Another Win for the Culture of Death

The House of Commons in the UK has narrowly voted in favour of "assisted dying" for terminally ill people.

What is there to say about this? The arguments have been well-rehearsed. My friend Angelo Bottone has an excellent article on the inevitable creep of euthanasia laws once they are established. The slippery slope is not only real but demonstrable.

Euthanasia is deeply disturbing. There seems to be a foundational, cross-cultural, cross-ideological consensus that one of the main purposes of society (even its overriding purpose) is keeping people alive. When there is an earthquake or a wildfire or a terrorist situation, expense and effort is no object when it comes to saving lives-- every last life.

Similarly, suicide is universally seen as a bad thing, something to be prevented. We have suicide hotlines, counselling services, suicide watch in prisons, and so forth.

How long will this consensus exist in the shadow of euthanasia? There is only an academic difference between the proposition: "I will help you kill yourself because you want to die", and "I will help you kill yourself because I agree that your life has ceased to have value."

What is the value of life, anyway? Once you start to quantify it, you are in very dangerous territory. It either transcends all such calculations, or it's already on a scale of more and less valuable.

A very dark day. God help us!

Dream Cities

I'm as worried about A.I. as anybody else, but I'll admit I've dabbled with it. Sometimes I've used it to generate pictures for this blog when I can't find anything suitable online.

Another thing I've used it for is to create visualizations of my dream cities.

For a long, long time (I can't remember how long) I've had dreams-- dreams in both a literal and figurative sense-- of marvellous, futuristic cities, cities which satisfy particular deep-seated yearnings of mine.

When the dreams are literal, they're often of the high-rise suburb where I grew up, Ballymun. But Ballymun transformed into something more like a science-fiction film.

My dream cities are never clearly imagined, because I have very little visual imagination or visual recall. But they have a few essential characteristics:

1) They are bustling. I love activity. I love the phrase "the city that never sleeps". I love the title of the Smiths song, "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out". I love the word "public". Basically these cities are hotel lobbies (or airport concourses, or train stations, or conference centres) on a grand scale-- not quite, but close enough.

2) They are completely interior with no windows-- or, if there must be windows, high windows and/or skylights. The sky and the moon and the stars are beautiful, but...well, I don't know why, but I like indoors to be utterly indoors. I like the concentration of that. I especially like rooms within rooms within rooms.

3) They have balconies, flags, escalators, and fountains. Especially fountain. Is there any more moving symbol of life-- public, collective, intergenerational life-- than a fountain?

4) They have many levels.

The A.I. website I was using doesn't always follow one's instructions to the letter, though.

This one is my favourite and the closest to my ideal. I like mirrorballs, as well!

I'm rather afraid that everyone else will find these visions to be nauseating rather than beautiful! Sure, I can appreciate the poetry of a little village in the middle of nowhere which is in harmony with the sounds, sights, and cycles of nature. But in all honesty, I prefer these!

Would You Like to Read a Horror Story?

It's less than four pages long.

If you would, drop me an email at Maolseachlann@gmail.com.

If you wouldn't, have a nice day. But not too nice.

The Poetry of Long Corridors

Who do you think wrote the following stanza?

All hail, Sublimity! thou lofty one,

For thou dost walk upon the blast, and gird

Thy majesty with terrors, and thy throne
Is on the whirlwind, and thy voice is heard
In thunders and in shakings: thy delight
Is in the secret wood, the blasted heath,
The ruin'd fortress, and the dizzy height,
The grave, the ghastly charnel-house of death,
In vaults, in cloisters, and in gloomy piles,
Long corridors and towers and solitary aisles!

The answer is Lord Alfred Tennyson, and he wrote it by the time he was eighteen. It's a stanza from a longer poem, "On Sublimity".

For some time now, I've been embarked on the ambitious project of reading all of Tennyson's surviving poetry, from his juvenilia onwards. Some of his juvenilia is as good as the mature works of many acclaimed poets-- at least in patches.

My three favourite poets are W.B. Yeats, Philip Larkin, and Lord Alfred Tennyson. Of those three, I think Tennyson is the least regarded today. Part of the reason is that he's hard to pigeon-hole. He's as classical as he is romantic, as optimistic and he is pessimistic (though shading towards pessimism), as backwards-looking as he is forwards-looking, and so forth.

The stanza above reminds me of some other poems I love very much, including Byron's ode to the ocean (from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage) and Keats's "Ode to Melancholy".

I especially like "long corridors and towers and solitary aisles". I love the word "corridor". I think it's a little poem in itself!

Associations

I was sitting in the front pew of the UCD church today, trying to commune with God, when I found myself thinking of associations.

This isn't at all unusual. I think about associations all the time. I'm thinking about them more and more, actually.

I don't have a picture of UCD's church handy so I'm going to swipe one from another website, and hope they don't mind.

You can just about make out the tabernacle there, underneath the Taizé cross and the randomly-patterned stained glass. It's a very simple tabernacle, gold-coloured with a cross on the front. It's much better than the atrocity the church had until recently-- a similar box, but with a chaos of colours on the front as though it had been painted by a toddler.

I actually like Our Lady Seat of Wisdom very much.

As I was saying...looking at the tabernacle, I began to feel certain associations. I seemed to hear the voice of a young-ish, rather bookish woman saying: "I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys..."

Actually, I didn't imagine her saying any specific words, but I imagined her quoting the Song of Solomon.

And why? Because that seemed somehow in keeping with the atmosphere of the place, with the aesthetic.

This atmosphere even had a period attached to it. For me, it was the sixties or seventies in Ireland, or even a little later. I think this was about the period a fairly bookish young woman might find the Song of Solomon to be especially beautiful and quotable. She needn't even have been a particularly religious young woman.



This was a time in Ireland when, although liberalism was certainly making inroads, an ordinary young person might be expected to have a certain sentimental attachment to Catholicism. But the poetry of the Song of Solomon would speak to a new respect for sensuality and sexuality.

Do you see what I'm getting at? Catholicism, to me, is associated with a whole range of different aesthetics and associations. Usually very specific associations and aesthetics. It's like there are different aesthetic or atmospheric strains of Catholic devotion. And I like most of them.

Some of these "strains" are attached to particular periods and places, and some aren't. They're very hard to put into words.

For instance, nineteenth century Catholicism has (to me) a very particular flavour, a certain austere intellectualism mixed with a baroque romanticism. Perhaps it all boils down to the personality of John Henry Newman, and the very specific mixture of masculinity and femininity in that complex figure.

Here's another example. Some years ago, they used to have mid-week Eucharistic adoration in the Holy Spirit Church in Ballymun. It was always to the backing of soft devotional music, guitar music with pious ejaculations sung in different languages.

Regular readers will know that I am not a fan of internationalism. But I liked the internationalism of this backing music. I was a friendly, non-threatening sort of internationalism. There were "swirly" sounds between the music.

The gleaming gold monstrance harmonised very pleasingly against the warm colours of the church. The whole experience was very soothing. It made the love of God seem very tender and healing.

Another example is the sort of atmosphere invoked (for me) by the groups of statues you sometimes see outside Irish Catholic churches; that is, large white statues, often showing Calvary scenes, usually quite weather-beaten.

Tenderness and softness don't come to mind here. Rather, heroism and purity and sacrifice. Hardness. But it's just as moving and elevating an "atmosphere".

Here's the thing; I find it very difficult to approach God except through the intermediary of one of these atmospheres, one of these aesthetics. It's not for me to say whether this is a good or a bad thing. But, unless convinced otherwise, I'm assuming that it's not a bad thing.

I'm grateful for these associations. They point me to God.

There's a much bigger point arising out of all of this. I suspect that I am not unique or special, and that many (or even most) of our loyalties, beliefs and even our quests come from associations such as these-- whether in religion, politics, working life, love, or any other realm of human activity. How much of our lives are determined by a fragrance, a particular tone of voice, a pattern of light and shadow, that grasped our imaginations at just the right moment?

The Silly Season

I probably shouldn't blog when I'm in a bad mood, but I'm irritated by an article in the Catholic Herald which is an example of a tendency I really dislike in Catholic writing. I won't mention the author, but you can read it at the link below. The headline is "Paul McCartney's Catholic Pulse":

https://thecatholicherald.com/paul-mccartneys-catholic-pulse/

McCartney's music, don't you know, has been shaped by his Catholic background:

You can hear it if you listen closely—not in grand declarations, but in the tremble beneath the chord changes. Catholicism doesn’t shout; it seeps. And in McCartney’s work, it’s everywhere. It’s in the longing, the ache, the dignity of sorrow that feels too ancient to be accidental. The Beatles may have been the soundtrack of a cultural revolution, but underneath the haircuts and heresies was something older, quieter, heavier. Something liturgical. Even when the lyrics weren’t explicitly religious, the emotional architecture often was: guilt, grace, reverence, loss, redemption. Take “Let It Be.” Most hear a gentle plea for peace, a soft balm in the chaos of the times. But listen again. That “Mother Mary” isn’t just his mum. It’s the Blessed Virgin, cloaked in the ambiguity McCartney has always favored. Raised on Hail Marys, candle smoke, and the slow solemnity of Sunday Mass, McCartney didn’t need to spell it out. Catholicism teaches you that not everything sacred has to be brazenly broadcast—it can be whispered, veiled, encoded in melody.

Well, really. Couldn't you say that about any music that you happen to like?

Paul McCartney must be one of the most interviewed people in the history of the human race. If his Catholic background was important to him, he would have said so by now. It's clearly not important to him.

As for the "Mother Mary" reference in "Let It Be"...McCartney is an affable fellow and has always been happy to have this interpreted in a religious way, if anybody wants to do so. But he's said quite explicitly that it refers to a vision of his mother.

This kind of thing is reminiscent of the Greek father in My Big Fat Greek Wedding who insists that every word is ultimately derived from Greek. It's endearing in that case, but in a published article one expects a more serious argument.

It wouldn't be worth mentioning if it was an isolated case. But there are a lot of articles like this.

(For a group of Liverpudlians of Irish extraction, what's remarkable about the Beatles is how little their Catholic or Irish upbringing seems to have influenced them. George Harrison's last album featured a song mocking the Church.)

The Pope and Nationalism

In his Pentecost sermon, Pope Leo had some words of criticism for "political nationalism": "Where there is love, there is no room for prejudice, for 'safety' zones that separate us from our neighbors, for the exclusionary mentality that, tragically, we now see manifesting itself even in political nationalisms".

What does any of this mean? Is exclusion always a bad thing? Is it "exclusionary" that only believing Catholics in a state of grace can receive Holy Communion? Is it "exclusionary" that only men can be ordained? Is it "exclusionary" that Catholic marriage only exists between a man and a woman?

Is it "exclusionary" that national sentiment is directed towards our countrymen and women, rather than the rest of the world? Doesn't everybody in the world have their own nation, whether or not that nation has its own state?

What is nationalism? There are plenty of definitions out there, but to me it's simply belief in the institution of the nation and a desire for this institution to survive. This doesn't seem controversial or radical to me.

It seems especially odd that recent Popes have been so hostile to nationalism, when nationalists are generally supportive of social conservatism, religion, and the sanctity of life. Globalists, on the other hand, usually oppose all these things.

I'm particularly baffled by the Holy Father's use of the word "now": "The exclusionary mentality that, tragically, we now see manifesting itself in political nationalisms."

Is it really the case, as so many commentators (including Pope Leo) seem to assume, that the wave of populist nationalism passing through the developed world is something new? Is it not, rather, a delayed reaction to the thing that is really new: the project of globalism, which includes demographic change on a scale never seen before? I don't think the populations of Europe and the Americas have suddenly become nationalist. I think they always were (at least in a latent way) but they have only now woken up to the project of their ruling elites.

These are well-rehearsed arguments on this blog. I apologise to regular readers who may be bored by them. But they come to mind again in the light of Pope Leo's words.

It would be helpful if Pope Leo were to release an encyclical or other document on the place of the nation in the modern world, and particularly on how the plurality of human cultures are to be protected without the nation and nationalism. Until then, with all due respect to the Supreme Pontiff, I remain a nationalist-- a cultural nationalist primarily, but a political nationalist as well.

Another Thought on Fascination

 I was writing about fascination recently. I wrote:

This whole business of fascination is, inevitably, fascinating in itself. Human beings are remarkable creatures. One would assume we have the same basic bundle of desires and objectives, each of which would ultimately boil down to some animalistic imperative. But in fact, as C.S. Lewis once wrote, "we are inveterate poets". It seems to me that what draws us to any activity, pursuit, or allegiance is usually that our imagination has been seized in some way. And everybody's imagination seems to react in a very individual way. So perhaps it's rather futile to attempt to communicate a fascination.

I've been reading the first volume of a multi-volume biography of John F. Kennedy by Nigel Hamilton, Reckless Youth. The passage below caught my attention. It's a quotation from a friend of Kennedy, who wrote an article about the sinking of Kennedy's boat during WWII, an event which won Kennedy hero status: "What appealed to me about the Kennedy story was his night in the water, his account of floating in the current, being brought back to the same point from which he'd drifted off. It was the same kind of theme that fascinated me always about human survival... It was really that aspect that interested me, rather than his heroics. The aspect of fate that threw him back into a current and brought him back again. His account of it is very strange. A nightmarish thing altogether."

I once wrote a whole blog post on the genesis of artistic works (read it here), where I wrote:

I've often suspected that the real motivation for any work of art is a burning desire to share some image, atmosphere or moment which is intensely personal and specific. Let me put it this way; a woman might write an eight-hundred page novel which contains all sorts of deep observations on human nature, on memory, on language, on any number of other universal themes-- but the real essence of the novel is not any of these, but a short description of a mother brushing her daughter's hair before a mirror, while snow falls outside. This is what the lady yearned to express, to give life to; everything else was really just to keep the readers and the critics happy. All the philosophising can be analysed to death; this is irreducible and living.

This suspicion, in fact, is given support by many of the accounts I've read of the origin of creative works. Dracula grew out of the image of Jonathan Harker being surrounded by the three female vampires in Castle Dracula, until they are beaten back by Dracula himself. The Chronicles of Narnia all grew out of the image of a faun carrying parcels in a snowy wood. The Stand by Stephen King (a book of 1424 pages in its uncut version) grew out of a phrase King heard in a sermon on the radio: "Once in every generation the plague will fall among them." 

Even the way in which an author (or anybody else) is fascinated by something is incredibly specific. Take this often-quoted excerpt from an interview Samuel Becket gave: "I am interested in the shape of ideas even if I do not believe them. There is a wonderful sentence in Augustine. I wish I would remember the Latin. It is even finer in Latin than in English. ‘Do not despair; one of the thieves was saved. Do not presume; one of the thieves was damned.’ That sentence has a wonderful shape. It is the shape that matters." Beckett insisted his interest in the phrase (which he used in his work) was not theological, although it's well-known that he liked to be enigmatic.

My own experience is that even supposedly simple tastes, such as eating, can be affected by the imagination. Apparently Winston Churchill once told a waiter: "Take away this pudding. It has no theme." I can understand that.

I'm interested in this phenomenon for its own sake. But I also think it has a relevance for politics, society, history, religion, and pretty much every other field of life.

Happy Pentecost

Pentecost is one of my favourite moments in the Bible and one of my favourite mysteries of the Rosary. (My other favourites are the Presentation and the Transfiguration.)

I like the "shock and awe" of Pentecost, the presence of powerful imagery: a mighty wind and tongues of fire.

Despite much searching, and despite its popularity with painters through the ages, I've never been able to find a depiction of Pentecost that satisfies me. Every single depiction is too understated for my liking. Surely any attempt to portray Pentecost visually should be a case of "go big or go home". (Also, the "mighty wind" is generally left out. Obviously, you can't directly portray wind, but you should be able to imply it with a little imagination.)

So I'm going to be a terrible, terrible person and use an A.I.-generated image for this post. I'm not happy with that one, either, even though it took several efforts to find one that was even nearly suitable.

Saints of the Yellow Fever

In the summer of 1878, in Memphis in Tennessee,
There walked through the streets of the city a demon no eyes could see.
It brought with it desolation; full five thousand lives were cut short.
In the guise of the Yellow Fever, King Death held a gruesome court.

Nobody knew where it came from, and nothing could hold it back.
Its shadow fell further than Memphis, this plague they called “Yellow Jack”.
It ravaged through New Orleans, St. Louis, and Vicksburg, too
And twice ten thousand pitiful souls it swiftly, painfully slew.

Whoever could leave the cities had left, whoever could flee had fled,
And only the poor were left behind, to tremble among the dead.
And yet, in this Valley of Darkness, one fellowship chose to toil:
All valiant priests of the Catholic faith, and many from Erin’s Isle.

O’Brien and Fahey and Kelly, McGarvey and Mooney and Ryan,
All names of the Christian soldiers who fell on this dread battle-line.
When one had died of the deadly plague, another would take his place.
The Saints of the Yellow Fever, the infantry of God’s grace.

When all had abandoned the dying, God’s ministers still came near
To give them the precious Viaticum, their last confessions to hear,
To take from the arms of dead mothers the poor infant left all alone,
To hold a last drink to burning lips, to witness a dying groan.

In the city of Chattanooga they still speak of Patrick Ryan
From Nenagh in Tipperary, a young priest as brave a lion.
His tomb lies in the Basilica. The valiant path that he trod
Has won him the love of its people, the title of Servant of God.

So hail to the martyrs of Memphis, their brothers wherever they fell,
A beacon to burn for the ages, a breathtaking story to tell.
McGarvey and Mooney and Kelly, names bright with an unfading gloss.
The saints of the Yellow Fever, who fell at the foot of the Cross.

All of the details in this "ballad" can be found in the book Heroes and Heroines of Memphis by Father D.A. Quinn, which is freely available to read on the Internet Archive.

You can read about Fr. Patrick Ryan in many places, including my article in the Summer Special of Ireland's Own, which is in the shops as I write this.

I've long had the plan of writing a series of poems and ballads glorifying Irish Catholic history. My aspiration is for these poems to get into general circulation. So if you like this "ballad", please feel free to share it on social media or anywhere else.

Blog Thoughts

Once again I find myself pondering the point of my blog. It's been going now since 2011, so I intend to keep it going indefinitely. But I often find myself what direction I should take it in-- if any particular direction.

When I started it, I had the idea that it would be fairly newsy, essentially a series of responses to attacks on the Catholic Church in the Irish media. That idea didn't last very long.

I sometimes wonder whether it should be more "substantial"-- for instance, book reviews, movie reviews, commentary on current issues, articles on aspects of Irish Catholic history, that kind of thing. This would involve a fair amount of disciplined research.

I suppose the most recurrent theme in my blog is "fascination". I constantly seem to be trying to communicate some fascination or other, often a rather elusive one. Those are the posts that mean the most to me, but I don't know how much they appeal to other people. Communicating fascination might be more the province of poetry-- but it's hard to get anyone to read poetry.

This whole business of fascination is, inevitably, fascinating in itself. Human beings are remarkable creatures. One would assume we have the same basic bundle of desires and objectives, each of which would ultimately boil down to some animalistic imperative. But in fact, as C.S. Lewis once wrote, "we are inveterate poets". It seems to me that what draws us to any activity, pursuit, or allegiance is usually that our imagination has been seized in some way. And everybody's imagination seems to react in a very individual way. So perhaps it's rather futile to attempt to communicate a fascination.

I must admit I was rather disappointed that my "Irishness in Everyday Life" didn't get more of a response. I even asked various Facebook friends who are still on Facebook to share it. It seemed to me like the kind of thing that might spark a wider discussion.

Are blogs passé? I can remember back when they were almost comically modern.

The funny thing about my blog is that virtually nobody I know in "real life" actually reads it. On the other hand, as more and more people are speaking out against the ruling ideology in Ireland, I'm quite proud I have proof that I was opposing it for a long time, when it was neither profitable nor popular.

Ladies and Gentlemen

For once, my blog post title is purely descriptive. I want to write about the phrase "ladies and gentlemen"-- that and nothing else.

The single biggest shock to me in the onslaught of political correctness was when, in 2017, the London Underground announced (no pun intended) that it was no longer going to use the phrase "ladies and gentlemen".

One person suggested I was overreacting, calling the news "trivial". I don't find it trivial at all. Language is a very important battlefield, a truth very well understand by radical social reformers.

My friend Roger Buck has used this formulation when it comes to describing the progressive mindset: "Thou shalt be abstract, thou shalt be abstract, though shalt be abstract."

Everything that is specific and particular is suppressed for fear that somebody will be excluded, somebody will be offended. In the case of "Ladies and gentlemen", the fear is that people who consider themselves neither male nor female (a very small minority) might be upset.

I'm staggered that people can't see where this logic leads, if followed. All colour, charm, and character is to be drained from language, and from social institutions, for the purely negative aspiration of not hurting anybody's feelings. What about the feelings that are hurt by this imposition of sterile sameness?

Read this advice from the Equality Institute (whoever they are), if you have the stomach. It reminds me of the chilling line from Orwell's 1984: "It's a beautiful thing, the destruction of words."

Thankfully, the phrase still seems to be in common currency...for now.

Here is a list of all the things I love about this phrase:

1) It evokes both the difference and the complementarity of the sexes.

2) It's graceful and genteel. It conjures an image of men in dinner jackets and women in chiffon and taffeta-- even if everybody is wearing jeans and t-shirts.

3) It immediately creates an atmosphere. If somebody clears their throat (or taps on a microphone) and says "Ladies and gentlemen", a strain of formality has been infused into proceedings.

4) It's friendly.

5) Ladies come first. Which is chivalrous. Which is nice.

6) In acknowledging the principal division of any gathering (unless it is same-sex), it acknowledges that we are more than pebbles in a pile.

7) It is a link with the past.

Encouragement

In this excellent discussion, John Lennox (a Christian mathematician) and agnostic Alex O'Connor agree that "the conversation is shifting" when it comes to belief in God. Skip to that section here, though the whole conversation is interesting.

Alex O'Connor mentions this report from the Bible Society, one of the many indications that religious practice is increasing in Britain.

Deo gratias!

Four Men on a Balcony

Last night I was feeling very gloomy, but I cheered up after watching this video from Jimmy Akin, my favourite Catholic apologist and evangelist. The subject matter might be dismissed as rather insubstantial-- it's a comparison of the different ways the last four Popes greeted the pilgrims in St. Peter's Square, immediately after their election.

I actually don't think it's insubstantial at all. But, even if it was, the whole premise of the video delighted me. I love anything that skips over the surface of history, so to speak. Like an article about James Bond theme tunes, or general election traditions, or memorable blackouts. I like the idea of jumping over years and decades to link particular moments and create a distinctive capsule history.

I specifically liked this video because it looks at a very particular tradition, one that occurs rarely and irregularly, and that's seldom considered apart from the whole drama of the papal election.

I love tradition for many reasons. One reason is that traditions so often combine opposites in a pleasing way. The tradition of the Pope appearing on the balcony is, of course, one that touches on profound and grave spiritual realities. It's very serious, and it's surrounded by all the dignity and pomp of the Vatican.

But it's also a party atmosphere. The square is full of smiling faces, of people of all sorts-- chanting, clapping, carrying signs.

It's a funny thing, a strange thing-- watching the video, I felt "the healing fountains start", at the sight of these cheering crowds over five decades,

I suppose, without realizing it, I have started thinking of the life of faith as all suffering, crisis, controversy, and endurance. I'm sure this has something to do with the storms of the last pontificate, and something also to do with the constant attack on the Faith in the modern world.

There is, of course, a profound joy in Christianity even in the face of suffering, loss, tribulation, etc. But it was refreshing (and more than refreshing) to be reminded of simple joy, lighthearted joy.

Another pleasure I took in the video, which I take in all Jimmy Akin's videos, is his very calm and genial presentation.

To turn to the content of the video...I found it very surprising. Of the four Popes, which would you imagine to be the most animated and exuberant when he came to the balcony?

To my own great surprise, it was...Pope Benedict! Yes, it was the shy scholar-Pope who waved both his arms, clenched his hands in a triumphant gesture, and wore a huge smile.

Now, who was the least animated and expressive?

Again to my surprise, it was Pope Francis. The author of The Joy of the Gospel simply stood on the balcony and stared at the crowds, hardly even smiling. He waved a few times, that's all.

Well, one might easily say, perhaps he was simply stunned and overwhelmed. And perhaps he was. But it's still a striking contrast.

Pope John Paul II was not quite as animated as Pope Benedict, but much more so than Pope Francis. He raised his palms upwards to heaven in a gesture that he seems often to have used, judging by pictures. It's as though he was urging the faithful upwards.

The video stirred up, once again, my love for St. John Paul II.

All through my life, he always appeared to me as an icon of pure goodness. I can remember there was a large photograph of him on the wall of my very first classroom. The image radiated a grandfatherly benevolence.

I am most definitely a JPII Catholic, even though I only started practicing my faith during the pontificate of Benedict. I think I absorbed the influence of the great Polish Pope without ever paying a huge amount of attention to him. Around the turn of the millennium, I bought my father a thick biography of JPII called Man of the Century, for Christmas, though I only skimmed it myself.

Perhaps more than anything else, John Paul conveyed a tremendous strength and solidity, truly the "rock" of St. Peter. And yet, when I turned to his writings, I discovered a graciousness and fundamental optimism which is quite a contrast to the embattled tone of many conservatives.

That's what I experience most when I read his writings: optimism. Somehow, the road doesn't seem quite as difficult as before.

When I watched Pope Benedict come to the balcony, actual tears came into my eyes. We know what it cost him now. We also know how viciously he was slandered and demeaned by the media.

As for the new Pope, my reaction is pretty much the same as everybody in my own theological tribe: I am impressed by the dignity and gentleness of his bearing. There is a sense that normal service has been resumed, and I pray that this is doesn't turn out to be false.

Which brings us back to Pope Francis.

In the video, Jimmy Akin said that he was reluctant to criticize Francis when he was the reigning Pope. Now that this is no longer the case, he is more willing to do so.

This was my attitude as well. After an initial reaction of dismay, when I was pretty vocal-- especially about Amoris Laetitia-- I resolved to be more respectful and restrained. Especially as I witnessed the gleeful abandon with which many Catholic commentators were laying into the Holy Father. Increasingly it seemed as though everything he said or did became a trigger for denunciation-- even when it was perfectly reasonable.

However, much of what he did and said did actually distress me.

His first appearance on the balcony was a good (albeit minor) example. The media loved the fact that he appeared in simple white papal robes. But virtually all conservative Catholics were perturbed by it. As G.K. Chesterton once wrote: "Humility will always, by preference, go clad in scarlet and gold; pride is that which refuses to let gold and scarlet impress it or please it too much." More to the point, ecclesial garments aren't there for the glory of the wearer but for the glory of God, and for the sake of symbolism and tradition.

Perhaps Pope Francis has been too harshly criticized for this. After all, John Paul the First refused to don the traditional papal tiara, and every subsequent Pope has followed his example. But how far can you go in jettisoning ceremony and tradition? Would a Pope eventually have to emerge on the balcony in jeans and a t-shirt, the ultimate in humility?

In my workplace, I've long been bothered by the phenomenon of longstanding employees choosing not to have any kind of event when they retire. A colleague who worked in the library since I was an infant didn't even tell anyone she was retiring until that very day, and asked for no fuss about it at all. This really bothered me, especially since she had been a mentor and a friend to me for so long. It seemed wrong not to have some kind of marker.

Recently, I said to another colleague: "The event isn't just for the sake of the person leaving. It's for other people just as much". He agreed. (Of course, there might be good reasons someone doesn't want to have an event-- for instance, if they are just too emotional. I asked not to have any kind of workplace event when I was getting married, since I was so stressed by all the questions about the preparations and didn't want to encourage them. I regret it now, though.)

A lot to say about one video, I know. But it really did make an impression on me.

From Our Studio in Spokane...

One of the things I've noticed about myself recently is that I'm taking more and more pleasure in little things. This is happening spontaneously and it's not part of some kind of philosophy, unless it's unconsciously so.

Words, for instance. I've loved words all my life but my pleasure in them is growing all the time. This can be a bit lonely because nobody ever wants to talk about words or phrases. A throwaway comment that you like this or that word is considered OK, but keep it going for more than a minute or two and people give you funny looks.

For instance, I was quite hopeful that this post on words and phrases (which I hugely enjoyed writing) might spark some discussion but only one person commented. I'm very grateful they did.

But I'm not talking about words today. I'm talking about TV studios. And YouTube studios.

Earlier today I was watching a segment from the Michael Knowles show. When I first became aware of Michael Knowles, I didn't like him very much. He had a smug and snarky air about him that I found off-putting. But then I heard him doing some more serious interviews, such as one with Bishop Robert Barron, and I realized he's a serious thinker.

I really like his new studio. It's very cosy and classical. I wonder why all studios aren't more like this.

Dark wood, a window, soft light, a painting, a Victorian desk lamp...what else could you ask for?

It's really ridiculous how much balm it brought to my soul. I was feeling quite dejected when I clicked on the video and it improved my mood.

Why doesn't every room look like this? A few days ago, I was watching The Hound of the Baskervilles, a 1957 Hammer horror starring the immortal Cushing-Lee duo. The scenes set in 221B Baker Street gave me the same vast pleasure.

I wouldn't want any human artform to settle into a dreary sameness, and that includes interior decoration. But this sort of cosy Victorian look seems to me the pinnacle of domestic comfort.

It's said that we all tend to get nostalgic for whatever was current in our childhood. Well, that's certainly not the case with me and television studios. The late eighties and early nineties were an era of hideous studios, at least in Ireland.

What kind of atmosphere should a studio try to create? In my view, it should be a warm, cosy, familial sort of atmosphere. A window opening onto the world is also appropriate.

Many producers seem to think it's more important for a studio to project modernism, excitement, the cutting edge. Lots of glass and bright lights seem to be the usual way to create this atmosphere. I don't like this at all and find it unwelcoming.

I also really like the studio of EWTN's The Journey Home programme.

(By the way, here's another little thing that gives me a lot of pleasure. I was reminded of it when I was writing this post. It's the phrase "home media". I'll often read about particular films on Wikipedia and, as you doubtless know, Wikipedia articles are broken down into different categories. For films, one such category is "Home Media". It's such an elegant phrase. It makes the simple act of putting a DVD on seem comparable to a cinema visit. At least, it does to me.)

A Thought on Atheists Returning to the Faith

Yesterday, I came across the YouTube channel of a young Irish man who is a recent convert to Catholicism from atheism. (Not a revert, as he was raised atheist.) He gives an account of his journey from New Atheism below.

https://youtu.be/Kyu3kqqXGxk?si=HT55XLM_qvr8fHcc

This has become a rather common phenomenon. I've ceased to be surprised at stories of young men (and others, such as Ayaan Hirsi Ali) who have gone from New Atheism to believer.

Of course, I'm delighted at this phenomenon. But I'm surprised that evidence rarely seems to be the main consideration. In fact, most of these converts are quite explicit that they left atheism, and particularly New Atheism, because it was emotionally unsatisfying, or because it gave their life no meaning, or because it proved helpless against various cultural menaces such as woke.

I feel a sense of bemusement at this. I can vividly remember the high tide of New Atheism. The battle was entirely fought along the front of evidence. Where is the hard evidence? Extraordinary claims demanded extraordinary evidence. Why should I believe in Christ rather than Thor or Osiris? We must follow truth wherever it leads. Those of who took it upon ourselves to defend Christianity accepted these terms.

Now, it seems, it wasn't really about hard evidence at all. I'm not criticizing anybody for that. It makes perfect sense to me that the existential questions would come first. But it shows how misleading rhetoric can be.

(I should say, incidentally, that the video above may not be a good example of this. I see, on this chap's YouTube channel, that he has a lot of videos about philosophy and he seems very thoughtful indeed. Doubtless he was just giving a simplified account in this case because he only had a few minutes. But I think it's generally true.)

Something similar has happened with regard to politics. Twenty years ago, a young person who took an interest in politics, and who wasn't on the left, was most likely to be a libertarian. "What right has anyone to tell anyone else what they should or shouldn't do, if they're not harming anyone else?" That was their great standard. I found it hard to answer that question then, as I do now, even though I'm not a libertarian.

And yet many of the former libertarians have now become social conservatives, nationalists, or communitarians of some kind. Their rationale is generally something like: "I realized libertarianism couldn't prevent the bad social and cultural changes that were happening" But that's not really an answer to their question.

Kavanagh's Weekly

The UCD Library Cultural Heritage Collections Blog has published my blog post on Kavanagh's Weekly, a rather scurrilous publication edited by Patrick Kavanagh for thirteen weeks in 1952.

You can read it here.

Patrick Kavanagh isn't one of my favourite poets, although some of his poems ("Advent", "Raglan Road", "To The Man After the Harrow", "Epic") are truly great. But he also wrote a lot of dull, flat stuff and his constant attitudinizing was tiresome. His reputation in Ireland today is partly based on the fact that he wrote some genuinely popular poetry, probably the last Irish poet to do so. But it's also based on the fact that he was reacting against the Gaelic Revival, and also that he exemplifies a sort of vague spirituality that post-Catholic Ireland finds congenial.

Nevertheless I'm fascinated by Patrick Kavanagh as a person. I've read his biography at least twice, but the principal source of my fascination is Anthony Cronin's hilarious Dead as Doornails, a memoir of Dublin literary circles after World War Two. God knows how often I've read that one. I've lost count.

Kavanagh's Weekly is an entertaining subject, but it's also an example of how scattershot condemnation is ultimately pointless. It cancels itself out. Kavanagh's Weekly lashed out at pretty much every aspect of Irish life, every Irish institution. It's hard to take such compulsive oppositionalism seriously. I sometimes worry that Irish conservatives fall into the same tendency.

Irishness in Everyday Life

I've often asked myself the question: how "Irish" is Ireland when it comes to everyday life?

Everyday life has always been my benchmark for evaluating pretty much everything; nationality, poetry, religion, and so forth. For instance, when I started writing poetry seriously (around the age of seventeen), I only allowed myself the most mundane subjects: swimming pools, traffic islands, waiting rooms, and the like. That seemed like the most challenging place to find poetry, but also the most meaningful.

Although I've always been on the side of "re-enchanting" modern society, I've also felt that this has to be on the level of the everyday, or else it's meaningless.

But what is "everyday life"? That's an interesting question. 

Everyday life for a high-security prisoner, or for someone working on an oil rig, is very different to everyday life for a taxi-driver or a housewife. Everyday life was also very different during the Covid lockdowns than it is right now. The idea of "everyday life" would make an interesting blog post in itself. It's not this one. Let's just assume everyday life is what happens on a weekday (and weeknight) for an Irish person living in an ordinary town, city or suburb.

So, what would be distinctively Irish about this person's everyday experience? I've decided to examine it under headings.

1) Language

The vast majority of Irish people speak the English language exclusively. Interactions between strangers are always in English, outside special contexts. So in this we wouldn't differ from all the Anglophone countries in the world. (I'm just talking about language here, not accent or dialect.)

When we look at nationality from the viewpoint of everyday life, it's clear why the promotion of the Irish language was the top priority for the Gaelic Revival, and indeed for the new Irish state-- and it's also clear why its failure was so lamentable. Language surrounds us every single day. Nothing else is so all-embracing.

The sad truth is you won't hear any Irish in Ireland, outside the Gaeltachts and Irish language schools. You could walk around Dublin city centre all day and hear every language except Irish. This is not just me exaggerating. I've asked immigrants who've been in Ireland for several years if they've ever heard anyone speaking Irish. The answer has always been "No."

It's not even used for greetings or pleasantries. I've sometimes forced myself to say "go raibh maith agat" (thank you) to shop assistants, but it feels awkward and strange.

Of course, we do have bilingual signage, and bilingual announcements on public transport. This might be denounced as tokenism, and I expect it will come under increase criticism in the future. But it's better than nothing, and indeed it's very visible (and audible).

The use of the Irish language on things like coffee mugs and welcome mats (Céad Míle Fáilte) is fairly common.

2) Physical appearance

I've never been convinced that there's a distinctive Irish physical appearance. We have a lot of redheads, famously, but I don't think there's so many that you'd notice. We are said to be especially pale, but I don't think that's especially noticeable either.

I've heard people say this or that person looks Irish, and I've sometimes thought it myself. When I've thought this, it has to do with the lips especially, though it would be hard to describe. I don't think there's any generally-agreed concept of what physical features make someone look Irish.

A colleague of mine once said that she knew when she came to the boarding gate for Dublin, in an international airport, because everybody was suddenly uglier. Make of that what you will!

3) Clothes

I'm doubt Irish people dress any differently than people in neighbouring countries, or even in most of the developed world. It's not like you see a lot of people walking around in Aran sweaters. There is a student in UCD who always wears a kilt, but he has an American accent. We mostly stick to the international uniform of jeans, sports shoes, and sweaters-- that sort of thing.

Of course, quite a lot of people wear t-shirts or hoodies that proclaim some kind of loyalty, interest or hobby. Sometimes this is Irish in nature. A fair amount of people wear GAA jerseys.

Some conservatives disdain t-shirts (or any clothing with writing on it) but I like them for this very reason-- the potential for distinctiveness.

4) Food and drink

Again, I'm not sure that the food and drink you'll encounter in everyday Irish life will be at all distinctive, although this category is a bit more promising than the others so far.

It's said that Irish people are dedicated tea-drinkers, which we are (along with the English). However, I think that even this is receding, as coffee culture becomes more engrained (pun  fully intended). I didn't even know what a latté or a cappuccino was when I was growing up. Now, I'll admit, I drink more coffee than tea, partly because coffee doesn't have to draw and I like my tea strong.

The full Irish breakfast is really just the full English breakfast, and I doubt anyone would have it except on a Sunday morning.

We do eat a lot of potatoes, though. And in recent years, Irish cuisine has thrown up the Spice Bag-- pun once again intended. (Actually, this innovation delights me.)

There are, however, some distinctively Irish biscuits (cookies, for any Americans reading).

5) Personal Names

I think is actually the first category where there's a meaningful difference between Ireland and other Anglophone countries.

Irish personal names are very popular. There will be no classroom, office, or rugby squad where you won't encounter names such as Sinéad, Conor, Rory, Aisling, Cormac, Brendan, Deirdre, etc. etc.

My rough guess is that about a quarter of Irish people have distinctively Irish names.

Indeed, Irish parents seem to be pushing the boat out more and more in this regard, with previously-rare names such as Étain, Síofra, and Ultan becoming quite ordinary.

There are also distinctive Irish nicknames, such as Packie for Patrick (rural) and Git for Christopher (urban). Don't ask me to explain the second one there.

This seems to be a lasting legacy of the Gaelic Revival. A hundred years ago, Irish personal names were very uncommon.

6) Accent

This is the big one. Within Anglophone countries, surely, it's the main distinguishing mark of individual countries.

There are lots of accents in Ireland, but to my mind the main distinctions are the Dublin area, Ulster, and everywhere else.

Some counties, such as Donegal and Kerry, have their own unmistakeable accents. In my view, the Kerry accent is the most appealing in the country.

The North Dublin accent and the South Dublin accent are also very different.

Indeed, immigrants who come to Ireland generally pick up some Irish inflections pretty quickly.

There's a lot to say about accent, but suffice it to say that this is a real distinction.

7) Slang and Idioms

This is also a big one, though not as big as accent. Irish people really do say things like "eejit", "having the craic", and "grand" all the time.

Slang changes constantly by its very nature. Dublin slang has come and gone within my own lifetime. I can remember when "bleedin' rapid" was a common slang term to express enthusiasm. It was generally treated with amusement because it was new, but it's already obsolete.

When it comes to dialect, I get the impression that the stock of distinctively Irish dialect words is constantly diminishing. Terms like "the messages" (shopping) and "minerals" (fizzy drinks) were common in my childhood but are now rarely heard.

Irish idioms are, happily, very common. It would be interesting to make a sociolinguistic study of this. Some Irish idioms are used self-consciously, but there are plenty that are used unselfconsciously, without (I think) people even realizing they are Irish. For instance, I never knew that to "eat the head off" someone (meaning to give them a right telling-off) was an Irish phrase until I researched this section!

(I suspect that people both avoid and use Irish idioms because they are Irish-- even the same people. A lot of this happens at a subconscious level.)

Here are a few idioms that are extremely common in Ireland: "You're a star" (thank you), "You're very good" (thank you), "At all at all" (for emphasis, often used ironically but not always), "No bother to you" (you did that well, or you'll do that well), "Chancing your arm" (taking a risk), "Fair play" (well done)...there are loads and loads of them. A gansey-load! (Although that last one is dated and rarely used spontaneously.)

8) Music

Is traditional Irish music a part of everyday Irish life? Yes, I would say, although it's a qualified "yes".

If you go into an Irish pub (which seems like something that might happen on any given night), you're very likely to hear traditional Irish music, either live or recorded. If you walk past an Irish tourist gift shop (and there are lots of them in Dublin city centre) you'll hear it wafting out onto the air.

I've heard bus drivers playing traditional Irish music on the radio, and colleagues listening to it in the staffroom.

You probably won't hear it as background music in a shopping centre or a supermarket or other public building, but sometimes you will. One year, SuperValu played traditional Irish music for about a week around St. Patrick's Day.

Some buskers play traditional Irish music, although I'd say it's a fairly small minority.

At the time of writing (I love that phrase), an Irish traditional-style song is actually top of the Irish singles chart. Most weeks, the Irish charts closely resemble the British charts, but there seems to be a fair amount of difference. This week, for instance, I notice that the number ten spot is also occupied by an Irish band.

Outside traditional music, Irish pop and rock is also very popular here. A band like Thin Lizzy is popular all around the world, but I'm sure they're more popular in Ireland. (I actually saw a student wearing a Thin Lizzy t-shirt today, after I'd written the above!)

Funnily enough, it took a good while for homegrown rock and pop artists to draw on Irish themes and musical forms. Rory Gallagher was a pioneer of Irish rock from the seventies onwards, but (quite remarkably) he never wrote a single song with an Irish theme, or an Irish "flavour". I think this only became popular in the nineties with the Cranberries and the Corrs, although Clannad were forerunners in the eighties.

9) Entertainment

If you were to visit your local multiplex on this hypothetical ordinary weekday, it's highly unlikely you'd find an Irish film playing. Almost all of the films would be American.

Nevertheless there are a fair amount of Irish films produced. Strictly speaking they are usually international productions. They tend to cause quite a fuss in their native land, with a lot of  media coverage. Sometimes they even spark (gulp) "public debates", which of course only ever tend in one direction.

Commercial pop culture in Ireland has always primarily been American or British (with some exceptions, such as the "showbands" of the 1950s and 1960s). Irish television always depended heavily on imports. Nevertheless there have been a lot of homemade television shows which were hugely popular, such as The Late Late Show or Glenroe, and more recently the crime drama Love/Hate.

A few phrases from the Gay Byrne era of The Late Late Show are still commonly used in the Irish vernacular: "One for everyone in the audience", "Roll it there, Roisín", and "Delira and excira" (delighted and excited).

As far as I can tell, streaming services like Netflix have a fair amount of Irish content.

Irish entertainers seem to be holding their own on YouTube and the internet, such as the massively popular Garren Noone.

10) Transport

Of course, Ireland has its own public transport system, which includes Irish-language announcements. The announcements are also made in Irish accents...for now.

There is an (apparently) distinctive Irish custom of thanking the bus driver as you alight. I'm pretty sure this began in my own lifetime, as I think I remember people commenting on it as a new thing. Of course, it's charming, although it feels a bit ridiculous sometimes.

It's so pervasive that Dublin Bus actually had a recruitment poster with the caption: "Get thanked for a living", and it has led to at least one skit.

I've actually had a bus driver reprove me for not thanking him! Many years ago. Admittedly I was the first and only passenger on the bus.

Ireland has no equivalent of the Tube or the Subway. Someone once joked that we should have delayed independence until the British built one.

The Irish do not queue as well as the English. It's often chaos getting onto a bus.

Of course, we have our own airlines, Aer Lingus and Ryanair. Holidays may not be a part of everyday life, by definition, but talking about them certainly is. Is it ever! (I've heard many more Ryanair stories than Aer Lingus stories.)

11) Religion

Religion has more or less retreated from the public sphere in Ireland, outside funerals-- and more and more people are having non-religious funerals. I can't remember the last time I heard anyone even mention attending a traditional Irish wake. But the practice of buying Mass cards still seems popular and you see them advertised in newsagents and other shops.

Speaking of funerals, there is (as described in this diocesan document) "a relatively new custom" which involves "the presentation of mementoes of the person who has died symbolising aspects of their life, work, achievements, interests, etc", during the funeral Mass. I think they are usually put beside the coffin. I don't know if this is distinctively Irish.

Is death an everyday experience? Most people attend funerals fairly regularly, so I would say it is.

Incidentally, Ireland is (presumably) distinctive in having one website which has become the definitive register of deaths, even though it's a commercial website. That's Rip.ie. (It recently started charging fees for notices, which led to some speculation it would lose its monopoly-- but that doesn't seem to have happened so far.) I recently learned my uncle had died from checking it, on spec. He was very old.

But back to religion. There are still some oratories in older shopping centres, such as Blanchardstown and the Santry Omni Centre, and they are well-attended.

First Holy Communion is still an important rite-of-passage. The Church here has, for decades, been fighting the tendency for this to become an occasion for conspicuous consumption-- with little success. I assume Confirmation is also a rite-of-passage of some importance, as it used to be, but I don't know that for sure.

People often cross themselves as they pass churches, especially in working-class areas.

I suppose you can say religion still pervades everyday life in that most schools are still (nominally) Catholic, many hospitals are still (nominally) Catholic, and many streets and buildings are named after saints. Surprisingly, the newest Irish public holiday is in honour of St. Bridget, even though it's fashionable to recast her as a feminist goddess.

Irish politicians and public figures never invoke God or religion, unless it's some throwaway comment about thoughts and prayers after a disaster.

12) Sport

Did you see that ludicrous display last night? The thing about Arsenal is, they always try to walk it in!

If you hear somebody talking about sport in Ireland, it will nearly always be English soccer-- in Dublin, at any rate. There's even a tradition of Irish people choosing an English soccer team to support, and referring to them unselfconsciously as "us". (I can't mock it too hard as I was a big Liverpool fan in my teens. Champions, by the way!)

However, GAA games (hurling, Gaelic football, and camogie or women's hurling) are hugely popular. Not only at an inter-county level, though that gets most of the attention, but also in the thousands of local clubs the length and breadth of the country. (I love that phrase, "the length and breadth of the country"). These clubs play an important role in social life, and a lot of events occur in their clubhouses.

I've said the the popularity of Irish names is one of the biggest legacies of the Gaelic Revival. But its single biggest legacy is the enduring popularity of Gaelic games. Most playing fields in Ireland have Gaelic games goalposts rather than soccer goalposts, and they are a very commonplace sight, even if you're just walking through a park or past a school.

(I was immensely pleased recently to pass through a Dublin suburban street that was full of flags celebrating the local GAA team's victory in a national championship.)

Sadly, the Gaelic Athletic Association has been very effectively captured by woke, but that seems inevitable.

There are other native Irish games such as handball, rounders, and road bowling, but you won't find them unless you go looking, and nobody ever talks about them.

Big sporting occasions unite the country, although nothing has ever (in my experience) equalled the phenomenon of Italia '90, Ireland's first World Cup championship, in which the Irish soccer reached the quarter-finals. Much has been written about its lasting effect.

In recent years, Irish domestic soccer has become more popular. I saw someone wearing a sports jersey today and asked him what it was. It turned out it was the jersey of St. Patrick's Athletic, a Dublin soccer team.

Games and Entertainment

I can't think of any distinctively Irish indoor games or entertainments. There have been lots of Irish boardgames, but none of them ever achieved the popularity of Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit (even in Ireland).

I've heard the card game Twenty-One described as the national card game, but I'm not sure I ever played it. I very rarely see anyone playing cards these days, anyway.

I don't know if there's ever been a hugely popular Irish videogame, but I'm guessing not.

I've heard that the old Irish pub game "Rings"-- which is basically throwing rings at hooks on a board-- is making a comeback, but in a very small way.

Even back when people played parlour games, none were distinctively Irish. We had Hangman, Charades, Blind Man's Buff (or is it Bluff?)...all the usuals.

Jewellery and Emblems

Claddagh rings are popular, as are copies of the Tara Brooch.

Formerly popular Irish emblems, such as the Irish language's speaker's fainné, the temperance movement's "Pioneer pin", and the Easter Lily which commemorates the 1916 Rising, are very rarely seen today. (Although the Student's Union shop in UCD recently had a sign behind the counter announcing that they sell the fáinne-- I think it's still there, actually. I asked if they sold many, and they told me they sold a few.)

Here's a picture of Dev wearing one.

News and Current Affairs

Progressivism now rules the roost in Ireland and anyone who disagrees with it tends to keep their mouths shut. I'm not going to rant about that here, but it's relevant because it does pervade everyday life. Palestinian flags are everywhere in Ireland right now, although the rash of Ukrainian flags that went up after the Russian invasion have disappeared.

Progressivism is now so much in the ascendant that it has cancelled out the traditional rule that you shouldn't discuss politics in public. One is simply assumed to agree, for instance,  that Brexit was a terrible thing. Disagreeing tends to provoke embarrassment and bafflement rather than anger.

Ireland has its own political system, of course, which means that we have our own political news and talking points. And it's common enough to hear people talking about the latest political controversies, or some interview that has grabbed the headlines.

Many of my conservative friends are in favour of abolishing RTÉ, the national broadcaster, given its very progressive bias. I can't agree. If we didn't have a national broadcaster, I can't imagine some private Irish broadcaster filling the vacuum. And if it did, I doubt it would be any better than RTÉ.

If nothing else, RTÉ gives Irish people something to talk about, a shared national experience-- even if it's just complaining about overpaid presenters.

As for newspapers, they are still widely sold but I rarely see anybody actually reading them, or hear anybody talking about them. This isn't a good thing.

Quite a few phrases taking from Irish politics have entered common usage, often sardonically: "An Irish solution for an Irish problem", "Grotesque, unbelievable, bizarre, and unprecedented", "Looking up every tree in north Dublin", and others.

Mythology and Folklore

This might seem like a strange category, but I include it because of the importance of mythology and folklore in the Gaelic Revival.

As far as I can see, mythology has no presence at all in everyday Irish life-- except for the occasional street or product with a name drawn from Irish legend (nearly always Setanta.)

What about Irish folklore? It had a certain presence in my childhood. I remember being warned, tongue-in-cheek, never to pick up a comb from the ground because it might belong to a banshee. I also heard about the curse put on the Clare hurling team by Biddy Early, the nineteenth-century "witch" (actually a folk-healer). There were also Paddy Englishman, Paddy Irishman and Paddy Scotsman jokes.

How likely are you to encounter Irish folklore in everyday Irish life now? Well, you might hear references to old Dublin street characters like Johnny Forty Coats or Bang Bang-- in Dublin, at least. I honestly can't think of much else.

Of course, almost anything can be considered folklore. Is it "folklore" that fans of the Irish singer Dickie Rock used to shout "spit on me, Dickie!", or that the Skibbereen Eagle once famously warned the Czar of Russia, in a famous editorial, that it was keeping an eye on him? I suppose so. But broadening the term so much makes it rather meaningless. I'm taking folklore in a more classic sense here.

Advertising

Occasionally an Irish ad will become "iconic", as in these cases. The "dancing man" Guinness ad is probably the most enduringly famous. You might hear one of these referenced in everyday life, although it's a long shot.

History

It used to be say that memories were long in Ireland, but I'm not sure that's true anymore. I rarely hear discussions of Irish history in ordinary social life. Most people have a pretty good knowledge of the 1916 Rising and other highpoints of Irish history, but not a whole lot beyond that. Or rather, there's a pretty sharp division between those who are steeped in Irish history and those who aren't.

The two great themes of most of Irish history, nationalism and religion, seem quite irrelevant to most people these days. (Although I believe both are making a comeback, bubbling under the surface.)

I'm trying not to be partisan in this blog post, but it seems fair to say that the historical narrative that is most influential today is Ireland's liberation from a supposedly oppressive, puritanical Catholic Church. Stories such as the contraceptive train, the bishop and the nightie, and De Valera invoking "comely maidens dancing at the crossroads" are frequently invoked-- along with more serious ones such as abuse in the Magdalen Laundries or industrial schools.

Nature

To my shame, I hardly know one bird or tree from another. (I've made efforts.) But it's obvious climate, landscape, and other aspects of nature do indeed influence everyday life.

We don't have tornadoes, hurricanes, siestas, or much snow in Ireland. And our rain is proverbial. The weather is the number one complaint of immigrants and visitors. Jokes about the Irish summer are legion.

When it comes to nature, I suppose I contrast Ireland with America, Australia and other faraway countries. We don't have extreme weather, huge tracts of wilderness, or dangerous wildlife in Ireland. I'm not sure there's so much difference between Britain and Ireland, when it comes to nature. I might be wrong.

Placenames

The vast majority of places-names in Ireland are anglicizations from the Irish language. So we have a lot of places that begin Bally- (town), Kil- (church), and Dun- (fort). And yes, this is very distinctive, and pervades everyday life.

Streets are often named after patriots, saints, or members of the landed gentry back in the day. There are quite a lot of streets named priests, frequently priests of only local fame.

A lot of new housing estates, especially commercial ones, resort to bland and generic names such as Hollybrook. I've heard that there's legislation against this, but I can't find evidence of that.

Speaking of names, Irish pubs rarely have the extravagant and poetic names common in England, such as The Only Running Footman. They tend to be family names, like Nealons, or rather straightforward names, such as The Tolka House. An interesting inversion to the usual stereotype that the Irish are extravagant and the English understated!

The Irish Flag

Compared to the Stars and Stripes in America, the Irish use of the tricolour is very limited. You'll rarely (if ever) see an Irish flag hanging outside an Irish home, although you might see it hanging in its window around St. Patrick's Day, or when Ireland are competing in some big sports tournament.

Public buildings fly it, of course, and so do quite a lot of hotels. Sometimes it's flown by pubs and other businesses. But I think you could drive through the Dublin suburbs for a long time without seeing an Irish flag.

I've actually heard Irish people complain about the American love of flying flags. This baffles me. I wish every village, suburb, and street had its own flag. And the national flag should be flown everywhere!

In Conclusion

When I take the time to write it out (and this post is much longer than I expected it to be), I suppose there is quite a lot about everyday lrish life that is still distinctive, and that doesn't seem like it's going to disappear any time soon.

However, there is a lot that is disappearing, or at least diminishing. I hope the Irish will soon wake up and actively work to preserve all that is special about their culture, especially those things that are a part of everyday life.

So what did I leave out? What did I get wrong? Go ahead and tell me in the comments!