"Granted the departure from the primitive condition in which everyone makes things for himself, and granted, therefore, a condition in which many work for others (who will pay them), there are still two sorts of job. Of one sort, a man can truly say, "I am doing work which it is worth doing. It would still be worth doing if nobody paid for it. But I have no private means, and need to be fed and housed and clothed. I must be paid while I do it." The other sort of job is that in which people do work whose sole purpose is the earning of money; work which need not be, ought not to be, or would not be done by anyone in the whole world unless it were paid.
"We may thank God that there are still plenty of jobs in the first category. The agricultural labourer, the policeman, the doctor, the artist, the teacher, the priest, and many others, are doing what is worth doing in itself....The opposite extreme may be represented by two examples. I do not necessarily equate them morally, but they are alike by our present classification. One is the work of the professional prostitute..My other example is this. I often see a hoarding which bears a notice to the effect that thousands look at this space and your firm ought to hire it for an advertisement of its wares..."
C.S. Lewis, "Good Work and Good Works"
I often wonder which of the above categories by own job would fit into. Is the work of a library assistant a noble avocation? (Not a librarian, mind. People always confuse the two. A librarian has a qualification in library science. A library assistant is the unqualified dogsbody who assists these mandarins.)
I've worked in the Main Library (latterly the James Joyce Library) of University College Dublin since 2001 (apart from one unhappy year working in UCD's Veterinary Library). It's pretty much the only job I've ever had.
Sometimes I wonder why I've been so blessed. When I was a child, and a teenager, and a student, I dreaded working life with all my heart. I expected it to be a daily slog, to fritter away my soul day by day, to leave me with no life left over to call my own. I literally had nightmares (well, at least one) of being trapped on a factory floor.
Well, my fears have been ungrounded (so far). I think few jobs must be less irksome than mine. Even when it is very busy (as it can be), it's rarely stressful or tedious.
I remember when I was applying for the job, there was a form on which applicants had to list their reasons for wanting it. One of the reasons I put down was, "I want to work in one of the great centres of Irish public life". Whoever read it almost certainly thought it was a spiel. But I really meant it.
I love that I can say those three syllables, "U-C-D", and everybody in Ireland knows what I mean. I love that so many prominent intellectuals and public figures work in the same place as me (and often come to the library issue desk). I love that a huge swathe of the Irish people pass through the gates of my university, and that their years there will be amongst the most memorable of their lives. I love that I am so close to one of the major dramas of human life, which is university education. If I had a huge office and a secretary and a hundred people working under me, but I was devoting half of my life to the sale and manufacture of bubblegum, I am sure the banality of my work would bother me.
I love the whole university atmosphere. The posters, the crowds, the infectious excitement of youth, the wooden plaques that list the names (going back decades) of the various chairmen of student societies, the rhythm of term and holiday and term and holiday, the restaurants and cafés buzzing with conversation, the clipped greens, the whole sense that the university is a little world of its own; I love all of it.
Students are wonderful people to work for. I assumed that dealing with the public (since I work on the issue desk) would involve lots of hassle and aggravation and arguments. It doesn't. The vast majority of the students are so polite and friendly and calm that it almost beggars belief. Unfortunately, the exception are the mature students. Most of the mature students are fine, but if you do come across a difficult and demanding and aggressive student, it is very likely to be a "mature" student.
When it comes to academic staff, this phenomenon seems to work in reverse. When you encounter an unpleasant academic-- usually a bullish, go-getter type-- he or she is usually a younger academic. The senior academics, the ones who seem to have grown up in a university atmosphere, are remarkably easy-going, even serene. They often wear a quizzical smile, and (if they are men) chunky sweaters and sticking-up hair. I always think that these are the ones who have a genuine love of knowledge. The younger academics (at least the aggressive ones) seem to be more like careerists, who took up medieval history as they might have taken up moped repair.
I haunted libraries when I was younger, and I had rather a romantic view of them. I can seriously remember being shocked (and at not such a young age) when I heard a library assistants in Ballymun Public Library talking about Oasis (the rock band). I really expected (at least deep down) that library assistants should talk about Yeats and Dickens and Salvator Dali and the Holy Roman Empire all the day long.
It's not really like that, of course. People who work in libraries might (might!) be a little more bookish than the man in the street, but not by much.
One of the things I like about working in a library is that everybody knows what a library is. Even a five year old has a mental picture of a library (as opposed to an advertising agency or a stockbroker's firm). They have been one of the abiding institutions of civilization.
I say "have been", because I really worry whether libraries, as we know them, have had their day. When I say I work in a library people picture shelves full of books, and trolleys full of books, and a woman wearing a cardigan and square-framed glasses putting her finger to her lips and telling chatterers to "Shush!". And, happily, that picture still bears a strong resemblance to the working life of a library. We still deal with books all day long. We still loan them out and take them back. We still tell people to be quiet.
But now-- the computers, the computers, the computers! Every day, their total conquest of the world grows nearer, their infiltration into every human activity and moment of life becomes more disturbing. (I realize the irony of writing this on a computer.)
In my library (as in almost all libraries, no doubt), we are as dependent upon our computer catalogue and library software as Stone Age farmers were dependent upon the sun and the rain. We spend our lives supplicating with the priests of the digital age, our harried and hurried IT workers, who rush from catalogue computer to printer to the automated turnstiles that control entry and exit from the library, and who minister unto them.
We loan out laptops, which are hugely popular. We desperately try to work out why a student phoning from Tipperary can't access our online journals and databases. We try to soothe researchers who have one hour to print out a bibliography but who can't get the blessed printers to print. We fight with photocopiers. And the amount of time we spend doing all this seems to grow month by month.
Worst of all, there are the self-issue machines, on which customers can loan books to themselves, and also return and renew them. I've hated these with a passion from the moment they came into my life. Not because I fear they will make me redundant, but because I fear they will make libraries as we know them a thing of the past.
I think lots of library customers must dislike them too, because a huge amount of our users still prefer to come to the issue desk. Occasionally, somebody explicitly tells us that they prefer to deal with a human being. But I fear that, in most cases, people simply find the self-issues machines too slow or too erratic or too intimidating-looking. But they'll get better, and more reliable, and more user-friendly. No doubt about that. (A lot of people complain about modern gadgets being slow or always on the blink. To me, that is their one redeeming feature.)
Most people who work in libraries don't have a romantic or sentimental attitude towards them. Sometimes it seems to me that a lot of librarians actually dream of the day when books will be abolished, or relegated to cavernous and unbrowseable store-rooms. Their attitude seems to be that the only good book is an e-book, and that humans are there to serve the public only as a kind of last resort, when all mechanical aids have failed.
I know one librarian who rhapsodised about her experience of using an airport when, as she put it, "I didn't have to deal with one human being from beginning to end." (Not her exact words, I'm sure, but pretty close.)
I guess I'm grateful I got in before the end. Maybe in twenty or thirty years (and maybe much sooner) kids will watch movie scenes set in libraries with shelves full of books, and feel as wistful for them as we feel for old sweetshops, or for horse-drawn carriages.
It's true that, a couple of years ago, I found a book on a second-hand bookshop called The End of Libraries...which was published in the early nineteen-eighties. It's easy to laugh at that kind of failed doom-mongering, but I can't help remembering the joke about the hypocondriac's epitaph. It read "Do you believe me now?"
Saturday, November 24, 2012
The Savita Halapannavar case
Readers may think I am deliberately ignoring the Savita Halapannavar case, which has dominated Irish headlines and broadcasting for the last week or so.
It's not that I'm ignoring it, though I do find the fact that this private tragedy is being used as a political tug-of-war to be extremely distasteful.
What is there left to say, though? It has been pointed out, over and over and over, that we simply don't yet know the cause of this tragedy, we don't know if it was preventable, we know that Ireland is one of the safest countries in which to have a baby, and that the European Court of Human Rights (whose decisions are non-binding anyway) did not rule that Ireland must legislate for abortion.
David Quinn, in this article for the Irish Catholic, says it all.
May God receive the soul of this poor woman, and her poor baby, and may He bring comfort to her grieving husband and relatives.
And may He keep Ireland free from the terrible scourge of abortion.
It's not that I'm ignoring it, though I do find the fact that this private tragedy is being used as a political tug-of-war to be extremely distasteful.
What is there left to say, though? It has been pointed out, over and over and over, that we simply don't yet know the cause of this tragedy, we don't know if it was preventable, we know that Ireland is one of the safest countries in which to have a baby, and that the European Court of Human Rights (whose decisions are non-binding anyway) did not rule that Ireland must legislate for abortion.
David Quinn, in this article for the Irish Catholic, says it all.
May God receive the soul of this poor woman, and her poor baby, and may He bring comfort to her grieving husband and relatives.
And may He keep Ireland free from the terrible scourge of abortion.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Our Discussion on Nationalism Continued
This is the latest instalment in my friendly discussion on nationalism (in general) and Irish nationalism (in particular) with fellow Irish Catholic blogger Young Ireland. Previous instalments can be found here, here, here and here.
Young Ireland makes so many interesting points that I simply can't write everything that comes into my mind in response. So I think I will concentrate on some specific matters.
I agree with much of what he writes, but I find myself in disagreement with this particular view:
"I think it is possible to be patriotic and not be a nationalist. I would define patriotism as obeying just laws, taking an active part in community life for the sake of the common good, et cetera. . I don't think it should be confused with nationalism, which especially in the Irish context, often demands assent for immoral acts like 1916, and the belief that your particular country is infallible."
This reminds me of the time that one of my colleagues saw the little tricolour flag I have hanging in my office and said (unprompted) that she thought paying your taxes was a patriotic act. This whole definition of patriotism just seems too dispassionate to me. I think the virtue that Young Ireland and my above-mentioned colleague refer to might better be described as good citizenship, or public spiritedness. It seems more about duty than love or sentiment or loyalty.
Patriotism, in my view, is an affair of the heart. It is a way of looking at your nation as a kind of extended family. This doesn't negate the concept of the brotherhood of man, but it does mean that you feel a special kinship to your compatriots. And, like all families, this is as much a matter of exasperation, frustration, heated discussion, and painful memories as it is a matter of pride and loyalty.
A nation is a big family, with all the same aspects of the family writ large; a family tree, running jokes, family anecdotes, family squabbles, shared living space, even (to some extent-- I don't want make too much of this) shared genes.
OK, so you might say, "This is a pretty way of looking at things, but what is it based on? You can think of the nation as a big family if you like. Why should anyone else think of it like that?"
I think we not only can but should look at nationality this way because otherwise, national consciousness-- or even just public life-- becomes based upon a kind of lowest common denominator. We become so frightened of imposing a particular identity, or a particular idea of national culture, that we end up with nothing at all, or something even worse than nothing at all. We are stuck with a kind of bland, featureless universalism, a pallid pluralism.
Take the Spire of Dublin, for example. Here is a monument that nobody could accuse of being sectarian, or divisive, or jingoistic, or any of those things. But then, nobody could accuse it of anything much-- except of being ugly and characterless. But it seems to me a symptom, even a metaphor, of what happens when you studiously avoid any kind of nationalism. (To my non-Irish readers who might not know about the Spire, it's the most recent monument added to Dublin's main street, O'Connell Street. And what is it? A four hundred foot stainless steel spike with a light at the top. Literally that, and nothing more.)
I have noticed the same thing with "The Gathering", the attempt this year to lure the so-called Irish diaspora back to Ireland as tourists. If this had happened forty years ago it would have drawn heavily on traditional, Gaelic Revival images of Ireland-- roundtowers, harps, Irish wolfhounds, the Book of Kells, Celtic knotwork, uillean pipes, and so forth. And the advertising campaign would have had a certain sobriety and even solemnity to it. But the actual ads for The Gathering, presumably in an effort to avoid any hint of leaving anybody out, have just been facetious and insipid. The one I've seen most often involves a picture of a flaxen-haired lass in a plastic, horned Viking helmet pouting beside a seashore. In the online ads, the plastic helmet floats on and off her head. I can't see how that would draw anyone to visit their ancestral land, or inspire any sentiment in their hearts at all. Why should they care about Irishness, if we don't care about it?
And a final example is an ad for the National Census that I saw some years ago. The central image was a young man with Asiatic features, possibly Chinese or Korean. Now, I know that somebody of Chinese or Korean ancestry, or any other ancestry, can be just as Irish as me. I've had the surprising experience, in my work as a library assistant in University College Dublin, of serving students whose facial features and names (I see their names when they hand me their student cards) make them seem Indian or African, but who then go on to speak to me in a strong Dublin accent. I am not a racialist in any way. But it seems to me slightly perverse to pick a face with Asiatic features as representative of Irish people. Wouldn't red hair and freckles be more iconically Irish, even though red-heads are a minority here, too?
What has all this got to do with promoting a culture? Well, to a certain extent, we have to promote some kind of culture. Every country has streets to name, stamps to issue, festivals to organise, monuments to build, holidays to proclaim, and an educational syllabus to organise. In other words, we can't do without symbols, and we can't avoid those moments and occasions when we make some statement about who we are.
I accept that the Gaelic, Catholic identity we proclaimed on those occasions, in the past, might have been rather jingoistic, biased and even (sometimes) cheesy. The streets and train stations named after 1916 leaders, the public buildings named after saints, the national anthem ending a day's broadcast on RTE, the St. Bridget's Cross that the station used as its symbol in its early days, occasions such as the Tailteann Games...I understand why some people might have reservations about some or all of those symbols (in the same way that a secularist might object to the Angelus bells being broadcast on RTE).
But isn't it better to have some kind of national iconography, even if it does not express your own beliefs, than none? Doesn't its use express the idea that a nation entails more than a few million people breathing the same air and using the same water, airports and energy grid?
Take the example of England. If I go to England, I could take offence (as an Irishman) at the lions in Trafalgar Square as a symbol of British imperialism. I could take offence at the Irish harp used in the English royal coat of arms, which is to be seen on so many buildings. As a Catholic, I could take offence at Guy Fawkes night, since it celebrates the capture and burning of a Catholic, and has historically been used to express strong anti-Catholic sentiment. I could pout about poppy-wearing on Armistice Day.
But I don't actually take offence at any of these things. I wish the English nation cherished its traditions more, not less-- even those traditions that are imperialistic and anti-Catholic, or otherwise controversial. Because those things are part of what made England what it was, and what it is. Exchanging the realities of history for a pluralistic, secular, post-historic non-identity seems a crying shame to me.
What do you think? Do you see any merit in those arguments at all? (Be honest!)
I have concentrated on the matters where I disagree with you, rather than on those where I agree. I certainly agree with you strongly on many things-- such as the danger of nationalism becoming a belief in your country's superiority over other countries, or the undesirability of one-sided versions of national history. And to some extent, this is a discussion with myself as well as a discussion with you, since my feelings on these matters are rather mixed and unsure.
Young Ireland makes so many interesting points that I simply can't write everything that comes into my mind in response. So I think I will concentrate on some specific matters.
I agree with much of what he writes, but I find myself in disagreement with this particular view:
"I think it is possible to be patriotic and not be a nationalist. I would define patriotism as obeying just laws, taking an active part in community life for the sake of the common good, et cetera. . I don't think it should be confused with nationalism, which especially in the Irish context, often demands assent for immoral acts like 1916, and the belief that your particular country is infallible."
This reminds me of the time that one of my colleagues saw the little tricolour flag I have hanging in my office and said (unprompted) that she thought paying your taxes was a patriotic act. This whole definition of patriotism just seems too dispassionate to me. I think the virtue that Young Ireland and my above-mentioned colleague refer to might better be described as good citizenship, or public spiritedness. It seems more about duty than love or sentiment or loyalty.
Patriotism, in my view, is an affair of the heart. It is a way of looking at your nation as a kind of extended family. This doesn't negate the concept of the brotherhood of man, but it does mean that you feel a special kinship to your compatriots. And, like all families, this is as much a matter of exasperation, frustration, heated discussion, and painful memories as it is a matter of pride and loyalty.
A nation is a big family, with all the same aspects of the family writ large; a family tree, running jokes, family anecdotes, family squabbles, shared living space, even (to some extent-- I don't want make too much of this) shared genes.
OK, so you might say, "This is a pretty way of looking at things, but what is it based on? You can think of the nation as a big family if you like. Why should anyone else think of it like that?"
I think we not only can but should look at nationality this way because otherwise, national consciousness-- or even just public life-- becomes based upon a kind of lowest common denominator. We become so frightened of imposing a particular identity, or a particular idea of national culture, that we end up with nothing at all, or something even worse than nothing at all. We are stuck with a kind of bland, featureless universalism, a pallid pluralism.
Take the Spire of Dublin, for example. Here is a monument that nobody could accuse of being sectarian, or divisive, or jingoistic, or any of those things. But then, nobody could accuse it of anything much-- except of being ugly and characterless. But it seems to me a symptom, even a metaphor, of what happens when you studiously avoid any kind of nationalism. (To my non-Irish readers who might not know about the Spire, it's the most recent monument added to Dublin's main street, O'Connell Street. And what is it? A four hundred foot stainless steel spike with a light at the top. Literally that, and nothing more.)
I have noticed the same thing with "The Gathering", the attempt this year to lure the so-called Irish diaspora back to Ireland as tourists. If this had happened forty years ago it would have drawn heavily on traditional, Gaelic Revival images of Ireland-- roundtowers, harps, Irish wolfhounds, the Book of Kells, Celtic knotwork, uillean pipes, and so forth. And the advertising campaign would have had a certain sobriety and even solemnity to it. But the actual ads for The Gathering, presumably in an effort to avoid any hint of leaving anybody out, have just been facetious and insipid. The one I've seen most often involves a picture of a flaxen-haired lass in a plastic, horned Viking helmet pouting beside a seashore. In the online ads, the plastic helmet floats on and off her head. I can't see how that would draw anyone to visit their ancestral land, or inspire any sentiment in their hearts at all. Why should they care about Irishness, if we don't care about it?
And a final example is an ad for the National Census that I saw some years ago. The central image was a young man with Asiatic features, possibly Chinese or Korean. Now, I know that somebody of Chinese or Korean ancestry, or any other ancestry, can be just as Irish as me. I've had the surprising experience, in my work as a library assistant in University College Dublin, of serving students whose facial features and names (I see their names when they hand me their student cards) make them seem Indian or African, but who then go on to speak to me in a strong Dublin accent. I am not a racialist in any way. But it seems to me slightly perverse to pick a face with Asiatic features as representative of Irish people. Wouldn't red hair and freckles be more iconically Irish, even though red-heads are a minority here, too?
What has all this got to do with promoting a culture? Well, to a certain extent, we have to promote some kind of culture. Every country has streets to name, stamps to issue, festivals to organise, monuments to build, holidays to proclaim, and an educational syllabus to organise. In other words, we can't do without symbols, and we can't avoid those moments and occasions when we make some statement about who we are.
I accept that the Gaelic, Catholic identity we proclaimed on those occasions, in the past, might have been rather jingoistic, biased and even (sometimes) cheesy. The streets and train stations named after 1916 leaders, the public buildings named after saints, the national anthem ending a day's broadcast on RTE, the St. Bridget's Cross that the station used as its symbol in its early days, occasions such as the Tailteann Games...I understand why some people might have reservations about some or all of those symbols (in the same way that a secularist might object to the Angelus bells being broadcast on RTE).
But isn't it better to have some kind of national iconography, even if it does not express your own beliefs, than none? Doesn't its use express the idea that a nation entails more than a few million people breathing the same air and using the same water, airports and energy grid?
Take the example of England. If I go to England, I could take offence (as an Irishman) at the lions in Trafalgar Square as a symbol of British imperialism. I could take offence at the Irish harp used in the English royal coat of arms, which is to be seen on so many buildings. As a Catholic, I could take offence at Guy Fawkes night, since it celebrates the capture and burning of a Catholic, and has historically been used to express strong anti-Catholic sentiment. I could pout about poppy-wearing on Armistice Day.
But I don't actually take offence at any of these things. I wish the English nation cherished its traditions more, not less-- even those traditions that are imperialistic and anti-Catholic, or otherwise controversial. Because those things are part of what made England what it was, and what it is. Exchanging the realities of history for a pluralistic, secular, post-historic non-identity seems a crying shame to me.
What do you think? Do you see any merit in those arguments at all? (Be honest!)
I have concentrated on the matters where I disagree with you, rather than on those where I agree. I certainly agree with you strongly on many things-- such as the danger of nationalism becoming a belief in your country's superiority over other countries, or the undesirability of one-sided versions of national history. And to some extent, this is a discussion with myself as well as a discussion with you, since my feelings on these matters are rather mixed and unsure.
Our Discussion on Nationalism-- Young Ireland Replies
Having patiently waited for me to finish rabitting on, Young Ireland has kindly responded to the set of questions I put to him at the end of my last post. This is as a part of our ongoing friendly discussion about nationalism (in general) and Irish nationalism (in particular), previous instalments of which you can find here, here, and here.
His responses (and I agree with a lot of what he writes) give me a lot to think about. I will be back soon with my own thoughts. For ease of reference, I have put my questions before Young Ireland's answers.
My Question: My first is something of a rhetorical question. I can't imagine you answering "no", but I will put it anyway. Would you be grieved at the prospect of the various nations, their languages, customs, cuisines, art-forms etc. being replaced by one world-wide culture with a common language, political system, legal system, sport, and so forth?
Young Ireland's Answer: To be honest, my feelings on this are mixed. On one hand, I do think that diversity is a good thing and that people should not be coerced into adopting a particular culture. On the other, if there is no interest in a particular culture or (secular) tradition, I think it is best to let it die out gracefully. Forcing it upon people, I think is a sure way to make certain that it is not revived in the future.
My Question: In a less drastic vein [to the previous question], are you perturbed at the idea of different national cultures becoming less distinctive-- do you find anything to regret in cultural globalization?
Young Ireland's Answer: Not really. I think that globalisation is generally a good thing, but not without its flaws. Nevertheless, in the last 20 years, as the Western world has become more interconnected, it has also become more stable and peaceful. I would recommend that your readers look up this link about the Golden Arches Theory of Conflict Prevention, which states that two countries will not go to war if McDonald's has a presence in both countries.
My Question: If you do prefer the continuance of different national cultures, do you think this is a goal that we should consciously pursue (for instance, by trying to protect national traditions, sports, languages, and so forth) or should we simply let history take its course?
Young Ireland's Answer: In these matters, I think the best course of action will be to let history take its course. Cultures will only survive if there is a genuine will on behalf of its proponents for it to survive.
My Question: You object to compulsory Irish in the Irish education system (and you may be right). Would you draw a distinction between efforts to preserve and strengthen national cultures that are voluntary, and those that are imposed by law?
Young Ireland's Answer: I would. I believe that promotion of any culture is best left to private organisations. There is a risk that if the State gets involved, especially regarding the use of coercion, it will be morphed into something jingoistic that will end up generating resentment, apathy and possibly the death of the culture being promoted.
My Question: How important do you think this whole subject is, in the grand scheme of things?
Young Ireland's Answer: Finally, I think that it is important, because most Catholics in Ireland are nationalists of varying hues and I think it is important that an objective discussion on this needs to take place to see if we are going wrong somewhere. I think it is possible to be patriotic and not be a nationalist. I would define patriotism as obeying just laws, taking an active part in community life for the sake of the common good, et cetera. . I don't think it should be confused with nationalism, which especially in the Irish context, often demands assent for immoral acts like 1916, and the belief that your particular country is infallible. Also, Mel Cormican of the Brandsma Review group on Facebook made a good point when he said:
"On the relationship between the Church and nationalism, the two are incompatible. Patriotism is a virtue, but nationalism the narrow love of country to the point of hating foreigners is condemned in the strongest terms when he sets up the Samaritan up as the good guy in a story about loving your neighbour. I have always considered it a deep wrong that Catholic schools have given such a biased, nationalist angle on history, which undermined its expressed support for the Church's social teaching. This contributed to the extremism that gave terrorists succour for decades when they should have been roundly condemned."
I am in no way saying that you agree with the views outlined by Mel, however, many nationalists, especially Catholic nationalists, do.
I look forward to your response.
To be continued....
His responses (and I agree with a lot of what he writes) give me a lot to think about. I will be back soon with my own thoughts. For ease of reference, I have put my questions before Young Ireland's answers.
My Question: My first is something of a rhetorical question. I can't imagine you answering "no", but I will put it anyway. Would you be grieved at the prospect of the various nations, their languages, customs, cuisines, art-forms etc. being replaced by one world-wide culture with a common language, political system, legal system, sport, and so forth?
Young Ireland's Answer: To be honest, my feelings on this are mixed. On one hand, I do think that diversity is a good thing and that people should not be coerced into adopting a particular culture. On the other, if there is no interest in a particular culture or (secular) tradition, I think it is best to let it die out gracefully. Forcing it upon people, I think is a sure way to make certain that it is not revived in the future.
My Question: In a less drastic vein [to the previous question], are you perturbed at the idea of different national cultures becoming less distinctive-- do you find anything to regret in cultural globalization?
Young Ireland's Answer: Not really. I think that globalisation is generally a good thing, but not without its flaws. Nevertheless, in the last 20 years, as the Western world has become more interconnected, it has also become more stable and peaceful. I would recommend that your readers look up this link about the Golden Arches Theory of Conflict Prevention, which states that two countries will not go to war if McDonald's has a presence in both countries.
My Question: If you do prefer the continuance of different national cultures, do you think this is a goal that we should consciously pursue (for instance, by trying to protect national traditions, sports, languages, and so forth) or should we simply let history take its course?
Young Ireland's Answer: In these matters, I think the best course of action will be to let history take its course. Cultures will only survive if there is a genuine will on behalf of its proponents for it to survive.
My Question: You object to compulsory Irish in the Irish education system (and you may be right). Would you draw a distinction between efforts to preserve and strengthen national cultures that are voluntary, and those that are imposed by law?
Young Ireland's Answer: I would. I believe that promotion of any culture is best left to private organisations. There is a risk that if the State gets involved, especially regarding the use of coercion, it will be morphed into something jingoistic that will end up generating resentment, apathy and possibly the death of the culture being promoted.
My Question: How important do you think this whole subject is, in the grand scheme of things?
Young Ireland's Answer: Finally, I think that it is important, because most Catholics in Ireland are nationalists of varying hues and I think it is important that an objective discussion on this needs to take place to see if we are going wrong somewhere. I think it is possible to be patriotic and not be a nationalist. I would define patriotism as obeying just laws, taking an active part in community life for the sake of the common good, et cetera. . I don't think it should be confused with nationalism, which especially in the Irish context, often demands assent for immoral acts like 1916, and the belief that your particular country is infallible. Also, Mel Cormican of the Brandsma Review group on Facebook made a good point when he said:
"On the relationship between the Church and nationalism, the two are incompatible. Patriotism is a virtue, but nationalism the narrow love of country to the point of hating foreigners is condemned in the strongest terms when he sets up the Samaritan up as the good guy in a story about loving your neighbour. I have always considered it a deep wrong that Catholic schools have given such a biased, nationalist angle on history, which undermined its expressed support for the Church's social teaching. This contributed to the extremism that gave terrorists succour for decades when they should have been roundly condemned."
I am in no way saying that you agree with the views outlined by Mel, however, many nationalists, especially Catholic nationalists, do.
I look forward to your response.
To be continued....
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Some Questions for Young Ireland
OK, OK, OK. After my last post, I realize that I have to be strict with myself if this friendly debate on the question of nationalism is not going to degenerate into a long monologue, with poor Young Ireland unable to get a word in edgeways.
Therefore I am going to skip past the account of how my views on nationalism developed from the days when an Irish flag had become, in my eyes, like a red rag to a bull. This is a grievous sacrifice, since such an account would be of absorbing, compelling, gripping interest-- to me, that is. Unfortunately it might be so boring to everyone else that the Minister for Communications would shut down this blog, drawing wild cheers from everyone, including all the libertarian groups and committees for free speech.
So I'll summarise. Basically, I came to appreciate my Irish nationality, and to become a cultural and social nationalist, by looking at it from the outside. It was a little like the astronauts on the moon looking back at the glowing marble of the Earth and realizing, only then, just how precious it really was.
I was an Anglophile and a lover of all things English. It grieved me when Irish people insulted England. However, it grieved me even more when English people insulted England, or even spoke dismissively of her. It seemed like a betrayal. And slowly it dawned on me that I was doing the same thing to my own country.
And, when I took a wider view of the world, the same emotion struck me, except with even more force. I realized how much pleasure it gave me that there were so many different nations in the world with their own languages, customs, sports, foods and historical memories. Wasn't every single one incredibly precious-- including Ireland? This realization was a little bit analagous to the moment when a teenager discovers, with a thunderclap of astonishment, that his parents are people, too.
So what if nationalists exaggerated the role of national culture? What if we did all go to pretty much the same supermarkets, watch pretty much the same TV shows, listen to the same music, and wear the same clothes as people in America or Canada or Australia or Germany? Did that make nationality more contemptible-- or more precious? If national distinctiveness was imperilled, wasn't that all the more reason to cherish it and protect it? Wasn't abandoning it when it was in danger like putting your dog down when it got a broken paw?
Besides this, I was increasingly struck with a sense of trusteeship. It wasn't just my own parents and grandparents (on both sides) who had poured so much of their efforts and hopes and lives into the dream of an Ireland that was (as Patrick Pearse wrote) "not Gaelic merely, but free also; not free merely, but Gaelic also." It was hundreds of thousands of my Irish ancestors who had done so; millions, even. The virtue that the Romans called pietas seemed to me a natural one; it was also enjoined on us by the Fourth Commandment.
Of course, there were dangers. Nationalism, both political and cultural, had led to millions of deaths in wars down the ages. It had also played an enormous role in the various heresies and schisms that had riven Christianity, especially the Great Schism between Orthodoxy and Catholicism, and the Reformation of the sixteenth century. But "abuse does not negate use". Wife-beating does not invalidate the institution of marriage.
So these are my questions for Young Ireland, and I am genuinely interested in his answers:
1) My first is something of a rhetorical question. I can't imagine you answering "no", but I will put it anyway. Would you be grieved at the prospect of the various nations, their languages, customs, cuisines, art-forms etc. being replaced by one world-wide culture with a common language, political system, legal system, sport, and so forth?
2) In a less drastic vein, are you perturbed at the idea of different national cultures becoming less distinctive-- do you find anything to regret in cultural globalization?
3) If you do prefer the continuance of different national cultures, do you think this is a goal that we should consciously pursue (for instance, by trying to protect national traditions, sports, languages, and so forth) or should we simply let history take its course?
4) You object to compulsory Irish in the Irish education system (and you may be right). Would you draw a distinction between efforts to preserve and strengthen national cultures that are voluntary, and those that are imposed by law?
5) How important do you think this whole subject is, in the grand scheme of things?
I hope those questions are not too restrictive or point-missing. Feel free to answer them in any way you like-- and to ignore any that seem beside the point to you.
I apologize for writing at such great length in these posts. I rather let my subject carry me away!
Therefore I am going to skip past the account of how my views on nationalism developed from the days when an Irish flag had become, in my eyes, like a red rag to a bull. This is a grievous sacrifice, since such an account would be of absorbing, compelling, gripping interest-- to me, that is. Unfortunately it might be so boring to everyone else that the Minister for Communications would shut down this blog, drawing wild cheers from everyone, including all the libertarian groups and committees for free speech.
So I'll summarise. Basically, I came to appreciate my Irish nationality, and to become a cultural and social nationalist, by looking at it from the outside. It was a little like the astronauts on the moon looking back at the glowing marble of the Earth and realizing, only then, just how precious it really was.
I was an Anglophile and a lover of all things English. It grieved me when Irish people insulted England. However, it grieved me even more when English people insulted England, or even spoke dismissively of her. It seemed like a betrayal. And slowly it dawned on me that I was doing the same thing to my own country.
And, when I took a wider view of the world, the same emotion struck me, except with even more force. I realized how much pleasure it gave me that there were so many different nations in the world with their own languages, customs, sports, foods and historical memories. Wasn't every single one incredibly precious-- including Ireland? This realization was a little bit analagous to the moment when a teenager discovers, with a thunderclap of astonishment, that his parents are people, too.
So what if nationalists exaggerated the role of national culture? What if we did all go to pretty much the same supermarkets, watch pretty much the same TV shows, listen to the same music, and wear the same clothes as people in America or Canada or Australia or Germany? Did that make nationality more contemptible-- or more precious? If national distinctiveness was imperilled, wasn't that all the more reason to cherish it and protect it? Wasn't abandoning it when it was in danger like putting your dog down when it got a broken paw?
Besides this, I was increasingly struck with a sense of trusteeship. It wasn't just my own parents and grandparents (on both sides) who had poured so much of their efforts and hopes and lives into the dream of an Ireland that was (as Patrick Pearse wrote) "not Gaelic merely, but free also; not free merely, but Gaelic also." It was hundreds of thousands of my Irish ancestors who had done so; millions, even. The virtue that the Romans called pietas seemed to me a natural one; it was also enjoined on us by the Fourth Commandment.
Of course, there were dangers. Nationalism, both political and cultural, had led to millions of deaths in wars down the ages. It had also played an enormous role in the various heresies and schisms that had riven Christianity, especially the Great Schism between Orthodoxy and Catholicism, and the Reformation of the sixteenth century. But "abuse does not negate use". Wife-beating does not invalidate the institution of marriage.
So these are my questions for Young Ireland, and I am genuinely interested in his answers:
1) My first is something of a rhetorical question. I can't imagine you answering "no", but I will put it anyway. Would you be grieved at the prospect of the various nations, their languages, customs, cuisines, art-forms etc. being replaced by one world-wide culture with a common language, political system, legal system, sport, and so forth?
2) In a less drastic vein, are you perturbed at the idea of different national cultures becoming less distinctive-- do you find anything to regret in cultural globalization?
3) If you do prefer the continuance of different national cultures, do you think this is a goal that we should consciously pursue (for instance, by trying to protect national traditions, sports, languages, and so forth) or should we simply let history take its course?
4) You object to compulsory Irish in the Irish education system (and you may be right). Would you draw a distinction between efforts to preserve and strengthen national cultures that are voluntary, and those that are imposed by law?
5) How important do you think this whole subject is, in the grand scheme of things?
I hope those questions are not too restrictive or point-missing. Feel free to answer them in any way you like-- and to ignore any that seem beside the point to you.
I apologize for writing at such great length in these posts. I rather let my subject carry me away!
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Thoughts on Nationalism-- a Response to Young Ireland
In the post immediately below this one, my fellow Irish Catholic blogger Young Ireland has described his attitude towards Irish nationalism, and the experiences which shaped it. I have to admit that my own experiences, and the evolution of my opinions on this subject, have been remarkably similar to his own.
Young Ireland has described his childhood in the area of North Kerry, which was a bastion of traditional Irish culture, and also of republicanism. I, too, grew up in a solidly republican and nationalist background. From my earliest days I can remember being steeped in Irish rebel ballads, heroic stories of the Easter 1916 Rebellion, and Irish mythology and history. Somebody once said, in describing the famous school St. Enda's that was founded by the Irish insurrectionist and educationalist Patrick Pearse, that Cuchalainn (perhaps the central figure of Irish mythology) was like a ghostly member of the school staff. Something like that was true of my own childhood. If you had asked me, back then, if Cuchalainn, Finn McCool and the Tuatha De Danaan (the "fairy folk" of Irish mythology) had ever actually existed, I would have said "no"-- but somehow they seemed to flicker on the very edge of existence, perhaps not fully real but not entirely unreal either.
Cecil Rhodes is supposed to have said that to be born English is to win the first prize in the lottery of life. I felt the same way about happening to have been born in the most remarkable and extraordinary little country in the world. I couldn't believe my luck. All those millions of kids in China and Brazil and Russia had no idea what they had missed out on!
Unlike Young Ireland, though, I grew up in a Dublin suburb, and the contrast between the people around me (who were all plugged into English and American popular culture) and my family and their circles (who also watched English TV and American movies but who seemed to have another, higher existence on the aspirational plane of Irish culture, sport, mythology and history) penetrated deep into my soul. It is still there. Instinctively, I tend to see the world as a place where fragile, precious, old-fashioned things (like Irish culture) are threatened by brutish, tawdry, new things (like TV and popular music and supermarkets).
I never went to an Irish summer school like Young Ireland, but all my schooling was received through the Irish language. This meant that Irish was spoken all day every day in both my primary and secondary schooling, at least after the infants' classes, and aside from English class.
This should have made me a fluent Irish speaker. Instead, and through no fault of my teachers, I have a grasp of Irish that is mediocre at best. (Like Young Ireland, I took honours Irish in the Leaving Cert, but this was almost automatic in our school.) Not only this, but my long experience of Irish-language schooling filled me with a strong dislike-- even a hatred-- of the Irish language, by the time I was in my teens and well into my twenties.
It's easy enough to see how this happened. As Young Ireland has said, having something forced upon you tends to turn you against it. Add to this the fact that I could never really master the language-- the nuts and bolts of its grammar, especially-- and perhaps it is unsurprising that I came to detest Irish.
But I think it went beyond that, and I do think the Irish language movement is to some extent culpable for the anti-Irish language reaction of people like myself and Young Ireland. Unfortunately, enthusiasts for the revival of the Irish language have too often resorted to the tactic of making themselves objectionable. Sanctimoniousness, anti-Englishness, an apparent eagerness to be offended, a siege mentality, and a generally confrontational attitude have (I believe) characterised the Irish language revivalist movement, and the language has paid the price. Not only did the enthusiasts for Irish resort to a kind of emotional blackmail ("shame on you for not speaking your native tongue!"), they were quite willing to take full advantage of the fact that Irish was the official first language of the nation, and to make an issue out of their formal right to service in Irish from post offices, government departments, state bodies, and so forth.
Of course, the Irish language's standing as the State's first language is a polite fiction-- it is mostly ceremonial, and the vast majority of public servants would be unable to conduct a conversation in it. Nevertheless, Irish language speakers like to assert this right from time to time, deliberately embarrassing hapless receptionists and secretaries and others. I can hardly think of any behaviour more obnoxious, or more calculated to breed dislike of Irish.
Even today-- unfair though this may be-- my instinctive reaction to hearing Irish spoken is one of hostility. My considered opinion today is that the revival of the Irish language is a worthy national goal, deserving of all our support. But I forget that in the instant that I hear those guttural syllables. In that moment, twenty years of having my teeth set on edge comes flooding back.
Not only did I develop an antipathy to the Irish language in my teens and twenties, but I became virulently anti-nationalist-- even anti-Irish, bizarre as that may seem.
Why? There were lots of reasons. Partly it was because I felt lonely and left-out at school, and I therefore positioned myself in opposition to its values. (Not only was my school an Irish language school, but it also promoted elements of Irish national culture like Irish dance, Irish sports, Irish music and so forth). Partly it was because I was, and I still am, a very enthusiastic admirer of England and English culture. As Young Ireland has said, in Irish history as it was often taught in Irish schools, England was inevitably painted as the Big Baddie, almost the source of all ills-- not just a national enemy, but one that was seen as being inferior to Ireland (though nobody would have actually said that out loud). A wit once remarked, quite perceptively, "It isn't enough to be Irish-- you need someone to be Irish at." Not only did this make Irishness seem like an identity based on bitterness and hatred, but it was bitterness directed against a nation I loved and admired.
All this might seem very immature, but I would like to think there was more to my anti-nationalism than a mere emotional reaction. And I truly think that there was.
I just didn't see why having a particularly-coloured flag flying on our public buildings was supposed to make such a huge difference. I remember greatly approving of Yeats's couplet about the Irish nationalist leader Charles Stewart Parnell:
Parnell came down the road, he said to a cheering man
"Ireland shall get her freedom and you still break stone."
Really, the whole thing seemed rather fake and overblown to me. We were meant to be so different but in reality, everybody just bought the same products, watched the same television, drove the same cars, and listened to the same rock and pop music as did pretty much everyone else in the Western world. What difference did a bit of Irish dancing make to that?
I have written at greater length than I intended, and I am still at the stage of describing my adolescent and young-adult hostility to nationalism-- I haven't even begun to describe how my attitude came to change. Nor have I even touched on the part that the murder campaign of the IRA played in my distaste for Irish nationalism.
I think I will have to leave it to another post. If Young Ireland would like to respond to what I have written, he is most welcome, although he may wish to wait until I have brought my little story up to date. Suffice it to say for the moment that I can certainly identify with much that he wrote in his initial post.
To be continued, then!
Young Ireland has described his childhood in the area of North Kerry, which was a bastion of traditional Irish culture, and also of republicanism. I, too, grew up in a solidly republican and nationalist background. From my earliest days I can remember being steeped in Irish rebel ballads, heroic stories of the Easter 1916 Rebellion, and Irish mythology and history. Somebody once said, in describing the famous school St. Enda's that was founded by the Irish insurrectionist and educationalist Patrick Pearse, that Cuchalainn (perhaps the central figure of Irish mythology) was like a ghostly member of the school staff. Something like that was true of my own childhood. If you had asked me, back then, if Cuchalainn, Finn McCool and the Tuatha De Danaan (the "fairy folk" of Irish mythology) had ever actually existed, I would have said "no"-- but somehow they seemed to flicker on the very edge of existence, perhaps not fully real but not entirely unreal either.
Cecil Rhodes is supposed to have said that to be born English is to win the first prize in the lottery of life. I felt the same way about happening to have been born in the most remarkable and extraordinary little country in the world. I couldn't believe my luck. All those millions of kids in China and Brazil and Russia had no idea what they had missed out on!
Unlike Young Ireland, though, I grew up in a Dublin suburb, and the contrast between the people around me (who were all plugged into English and American popular culture) and my family and their circles (who also watched English TV and American movies but who seemed to have another, higher existence on the aspirational plane of Irish culture, sport, mythology and history) penetrated deep into my soul. It is still there. Instinctively, I tend to see the world as a place where fragile, precious, old-fashioned things (like Irish culture) are threatened by brutish, tawdry, new things (like TV and popular music and supermarkets).
I never went to an Irish summer school like Young Ireland, but all my schooling was received through the Irish language. This meant that Irish was spoken all day every day in both my primary and secondary schooling, at least after the infants' classes, and aside from English class.
This should have made me a fluent Irish speaker. Instead, and through no fault of my teachers, I have a grasp of Irish that is mediocre at best. (Like Young Ireland, I took honours Irish in the Leaving Cert, but this was almost automatic in our school.) Not only this, but my long experience of Irish-language schooling filled me with a strong dislike-- even a hatred-- of the Irish language, by the time I was in my teens and well into my twenties.
It's easy enough to see how this happened. As Young Ireland has said, having something forced upon you tends to turn you against it. Add to this the fact that I could never really master the language-- the nuts and bolts of its grammar, especially-- and perhaps it is unsurprising that I came to detest Irish.
But I think it went beyond that, and I do think the Irish language movement is to some extent culpable for the anti-Irish language reaction of people like myself and Young Ireland. Unfortunately, enthusiasts for the revival of the Irish language have too often resorted to the tactic of making themselves objectionable. Sanctimoniousness, anti-Englishness, an apparent eagerness to be offended, a siege mentality, and a generally confrontational attitude have (I believe) characterised the Irish language revivalist movement, and the language has paid the price. Not only did the enthusiasts for Irish resort to a kind of emotional blackmail ("shame on you for not speaking your native tongue!"), they were quite willing to take full advantage of the fact that Irish was the official first language of the nation, and to make an issue out of their formal right to service in Irish from post offices, government departments, state bodies, and so forth.
Of course, the Irish language's standing as the State's first language is a polite fiction-- it is mostly ceremonial, and the vast majority of public servants would be unable to conduct a conversation in it. Nevertheless, Irish language speakers like to assert this right from time to time, deliberately embarrassing hapless receptionists and secretaries and others. I can hardly think of any behaviour more obnoxious, or more calculated to breed dislike of Irish.
Even today-- unfair though this may be-- my instinctive reaction to hearing Irish spoken is one of hostility. My considered opinion today is that the revival of the Irish language is a worthy national goal, deserving of all our support. But I forget that in the instant that I hear those guttural syllables. In that moment, twenty years of having my teeth set on edge comes flooding back.
Not only did I develop an antipathy to the Irish language in my teens and twenties, but I became virulently anti-nationalist-- even anti-Irish, bizarre as that may seem.
Why? There were lots of reasons. Partly it was because I felt lonely and left-out at school, and I therefore positioned myself in opposition to its values. (Not only was my school an Irish language school, but it also promoted elements of Irish national culture like Irish dance, Irish sports, Irish music and so forth). Partly it was because I was, and I still am, a very enthusiastic admirer of England and English culture. As Young Ireland has said, in Irish history as it was often taught in Irish schools, England was inevitably painted as the Big Baddie, almost the source of all ills-- not just a national enemy, but one that was seen as being inferior to Ireland (though nobody would have actually said that out loud). A wit once remarked, quite perceptively, "It isn't enough to be Irish-- you need someone to be Irish at." Not only did this make Irishness seem like an identity based on bitterness and hatred, but it was bitterness directed against a nation I loved and admired.
All this might seem very immature, but I would like to think there was more to my anti-nationalism than a mere emotional reaction. And I truly think that there was.
I just didn't see why having a particularly-coloured flag flying on our public buildings was supposed to make such a huge difference. I remember greatly approving of Yeats's couplet about the Irish nationalist leader Charles Stewart Parnell:
Parnell came down the road, he said to a cheering man
"Ireland shall get her freedom and you still break stone."
Really, the whole thing seemed rather fake and overblown to me. We were meant to be so different but in reality, everybody just bought the same products, watched the same television, drove the same cars, and listened to the same rock and pop music as did pretty much everyone else in the Western world. What difference did a bit of Irish dancing make to that?
I have written at greater length than I intended, and I am still at the stage of describing my adolescent and young-adult hostility to nationalism-- I haven't even begun to describe how my attitude came to change. Nor have I even touched on the part that the murder campaign of the IRA played in my distaste for Irish nationalism.
I think I will have to leave it to another post. If Young Ireland would like to respond to what I have written, he is most welcome, although he may wish to wait until I have brought my little story up to date. Suffice it to say for the moment that I can certainly identify with much that he wrote in his initial post.
To be continued, then!
A Friendly Exchange of Thoughts on the Subject of Nationalism
This post is something a little different. Through posting on the Irish Catholics Forum, I have had a few (pleasant) exchanges with a fellow Irish Catholic blogger Young Ireland, whose blog Telling It as It Is can be found here. I have been pleased to encounter someone who, while remaining faithful to the teaching of the Magisterium, is obviously both independent-minded and open-minded.
One of the many prejudices against the Catholic Church is that it is a kind of intellectual retirement home, a place people go when they are tired of thinking for themselves. (The idea that a person could rationally arrive at an acceptance of an orthodoxy, rather than a rejection of all orthodoxy, seems to be-- well, a modern orthodoxy of its own.) But, of course, this prejudice is unwarranted. Faithful Catholics both can and do disagree on many subjects, while remaining true to the authoritative teachings of the Church.
I was interested to notice that, while I strongly agree with Young Ireland on most subjects, we have differing views on the subject of nationalism, and Irish nationalism in particular. I contacted him and asked him if he was amenable to the idea of a friendly exchange of thoughts on this subject, and was very pleased when he agreed to the idea.
He has also agreed to get the ball rolling, and here is his first contribution. (I will respond soon.) Thanks, Young Ireland!
ME AND IRISH CULTURE
That is what I would like to discuss in this post, both from a personal and a political perspective. I would like to thank Maolsheachlann for his generosity in allowing me to guest blog on Irish Papist, and I hope this post will do his blog justice.
Anyway, as for myself, I grew up in a quite nationalist family in a very republican area in North Kerry. Traditional music, GAA, and the pub were (and still are ) an important part of the local culture. As a child, I remember taking a keen interest in the GAA and traditional music. What I was not so keen on was the Irish language. For about an our each day, our class would parrot off sentences as Gaeilge about various topics. If you are a ten-year-old boy, that is a sure way to be turned off Irish culture. Still though, I was generally happy to go with the flow as it was then.
Now those of you living in the Limerick area (as I do now) may have heard of the Irish College at Ballybunion. In 2006, when I was done with primary school, the College was a 5-minute drive from my house, so unsurprisingly my parents booked me in there as a day student. Looking back, I can safely say that the three summers I spent there were pivotal in the development of my understanding of Irish nationalism, and not for the better. The methods used in teaching Irish were very similar to those in the school I had just left. We were roared at and punished as a group for reasons we were often never told about. Three words of English was enough to send you home (though interestingly one could sing in English and not get in trouble at all). The songs sung at the "Claisceadail", as it was known, had a distinctly republican bent, such as "Oro se do bheatha bhaile" and "Se mo laoch mo ghile mear". The national anthem was sung last thing at night, every night. There was one leader there though who I have great respect for, even today. He was very kind to us and would try to make conversation with people in Irish. Still, I only went the last year at the wishes of my parents. After that, my mind had been made up as far as Irish was concerned.
Amazingly given how much I disliked the subject, I did Honours Irish up to Leaving Cert. In fifth and sixth year, there was only two people in my Honours class, including myself, and my stance towards Irish, though always strongly against compulsory Irish, softened somewhat. I especially liked the discussions on current affairs as Gaeilge and we would often watch clips of TG4 if there was a spare class. One less inspiring thing about LC Irish for me was the late unlamented Stair na Gaeilge. Its uncritical and one-sided version of Irish history presented it as a simple battle between the perfect Gaels and the heathen Galls. It even criticised Daniel O'Connell for not promoting the language and presented 1916 and the Gaelic League in a totally biased manner. All that particular part of the course did was confirm me in the belief that the Irish language was something only for Gaeltacht-dwellers, civil servants and republicans, a belief that I now know to be rather dubious.
Ever since I left the Honours Irish exam for the last time, admittedly the only time I have taken an interest in the Irish language is to criticise it, at times rather unfairly. When I started the "Telling It As It Is" blog nearly a year ago, one of the initial aims was to critique Irish language, nationalism and culture. Though a lot of my early posts on the subject were strident, I always maintained that I was only attacking the use of the GAA and the Irish language for political ends (a la Sinn Fein). It was only around the same time that I learned how interwoven certain sections of Irish Catholicism were interwoven with nationalism and sovereignty. I was surprised at this because even though I wasn't exactly a nationalist, especially during the time of my Leaving Cert, I was strongly Eurosceptic and genuinely believed that the EU was bad for Catholics, thanks the the exploits of Coir. It was only when I read the eloquent comments of Hibernicus on the Irish Catholics Forum about the failings of Coir and the CSP that I learned that I had been duped and that the EU was NOT the gargoyle it was made out to be. After lurking on the forum for a couple of months, I signed up around February and the rest is history.
One thing that has been a constant throughout has been opposition to militant republicanism, which is surprising given that it is very popular in my home parish. I believe it is wrong to force anyone's language and culture on anyone else, and thus I oppose compulsory Irish (except in Gaeltacht areas) as I have said or opinions like "You're not Irish if you do not do (for example) play traditional music". 1916 is rather problematic for me as well. Did innocent people going about their daily business really need to be mowed down without mercy? Would Ireland have gotten independence anyway without a single drop of blood being shed? Is it moral to force a language on somebody that they will probably never use, and possibly even dislike because of it? Was it right to sneer at people critical of certain aspects of Irish nationalism, (like the Language Freedom Movement) as "West Brits"? That the Christian Brothers treated "foreign games" as almost sinful? Only God knows the answer to those questions.
That said, I am happy to be proud to be Irish in less problematic areas. St. Patrick's Day in particular makes me feel more patriotic than I would normally be. In particular, I take great pride in being a Kerryman and being from Ballybunion. When I come home from college every Friday, the first thing I do is read the previous Wednesday's Kerryman to see what happened in the county during the week. I take a very keen interest in local issues in the North Kerry area and would like to run for election in the future. So I am not opposed to nationalism or patriotism per se. What I do oppose is people trying to impose their own opinions on others (Note: I am referring to matters of prudential judgement here, not of dogma).
To be fair though, my views towards nationalists (not republicans) have mellowed somewhat, even if I don't necessarily agree with them. I have found people like Peadar Laighleis and Maolseachlann here to be very tolerant and open to debate on what it means to be Irish. I mean, I would be quite happy to vote for someone like Dana, Ronan Mullen or Kathy Sinnott with whom I may disagree on this issue. Maolseachleann said himself that he was anti-nationalist at my age as well. So who knows, in fifteen or twenty years time, I may come to love Irish language and culture. In conclusion, I suppose I could say that at the moment, I am proud of my country, just not in the way that people usually define patriotism.
One of the many prejudices against the Catholic Church is that it is a kind of intellectual retirement home, a place people go when they are tired of thinking for themselves. (The idea that a person could rationally arrive at an acceptance of an orthodoxy, rather than a rejection of all orthodoxy, seems to be-- well, a modern orthodoxy of its own.) But, of course, this prejudice is unwarranted. Faithful Catholics both can and do disagree on many subjects, while remaining true to the authoritative teachings of the Church.
I was interested to notice that, while I strongly agree with Young Ireland on most subjects, we have differing views on the subject of nationalism, and Irish nationalism in particular. I contacted him and asked him if he was amenable to the idea of a friendly exchange of thoughts on this subject, and was very pleased when he agreed to the idea.
He has also agreed to get the ball rolling, and here is his first contribution. (I will respond soon.) Thanks, Young Ireland!
ME AND IRISH CULTURE
That is what I would like to discuss in this post, both from a personal and a political perspective. I would like to thank Maolsheachlann for his generosity in allowing me to guest blog on Irish Papist, and I hope this post will do his blog justice.
Anyway, as for myself, I grew up in a quite nationalist family in a very republican area in North Kerry. Traditional music, GAA, and the pub were (and still are ) an important part of the local culture. As a child, I remember taking a keen interest in the GAA and traditional music. What I was not so keen on was the Irish language. For about an our each day, our class would parrot off sentences as Gaeilge about various topics. If you are a ten-year-old boy, that is a sure way to be turned off Irish culture. Still though, I was generally happy to go with the flow as it was then.
Now those of you living in the Limerick area (as I do now) may have heard of the Irish College at Ballybunion. In 2006, when I was done with primary school, the College was a 5-minute drive from my house, so unsurprisingly my parents booked me in there as a day student. Looking back, I can safely say that the three summers I spent there were pivotal in the development of my understanding of Irish nationalism, and not for the better. The methods used in teaching Irish were very similar to those in the school I had just left. We were roared at and punished as a group for reasons we were often never told about. Three words of English was enough to send you home (though interestingly one could sing in English and not get in trouble at all). The songs sung at the "Claisceadail", as it was known, had a distinctly republican bent, such as "Oro se do bheatha bhaile" and "Se mo laoch mo ghile mear". The national anthem was sung last thing at night, every night. There was one leader there though who I have great respect for, even today. He was very kind to us and would try to make conversation with people in Irish. Still, I only went the last year at the wishes of my parents. After that, my mind had been made up as far as Irish was concerned.
Amazingly given how much I disliked the subject, I did Honours Irish up to Leaving Cert. In fifth and sixth year, there was only two people in my Honours class, including myself, and my stance towards Irish, though always strongly against compulsory Irish, softened somewhat. I especially liked the discussions on current affairs as Gaeilge and we would often watch clips of TG4 if there was a spare class. One less inspiring thing about LC Irish for me was the late unlamented Stair na Gaeilge. Its uncritical and one-sided version of Irish history presented it as a simple battle between the perfect Gaels and the heathen Galls. It even criticised Daniel O'Connell for not promoting the language and presented 1916 and the Gaelic League in a totally biased manner. All that particular part of the course did was confirm me in the belief that the Irish language was something only for Gaeltacht-dwellers, civil servants and republicans, a belief that I now know to be rather dubious.
Ever since I left the Honours Irish exam for the last time, admittedly the only time I have taken an interest in the Irish language is to criticise it, at times rather unfairly. When I started the "Telling It As It Is" blog nearly a year ago, one of the initial aims was to critique Irish language, nationalism and culture. Though a lot of my early posts on the subject were strident, I always maintained that I was only attacking the use of the GAA and the Irish language for political ends (a la Sinn Fein). It was only around the same time that I learned how interwoven certain sections of Irish Catholicism were interwoven with nationalism and sovereignty. I was surprised at this because even though I wasn't exactly a nationalist, especially during the time of my Leaving Cert, I was strongly Eurosceptic and genuinely believed that the EU was bad for Catholics, thanks the the exploits of Coir. It was only when I read the eloquent comments of Hibernicus on the Irish Catholics Forum about the failings of Coir and the CSP that I learned that I had been duped and that the EU was NOT the gargoyle it was made out to be. After lurking on the forum for a couple of months, I signed up around February and the rest is history.
One thing that has been a constant throughout has been opposition to militant republicanism, which is surprising given that it is very popular in my home parish. I believe it is wrong to force anyone's language and culture on anyone else, and thus I oppose compulsory Irish (except in Gaeltacht areas) as I have said or opinions like "You're not Irish if you do not do (for example) play traditional music". 1916 is rather problematic for me as well. Did innocent people going about their daily business really need to be mowed down without mercy? Would Ireland have gotten independence anyway without a single drop of blood being shed? Is it moral to force a language on somebody that they will probably never use, and possibly even dislike because of it? Was it right to sneer at people critical of certain aspects of Irish nationalism, (like the Language Freedom Movement) as "West Brits"? That the Christian Brothers treated "foreign games" as almost sinful? Only God knows the answer to those questions.
That said, I am happy to be proud to be Irish in less problematic areas. St. Patrick's Day in particular makes me feel more patriotic than I would normally be. In particular, I take great pride in being a Kerryman and being from Ballybunion. When I come home from college every Friday, the first thing I do is read the previous Wednesday's Kerryman to see what happened in the county during the week. I take a very keen interest in local issues in the North Kerry area and would like to run for election in the future. So I am not opposed to nationalism or patriotism per se. What I do oppose is people trying to impose their own opinions on others (Note: I am referring to matters of prudential judgement here, not of dogma).
To be fair though, my views towards nationalists (not republicans) have mellowed somewhat, even if I don't necessarily agree with them. I have found people like Peadar Laighleis and Maolseachlann here to be very tolerant and open to debate on what it means to be Irish. I mean, I would be quite happy to vote for someone like Dana, Ronan Mullen or Kathy Sinnott with whom I may disagree on this issue. Maolseachleann said himself that he was anti-nationalist at my age as well. So who knows, in fifteen or twenty years time, I may come to love Irish language and culture. In conclusion, I suppose I could say that at the moment, I am proud of my country, just not in the way that people usually define patriotism.
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