Definition of a Sadist

Somebody for whom "hurt you" is its own reward.

A Faint Memory

Today a long-ago memory swam back into my consciousness, a throwaway reference in some movie review (I think it was a review of Poltergeist) that referred to "the good old nuclear family"-- something like "the good old nuclear family triumphs again".

I think I was a kid when I read this, and I can't remember what I thought of it at the time. But it seems a good example of something that's been going on my entire life-- that is, the constant diet of obliquely dismissive comments regarding this or that social institution. But never saying exactly what's wrong with them.

A common example of this used to be sardonic references to "2.4 children." Of course, the birthrate has dropped well below that now, and our societies are dying, so maybe 2.4 children wasn't so bad after all.

But nobody ever really said what was wrong with it. It was just a standard snide comment meant to portray people as-- what? Bourgeois, average, complacent, white-bread, banal...something like that. It was never actually articulated.

I'm sure you can think of many other examples of this. Perhaps the most obvious one these days is "white male". If you refer to somebody (or an institution, or an audience) as "primarily white and male", or something like that....you don' t have to explain what the problem with that is. It's just a generalized expression of disapproval or disdain. Somehow just using the words is scoring a point.

"Middle America" is another example.

I think this is one of the way the left has exerted its cultural dominance for decades now...a constant drip-drip-drip of this sort of derogatory reference, so pervasive and almost subliminal that it's a type of conditioning.

Because really, what's wrong with the nuclear family?

(When I hear leftists use the slogan "It takes a village to raise a child", I have the strong sense that they really mean: "It takes the government to raise a child". The slogan itself is unobjectionable.)

Possibly My Favourite Newman Quotation

"Here I will not shrink from uttering my firm conviction, that it would be a gain to this country, were it vastly more superstitious, more bigoted, more gloomy, more fierce in its religion, than at present it shows itself to be. Not, of course, that I think the tempers of mind herein implied desirable, which would be an evident absurdity; but I think them infinitely more desirable and more promising than a heathen obduracy, and a cold, self-sufficient, self-wise tranquility."

This is a passage from John Henry Newman's sermon "The Religion of the Day". It very often comes to my mind.

It come to my mind especially when I read about some religious controversy of the past. For instance, the hostile reaction in England when the Catholic Church restored its hierarchy there in 1850, definitively emerging from its post-Reformation underground.

I hesitate to use that example, since the last thing I ever want to do is appeal to Catholic triumphalism. (In fact, I rather regret calling this blog "Irish Papist"; I'm scared it sounds whingy and petulant, since "papist" was a pejorative term.) What I'm saying is that I entirely sympathise with the Protestant reaction. I entirely sympathise with almost all religious passions.

If religion is the most important thing in life, then surely it should be the focus of public controversy.

As I've mentioned in a previous post, I've recently been watching episodes of The Journey Home, the EWTN programme in which converts to Catholicism tell their story. The show is American, so most of the guests are American. Quite often they relate stories of family turmoil and estrangement arising from their conversion. This is sad, of course, but it doesn't seem at all unreasonable to me. It seems quite understandable.

I greatly admire Americans for taking religion so seriously.

As Newman's quotation suggests: it's better to not be bigoted, it's better to not be fanatical, it's better to not be narrow-minded. But only if you've actually risen above such failings, not if you've never even risen to them.

Happy Feast of our Lady of Carmel!

Today is the Feast of our Lady of Carmel. Remarkably, it was approved all the way back in 1587.

I'm always fascinated to hear people talk about different "spiritualities" within the Catholic Church, often associated with different religious orders. Some people even become lay members of tertiaries of these Orders. (I've just learned that Bishop Fulton Sheen was a member of the Third Order of Carmelites. So was Eamon De Valera, and he was buried in the Carmelite habit.)

I've pondered whether I feel especially drawn to any such "spirituality". I don't think I do, but I do feel a certain attraction towards the Carmelites. I was married in a Carmelite church and I especially like reading about Carmelite saints, since they are contemplatives. But it's only a faint attraction-- Carmelite Lite, as it were. (I couldn't resist that.)

Poems I Like: "The Workman's Friend" by Jem Casey (AKA Myles Na Gopaleen AKA Flann O'Brien AKA Brian O'Nolan)

This comic poem is from At Swim Two Birds, the staggeringly precocious novel written by the young Brian O'Nolan, who accumulated an impressive list of pen-names throughout his life. In the novel, it's attributed to Gem Casey, a working-class poet. Apparently Jem Casey was a stealthy dig at the Irish priest-poet James Casey, who wrote temperance poems. The irony is plain (pun intended).

At Swim Two Birds is a complex and intellectual novel, but the poem is delightfully simple. Myles (I think of him as Myles) probably intended it entirely as a joke, and possibly tossed it off in a few minutes. It has that air of inspired breeziness. It's clearly a comic poem, but it's seriously good. I like any poem with a running refrain, if it's done well.

"Your only man" is a Dublin term that means "just what the doctor ordered". It's still occasionally used, albeit rather archly. "A pint of plain" is a pint of porter or stout. "Darlint" must be an ephemeral version of "darling"; I've only ever encountered it in this poem. Many versions render it "darling", which seems fine to me.

My favourite line is "and no rashers grease your pan". Everyone knows rashers are streaky bacon, right?

The Dubliners recorded a spoken version of this poem. Try not to die of nostalgia as you watch it.

The Dublin literary scene in Myles's time was an immensely boozy one, as immortalized in one of my favourite books, Dead as Doornails by Anthony Cronin. Personally, I'm not much of a drinker (I was a teetotaler till I was twenty-seven), and I haven't spent much time in pubs. But do I have a rather romantic view of them-- I grew up listening to stories of all the discussions, debates and drama that happened in pubs. My own experience of them has been more disappointing. But isn't that life?

The Workman's Friend

When things go wrong and will not come right
Though you do the best you can
When life looks black as the hour of night
A pint of plain is your only man.

When money’s tight and hard to get
And your horse has also ran
When all you have is a heap of debt
A pint of plain is your only man.

When health is bad and your heart feels strange
And your face is pale and wan
When doctors say you need a change
A pint of plain is your only man.

When food is scarce and your larder bare
And no rashers grease your pan
When hunger grows as your meals are rare
A pint of plain is your only man.

In time of trouble and lousy strife
You have still got a darlint plan
You still can turn to a brighter life
A pint of plain is your only man.

(This is a painting of the author that, extraordinarily, I came across in UCD today, purely by accident. It hangs in the Engineering Building, five minutes walk from the library where I've worked for twenty-five years. I'd never been in it before.)

The Late Ted Bonner

More than ten years ago, I wrote this article about Don't Shoot, I'm Not Well!, an excellent book of humorous essays by the late (indeed, the Late Late) Ted Bonner, who died in 2002.

I think he's a much-undervalued Irish humourist. He doesn't even have a Wikipedia page!

I've been doing some research on Mr. Bonner but I've hit a bit of a wall. So-- this is a long shot, but if any relatives or close friends of Ted Bonner come upon this blog post, could you get in touch? My email address is Maolsheachlann@gmail.com.

Mr. Bonner was a frequent guest on The Late Late Show, and even presented it once. Hence the reference above.

(And maybe this appeal is not such a long shot after all. My poem on a record-breaking snooker marathon that occurred in Preston Polytechnic in 1981-- or, more accurately, a photograph of the post-marathon celebrations from an old Guinness Book of Records-- gleaned, over a few years, three comments from people who had been in attendance, including one of the record-breakers.)

The School of No Escape

What happens when a mysterious new headmistress called Miss Voor takes over a girl's school called St. Juniper's and starts making mysterious changes?

Well, you can find out by reading The School of No Escape, a serialized story from the comic Misty which appeared in full in the Misty Annual 1979, free to read on the Internet Archive. It begins on page sixteen. It's pretty good. I like stories set in schools and other self-contained environments.

(I was curious to see if there was actually a St. Juniper. There is, kind of. Brother Juniper was the name of one of St. Francis's original companions. He's never even been made venerable, but the famous Franciscan missionary St. Junípero Serra was given his name when he joined the Order. Whether the writers knew this, or whether they just plucked the name out of the air, who knows?)