An interesting discussion I've had elsewhere, with a reader of this very blog, leads me to address this question: should a national culture be founded on Catholicism, or even on Christianity?
The very title of this blog, Irish Papist, reflects two of its main interests: Irishness, and Catholicism.
My Catholicism is the centre of my life, and the most important part of it. But the subject of Ireland and Irishness is also of absorbing interest to me.
Can we simply equate the two? Is Irish Catholicism the same thing as Irishness? Does Irish Catholicism contain everything good about Irishness? Should our vision of Irishness be explicitly Catholic?
My answer to that is "No". Here I depart from many of my Catholic integralist friends.
I accept the Second Vatican Council as an authoritative act of the Magisterium. Its document on religious freedom, Dignitas Humanae, tells us:
In all his activity a man is bound to follow his conscience in order that he may come to God, the end and purpose of life. It follows that he is not to be forced to act in a manner contrary to his conscience. Nor, on the other hand, is he to be restrained from acting in accordance with his conscience, especially in matters religious. The reason is that the exercise of religion, of its very nature, consists before all else in those internal, voluntary and free acts whereby man sets the course of his life directly toward God. No merely human power can either command or prohibit acts of this kind.
I think reason tells us the same thing. The only adequate reason for adhering to a religion is because you believe it is true. Adhering to a religion for any other reason-- tribalism, a reaction against the modern world, social conservatism, aesthetics, etc.-- is only adopting a pose, striking an attitude.
If Faith is a "junior partner" to patriotism, or conservatism, or social justice, or anything else, than the Faith is always going to give way when it comes to a conflict between them. You cannot serve two masters.
And we can see this in the manner in which so many Irish left-wing nationalists ultimately rejected Catholicism when it came into conflict with their own particular brand of nationalism. (Many people in this tradition-- Sinn Féin, especially-- have ultimately rejected nationalism, as well. But they still use the term, just as they still used the term "Catholic" long after they had apostasized.)
As well as this, if we accept the primacy of conscience, then it must be expected that many people will find themselves unable, in all good conscience, to accept the Catholic faith. Should our vision of Irishness exclude them? Should it exclude Protestants and Jews and Muslims and well-intentioned agnostics and atheists?
Personally, I have no place in my vision of Irishness for those who are anti-Catholic, anti-religious, anti-clerical, and anti-traditional. After all, such people are on a journey of nihilism which logically leads them to reject national loyalties, too.
I think it's perfectly fine for Irishness to demand a respect for our Catholic history and traditions, from those who cannot in good conscience affirm the Catholic creed.
I don't believe anybody is less Irish for not being a Catholic. I don't even believe anyone is less Irish for being an atheist. But I do think somebody is less Irish for being anti-Catholic and anti-religious.
(Of course, as a Catholic, I wish every single person in Ireland was also a believing Catholic.)
I also think it was perfectly legitimate for the Irish Constitution to recognize the "special position" of the Catholic Church as the religion of the vast majority of Irish people, as it did until 1973. I believe it was perfectly legitimate for Ireland to ban alcohol sales on Good Friday, to have the Angelus bells broadcast on the state broadcaster, to censor blasphemous books and films, etc.
One needn't have been a believing Catholic to support all these things, nor do I think they constituted oppression of other religions, or of the non-religious.
Robert Briscoe, an adherent of the Jewish faith who was Lord Mayor of Dublin in 1956-57, and again in 1961-62, famously said that, the more Catholic the Irish people became, the more he liked it. Michael Medved, an American talk radio host who is also an Orthodox Jew, has said the same thing about America and Evangelical Christianity. Surely most religious people would rather live in a country whose laws and customs were influenced by religion, even if it was not their own religion-- as long as that religion was not actually imposed on them, and the free exercise of their own religion was not impeded.
Ultimately, I believe we must distinguish clearly between religious faith and national culture. They are two different things. They can be deeply intertwined, but they should not be equated with one another. Both suffer, in the long run, when that happens.
Wednesday, August 28, 2019
Friday, August 23, 2019
Anti-Social Networking
My blogging has been rather light lately. To fill the gap, here are some of my recent Facebook posts. I hope you find them amusing and intriguing-- or, at least, not insufferably boring or irritating.
(Yes, I know. Facebook is evil. But it's a good outlet for one's random thoughts.)
As you'll see, I've recently been trying to write some of my Facebook posts bilingually-- in Irish, followed by English. My written Irish is terrible, and it's quite embarrassing to expose this fact in public. But I've come to the conclusion that it's better to use bad Irish than not to use it at all. The Irish language is far too important to be left to those who can speak and write it.
For a long time I've been a ferocious critic of political correctness. I imagine people who see me in the street think: "There goes Maolsheachlann Ó Ceallaigh, the ferocious critic of political correctness." However, more recently I've been troubled by a kind of contradiction in my own thought.
This is it: I tend to believe that taboo, reverence, and piety are good things in themselves. Don't get me wrong, I wish all those things were directed towards their proper objects, but even IN THEMSELVES they seem admirable to me.
(Yes, I know. Facebook is evil. But it's a good outlet for one's random thoughts.)
As you'll see, I've recently been trying to write some of my Facebook posts bilingually-- in Irish, followed by English. My written Irish is terrible, and it's quite embarrassing to expose this fact in public. But I've come to the conclusion that it's better to use bad Irish than not to use it at all. The Irish language is far too important to be left to those who can speak and write it.
For a long time I've been a ferocious critic of political correctness. I imagine people who see me in the street think: "There goes Maolsheachlann Ó Ceallaigh, the ferocious critic of political correctness." However, more recently I've been troubled by a kind of contradiction in my own thought.
This is it: I tend to believe that taboo, reverence, and piety are good things in themselves. Don't get me wrong, I wish all those things were directed towards their proper objects, but even IN THEMSELVES they seem admirable to me.
And all those things are abundantly present in political correctness.
People who trip themselves up constantly trying to use the correct
epithets are, in a sense, showing a sort of piety, a sort of reverence.
It's misdirected but it's real. And I don't have the slightest problem
against censorship on the grounds of public morals; I think Mary
Whitehouse was a hero.
But isn't this just what the PC brigade are pushing for, according to their own lights?
My gorge still rises at political correctness, don't get me wrong. And I still consider it a mortal enemy. But there is a little part of my mind that asks: "Are you being completely consistent here? Shouldn't you acknowledge a healthy impulse even in your enemy, "to honour as you strike him down' "? Perhaps Nietzsche was onto something when he said "you may have enemies you hate, but not enemies you despise."
(I would like to think this is the most pompous Facebook post ever.)
* * * * * * *
Rinne é an rún cúpla lá ó shoin gan achmainn grinn ar bith a bheith agam as seo amach. D'eirigh mé as an rún sin, ach measaim fós gur smaoineamh maith é. Táim braon don t-íoróin agus don síor-magadh a bhfuil í ngach áit inniú. Uaireanta is mian liom clócha agus róba a caitheamh an t-ám ar fad, fiú san ollmhargadh, agus fíliocht a labhairt in ionad prós.
A few days ago I made the resolution to be completely humourless. I've given it up already, but I still think it's a good idea. I'm so sick of irony and the perpetual levity that's everywhere these days. Sometimes I feel the urge to wear a cloak and robe all the time, even in the supermarket, and to speak in poetry instead of prose.
* * * * * * * *
But isn't this just what the PC brigade are pushing for, according to their own lights?
My gorge still rises at political correctness, don't get me wrong. And I still consider it a mortal enemy. But there is a little part of my mind that asks: "Are you being completely consistent here? Shouldn't you acknowledge a healthy impulse even in your enemy, "to honour as you strike him down' "? Perhaps Nietzsche was onto something when he said "you may have enemies you hate, but not enemies you despise."
(I would like to think this is the most pompous Facebook post ever.)
* * * * * * *
Rinne é an rún cúpla lá ó shoin gan achmainn grinn ar bith a bheith agam as seo amach. D'eirigh mé as an rún sin, ach measaim fós gur smaoineamh maith é. Táim braon don t-íoróin agus don síor-magadh a bhfuil í ngach áit inniú. Uaireanta is mian liom clócha agus róba a caitheamh an t-ám ar fad, fiú san ollmhargadh, agus fíliocht a labhairt in ionad prós.
A few days ago I made the resolution to be completely humourless. I've given it up already, but I still think it's a good idea. I'm so sick of irony and the perpetual levity that's everywhere these days. Sometimes I feel the urge to wear a cloak and robe all the time, even in the supermarket, and to speak in poetry instead of prose.
* * * * * * * *
I
was just looking at the English poetry shelves. I was surprised at the
paucity of English poets whose surnames begin with "Y". There were a few
poets called Young but none of them were particularly good. (I do like
"Night Thoughts" by Edward Young, though I admit that is a niche
interest.) The Y section in the English poetry shelves is a narrow and
undistinguished stretch.
I contend there are no major ENGLISH poets whose names begin with Y. Yeats was Irish, of course.
* * * * * * *
"One might safely say that no people ever liked stench or starvation as such, but only some peculiar pleasures entangled with them. Not so feels the sensitive Gudge... Gudge has succeeded in persuading himself that slums and stinks are really very nice things; that the habit of sleeping fourteen in a room is what has made our England great; and that the smell of open drains is absolutely essential to the rearing of a Viking breed." G.K. Chesterton, What's Wrong with the World (1910)
I contend there are no major ENGLISH poets whose names begin with Y. Yeats was Irish, of course.
* * * * * * *
"One might safely say that no people ever liked stench or starvation as such, but only some peculiar pleasures entangled with them. Not so feels the sensitive Gudge... Gudge has succeeded in persuading himself that slums and stinks are really very nice things; that the habit of sleeping fourteen in a room is what has made our England great; and that the smell of open drains is absolutely essential to the rearing of a Viking breed." G.K. Chesterton, What's Wrong with the World (1910)
"I have seen too much of slums to go into Chestertonian raptures about them." George Orwell, The Road to Wigan Pier (1937)
* * * * * * * *
Chuaigh mé ar turas chuig an Royal Irish Academy inné, turas eagraithe ag leabharlann UCD, áit a bhfuil mé fostaithe. Bhí an smaoineamh céinne agam is a mbíonn agam go h-iondúil, agus mé ag éisteacht le daoine ag obair at son institiúidí a bhfuil ag plé le oidhreacht agus stair na hÉireann. Tá an cuma orthu go bhfuil suim acu san oidhreacht mar rud stairiúl, rud marbh. Ach is beag an suim a bhfuil agam san oidhreacht mar iarsma. Bím í gconaí ag smaoineamh: conas a feidir linn beocht nua a thabhairt don oidhreacht? Mar shampla, tá taispeantais acu mar gheall at Thomas Moore, file a raibh clú oll-mhór ar in Éireann uair amhain. Ní leor diomsa breatnaigh ar file mar sin mar abhair acadiúl. Sé an cheist domsa: cén fáth nach bhfuil suim againn inniu í Thomas Moore, no file at bith beagnach, agus conas is feidir an suim sin a spreagadh?
* * * * * * * *
Chuaigh mé ar turas chuig an Royal Irish Academy inné, turas eagraithe ag leabharlann UCD, áit a bhfuil mé fostaithe. Bhí an smaoineamh céinne agam is a mbíonn agam go h-iondúil, agus mé ag éisteacht le daoine ag obair at son institiúidí a bhfuil ag plé le oidhreacht agus stair na hÉireann. Tá an cuma orthu go bhfuil suim acu san oidhreacht mar rud stairiúl, rud marbh. Ach is beag an suim a bhfuil agam san oidhreacht mar iarsma. Bím í gconaí ag smaoineamh: conas a feidir linn beocht nua a thabhairt don oidhreacht? Mar shampla, tá taispeantais acu mar gheall at Thomas Moore, file a raibh clú oll-mhór ar in Éireann uair amhain. Ní leor diomsa breatnaigh ar file mar sin mar abhair acadiúl. Sé an cheist domsa: cén fáth nach bhfuil suim againn inniu í Thomas Moore, no file at bith beagnach, agus conas is feidir an suim sin a spreagadh?
I went on a work field trip to the Royal Irish Academy yesterday. As
always, when listening to people whose work involves cultural heritage, I
find myself wondering why they are content to regard it as something
historical. I have very little interest in heritage as something
historical. To me the question is, how can we give it life? For
instance, they had an exhibition on Thomas Moore, an Irish poet who was
once phenomenally popular in Ireland. I can't take this as simply a
matter of historical interest. To me the question is, why don't we read
Thomas Moore (or pretty much any poet) today? And what can we do about
it?
* * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *
Bhí
mé ag féachaint arís ar an scannán The Jane Austen Book Club aréir.
Chonaic mé cheana féin é, roinnt blianta ó shoin. Níl gean mór agam ar
úrscealta Jane Austen, ach is íontach an rud é scannáin a fheiscint a
bhfuil comh daríre sin faoin léitheoireacht agus an tábhacht agus an
sult a bfhuil ag baint leis.
I watched The Jane Austen Book Club last night. I saw it before, a few years ago. I'm not mad about Jane Austen's novels, but it's wonderful to see a film that takes reading, and the pleasures and importance of reading, so seriously.
* * * * * * * *
I was travelling within Ireland at the weekend. As always, when I travel through Ireland, I'm struck by the fact that virtually every playing field you pass outside Dublin has Gaelic sports goalposts (used by both hurling and Gaelic football) instead of soccer or rugby goalposts. Even though I don't actually like Gaelic games much, purely as sports, this gives me great pleasure-- the same pleasure I take in going to America and seeing how they care far more about baseball, basketball and American football than soccer, cricket, rugby, etc.
I watched The Jane Austen Book Club last night. I saw it before, a few years ago. I'm not mad about Jane Austen's novels, but it's wonderful to see a film that takes reading, and the pleasures and importance of reading, so seriously.
* * * * * * * *
I was travelling within Ireland at the weekend. As always, when I travel through Ireland, I'm struck by the fact that virtually every playing field you pass outside Dublin has Gaelic sports goalposts (used by both hurling and Gaelic football) instead of soccer or rugby goalposts. Even though I don't actually like Gaelic games much, purely as sports, this gives me great pleasure-- the same pleasure I take in going to America and seeing how they care far more about baseball, basketball and American football than soccer, cricket, rugby, etc.
And here's something else that strikes me. The Gaelic Athletic
Association, which organizes these sports, was only founded in 1884 and
the games were only really codified around then. The impetus behind this
was a very explicit cultural nationalism-- for a long, long time there
was a ban on members of the GAA playing foreign games. I think this is
important because we are so often told that cultural protectionism is
futile, or that traditions can't be invented and have to come into being
of their own accord. Obviously not true when you see the legacy of the
GAA in Ireland.
* * * * * *
I am reading a biography of Archbishop John Charles McQuaid (Archbishop of Dublin 1940-1972) by John Cooney. The book is very hostile to McQuaid, but the facts are interesting. McQuaid established what is now the Irish Film Institute, as a Catholic film club. He strongly supported the abolition of the law which required female teachers to give up their jobs when they got married. And (according to Cooney) he persuaded the President of UCD to move UCD from the city centre to Belfield, south of the city. So McQuaid has had an influence on my life every day for the last seventeen years or so.
* * * * * *
I am reading a biography of Archbishop John Charles McQuaid (Archbishop of Dublin 1940-1972) by John Cooney. The book is very hostile to McQuaid, but the facts are interesting. McQuaid established what is now the Irish Film Institute, as a Catholic film club. He strongly supported the abolition of the law which required female teachers to give up their jobs when they got married. And (according to Cooney) he persuaded the President of UCD to move UCD from the city centre to Belfield, south of the city. So McQuaid has had an influence on my life every day for the last seventeen years or so.
I don't agree with everything he did. He organized a (not very
successful) boycott of a soccer match between Ireland and Yugoslavia in
1952, held in Dublin, as a protest against Yugoslavia's imprisonment of a
Catholic bishop. Personally I think politics should be kept out of
sport. Always. I think the USA was wrong to boycott the Moscow Olympics
in 1980. The American football players who dishonoured the flag and
anthem to protest police brutality were wrong. The boycott of South
African teams during apartheid was wrong. Sport should be kept free of
politics.
* * * * * * *
What's a capitalist's favourite dessert? PROFIT-eroles!
* * * * * * *
Language is so wonderful. I was reading a description of the 1980 Wes Carpenter film, The Fog, which I've loved since I was a kid. The film was described as "a gem". That's the perfect word: "The Fog" has never really attained the status of a classic, nor does it quite deserve it. And "minor classic" doesn't really work, because a classic is a classic is a classic. But it IS a gem. Why should that word fit so perfectly? I don't know, but it does, partly because of the way the word is used in practice. Partly, I think, because a gem is something small and not necessarily valuable, but still noted for its allure.
* * * * * * *
What's a capitalist's favourite dessert? PROFIT-eroles!
* * * * * * *
Language is so wonderful. I was reading a description of the 1980 Wes Carpenter film, The Fog, which I've loved since I was a kid. The film was described as "a gem". That's the perfect word: "The Fog" has never really attained the status of a classic, nor does it quite deserve it. And "minor classic" doesn't really work, because a classic is a classic is a classic. But it IS a gem. Why should that word fit so perfectly? I don't know, but it does, partly because of the way the word is used in practice. Partly, I think, because a gem is something small and not necessarily valuable, but still noted for its allure.
Tuesday, August 20, 2019
A Touching Piece in "The Oldie"
I don't often buy magazine. I used to buy Empire and Total Film magazine, in my twenties and early thirties. I would also buy DVD Monthly which was my favourite of the lot (mostly because a retrospective review is more interesting than a first-take review). I enjoyed reading them, and I'm actually feeling nostalgic about them as I write this. But I eventually stopped because I got tired of their excessive focus on action and superhero films-- not to mention their pandering to celebrity culture.
I had a subscription to First Things magazine for several years. It was always a pleasant occasion when it arrived-- I would sit down to read it with a muffin and a cup of coffee. I had to cancel it for reasons of economy, though.
Sometimes I buy Ireland's Own, which more or reflects my own ideal of Irishness, and which has published some of my own articles. (Indeed, I have another in the pipeline.)
But generally, I don't buy magazines.
However, I do like to read magazines. A magazine has something that a book (generally) lacks: a community of voices, and a taste of the particular historical moment that it appeared. I enjoy reading back issues of periodicals in the library. Currently I am reading through the archive of Comhar, an Irish language periodical which has been published since at least the forties. And recently, I found a few copies of The Oldie on the book exchange outside the library. Which is, after all that preamble, the subject of this blog post.
In the July 2018 issue, I came across a very moving item in its editorial pages. I hope they won't mind me transcribing it, and indeed, it would seem contrary to its spirit if they did. It describes how the novelist Teresa Waugh met a ninety-eight-year-old woman named Patricia O'Brien in a nursing home, and learned that she had been a poet all her life, but only in her late nineties had she managed to finish poems:
Several times, she politely asked Teresa to find a publisher for her work-- and for one poem, "This Time, Next Time" in particular.
"She dictated the poem for me to take home and print in large letters, which I did. When I last saw her, she was very ill, and, I feared, on her deathbed."
"She clasped my hand and asked to promise to go on trying to get the poem published after her death. I had told her that, although I could promise nothing, I would try. She was thrilled."
The article goes on to describe how O'Brien passed away that April, a day after Teresa Waugh last met her. Waugh says of the lady: "She had an intense love of poetry and could recite reams of it by heart to her dying day."
Here is the poem O'Brien most wanted to have published. It's no a masterpiece by any means, but it is quite haunting, and reminiscent of Christina Rossetti (which endears it to me).
This Time, Next Time...
All in a ring, they sang together
This time, next time, sometime, never.
Laughing girls who dropped together
This time, next time, sometime, never.
This time, next time, sometime, never,
Sang the lovebird from the tree,
"Surely my love will come to me
This time, next time, perhaps never",
Sang the lovebird from the tree.
Golden days in gilded weather.
"My love, my love has come to me
And we shall dance and sing together,
Constant and true in all our weather,
This time, glad time", joyfully
Sang the lovebird from the tree.
This time, next time, sometime, never
My love, my love has gone from me,
Dropped through a hole in the world has he
Out of time to eternity,
And never again to come to me,
And never again to come to me.
I had a subscription to First Things magazine for several years. It was always a pleasant occasion when it arrived-- I would sit down to read it with a muffin and a cup of coffee. I had to cancel it for reasons of economy, though.
Sometimes I buy Ireland's Own, which more or reflects my own ideal of Irishness, and which has published some of my own articles. (Indeed, I have another in the pipeline.)
But generally, I don't buy magazines.
However, I do like to read magazines. A magazine has something that a book (generally) lacks: a community of voices, and a taste of the particular historical moment that it appeared. I enjoy reading back issues of periodicals in the library. Currently I am reading through the archive of Comhar, an Irish language periodical which has been published since at least the forties. And recently, I found a few copies of The Oldie on the book exchange outside the library. Which is, after all that preamble, the subject of this blog post.
In the July 2018 issue, I came across a very moving item in its editorial pages. I hope they won't mind me transcribing it, and indeed, it would seem contrary to its spirit if they did. It describes how the novelist Teresa Waugh met a ninety-eight-year-old woman named Patricia O'Brien in a nursing home, and learned that she had been a poet all her life, but only in her late nineties had she managed to finish poems:
Several times, she politely asked Teresa to find a publisher for her work-- and for one poem, "This Time, Next Time" in particular.
"She dictated the poem for me to take home and print in large letters, which I did. When I last saw her, she was very ill, and, I feared, on her deathbed."
"She clasped my hand and asked to promise to go on trying to get the poem published after her death. I had told her that, although I could promise nothing, I would try. She was thrilled."
The article goes on to describe how O'Brien passed away that April, a day after Teresa Waugh last met her. Waugh says of the lady: "She had an intense love of poetry and could recite reams of it by heart to her dying day."
Here is the poem O'Brien most wanted to have published. It's no a masterpiece by any means, but it is quite haunting, and reminiscent of Christina Rossetti (which endears it to me).
This Time, Next Time...
All in a ring, they sang together
This time, next time, sometime, never.
Laughing girls who dropped together
This time, next time, sometime, never.
This time, next time, sometime, never,
Sang the lovebird from the tree,
"Surely my love will come to me
This time, next time, perhaps never",
Sang the lovebird from the tree.
Golden days in gilded weather.
"My love, my love has come to me
And we shall dance and sing together,
Constant and true in all our weather,
This time, glad time", joyfully
Sang the lovebird from the tree.
This time, next time, sometime, never
My love, my love has gone from me,
Dropped through a hole in the world has he
Out of time to eternity,
And never again to come to me,
And never again to come to me.
Monday, August 12, 2019
Abair Cáis!
Me and Bean Uí Cheallaigh after Mass in the Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Paul, Ennis, yesterday.
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