were it not for the suffering which it causes…it purges us and makes us know ourselves and pray for mercy.”  It is not a matter of blame, because there is no blame in salvation. There is only forgiveness.  In Julian’s eyes, we shouldn’t seek to assign blame to any one party for the world’s suffering. It is a burden we must bear, a path to perfection; and in the end, the “whose fault is it?” question doesn’t matter.

 Julian also talks about the relation between man and God, and between man and neighbor.  “When Adam fell, God’s son fell; because of the true union made in heaven, God’s son could not leave Adam, for by Adam I understand all men…God’s son fell with Adam into the valley of the Virgin’s womb…in order to free Adam from guilt.”  Julian wants us to realize that all men are one in God.  We are Claudel, and we are Rodin, and we are Claudel’s family. We harm ourselves, and we harm others, and yet God forgives all because he has chosen to be one with us.

There are still questions swirling in the air, and Julian certainly doesn’t bring definitive closure to all of them. But, she does help, I think.  With her wisdom, we can answer some of the questions raised by the intense suffering of the world.  We can trust, with Julian, that one day “all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”