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Études irlandaises
39-2 | 2014 Les religions en République d’Irlande depuis 1990
Eamon Maher et Catherine Maignant (dir.)
Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/etudesirlandaises/3867 DOI : 10.4000/etudesirlandaises.3867 ISSN : 2259-8863
Éditeur Presses universitaires de Caen
Édition imprimée Date de publication : 20 novembre 2014 ISBN : 978-2-7535-3559-6 ISSN : 0183-973X
Référence électronique Eamon Maher et Catherine Maignant (dir.), Études irlandaises, 39-2 | 2014, « Les religions en République d’Irlande depuis 1990 » [En ligne], mis en ligne le 20 novembre 2016, consulté le 02 avril 2020. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/etudesirlandaises/3867 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/ etudesirlandaises.3867
Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 2 avril 2020.
Études irlandaises est mise à disposition selon les termes de la Licence Creative Commons Attribution - Pas d’Utilisation Commerciale - Partage dans les Mêmes Conditions 4.0 International. 1
SOMMAIRE
Avant-propos Eamon Maher et Catherine Maignant
Introduction : les données
Le paysage religieux de la République et de l’Irlande du Nord au début du XXIe siècle Catherine Piola
L’église catholique en question : évolutions et enjeux
The Aggiornamento of the Irish Catholic Church in the 1960s and 1970s Yann Bevant
Reconstruction de l’Église catholique en République d’Irlande Déborah Vandewoude
Church and State in Ireland (1922-2013): Contrasting Perceptions of Humanity Catherine Maignant
Dark walled up with stone: contrasting images of Irish Catholicism Colum Kenny
Représentations littéraires des changements religieux
“They all seem to have inherited the horrible ugliness and sewer filth of sex”: Catholic Guilt in Selected Works by John McGahern (1934-2006) Eamon Maher
Seán Dunne’s The Road to Silence: An Anomalous Spiritual Autobiography? James S. Rogers
“An Art that Knows its Mind”: Prayer, Poetry and Post-Catholic Identity in Seamus Heaney’s “Squarings” Eugene O’Brien
De quelques religions/religiosités en progression
From Irish Exceptionalism to European Normality?: The New Islamic Presence in the Republic of Ireland Oliver Scharbrodt
Buddhism in Ireland: The Inner Life of World-Systems Laurence Cox
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The New Age Movement in the Post-Celtic Tiger Context: Secularisation, Enchantment and Crisis Carmen Kuhling
Comptes rendus de lecture
Axel Klein, O’Kelly: An Irish Musical Family in Nineteenth-Century France Adrian Scahill
Liam Harte, Reading the Contemporary Irish Novel 1987-2007 Sylvie Mikowski
Laurence Cox, Buddhism and Ireland – From the Celts to the Counter-Culture and Beyond Catherine Maignant
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Avant-propos
Eamon Maher et Catherine Maignant
1 Régis Debray ouvre ainsi son étude sur les fonctions du religieux à notre époque : « Saugrenu chassé-croisé. Quiconque compulse le dossier Dieu découvre la verdeur de l’Éternel, vingt-cinq siècles à peine […]. Notre monde contemporain, qui voulait tant faire jeune et déluré, trébuche sur des anachronismes – anathèmes, paradis et guerres saintes1. » Le religieux est devenu un enjeu clé au sein de la plupart des sociétés. Non seulement l’Europe découvre que la sécularisation, marque de fabrique du projet libéral, est plus fragile qu’escompté, mais elle prend conscience de son exceptionnalité dans un monde sous-tendu par les questions religieuses. Si l’illusion d’optique entretenue par l’approche européo-centriste ne peut plus abuser l’observateur du monde contemporain, c’est que l’actualité la plus brûlante porte témoignage de la prégnance de considérations religieuses partout dans le monde, y compris sur le sol européen.
2 Dès 1977 Glasner présentait la sécularisation comme un mythe sociologique2 ; dix ans plus tard Hadden y voyait un concept idéologiquement marqué, qui postulait arbitrairement l’incompatibilité entre modernité et religion3. Aujourd’hui, même si le débat se poursuit, on a le sentiment que le processus a avorté, que la sécularisation, pourtant longtemps annoncée comme inéluctable dans les sociétés modernes, s’est achevée avant de s’être véritablement imposée, et ce jusqu’en Europe occidentale, si l’on admet, par exemple, que le post-sécularisme, théorisé, notamment, par Habermas4, s’est incarné dans le Traité de Lisbonne. Le débat sur les théories de la sécularisation a montré l’inaptitude de ce seul concept à rendre compte des réalités complexes du monde d’aujourd’hui, déchiré entre la dynamique de sécularisation léguée par l’ère moderne, les revendications communautaires liées à l’immigration dans un contexte de nouvelles croisades globales, la fragmentation du croire dans le monde occidental et le ré-enchantement du monde qui caractérise l’ultramodernité contemporaine.
3 La situation, en Irlande, n’est pas plus simple. Ainsi que Kieran Keohane et Carmen Kuhling l’ont montré, « l’Irlande s’est construite dans l’imaginaire global comme un lieu “en dehors” de la modernité5 ». L’Église catholique a fait de l’Irlande, dans la deuxième moitié du XIXesiècle, un laboratoire où ont été appliquées les directives morales et sociales de papes anti-modernes, dont Pie IX. La théorisation de la doctrine de
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l’Immaculée Conception et le renforcement du dogme du péché originel ont eu un impact indiscutable sur la position des femmes dans la société, leur effacement progressif de l’histoire et sur le rapport de la population dans son ensemble à la sexualité6. À la même époque, le rôle social légitimé et prescrit de l’Église s’est institué en norme et a permis à l’institution de prendre progressivement le contrôle de ces rouages essentiels que sont les secteurs de l’éducation, de la santé et de la charité. La collusion de plus en plus évidente entre nation et Catholicisme allait assurer à l’Église de l’État Libre, puis de la République d’Irlande un quasi monopole de la foi en même temps qu’un contrôle social, moral et politique, surtout après la ratification de la Constitution de 1937.
4 Dans le même temps, les identités religieuses et ethniques héritées du XVIe siècle, associées, respectivement, au catholicisme, à l’Anglicanisme de l’Église d’Irlande et au Presbytérianisme, pour signaler les plus importantes, se cristallisaient et prenaient une dimension politique et paramilitaire de plus en plus affirmée. La nation irlandaise se vivait comme catholique ; la majorité protestante d’Ulster rejetait l’idée du Home Rule, puis de l’indépendance au nom de spécificités religieuses qui rendaient incompatibles l’intégration dans un même État ayant brisé ses liens avec la Grande-Bretagne. Après la partition et la création de l’État Libre au Sud, la religion devait demeurer un marqueur politico-identitaire essentiel et définir pour l’Irlande du Nord, toujours rattachée au Royaume Uni, une histoire radicalement différente, même si l’Église catholique est restée jusqu’à ce jour, administrativement organisée sur le territoire de toute l’île.
5 Près d’un siècle après la partition, et malgré des tendances marginales comparables ici ou là, le paysage religieux d’Irlande du Nord demeure si radicalement différent dans ses expressions et ses enjeux qu’il était exclu de l’intégrer dans un seul ouvrage consacré à la religion en Irlande. Un volume spécifique serait indiscutablement nécessaire à l’étude des phénomènes religieux sur ce territoire. Nous ne l’évoquerons donc pas dans ce recueil, consacré exclusivement à la République d’Irlande, si ce n’est dans l’introduction consacrée aux données, où Catherine Piola a trouvé judicieux, à des fins comparatives, d’étudier à la fois les Vingt-Six Comtés et l’Ulster.
6 Dans son article, consacré pour l’essentiel à l’analyse des réponses aux questions religieuses du recensement de 2011, elle note les évolutions flagrantes par rapport au modèle hérité du XIXe siècle et de l’ère De Valera. Si une large majorité des Irlandais reste très profondément attachée au catholicisme malgré le déclin de l’institution, si les protestantismes traditionnels stagnent globalement, de nouvelles tendances se font jour, notamment le succès de nouvelles religions ou religiosités, issues ou non de l’immigration caractéristique des années de réussite économique du Tigre celtique. Devant ces transformations, qui affectent l’identité irlandaise en son cœur même, il paraissait utile de proposer un bilan dynamique de la situation religieuse du pays. C’est ce que le présent numéro de la revue Études irlandaises se fixe pour objectif. L’ambition de ses responsables est de s’interroger sur les effets des facteurs qui ont abouti à la perte de crédibilité de l’Église catholique et à l’émergence de nouveaux modèles à la fois au sein du Catholicisme et chez ceux qui ont choisi d’autres voies. L’importance des développements économiques et de la globalisation dans le contexte religieux sera également mise en avant et les différents articles chercheront à rendre compte de la vigueur des débats ainsi que de la complexité des enjeux, dans un cadre international nécessairement prégnant.
7 Si l’exhaustivité était impossible dans le volume prescrit, le prisme choisi pour capter les éléments essentiels vise à faire écho aux débats et transformations de l’Église
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catholique confrontée à une crise d’autorité sans précédent, tout en mettant en évidence par l’exemple la montée en puissance de nouvelles formes religieuses très variées. Seuls ont été privilégiés des acteurs potentiels de changement. Aucun article ne porte donc sur les protestantismes bien que le recul spectaculaire enregistré depuis le début du XXe siècle paraisse endigué. Passant de près de 10 % de la population en 1911 à un peu moins de 3 % en 1991, ils en représentaient en effet 3,5 % en 2011. Il faudra sans doute à l’avenir s’intéresser de près à cette nouvelle tendance, et en particulier à la multiplication par deux du nombre des Témoins de Jéhovah, par quatre des Évangélistes et par cinq des Luthériens entre 1991 et 2011. Parmi les Chrétiens, ce sont, néanmoins, indiscutablement les Orthodoxes dont la poussée a été la plus marquante, puisque leur nombre est passé de 358 à 45,223 au cours de la même période. Catherine Piola traite abondamment de ce cas. C’est pourquoi le choix s’est porté sur des cultes sans lien avec le christianisme pour les études de cas spécifiques.
8 L’ouvrage est structuré en trois parties. La première porte sur les transformations du catholicisme, dont les fidèles représentaient encore 84,5 % de la population lors du dernier recensement, contre 91,5 % en 1991. Partant de la période de transition accompagnant Vatican II dans les années 1960 et 1970 à des fins d’indispensable profondeur historique (Yann Bévant), le propos se concentre toutefois essentiellement sur la période postérieure à 1990, qui a brutalement vu se faire jour des transformations fondamentales, dans un laps de temps extrêmement réduit. S’ils n’en sont pas les causes uniques, les scandales de mœurs ont joué un rôle considérable dans la perte de confiance envers l’institution. Les affaires de Mgr Eamon Casey et du Père Michael Cleary ont été les premières à être révélées au public au début des années 90, les premières d’une longue série. Puis sont venus les rapports d’enquête ordonnés par l’État irlandais, qui ont mis en évidence les abus sexuels et violences sur mineurs pratiqués dans diverses institutions catholiques. Tous, le rapport Ferns (2005), le rapport Ryan (2009), le rapport Murphy (2009) et le rapport Cloyne (2011), sont accablants ; ils ont bouleversé et révulsé la population irlandaise et contribué à la rupture institutionnelle entre l’État et l’Église, même si le dernier document en date, le rapport sur le rôle de l’État dans l’affaire des blanchisseries Madeleine (2013), a démontré son implication directe. Les excuses du Taoiseach Enda Kenny et le versement d’une compensation aux survivantes ont mis l’accent sur la volonté des acteurs politiques d’aujourd’hui de s’absoudre des compromissions de leurs prédécesseurs. La plupart des articles de cette section évoquent les rapports sans qu’ils en soient le sujet direct. Ils ont en effet été déjà bien étudiés7 et les contributeurs ont préféré mettre l’accent sur des points moins connus, plus récents ou plus généraux.
9 Déborah Vandewoude examine ainsi les tentatives de reconstruction qui font actuellement suite au choc des années 90. Catherine Maignant examine en perspective historique, juridique et théologique le débat sur la morale sexuelle et particulièrement la question de l’avortement, à la suite du vote, durant l’été 2013, du « Protection of Life during Pregnancy Act ». Colum Kenny, enfin, s’interroge sur la place du Catholicisme dans l’identité irlandaise après la crise des années 1990 et 2000, et défend l’idée qu’elle demeure forte, même si la voie de la réconciliation reste à trouver.
10 La deuxième partie porte sur les représentations littéraires des changements et des débats qui sont intervenus sur les questions religieuses en République d’Irlande. Suivant le même schéma que dans la première partie, une première étude, proposée par Eamon Maher, s’intéresse aux années 60. Elle porte sur la culpabilité catholique en
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matière sexuelle, essentiellement dans deux œuvres de John McGahern: « The End or the Beginning of Love » (non publié) et The Dark (1965). Dans l’atmosphère de l’époque, évoquée précédemment par Yann Bévant, l’Église catholique fait peser sur les protagonistes une chape de rigorisme qui détruit l’humain au cœur des individus. James Silas Rogers, pour sa part, montre comment le poète Seán Dunne, se libère par le biais d’une expérience intérieure, tout en restant attaché à la foi catholique. Ce faisant, il interroge le genre de l’autobiographie spirituelle, dont The Road to Silence constitue un exemple singulier. Eugene O’Brien, enfin, démontre que dans l’Irlande qualifiée de « post-catholique », la suite de poèmes intitulée « Squarings » tirée du recueil Seeing Things de Seamus Heaney (1991), instaure une nouvelle forme de prière, séculière, non religieuse malgré un substrat religieux, où poésie et philosophie prennent le dessus mais véhiculent l’inconscient culturel pétri de symbolisme religieux d’un poète en quête d’une transcendance originale.
11 Les trois écrivains traités dans ce numéro sont tous issus d’une génération pétrie de foi catholique et qui s’inspire de ses rituels et observances. Il est vrai que McGahern et Heaney, devenus adultes, ne pratiquaient plus la religion de leur enfance, mais ils y restaient fort attachés, à tel point qu’ils ont tous les deux été enterrés conformément aux coutumes et habitudes irlandaises traditionnelles. Dans son entretien avec Dennis O’Driscoll, Heaney fait la remarque suivante à propos des funérailles de son ami, McGahern :
And no Latin either, just the vernacular parish mass – a low mass, as they used to call it – during which a tribute was spoken by the celebrant. No music, no addresses by friends or writers, the coffin carried down the aisle the same as at the funeral last week and last year and last century, the rosary said at the graveside and then local men shovelling in the mould8.
12 Cette révérence envers les moeurs catholiques ne se reflète guère dans les écrits d’écrivains tels que Roddy Doyle ou Anne Enright, qui affichent leur hostilité envers ce qui représente à leurs yeux le conditionnement religieux qu’ils ont subi et auquel ils ont résisté. Les personnages doyliens de la Barrytown Trilogy, habitant dans une banlieue dublinoise déchristianisée, ne vont jamais à la messe et ne parlent que très peu de religion. Dans The Gathering, Prix Booker de 2007, Enright raconte le suicide du frère de son héroïne Veronica, suite à l’abus sexuel qu’il a subi par le pensionnaire perverti de sa grand’mère. Pour plusieurs raisons, Veronica ne supporte pas la religion et en vient à prendre conscience que son père lui ressemblait à cet égard :
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Of course Mammy is a Catholic, in the way that Mammys are, but for fourteen years or so I sat by or behind my father, on a wooden church bench, every Sunday morning and in all that time, I never saw his lips move. I never heard him pray aloud, or saw him bend his head, or do anything that might be considered remarkable were he sitting on the top desk of a bus. When it was time for Communion he stood at the end of the bench as we trooped by, like letting sheep out at a gate, but I don’t know if he ever followed us up to the Communion rail. My father attended church in his official capacity. If I went looking for his personal belief I would not know where to begin, or in what part of his body it might inhere9.
13 Se sentant de plus en plus étrangers par rapport aux religions traditionnelles, on voit dans plusieurs romans contemporains des personnages qui sont attirés par le spirituel, mais en dehors de toute religion organisée. Leur quête spirituelle devient une quête individuelle ou se réalise à travers de nouvelles expériences, liées à la nature ou à de nouvelles formes de témoignage spirituel. La troisième partie de ce numéro porte témoignage de ce phénomène. Elle propose en effet trois études de cas de religions et religiosités émergentes qui rencontrent un grand succès en Irlande aujourd’hui. Le choix était large. L’ouvrage dirigé par Olivia Cosgrove et al., intitulé Ireland’s New Religious Movements, montre bien la prolifération de formes religieuses ou para- religieuses très variées. Depuis le néo-paganisme jusque aux cultes divers dédiés à la Grande Déesse Mère, en passant par toutes les formes d’ésotérisme imaginables, l’Irlande s’est ouverte au vent du New Age. Elle a aussi intégré les expressions spirituelles de la contre-culture américaine et est devenue partie prenante du mouvement de diffusion de nouvelles religiosités sur internet. Un autre facteur essentiel de diversification religieuse a été l’immigration, favorisée par le succès économique des années fastes du Tigre celtique. Si Catherine Piola explique dans son introduction qu’elle a permis d’ajouter aux forces catholiques, notamment grâce à l’arrivée massive de migrants en provenance d’Europe de l’Est, elle a également permis à d’autres types de religion de s’implanter en Irlande.
14 L’Islam, qui n’a aucun passé dans le pays, est ainsi devenu numériquement la troisième religion du pays. Oliver Scharbrodt lui consacre un article qui constitue un état des lieux complet de la situation des Musulmans. Il y analyse les conditions d’intégration de cette population dans la société irlandaise en évaluant le caractère opératoire des thèses qui suggèrent que le passé colonial de l’Irlande a une incidence favorable sur la manière dont l’Islam a pu s’implanter. Le cas du Bouddhisme, traité par Laurence Cox, diffère de celui de l’islam en ce que les phénomènes migratoires ne suffisent pas à expliquer la multiplication par dix de ses adeptes depuis les années 90. L’auteur adopte la perspective du système-monde pour analyser le développement du Bouddhisme en Irlande, dont il démontre qu’il a aujourd’hui perdu son image contestataire et exotique pour accéder à une forme de respectabilité. Dans le dernier article du recueil, Carmen Kuhling, évoquant les Nouveaux Mouvements Religieux en général, revient sur le recensement de 2011 et les théories de la sécularisation pour conclure sur la thèse suivant laquelle l’Irlande est finalement conjointement pré-séculière, séculière et post- séculière, une manière astucieuse de résumer les conclusions individuelles des différents contributeurs.
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15 En 1997 John Waters notait : « In Ireland, although there are Catholics, lapsed Catholics, non- Catholics and anti-Catholics, there is no such thing as an ex-Catholic10. » Certes, l’intégration de nouvelles populations au sein de la société irlandaise a manifestement modifié la composition religieuse du pays. Certes, la globalisation et l’influence de spiritualités et philosophies orientales ont permis de donner une place à d’autres pensées religieuses en Irlande. Certes, la redécouverte de cultes archaïques, natifs ou non, sur une base internationale, servie par la diaspora et le développement de l’internet, a favorisé le syncrétisme et le relativisme dénoncés en son temps par Jean-Paul II11. Certes enfin, l’athéisme, si l’on en croit la dernière enquête internationale en date (2012), atteint maintenant 10 %12. Mais le catholicisme demeure vigoureux, un catholicisme autrement, revigoré de l’intérieur et par les marges, ouvert sur le monde contemporain, pluraliste, désinstitutionnalisé, celui des « nouveaux catholiques », qui se cherchent encore, mais constitueront pour le chercheur de demain un terrain de recherche passionnant. Pour autant, l’avenir de la religion en Irlande est loin d’être assuré, l’effet du sécularisme et de l’incroyance est tel que le prêtre catholique dans la nouvelle de William Trevor (né anglican), « Justina’s Priest », voit un paysage religieux complètement transformé :
Centuries of devotion had created a way of life in which the mystery of the Trinity was taken for granted, the Church’s invincible estate a part of every day, humility part of it, too, instead of rights plucked out of nowhere, order abandoned in favour of confusion. What priests and bishops had been – their strength and their parish people’s salvation – was mocked in television farces, deplored, presented as absurdity. The other priests in other towns, in cities, in country parishes, were isolated by their celibacy, by the mounting black of their dress, had been a consolation once, but that source of comfort had long dried up13.
16 Le pouvoir d’un clergé catholique désillusionné est loin d’être une source de réconfort en Irlande à l’heure actuelle car les églises dans lesquelles les prêtres exercent leur métier se vident à une vitesse effrayante. Personne ne sait ce que réserve l’avenir, mais il est clair que, comme dans le reste du monde occidental, les puissantes Eglises d’antan ne renaîtront pas de leurs cendres dans un avenir proche. Même si le débat théorique sur la sécularisation n’est pas clos, les échos en provenance d’Irlande donnent à penser que les recompositions à l’œuvre dans le pays ont ouvert la voie à une ère nouvelle, marquée, comme dans la plupart des pays européens, par une privatisation du religieux, une prise de distance entre l’État et les Églises, une fragmentation du croire et une forme de laïcisation du quotidien.
NOTES
1. Régis Debray, Le feu sacré – Fonctions du religieux, Paris, Fayard, 2003, p.12.
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2. Peter Glasner, The sociology of secularisation. A critique of a concept, London, Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1977. 3. J-K Hadden, « Towards desacralizing secularization theory », Social forces, 65, 3, 1987, p. 587-611. 4. Voir notamment Jürgen Habermas, "Secularism's Crisis of Faith: Notes on Post- Secular Society". New perspectives quarterly. vol. 25, 2008, p. 17-29. Pour la phase initiale du concept de post-sécularisme, voir également Simon During, "Toward the Postsecular", PMLA: Publications of the Modern Language Association of America: 120.3, 2005, p. 876–77. 5. Kieran Keohane et Carmen Kuhling, Collision Culture, Dublin, The Liffey Press, 2004, p. 125 6. Sur ces questions, voir notamment Tom Inglis, Global Monopoly (Dublin, UCD Press, (1987) 1998) et Lessons in Irish Sexuality (Dublin, UCD Press, 1998), ainsi que Diarmuid Ferriter, Occasions of Sin, Londres, Profile Books, 2009. 7. Voir par exemple Tony Flannery (ed), Responding to the Ryan Report, Dublin, Columba Press, 2009, John Littleton et Eamon Maher (eds), The Dublin/Murphy Report : A Watershed for Irish Catholicism ; Dublin, Columba, 2010. 8. Dennis O’Driscoll, Stepping Stones Interviews with Seamus Heaney, London, Faber & Faber, 2008, p.473. 9. Anne Enright, The Gathering, London, Vintage Books, 2007, p.227. 10. John Waters, An Intelligent Person’s Guide to Modern Ireland, Londres, Duckworth, (1997) 1998, p. 63. 11. Jean-Paul II, Encyclique Fides et Ratio, 1998, accessible en ligne à l’adresse suivante (site du Vatican) : http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/john_paul_ii/encyclicals/ documents/hf_jp-ii_enc_15101998_fides-et-ratio_fr.html. Page consultée le 20 mai 2014. 12. WIN-Gallup International, Global Index of Religiosity and Atheism, Accessible en ligne à l’adresse suivante : http://www.wingia.com/web/files/news/14/file/14.pdf. Page consultée le 20 mai 2014. 13. William Trevor, A Bit on the Side, London, Viking, 2004, p.57.
AUTEURS
EAMON MAHER ITT Dublin
CATHERINE MAIGNANT Université Lille 3
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Introduction : les données Introduction: data
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Le paysage religieux de la République et de l’Irlande du Nord au début du XXIe siècle
Catherine Piola
1 Documenter, mesurer et analyser la place de la religion dans une société est un véritable défi en soi. L’étude relève en effet de l’espace institutionnel qui est donné à la religion dans la société ainsi que de la valeur que lui accorde chaque individu. C’est dans la société contemporaine irlandaise de la République et de l’Irlande du Nord que les paragraphes qui suivent tentent de définir l’attachement religieux des individus composant ces deux nations.
2 Considérée ici comme marqueur indentitaire, l’appartenance religieuse permet de dessiner un profil démographique précis et contrasté de la population irlandaise à la fin de la première décennie du XXIe siècle. L’objectif est de cerner la composition des communautés les plus représentées dans les deux sociétés, leurs caractéristiques structurelles et identitaires. L’étude doit aussi s’intéresser à ceux qui, résidents dans le pays, étrangers ou non, se déclarent d’une dénomination religieuse plus mineure tout comme enfin à ceux qui n’ont aucune affiliation religieuse.
3 L’élaboration de ce profil repose essentiellement sur les données recueillies lors du dernier recensement en date, en 2011, tout en s’appuyant sur les précédentes énumérations décennales1. Ce choix nécessite quelques remarques liminaires quant au recueil et à la fiabilité des données.
4 Le recueil de données relatives à l’identité religieuse de la population soulève des questions quel que soit le pays étudié. Dresser un profil du caractère religieux d’une population à partir des recensements de la population est pourtant plus aisé en Irlande que dans d’autres pays européens. En France ou en Belgique par exemple, les recensements ne dénombrent pas la population selon ce critère, en Allemagne et au Royaume-Uni encore, les données ne sont collectées que depuis peu. Or en Irlande, le critère de l’appartenance religieuse est renseigné depuis le milieu du XIXe siècle et l’Irlande du Nord, à sa création, a maintenu l’inclusion des données dans ses
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recensements successifs, contrairement à ce qui a longtemps été fait dans le Royaume- Uni, qui n’a introduit ce critère que depuis 2001.
5 Dans la République, le recueil de données a longtemps été réduit à la simple déclaration de l’appartenance à une religion ; seuls le catholicisme, quelques dénominations protestantes et le judaïsme étaient présentées au public, et ceci jusqu’au recensement de 1961.
6 La représentativité des catholiques et protestants était telle, oscillant entre 99,7 et 99,3 % jusqu’à la fin des années 1960, que le bureau des statistiques irlandais jugeait suffisante la catégorie désignée sous le nom de « autre » et regroupant pêle-mêle les personnes sans religion, celles se déclarant d’une autre confession, chrétienne ou non, et celles ne souhaitant pas renseigner cet item. Depuis le recensement de 1961, et trente ans durant, ces trois catégories ont fait l’objet de calculs statistiques différenciés, la catégorie « autres religions » n’étant pas plus détaillée. Depuis le recensement de 1991 et sous l’effet d’une diversité religieuse de plus en plus visible, la publication des recensements offre un panorama relativement complet des religions minoritaires présentes dans la République.
7 En Irlande du Nord, le phénomène est identique : le nombre infime de personnes ne se déclarant ni protestant ni catholique semble avoir justifié longtemps une catégorie fourre-tout intitulée ‘autre’. De plus, il faut noter que les recensements de 1971 et 1981 ont été perturbés par le climat politique, faussant le recueil des données de l’item « religion » en particulier. Depuis le recensement de 1991, plus fiable que les deux précédents, la réponse ‘item non renseigné’ est traitée comme catégorie à part entière, et celle des ‘autres dénominations’ est devenue plus précise à partir de 2001. C’est aussi en 2001 que la distinction a été introduite entre religion pratiquée et religion liée à l’identité familiale dans laquelle la personne interrogée a grandi.
8 La fiabilité des données des recensements repose avant tout sur leur exhaustivité et la richesse que le croisement des données offre, pour un même recensement comme d’un recensement à l’autre. En 2011, les énumérations de la population fournissent une masse de données sur la religion qui résulte d’un processus de recueil de données plus fin à mesure que les appartenances et les pratiques se sont diversifiées.
9 Si la fiabilité des recensements pose moins problème que celle de sondages sur des échantillons limités en nombre par exemple, il est vrai que ces données ont leurs limites. L’information est en effet recueillie sur le principe de l’auto-déclaration, non obligatoire qui plus est. Telles qu’elles sont collectées par les agents recenseurs, les données ne peuvent rendre compte de la foi, des pratiques liées à l’appartenance comme l’assiduité aux services, du recours à la prière ou à la confession, du respect ou du rejet des préceptes par exemple.
10 Afin de compléter le profil démographique qui suit, les sondages nationaux ou européens constituent une source de données qui peut être consultée, sur les questions de la désaffection religieuse ou de la spiritualité notamment. Quelques études européennes, comme l’Eurobaromètre de 2010, fournissent un complément d’information qualitatif vers lequel le lecteur pourra se tourner afin d’en savoir plus sur le sentiment religieux.
11 Pour lors, l’analyse des recensements successifs fait émerger un profil religieux des Irlandais qui présente trois traits distinctifs et néanmoins liés. On peut en effet dans un premier temps questionner la place du catholicisme et du protestantisme dans l’île
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avant d’observer la montée relative d’autres confessions, chrétiennes ou non, et enfin se pencher sur la question du rejet ou de l’absence de religion.
Une écrasante et durable dualité catholique/ protestante
12 Situons pour commencer les deux religions majoritaires, catholique et protestante, dans une perspective historique qui permet de comprendre pourquoi on a si longtemps associé d’une part la République à un fort catholicisme et en quoi, par ailleurs, la population de l’Irlande du Nord a longtemps été déchirée entre les deux religions chrétiennes majoritaires.
Tableau 1 : Effectifs catholiques et protestants et part de la population totale en République d’Irlande et en Irlande du Nord, de 1911 à 2011
1911 1926 1961 1981 1991 2011
République d’Irlande
Catholiques* 2,812 2,751 2,673 3,204 3,228 3,861
% 89,5 92,5 94,8 93 91,5 84,1
Protestants 249 535 207 307 129 645 115 411 107 423 165 807
% 9,8 6,9 4,5 3,2 2,9 3,5
Irlande du Nord
Catholiques 430 161 420 428 497 547 414 532 605 639 738 033
% 34,4 33,5 34,9 28 38,4 40,8
Protestants 768 056 781 652 829 778 792 843 763 214 752 555
% 61,4 62,2 58,2 53,5 48,3 41,6
* en millions Source : Volume 13,Census 2006, p. 9 et This is Ireland 1, 2011, p. 104, et Northern Ireland Census 1911, 1926, 1961, 1981, 1991 et 2011 nisra.gov.uk
13 La part de la religion catholique au lendemain de la création de l’État Libre s’est étendue au cours des quarante années qui ont suivi, soutenue par l’idéologie de la constitution de 1937 et alors même que le nombre de catholiques dans l’Irlande de la fin du XIXe siècle était légèrement moindre 2, le nombre d’Anglais, protestants, installés dans le pays étant alors plus élevé3. Le document révèle parallèlement le recul du nombre et de la proportion de membres déclarant leur appartenance au
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protestantisme, qui reste néanmoins numériquement la seconde minorité religieuse dans la République.
14 Le catholicisme occupe encore au début des années 2010 la position de religion de la majorité de la population de la République, quand bien même la place des rites catholiques, comme la présence à la messe dominicale ou la cérémonie du baptême, sont en net recul si l’on en croit les études européennes. Les transformations de pratiques sociales comme le mariage religieux ou l’organisation maritale et familiale par exemple, indiquent aussi une prise de distance par rapport aux préceptes catholiques qui n’est, de toute évidence, pas incompatible avec l’identité catholique dont se revendiquent encore 84 % des Irlandais. Il s’agit d’une communauté qui a repris une croissance en nombre depuis la fin des années 1980 mais dont la part proportionnellement au reste de la population est en déclin, tout comme les effectifs et la part des protestants dans la République.
15 Dans la République, le recul du catholicisme n’est en effet pas dû à la montée du protestantisme puisqu’il a peu varié proportionnellement depuis les années 1970. Bien qu’étant demeurée seconde confession en nombre de pratiquants, le protestantisme dont l’Église d’Irlande demeure la dénomination la plus représentée a vu ses effectifs se réduire depuis la création de la nation jusqu’aux années 1990, passant de près de 8 % à moins de 3 % de la population totale. Le nombre croissant de l’ensemble des protestants depuis ne permet que de maintenir dans la République une proportion d’à peine plus de 3,5 % de l’ensemble de la population. Les différentes affiliations de cette branche du christianisme lui donnent une moins grande unité ou visibilité publique.
16 Historiquement, le nombre de membres des deux religions chrétiennes en Irlande du Nord a été plus équitablement partagé que dans la République. L’apparent déclin du nombre de catholiques dans les années 1980 est sans doute lié à la situation politique de la période ; ce déclin peut en partie s’expliquer aussi par un plus grand nombre de personnes refusant de déclarer leur affiliation religieuse, pour des raisons politiques ou plus personnelles. Le manque de précision sur cet item du recensement ne permet pas de confirmer la validité de cette hypothèse.
17 Afin d’analyser les causes des fluctuations des deux confessions, de comprendre en quoi elles subissent les effets de facteurs démographiques ou sociétaux, les paragraphes suivant réunissent les principales caractéristiques de chacune des deux communautés en 2011.
18 Les catholiques recensés dans la République sont très majoritairement irlandais, à 92 %. Leur représentation par classes d’âges et dans les différentes catégories professionnelles reflète celle de l’ensemble de la population tant leur nombre domine au sein de celle-ci. Ainsi, les catholiques de moins de 30 ans représentent 40 % de l’ensemble des catholiques, les protestants du même âge sont 37 % du total des protestants.
19 Un tiers des catholiques irlandais appartient aux catégories professionnelles les plus élevées, un autre aux catégories des travailleurs manuels, le dernier tiers étant occupé à des postes intermédiaires.
20 En Irlande du Nord, les catholiques de moins de 30 ans forment un groupe de population plus jeune que celui des protestants du même âge, comptant respectivement pour 44 % et 34 % de leur communauté. Les catholiques nord irlandais sont aussi socialement marqués. Ils sont en effet moins nombreux à occuper des postes
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à responsabilité, moins bien qualifiés et plus nombreux proportionnellement à être sans emploi.
21 Sur le territoire, la répartition des catholiques est moins marquée dans la République qu’en Irlande du Nord. On note cependant une très relative faiblesse du catholicisme dans la région de Dublin, où le moindre attachement religieux des citadins couplé à la diversité d’autres confessions dans la capitale et sa région en sont principalement les causes. À mesure que l’on s’éloigne de la capitale, vers le centre et l’ouest, la proportion de catholiques augmente, Offaly étant le comté où, proportionnellement, le nombre de personnes se déclarant de cette religion est le plus élevé.
22 Sans surprise aussi, les comtés bordant l’Irlande du Nord sont moins marqués par la domination catholique, la proportion de protestants y étant plus grande. Les variations d’un comté à l’autre, d’une région à l’autre sont aussi très liées au cadre de vie : en milieu citadin, l’identité religieuse joue un rôle plus secondaire qu’en milieu rural où les populations sont en moyenne plus âgées, l’isolement est plus grand, les communautés plus soudées, notamment par les cérémonies et rituels religieux qui ont encore une fonction sociale importante. Pour les femmes, l’attachement religieux est plus marqué; ceci vaut pour les catholiques comme pour la plupart des autres religions présentes sur le territoire.
23 La répartition territoriale des catholiques en Irlande du Nord est et demeure marquée, selon les comtés, les circonscriptions électorales et les quartiers des villes du pays. Les comtés bordant la République, au sud et à l’ouest, sont majoritairement catholiques, alors que la région est du pays est majoritairement peuplée de protestants. Contrairement à ce qui existe dans la République, le brassage territorial est quasi- inexistant et le sens de l’appartenance religieuse reste fortement associé à un espace strictement délimité. La capitale est un exemple à la fois de divisions communautaires, avec ses quartiers nord et est très majoritairement protestants, et ceux de l’ouest qui sont catholiques.
24 Enfin en terme d’identité nationale, parmi la minorité (7 %) d’étrangers de confession catholique résidant dans la République, notons que la plus grande partie est européenne, 82 % d’entre eux. En 2011, les Polonais et les Lituaniens constituaient plus de la moitié de ce groupe et, avec les catholiques originaires du reste de l’Europe de l’Est (Tchèques, Hongrois, Lettons, Roumains et Slovaques), ils représentaient alors 68 % des catholiques étrangers. En Irlande du Nord, la montée du catholicisme a été renforcée par la présence de résidents non-nationaux, Polonais et Lituaniens, formant les deux minorités nationales numériquement les plus présentes.
25 Ces données montrent que la domination de la religion catholique en Irlande au début du XXIe siècle a été renforcée par la forte présence de citoyens de l’Europe de l’Est. Ils sont environ 160 000 catholiques dans la République et sans eux, la part de cette confession serait tombée à 81 % dans l’ensemble de la population du pays. On comprend alors les encouragements institutionnels pour organiser la venue de travailleurs étrangers originaires de cette partie de l’Europe lorsque les besoins en main-d’œuvre du Tigre Celtique étaient pressants. Le maintien de l’identité catholique du pays s’en trouvait assuré et la relative désaffection des Irlandais compensée4.
26 Dans la République, le protestantisme demeure en 2011 la seconde confession par le nombre de ses pratiquants, deux tiers d’entre eux étant irlandais. La communauté des étrangers de confession protestante est pour moitié constituée de ressortissants du Royaume-Uni. Comme en Irlande du Nord, il s’agit d’un groupe en moyenne moins
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jeune que celui des catholiques. Dans la République et en Irlande du Nord respectivement, 33 % et 39,4 % des protestants ont plus de 50 ans, alors qu’ils ne sont que 28 % dans les mêmes âges chez les catholiques. Ils sont plus nombreux que les catholiques dans les catégories professionnelles plus élevées : 40 % des actifs protestants occupent des professions à responsabilité pour 32 % des catholiques, et ceci bien qu’aucun critère religieux ne participe à la sélection des étudiants des différentes universités des deux pays par exemple, ou encore que la discrimination religieuse soit punie par la loi.
27 En 2011, les protestants représentent 3,5 % de la population totale de la République, proportion légèrement plus élevée dans les comtés de Donegal et Sligo (4 %) et dans celui de Cavan (6,2 %). Contrairement à ce qui a été décrit en Irlande du Nord, la co- existence des deux confessions n’est pas territoriale, bien que des poches à plus forte population protestante existent dans certains milieux urbains, ainsi historiquement dans l’ancienne English Town, aujourd’hui Dun Laoghaire ou encore à West Cork où de nombreux Britanniques possèdent une résidence secondaire.
28 Près de trois quarts des protestants vivant dans la République sont irlandais, le quart restant étant principalement constitué d’Européens (83 %) et, très majoritairement des ressortissants britanniques auxquels sont venus se joindre, entre 2006 et 2011, des Lituaniens. Notons enfin que parmi les membres étrangers de l’Eglise d’Irlande, quelque 8 % sont d’origine africaine.
29 Les protestants constituent un groupe confessionnel moins unitaire que les catholiques. Le maintien de ses effectifs, plus que sa très modeste croissance depuis 2006, lui vaut encore aujourd’hui le rang de première minorité religieuse de la République.
30 Confession majoritaire de l’Irlande du Nord, le protestantisme est depuis 2011 la religion de moins de la moitié des résidents de l’Irlande du Nord, soit 48,4 % toutes dénominations du protestantisme confondues, alors qu’il était encore de 53 % en 2001. Au moins trois facteurs sont liés à ce recul : la structure par âge de la population protestante, le dynamisme démographique moindre la caractérisant et qui découle aussi du vieillissement de la population et, en partie sans doute aussi, la désaffection du sentiment religieux qui caractérise les sociétés occidentales, dont le Royaume-Uni.
31 L’antagonisme catholique/protestant, peu visible dans la République, est identitairement toujours manifeste en Irlande du Nord. La progressive montée en nombre des catholiques, à Belfast par exemple où ils sont devenus majoritaires en 20115, ne réduit pas les tensions qui existent depuis de nombreuses décennies. La question de la mixité territoriale demeure au niveau local comme à celui de la nation.
32 Le recul du catholicisme dans la République, ralenti depuis 2004 par l’arrivée en nombre de catholiques, d’Europe de l’Est en particulier, et la montée de celui de l’Irlande du Nord attestent des évolutions marquantes en cours. Cependant, outre les deux religions majoritaires, il est nécessaire de se tourner vers d’autres dénominations, chrétiennes et non chrétiennes, pour mieux comprendre les transformations en cours du paysage religieux.
Un paysage religieux de plus en plus varié
33 En République comme en Irlande du Nord, la caractéristique qui marque l’évolution de la vie religieuse au cours des trente dernières années est sa plus grande diversité. En
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effet, restées jusque dans les années 1980 très minoritaires, car représentant un nombre total de pratiquants de l’ordre de 0,1 à 0,3 % de la population, les confessions autres que le catholicisme et les protestantismes ont depuis pris une place grandissante dans le paysage religieux, comme en témoignent les deux documents suivants.
Tableau 2 : Dénominations religieuses dans la République en 1971, 1991 et 2011
1971 1991 2011
Religions majoritaires
Total Total Total
Catholiques (en millions) 2,795 3,232 3,861
Protestants Eglise d’Irlande et autres 97 739+21 298 89 187+25 766 129 039+58 866
Religions minoritaires
Effectifs totaux 6 887 33 989 196 273
Part de la population totale 0,2 % 1 % 4,7 %
Musulmans 3 873 49 204
Orthodoxes & Coptes 358 45 223
Autres chrétiens 16 329 41 161
Hindou 953 10 688
Bouddhistes 986 8 703
Témoins de Jehovah 3 393 6 149
Luthériens 1 010 5 683
Evangéliques 1 075 4 188
Juifs 2 633 1 581 1 984
Panthéistes 202 1 940
Mormons 853 1 284
Quakers 749 925
Baha'i 430 520
Autres religions 4 254 2 197 18 621
Source : Volume 13, Census 2006, p. 9, Census 2011, Religion, Ethnicity and Irish Travellers, p. 47, et This is Ireland 1, 2011, p. 104
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Document 3 : Dénominations religieuses en Irlande du Nord en 1971, 1991 et 2011
1971 1991 2011
Religions majoritaires
Total Total Total
Catholiques 477 919 605 639 738 033
Protestants* 879 135 763 214 752 555
Religions minoritaires
Effectifs totaux 19 781 32 288 36 620
% de la population totale 1,7 % 2,2 % 2 %
Musulmans 275 972 3 832
Orthodoxes & Coptes 51 72 1 988
Hindou 651 742 2 382
Bouddhistes 67 270 1 046
Témoins de Jehovah 1 041 2 121 1 728
Luthériens 261 123 294
Evangéliques 589 730 2 719
Juifs 959 410 335
Mormons 975 1 437 1 236
Quakers 1 019 804 679
Sikhs 113 157 216
Baha'i 65 319 238
Autres religions 13 715 24 131 19 771
* dénominations majoritaires du protestantisme (Presbytériens, Eglise d’Irlande, Méthodistes, Baptistes, Brethren, Eglise d’Angleterre, Pentecôtistes) Source : Northern Ireland Census 1971 Religion, p. 16, et Northern Ireland Census 1991 Religion, p. 18, et Table DC2118NI : Religion by sex, nisra.gov.uk
34 La diversité du paysage religieux irlandais, chrétien et non chrétien, est manifeste en 2011. Islam et orthodoxie sont les deux confessions allogènes les plus visibles au sein du paysage confessionnel de la République et de l’Irlande du Nord. Dans les paragraphes
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ci-dessous, un portrait de ces deux communautés est proposé, précédé de celui des fidèles du judaïsme ; ils sont suivis de commentaires relatifs aux autres dénominations.
35 Bien que très minoritaire aujourd’hui, le judaïsme est une religion dont l’histoire en Irlande est plus ancienne que celle des autres religions non-chrétiennes du paysage confessionnel d’aujourd’hui. Certains documents attestent de sa présence dans l’île dès le XIIIe siècle; il ne s’agissait alors que de quelques individus, remarqués pour leurs contributions à la vie politique et économique du pays. La première synagogue est construite à Dublin en 1660, à Belfast, en 1870, et dans les deux cas pour une colonie restreinte de pratiquants. A partir des années 1870, l’arrivée d’immigrés juifs est avérée ; certains fuyaient les pogroms, d’autres étaient des migrants économiques, parmi eux certains en partance pour les Etats-Unis. Nombre d’entre eux étaient issus de l’actuelle Lituanie et se sont regroupés dans les plus grandes villes du pays, Cork, Limerick, Belfast, et surtout à Dublin dans le quartier South Circular Road du centre ville, rapidement surnommé « Petite Jérusalem ». Ces Litvaks constituaient à l’époque la plus importante communauté étrangère du pays qui s’est intégrée peu à peu au tissu économique du pays, principalement par le biais des activités préindustrielles de colporteurs et d’usuriers et donc plus dans l’actuelle République que dans le Nord du pays6. Leur essor, en partie dû à une intégration sociale réussie, est rendu visible par une participation à la vie politique et culturelle dans laquelle demeurent toutes les valeurs propres à leur communauté. On compte environ quatre mille membres au milieu du XXe siècle mais la communauté n’a cessé de s’étioler depuis. Ce déclin est lié à un ensemble de facteurs dont le vieillissement du groupe et le départ de nombre de ses plus jeunes membres, à la création de l’État d’Israël et, au cours des décennies suivantes, vers les États-Unis pour des raisons économiques. Aujourd’hui la République compte quatre synagogues, trois à Dublin et une à Cork. Belfast possède aussi sa synagogue pour une petite centaine de membres. Les familles Briscoe et Herzog ou Wolff restent associées à la vie politique et économique de l’île. La communauté juive irlandaise, pourtant historiquement la plus ancienne, est devenue très minoritaire dans le paysage religieux du pays qui a vu d’autres confessions s’établir dans la seconde moitié du XXe siècle.
36 C’est le cas de l’islam, dans la République, qui, d’une présence très minoritaire due à quelques étudiants arrivés dans les années 1950, est devenu la troisième confession après le catholicisme et le protestantisme, et la première confession non chrétienne en nombre de pratiquants. S’il est vrai que les musulmans étaient encore relativement peu nombreux au début des années 1990, 3 873 énumérés lors du recensement de 1991, le nombre de réfugiés serbes, kosovars et somaliens ainsi que celui d’étudiants venus de Malaisie, du Pakistan ou du Proche-Orient ont participé à la croissance de cette communauté au cours des années 1990. Par la suite, l’arrivée de travailleurs qualifiés, des Philippines notamment, a encore accru les effectifs. La communauté s’est organisée autour de sociétés, fondées sur une participation associative à Cork, Galway ou Limerick, à partir des années 1980. Elles permettent de réunir les membres de cette confession qui ne partagent souvent ni la même culture ni la même langue.
37 En 2002, la République comptait 19 147 musulmans, soit 0,4 % de la population totale du pays, 32 539 en 2006 et 49 204 en 2011, soit respectivement 0,7 et 1 % de la population totale. Les femmes musulmanes sont minoritaires, leurs effectifs (21 000) représentent 42 % de l’ensemble du groupe. Les musulmans sont le second groupe confessionnel ayant la plus forte croissance, après les orthodoxes. Cet essor doit être considéré toutes
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proportions gardées car leurs effectifs restent modestes, notamment comparativement à ceux des deux religions majoritaires.
38 La moitié de la communauté islamique de la République réside à Dublin et dans sa banlieue ; c’est dans un quartier sud de la capitale qu’un premier lieu de culte a été établi au milieu des années 1970 alors que la première société islamique avait été créée à la fin des années 1950. Située dans une ancienne église presbytérienne de ce même quartier, la première mosquée du pays a été inaugurée en 1983, et la première école publique et musulmane dix ans plus tard. Depuis, cette discrète communauté n’a cessé de croître en nombre et en importance dans la vie du pays. L’élection au Parlement d’un de ses membres7, en 1992, constitue un pas en avant en matière de visibilité et d’implication dans la vie du pays. Il s’agit d’une communauté qui demeure diverse car constituée à environ 70 % d’étrangers dont 9 % d’Européens, 18,5 % d’Africains et 32,4 % d’Asiatiques. Pourtant, les musulmans irlandais constituent une part grandissante de l’ensemble de la communauté islamique. De 2006 à 2011, le nombre d’Irlandais musulmans a quasiment doublé, passant de 9 700 membres à 18 200, alors que la population musulmane étrangère n’était passée que de 21 600 à 29 100 membres. Ces chiffres montrent que l’islam est plus ancré dans la société irlandaise que d’autres confessions non traditionnelles qui reposent sur un vivier de pratiquants majoritairement étrangers. Chez les orthodoxes notamment, la part des fidèles de nationalité irlandaise est nettement plus réduite. Chez les musulmans, on peut penser que la communauté prendra plus d’ampleur encore au cours des années à venir du fait de l’âge relativement peu élevé des membres du groupe. En effet, trois musulmans sur dix sont âgés de moins de quatorze ans et les trois quarts des musulmans d’Irlande ont moins de trente-cinq ans en 2011. La taille de cette jeune population a motivé la création d’une école publique à Dublin, où étaient inscrits près de 200 enfants en 2011 et où l’État contribue au financement des activités éducatives, à l’exception de l’enseignement de la religion.
39 Les musulmans d’Irlande du Nord forment une communauté majoritairement composée d’étrangers arrivés en nombre au cours des dix dernières années et ne représentant que 0,2 % de la population totale et 10,4 % des effectifs des religions minoritaires, c’est-à-dire une minorité moins présente que dans la population de la République où ils représentent désormais 1 % de la population totale et un quart des effectifs des religions minoritaires. Il s’agit pourtant de la plus grande minorité non chrétienne d’Irlande du Nord qui, selon le centre musulman de Belfast pourrait atteindre les 10 000 membres et qui pourtant n’a pas de lieu de culte pouvant accueillir un grand nombre de fidèles. Au début des années 2000, le projet de construction d’un centre musulman doté d’une mosquée à Craigavon, dans le comté d’Armagh, a été abandonné suite aux plaintes de riverains et à des attaques racistes dont ont été victimes certains membres de la communauté, l’imam et sa famille en particulier.
40 A ce jour, ni Belfast, qui réunit le plus grand nombre de pratiquants, ni une autre ville du pays ne sont prêtes à accueillir les musulmans d’Irlande du Nord afin qu’ils puissent implanter un espace culturel et religieux correspondant aux besoins de la communauté.
41 Dans la République, les effectifs et les besoins sont tels que le centre du sud de la capitale, ouvert en 1996 à Clonskeagh, ne répond déjà plus aux besoins de la communauté musulmane du Grand Dublin. En avril 2013, au nord de Dublin, à Clongriffin, le projet de construction d’un nouveau centre islamique comprenant une mosquée semble prendre forme. Accueilli par certains comme un moyen de relancer le
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secteur du bâtiment du fait de l’ampleur du projet qui comprend un centre culturel, un lieu de culte, des écoles primaires et secondaires et des logements, il suscite aussi pour la première fois dans la République la crainte d’une intégration plus difficile des fidèles musulmans ainsi refoulés et concentrés aux confins de la zone urbaine dublinoise.
42 Il faut souligner que, jusqu’à présent, les questions du port de signes distinctifs de la religion, de la pratique des prières quotidiennes, du ramadan ou encore celles associées aux contraintes alimentaires n’ont pas déclenché dans la République les prises de position qu’elles ont suscitées sur le continent. En 2012, un colloque international consacré à l’islam en Irlande s’est tenue à l’université de Cork. La volonté y était affichée d’ouvrir un champ d’investigation en sciences sociales sur des sujets de réflexion comme l’existence de l’islam dans un pays majoritairement chrétien, les secondes générations de musulmans en Irlande, la conversion à l’islam et les identités multiples. Il s’agit sans aucun doute d’une manière constructive de prendre conscience des défis que pose la présence de cultures et de cultes minoritaires dans un pays encore très marqué institutionnellement par les religions chrétiennes dominantes.
43 Les orthodoxes irlandais participent de cette diversité. Bien que chrétiens, ils ne sont présents dans l’île que depuis quelques décennies. En effet, bien qu’un petit nombre de Russes blancs se soient installés dans le pays peu après la révolution russe, disséminés dans plusieurs régions, ils n’ont jamais constitué une minorité religieuse organisée et visible.La première communauté orthodoxe officielle était grecque, établie dans la capitale de la République en 1981 à St Mary’s Church puis à St Peter and Paul en 1986, et elle réunissait environ 350 membres, des ressortissants grecs principalement. En l’espace de deux décennies, l’orthodoxie est passée au rang de seconde confession chrétienne non traditionnelle (ni catholique ni protestante) en nombre de pratiquants. En 2002, ils étaient déjà près de trente fois plus nombreux qu’en 1991, soit un accroissement annuel de l’ordre de 900 membres, dont le plus grand nombre (85 %) n’était pas irlandais. Sur la courte période de 2002 à 2006, leurs effectifs ont doublé, passant de 10 000 à 20 000 et, de 2006 à 2011, ils ont de nouveau doublé et dépassent aujourd’hui les 45 000 membres dans la République, soit près de 1 % de l’ensemble de la population.
44 En Irlande du Nord, leur nombre est resté très minoritaire jusqu’au milieu des années 2000 et l’essor de la communauté est nettement lié à l’arrivée d’Européens de l’Est suite à l’élargissement de l’Union Européenne en 2004. En effet, la politique non restrictive de la République et dans une moindre mesure de l’Irlande du Nord en matière de flux migratoires et le dynamisme économique de l’époque expliquent cette fulgurante progression. Ainsi, 65 % des orthodoxes de la République sont des ressortissants de l’Union Européenne, arrivés à partir de 2004, Roumains et Lettons pour respectivement 51 % et 24 % de ces immigrants (voir document 4). Un peu plus d’un quart des autres orthodoxes vivant en Irlande est issu du reste de l’Europe, de Russie et d’Ukraine. Enfin, parmi les quelques 3 000 orthodoxes venus d’Asie, près de la moitié sont Indiens.
45 Le groupe est ainsi constitué, majoritairement de non-Irlandais puisqu’à peine un orthodoxe sur cinq en Irlande est de nationalité irlandaise. Plus de la moitié des orthodoxes (58 %) a entre 25 et 44 ans en 2011 ; ils sont actifs pour la plupart, et sont aussi les moins présents dans les classes d’âge de plus de 55 ans ainsi que chez les jeunes de moins de quatorze ans. Par ailleurs, neuf sur dix sont citadins. Ce profil reflète la plupart des caractéristiques des migrants économiques qui constituent la majeure partie du groupe.
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46 La pratique d’une même religion ne crée pas nécessairement une communauté et dans le cas précis de l’orthodoxie, les différences linguistiques et culturelles, mais aussi de traditions et de rituels rendent le groupe plus disparate que d’autres groupes religieux. Plusieurs branches de l’orthodoxie sont représentées dans la République depuis le début des années 2000 et les services religieux se font souvent dans plusieurs langues : en roumain ou en serbe et en anglais le plus souvent. Géographiquement, ils sont près des trois quarts à vivre dans l’Est du pays, Dublin et sa banlieue réunissant plus de la moitié de tous les orthodoxes d’Irlande. Bien que cette concentration dans le Leinster s’accentue depuis 2002, notons qu’ils sont aussi présents dans le sud du pays pour 15 % d’entre eux. Depuis 2006, les régions de Cork et Galway ont un prêtre, qui officie aussi occasionnellement dans des zones plus isolées, comme dans certaines villes moyennes du Kerry ou du centre du pays. En 2010, deux nouvelles congrégations, à Athlone et Drogheda se sont formées, là encore, en réponse aux besoins de nombreux ressortissants qui souhaitent maintenir leur tradition dans un contexte où le catholicisme est dominant.
47 On note ainsi que la chrétienté n’est plus exclusivement catholique ou anglicane (Eglise d’Irlande) dans la République du XXIe siècle: les autres religions chrétiennes réunissent, en 2011, quelque 150 000 membres, soit trois fois plus que vingt ans auparavant. Le nombre croissant de pentecôtistes par exemple est majoritairement dû à la présence d’étrangers, principalement venus d’Afrique. Toutes les dénominations, à l’exception du méthodisme, ont renforcé leur présence au cours de cette période avec de plus ou moins fortes variations.
48 Parmi les religions non chrétiennes, l’hindouisme et le bouddhisme se sont répandus au cours des vingt dernières d’années, passant de moins d’un millier de membres au début des années 1990 à respectivement plus de 10 000 et 8 000 membres dans la République. Il s’agit, pour plus de la moitié, de ressortissants indiens auxquels se joignent des Britanniques, une partie d’entre eux étant également originaire d’Inde. Enfin, la petite communauté Baha’i, dont les premiers membres sont arrivés au titre de réfugiés en 1985 et dont la plupart sont devenus depuis citoyens irlandais, contribue aussi à la diversité de ce nouveau paysage religieux irlandais.
49 La catégorie « autres religions » est trop vague pour permettre une analyse détaillée. Là encore, la progression depuis vingt ans est forte, de quelque deux mille à quatorze mille individus dans la République, et les pratiques et les lieux de cultes restent très en marge des confessions les plus reconnues et visibles. En Irlande du Nord, sans doute du fait de la plus grande proximité avec le Royaume-Uni, dès le début des années 1970, la diversité existait, elle demeure relativement élevée étant donnée la taille de la population totale. Le recul récent indique qu’il s’agit d’une diversité religieuse très largement due à la présence d’étrangers qui, pour certains d’entre eux, ne sont pas restés en Irlande du Nord après la crise financière de 2008. Dans l’ensemble de l’île, il s’agit de groupes minoritaires qui contribuent néanmoins, au même titre que les autres, à la grande variété du paysage religieux irlandais du XXIe siècle et, à ce titre, qui mériteraient un recensement plus fin. La nationalité des personnes recensées éclaire l’analyse de cette nouvelle diversité. Les données ci-dessous relatives à la République montrent l’étroit lien entre les communautés religieuses et les différentes origines territoriales de leurs membres.
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Document 4 : Appartenance religieuse et origines nationales ou territoriales dans la République en 2011
Royaume- Reste Reste Irlandais Étrangers Afrique Asie Amérique Autre Uni UE Europe
Catholiques 3 525 573 282 799 49 761 184 066 16 307 41 642 19 420 13 706 3 549
93 056 30 464 21 477 4 228 2 222 2 571 783 13 706 563 Protestants* +19 868 +16 493 +3 802 +3 814 + 104 + 6 771 +713 +909 +339
Musulmans 18 223 29 143 823 1 445 2 049 8 777 15 376 170 427
Orthodoxes 8 465 34 854 271 22 108 8 901 815 2 299 154 268
Autres 24 023 15 258 2 112 3 165 300 5 506 2 556 1 325 294 chrétiens
Autres 34 867 40 227 6 578 11 865 621 4 967 12 620 2 891 1 907
Sans 173 180 82 194 25 620 37 463 1 478 1 154 10 179 4 188 1 907 Religion
Non 29 888 12 925 1 795 6 371 458 1 311 1 633 913 433 renseignée
* Eglise d’Irlande (+ Presbytériens et Pentecôtistes) Source : Profile 7, Religion, Ethnicity and Irish Travellers, Census 2011, p. 52)
50 Les deux premières colonnes du document permettent de juger du rôle joué par les populations étrangères dans la diversité du paysage religieux irlandais d’aujourd’hui. Les membres des églises orthodoxe, musulmane et pentecôtiste sont majoritairement étrangers. Cela vaut, dans une moindre mesure, pour l’ensemble des autres religions non chrétiennes. Par ailleurs, si l’on compare les chiffres de 2011 à ceux de 2006, on s’aperçoit que les variations intercensitaires sont beaucoup plus fortes chez les Irlandais musulmans et orthodoxes par exemple, que chez les étrangers membres de ces églises. L’examen du nombre de conversions religieuses et celui des naturalisations pourraient sans doute fournir des explications à ce phénomène. Ces données n’étant pas disponibles à ce jour, on ne pourra que conclure cette section en soulignant que la plus grande diversité religieuse dans la République au XXIe siècle ne repose pas uniquement sur la présence de populations étrangères. Les Irlandais participent aussi à ce renouveau.
51 Le défi de la République et de l’Irlande du Nord sera de trouver les moyens de permettre à ses citoyens et résidents de vivre en harmonie, voire dans une société où le brassage religieux et culturel existe réellement. Ces questions ne sont pas abordées ici; elles constituent pourtant des sujets d’études révélateurs de la manière dont peut être vécue la nouvelle diversité religieuse.
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Montée inédite de l’absence de religion et de l’athéisme
52 Dans la République, le recueil des données relatives à l’absence de religion est demeuré imprécis jusqu’au recensement de 1961 ; en effet, jusqu’à cette date, la catégorie ‘Autres religions’ incluait toutes les réponses autres que catholique, protestant, méthodiste, juif ou baptiste. Par conséquent, les personnes sans religion, celles qui ne renseignaient pas l’item ou qui étaient athées, voire agnostiques, étaient comptabilisées dans une catégorie qui représentait, en 1926 comme en 1936, 0,3 % de la population totale de la République.
Tableau 5 : Personnes agnostiques, athées, sans religion et n’ayant pas renseigné l’appartenance religieuse dans les recensements de 1971, 1991 et 2011
1971 1991 2011 (hommes + femmes)
République d’Irlande
Agnostiques n.c. 823 3.521 (2 072+1 449)
Athées n.c. 320 3 905 (2 573+1 332)
Sans religion 7 616 66 270 269 811 (157 219+ 112 592)
Non renseignée 5 625 83 375 72 914 (39 324+33 590)
Irlande du Nord
Agnostiques 1 200 742 478 (322+156)
Athées 512 470 1 011 (721+290)
Sans religion 59 234 179 951 (100 464+79 487) 142 511 Non renseignée 114 827 122 252 (61 862+60 390)
Source : Profile 7, Religion, Ethnicity and Irish Travellers, Census 2011, p. 12 et p. 48 et Northern Ireland Census 1971 Religion, p. 16, et Northern Ireland Census 1991 Religion, p. 18, et Table DC2118NI : Religion by sex, nisra.gov.uk
53 Dans la République, longtemps après l’adoption de la constitution de 1937 marquée par un catholicisme traditionnel, la domination de la religion est restée omniprésente dans l’Etat, ses institutions et la vie de ses citoyens. Cette identité confessionnelle perdure jusque dans les années 1960 et, en 1961, à peine plus d’un millier d’individus se définissent sans religion alors que cinq fois plus ne renseignent pas l’item8.
54 À partir de 1971, la part des individus sans religion croît sans interruption, passant de 0,25 % à 5,8 % de l’ensemble de la population en 2011. Au milieu des années 1990, le nombre d’individus se déclarant sans religion dépasse celui des individus n’ayant pas renseigné l’item qui s’infléchit jusqu’à la période contemporaine. Déjà en 1991, dans deux comtés, Dublin et Wicklow, un nombre supérieur d’individus sans religion avait
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été dénombré comparativement à ceux qui n’avaient pas divulgué leur religion. Depuis que les recensements permettent d’en savoir plus sur les individus se déclarant sans religion, on remarque que les hommes sont plus nombreux dans cette catégorie que les femmes, il en va de même pour l’absence d’affiliation religieuse mais de manière moins marquée.
55 Dans la République, les personnes se déclarant sans religion sont proportionnellement plus nombreuses chez les adultes jeunes (15-24 ans) et d’âge mûr (45-54 ans). Ils sont plus citadins que ruraux, très présents dans la capitale et ses comtés voisins ainsi que dans le Sud Ouest du pays. En 2011, les étrangers représentent près d’un tiers de l’ensemble des individus se déclarant sans religion. Trois quarts d’entre eux sont des Européens. Les Britanniques sont les plus nombreux et les Européens venus de pays où la sécularisation est en marche depuis longtemps, comme la France, l’Allemagne et la Hollande, forment un groupe d’un peu plus de 10 000 personnes. Les Européens de l’Est, Polonais, Lettons et Tchèques en tête, représentent 20 500 individus ; parmi eux, seuls les Roumains sont très peu nombreux. Là encore, la récente immigration européenne contribue aux changements dans le paysage religieux irlandais. Cela est aussi le cas des immigrants venus d’horizons plus lointains ; près de trois quarts des immigrés chinois, 7 800 personnes, et 4 000 immigrants venus du continent américain déclarent aussi ne pas avoir de religion.
56 En Irlande du Nord, la part des agnostiques, athées et personnes sans religion atteint 10 % en 2011, soit son taux le plus élevé depuis que la mesure est assez précise pour les distinguer des personnes qui ne renseignent pas l’item. Les données sont en effet restées imprécises voire inexactes du fait de la situation politique des années 1960 à 1980. Il s’agit d’un taux plus élevé que dans la République et, proportionnellement, moins affecté par l’immigration. Les tendances relatives à l’âge et aux différences entre hommes et femmes sont identiques à celles observées en République.
57 Ce qui justifie un tel choix chez ce nombre grandissant de citoyens relève de facteurs personnels que les recensements ne traitent pas et il en va de même pour les données relatives aux individus qui ne renseignent pas l’item. On sait que leur profil reflète les tendances de ceux qui se déclarent sans religion : majoritairement des Irlandais, un grand nombre d’Européens où dominent Britanniques et Polonais, plus d’hommes que de femmes et une forte présence dans l’Est du pays.
58 Le refus de renseigner l’item tient sans doute à un faisceau de déterminants et soulève de nombreuses questions. S’agit-il de ne pas divulguer une donnée estimée relever de la vie intime de la personne ? La formulation du questionnaire est-elle imprécise ou suscite-t-elle la confusion, qui entraîne l’absence de réponse ? S’agit-il d’individus reniant la religion qu’ils avaient pratiquée jusqu’alors ? Autant de questions qui demanderaient une analyse plus poussée.
59 On notera que les mesures de la désaffection religieuse ont fait l’objet d’une étude internationale en 2012 (“WIN-Gallup International, Global Index of Religiosity and Atheism”) qui confirme ce que le dernier recensement irlandais soulignait, à savoir une forte progression des effectifs des non-croyants. Ce sondage représentatif indique comment les personnes se perçoivent, sans que cette perception ne soit liée à une pratique religieuse, et les données relatives à l’Irlande révèlent des taux de désaffection religieuse très supérieurs à ce que le recensement de 2011 avait établi.
60 Pour la catégorie sans religion telle que les recensements nationaux l’identifient, les accroissements enregistrés et les classes d’âge concernées excluent une génération
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spontanée de nouveaux Irlandais sans foi. On peut supposer qu’il s’agit pour le plus grand nombre d’individus préférant se définir, à un moment de leur vie, sans religion bien qu’ayant vécu jusqu’alors selon les rites et la culture d’une religion, imposée par la tradition familiale ou les institutions. On rappellera que la plupart des écoles en Irlande sont affiliées à une dénomination religieuse, et il en est de même pour les hôpitaux. En Irlande du Nord, les questionnaires des recensements tentent de cerner le contexte religieux familial de ceux qui se définissent comme sans religion. Les données rendues publiques ne permettent pas de pousser plus loin l’analyse.
Conclusion
61 Pour conclure, on soulignera à quel point le paysage religieux irlandais s’est transformé depuis la fin du XXe siècle. En 2011, dans la République comme en Irlande du Nord, la diversité des cultes est devenue une réalité. Bien que ces pratiques ne concernent encore qu’une minorité de fidèles dans un paysage religieux encore très bi- confessionnel et qu’elles soient liées à la nouvelle composition démographique du pays, il s’agit de phénomènes inédits. L’ampleur prise par l’orthodoxie et l’islam en témoigne. Pourtant, l’essor de ces deux dénominations n’est pas exclusivement imputable à l’arrivée d’étrangers puisque pour chacune, le nombre d’Irlandais se déclarant de ces confessions a augmenté plus rapidement que celui des étrangers. La présence de ces communautés marquera la société irlandaise à moyen et long terme étant donné les effectifs et la composition des nouveaux groupes religieux.
62 Le bouleversement n’est pas uniquement lié à la place prise par des cultes jusqu’alors très minoritaires, il tient aussi au recul des deux religions traditionnelles. Si un niveau d’éducation plus élevé, une vie plus urbaine et des modèles de société, libérés du joug de certaines des valeurs morales prônées par les religions traditionnelles, ont contribué au recul observé, d’autres facteurs agissent par ailleurs. La composition démographique joue sur le nombre de membres protestants : ils forment un groupe plus âgé et peu renouvelé par la présence de migrants. Pour le catholicisme, de nombreux migrants d’Europe de l’Est et d’Asie ont contribué au maintien des effectifs, voire à une nouvelle dynamique des pratiques, un effet par ailleurs fortement affaibli par les crises du catholicisme irlandais. Enfin, les changements enregistrés depuis deux décennies révèlent une part grandissante de la population se détournant du religieux. Si le phénomène est quantitativement identifié dans les recensements, il demande une analyse qualitative plus poussée que le recueil de données statistiques ne peut documenter à ce jour. Le champ d’investigation est vaste, au niveau individuel, communautaire et institutionnel.
NOTES
1. Les recensements ont lieu tous les cinq ans dans la République mais les questions relatives à la religion ne figurent que dans un recensement sur deux.
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2. On relève 89 % de catholiques lors du recensement de 1891. 3. On estime que la création de l’Etat Libre a motivé le départ de près de 100 000 personnes, quasi-exclusivement des protestants. 4. Une Enquête de 2005 de l’organisation ARK menée par des universitaires de Dublin et Belfast montrait la chute de la fréquentation des messes dominicales depuis les années 1970. Voir ARK 2005, Religion in Ireland: no longer an exception ?, Maire Nic Ghiolla Phadraig. 5. Le recensement de 2011 fait état de 49 % de Catholiques à Belfast et dans sa banlieue, soit une augmentation de 4 % depuis 2001 alors que la communauté protestante, représentant 42,3 %, y a reculé de 12 % depuis 2001. 6. Au début du XXe siècle, on dénombre moins de 800 membres de la confession judaïque en Irlande du Nord et environ 3 700 en République. 7. Il s’agit du parlementaire Moosajee Bhamjee élu au Parlement irlandais de 1992 à 1997. 8. En 1961, il y a précisément 1 107 personnes se déclarant sans religion, et 5 625 qui n’ont pas renseigné l’item.
RÉSUMÉS
Depuis les années 1990, le paysage religieux irlandais de la République et de l’Irlande du Nord s’est modifié sous l’effet de profonds changements démographiques, culturels et idéologiques. Les données recueillies lors des derniers recensements permettent de retracer cette évolution vers une société du XXIe siècle où le bi-confessionalisme chrétien est moins présent, laissant la place à une nouvelle et relative diversité des confessions, et où la désaffection religieuse rallie des effectifs de plus en plus élevés, bien que ceux-ci soient encore minoritaires et difficiles à dénombrer avec précision.
Since the 1990s, the Irish religious landscape in the Republic and Northern Ireland has changed as a result of the deeply-rooted impact of demographic, cultural and ideological developments. The data collected during the most recent censuses show a 21st-century society where the two main Christian religions are less prevalent, allowing a new and relative diversity of confessions, as well as growing numbers of non-believers, even though the size of the latter group remains difficult to determine in an accurate manner.
INDEX
Keywords : religion - Catholicism, religion - Protestantism, secularization, religion - religious practice, religious diversity, demography, society and religion Mots-clés : religion - catholicisme, sécularisation, religion - pluralité, religion - protestantisme, religion - pratiques religieuses, démographie, société et religion
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AUTEUR
CATHERINE PIOLA Université Paris-Dauphine
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L’église catholique en question : évolutions et enjeux Calling the Catholic Church into Questions: Evolutions and Key Challenges
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The Aggiornamento of the Irish Catholic Church in the 1960s and 1970s
Yann Bevant
1 The census carried out in 1961 revealed that 95% of the population in the Republic of Ireland was Roman Catholic. Though it is commonplace to argue that on an all-Ireland basis religious affiliation was far from being so homogeneous, there is no doubt that Ireland could be considered a Catholic stronghold, all the more so since an overwhelming majority – about 90% of the Catholic population – went to church at least once a week1.
2 From the 1960s onwards, Ireland began to experience a marked change in attitude on a number of crucial issues, not least of all economic policies. The end of protectionism in the late 1950s, early 1960s, was a U-turn in ideological terms for the Irish State, which would have deep and long-lasting consequences. By the early 1960s the Irish began redefining their national identity and Irish society underwent a process of secularisation.
3 The 1960s and 1970s were a turning point for the Irish people in their relation to Church and religion. As Whyte pointed out in his book Church and State in Modern Ireland 1923-1979, Catholic social teaching remained very active but less ideological2. In fact it could be argued that the Church became more concerned with the actual needs of people and far less with the growing importance the State assumed in social fields which had heretofore been considered Church territory, as the famous crisis erupting from Noel Browne’s Mother and Child Scheme epitomized at the beginning of the 1950s. Although strong episcopal opposition to the scheme may not have been the only reason why it was eventually dropped, the influence of the bishops in the process can hardly be denied “the bishops denounced State healthcare for all mothers and children as a ‘ready-made instrument for future totalitarian aggression3’”.
4 The Fianna Fáil government which took over after the fall of the Costello administration in 1951 also had to take into consideration objections made by the
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Catholic hierarchy when it came to health and welfare matters, as the difficult negotiations which led to the Health Act of 1953 suggest. Whyte argues that: The most obvious feature of Irish Catholicism in the late 1940s was a mood of increasing “integration”. All sorts of forces were at work to make Ireland a more catholic State than it had yet become, more integrally committed to catholic social teaching as then understood, more totally committed to catholic concepts of the moral law, more explicit in its recognition of the special position of the Catholic Church. There was nothing surprising in such a development; this had been the direction of thrust in Irish history ever since independence, and it was in these years that the process reached its culmination4.
5 Alongside the work of conservative associations and periodicals involved in the Catholic social movement, an organisation known as Maria Duce began to develop. Maria Duce was established in 1945 and thrived on the edge of the Catholic social movement. Maria Duce was probably the most integralist movement in Ireland in that period. At this stage a definition of what is meant by integralism. Whereas Christian Fundamentalism is defined as “the belief that everything in the Bible is completely true” (Collins Dictionary), integralism is the belief that faith can only be lived out in an integral way, which means that the Church is expected to teach its precepts integrally and does not depart from them under any circumstance, and the faithful have to respect those precepts fully. À la carte Catholicism, in other words, is not an option.
6 Chubb described Maria Duce as “more papal than the Pope5”. In fact the aim of the association was to organise society as a whole along vocational lines so as “to avoid the pitfalls inherent both in the unbridled individualism favoured by capitalism and in the excessive State control sponsored by communism6”.
7 This view does not seem much different from the teaching of contemporary popes such as John Paul II or Benedict XVI. However, it must be added that in its own newspaper, FIAT, the association denounced Bolshevism, Jews, Freemasons, and supported Senator Joseph McCarthy’s witch hunt in America. Last but not least, one of Maria Duce's main goals was the amendment of article 44 of Bunreacht na Eireann which acknowledged the special position of the Catholic Church. The association wanted the article to be rewritten as such: “The One True Church divinely appointed to teach Man what favours or hinders his supernatural destiny7.”
8 Maria Duce did for a time enjoy the recognition of John Charles McQuaid, the Archbishop of Dublin who exerted strong influence over the articles on family, marriage and education when Bunreacht na Eireann was being drafted. Indeed, it must be remembered that Maria Duce attracted the support of thousands, but this recognition did not last, as Chubb pointed out: “Some politicians or political parties were waiting for a signal from the bishops. It never came8.”
9 It is quite interesting to note that an organisation such as Maria Duce could develop to the extent that it would benefit from some unofficial support from at least one top member of the Catholic hierarchy. Yet it was never fully endorsed, and its influence began to wane in the late 1950s. It survived into the early 1960s, and then disappeared altogether. In spite of the fact that Maria Duce – even at its highest – was not necessarily representative of the leanings of the Irish Catholic hierarchy, it is worth pointing out that it could at one stage exert some influence both within and outside the Church, and its decline and fall corresponds to a period of change which tipped the scale in favour of more liberal views, not only in the Irish Church, but in the Roman Catholic Church as a whole.
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10 In this regard it appears necessary to examine both the local and the international dimensions to fully grasp the interactions that were at work. The organisation of the Catholic Church cannot be limited to its Irish dimension as there are spiritual as well as political connections with Rome and through Rome with the outer world. Conversely the local context cannot be ignored as the Irish Church has its own specific history and its own specific issues: for instance, ecclesiastical and political jurisdictions do not coincide as the Irish Catholic Church is organised on the basis of a 32 counties Ireland, therefore it is the Irish Catholic hierarchy which makes decisions for the whole island. The Church is organised into 4 provinces (Armagh, Dublin, Cashel and Tuam) and 28 dioceses. In theory each diocese has a bishop though in reality some have had more than one, while others may depend from the bishop of another diocese: Dr Murphy, for instance, was bishop of Ross and Cork. But what makes Ireland quite specific is the parish structure. In the 1960s a French observer, Jean Blanchard, identified what it considered as the local nature of the Irish Catholic Church: “The bishop is a local, the clergy are locals and very often the religious men and women in a diocese are also locals9.”
11 A consequence of this feature is that it is very easy for the members of the parish to identify with their priest and more generally with members of the clergy as they are fully-fledged members of the local and often rural community. The strength of the Church is therefore reinforced by the local nature of the clergy working in each parish. This is a feature Ireland has in common with Brittany, where practices at local level are sometimes reminiscent of the old Celtic Church: local saints who have not been sanctified by Rome are still honoured through processions and pardons celebrated by the local clergy, and traditions are more vivid in rural areas where communities are smaller and consequently more tightly knit. The following remark made by Tom Inglis would have well described the situation in Brittany in the early 1960s:”The priest in Ireland is a spiritual and moral adviser who is consulted on a wide range of social, political and economic issues […] informally he is the most respected member of the community”10 Indeed in Breton a Catholic priest would be called a person, a word inherited from French which translates both the deference and the importance attached to his place in the community. The tightly knit communities also contributed to yet another striking feature: the strength and vitality of local associations11.
12 But why should we pay attention to such comparisons between Ireland and Brittany? Because in spite of the parallels we can make between the two, a difference also worth being noted is that in Brittany secularism à la française contributed to create a clear-cut divide between secular associations and associations more or less controlled by the Church. In Ireland a very large number of associations were connected to the Church, as no secularism à la française existed or was encouraged by the State. As a consequence, associations both at local and national level very much contributed to maintaining and spreading a Catholic social order. Organisations such as Muintir na Tire12, the Catholic Workers’ college, social orders’ summer schools, played an important part in the process. In the 1940s and 1950s for instance rural weeks were organized by Muintir na Tire so that attendees could discuss the problems affecting the Irish countryside and suggest solutions. In the early 1950s more than 50 parishes sent representatives to Muintir’s rural weeks.
13 Other organisations or associations would develop a teaching of a rather –or sometimes very- conservative variety, as it was the case with Christus Rex, a society created in 1946,
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or Regnum Christi, the Catholic young men’s society. The network at local level was therefore well-developed and well spread, and contributed not only to reinforce the Catholic social order but also to maintain and foster conservative views in vocational structures and organisations.
14 The changes which took place in Ireland between the late 1950s and the late 1970s were the result of a combination of several factors, both at international and local levels, but the main push for change came from outside, and from the top of the Church with Pope John XXIII. Pope John’s pontificate began in 1958. The new Pope launched the process of Aggiornamento, that is to say a process which would enable the Church to adapt to the evolutions and meet the requirements of modern society and of the new economic and social order which emerged from World War Two. His encyclical Mater et Magistra was first released in 1961. Just like Pius XI’s encyclical Quadragesimo Anno, it concentrated on social questions, and in spite of John XXIII's numerous references to the previous encyclical, there are major differences between the two documents, particularly with regard to State power and relations between State and Church. Whereas Quadragesimo Anno strongly advocated very limited State intervention in social matters, Mater et Magistra acknowledged the notion that the State had an extensive social role to play: The present advance in scientific knowledge and productive technology clearly puts it within the power of the public authority to a much greater degree than ever before to reduce imbalances which may exist between different branches of the economy or between different regions within the same country or even between the different peoples of the world. It also puts into the hands of public authority a greater means for limiting fluctuations in the economy and for providing effective measures to prevent the recurrence of mass unemployment. Hence the insistent demands on those in authority – since they are responsible for the common good – to increase the degree and scope of their activities in the economic sphere, and to devise ways and means and set the necessary machinery in motion for the attainment of this end […] a sane view of the common good must be present and operative in men invested with public authority. They must take account of all those social conditions which favor the full development of human personality. Moreover, We consider it altogether vital that the numerous intermediary bodies and corporate enterprises […] loyally collaborate in pursuit of their own specific interests and those of the common good13.
15 Mater et Magistra can be seen as Rome’s response to the changes brought about by the end of colonialism, the Cold War, the advent of Keynesianism and the emergence of the Welfare State in the Western world. The Catholic social movement gradually evolved along the lines of the new encyclical, all the more so since the main development of John XXIII’s pontificate was the second Vatican Council which he convened in 1962 and which was to last until 1965. Though Pope John did not see its conclusion as he died in 1963, his name remains associated to this Council. What characterized the Council was the spirit of openness as many new themes – and sometimes controversial themes given the doxa of the Church- were discussed: the role of lay people in the Church, ecumenism, relations with other Christian churches and other faiths and creeds, to name but a few. As Desmond Fennell wrote in The Changing Face of Catholic Ireland: “The Council took us by surprise, discussion has been vigorous, our relationship to religion and our consciousness of the Church have changed greatly in a few years14.”
16 It must be underlined that the changes brought about from the top of the Church by Vatican II also corresponded to a time of doubt and crisis in the Irish Church, which experienced the beginning of a fall in vocations. If the nuns, priests and brothers
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represented half of the teaching staff in secondary schools in 1961, their number dropped to 16% by 198315. Furthermore, minorities who used to keep quiet and silent started to become vocal and outspoken, thus challenging the traditional ethos of Catholic society and morality. In 1974, David Norris launched the Irish Gay Rights movement, which aimed at reforming legislation on homosexuality. The Protestant minority and women activists were instrumental in the debate on the repeal of the laws against contraception: in December 1973, the Supreme Court ruled in the McGee Vs Attorney General case that the law prohibiting contraception was unconstitutional because it violated Mrs McGee’s rights. As a result importation of contraceptives was decriminalized. There had been signs of the oncoming changes as early as the late 1950s: in 1956 INTO (the Irish National Teachers Organization) opposed the decision of the bishop of Killala who had decided to hand over control of a primary school staffed by lay people to a religious order. The struggle lasted until 1962 and a compromise was eventually reached through the mediation of the then Education Minister, Dr Patrick Hillery. Up to that period the power of the Church had been unchallenged in the field of education which was widely acknowledged as Church territory on moral and spiritual grounds. The provisions of the new encyclical clearly paved the way to the 1962 State mediation, which was a breakthrough16. The relationship was no longer a matter of Church and faithful, but of employer and employees.
17 Faced with changing social attitudes and behaviours, a decline in vocations, and the consequences of Mater et Magistra and Vatican II, the Irish Church of the 1960s and 1970s had to call itself into question so as to adjust to a rapidly changing environment both at home and abroad. As Joseph Lee puts it: Periods of change always pose particular problems for churches which must cater for all their flock, not merely conservatives alone, or progressives alone17.
18 Much debate went on in the Church, which in turn led to a new direction in policy and to the emergence of new figures in the hierarchy. Members of the clergy began to question the role of the Church in Irish society, and even their own place in the Church. Carole Coulter in The Hidden Tradition reports the fact that some nuns came to challenge their subordinate role within the Church, criticized the patriarchal traditions of the Church and urged it to become more involved in the concerns of the poor18. In 1976, a priest argued in The Furrow – a Catholic periodical edited and published in Maynooth – that Catholics need not be opposed in all circumstances to legislation on divorce19. This change, if not sharp shift of attitude, was also perceptible in the network of Catholic associations, as Trócaire (“mercy” in Irish) was created in 1973 with the support of a large section of the hierarchy. If Trócaire professed to be involved in social work as a Catholic society, its views of a Catholic social order were much different from those held by the conservative associations of the 1940s and 1950s, as Trócaire criticized the …State for not doing enough20.
19 The evolution of mentalities was also encouraged by an alteration in the balance of strength between conservative and progressive members of the hierarchy. In 1971 John Charles McQuaid’s resignation was accepted by Pope Paul VI and archbishop McQuaid formally relinquished the government of his archdiocese in February 1972. John Charles McQuaid was archbishop of Dublin, and his influence was considerable21. During his term a massive expansion of the Catholic Church took place in Dublin, and McQuaid was very active in the fields of education and charity. In 1941-1942 he was the architect of the Catholic Social Welfare Conference and of the Catholic Social Welfare
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Bureau. The late John Feeney wrote in the biography published in 1974 that McQuaid: “was a first class bishop of the old school22.” Indeed, McQuaid had been trained and taught in a Church that was still under the influence of Cardinal Cullen’s ultramontanism, and he took a special interest in French theology. Francis Xavier Carty casts an interesting light on John McQuaid in his 2007 book: Though he was above all loyal to the Church and to the Pope and introduced the changes in the liturgy, there is no doubt that he was less than enthusiastic about the new policy of the Roman Catholic Church, and rather sarcastic as to the eventual changes it would bring about: his famous sentence ‘no change will worry the tranquility of our Christian lives’, while it can be considered as an attempt to reassure his flock, also reads as a very conservative declaration23.
20 McQuaid’s praise of the Holy Faith nuns in a conversation with the bishop of Galway, Michael Brown, is even more telling: “The nuns will do anything to aid a parish priest. They are untouched by modern craze for Aggiornamento24.”
21 John Charles McQuaid was replaced as archbishop of Dublin by Dr Dermot Ryan who, the next year, held an interdenominational service in Dublin during the Christian Unity week. Quite obviously, as the example of Dermot Ryan illustrates, the coming of age of a new generation who was taking the reins of the Irish Church contributed to smooth the path in Ireland for the policies springing out of the Aggiornamento. As Garet FitzGerald put it in 1972 : “The 1970s no longer saw consecration converting liberal priests into conservative bishops25.”
22 Dr Tomás O’Fiaich, who became archbishop of Armagh in 1977 and a cardinal in 1979, belonged to this new generation. He committed himself to the cause of a united Ireland and was ready to accept a number of changes deemed necessary to bring about reconciliation between north and south. In particular he was one of those who argued from within the Church in favour of a clear-cut separation between Church and State by advocating that clergymen should not be in any way involved in trying to bring pressure to bear on legislators26.
23 Within twenty years Ireland experienced a sea change in the relations between Church and State. When he became Taoiseach in 1948, John Costello sent a message to the Pope as de Valera had done in 1932. His message assured the Pope of “our filial loyalty and our devotion […] as well as our firm resolve to be guided in all our work by the teaching of Christ27”.
24 In 1969, as the debate on article 44 of Bunreacht na Eireann acknowledging “the special position of the Holy Catholic Apostolic and Roman Church” was gaining momentum, Cardinal Conway declared: “I personally would not shed a single tear if the relevant subsections of article 44 were to disappear. It confers no legal privilege whatever on the Catholic Church and if the way to convince our fellow Christians in the North about this is to remove it, then it might be worth the expense of a referendum28.”
25 The reasons that led to a rapid evolution of the Irish Church in the 1960s and 1970s are manifold, and have roots both inside and outside Ireland. The second Vatican Council unquestionably played a major part in the process by destabilising the guardians of the ultramontane tradition, and by prompting the emergence of progressive bishops. Vatican II also strongly contributed to open up the debate at grassroots levels and to facilitate the emergence of a network of progressive charities and associations that would not necessarily understand and promote the Christian social tradition the same way previous societies had done. As the lay members of the Church became more
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audible and sometimes more vocal, the crucial importance of their involvement must be taken into account: the 1960s and the 1970s presided over the beginning of a crisis of vocations in Ireland. Cardinal Conway’s standpoint is also a reminder of the fact that this period coincides with the beginning of the Troubles in Northern Ireland, which if we take Conway’s words at face value suggests that the Troubles also contributed to a reassessment of the notion of Irishness among Irish clerics.
26 Yet another factor which explains the Aggiornamento is not the debates within the Catholic Church: the pressure of the new macroeconomic and social policies pursued in the western world were more than a catalyst, as they literally drove the Roman Catholic Church out of its traditional territories of health, social affairs and education. Quadragesimo Anno, although mainly a response to the economic slump of the early 1930s, was still very much influenced by ultramontanism. Mater et Magistra heralded a much less stiff and proselytic Church, ready to come to terms with a changing world where it would have a moral and social role to play, but where it would not seek moral hegemony, nor social and political leadership. This new trend was confirmed by Cardinal Cahal Daly on the occasion of the New Ireland Forum debates in 1984: The Catholic Church totally rejects the concept of a confessional State […] the Catholic Church seeks only the freedom to proclaim the Gospel […] We have repeatedly declared that we in no way seek to have the moral teaching of the Catholic Church become the criterion of constitutional change or to have the principles of Catholic faith enshrined in civil law29.
27 The 1980s nevertheless witnessed a conservative backlash, epitomized by the rise of organisations such as SPUC (Society for the Protection of the Unborn Child), by the No Divorce campaign in 1983, and by the concern voiced by important members of the hierarchy, all signs that many Catholics were uneasy at how things were going too far30. The set of reactions that could be observed at the time would call for further investigation: conservative thinking obviously thrived on issues still very sensitive in an Ireland which was becoming one of the most open economies in the world, and where patterns of lifestyle would not evolve evenly. Besides, as Catherine Maignant suggests, conservatives could expect at least moral support from Rome, where John Paul II had launched his new evangelisation strategy31. However, further developments which occurred in the 1990s, with the abortion debate following the X-case scandal and the end of the constitutional ban on divorce in particular, clearly signaled that there would be no going back.
28 The rise of the Celtic Tiger coincided with the emergence of more individualistic and materialistic values and behaviour, which in turn are being questioned today, now that the illusion of an ever affluent society has faded away since the beginning of the crisis in 2008. In the meantime, after the shock of the Murphy and Ryan reports32, Irish Catholics have also had to come to terms with the fact that “the age of […] craven deference is […] over”, to quote Professor Ronan Fanning33. This “craven deference” started to fade away long before the reports were published, and even before the advent of the Celtic Tiger. The spirit of Aggiornamento strongly contributed to a change of mind in Catholic Ireland which at the same time marked the beginning of the end for the ways and principles inherited from Cardinal Cullen’s days, and it also heralded a new era of openness and more liberal thinking both outside and within the Church in pre-Celtic Tiger Ireland. The most enquiring spirit that emerged in Ireland as a result of Aggiornamento was a precondition for the evolution of the Irish Catholic Church and
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acceptance by clergy and faithful to face and confront the failures and abuse of power outlined in the Murphy and Ryan reports.
NOTES
1. D. Keogh, ‘The Role of the Catholic Church in the Republic of Ireland 1922-1995’, p. 85-213 in Building Trust in Ireland, Studies commissioned by the Forum for Peace and Reconciliation, Belfast, The Blackstaff Press, 1996, p. 153. 2. J.H. Whyte, Church and State in Modern Ireland 1923-1979, Dublin, Gill and Macmillan, 1980. 3. R.F. Foster, Modern Ireland 1600-1972, London, Penguin, p. 572. 4. J.H. Whyte, Church and State in Modern Ireland 1923-1979, p. 158-159. 5. B. Chubb, The Politics of the Irish Constitution, Dublin, IPA, 1991, p. 37. 6. D. Keogh, “The Role of the Catholic Church in the Republic of Ireland 1922-1995”, p. 85-213 in Building Trust in Ireland, Studies commissioned by the Forum for Peace and Reconciliation, Belfast, The Blackstaff Press,1996, p. 137. 7. B. Chubb, The Politics of the Irish Constitution, p. 41. 8. Ibid. 9. D. Keogh, “The Role of the Catholic Church in the Republic of Ireland 1922-1995”, p. 150. 10. T. Inglis, Moral Monopoly: The Catholic Church in Modern Irish Society, Dublin, Gill and Macmillan, 1987, p. 42. 11. See also J.Rohou, Catholiques et Bretons toujours ? Feizh ha Breizh Atao? Essai sur l’histoire du christianisme en Bretagne, Brest, Dialogues, 2012 12. http://lxoa.wordpress.com/category/muintir-na-tire/ 13. http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/john_xxiii/encyclicals/documents/hf_j- xxiii_enc_15051961_mater_en.html, paragraphs 54 and 65. 14. D. Fennell, The Changing Face of Catholic Ireland, London, Chapman, 1968, p. 207. 15. M. Goldring, « déclassement, reclassement des valeurs nationales », p. 125-132 in Etudes irlandaises, juin 1993, n°XVIII, p. 129. 16. “In the majority of cases a man's work is his sole means of livelihood. Its remuneration, therefore, cannot be made to depend on the state of the market. It must be determined by the laws of justice and equity. Any other procedure would be a clear violation of justice, even supposing the contract of work to have been freely entered into by both parties”. http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/john_xxiii/encyclicals/ documents/hf_j-xxiii_enc_15051961_mater_en.html 17. J. J. Lee, Ireland 1912-1985, Politics and Society, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1989, p.655.
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18. C. Coulter, The Hidden Tradition, Feminism, Women and Nationalism in Ireland, Cork, Cork University Press, 1993, p. 47. 19. http://archive.catholicherald.co.uk/article/11th-march-1977/2/sackings-at- maynooth-may-cause-strike. Last accessed 24/05/2014. See also J. Whyte, Church and State in Modern Ireland 1923-1979, p. 403. 20. http://www.trocaire.org/whatwedo/forty-timeline. Last accessed 24/05/2014. See also J. Whyte, Church and State in Modern Ireland 1923-1979, p. 355, p. 395. 21. Keogh and Chubb among others have contributed to show his influence in the drafting process of many articles of Bunreacht na Eireann, such as those on the family, marriage, and education. 22. J. Feeney, John Charles McQuaid: The Man and the Mask, Dublin, Mercier Press, 1974, p. 78-79. 23. F.X. Carty, Hold Firm: John McQuaid and the Second Vatican Council, Dublin, Columba Press, 2007, p. 126. 24. Ibid., p.120. 25. G. FitzGerald, Towards a New Ireland, London, Charles Knight, 1972, p. 99-100. 26. See Enda Mc Donagh, “Cardinal Tomàs O’Fiaich, people’s priest", in The Tablet, p.44, 19 May 1990”. 27. D. Keogh, “The Role of the Catholic Church in the Republic of Ireland 1922-1995”, p. 130. 28. See B. Chubb, The Politics of the Irish Constitution, p. 50. 29. New Ireland Forum Debates. Also reported in N. Collins and F. McCann, Irish Politics Today, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 1989, p. 102. 30. Catherine Maignant in her article “Strategies to save Globalized Secular Society”, recalls Archbishop Dermot Ryan’s address at Notre Dame de Fourvières in Lyons in 1983, in which he lamented the “pernicious influences from without” which led to the “loss of ancestral wisdom” and entailed Ireland no longer deserved the title of island of saints and scholars. (Catherine Maignant, “Strategies to save Globalized Secular Society”, in Y. Bevant, E. Maher et al. (eds), Issues of Globalisation and Secularisation in France and Ireland, Peter Lang, Frankfurt, 2009, p 124-125. 31. Ibid., p. 134. 32. See http://www.justice.ie/en/JELR/Part%202.pdf/Files/Part%202.pdf, and http:// humanrightsinireland.wordpress.com/2009/12/08/murphy-commission-report-and- the-criminal-law/, last accessed 24/05/2014. 33. Ronan Fanning, “The Age of our Craven Deference is Finally Over”, The Irish Independent, 6 December 2009. See also http://www.independent.ie/opinion/analysis/ the-age-of-our-craven-deference-is-finally-over-26588891.html. Last accessed 24/05/2014.
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ABSTRACTS
The Irish Roman Catholic Church was affected by deep and far-reaching changes from the early 1960s to the late 1970s. The turning point which led to a period of revision and to a reassessment of the sense of place of the Church in Irish society dates back to the innovations of Pope John XXIII and the second Vatican Council. Although other important factors were also at work, the sea change that could be observed in the Church’s attitude strongly contributed to the emergence of a climate of freer discussion and encouraged politicians to push ahead with new legislation.
L’Eglise catholique d’Irlande a connu des bouleversements profonds entre le début des années 1960 et la fin des années 1970. Le moment clé qui conduisit à une période de révision et de questionnement quant à la place et au rôle de l’Église catholique dans la société irlandaise remonte aux réformes introduites par le pape Jean XXIII, et plus particulièrement à l’influence de Vatican II. Bien que d’autres facteurs aient également joué un rôle important, la transformation considérable de l’attitude de l’Église dans cette période contribua fortement à l’apparition d’une atmosphère beaucoup plus propice au débat, qui encouragea les hommes politiques à poursuivre et approfondir l’effort d’adaptation de la législation irlandaise rendu nécessaire par la fin des doctrines et politiques protectionnistes.
INDEX
Mots-clés: Église catholique d’Irlande, Concile Vatican II, société et religion, théologie Keywords: Irish Catholic Church, Second Vatican Council, society and religion, theology
AUTHOR
YANN BEVANT Université Rennes 2 – UEB
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Reconstruction de l’Église catholique en République d’Irlande
Déborah Vandewoude
1 Dans les années 1990, la médiatisation de scandales impliquant des membres du clergé bouleversa l’opinion, apporta suspicion et désillusion avec d’indéniables conséquences sur la pratique et les vocations. On assista au rejet d’une Église autoritaire et paternaliste, à la mise à distance de ses normes et de ses directives1. Son discours fut qualifié de réactionnaire, à contre-courant des évolutions sociales et morales d’une Irlande métamorphosée par le dynamisme et le faste, éphémères mais grisants, du Tigre Celtique.
2 Le mouvement de sécularisation s’accéléra alors au rythme de la libéralisation des mœurs et de la diversification des comportements. Le rôle et la fonction de la religion instituée dans le pays, son importance dans l’espace social et surtout dans le domaine privé furent remis en question. Ces facteurs entraînèrent l’Église dans une crise d’autorité sans précédent et transformèrent le rapport des Irlandais à l’Institution2. En effet, plus critiques, ils évaluent son discours et ses actes en fonction de critères personnels dans un contexte nouveau, celui d’une société émancipée après des années de subordination. Ce détachement, très net dans les villes mais visible également dans les campagnes, obligea l’Église à revoir son organisation et sa pastorale. Fragilisée par cette perte de contrôle, elle fut contrainte de se lancer dans une démarche d’introspection et de purification pour regagner la confiance du peuple3. Au cœur d’un dispositif de ré-évangélisation décisif, elle met aujourd’hui en œuvre des stratégies nouvelles qui la mènent vers une régénération profonde et salvatrice.
3 Cet article examine le mouvement de reconstruction de l’Église catholique irlandaise dans le cadre de sa politique de réhabilitation globale. Il mettra en évidence le processus de désinstitutionnalisation et de privatisation de la foi. Les catholiques s’éloignent des églises et des dogmes et cette situation génère malaises et tensions à l’interne. Cependant, elle est aussi moteur de réflexions, de mutations organisationnelles et de renouveau paroissial.
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4 La baisse des pratiques sacramentelles et dominicales indique une dérégulation du croire. L’engagement des fidèles décline peu à peu, surtout chez la jeune génération. Le système théologico-éthique institutionnel perd en influence au profit d’autres normes, collectives et individuelles. La foi, plus syncrétique, devient multiforme. Informelle, elle échappe au contrôle institutionnel. On assiste à l’émergence de pratiques personnelles, à un engouement pour des modalités du croire plus émotionnelles et plus pragmatiques. Aussi l’Église prend-elle des initiatives pour répondre à l’éclectisme des attentes spirituelles, au besoin croissant de reconnaissance et d’appartenance. L’institution s’ouvre aux expressions plurielles d’un catholicisme postmoderne.
5 Ces comportements nouveaux incitent l’Église catholique à repenser sa mission et à travailler son image. Critiquée pour son immobilisme et sa rigidité, elle fait preuve aujourd’hui d’une grande adaptabilité. Nous assistons à l’avènement d’une Église autre, à l’écoute des sensibilités contemporaines. Inscrites dans une logique d'ouverture et de popularisation, les mutations communicationnelles de l’Église catholique irlandaiseparticipent d’une dynamique de refondation du modèle ecclésial vers une recomposition identitaire.
Le processus de désinstitutionnalisation
Désinstitutionnalisation des comportements sociaux
6 Le processus de libéralisation du pays, amorcé dans les années 1960, confirmé par la légalisation de la vente de contraceptifs en 1985, s’accentua avec celle du divorce en 1995 qui fut vécue par l’Église comme l’effondrement de l’éthique familiale et le début du désordre social. Ces dispositions légales donnèrent au peuple la responsabilité de ses actes, déjà régis par la liberté de conscience instituée par Vatican II. Elles élargirent une sphère privée à protéger. La prospérité nouvelle des années 1990 accéléra le changement des mentalités. Le catholicisme, comme toutes les autres religions, fut concurrencé par des idoles séculières, le progrès, l’argent et la consommation, au moment même où des révélations mettaient en cause des membres du clergé et amenaient les fidèles à évaluer le bien-fondé des réponses de l’Institution. L’Irlande se sécularise donc peu à peu et l’Institution perd en influence sur la société.
7 Ainsi les Irlandais se donnent-ils aujourd’hui la liberté de penser et d’agir selon leur conscience. Doctrine et foi leur semblent dissociables. Ils associent les codes moraux exclusifs à des vestiges du passé, emplis de contraintes, d’obligations et d’exigences. Ils rejettent les interdits, perçus comme des limites à l’épanouissement personnel, et adoptent une posture de neutralité qui entraîne la banalisation de certains comportements sociaux et attitudes individuelles. Ils se sont, entre autres, libérés de toute culpabilité associée à une sexualité pécheresse4. Le modèle familial traditionnel n’est plus considéré comme une norme, mais comme un choix de vie parmi d’autres options, qui bénéficient alors d’une tolérance croissante. Le concubinage gagne en popularité et l’union libre en acceptabilité5. Le nombre de mariages civils6 augmente également, tout comme celui des divorces, même s’ils n’ont pas atteint, comme on l’avait prédit en 1995, un chiffre record7. Les familles monoparentales et les couples non mariés avec enfant(s) se fondent dans le paysage social, tout comme les célibataires, autrefois stigmatisés8. Ces paramètres démontrent une prise d’autonomie par rapport à l’autorité institutionnelle.
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8 Les femmes, de plus en plus nombreuses dans la vie active, contribuent à l’éclatement des modèles. Leur émancipation se fit en désaccord avec l’exaltation de la famille et de la mère, garante de la transmission de la foi et des valeurs catholiques dans l’éducation de ses enfants. Ce mouvement de libération, impulsé par les féministes, créa un nouveau schéma au sein des foyers irlandais et modifia l’intensité de l’influence de l’Église. Il la contraignit à revoir sa pastorale familiale et, de fait, sa mission éducative. Aussi revient-il aujourd’hui aux établissements scolaires de pallier le déficit de culture religieuse.
9 Majoritaires, les écoles catholiques occupent toujours une position privilégiée. Elles se présentent comme des lieux d’évangélisation mais aussi de socialisation. Les professeurs sont maintenant recrutés parmi des laïcs, faute de personnel religieux. Ils sont chargés de dispenser les cours d’éducation religieuse dont le programme est élaboré par l’episcopat irlandais. Cependant, dans certains établissements, en raison de la pluralité du public scolarisé9, l’instruction religieuse à visée catéchétique devient en pratique un enseignement plus descriptif, différent d’une formation à la foi. Il participe alors d’un enrichissement culturel, d’une compréhension et d’un respect mutuels et favorise le vivre ensemble. La dimension sacramentelle de la formation du jeune catholique intervient dans le cadre complémentaire des retraites scolaires et à travers la catéchèse paroissiale. La diversité ethnique et culturelle du pays entraîne la fragmentation du paysage religieux et la fin du monopole catholique, si bien que l’Irlande reçoit régulièrement des rappels à l’ordre des Nations Unies qui l’invitent à instaurer davantage de laïcité. L’Église catholique irlandaise reste attachée à son rôle d’éducatrice. Elle souhaite maintenir l’atmosphère catholique dans les établissements catholiques et refuse de cautionner un modèle d’enseignement unique qui très vite pourrait se diriger vers un relativisme10. Elle est cependant en faveur d’une offre plus large en matière d’établissements scolaires. Elle engage même l’État à respecter le droit constitutionnel des parents11 en leur garantissant la liberté de choix par la création d’établissements pour ce nouveau public12.
10 Ces évolutions libérales vont dans le sens d’une laïcisation. L’État, de plus en plus séculier, éloigne l’Église de la scène politique et clame son indépendance dans la gestion des affaires publiques. Cette autonomie revendiquée fait craindre à l’Église une légalisation puis une banalisation d’actes contraires à ses dogmes, tel l’avortement, alors que résonnent encore les paroles du Taoiseach Enda Kenny en juin 2013, lors de la présentation d’un projet de loi visant à autoriser l’IVG en cas de danger pour la vie ou la santé de la mère : « Je suis fier d’être ici en tant que représentant public, en tant que Premier ministre, qui se trouve être un catholique mais pas un Premier ministre catholique13. » La loi fut adoptée en dépit d’une opposition très vive. Des milliers de manifestants défilèrent pour sauvegarder le « cœur et l’âme de l’Irlande14 », démonstration spectaculaire de leurs convictions pro-vie, ici en accord total avec la morale catholique. Sur ce point, l’Église garde donc encore une influence forte, ce qui constitue une spécificité irlandaise propre à ralentir le processus de désinstitutionnalisation et de dé-traditionalisation.
Baisse de la pratique sacramentelle
11 L’Irlande reste un pays profondément catholique par rapport à ses partenaires européens. Selon le recensement de 2011, 84,2 % de la population déclare être
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catholique15. Ce taux élevé d’affiliation contraste avec une participation aux offices en baisse régulière depuis les années 1970. En 1974, le taux de pratique hebdomadaire était de 91 %16, 60 % en 1998. Les derniers chiffres de 2011 indiquent une moyenne de 42,1 %. La pratique dominicale est de 19 % pour les 25-34 ans, plus forte chez les plus de 50 ans et culmine à 60 % pour les plus de 75 ans17. 3,2 % des catholiques irlandais se disent non pratiquants18. Une forme d’indifférence s’installe face aux obligations sacramentelles19. Ainsi, à titre d’exemple, les Irlandais sont-ils de plus en plus nombreux à délaisser le sacrement de Réconciliation. Dans les années 1970, la moitié de la population allait se confesser au moins une fois par mois20. De 47 % en 1974, la pratique mensuelle de la confession chuta à 18 % en 1989 pour arriver à 9 % en 200821. 32,9 % des catholiques n’ont plus recours à ce sacrement22. L’autorité institutionnelle sur les âmes et les corps s’amenuise. Les normes éthiques sont abandonnées au profit d’états de conscience ou d’assentiments individuels. Une subjectivisation de la morale relativise l’idée de culpabilité. La menace de l’enfer s’éloigne au profit d’un Dieu miséricordieux et aimant, à qui les fidèles peuvent demander pardon dans l’intimité de la prière. La médiation du prêtre ne leur paraît plus essentielle. Il semble également que la recherche de consensus supplante aujourd’hui la démarche pénitente. L’aveu se sécularise dans un espace de dialogue neutre. La diversification de l’offre d’écoute et de conseils, qu’il s’agisse du cabinet d’un thérapeute, d’une émission radiophonique ou d’un forum de discussions, prouve néanmoins que le besoin de se confesser perdure. C’est donc davantage la forme sacramentelle qui a perdu sa pertinence et non la démarche elle- même. L’Église cherche à adapter le rituel et de nombreux prêtres en modernisent les modalités. Ils n’utilisent plus les confessionnaux, trop austères, et reçoivent les pénitents dans des lieux sobres, sans grille. Ce sacrement peut alors être vécu comme un moment de sincérité, d’écoute et d’échange.
12 Certaines pratiques sacramentelles sont donc délaissées, mais cette désaffection ne correspond pas à une montée de l’athéisme. Un attachement culturel et traditionnel à la religion catholique en tant qu’héritage familial demeure23, distinct de la régularité de la pratique. L’Église continue d’accompagner les événements majeurs de la vie. La grande majorité des Irlandais font baptiser leurs enfants24. Cependant, face au constat de l’exculturation de sa doctrine chez les jeunes25, l’Église rappelle que ce sacrement est un engagement sacré suivi d’une éducation chrétienne, et non une prestation de services sécularisée qui cesse de participer à l’évangélisation de la société. Elle procède également à une réforme de la catéchèse définie comme un moment de socialisation et de conversion, mais aussi comme un temps fondamental d’assimilation de son enseignement. Notons que certains parents considèrent aujourd’hui essentiel de laisser à leurs enfants le choix d’appartenir ou non à la communauté catholique26. De ce fait, le catéchuménat des adultes se développe27, mais l’Église irlandaise peine encore à en adapter le contenu à l’âge des candidats. Elle reconnaît d’ailleurs les failles de son système de formation permanente, encore insuffisamment efficace pour susciter plus l’intérêt de l’ensemble des fidèles. Elle s’attache cependant à promouvoir une intellectualisation de la foi, capable, selon elle, de contrer le processus de désinstitutionnalisation.
Privatisation de la foi
13 Les Irlandais arborent une attitude plus détendue dans leur pratique de la religion. Ils en relativisent les obligations, les points de doctrine. Ils procèdent à un tri spirituel des
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valeurs et messages proposés par l’Église et se forgent un système de croyances personnelles en optant pour un catholicisme à la carte. Cette dérégulation du croire institutionnel ne saurait pourtant être associée hâtivement à une perte de foi. Le contrôle du religieux par les prêtres s’affaiblit, mais la majorité des Irlandais exprime son appartenance au catholicisme et son sentiment religieux. Le besoin de spiritualité reste constant, comme l’indiquent les statistiques liées à la prière personnelle. Environ 50 % des catholiques prient chaque jour, 16 % plus d’une fois par semaine28. La pratique se privatise. La relation à Dieu s’intériorise. Si les prières demeurent les manifestations d’une quête de sens et de salut eschatologique, elles visent également le réconfort, le bien-être immédiat, le bonheur ici-bas. Ainsi l’expérience personnelle de foi, hors du cadre institutionnel ritualisé, se vit-elle sur un mode introspectif, un dialogue direct et spontané avec Dieu.
14 La recomposition du croire ne se limite pas au mouvement de désinstitutionnalisation et de privatisation de la foi, car les « croyants baladeurs29 » s’émancipent des cadres classiques au gré de leurs préférences et des options qui se présentent à eux. L’engouement rencontré par des modalités du croire aux visées pragmatiques est indéniable et oriente l’Institution dans ses stratégies de reconquête des fidèles.
Une foi émotionnelle et pragmatique, expression d’un catholicisme atypique
Dévotion et Ferveur
15 On assiste à un regain d’intérêt pour des croyances populaires, des pratiques rustiques et des manifestations de piété collectives favorisant l’expérience émotionnelle du sacré. Les Irlandais témoignent d’une profonde dévotion mariale. Ils aiment se rendre dans des lieux de pèlerinage, tels Knock ou Lourdes30. Ces démarches spirituelles résistent à la sécularisation. Elles représentent pour ces fidèles l’occasion de vivre un moment de foi intense, accentuée par une sensation de masse et une ferveur collective. Bien qu’inscrites dans la continuité, elles sont perçues comme des entreprises originales, un moyen de vivre une expérience religieuse exceptionnelle, à la fois communautaire et personnelle, dans une quête du divin. Les catholiques irlandais affirment ainsi leur foi et l’inscrivent dans une dimension identitaire universelle, une tradition intemporelle qui les mène sur les chemins du ré-enchantement31. Les célébrations en l’honneur des saints et la présentation des reliques mobilisent également les foules et provoquent de larges rassemblements32. Le recours à ces anciennes pratiques issues du catholicisme populaire fait office d’innovation. Empreint de traditions et de survivances païennes inconscientes, elles correspondent à une recherche de protection et de sécurité, comme en témoigne la dévotion pour des sites sacrés et notamment pour les puits saints aux vertus curatives ou purificatoires. Elles appliquent des rituels de supplication, de purification et de pénitence, fortement influencées par la culture gaélique, et relèvent autant du magique que du religieux. Les croyants investissent en effet leurs prières d’une opérativité capable de leur apporter le bien-être du corps et de l’âme. Ils visent des bénéfices temporels, la guérison ou le miracle et instrumentalisent le divin.
16 Consciente de la vigueur de ces expressions de piété, l’Église catholique irlandaise encourage ces comportements religieux, jadis considérés comme des superstitions ou suspectés de déviationnisme. Elle se propose d’accompagner pastoralement les
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pratiques dévotionnelles individuelles et de les prolonger par des temps de prière et de réflexion communautaires. Elle dynamise ainsi le culte en développant une relation émotionnelle et affective, essentielle à sa pérennité. Plus flexible, elle légitime l’espoir d’un monde meilleur et accessible. L’image d’une Église dogmatique, déconnectée des réalités et des souffrances humaines, s’efface au profit d’une Église à l’écoute. Elle expose la richesse et l’éclectisme de sa Tradition et s’ouvre aux expressions multiformes du croire pour que le « religieux autrement », prisé par la société contemporaine, puisse être exploré et vécu en Église.
Motivation de la foi
17 L’Église irlandaise connaît une baisse des vocations à la prêtrise et la crise des effectifs influe sur la pratique. Le nombre des messes diminue et certaines paroisses n’ont plus leur prêtre. Cette situation de pénurie invite l’Institution à repenser ses structures et son organisation. Elle opte pour un modèle plus horizontal, celui d’une communauté ecclésiale participative. Si l’Église irlandaise a montré par le passé des réticences à confier des responsabilités aux laïcs, la mise en pratique du sacerdoce commun lui apparaît aujourd’hui comme une solution d’avenir. Diarmuid Martin, archevêque de Dublin, en saisit pleinement les enjeux. Il utilise au mieux les ressources cléricales dont il dispose, regroupe les paroisses et fait célébrer des messes alternées. Il donne aux fidèles un rôle grandissant et forme des équipes de management paroissial33. Primat d’Irlande, il promeut l’implication du laïcat comme l’opportunité d’une modernisation et d’un renouveau paroissial34. Les laïcs deviennent aujourd’hui des partenaires.
18 Leur présence participe également d’une féminisation de la dynamique ecclésiale qui entraîne la fragmentation du système patriarcal. Elle tient, en ce sens, un rôle majeur dans son renouveau par l’instauration d’un équilibre féminin/masculin dans le paysage institutionnel. Catéchètes, animatrices de groupes de prières ou de réflexions, actives dans les paroisses, les mouvements de jeunes ou les associations caritatives, les femmes diffusent l’image d’une Église omniprésente au service de tous. Elles assurent non seulement sa visibilité, mais aussi sa reconstruction par des liens tissés au quotidien au sein de la communauté.
19 L’Église se fait donc famille spirituelle, dans laquelle chacun est invité à s’intégrer par une participation au culte, une activité paroissiale et/ou par des actions collectives au sein d’une communauté forte. Cette culture de l’engagement encourage l’émergence de « paroisses affinitaires35 », fondées sur un concept de « socialité élective36 ». Les fidèles trouvent, dans une Église qui leur ressemble, une unité spirituelle épanouissante. Le « croire ensemble » génère l’enthousiasme et répond aux besoins de reconnaissance et d’appartenance.
20 L’Internet37 fournit également aux Églises locales un outil efficace de communication interne et externe. Dans certaines paroisses, il permet une interactivité qui donne aux fidèles le moyen de communiquer avec leur Église. La Toile donne à la communauté la possibilité de fonctionner en réseau de coreligionnaires. Elle favorise une dynamique de solidarité basée sur l’écoute, le soutien et le partage.
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L’Église autrement
Une communauté joyeuse
21 Les paroisses s’efforcent de rendre les cérémonies vivantes. Pour mobiliser les fidèles, elles misent sur l’événementiel. Des temps forts jalonnent l’année liturgique. La musique, le chant, la danse sont intégrés aux célébrations et permettent la démonstration d’une foi joyeuse. Veillées et retraites nourrissent la spiritualité et soudent la communauté. Des festivals38 sont organisés par les diocèses ou les mouvements de jeunes catholiques. Rassemblements identitaires, ils s’inspirent des très populaires Journées Mondiales de la Jeunesse et diffusent des images de dynamisme et d’énergie. Ils participent du renouveau de l’Église dans une stratégie de réveil de la foi. Ces initiatives ont pour vocation de susciter ou de confirmer un désir d’appartenance. Elles visent à la fois à conduire les fidèles engagés à une maturité spirituelle dans l’Église mais aussi à ramener les catholiques à une pratique sacramentelle plus assidue. Elles participent d’une reconquête du peuple et tout particulièrement, d’une reconquête de la jeunesse. Les changements dans le mode du « croire » sont évidents chez la jeune génération et l’Église sait qu’il lui faut développer des techniques et des formules attractives. Les jeunes Irlandais adhèrent volontiers à des associations, à des groupes structurés et dynamiques. Aussi l’aspect communautaire, érigé dans un esprit de solidarité, occupe-t-il une place centrale dans les dispositifs mis en œuvre. L’Église exacerbe le goût pour l’aventure, l’imagination et la créativité. Elle accompagne les jeunes dans leur quête de sens.
Une communauté active
22 La motivation de la foi passe par la constitution de réseaux affinitaires. L’Église exploite donc ses capacités socialisatrices pour développer une identité catholique solide, inscrite dans la continuité et l’héritage. Aussi propose-t-elle aux jeunes de participer à des missions solidaires dans le cadre de mouvements et d’associations caritatives aux objectifs nombreux et variés, qu’il s’agisse de scoutisme, d’organisations diocésaines ou humanitaires. L’appartenance à ces groupes favorise le témoignage et la revendication d’une identité catholique militante. Œuvrer ensemble pour une société meilleure fédère et permet la mise en pratique des Évangiles. Appartenir à l’Église catholique devient alors un choix affectif.
23 L’Église veut être à nouveau pleinement entendue dans l’espace social et adopte une posture nouvelle. Elle cherche à faire sens dans la vie des Irlandais en menant des actions capables de réveiller un sentiment d’adhésion à une cause. À travers son réseau associatif et ses laïcs engagés, elle s’implique dans l’ensemble de l’espace social et devient force mobilisatrice. Elle élabore des projets locaux, des itinéraires différenciés pour les nécessiteux et des programmes de soutien spécifique pour répondre à toutes les détresses : marginaux, sans-abri, délinquants, immigrés, gens du voyage ou demandeurs d’emploi. Elle réagit à des situations d’urgence et revient à sa mission originelle d’assistance matérielle et de soutien spirituel. Elle favorise la proximité et l’enracinement de la foi. Sa stratégie est aujourd’hui fondée sur l’accompagnement, la non-directivité et l’empathie. Son discours sur l’égalisation sociale oriente ses pratiques. La misère terrestre cesse d’être présentée comme la clé du salut et du
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bonheur céleste. Cette attitude envers la société participe de sa réhabilitation globale par la reconnaissance de son engagement pour le bien commun, ici et maintenant. Église des pauvres39, communauté fraternelle agissante, elle interagit avec le peuple de façon plus démocratique et plus productive.
Conclusion
24 En 2006, le Père Donal Dorr, dans un essai au titre engagé « L’Église est courageuse », démontrait les enjeux de l’adaptation de l’Institution à la société contemporaine. Il imaginait, dans une analyse prospective, une Église irlandaise qui, par un esprit d’ouverture, de tolérance et de communauté, serait capable de traverser les turbulences d’une société libérée et de ramener près d’elle un peuple en perte de confiance40. L’Église irlandaise s’est engagée sur ce chemin de la reconstruction. Plus humble, à l’écoute des sensibilités contemporaines, elle s’est remise en question pour se redéfinir. Compatissante et aidante, elle se met au service du peuple. La notion de communauté ecclésiale résonne dans ses discours et s’incarne dans ses actes.
25 L’élection du pape François suscite également un souffle nouveau. À l’échelle supranationale, ce « pape de transformation41 » incarne l’aggiornamento de l’Institution qui entre avec lui dans une nouvelle ère. Son style spontané, son énergie communicative, ses attitudes sympathiques et paternelles séduisent. Sa popularité rayonne et les diocèses irlandais annoncent déjà un regain de pratique et d’enthousiasme42. Chaleureux, souriant et dynamique, il se veut pasteur et prêche une foi solidaire. Pape des pauvres43, il s’engage contre toute forme d’exclusion et appelle à l’apostolat social par une pastorale de terrain au service des « périphéries44 ». Ce message papal conforte l’Église d’Irlande dans ses stratégies de renouveau et vient renforcer l’impact de cette politique ecclésiale menée depuis près d’une dizaine d’années.
NOTES
1. Louise Fuller, “Disturbing the Faithful: Aspects of Catholic Culture under Review”, in John Littleton et Eamon Maher (eds.), The Dublin/Murphy Report: A Watershed for Irish Catholism?, Dublin, The Columba Press, 2010, p.158-170. 2. John Littleton, “Being a Catholic in Ireland today”, in John Littleton et Eamon Maher (eds.), Contemporary Catholicism in Ireland, a Critical Appraisal, Dublin, The Columba Press, 2008, p.12-24. 3. Seán Ruth, “Responding to Abuse: Culture, Leadership and Change”, in John Littleton & Eamon Maher (eds.), op. cit., p.102-113. 4. Tom Inglis, Lessons in Irish Sexuality, Dublin, University College Dublin Press, 1998, p. 70-89.
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5. Malachi O’Doherty, Empty Pulpits, Ireland’s Retreat from Religion, Dublin, Gill and Macmillan, p. 2. 6. Les mariages civils représentaient 29% des unions célébrées en 2011 pour 66% de mariages catholiques. Central Statistics Office, “Marriages and civil partnerships”, CSO Statistical release, 30 septembre 2013. Source : site internet du Central Statistics Office, [http://www.cso.ie/ en/releasesandpublications/er/mcp/marriagesandcivilpartnerships2011/ #.UuyqUtLuKqg], consulté le 30 janvier 2014. 7. Le taux de divorce en 2010 (0,9‰) était le plus bas d’Europe. Central Statistics Office, “Measuring Ireland’s progress 2011”, Dublin, CSO Statistical release, octobre 2012, Table 7.4. [ http://www.cso.ie/en/media/csoie/releasespublications/documents/ otherreleases/2011/measuringirelandsprogress2011.pdf], consulté le 30 janvier 2014. 8. Central Statistics Office, “Profile 5 Households and families”, Dublin, CSO Statistical release, septembre 2012. [http://www.cso.ie/en/media/csoie/census/documents/ census2011profile5/Profile,5,Households,and,Families,full,doc,sig,amended.pdf], consulté le 30 janvier 2014. 9. Patricia Kieran & Anne Hession, Children, Catholicism and Religious Education, Dublin, Veritas, 2005, p. 266-306. 10. Déborah Vandewoude, « Eglise catholique et système éducatif en République d’Irlande, la fin d’un monopole ? », in Déborah Vandewoude et Denis Vigneron (dir.), L’Enseignement des faits religieux : France – Espagne – Ecosse – Irlande, Arras, APU, 2014, p. 84-104. 11. Constitution of Ireland – Bunreacht na hÉireann. Article 42.2: “Parents shall be free to provide this education in their homes or in private schools or in schools recognised or established by the State". Article 42.3.1: “The State shall not oblige parents in violation of their conscience and lawful preference to send their children to schools established by the State, or to any particular type of school designated by the State”. Article 42.3.2: “The State shall, however, as guardian of the common good, require in view of actual conditions that the children receive a certain minimum education, moral, intellectual and social”. Source : site internet Irish Statute Book, [http:// www.irishstatutebook.ie/en/constitution/index.html], consulté le 30 janvier 2014. 12. Patricia Kiernan, “Embracing change, the Remodelling of Irish Catholic primary schools”, in John Littleton et Eamon Maher (eds.), op. cit., p.52-7. 13. “I am proud to stand here as a public representative, who happens to be a Catholic but not a Catholic Taoiseach.”, in Kerry O’Shea, “Prime Minister Enda Kenny says he is a Catholic but not a Catholic leader during abortion debate”, Irish Central, 13 juin 2013. Source : site internet d’Irish Central, [http://www.irishcentral.com/news/enda-kenny- tells-dail-he-is-a-catholic-but-not-a-catholic-taoiseach-during-abortion- debate-211437711-237596511.html#ixzz2rztiiDDm], consulté le 30 janvier 2014. 14. Kerry O’Shea, art. cit. 15. Central Statistics Office, “Profile 7 Religion, Ethnicity and Irish Travellers – Ethnic and Cultural Background in Ireland”, Dublin, CSO Statistical release, octobre 2012. [http://www.cso.ie/en/media/csoie/census/documents/census2011profile7/Profile, 7,Press,Release,Religion,,Ethnicity,and,Irish,Travellers.pdf], consulté le 30 janvier 2014.
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16. A Survey of Religious Practice, Attitudes and Beliefs in Republic of Ireland 1973-1974 , Maynooth, Research and Development Unit, 1975-1976. 17. Eoin O’Mahony, Religious Practice in Ireland, a summary of European Social Survey Round 4 (2009/10) and the International Social Science Programme Religion III, Maynooth, mars 2011, Figure 1. 18. Micheál Mac Gréil, The Challenge of Indifference: a Need for Religious Revival in Ireland – National Survey of Religious Attitudes and Practices in 2007-2008, Maynooth, National University of Ireland, Table No. 3.5. 19. Ibid., Table No. 3.6. 20. Gaby Roughneen, “Confession”, Reality Magazine, juillet 2000. 21. Ibid., Table No. 3.7. 22. Micheál Mac Gréil, op. cit., Table No. 3.5. 23. “[…] Irish people still have an affiliation with their Catholic Faith. The Sunday obligation to attend mass may no longer be relevant in people’s lives, but on the big occasions like weddings, funerals, baptisms, the faith is still there and evident.”, in “Immigrants re-energize Irish Church, BBC News, 18 mai 2007. Source : site internet de BBC News, [http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/6639643.stm], consulté le 30 janvier 2014. 24. En 1990, 65 000 baptêmes de nouveau-nés ont été célébrés, 67 191 en 2006. “Infant and adult baptism in Ireland on the rise”, CiNews, 1 avril 2009. Source : site internet de CiNews, [http://www.cinews.ie/article.php?artid=5865], consulté le 30 janvier 2014. 25. Un sondage réalisé pour le Iona Institute et l’Evangelical Alliance Ireland en 2007 révéla que 62% des jeunes Irlandais ignoraient le nombre d’évangiles, 52% ne connaissaient pas le Livre de la Genèse et 95% étaient incapables de citer le premier commandement. Trevor Morrow, “Are we illiterate ?”, Vox, avril-juin 2009. 26. Le baptême des enfants n’est plus systématique à la naissance. 22,1% des parents déclaraient dans un sondage national de 2007-2008 que leurs enfants choisiraient eux- mêmes leur religion. Micheál Mac Gréil, op. cit., Table No. 6.1. 27. En 1990, 65 catéchumènes ont reçu le baptême, 178 en 2000, 360 en 2006. [http:// www.cinews.ie/article.php?artid=5865], consulté le 30 janvier 2014. 28. Eoin O’Mahony, op. cit., Figure 9. 29. Danièle Hervieu-Léger, Le Pèlerin et le Converti, la Religion en mouvement, Paris, Flammarion, 1999, p. 25. 30. Catherine Maignant, « Irlande. L’Eglise catholique entre crise et espoir de renouveau », La Documentation française, Grande Europe n° 20, mai 2010. Source : site internet de La Documentation française, [http://www.ladocumentationfrancaise.fr/ pages-europe/d000525-Irlande.-l-eglise-catholique-entre-crise-et-espoir-de- renouveau-par-catherine-maignant/article], consulté le 30 janvier 2014. 31. Marcel Gauchet, Un monde désenchanté ?, Paris, Editions de l’Atelier, 2004. 32. En mai 2001, environ 3 millions de personnes se déplacèrent pour prier devant les reliques de sainte Thérèse. Le reliquaire richement orné d’or et d’argent, se rendit pendant 11 semaines en 74 lieux, traversant tout le pays. Eamon Maher, “Where to now for Irish Catholicism?”, Reality Magazine, septembre 2003. 33. “The new parish”, The Irish Catholic, 31 juillet 2008.
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34. “Dublin archbishop tells Fordham University audience laity is key to Irish church's renewal”, Irish Central, 27 avril 2013. [http://www.irishcentral.com/news/dublin- archbishop-tells-fordham-university-audience-laity-is-key-to-irish-churchs- renewal-204997491-237585051.html#ixzz2ry1x9hNP], consulté le 30 janvier 2014. 35. Danièle Hervieu-Léger, op. cit., p. 182. 36. Michel Maffesoli, Le Temps des Tribus. Paris, La Table Ronde, 1998, p. 141. 37. Le site [http://www.parishwebsites.ie] assiste les paroisses dans le développement de pages web conviviales. A titre d’exemple, on peut visiter le site de la paroisse « Our Lady of the Rosary » de Limerick. Source : site internet de la Paroisse Nore-Dame du Rosaire de Limerick,[http://www.ourladyoftherosaryparishlimerick.ie/groups/], consulté le 30 janvier 2014. 38. Les événements organisés par le mouvement Youth 2000 sont très attendus, notamment le Festival de la Jeunesse de Clonmacnois est notamment très attendu. Source : site internet de Youth 2000 Ireland, [http://www.youth2000.ie/], consulté le 30 janvier 2014. 39. Déborah Vandewoude, L’Église catholique face aux défis contemporains, Redéfinition d’une Institution désacralisée, Frankfurt am Main, Peter Lang, Franco-Irish Studies, 2012, p. 197-221. 40. Donal Dorr, “The Church is courageous”, in William Madges, Michael J. Daley (eds.), The Many Marks of the Church, Dublin, Twenty-Third Publications, 2006, p.99. 41. Caroline Pigozzi et Henri Madelin, Ainsi fait-il, Paris, Plon, 2013, p. 28. 42. Sean Dunne, “Ressurected? Church attendance increase in Ireland and elsewhere attributed to Pope Francis effect”, Irish Central, 04 janvier 2014, [http://www.sott.net/ article/271425-Ressurected-Church-attendance-increase-in-Ireland-and-elsewhere- attributed-to-Pope-Francis-effect], consulté le 30 janvier 2014. 43. Caroline Pigozzi et Henri Madelin, op. cit., p.19. 44. Frédéric Mounier, « Le Pape François envoie les prêtres vers les périphéries de l’existence », La Croix, 28 mars 2013. Source : site internet du journal La Croix, [http:// www.la-croix.com/Religion/Actualite/Le-pape-Francois-envoie-les-pretres-vers-les- peripheries-de-l-existence-2013-03-28-926161], consulté le 30 janvier 2014.
RÉSUMÉS
L’Église catholique irlandaise traverse une crise d’autorité sans précédent. La médiatisation de scandales a accéléré le déclin et la désinstitutionnalisation des pratiques religieuses. Les normes morales institutionnelles sont remises en question et la foi se privatise. Cette désaffection a incité l’Église à s’engager sur la voie du renouveau et de la réhabilitation. Une dynamique d’ouverture et d’adaptation à la société contemporaine est au cœur de ce processus de reconstruction.
The Roman Catholic Church in Ireland has been undergoing an unprecedented authority crisis. The media coverage of scandals has accelerated the decline and has led to a move away from
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institutional religious practices. The institutional norms in relation to morality are questioned as never before, and faith has become a private matter. This disaffection has prompted the Church to embark on the road to revival and rehabilitation, opening up and adapting to contemporary Irish society in an attempt to rebuild and renew itself.
INDEX
Keywords : religion - Catholicism, religion - religious practice, religious diversity, Irish Catholic Church, society and religion Mots-clés : religion - catholicisme, religion - pluralité, religion - pratiques religieuses, Église catholique d’Irlande, société et religion
AUTEUR
DÉBORAH VANDEWOUDE Université d’Artois
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Church and State in Ireland (1922-2013): Contrasting Perceptions of Humanity
Catherine Maignant
1 Even though Enda Kenny, a practising Catholic, has repeatedly ruled out abortion on demand, his Protection of Life during Pregnancy Act1 is a turning point in the history of Ireland. When Savita Halappanavar died after being denied an abortion even though she was miscarrying in October 2012, her husband was told that the explanation lay in Ireland being a Catholic country. Yet the issue arose as Church State relations had reached an all time-low following revelations of child abuse in religious institutions and attempts of cover up on the part of the Church. It also came after three women challenged the Irish State’s abortion laws at the European Court of Human Rights on grounds that they contravened the international right to be "free from cruel, inhuman and degrading treatment2". But inhumanity is a matter of interpretation, as is the fight for life. Contrasting understandings of humanity, inhumanity and morality have informed the political debate in Ireland since the creation of the Irish Free State. Using these as a starting point and examining them both in historical and international perspectives, this paper will argue that they may be a key to interpret the history of Church-State relations in Ireland since 1922.
The abortion issue and the question of human rights in Irish law
2 Writing in 1984, the year after the abortion referendum, Desmond Clarke presented the Irish State as “confessional rather than pluralist; timid and reluctant about individual freedoms; favouring censorship rather than freedom of thought and speech; and overly concerned about its perceived role as a civil handmaid to the theological demands of an infallible church”3. In his estimation however, the creative approach of Irish courts to the constitution was an “encouraging sign in the history of human rights in Ireland”.
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Thanks to this attitude, he argued, they guaranteed “more rights to citizens than those who wrote it might ever have imagined”. Whenever Irish courts were unable or unwilling to intervene, the European Court of Human Rights did, which allowed Clarke to conclude: “The frequency with which the courts have intervened to correct the Oireachtas’ perception of the common good and to modify it in defence of individual rights is a convincing argument in favour of the need for constitutional limits to the legislative power of governments4.” Whether or not one agrees with this opinion, Clarke had a point when he noted that “the recognition and defence of human rights [was] almost exclusively due to the courts5”.
3 It is significant in that respect that Enda Kenny’s government should have decided to legislate on the basis of the 1992 X case decision of the Supreme Court6. That it should have taken twenty years and the death of a woman is also significant, as is the fact that a heated debate has ensued, even if no liberalization of abortion was ever on the agenda. What was at stake was merely the clarification of the existing law as regarded the circumstances in which a pregnant woman whose life was threatened might have an abortion in Ireland, including the case when she had suicidal thoughts. Yet in their statement of December 2012, the four archbishops of Ireland dismissed the 1992 Supreme Court ruling as a “flawed judgment” and expressed their concern at the government’s intention to introduce new legislation, on grounds that “the dignity of the human person and the common good of humanity depend on our respect of the right to life of every person from the moment of conception to natural death. The right to life is the most fundamental of all rights. It is the very basis for every other right we enjoy as persons”7. The government for its part made it clear that no new rights were created and that they were legislating for X “because it is our duty as legislators to vindicate the rights of tens of thousands of women and their families8”. Nevertheless, inequality of treatment for suicidal women seeking termination has led pro-choice organizations to criticize the abortion legislation from the start. Johanna Westeson, regional director for Europe at the Centre for Reproductive Rights, has argued that this part of the bill “runs contradictory to international medical standards and human rights norms”. Besides, she found that “to suggest that women would fake suicidal tendencies to access abortion is not only deeply offensive and misogynistic, but also in stark violation of women’s human right to be treated with dignity”9. While it is clear that the issue is an interesting instance of the overlap between morality and law, it is no less clear that it is an illustration of conflicting understandings of human rights and human dignity.
4 Articles 40 to 44 of the 1937 Irish Constitution list the fundamental rights of Irish citizens. They are defined in extremely vague terms and few are explicitly mentioned. However, since Ryan v Attorney general, courts have interpreted sections 1 and 2 of article 4010 to mean that they include “all those rights which result from the Christian and democratic nature of the State11”. In one of his memos on Constitutional guarantees, Archbishop John Charles McQuaid himself noted: “The State guarantees to respect and defend the personal rights of each citizen, not only those that are inalienable, indefensible and antecedent to positive law, but also those that have been by law granted and defined12.” In his opinion however, individual freedoms had to be understood as subservient to the “common good”, that is to say the moral and social ideal promoted by the Catholic Church in the 1930s. In his comments on the directive principles of the Constitution he wrote: “A constitution is not a thesis of philosophy
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and theology. It is an enactment guided and delimitated by the teachings of Catholic philosophy and theology. It enshrines and sets forth the aim of what ought to be our Christian endeavour in social policy13.” The preamble to the Constitution must be understood in that perspective. In the name of the Holy Trinity it pledges the Irish State to seek “to promote the common good, with due observance of Prudence, Justice and Charity, so that the dignity and freedom of the individual may be assured” and “true social order attained”. As early as 1940, the Supreme Court ruled that “there is nothing in this clause of the Preamble which could be invoked to necessitate the sacrifice of the common good in the interests of the freedom of the individual14”.
5 The insistence on the common good as opposed to individual rights was strongly reminiscent of papal statements going back to Pius IX. In Quanta Cura, an encyclical letter he issued in 1864 to condemn “current errors”, he denounced States that did not “fear to foster that erroneous opinion, most fatal in its effects on the Catholic Church and the salvation of souls, […] that a right resides in the citizens to an absolute liberty, which should be restrained by no authority whether ecclesiastical or civil […]15”. The context of the 1930s, as exemplified, for instance, in Casti Connubii, Pius XI’s encyclical on Christian marriage, also had an easily identifiable bearing on the Constitution. McQuaid’s view that “the aim of the State is to secure a social order, according to natural law and Christian teaching16” is a key to understanding his and the early Irish State’s stance on individual rights. Interestingly, it is also relevant in view of the contemporary debate since the International Theological Commission recently published a document entitled In Search of a Universal Ethic: A New Look at the Natural Law17 as a response to what the Church perceives as today’s excessive ethical relativism.
The natural law and Catholic teachings
6 Writing about faith and culture in the Irish context in 1996, Eoin Cassidy noted: “It is ironic that the Catholic Church could be perceived as intrinsically hostile to individual liberty, considering that it is founded on the belief that all are created equal in the sight of God and that all share the dignity of unique individuals, free and responsible before God18.” While this is undeniably true, the perception of human nature based on natural law, set in the context of a theory of salvation, contradicts the liberal understanding of human liberty. According to the Thomist interpretation of natural law, which became central to Catholic teaching essentially from the 1860s, the person is defined both as a free rational ontological being enjoying a privileged relationship with the deity, and as a being whose freedom is predetermined and limited by his nature. If men are fundamentally social by nature, “the concept of natural law presupposes the idea that nature is for man the bearer of an ethical message and is an implicit moral norm that human reason actualizes19”. It is also claimed that man is spontaneously moral and naturally tries his utmost to do good and avoid evil.
7 The law of nature is presented as objective and universally binding, even if it is explicitly based on the Christian interpretation of God’s will and part of His law. It concerns believers and non-believers alike, and from the 19th century onwards, it was used to legitimize not only Church control on people’s behaviour but on State legislation. Indeed Libertas Praestantissimum, Leo XIII’s 1888 encyclical, decreed the superiority of the law of nature and the eternal law over human law. In this perspective, the function of the civil legislator was perceived as the duty “to keep the community in obedience by the adoption of a common discipline and by putting restraint upon refractory and viciously inclined men, so that, deterred from evil, they
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may turn to what is good […]20”. Since then, the law of nature has been a constant reference in matters relating to the rights and duties of man (as for instance in John XXIII’s Pacem in Terris, 1963) and sexuality (as, for instance in Pius XI’s Casti Connubii, 1930 or Paul VI’s Humanae Vitae, 1968). The latest version of the Catechism of the Catholic Church (1992) and John Paul II’s Veritatis Splendor (1993) also stress the centrality of the law of nature in Catholic doctrine21. Its reaffirmation in 2009 only confirms this trend.
8 In order to understand the nature of the Church’s message, it may be necessary to remember that the central precepts of the natural law reflect and derive from what the Church sees as the “three great sets of natural dynamisms that are at work in the human person”, that is to say “the inclination to preserve and to develop one’s own existence”, “the inclination to reproduce, in order to perpetuate the species” and “the inclination to know the truth about God and to live in society22”. Catholic morality as relates to sexuality and procreation derives from the second of these: The dynamism towards procreation is intrinsically linked to the natural inclination that leads man to woman and woman to man, a universal datum recognized in all societies. It is the same for the inclination to care for one’s children and to educate them. These inclinations imply that the permanence of the union of man and woman, indeed even their mutual fidelity, are already values to pursue, even if they can only fully flourish in the spiritual order of interpersonal communion23.
9 In the same way, the superiority of the group over individual interest proceeds from the third inclination.
10 Today, the International Theological Commission acknowledges that the world view based on the natural law has lost ground and laments the denial of nature as understood in Christian tradition. According to their analysis, man has come “to understand himself more and more as a ‘denatured animal’, an anti-natural being who affirms himself to the extent to which he opposes himself to nature”. “The principal result of these developments”, they say, “has been the split of the real into three separate, indeed opposed spheres: nature, human subjectivity, and God”24. Even though the historicity of the natural law is admitted in their 2009 document, the central tenets of human morality are seen as unchanging because they derive from the unchanging nature of man.
11 Critics of that world view note that this version of the law of nature is only one among several natural law theories and certainly not the only bulwark against total moral relativism it claims to be. Besides, all such theories have raised so many objections that they have for the most part been rejected by modern philosophy. One may also denounce the inconsistency of the tradition in several areas25. In some instances, for example, human reason is presented as a guide towards the discovery of the natural law; it is so in Pius XII’s encyclical Humani Generis (1950). But in other cases, as in Pius XI’s encyclical Casti Connubii, human reason is deemed far too unreliable to achieve that end, which legitimizes the social and moral power of the infallible Church26, the indoctrination of children and the uncritical attachment to tradition. Talking of contraception and voluntary human sterilization, Desmond Clarke comments: The immorality of artificial contraception, on the Church’s view, depends exclusively on one consideration: that such methods of birth control contravene the Church’s interpretation of God’s intentions, insofar as these intentions are revealed in the unmodified course of natural fertility and infertility27.
12 The Scriptures have little to say on moral issues anyway, and what they do say has to be understood in the context in which they were elaborated. German theologian Hans
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Küng28 makes the point that the traditional hostility of the Catholic Church towards women and sexuality can legitimately be blamed on St Augustine’s flawed interpretation of Adam’s fall, based on a mistranslation of the Greek original of St Paul’s Letter to Romans (5-12). Whereas Paul had written that men were sinners like Adam, Augustine understood they were sinners through Adam’s transgression. In order to fight against the Pelagian heresy, which stressed men’s free will, Augustine thus reinterpreted the theory of original sin in a sense that made it hereditary and sexually determined. Augustine’s theology of sin mostly developed in the medieval Church and stands at the origin of the Church’s ban on sexuality29. This ban however did not become total until the 19th century when Pius IX defined the dogma of the Immaculate Conception (1854) and reaffirmed the Church’s position on the Original Sin as elaborated by the Council of Trent. The consequences of this debate and decisions on the Irish Church are well known. Nevertheless, in this area as in several others, the divine origin of the Catholic dogma and of the natural law has been undermined by the statement of crude facts.
13 Finally, it is sufficient to state that the law of nature in its contemporary Catholic version doesn’t clearly define good and evil, and that it doesn’t discuss the connection between nature and moral norms, which can be a source of confusion when it comes to assessing what is moral and what is not.
14 At the time when the Catholic Church was trying to articulate its universal power on the basis of the natural law in the 19th century, the rival liberal model was also gaining ground. Just like Christian ethics, it drew its inspiration from classical Greek philosophy but was shaped by Renaissance humanists and the philosophers of the Enlightenment who emancipated from Christian theology. Today humanism and religious moral theories underlie competing world views. Indeed, “humanism is the ethical outlook that says each individual is responsible for choosing his or her values and goals and working towards the latter in the light of the former, and is equally responsible for living considerately towards others”30. Grayling defines humanism further by saying: Humanism is the concern to draw the best from, and make the best of, human life in the span of a human lifetime, in the real world […]. This entails that humanism rejects religious claims about the source of morality and value. […] It is not the same thing as either secularism or atheism, but it has natural links to both31.
15 Humanism is also connected to individualism and it upholds the defence of human rights. In his seminal analysis of the change in the we-I balance, Norbert Elias argues that in democratic societies, the development of modern States led to a progressive individualization of citizens and the progressive rejection of more traditional allegiances. In the present he identifies a direction “towards a more comprehensive and durable total integration of mankind32”, exemplified by the fact that power is being transferred from a lower to a higher level. While it is clear that, in this new context, individual citizens have little chance of influencing events at the global level and may become the victims of international superstructures, they can also benefit from the development of the global ethos of human rights. Following two world wars and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights of 1948, new initiatives have been launched. Elias mentions Amnesty International, but the European Court of Human Rights also falls in the same category of institutions which bear witness to “the spread of responsibility among individuals for the fate of others far beyond the frontiers of their own country or continent33”. The example of Ireland being induced to legislate on
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abortion as a result of international pressure on the request of individuals is indeed a sign of the times. It is also a sign that the State has eventually succeeded in going a step further in the emancipation process which started a few decades ago.
Church-State relations in Ireland (1922-2013): from natural law to humanism
16 It may in fact be argued that the history of Church and State relations in Ireland is an interesting illustration of the conflict between the Catholic natural law theory and the liberal humanistic world view. It is a fascinating case study because the shift from one model to the other occurred within less than a century and because present developments may confirm the emergence of a third way.
17 By the time the Irish Free State came of age in the 1930s, it had fully embraced the Catholic ethos. In a draft memo on Church and State, John Charles McQuaid wrote: The State acknowledges that the true religion is that established by Our Divine lord Jesus Christ Himself, Which he committed to His Church to protect and propagate, as the guardian and interpreter of true morality […] Further, the State acknowledges that the Church of Christ is a (perfect) society, having within itself full competence and sovereign authority, in respect for the spiritual good of men34.
18 The State which emerged from this close association sought to turn into apparent reality the dream of the moralist. The myth that Ireland had become a beacon of purity came into force. Referring to Freud and Foucault, both Tom Inglis35 and Diarmaid Ferriter note that “control of sex and sexual relations was central to the creation and maintenance of power and social order”36. It was also a means to the end of making the myth come true, or rather appear true. In his superb study of sex and society in modern Ireland, Ferriter convincingly argues that the angelic ideal never stopped sexual crimes of all kinds and that Irish society was much more aware of sexual realities than has so far been acknowledged. What appears particularly fascinating therefore is the way in which the mythifying process was implemented.
19 As is the rule with myth, the first aspect of the process took the shape of the denial of its own historical construction. This was indeed part of the Catholic tradition. Talking of “traditional teaching on the Catholic Church as ‘the one true Church’ with its divinely revealed ‘deposit of faith’”, theologian Seán Fagan as many others exposed the overemphasis that the institution placed on continuity to hide historical reality. But in Roland Barthes’ analysis, the function of myth is precisely “to empty reality”, to empty it of history and fill it with nature. “Myth is depoliticized speech […]. It organizes a world which is without contradictions because it is without depth, a world wide open and wallowing in the evident, it establishes a blissful clarity: things appear to mean something by themselves37.”
20 This necessarily involves lying, endorsing amnesia or cultivating ambiguity. That such practices still hold true today is exemplified by exemplified by Bishop Christopher Jones’s January 2013 statement that “the Catholic Church has never taught that the life of a child in the womb should be preferred to that of the mother or the life of the mother to that of the child”38. The current teaching of the Catholic Church embodied in the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith’s “Declaration on procured Abortion” explicitly excludes abortion even if it is a question of life and death for the mother on
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grounds that “no-one can exempt women […] from what nature demands of them39”. Yet the principle of double effect defined by Pius XII40 and acknowledged in the Eighth Amendment to the Irish Constitution, allows life-saving interventions on pregnant women that may lead to the unintended death of the child. Nevertheless ambiguity remains. The principle of double effect does not induce the delivery of non-viable babies, since life-saving abortions must be independent of the mother’s pregnant condition. Therefore it could not have saved Savita Halappanavar. Besides, even in cases when the mother’s condition is unrelated to her pregnancy, the situation is unclear. In 2010 Sister McBride, the administrator of an American Catholic hospital, was excommunicated for allowing an abortion on a woman suffering from heart disease, whose risk of mortality was “close to 100%41”.
21 From the point of view of humanism, accusations of inhumanity make sense in such contexts. However, if we follow Barthes’ analysis, it is also the function of myth to remove “from things their human significance so as to make them signify a human insignificance42”, which induces that dehumanization is part of the mythifying process. As is well known, the collusion between Church and State in Ireland led to dehumanization in two ways: first of all through the denial of the body and the subsequent rejection of the physical, sexual, realities of humanity; and second, through the inhumane treatment of all those who did not conform to the model. These people were condemned to exclusion, public indictment or containment. Cruelty towards the most vulnerable was also part of picture, as is well exemplified by the fate of those children born to unmarried mothers43, who were exported and actually sold to America with little consideration for their well-being other than assurances that they would be raised in the Catholic faith44.
22 In this system at its worst, upholding the myth implied submitting citizens to pre-given answers and intimidating them into accepting the undisputed authority of the Church. Families, schools and the State itself were made complicit in the indoctrination of children and the control of adults. The conspiracy of silence and cover up served the purpose of hiding the realities which were not in conformity with the ideals. Therefore the Carrigan report (1931), which outlined the prevalence of prostitution and uncovered extensive child sexual abuse, was never made public but led to a containment culture45. In the same way the reports of the past few years have amply demonstrated that child abuse was hushed for decades.
23 While most religious certainly acted out of good faith and genuinely laboured for the salvation of Irish souls, the obsession with power on the part of Church leaders is obvious. In Enough is Enough, Fintan O’Toole shows that far from offering services that the State was unable to provide, “the institutional Church consistently undermined state services, fought to limit their expansion and consistently put the maintenance of its own power ahead of the interests of vulnerable people”46. The Irish Church is no exception in this respect. Hans Küng, who has an inside knowledge of Vatican proceedings, denounces Rome’s monopoly of truth and power. He emphasizes the fact that Paul VI’s controversial encyclical Humanae Vitae (1968), which confirmed the Church’s ban on contraception and sexuality outside procreation, had more to do with infallibility than sexuality. Pius XI could not possibly have made a mistake in his own encyclical Casti Connubii (1930) and therefore there was no option but to confirm his teaching47.
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24 In one of his articles published in 2008, Redemptorist priest Tony Flannery wonders what Christ would think of the Church’s interpretation of his message. He suggests he wouldn’t be too keen on the theology and law and wouldn’t “feel at home in the Vatican”48. Progressive religious in contemporary Ireland have repeatedly denounced excesses in the name of what they see as the true Christian message. They have called for a reappraisal of the institutional Church’s authority by attempting to demythify and rehistoricize its power and teachings. Rome’s adamant position on priests’ celibacy and the ordination of women doesn’t stand the test of history; nor does its attitude towards sexuality and the body. Irish Christian feminists, but also churchmen such as Donal Dorr, Mark Patrick Hederman or Seán Fagan among others, have insisted on the necessity to abandon traditional tenets based on the history of the Church, an all too human institution, rather than on the Scriptures. In Does Morality Change? Fagan also defends the view that morality should (and did) vary in different contexts. However, what successive popes have called “historicism” has persistently been condemned by popes as a false opinion overthrowing “the foundation of all truth and absolute law”49. It is explicit in Pius XII’s encyclical Humani Generis (1950) or John Paul II’s Faith and Reason (1998)50, for example. In 2004, the Irish Bishops’ conference issued a doctrinal warning against Fagan’s 1997 book on morality51. More recently, investigation into the Irish Church ordered by Pope Benedict XVI “encountered a certain tendency, not dominant but fairly widespread among priests, religious and laity, to hold theological opinions at variance with the teachings of the Magisterium”52. Both Seán Fagan and Tony Flannery have been silenced by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. The latter, one of the founders of the Association of Catholic Priests, defied the order to stay quiet in January 2013. He revealed that he had been “subjected to frightening procedures reminiscent of the Inquisition” and felt threatened with excommunication for his views on women’s ordination, birth control, homosexuality, divorce and remarriage53.
25 Tony Flannery defends the view that an enlightened Catholicism should take shape. With regard to abortion, he openly supports the government’s proposed legislation and condemns the statement of the four archbishops on the issue. He declared the following: In this debate, it is essential to remember that the teaching of the Catholic Church on abortion still holds. It calls on us to respect the life of unborn children. However many people in this country no longer follow the teaching of the Catholic Church and it is the task of our politicians to legislate for all citizens54.
26 We may suggest that this attitude is in keeping with that of liberal secularized Ireland. Deputy Prime Minister Eamon Gilmore’s response to the bishops’ statement echoes this view. He said that while “the bishops were entitled to express their opinion”, “the laws of this country are made by those of us who are elected by the people and charged with that responsibility55”. He also explicitly condemned the Pope’s reaction to the draft bill by stressing that women were entitled to “legal clarity about their situation where their life is at risk” and to “more than understanding and mercy56”. Times have definitely changed. In 1951, the Mother and Child Scheme was withdrawn following a statement by the Irish bishops. In those times, the natural law as understood by the Catholic Church was acknowledged as superior to civil law. The recent debate has shown that humanism has now superseded previous approaches. Saying as Eamon Gilmore did that “what the Pope was expressing was the long established and well known view of his57 church 58” only confirms the deterioration of the relationships
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between the Vatican and the State as well as the split between Church and State in Ireland itself.
27 What is striking, however, is that Christian values stand at the core of the State’s claims. The Irish State has on several occasions apologized for its past tolerance towards the Church’s inhuman treatment of the people in its care. In recent times, for example, Enda Kenny announced a compensation scheme for survivors of the Magdalene laundries, which he presented as the “nation's shame”. He added that the matter would be dealt with as “comprehensively, sensitively and compassionately” as possible for the survivors59. It is striking that compassion and emotion should now be on the side of the State redressing the abuses of the Church.
28 If we are to believe the most recent census returns, Ireland remains strongly attached to the Catholic faith, but most people no longer respect the Church’s teachings, particularly in the area of sexual morality. The third way that is currently being followed by the Irish State seems to indicate the strong influence of humanism, but without the latter’s strong connection with atheism. A liberal form of Catholicism has been taking shape in recent years. It places humanity centre stage. Whilst the myth which prevailed in the early years of the Irish Free State dehumanized the public social and moral discourse, the new ethos seeks to re-humanize it. Politicians are not alone in their attempt. Progressive voices in the Church insist on the necessity to reintegrate the body and the “dark side” of each human being60 in order to conform to Christ’s message of love. Donal Dorr calls for a theology of sexuality61, and even more moderate theologians, such as Gerry O’Hanlon62 or Vincent McNamara, insist on a “Call to be Human63” within existing structures, if only by fully enforcing the decrees of Vatican II. The passage of Irenaeus’ Against Heresies, which emphasizes that the glory of God is humanity fully alive64, is quoted at length to legitimize the new approach. However, the intensity of the debate on abortion is a sign that the two models analyzed in this paper are still alive and kicking in Ireland, just as they are in the rest of the world. The controversy over same sex marriage in France or the United States actually shows that traditional perspectives are not the privilege of States that have recently emerged from the control of the Catholic Church.
29 Dublin hosted the International Eucharistic Congress in 1932 and 2012. In 1932, both Church and State sought to “present Ireland as being the centre of a spiritual empire, presented as a morally superior counterweight to the British Empire65”. Even though the 2012 edition was a great success, it came just a year after the Taoiseach’s condemnation of “the dysfunction, the disconnection, the elitism that dominates the Vatican today” and his call for the expulsion of the papal nuncio. In the aftermath of the Cloyne report revelations, he had accused the Vatican of breaching the legal principle of non-interference in the internal affairs of sovereign States and behaving in a way which was “the polar opposite of the radicalism, the humility and the compassion upon which the Roman Church was founded”. He had further insisted on the separation between Church and State by stating that Ireland was a “republic of laws, of rights and responsibilities, of proper civic order, where the delinquency and arrogance of a particular version of a particular kind of morality [would] no longer be tolerated or ignored66”. The eighty years which elapsed between the two congresses witnessed the advent of a new world view and the first legal abortion in Ireland was carried out in August 2013. In the words of Gerry O’Hanlon, “God had promised to be with the Church always, to the end of times: this ignores the simple reality that God has
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not promised to be with the Church in Ireland till the end of time […], and that, more importantly, God’s promises always call forth a human response67”.
NOTES
1. July 2013. 2. Article 3 of the European Convention on Human Rights, Case A, B and C v Ireland, 2010, [http://hudoc.echr.coe.int/sites/eng/pages/search.aspx?i=001-102332] (Accessed 2 June 2013). The European Court of Human Rights eventually dismissed this allegation as ill founded, but ruled that Ireland did violate articles 8 (right to respect for private and family life) and 14 (prohibition of discrimination ) of the convention. It recommended that Ireland clarify the law as to the rights of pregnant women seeking termination when their life is threatened. The Council of Europe then urged the Irish government to implement the judgment. The Irish government appointed an expert group which issued its report in November 2012. 3. Desmond Clarke, Church and State: Essays in Political Philosophy, Cork,CUP, 1984, p.168. 4. Ibid. 5. Ibid. p. 169. 6. The Regulation of Information (Services outside the State for Termination of Pregnancies) Act 1995 (“the 1995 Act”) was the government’s first step in this direction. 7. Irish Catholic Bishops’ Conference, “Statement by the four Archbishops of Ireland in response to the decision today by the Government to legislate for abortion”, [http:// www.catholicbishops.ie/2012/12/18/statement-archbishops-ireland-response- decision-today-government-legislate-abortion/] (accessed 25/05/2013). 8. Arthur Beesley and Paul Cullen, « Kenny stresses law on abortion not being altered », The Irish Times, 2 May 2013, [http://www.irishtimes.com/news/health/kenny-stresses- law-on-abortion-not-being-altered-1.1379264] (accessed 25/05/2013). 9. Henry McDonald, “Irish Abortion Bill accused of being misogynistic and offensive”, The Guardian, 1 May 2013, [http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2013/may/01/irish- abortion-bill-misogynistic-offensive] (accessed 25/05/3013). 10. “Art. 40.1 - The State guarantees in its laws to respect, and as far as practicable, by its laws to defend and vindicate the rights of citizens Art. 40.2 – The State shall, in particular, by its laws protect as best it may from unjust attack, in the case of injustice done, vindicate the life, person, good name, and property rights of every citizen”. Bunreacht na hÉireann, [www.constitution.org/cons/ireland/ constitution_ireland-en.htm] (accessed 25/05/2013). 11. Ryan v. Attorney General (1965) I.R., 294 at p. 312; quoted by Desmond Clarke, op. cit., p.137. 12. Clara Cullen and Margaret Ó hÓgartaigh (eds), His Grace Is Displeased – Selected Correspondence of John Charles McQuaid, Dublin, Merrion, 2013, p. 11.
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13. Ibid. p. 10. 14. In re Article 26 of the Constitution and the Offences against the State (Amendment) Bill 1940, I.R. 470 at p.481; quoted by Desmond Clarke, op. cit., p. 153. 15. Pius IX, Quanta Cura, 1864, [http://www.papalencyclicals.net/Pius09/p9quanta.htm] (accessed 25/05/2013). 16. Letter from John Charles McQuaid to Éamon de Valera, 8 October 1939, in Clara Cullen and Margaret Ó hÓgartaigh, His Grace Is Displeased, op. cit. p. 26. 17. International Theological Commission, In Search of a Universal Ethic: A New Look at the Natural Law, 2009, [ http://www.vatican.va/roman_curia/congregations/cfaith/ cti_documents/rc_con_cfaith_doc_20090520_legge-naturale_en.html] (Accessed 25/05/2013) 18. Eoin Cassidy, « Religion and Culture: the Freedom to be an Individual”, in Eoin Cassidy (ed), Faith and Culture in the Irish Context, Dublin, Veritas, 1996, p. 63. 19. Ibid. p. 69. 20. Leo XIII, Libertas Praestantissimum, 1888, section 9, [http://www.vatican.va/ holy_father/leo_xiii/encyclicals/documents/hf_l-xiii_enc_20061888_libertas_en.html] (Accessed 26/05/2013). 21. Commission théologique internationale, A la recherche d’une éthique universelle – Nouveau regard sur la loi naturelle, Paris, Cerf, 2009, p. 57-8. 22. International Theological Commission, op. cit. 2.3-46. 23. Ibid. 2.4-49. 24. Ibid. 3.3-71. 25. Desmond Clarke, op. cit. p. 61 and p. 48-60. 26. Pius XI, Casti Connubii, 1930, [ http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/pius_xi/ encyclicals/documents/hf_p-xi_enc_31121930_casti-connubii_en.html] (accessed 26/05/2013). 27. Desmond Clarke, op. cit. p. 65. 28. Hans Küng was originally a friend of Josef Ratzinger, with whom he was involved in the Council Vatican II as expert. 29. Hans Küng, Peut-on encore sauver l’Eglise, Paris, Seuil (2011) 2012, p. 91-3. 30. Anthony Grayling, The God Argument – The Case against Religion and for Humanism, London, New Delhi, New York, Sydney, Bloomsbury, 2013, p.139. 31. Ibid. p.140. 32. Norbert Elias, The Society of Individuals, 1987, p. 176, [ http://www.revalvaatio.org/ wp/wp-content/uploads/elias-the_society_of_individuals.pdf] (accessed 26/05/2013). 33. Ibid. p.179. 34. Clara Cullen and Margaret Ó hÓgartaigh (eds), op. cit. p.22. 35. Tom Inglis, Lessons in Irish Sexuality, Dublin, UCD Press, 1998, p. 15-6 and 92. 36. Diarmaid Ferriter, Occasions of Sin – Sex and Society in Modern Ireland, London, Profile Books, (2009) 2012, p.19. 37. Roland Barthes, Mythologies, Paris, Seuil, 1957, p. 230. This translation: [http:// xroads.virginia.edu/~drbr/myth.html] (accessed 29 May 2013).
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38. “Catholic Church calls on government to hold abortion referendum” (anonymous), Irish Examiner, 10 January 2013, [http://www.irishexaminer.com/breakingnews/ ireland/catholic-church-calls-on-government-to-hold-abortion- referendum-580659.html] (accessed 29 May 2013). 39. Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, “Declaration on Procured Abortion”, 1974, section 14, [http://www.vatican.va/roman_curia/congregations/cfaith/ documents/rc_con_cfaith_doc_19741118_declaration-abortion_en.html] (accessed 29 May 2013). See also the series of articles on the issue of abortion republished in Enda McDonagh and Vincent McNamara (eds), An Irish reader in Moral Theology – the Legacy of the last Fifty Years, Vol. 3 Medical and Bio Ethics, Dublin: The Columba Press, 2013, p. 95-166. 40. It makes indirect abortion admissible. Pius XII, “Address to the Family Front Congress”, 27 November 1951, in AAS 43 (1951) p. 857-859. 41. Barbara Bradley Hagerty, “Nun Excommunicated For Allowing Abortion”, National Public Radio 19 May 2010, [ http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php? storyId=126985072] . 42. Roland Barthes, Mythologies, op. cit. p. 230. This translation: [ http://xroads.virginia.edu~DRBR/myth.htm] (accessed 29 May 2013). 43. According to the Carrigan Report (1931), illegitimacy was evil. 44. Mike Milotte, Banished Babies – The Secret History of Ireland’s Baby Export Business, Dublin, New Island, (1997) 2012. 45. James Smith, “The Origins of Ireland’s Containment Culture and the Carrigan Report”, in Journal of the History of Sexuality, 13-2, 2004, p. 208-33, [http:// www.jstor.org/discover/10.2307/3704856? uid=3738016&uid=2129&uid=2&uid=70&uid=4&sid=21102065034743], accessed 2 June 2013). 46. Fintan O’Toole, Enough is Enough – How to build a New Republic, London, Faber and Faber, 2011, p. 97. 47. Hans Küng, op. cit., p. 119-20. 48. Tony Flannery, « A not so gentle Jesus », in Fragments of Reality – Collected Writings, Dublin, The Columba Press, 2008, p. 85-6. 49. Pius XII, Humani Generis, section 7, [http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/pius_xii/ encyclicals/documents/hf_p-xii_enc_12081950_humani-generis_en.html] (accessed 1 June 2013). 50. In John Paul II’s view, historicism is one of several contemporary errors, including relativism and biblicism John Paul II, which are necessarily connected with historicism. Faith and Reason, Chapter V, paragraph 54, http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/ john_paul_ii/encyclicals/documents/hf_jp-ii_enc_15101998_fides-et-ratio_en.html] (Accessed 1 June 2013). 51. “Irish Bishops Critical of Book on Moral Theology” (anonymous), Catholic News, 6 August 2004, [http://cathnews.acu.edu.au/408/36.php] (accessed 1 June 2013). 52. David Kerr, « Apostolic Visitation calls for Overhaul of Church in Ireland”, Catholic News Agency, 20 March 2012, [http://www.catholicnewsagency.com/news/apostolic- visitation-calls-for-overhaul-of-church-in-ireland/] (accessed 2 June 2013).
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53. Association of Catholic Priests, Tony Flannery is threatened with excommunication, [http://www.associationofcatholicpriests.ie/2013/01/press-release-on-behalf-of-tony- flannery/] ,cessed 9 February 2014 54. Tony Flannery, « Catholic Bishops made five Mistakes in their Opposition to Abortion Legislation”, The Journal.ie, 5 May 2013, [http://www.thejournal.ie/readme/ column-tony-flannery-catholic-church-abortion-897260-May2013/] (accessed 2 June 2013). 55. Douglas Dalby, « Irish Catholic Church Condemns Abortion Legislation, 3 May 2010 », New York Times, 3 May 2013. 56. Fionnan Sheahan, « Gilmore disagress with Pope on Abortion Laws”, Irish Independent, 8 January 2013, [http://www.independent.ie/irish-news/gilmore- disagrees-with-pope-on-abortion-laws-28955846.html] (accessed 2 June 2013). 57. My emphasis. 58. Fionnan Sheahan, « Gilmore disagress with Pope on Abortion Laws”, op. cit. 59. « Kenny vows Compassionate Redress » (anonymous), Irish Independent, 20 February 2013, [http://www.independent.ie/irish-news/kenny-vows-compassionate- redress-29084248.html] (accessed 2 June 2013). 60. Mark Patrick Hederman, Kissing the Dark, Dublin, Veritas, 1999. 61. Donal Dorr, Time for a Change, Dublin, The Columba Press, 2004. 62. Gerry O’Hanlon S.J., A New Vision for the Catholic Church: A View from Ireland, Dublin, The Columba Press, 2011. 63. Vincent McNamara, The Call to be Human – Making Sense of Morality, Dublin, Veritas, 2010. 64. Irenaeus, Against Heresies 4.34.5-7. 65. John Paul McCarthy and Tomás O’Riordain, “The 31st International Congress, Dublin 1932”, UCC multitext project in Irish History, [http://multitext.ucc.ie/d/ The_31st_International_Eucharistic_Congress_Dublin_1932] (accessed 2 June 2013). 66. « Kenny condemns the ‘dysfunction and disconnection’ of the Catholic Church” (anonymous), The Journal.ie, 20 July 2011, [http://www.thejournal.ie/kenny-condemns- the-dysfunction-and-disconnection-of-the-catholic-church-182356-Jul2011/] (accessed 2 June 2013). 67. Gerry O’Hanlon S.J., op. cit. p. 64.
ABSTRACTS
The 2013 debate on abortion is the starting point of this paper, which argues that the evolution of Church-State relationships since the creation of the Irish Free State may be understood in theological and philosophical terms. The traditional world view based on the natural law has indeed progressively been superseded by a more and more humanistic framework of ideas and
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beliefs. However, both viewpoints still attract support today, which leads to misunderstandings and necessarily intractable conflicts.
Partant de l’analyse du débat de 2013 sur la législation relative à l’avortement, cet article défend l’idée que l’évolution des relations entre l’Etat et l’Eglise en Irlande depuis la création de l’Etat libre peut se comprendre en termes théologiques et philosophiques par le passage d’un mode de représentation majoritaire fondé sur la loi naturelle à une vision du monde de plus en plus nettement humaniste. Les deux modèles coexistent toutefois encore aujourd’hui et les incompréhensions qui résultent de leurs confrontations aboutissent à des conflits nécessairement insolubles.
INDEX
Keywords: human rights, Irish Catholic Church, Irish State (Republic of Ireland), society and religion, theology Mots-clés: droits humains, État irlandais (République d’Irlande), société et religion, Église catholique d’Irlande, théologie
AUTHOR
CATHERINE MAIGNANT Université Lille 3
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Dark walled up with stone: contrasting images of Irish Catholicism
Colum Kenny
1 During the debate that led up to the passing of legislation on abortion in the Republic of Ireland in 2013, the Irish Catholic Bishops Conference published a video statement by Eamon Martin, who was then the coadjutor archbishop of Armagh1. It was one of a number of communications by the hierarchy that unsuccessfully sought to influence the outcome of the parliamentary vote and to defeat the bill.
2 A seated Archbishop Martin spoke directly to camera. Behind him was displayed a still image of people, mainly women and children, marching to the Irish parliament in Dublin on a sunny day during the preceding week. In his opening words he observed that, “On Saturday last, tens of thousands of women, men and children gathered in Dublin to express their support for the equal right to life of mothers and their unborn children”. He added, “We are at a defining moment for our country”.
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Grab from online video statement by Archbishop Eamon Martin, June 2013, with still image of “pro- life” marchers in background.
3 The dominant image of an unsmiling archbishop, in clerical suit and Roman collar, contrasted with that of gaily-clad women carrying coloured balloons and pink placards asserting the value of life. Whatever words came from his mouth, this visual juxtaposition might be seen to imply that women’s place in the Catholic Church is in the background, and that they will be quiet when men in authority speak.
4 But there was an even more fundamental contrast, a primary one between darkness and light, between the black cloth of Archbishop Eamon Martin and the bright cotton tops and balloons of the women and children. The slogan “pro-life” was clearly visible just behind him on the placards held by demonstrators.
5 Perhaps some advisor to the archbishop chose this backdrop deliberately to soften the hierarchy’s image, to give the archbishop an appearance of “street cred[ibility]” and to suggest that the hierarchy was speaking for a silent multitude in opposition to the majority of politicians who supported the proposed law. Irish bishops are more often seen on television in front of some church structure. A more usual image of the hierarchy locates it at the gaunt Victorian complex of St Patrick’s College, Maynooth, Co. Kildare, where the bishops regularly meet as a body. Eamon Martin fronting a throng of women and children was certainly different.
6 Or perhaps the feminine image behind him was a response to that of a solitary woman dominating TV bulletins. Savita Halappanavar, a Hindu resident in Ireland, had died during pregnancy in a Galway hospital. Her death sparked a fierce debate that had precipitated the introduction of the Protection of Life during Pregnancy Bill 2013.
7 The communication challenge for Irish church authorities cannot be solved by sophisticated media advisers tweaking the contexts in which bishops present their messages. On the contrary, many citizens regard such an approach as both cynical and pathetic, like the efforts of an ageing uncle to persuade young nephews that he is “with it” by wearing clothes or singing songs that are in fashion for them.
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8 A major problem for the Irish hierarchy is that its claim to moral authority, and not just its video backdrop, appears to many to be frozen in time. Indeed, what was most notable about the opening words of Archbishop Martin quoted above was not his attempt to relate his speech on abortion to the image behind him but his assertion on behalf of the hierarchy that “we are at a defining moment for our country”.
9 In fact, if there was ever a defining moment for the bishops, it had passed quite some time before he spoke. The Protection of Life during Pregnancy Bill of July 2013 was merely a late echo of any such definition rather than its signal expression.
10 The hierarchy resisted the proposed legislation as if it could turn back a tide. Yet the political power and influence of Irish bishops had long been on the wane. They had failed to swing votes in various earlier referenda on such matters as abortion and divorce and had not stopped the passage of legislation relating to birth control and homosexuality. Humanae Vitae had prompted Irish Catholics to question the realism of certain teachings of their church authorities and, once the laity had rejected them on contraception, people more readily than hitherto discounted other advice of celibate bishops on matters relating to reproduction and sexuality2.
11 Nevertheless, during 2013 the bishops fought their corner in an assertive if not aggressive manner that alienated further those who tend to see the Irish hierarchy not only as out of touch but also, especially in light of their handling of clerical child abuse scandals, as dysfunctional.
12 For ten successive weeks from May to July 2013 the bishops had their Catholic Communications Office circulate special weekly “Choose life” bulletins for parishioners. They also sent briefing notes to all deputies and senators3. While unobjectionable in principle as a statement of their beliefs, these publications were in practice a crude and quixotic attempt to influence voters and politicians.
13 Bishops pressed priests to read at Mass explicit references to abortion that some of the laity found inappropriate in the presence of children. The hierarchy hinted at the excommunication of politicians who supported the legislation, ignoring more subtle positions taken on abortion votes by some other hierarchies, such as those of Uruguay and the United States4. A large number of “practising” Catholics, as well as many who today seldom enter a church but consider themselves to be Catholics in a residual sense, did not share the perspective of the bishops.
14 It is certainly not intended here to repeat the arguments of 2013 relating to abortion in Ireland, with minimalist legislation then being passed which the bishops still found lamentable. The debate has been revisited simply in order to demonstrate that the bishops project an image of themselves that itself constitutes a message. Such images, whether pictorial or constructed by way of association and positioning on various selected issues, constitute a mode of evangelizing that sings to their choir.
15 As it happened, later in 2013 certain sentiments of Pope Francis on the practice of religion and the assertion of moral beliefs came as a relief to many Irish Catholics following their hierarchy’s attempt to exert influence by loudhailer. In that interview, given in August 2013 for publication in Jesuit periodicals, Francis said that, “The church’s pastoral ministry cannot be obsessed with the transmission of a disjointed multitude of doctrines to be imposed insistently5”.
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16 With Ireland consumed by a global and national economic crisis, with emigration rising again and social services contracting, it seemed to many citizens that the Irish bishops were out of balance in respect to everyday realities.
17 If there ever was “a defining moment” for Ireland, of the kind that the bishops had in mind, it was certainly not the enactment of legislation in 2013 that had long been anticipated following an earlier referendum and subsequent court judgments on abortion, and that opinion polls showed clearly most people deemed necessary in light of Savita Halappanavar’s death. She had been refused a possibly life-saving abortion, with one hospital employee explaining that refusal by reference to Ireland’s “Catholic ethos6”.
18 If there ever was a single moment when Ireland was defined as having crossed some kind of Rubicon in its relationship with Catholic bishops, it was more likely to have occurred seventeen years earlier. In August 1996, during his visit to Chicago and Detroit to attract financial institutions to Ireland, the Irish Minister for Finance Ruairi Quinn TD described his state as a “post-Catholic, pluralist republic” represented by an outstanding President. The latter reference was to President Mary Robinson, a human rights lawyer and liberal who had been elected president of Ireland in 19907. Here, literally, was a definition. If at the time Quinn offended some people, and others regarded his statement as an expression of personal wishful thinking, in hindsight he seems to have been correct. Recent census returns disclose the vast majority of Irish people still recording their religion nominally as “Catholic”, yet their level of attendance at church has fallen steadily and their attitudes and behaviour are in practice akin to what hitherto were regarded as Protestant or secular types. The term “ à la carte Catholics” is sometimes used, often dismissively as a dining metaphor, to describe their exercise of conscience in respect to what they choose to take or leave in respect to Catholic dogma.
19 It is unlikely that Quinn was being deliberately provocative. He did not seek publicity for his comment. It was barely reported as the very last sentence of a story in the middle of page 7 of the Irish Times. He had been fielding a range of questions from Irish emigrants in the United States who remembered when their church’s hand lay heavy on Irish social policy. Archbishop Desmond Connell retorted at the time that Quinn had spoken “in a way that seems to endorse a secular hostility to any Catholic influence on our national outlook8”. Connell would later be discredited for his handling of child abuse cases in the archdiocese of Dublin, especially when he invoked the casuistic doctrine of “mental reservation” to defend himself after he made misleading statements9. His response to Quinn was more pointed than that of the bishops and clergy in general, who may have sensed that the minister for finance was at least partly right. In an interview for the Irish Catholic four years later, Quinn said that he had merely meant that “we were post-Catholic in a political sense10”. Foster has written that Quinn “got into trouble11” for his remark but, significantly, insofar as he did so it was not much trouble.
20 If Quinn’s words were a little startling in 1996, those of the Irish Taoiseach (prime minister) during the abortion controversy of 2013 were surprising for almost the opposite reason. Even in Taoiseach Enda Kenny’s own quiet, rural constituency were there really such old-fashioned Catholics left? For Kenny told parliament, “I am getting medals, scapulars, plastic foetuses, letters written in blood, telephone calls all over the system”, he said. This head of the conservative Fine Gael party in a coalition
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government spoke in a way that any Taoiseach of earlier decades would scarcely have dared, saying that, “I am proud to stand here as a public representative, as a Taoiseach who happens to be a Catholic but not a Catholic Taoiseach. I am a Taoiseach for all of the people — that is my job, while I have it12”.
21 Enda Kenny’s government had closed the Irish embassy to the Vatican, partly as a cost- saving measure when some other embassies were also shut and partly, observers believed, because of his government’s displeasure at the Vatican’s continued mishandling of Irish clerical sex abuse scandals. Some Irish bishops, and some bishops in the United States who subsequently absented themselves from events at which he was present during visits there, may have been eager to inflict a political defeat on him in respect to abortion especially because of his government’s closure of the Vatican embassy13. Kenny had not helped to improve his relations with the hierarchy when in September 2012 he was seen busily texting on his cell phone while seated in the front row at Castel Gandolfo as Pope Benedict read a speech to a delegation from the Centrist Democrat group of which Kenny’s Fine Gael party is a member14.
22 In the run up to the Irish abortion controversy of 2013 the US hierarchy had been putting pressure on President Barack Obama concerning reproductive aspects of his health care policy15. Irish bishops may have seen this as an encouragement to them to exert greater influence on this side of the Atlantic. But politicians held firm and the new abortion law, albeit relatively restrictive compared to that of other European countries, was passed despite the displeasure of Ireland’s bishops. Their defeat in the 2013 abortion debate left Irish bishops looking lost.
23 Meanwhile, buildings that were once a sign of their expanding influence have become visual millstones around their collective neck, tying them to an image of Christianity defined by its architecture of power and by decades of assertive moralism. Particularly associated with the hierarchy are the somewhat dreary walls and grounds of Maynooth, where Irish bishops hold their quarterly meetings. If maybe, once in a lifetime as the poet Seamus Heaney wrote, “hope and history rhyme” (The Cure at Troy: A Version of Sophocles’ Philoctetes), it is certainly not here anymore.
24 From the eighteenth century onwards, but especially after 1829 when Irish Catholics won political emancipation, the Irish Catholic Church embarked upon a great building programme. Persecution and poverty had previously held it back. Now a rising middle class and a proud nation poured money into new churches16. Structures modeled on the classical and Gothic architecture of European religious heritage began to dominate Ireland17. In certain cases, such as that of Dublin’s “pro-cathedral” or the Jesuit Church of St Francis Xavier, the architectural plan or some of the funding came from France18. For years, and well into living memory, people in Ireland noticed whether or not their local Catholic church rose higher than the Church of Ireland (Anglican) one. Irish Catholics saw their buildings as a physical manifestation of their parity of cultural esteem and, for some of them, soaring spires constituted a triumphalist statement. There had been for years a prohibition on steeples and bells for Catholic chapels19. New parish churches became powerhouses of Irish Catholicism. From the Great Famine until 1961, priests promoted a variety of devotions to rally the fullest possible congregations as they nurtured generations of emigrants and missionaries. Lay emigrants served as seed sown abroad from which culturally hyphenated Irish diasporic communities sprang. Ireland was a breeding ground for the soldiers of Catholic expansion, and these new stone structures its domestic fortresses. As the population of the new state
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approached its nadir in 1961, with just 2.1 million people remaining, Bishop Cornelius Lucey of the diocese of Cork and Ross alone supervised the erection of eight new churches between 1955 and 1962. He was by no means unique among his colleagues in his enthusiasm for building20.
25 When in 2013 citizens sent Enda Kenny medals and scapulars during the abortion debate, they were evoking that confraternal church of that earlier epoch. Few younger Irish people today know what a scapular is or represents, and few wear medals. Any cross that they wear is likely just a sign of general good will or respect for Jesus as a person. Once, within the lifetime of some of us, anxious mothers pinned scapulars to undervests or hung them with medals around their children’s necks to keep sons and daughters safe and to bring them good luck. Members of confraternities and sodalities wore their particular medals proudly, as did the teetotal Pioneers their Sacred Heart of Jesus pin, to express good intentions. Militant religious movements that asserted worthy objectives mobilized within stone fortresses, and their members sported badges of allegiance as a matter of course.
26 Ought we to be nostalgic for such practices or to dismiss them as naïve superstitions, or even as signs of credulous servitude? I have recalled elsewhere that the image of the Sacred Heart meant much to our Irish ancestors and others, and have suggested ways in which that image might again serve useful, compassionate purposes21. Sodality medals and pioneer pins were part token and part talisman but in many cases they undoubtedly expressed the compassionate or otherwise worthy ambitions of those who wore them and were no less deserving of respect than any religious or secular aspirations for the betterment of life.
27 Likewise, we may assume that most Irish Catholics supported the ecclesiastical building boom and that it was not a hierarchical conspiracy to control local lay people. Yet it marked a change in the way that Irish Catholics related to their church. The erection of these buildings was part of a process that carried Ireland forward to the foundation of a state in which one of the pillars of power was a very visible church presence, where that church was firmly and centrally run by its bishops. In recent decades, as events eroded the credibility of the Irish hierarchy and as other circumstances modernised the perspective of Irish Catholics, the buildings with which a church triumphal had been associated no longer appeared as attractive as they once had been to so many. Attendance at Mass has fallen significantly, and a diminishing and ageing body of priests finds itself deployed as a sort of service industry to deliver baptisms, wedding ceremonials and funerals to people who frequently do not care for any other form of religious engagement with their local church.
28 It is always hazardous to speculate how such a broad a range of people as those who are categorised as Irish Catholics, whether “practising” or “lapsed” or otherwise described, imagine their own community of origin. But many certainly identify themselves with a tradition that is visually anchored in ruined monastic settlements such as those of Glendalough and Clonmacnoise, and in remnants of early Christian activity such as Gallarus Oratory and the beehive cells of Co. Kerry. I refer here to Gallarus Oratory as it was until not long ago (and as seen here photographed about 1960), sitting gently in the landscape before it was tidied up and surrounded by cement, with a wide path leading now to an adjacent car-park in the facilitating and soulless style of contemporary heritage tourism22. Many at school learnt that medieval Ireland came to be known as “the island of saints and scholars”, and still like to believe that there was some truth
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behind that soubriquet. Irish church leaders who once boasted of their institution’s standing in the world thereby set a standard by which their more recent successors have been judged and found wanting.
Gallarus Oratory, Co. Kerry.
Photo: Richard Tilbrook, about 1960. NLI TIL616.
29 Today, one enchanting idea of the early church in Ireland is that it was pure and simple and quite independent of Rome. If somewhat romantic and even misleading, this idea appeals both to those who wish to stay within the Irish Catholic Church to see it reformed and those who prefer to reconcile themselves to the Christian message in other ways. The power of the idea has been evident perhaps most notably in the popularity of works by the late John O’Donohue (1956-2008) whose best-selling books such as Anam Cara (Gaelic for “soul friend”) drew on and popularized a Celtic stream of spirituality. Some of those in authority in the church respond to recent popular interest in early Christianity by dismissing it as another sign of that “à la carte” approach to religion that dispenses with their guidance as to what is or is not true or permissible. They consider discussion of Celtic spirituality to be not only dogmatically unreliable but also intrinsically ignorant in many cases, and indeed they may be correct in particular instances. Nevertheless, the Celtic ideal or myth, and the images associated with it of early deserted holy sites by sparkling stream or sea, poses an enduring challenge.
30 The movie in the heads of Irish Catholics that tells them their story does not jump suddenly from Celtic spirituality to the Catholicism of the more recent past. There are along the way cloudy sequences that involve monasteries destroyed during the Reformation, priests on the run facing penal persecution, visits to holy wells and a round of rural domestic devotion known as “The Stations”. The fact that little of this history has been represented in Irish films or on television, and seldom even in still art, renders it no less powerful as a narrative of ancestral identity. It has been sustained by
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popular memory and by schoolteachers who evoked it in order to inspire their pupils for religious or nationalistic purposes.
31 One scarcely needs to add that such origin myths do not always precisely match historical fact. The Mass Rock found in many parts of Ireland was indeed used by priests in times of danger, but may also have been a simple and convenient place of worship for local people when a priest passed through their district. Any notion that the number of priests in Ireland fell only as a result of penal persecution does not appear to be born out by the impressive research of Emmet Larkin who notes ironically, for example, that “the decline in the number of clergy was not the result of Penal legislation by a Protestant government, but rather the effect of a series of Apostolic Rescripts from Rome because the Pope, Benedict XIV, had been persuaded that the number of priests in Ireland was too great and should be reduced” 23. Larkin’s explanation for the subsequent rise in the number of both priests and Catholic chapels during the eighteenth century is surprising, because many Irish still believe that there was a steady decline in Catholic ministry from about 1600 until the winning of emancipation in 1829. However, it is the case that a sharp rise in the population of Ireland from the late eighteenth century meant that actual increases in the number of priests and places of worship were for some time quite outstripped by the number of Catholics being born, especially in poor areas.
32 The social and economic effect of penal laws enforced against Catholics, coupled with the impact of political union between Britain and Ireland from 1800, strengthened the bonds between lay people and those priests who worked to help them improve their lot. The simple quality of Irish church buildings had its own special charm for such oppressed people. Whatever was built was theirs, and at one with their environment. Chapels that preceded the more architecturally ambitious churches built later in the nineteenth and twentieth may have had little external aesthetic appeal for middle class observers but they represented success for those who constructed them. Visiting a whitewashed chapel beside an ancient ruined abbey in Co. Galway in 1835, the French visitor Alexis de Tocqueville observed “a look full of joy and satisfaction” on the face of the local priest who accompanied him there: You will see in a quarter of an hour, Sir, he said to me, a man who still remembers the times when mass was celebrated in a ditch, while a part of the congregation served as sentinels for fear of being seized by the agents of justice. Ten years ago when I came to this parish, we still celebrated the divine office in a barn. God be praised that we are now able to gather in a place that is consecrated only to the celebration of our holy mysteries; and this church, Sir, he added with an air of triumph, this church was built with the aid of voluntary contributions24.
33 The Frenchman’s charming account goes on to describe how he accompanied the priest to the house of a dying man. Priests not only visited homes to minister to those about to die but frequently celebrated Mass in people’s houses.
34 To those reared in Ireland during the early or mid twentieth century who recall the great social and clerical pressures on all Catholics to attend Mass weekly, it comes as a surprise to learn that no such requirement bothered the pre-Famine church. The bishops asked simply then that, at Easter, parishioners go to a priest to confess and take communion. And one’s doing so did not necessarily involve even a visit to a church, for there were instead “The Stations”. these involved prior to Easter and Christmas for six to eight weeks, the parish priest going each day to a different lay person’s house where he heard confessions and said Mass and where the congregation
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might afterwards celebrate with music and food and drink, storytelling and song25. The laity developed warm associations between faith and daily life, between priests and people, between religion and celebration. That is not to say that there were not occasionally extortionate abuses of the Stations and other clerical activities. Aloysius O’Kelly’s Mass in a Connemara Cabin, painted during the 1880s, is a reminder of the ultimate religious and social distinction between the laity and even a young priest26.
Aloysius O’Kelly, Mass in a Connemara Cabin (c. 1883).
35 One particular priestly practice that developed and was sustained in some areas into the second half of the twentieth century was especially resented by many of the laity. This was the shaming and shameful custom of a local priest reading from the altar details of individual contributions donated by identified lay persons to church collections.
36 The narrative of Catholicism in Ireland is founded on the link between the faithful and local hermits or priests, rather than between people and their bishops. In this context early tensions between Irish Christians and Rome about the date of Easter each year were long half-remembered with a sort of mischievous glee as an example of the waywardness and independent spirit of our ancestors. It was recalled ruefully that the pope appeared to have lent his blessing to the Norman invasion of Ireland. The pope’s representative in Ireland in 1646, GianBattista Rinuccini, complained to Rome that the Irish church cared little for the splendor and grandeur of religion and that members of religious orders “have impudently gone on to prove that it is not necessary to the support of the faith to have churches, since in the Old Testament we are told that the Hebrews were for centuries without a Temple; and in the New that Christ instituted the Eucharist in a private house” at the Last Supper. He added that none who have had Mass in their own room appear to care for any other mode of worship… even the lowest artisan wishes in sickness to hear Mass at his bedside; but often, to our great scandal, on the very table from which the altar cloth has
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been but just removed, playing-cards or glasses of beer together with the food for dinner are at once laid27.
37 The establishment of a national seminary at Maynooth, Co. Kildare, in 1795 was a turning point in the development of the Irish Catholic Church and its image. With seminaries that the Irish had attended in European countries closing during that revolutionary period, Ireland’s bishops seized the moment to ensure “a more uniform and better-disciplined priesthood”. The government not only gave them permission to open the Royal College of St. Patrick at Maynooth but also endowed it for many years. College authorities adopted a rigorous or even rigid approach to moral issues and an overtly loyal attitude towards the monarchy. Both positions were facilitated by a great French influence that arose from the college employing both émigré French priests and Irish teachers who had been educated abroad in the Gallican royalist tradition. It was even said that in the early nineteenth century French was the customary language of the professors’ dining table, except for one end where Irish was spoken. Until 1868, staff at Maynooth took an oath of allegiance to the monarch, and students had to promise and declare that they were not and would not be “concerned in any latent conspiracy28”.
38 Compared to the government’s financial support for the established church, the amount that it gave for Maynooth was modest and the royal college’s architectural development was of necessity restrained: “it is a positive fact, that the extensive pile of building, in which the students of Maynooth are now accommodated, has been raised by the hard-wrought economy of years, from the narrow means doled out annually by government”, wrote one observer29.
39 Before long newly trained priests emerging from Maynooth became the spearhead of a burgeoning phalanx of clerics, monks and nuns with the total of all these rising, for example, from 5,000 for a Catholic population of five million in 1850 to 14,000 for just over three million in 190030.
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St Patrick’s College, Maynooth, Co. Kildare.
Photo: Robert French, between 1865 and 1914. NLI L_Roy_09257.
40 It lies far outside the scope of this essay to track the transformation of Irish Catholicism from a practice of the rocks and fields and homes and chapels to that of the powerful organisation that came to dominate Ireland from the late nineteenth century. Leaving aside debates about the extent to which the pedagogic tone at Maynooth prompted Irish Catholicism towards a kind of Jansenism, as well as political questions concerning the implications of its accepting endowment by the government of the United Kingdom and of its priests taking an oath of allegiance, the very fact that the bishops of Ireland could now within Ireland closely control the training of their clergy eased the way for organizational initiatives and liturgical orthodoxy. During the nineteenth century there was a centralization of communal devotional practices, moving them away from homes and holy wells where popular gatherings had sometimes given rise to scandal and into the colder confines of elaborate buildings that proudly boasted the new status of Catholicism in Ireland. It also involved what Larkin described as “the institutionalization of the Irish bishops as a body” and their assertion – by no means always for the worse – of a stricter discipline over their priests31.
41 But the popular mind never entirely forgot how things had been, and the popular heart was still warmed by its association with old places and practices. The soundtrack that accompanies the narrative inside Irish Catholic heads frequently features the hymn “Faith of Our Fathers”, amplified loudly and proudly at hurling matches and through loudspeakers at special religious events. Ironically, the hymn itself was written by an English convert to Catholicism, and the faith of which it boasted had by the time of its author’s death in 1863 already in Ireland begun to take a form quite far removed in many ways from that of the ancestors of Queen Victoria’s Irish subjects.
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42 One of the factors that bound Irish peasants to their priests was illiteracy, with priests being keepers of the gospel books and other testaments from which they read. Printing came late to Ireland and when it did, in the sixteenth century, the first volume printed was a prayer book in the Irish language and in a form acceptable to Protestants. Later, as education became more widespread during the early nineteenth century, Protestant missionaries distributed bibles and encouraged their use as a direct means of relationship with the divine. Catholic priests in response strongly discouraged the unmediated reading of scripture, and continued to do so into the twentieth century. My own late mother told me that she recalled being instructed as a child not to read the Bible. The strength of this prohibition is reflected in some of the poetry of that wandering Galway and Mayo minstrel, Antoin Raftery, who depended on priests for hospitality and approval in the years immediately before Ireland was devastated by the great famine. They are said to have encouraged him to baptize babies when he encountered them in danger of death. Verses of the 1830s attributed to him indicate that the Counter-Reformation was a fact of religious life in the remotest parts of rural Ireland, and that there was a continuing need to assert control over Catholics. Raftery wrote, “To the people of the false Bibles do not submit in future, Who never bow to priest or friar… But trust ye the clergy and the discourse of the Church, And the holy sermon that saints and apostles have written for us; Do not seek the Bible, or it shall come across you [trip you up]32”. A rationale for such sentiments was formally expressed about this time in a defence of the syllabus of the Royal College of St Patrick, Maynooth33.
43 Catholic authorities have long recognised not only the power of unmediated words but also the mediated power of imagery, not least to command respect and loyalty. Protestant reformers have objected to some of the excesses of Catholic statuary and other forms of representation, and iconoclasts have directly attacked physical objects of art and devotion. But it can be easier to break stone than to uproot or supplant images and ideas within peoples’ heads. For emotional and personal reasons we do not quickly let go what is dear to us, or what is part of our identity. This is especially the case when we believe that there is a meaningful continuity between the old and new. The old remains bedrock, a self-image on which we may fall back when disappointed.
44 So when a catastrophe befalls an institution, such as that brought upon the Irish Catholic church by those of its clergy and bishops who engaged in the sustained abuse of children or in the mismanagement and covering up of such abuse, individual members of that institution revert to ideas of their faith that sustain them. Such ideas command the heart and are associated with celebration rather than condemnation. When institutional crime, sin and mismanagement are coupled with an authoritarian emphasis on dogmatic orthodoxy in matters such as birth control and homosexuality and with a failure to grasp the significance of social change then lay people simply look elsewhere for escape or inspiration. The institutional church has lost them, but they have not necessarily lost faith in a Christianity that they believe may still address their needs and speak to their experiences of life.
45 How might church authorities reach out to the laity in ways that would breathe new life into the institution and, indeed, into its underused buildings? The Catholic Church has long understood the value of public relations and of messages that do not merely evangelise on the basis of the gospels but that project an appropriate image of the church. From early in the twentieth century, books, films and music were used in
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Ireland and elsewhere to promote the cult of the Virgin Mary in a way that deliberately countered the effect of communist propaganda. During the visit of Pope John Paul II to Ireland in 1979 and afterwards, into the period of its failure to respond adequately to child abuse, the Irish hierarchy retained sophisticated public relations advisors who were accustomed to acting for tobacco companies and other corporate clients. But even the very best of communications experts cannot make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. What is needed is a message that matters, and in the case of a spiritual organization that message must come from the heart and be matched by practice and by respect for the other or it will always sound false.
46 Meanwhile, the bishops are saddled with their inheritance of heavy stone. All those buildings that once seemed like so many statements of success, albeit in too few cases aesthetically brilliant, now reproach their guardians and echo to the footfall of departing congregations. This was somewhat inevitable, as Protestantism and expressions of alienation such as those of the poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning (“Sonnets from the Portuguese, no 43”) or Matthew Arnold (“Dover Beach”) and the ideas of French philosophy came to seem quite understandable to educated and broadly informed Irish Catholics in later twentieth-century Ireland. But the sad tones of ageing priests who speak from their altars with a sense of loss suggest that they recognise an opportunity foregone. As do the more urgent tones of the Irish Association of Catholic Priests. It did not have to be quite like this. And the sympathy of lay people for the plight of priests and nuns is redolent of an older affection and connection between priests and people that de Tocqueville encountered more than once: “The clergy, rebuffed by high society, leans entirely towards the lower classes. They have the same instincts, the same interests, the same passions as the people. A state of affairs altogether particular to Ireland…”, he wrote at Carlow in 183534.
47 At least four times each year the Irish bishops meet at St Patrick’s College, Maynooth. Its continued use as a backdrop for meetings of an ageing and male hierarchy that has continued as a matter of priority to fight old battles simply perpetuates a visual image of decay. The college hastily added a full-length portrait of Cardinal Desmond Connell to the gallery of oversized, outdated and generally mediocre episcopal portraits that adorn its corridors. It was a defiant statement out of kilter with the times and especially out of keeping with public sentiment towards that particular prince of the church. Its appearance speaks not of art but of artlessness.
48 The producers of too many television programmes about sex abusing priests in Ireland have resorted during voiced-over passages to the visual cliché of a dark church interior with a few candles flickering weakly and the sound of a haunting choir. Nevertheless, the imagery is understandable. For, if God is light, the institutional Catholic Church in Ireland today represents darkness for too many.
49 How might Jonah emerge from the belly of the whale? Can the upturned boat ever be refloated? Although written almost half a century ago, Seamus Heaney’s short poem entitled “In Gallarus Oratory” offers hope to Irish Christians today at times of institutional discouragement: You can still feel the community pack This place: it’s like going into a turfstack, A core of old dark walled up with stone A yard thick. When you’re in it alone, You might have dropped, a reduced creature,
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To the heart of the globe. No worshipper Would leap up to his God off this floor. Founded there like heroes in a barrow, They sought themselves in the eye of their King Under the black weight of their own breathing. And how he smiled on them as out they came, The sea a censer and the grass a flame35.
50 Irish Catholicism requires a new institutional image if it is to be regarded widely as relevant to people’s inner and outer lives today, and as a means of connecting them to what is transcendent: “The sea a censer and the grass a flame.”
51 In one paragraph headed most relevantly to this discussion, “Words which set hearts on fire”, Pope Francis has recently written in an apostolic exhortation that, “Dialogue is much more than the communication of a truth. It arises from the enjoyment of speaking and it enriches those who express their love for one another through the medium of words. This is an enrichment which does not consist in objects but in persons who share themselves in dialogue. A preaching which would be purely moralistic or doctrinaire, or one which turns into a lecture on biblical exegesis, detracts from this heart-to-heart communication36…” He concluded, “Greater possibilities for communication […] turn into greater possibilities for encounter and solidarity for everyone37”.
52 On 1 July 2014, Coadjutor Archbishop Eamon Martin met a group of journalists who cover religious stories. The hierarchy’s media office had arranged the encounter, which took place in Maynooth. Martin said that he wants a new kind of communication between church and society. He expressed interest in the motivations of those present and acknowledged that media has an important role to play, but avoided any commitment to specific changes. He used the word "encounter" to describe the relationship that he seeks with media, although he sometimes slipped into using the word “church” as if it designates the hierarchy. On 8 September 2014 Martin succeeded Cardinal Seán Brady as Archbishop of Armagh and Primate of All Ireland. It has yet to be seen if his aspirations for encounter mark a distinctly new phase in the communicative relationship between the Irish hierarchy and the public in general.
53 Catholic leaders should embrace the media not as a mere mode of information transfer and “talking down” but rather as a means and a place to meet the world half way. Then communication can be part of a process of conversation and reasoning that will come to be regarded by the public as intrinsic to the institution. Insofar as the actual conditions of media ownership, control and editing permit this process of encounter to occur freely, they will allow the substance of a compassionate and listening church – if such indeed it is – to become also its image for the twenty-first century.
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NOTES
1. “A time to uphold the right to life”, Statement by the Catholic bishops of Ireland, June 2013
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14. “Taoiseach Enda Kenny under fire for using phone at meeting with Pope Benedict”, by Lyndsey Telford, Irish Independent, 25 Sept. 2012; “Taoiseach plays with mobile during Papal meeting”, Irish Catholic, 27 Sept. 2012. 15. See, for example, “USA bishops slam Obama’s contraception exception as a ‘gerrymander’”, by Tom Howell Jr., Washington Times, 21 March 2013. 16. Emmet Larkin, "Economic growth, capital investment, and the Roman Catholic Church in nineteenth-century Ireland," American Historical Review, 72, no. 3 (1967), p. 852-84. 17. Brendan Grimes, “Funding a Roman Catholic Church in Nineteenth- Century Ireland”, Architectural History, 52 (2009), p. 147-66. 18. Ibid., p. 148, p. 164. 19. R.F. Foster, Modern Ireland 1600-1972 (London, 1988), p. 21 20. Anon., “The Great Ten Years in Caheragh”, The Fold (diocesan magazine, June 1963), p 27-33; Richard Butler, “Architecture and the triumph of Catholic Ireland: a case-study of church building in rural Cork, 1953-55”, Journal of the Cork Historical and Archaeological Society, p. 120 (forthcoming, 2015). 21. Colum Kenny, “Sacred heart, sacred mind: the challenge of conviction in the Catholic Church”, in J. Littleton and E. Maher (eds), The Dublin/Murphy report: a watershed for Irish Catholicism (Columba Press, 2010), p. 37-47. 22. For the oratory’s modern setting, and to look inside “in virtual reality”, see http:// www.voicesfromthedawn.com/gallarus-oratory/ (viewed 17 Oct. 2014). 23. E. Larkin, The Pastoral Role of the Roman Catholic Church in Pre-Famine Ireland, 1750-1850 (Dublin, 2006), p. 1. 24. Alexis de Tocqueville, Journey in Ireland, July-August 1835, ed. Emmet Larkin (Dublin, 1990), p. 122-124; Larkin, Pastoral Role, p. 185-6. 25. E. Larkin, “The rise of Stations in Ireland, 1750-1850”, Pastoral Role, p. 189-58. 26. Niamh O’Sullivan, “Mass in a Connemara cabin: religion and the politics of painting”, Éire-Ireland, 40, nos 1 & 2 (Spring/Summer 2005), 126-39; Joseph Nugent, “Clerical errors: reading desire in a nineteenth-century Irish painting”, Éire-Ireland, 46, nos 3 & 4 (Fall/Winter 2011), p. 27-36. 27. The embassy in Ireland of the Monsignor G.B. Rinuccini, archbishop of Fermo, in the years 1645-1649. Transl. Annie Hutton (Dublin, 1873), p. 142. 28. G. Crolly, A life of the Most Rev. Dr Crolly, archbishop of Armagh (Dublin, 1807), p. XXIII; J.C. Beckett, The making of modern Ireland 1603-1923 (London, 2nd ed. 1981), p. 256-7, 329; Michael Turner, “The French connection with Maynooth College, 1795-1855”, Studies: An Irish Quarterly Review, 70, no. 277 (Spring, 1981), p. 78, p. 83-4. 29. Anon., “Review of The Case of Maynooth College considered, with a history of the first establishment of that seminary; an account of the system of education pursued in it; and a review of the effect it has had on the character of the Roman Catholic clergy of Ireland (Dublin, 1836), [etc.]”, Dublin Review, 2 (Dec. 1836 & April 1837), 129-68 (quotation at p. 134). 30. Emmet Larkin, “Economic growth, p. 865, p. 1,254. 31. Emmet Larkin, The consolidation of the Roman Catholic Church in Ireland 1860-70 (Dublin, 1987), p. xv.
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32. Abhráin atá leagtha ar an Reachtúire OR Songs ascribed to Raftery, ed. Douglas Hyde (Dublin, 1903), p. 79-80, p. 115-7, p. 259; Desmond Bowen, The Protestant crusade in Ireland 1800-70 (Dublin, 1878), p. 71-6 for the Galway context. 33. Dublin Review, 2, p. 152 (see n. 28 above). 34. De Tocqueville, Journey in Ireland, p. 48 35. In Gallarus Oratory, in Heaney, Door into the dark (London, 1969). On one occasion Heaney walked a muddy path by a potato field to this “beehive early Christian church” only to find American tourists “all cameras and loud talk, shooting one another with the church for background. They were more interested in an interesting setting for their own likenesses than anything else. It was the kind of place where one could have sat alone, just in the presence of the past. But not today.” (NLI MS49,493/5, Heaney Literary Papers, notebook, 19 Aug. 1966). 36. Evangelii gaudium (The Joy of the Gospels, Rome, 24 Nov. 2013), par. 142. 37. Ibid. par. 87.
ABSTRACTS
The author contrasts current images of the Irish Catholic Church with an abiding popular narrative of the relationship between priests and people in Ireland. He notes a recent decline in church attendance and widespread criticism of church authorities but acknowledges the close association between Irish identity and Christian practice. He suggests that Irish people would welcome the discovery of a way forward for the Irish Catholic Church as a whole that might allow it to reemerge as an institution that its lay members could find relevant to their daily lives in general and to their spiritual or psychological needs in particular.
L’auteur met en avant le contraste qui prévaut entre les images contemporaines de l’Eglise catholique irlandaise et le récit populaire irréductible concernant la relation qui unit les prêtres au peuple d’Irlande. Il note le déclin récent de la fréquentation des églises et la critique répandue des autorités ecclésiastiques, mais il reconnaît l’association intime entre l’identité irlandaise et la pratique catholique. Il suggère que les Irlandais seraient heureux de découvrir un moyen qui permette à l’Eglise catholique irlandaise dans son ensemble d’aller de l’avant et de ré-émerger en tant qu’institution susceptible de faire sens dans la vie quotidienne des laïcs en general et de répondre à leurs besoins spirituels et psychologiques en particulier.
INDEX
Mots-clés: Église catholique d’Irlande, identité nationale, société et religion, religion - pratiques religieuses Keywords: Irish Catholic Church, national identity, religion - religious practice, society and religion
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AUTHOR
COLUM KENNY School of Communications, Dublin City University
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Représentations littéraires des changements religieux Literary Expressions of Religious Changes
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“They all seem to have inherited the horrible ugliness and sewer filth of sex”: Catholic Guilt in Selected Works by John McGahern (1934-2006)
Eamon Maher
AUTHOR'S NOTE
“They all seem to have inherited the horrible ugliness and sewer filth of sex” is a quote from the unpublished first novel, “The End or the Beginning of Love”, for which there are various versions in the McGahern Archive at the Hardiman Library in NUI Galway1.
1 The Leitrim writer John McGahern is rightly acclaimed for his harsh, realistic depiction of rural Ireland in the 1940s, 50s and 60s, decades during which most of his best-known fiction is situated. Sexuality is rarely presented in a positive manner and much of his early writing, to which we will largely confine our attention in this article, is characterised by an unflinching exposure of a hidden Ireland characterised by psychological and sexual abuse, an unhealthy preoccupation with sins of the flesh, a guilt-ridden and overly pious population and a manipulative Catholic clergy. In Memoir, we encounter the following description of his childhood perception of Irish society: Authority’s writ ran from God the father down and could not be questioned. Violence reigned as often as not in the homes as well. One of the compounds at its base was sexual sickness and frustration, as sex was seen, officially, as unclean and sinful, allowable only when it too was licensed. Doctrine separated body and soul2.
2 The writer had marked issues with what he perceived to be a puritanical, oppressive, patriarchal and authoritarian Church that intervened excessively in the sexual lives of Irish people. In an interview he did with me in November 2000, McGahern underlined
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his resentment of the way in which the Catholic Church insisted on linking sex with sin, an approach that inflicted severe psychological scars: I would think that if there was one thing injurious about the Church, it would be its attitude to sexuality. I see sexuality as just part of life. Either all of life is sacred or none of it is sacred […] And I think it (the Church) made a difficult enough relationship – which is between people, between men and women – even more difficult by imparting an unhealthy attitude to sexuality3.
3 It is noticeable that he does not include same-sex relationships in this comment; undoubtedly they would have been even more problematic, in some ways inconceivable, for practising Catholics at that time in Ireland. McGahern returned again and again to the dichotomy between what he considered to be a normal, healthy activity, namely sexual concourse between consenting adults, and the taboo that was attached to it by Irish Catholicism. The sociologist Tom Inglis, in his groundbreaking study, Moral Monopoly, first published in 1987, borrowing on the work of the French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, describes the social capital that was attached to being perceived to be a good Catholic in Ireland. In Inglis’ opinion, it was easier for good Catholics to advance in political life, the professions, within the local community and on the national stage. However, there were negatives associated with this mindset also, and one of them was the distrust of women that it imbued, particularly in the sexual realm: Sex was portrayed as a disease which lurked deep within the recesses of women’s bodies. Unless it was controlled, it would awaken the most grotesque animal passions. […] The Church was presented as the only means through which women could be saved from themselves. Sex was a sickness that could never be cured. It could only be monitored and controlled by the priest. It was such a dreadful disease that the patient, like the modern patient under a doctor, could only be told about it in vague terms4.
4 There is quite an uncanny resemblance between the sentiments expressed in these lines and what one finds in McGahern’s early fiction, especially in the unpublished novel to which we will now turn our attention. The female protagonist in this narrative, Kathleen Lynch, views sex with a sceptically distrustful eye, which causes severe frustration and emotional strain for Hugh Mahoney, her boyfriend and the person through whom the story is narrated. Religion is omnipresent and oppressive in “The End or the Beginning of Love”. The only healthy relationship is between Mahoney and his dying mother and it too is problematic in its intensity. The opening scene is reminiscent of what will be subsequently described in The Leavetaking and Memoir: it finds Hugh in his mother’s bedroom speaking about his vocation to the priesthood. To her son’s plea not to leave him, she replies: “But I’ll be up in heaven praying for you. When you grow up, you’ll say Mass for me and I’ll watch over you so that you can come to no harm. One day we’ll meet in Paradise and we will be with each other for all eternity” (p. 15).
5 This is familiar terrain for McGahern readers. Hugh Mahoney feels guilty about the broken promise made to his sick mother that he would become a priest and pray for her eternal happiness. As happens with a number of McGahern’s characters, and as was the case for the author himself, the priestly vocation was sacrificed to the urgings of the flesh, to the desire to marry and live within a normal family context, with a wife and children. After his mother’s death, Hugh realised that the spiritual commitment required to become a priest, the renouncement of sexual gratification in order to give everything to God, was too high a price to pay. His plight is not helped by his father’s
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increasingly erratic and violent behaviour. The widower, reduced once more to the celibate state, takes out his frustrations on the children. One incident, narrated through the eyes of his son, reveals Mahoney senior’s excitement when beating his daughter, Maura: “Even in the dim light he saw by his father’s trousers that he was sexually aroused. Mahoney’s face was horrible with passion” (p. 143). The enclosed, conservative society in which the family lives means that there is no question of seeking help from the local authorities to tackle these unwelcome beatings. In McGahern’s own home, the father regularly inflicted severe violence on his young children, whose screams could be plainly heard by the other policemen in the barracks where they lived; yet no one intervened. On one occasion, some of his colleagues told Sergeant McGahern that the beatings would have to stop, but he carried on regardless, knowing that what a man did in his own home was nobody else’s business and that he would not be reported.
6 My decision to concentrate on “The End or the Beginning of Love” and the 1965 novel The Dark is predicated on the fact that these are the two works that most starkly portray excessive Catholic guilt in McGahern’s oeuvre. As the work evolved, more of his characters managed to escape from the grip of a belief system that concentrated to an unwarranted degree on the idea of the body being the temple of the devil. Hugh Mahoney remains trapped in a volatile home environment, where the father’s moods can never be predicted. Hence the children must always be vigilant not to incite his anger. The priesthood offers the chance of an escape from this world, but when Hugh goes to visit his cousin, Fr Gerald, who, in keeping with the behaviour of his namesake in The Dark, comes to Mahoney’s room in the middle of the night and climbs into the bed beside him. He ends up showing the boy the scars on his stomach, which leaves Hugh feeling awkward and uneasy5.
7 Once his vocation to the priesthood has been cast aside, Hugh feels easier about pursuing a relationship with the trainee teacher, Kathleen Lynch. However, this liaison will also end badly. Whenever passion takes hold of the couple, they end up loathing each other afterwards: “There was little kindness or tenderness in the lust of their love” (p. 265). Kathleen is the more puritanical of the two. On one occasion, she interrupts their courting with the words: “You shouldn’t kiss me like that. Iit’s wrong. Iit’s sinful. Iit’s passionate kissing” (p. 242). There are times when Hugh is forced to agree with his girlfriend, especially when he reflects on death and the fate that awaits him at the Final Judgement. Although somewhat dubious about Catholic doctrine, especially as it pertains to sex, he knows that his mind has been affected by the teaching he received at school and in the home: “[…] he was by no means free of the religion of his childhood; he would never be fully free” (p. 252).
8 As long as he is with Kathleen, it is unlikely that he will be allowed to forget that the physical attraction they feel for one another is wrong. He knows that she is not indifferent to his caresses, but she always pulls back when she feels things are getting out of control. She even goes so far as to say that sex within marriage is sinful: “[…] there’s something dirty and disgusting about sex, something”, she shuddered with revulsion, “unclean” (p. 293). Victims of a culture that is highly wary of sex, Hugh and Kathleen are in a sense incapable of escaping from the Catholic instruction they have received. The following line sums up their dilemma: “They all seem to have inherited the idea of the horrible ugliness and sewer filth of sex” (p. 293). In the writing of his maturity, McGahern would not have used such explicit language. But at this point in his
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development, he was intent on bringing to the fore the crippling effect a repressive religious regime can have on people’s sexuality. Something that is natural and beautiful, something that should be embraced and cherished, is turned into what Hugh and Kathleen end up viewing as “the sewer filth of sex”.
9 In his study of sexuality, Catholicism and literature in twentieth-century Ireland, Michael Cronin makes the following observation in relation to McGahern and his contemporary, Edna O’Brien: ‘sexuality is still an expression of rebellion and refusal, but it tends to be powerfully associated in both McGahern and O’Brien with feelings of abjection, trauma, grief and loss”6. This is certainly true of the early writings of McGahern, that portray in a most graphic manner the traumatic and upsetting impact that their early forays into the sexual domain have on his characters. The following unpalatable description emanates from Hugh’s rather troubled mind: It had come up before his own mind: black blood splashed against his pale skin of the loins, the stench of rotting fish, blood matted in the hair that twisted like a pile of worms, the rough edges of a tapeworm moving in the blood it fed on […] He passed his hand across his eyes in horror. Their minds were diseased, blasphemous against life, the horrible smell of decay before death from them (p. 293).
10 These lines convey the impression that sex is something harmful (“black blood splashed” against the skin), a type of cancer that sucks the life out of people (“tapeworm moving in the blood it fed on”), a menacing danger to those who fall prey to it (“stench of rotting fish”, “horrible smell of decay before death”). It suggests the disturbed attitudes of Hugh and his girlfriend, who unsurprisingly break up at the end of the story. The description above brings to mind the risk pointed out by the French philosopher, Michel Foucault, who wrote in The History of Sexuality: If sex is repressed, that is, condemned to prohibition, nonexistence and silence, then the mere fact that one is speaking about it has the appearance of a deliberate transgression. A person who holds forth in such a language places himself to a certain extent outside the reach of power; he upsets the established law; he somehow anticipates the coming freedom7.
11 I think the prohibition on speaking openly about sex is something that was common practice in Irish society until fairly recently. Also, the Foucauldian concept of “transgression” applies very well to the two early texts by McGahern that we are considering in this article. The author’s decision not to submit “The End or the Beginning of Love” for publication was a sensible one in my view, as it lacks the stylistic control and restraint of his published work. That said, it does show his early preoccupations as a writer and links in well with what one encounters in his second novel. In fact, with the publication of The Dark in 1965, McGahern upset what Foucauld refers to as the “established law” and paid the price for this “transgression”. His first novel, The Barracks, had received a warm reaction from the critics such as Kate O’Brien, who declared how impressed she was by the artistic achievement from a young, inexperienced writer: “It is difficult to find words exact enough to express my admiration for this subtle, close-woven, tender, true, poetic work8.” The way the young novelist was able to get into the mind of his middle-aged heroine, Elizabeth Reegan, who is diagnosed with terminal cancer, was quite remarkable, in O’Brien’s view9. He follows her path through a relatively short illness up until death and captures her turmoil at leaving behind a material world for which she had little regard when in the bloom of good health. Because of the unprecedented success of The Barracks, much was expected from the reading public when The Dark finally appeared (all McGahern’s
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novels were published by Faber & Faber), but, instead of praise, the second novel earned public opprobrium for its author.
12 Val Nolan’s in-depth analysis of the controversy surrounding the banning of The Dark is an indispensable reference point when attempting to understand the prevailing moral climate that dominated the Ireland of the mid-1960s10. The Barracks led to McGahern being awarded the prestigious Macauley Fellowship in 1964. One of the terms attached to this award (worth £1,000 at the time, a considerable sum of money) was that the successful candidate had to spend some time abroad. On the strength of this, McGahern therefore decided to ask for a year’s leave of absence from his position as a national school teacher in Clontarf to work on his second novel. The esteem in which he was held around this time is attested to by his also winning the AE Memorial Award. The publication of The Dark would change the smooth trajectory on which the writer was embarked. Nolan relates how in May 1965, 260 copies of the novel arrived in Dublin “addressed to Messrs. Eason” and were immediately seized by officers of Customs and Excise11. This action ignited a public scandal that seriously impacted on the life and writing career of McGahern and would involve many of the leading lights of Irish society at the time such as Archbishop Charles McQuaid and Owen Sheehy Skeffington. The former is alleged to have demanded that McGahern be removed from his teaching position in Scoil Eoin Báiste, a course of action that prompted Skeffington to call into question how a system was allowed to develop whereby a teacher was appointed (and sometimes dismissed) by a clerical manager and yet paid by the state. His real bone of contention, however, was how a book like The Dark could have been banned in the first instance, even though the author had wandered into some rather dangerous territory: The book itself is a sensitive, well-written, rather sad and poignant book, dealing with aspects of Irish life which officialdom prefers to pretend do not exist. Masturbation, homosexual tendencies, the sexual frustrations of many Irish men and women including some priests, are dealt with in a courageous and frank manner, but with a sobriety and seriousness of concern which are undeniable12.
13 This is an excellent assessment of what McGahern was trying to achieve in his novel; he sought to unveil a rather unattractive underbelly at the heart of Irish society which no one really wanted to consider. Boys and girls regularly engaged in masturbation; some were sexually active; homosexuality existed in Ireland and there were frustrated men and women all around the country. This is a presentation of the situation that not many people would disagree with today. But the problem for McGahern was that very few writers (Edna O’Brien being an obvious exception) were prepared to expose this hidden Ireland in as stark a manner as he chose to do in the 1960s. Writing in The Irish Times, Terence de Vere White noted that sex made the book “claustrophobic”. He wondered if it was “all written to titillate or shock?”, before concluding: “I am not sure. The story has the wholeness of artistic integrity. How true it is must be a question to which different experience will give different answers13.” The degree to which the artist has the right, perhaps even the responsibility, to portray human experience as s/ he sees it without fear or favour, is clearly complicated when one drifts into the area of sexuality. What characteristics must a text possess for it to be considered pornographic? The desire to “titillate”, which is mentioned by de Vere White, is clearly a key component, but it is very doubtful that such a desire inspired McGahern’s writing in The Dark. Some days later, Sean Collins, writing once more about the banning in The Irish Times, felt that it was “a clear indication of the narrow, puritanical, and boorish mentality which still prevails in bureaucratic circles”, and recommended that “our
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small, childish little parochial traits should have given way to a more mature and enlightened way of thinking14”. When one considers the titles of some of the other 16 books that were banned at the same time as The Dark, such as Satin Legs and Stilettos, Fifty Dollars a Night and Give Me This Woman, it can be seen that McGahern was keeping strange company indeed, that is, if the salacious titles are anything to go by15.While he declined to become involved in the debate at the time, feeling that the artist’s role was not to be a public figure but to produce good art, he did comment on the incident in many subsequent interviews, such as the one he did with Julia Carlson in which he argued that the banning was all about Ireland’s attitude to sexuality. The fact that it was a time when the young state was insecure as to what direction it wanted to go meant that nobody really knew what to be Irish was: “There was this slogan and fanaticism and a lot of emotion, but there wasn’t any clear idea except what you were against: you were against sexuality; you were against the English16.” To McGahern’s way of thinking, defining yourself by what you were against was not a particularly healthy thing, especially when one of the things you were against was something as natural and sacred as sexuality.
14 Before beginning a discussion of the novel itself, I think it is worthwhile to consider briefly the correspondence between McGahern and a writer for whom he had great admiration, Michael McLaverty, around the time of the banning. McLaverty was known to be a devout Catholic and so how he reacted to his novel was a sort of litmus test for McGahern. The Belfast writer declared himself “greatly impressed by its painful sincerity and its pared-to-the-bone style” and continued: “The book rings with truth at every turn and it must have been a heartbreaking and exhausting book to write17.” McLaverty did admit that he “recoiled” somewhat from a few pages in which a priest’s thoughts were described, but his overall reaction was positive. That he recognised how difficult it must have been for McGahern to write the book shows his appreciation of the bravery it took for the emerging writer to tackle issues that were taboo at the time. The “truth” that McLaverty detects in the narrative is perhaps the most insightful part of his reading. Because the authenticity he brings to bear on his narrative is what gives The Dark its special resonance and is also what possibly led to its banning: McGahern cut too close to the bone and readers did not know how to react.
15 The Dark opens with a middle-aged widower, Mahoney, administering a simulated beating to his son, whom he has forced to undress and go into his sisters’ bedroom. As the boy bends naked over a chair, Mahoney senior brings the strap down on the leather seat beside him. The sexual overtones are obvious: “He didn’t lift a hand, as if the stripping compelled by his will alone gave him pleasure18.” He issues orders in an imperious manner: “Move and I’ll cut that arse off you. I’m only giving you a taste of what you’re going to get” (p. 9). When it’s all over, the leather strap resembles a limp penis after ejaculation and Mahoney’s excitement is obvious: “[H]is face still red and heated, the leather hanging dead in his hand” (p. 10). The tenor of the narrative is set from the outset: this is a classic dramatisation of patriarchal dominance being asserted through violence, a violence that has a definite sexual tenor. The boy is given a public humiliation, his sisters forced to observe him as he loses control and urinates on the chair: ‘something in him snapped … He’d never imagined horror such as this, waiting naked for the leather to come down on his flesh, would it ever come, it was impossible and yet nothing could be much worse than this waiting” (p.9). Broken and humiliated,
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the child runs away to the sanctuary of the lavatory at the end of the garden. Commenting on this scene, Kelly Jayne Steenholdt McGovern notes: The treatment leaves the son irrevocably tainted by his leaking body; subsequently, the son will remain broken and impure, unable to even feel capable of controlling his body and fully redeeming himself19.
16 I had not made the link between Mahoney’s “leaking body” and the subsequent orgies of self-abuse. In the opening scene, the young adolescent is made to feel as though he is not in control of his bodily functions, in the same way as he will discover later that his physical urges are too deep-seated for him to resist them. His promise to his mother that he would become a priest is rendered impossible by this perceived impurity. Using an advertisement for hair removal in the Irish Independent picturing a woman revealing the hair in her armpits as his stimulus, Mahoney pleasures himself and feels terrible guilt afterwards: The pulsing dies away, a last gentle fluttering, and I can lie quiet. The day of the room returns, red shelves with the books and the black wooden crucifix, the torn piece of newspaper on the pillow. Everything is as dead as dirt. I’d committed five sins since morning (p. 31).
17 The crucifix is witness to this exhibition of self-abuse. The only hope of forgiveness is to go and confess his sins to a priest. Tom Inglis argues that “confession played a crucial role in sexualising the body”, because it was the place “where the activities of the body were examined and suitable penances distributed20 Young Mahoney regards confession as a type of mechanical means of clearing the slate and starting anew. The church pews are full of people who have come with the same intention as he has: All waited for forgiveness, in the listless performance of habit and duty or torturing and turning over their sins and lives, time now to judge themselves and beg, on the final day there would be neither time nor choice (p. 39).
18 Top of the list of Mahoney’s sins was, understandably, masturbation. The priest probes him about the “impure actions” and the number of times he gave in to temptation. The response, “More than two hundred times” (p. 41), is not commented on other than for the priest to say that Mahoney must fight that sin and pray for grace. Then he is given absolution and feels momentarily elated: “such relief had come to you, fear and darkness gone, never would you sin again” (p. 42). Steenholdt McGovern21 finds it interesting that the young protagonist never mentions in confession the abuse he (literally) suffers at his father’s hands. The rhythmic rubbing of his stomach and genitalia by Mahoney senior, bringing both to orgasm, seems not to be considered sinful, however distasteful it may be to read or to endure. That it also causes the “seed to come”, one of the criteria for unacceptable activity outlined by the priest, does not deem it worthy of disavowal. Somehow, abuse within the home, “the dirty rags of intimacy” (p. 19) between father and son, the “loathing” (p. 21) they inspire in the younger man, are exonerated, placed outside the list of peccadilloes that must be related to the priest in the confessional. When he imagines himself a priest and being privy to a woman’s confession of illicit intercourse, Mahoney’s sadomasochistic fantasies reveal themselves: A whimper of grief in her voice, her dress would rustle, her face and young body close as inches to yours in the night. The same young thighs that had opened submissively wide to the man’s rise the summer night by the river might open wide as that for you. She’d give you the fulfilment you craved. […] Or would you burst out of the box and take her in madness? She’d said she’d been a virgin. She’d cried out with hurt in the river meadows but the man would not stop, he took her against her
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will. Would she cry too when the priest tore her clothes off and took her on the stone floor of the church? (p. 55).
19 Dermot McCarthy argues that Mahoney has a stronger desire for the warm bread of the flesh than the unleavened joy associated with the Host22. His vocation to the priesthood is constantly trumped by the sexual urgings that torment him. He believes he must be pure of mind and body if he is to aspire to the lofty vocation he has mapped out for himself. The trip he makes to stay with his cousin Fr. Gerald is a pretext for discussing what in fact he might do with his future. From the moment he arrives at the presbytery, he feels uneasy: his cousin has a boy of his own age keeping house for him, a choice that seems at best odd to Mahoney. Then the priest comes to his room in the middle of the night and proceeds to get into bed beside him: “[Y]ou stiffened when his arm went around your shoulder, was this to be another of the midnight horrors with your father” (p. 70). Fr. Gerald questions him about the doubts he harbours in relation to his vocation and then gets him to admit all in relation to his problems with masturbation. When then asked if he had to face the same type of problem when he was Mahoney’s age, the priest blandly ignores the question. The silence in the room fills the boy with resentment: “[H]e had broken down your life to the dirt, he’d reduced you to that, and no flesh was superior to other flesh … he was above that, you were impertinent to ask” (p. 74). The way this scene mirrors the nights when he has to endure his father’s improper sexual advances, and the fact that in this instance the perpetrator is a priest, leads to bitter disillusionment. Dermot McCarthy offers the following assessment of this crucial episode in the novel: The boy’s fascination with the figure of the priest as a man like any other but with a supernatural power to absolve guilt is crucial for understanding his reaction to what he judges to be Father Gerald’s failure to respond appropriately to his “confession”23.
20 Whereas the abuse in this instance is psychological rather than physical, it is nevertheless damaging to the self-esteem. Steenholdt McGovern raises an interesting question when she notes that there is an admission that “Young Mahoney might take a reluctant, vague and conditional pleasure24” in the abuse inflicted on him by his father. If that is the case, could there be a tinge of disappointment in his reaction to Fr. Gerald’s failure to follow through on what in some ways would appear to be his seduction of the boy? After he leaves the bedroom, Mahoney masturbates for the first time in three weeks and on this occasion there is no need of any external stimulus such as “edge of nylon nor pink nipple in your teeth” (p. 76). He feels “restless and hot” (p. 75) and can find no release for his frustration other than the customary pumping of semen into his sock. To a certain extent, the masturbatory act may be directed against Fr. Gerald’s leaving before anything sexual occurs between them. Whatever the reason, the next day he resolves to give up on the idea of becoming a priest and at the same time gains some sort of stature by releasing his sister Joan from the lascivious attentions of her employer, Mr. Ryan, who runs a drapery shop in Fr. Gerald’s parish.
21 The episode with Ryan reveals something intriguing about the mindset of Mahoney. When asked by Ryan if he finds the sights of his daughters running around the garden in green swimsuits “tempting” (p. 92), Mahoney is angered by what he regards as a slight on him and his family. He wonders: “Why couldn’t Ryan climb on his wife in the deck-chair, that’s what he had married her for, or couldn’t he tear off the swimsuits and straddle the pampered daughters or be whipped naked down the streets” (p. 93). This rather unwholesome view of marriage and the family causes Steenholdt McGovern
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to remark: “Young Mahoney does not here object to the sexual abuse of young women by patriarchal authorities in general, he objects to the external threat Ryan poses to the Mahoney family cell and expresses the belief that Ryan’s sexual advances should be contained within the Ryan family cell”25. This goes some way towards explaining why Mahoney does not confess what transpires between himself and his father in confession. Patriarchal abuse, provided that it is practised within the family, is seen as being in some way justified. Marriage and parenthood, both states cherished by the Catholic Church, confer certain rights on men like Ryan, particularly access to intercourse on demand: “that’s what he’d married her (his wife) for”.
22 There is a lot more that could be said about Catholic guilt in the early work of McGahern, but I trust that this article serves at least as an elucidation of the courageous and prophetic nature of this writer’s approach to the problematic co- existence of Catholicism and sexuality in the Ireland of the mid-twentieth century. It was far from easy to explore the minefield that was sexual abuse in the home, implied clerical sex abuse, masturbation, sadomasochism, and the other taboo subjects broached by McGahern in the 1960s. He made people uncomfortable by daring to raise what was at the time unmentionable. With the aid of hindsight, his testimony has been vindicated, his words proven to be true. Families then, as now, are far from perfect; young men still “dream of the ecstasy of destruction on a woman’s mouth”26; priests have not always lived up to their lofty calling; people are imperfect vessels. Catholic guilt is no longer accepted to the same extent as a means of suppressing sexuality, and that is a good thing. But the increased sexualisation of young children, the rush to engage in sexual encounters devoid of love and commitment, the exploitation of both men and women by the sex trade, none of this indicates that current attitudes to sex are necessarily any healthier than what was portrayed by McGahern. Shortly after his death in 2006, Fintan O’Toole wrote the following comments about the issues raised by The Dark in particular: By accurately describing the human interiors of Ireland, McGahern helped to alter Ireland’s sense of reality. The starkest example of this is the issue of child sex abuse. When it hit the headlines in the 1990s, it was spoken of as a stunning and awful revelation, a secret that hardly anyone knew. Yet it is there in black and white in The Dark, thirty years before27.
23 McGahern did not see himself as a journalist, a person who forensically examines facts and offers opinions. His role was to create fictions that, if well written, would have the force of lived experience. This is certainly true of his early fiction’s grappling with Catholic guilt, which resonates on a moral, theological, sociological and existential level and reveals undoubted truths about the Ireland of his youth and early childhood, a time when the spectre of the Catholic Church loomed large.
NOTES
2. John McGahern, Memoir, London, Faber & Faber, 2005, p.18.
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3. “Catholicism and National Identity in the Works of John McGahern”. Interview between Eamon Maher and John McGahern, Studies: An Irish Quarterly, Vol 90, no 357, Spring 2001, p.73-74. 4. Tom Inglis, Moral Monopoly: The Catholic Church in Modern Irish Society, Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 1987, p. 150. In Memoir, McGahern makes a similar point to Inglis’: “At this time, because of the power of the Church and the Church’s teaching, many married without any sexual knowledge or knowledge of the person they were marrying. The men married for sex. There was no other way to have it. The result was the arrival of a large number of children in rapid succession. […] The ideal of the society was the celibate priest. The single state was thus elevated. The love of God was greater than the love of man or woman; the sexual was seen as sin-infected and unclean” (Memoir, p. 51-52). 5. As this constitutes a more crucial illustration of warped sexuality in The Dark than in the unpublished novel, we will deal with it in more detail later on. 6. Michael G. Cronin, Impure Thoughts: Sexuality, Catholicism and Literature in twentieth- century Ireland, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2012, p. 181. 7. Michael Foucault, The History of Sexuality: An Introduction, trans. Robert Hurley, London: Penguin books, 1990, p. 6. 8. Kate O’Brien, review of The Barracks in University Review, Vol. III, No. 4, 1963, p.59. 9. He clearly drew on the painful, and ultimately unsuccessful, struggle his own mother had with the disease, dying when her eldest son was just ten years of age. 10. Val Nolan, “If it was just th’oul book…”: A History of the McGahern Banning Controversy” in Irish Studies Review, Vol. 19, No. 3, August 2011, p. 261-279. 11. Nolan, p. 262. 12. Owen Sheehy Skeffington, “McGahern Affair” in Censorship: A Quarterly Report on Censorship of Ideas and the Arts, 2.2 (Spring 1966), p. 27-30, p. 27. 13. “Five to One”, The Irish Times, 8 May, 1965, p. 8. 14. Cited by Nolan, p. 263-264. 15. Nolan, p. 265. Nolan also quotes an editorial from the Irish Independent which, in his view, “attempted to play both sides of the fence by painting The Dark as not just undeserving of the ban, but undeserving of being read”. 16. Julia Carlson (ed.), Banned In Ireland: Censorship and the Irish Writer, Athens, Georgia: University of Georgia Press, 1990, p. 63. 17. John Killen ed. Dear Mr McLaverty: The Literary Correspondence of John McGahern and Michael McLaverty 1959-1980, Belfast, The Linen Hall Library, 2006, p. 39. 18. John McGahern, The Dark, London: Faber & Faber, 1965, p.8. All subsequent references will be to this text, with page numbers in brackets. 19. Kelly Jayne Steenholdt McGovern, ““We have come of Age”: Growing Bodies in the Twentieth Century Irish Novel”, unpublished PhD thesis, University of Maryland, 2012, p. 111. [http://drum.lib.umd.edu/bitstream/1903/12736/1/ McGovern_umd_0117E_13142.pdf], accessed 24 January, 2014. 20. Inglis, Moral Monopoly, p. 149. 21. “We have Come of Age”, p. 145.
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22. Dermot McCarthy, John McGahern and the Art of Memory, Oxford, Peter Lang, 2010, p. 92. 23. McCarthy, The Art of Memory, p. 95. 24. Steenholdt McGovern, p. 134. 25. Ibid., p. 123. 26. The Dark, p. 84. 27. Fintan O’Toole, “Picking the Lock of Family Secrets”, The Irish Times, 1 April, 2006. 1. The one from which I quote is catalogued at P71/8. All subsequent references will be from this text, with page numbers is brackets. The quote above is on page 293.
ABSTRACTS
John McGahern’s literary canvas concentrates mainly on the north-western midlands of Ireland during the middle and latter half of the last century. Many of his characters, influenced by a rather puritanical brand of Catholicism, tend to view sexuality in a negative light and to see the body, especially the female body, as a source of sin. This article will discuss Catholic guilt in McGahern’s unpublished first novel, “The End or the Beginning of Love”, and the controversial second novel, The Dark, which was banned shortly after its publication in 1965, and show how accurately the mores and customs of Irish society of the time are reflected in these works.
L’espace littéraire de John McGahern se situe principalement au nord-ouest des plaines centrales de l’Irlande des années 50 à la fin du XXe siècle. Beaucoup de ses personnages, influencés par une variété plutôt puritaine du catholicisme, ont tendance à envisager la sexualité d’une manière négative et à considérer le corps, particulièrement celui de la femme, comme la source du péché. Cet article se fixe pour objectif de discuter la culpabilité catholique telle qu’elle est représentée dans le premier roman inédit de McGahern, “The End or the Beginning of Love”, et dans son deuxième roman polémique, The Dark, qui fut interdit peu de temps après sa publication en 1965. Nous verrons comment les moeurs et coutumes de la société irlandaise de l’époque se reflètent dans ces oeuvres.
INDEX
Keywords: McGahern John , society and religion, women, history and fiction, body Mots-clés: McGahern John , société et religion, femmes, histoire et fiction, corps
AUTHOR
EAMON MAHER ITT Dublin
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Seán Dunne’s The Road to Silence: An Anomalous Spiritual Autobiography?
James S. Rogers
1 To the extent that Seán Dunne, the Cork-based poet, critic and journalist who died in August 1995 of heart attack at age thirty-nine, is remembered today, it is as a poet – one of the many Irish poets whom the critical community knows is there, but about whom few read and even fewer write. Born in Waterford in 1956, Dunne was one of the group of writers who studied under Seán Lucy and John Montague at UCC, and his three collections – Against the Storm (1985), The Sheltered Nest (1992), and Time and the Island (1996) – were well received at the time. His Collected Poems was published by the Gallery Press in a posthumous volume in 2005. In Waterford, he is remembered by the Seán Dunne Young Writers Award, presented at the annual writers’ festival. Dunne’s work is considered briefly in a number of surveys, and there is a fine short memoir of him in Thomas McCarthy’s Gardens of Remembrance (1998). Yet the MLA Bibliography lists no critical articles that treat of Dunne and his work.
2 Dunne also wrote two autobiographies, and he wrote them when young. Before he died so prematurely, he had published In My Father’s House in 1991, which is a straightforward account of growing up in a working-class family in the housing estates of Waterford. Three years later, he published The Road to Silence: An Irish Spiritual Odyssey. This article considers the second of these autobiographies. In many ways, Road to Silence fulfils most readers’ expectations of a spiritual autobiography, a genre that has also attracted a considerable level of critical attention in recent decades1. In other ways, notably its brevity and in the manner in which the author maintains a strict division between his inner life and his life in the world, Dunne’s modest little book stands apart from virtually all contemporary works in the genre2. For one thing, Dunne recounts his “spiritual odyssey” in only seventy-nine pages. In contrast, most editions of Thomas Merton’s famous account of Trappist life, The Seven Storey Mountain, run to more than 400 pages. Other well-known recent accounts of contemplative life are Sarah
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Maitland’s A Book of Silence (2010) and Kathleen Norris’s The Cloister Walk (1997), each of which is four to five times lengthier than Dunne’s account.
3 But the text itself also defies expectations. Stylistically, one aspect of Road to Silence that a contemporary reader will find unusual is its employment of unexpectedly formal, and often somewhat pedestrian, language. Although Dunne has a poet’s gift for the occasional striking metaphor, the fact is that in this book – unlike In My Father’s House, and even more unlike his poetry – he writes with a studied quality of detachment, a willed plain-spokenness. Nowhere is this more clear than in its opening sentences: As a child, I saw the world with a religious dimension that I have never lost. At its most negative, this consisted of a morbid fear that punishment would ensue if I broke the rules of Catholicism. There were times when I felt that a dreadful punishment would follow if, say, I murdered someone, but even if I stole an apple from a classmate’s schoolbag3.
4 The stiltedness of the prose leaps out: this is not the language of a poet. Throughout The Road to Silence, one gets the feeling that Dunne employs an at-times wooden style – in such constructions as “a morbid fear that punishment would ensue if I broke the rules of Catholicism” – as a sort of shield from the rawness of experience itself. The book is very much an intellectual narrative. For a contemporary reader, attuned to the confessionalism of such spiritual memoirs as Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies (1999) or even to the discretely told, but nonetheless juicy, accounts of Thomas Merton’s early life, Dunne’s language feels cerebral and remarkably dispassionate. One could easily believe that it is a translation. Not just any translation, but the translation of an ancient text – the same sort of language that one finds reading Augustine’s Confessions. Dunne subtly alludes to Augustine with his reference to stealing an apple. The apple both invokes the Fall itself and suggests the extraordinarily scrupulous passage of Augustine’s Book II, in which he meditates on the evil of stealing unripe pears.
5 This is the first of many ways in which Augustine insinuates himself into Dunne’s narrative. The fourth-century author of the Confessions is never mentioned in the text, yet Augustine’s template for the writing of one’s spiritual life is everywhere to be felt – as, indeed, it is for all spiritual autobiographers; the saint has been called the inventor of the genre, and beyond that, the “inventor of the inner self4”. There are, of course, dramatic differences in their narratives, not the least of which is that Dunne appears to share none of Augustine’s repudiation of the flesh, and little if any of the saint’s conviction of his own sinfulness. Yet the affinities are there. Augustine wrote that he “had become to myself a vast problem5”, and so has Dunne; the memoir records his path toward resolving deep internal conflicts. Both men stand back and look for a cohering pattern in their personal stories – in Janet Varner Gunn’s phrase, they are “reading” their own lives6.
6 This detachment probably traces back to the fact that Dunne was a journalist, a “vendor of words” as Augustine put it7, who supported himself as freelance writer8. The intentionally plain, intentionally removed tone of The Road to Silence suggests that what we are reading is in fact a journalist reporting on himself. But we are, for the most part, told about, rather than shown, the intensity of his spiritual anguish. This neutrality of tone is a particular failing of reporters’ memoirs: as the New Yorker journalist Janet Malcolm observes, one “obstacle in the way of the journalist turned autobiographer is the pose of objectivity into which journalists habitually, almost mechanically, fall when
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they write. The ‘I’ of journalism is a kind of ultra-reliable narrator and impossibly rational and disinterested person9…”
7 Dunne’s removal from the intensity of experience is likewise clear in his handling of a central event, the death of a parent. It is not easy to find an intact family in Irish autobiography, and Dunne’s story is no exception; his mother died when he was four, and he was reared chiefly by his English housekeeper, Tessie. An early experience of death is common to many spiritual autobiographies – think of Augustine’s loss of his friend, or of Merton losing both parents while still in his teens – but in neither book does Dunne dwell on this trauma. In The Road to Silence, he acknowledges the event’s far-reaching impact, but offers only this somewhat clinical comment: “I realise now that much of my intense involvement with religion as a child was connected with my mother, a devout woman who died when I was four and whose death became a wound that shaped me as a person and as a writer” (p. 8). Although the story would seem to invite pathos and deep introspection, we find few of those qualities in In My Father’s House, and none at all in The Road to Silence; if this is a wound, it is a wholly intellectualized one10.
8 The first book of autobiography ends, as many memoirs do, with Dunne realizing that he is at an axial moment, a point that is at once both the end of an enclosed childhood and the beginning of a larger life in the word. It closes thus: The city was a background with which I had grown too familiar while the sky was a vast unknown…The train pulled out, gathering speed as it went past the river on the way to Rosslare, the rhythmic movement of its wheels gathering force as it sped. It was time for me to get out as well11.
9 Memoirists, Irish and otherwise, spiritual and otherwise, often conclude the story of their early lives on moment of transformation. One thinks of the decisive moment in Frank O’Connor’s first volume of autobiography, An Only Child, which ends “I had tossed my cap over the wall of life, and I knew I must follow it, wherever it had fallen”12. And in what is becoming the Ur-story of Irish childhood, Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes, we find a similar recognition that the journey must now lead outward. Dunne’s decision to tell his story in more than one book is not unusual. Multi-volume memoirs are common: think of Seán O’Casey’s six volumes of autobiography published between 1939 and 1956, or for that matter, the consciously plural title of Yeats’s Autobiographies. But such autobiographies generally frame the subject’s life as a continuous, cohering story, however segmented into distinct parts it may have been. The authorial choice to end on a moment of decision implies that the next book, the next story, flows out of the first. The most striking anomaly of Dunne’s autobiographical project, when viewed alongside most other contemporary writers, is that the second book remains entirely separate.
10 In The Road to Silence, the author immediately undermines any expectation that the second book is a continuation of the first, as its opening epigraph quotes Thomas Merton: “Our real journey in life is interior”. The two books provide us with, in effect, two stories. In My Father’s House gives us his life in its external contexts: school, the particularities of his time, and as signaled in the title, his family. The second book stands apart from the world by design: it is the story of a soul. Much of the second book takes place in the Trappist monastery and retreat center of Mount Melleray in County Waterford, where Dunne first went on a journalistic assignment, and which becomes a place of centering and origins for Dunne, a sacred geography. His characterization of
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the place provides a possible window on how he conceived of the autobiographical project: I learned that the place is not simply a set of buildings where monks live, pray and work. The monastic sense permeates the fields, the paths and the people who walk them […]. I understood what the old Celtic monks meant when they spoke of two landscapes, one physical with its rocks and mountains, the other sacral and intensely connected with spirituality (p. 46).
11 In writing two autobiographies – a secular one and a sacred one, “the other interior story” –Dunne makes a division similar to that which he ascribes to the Celtic monastics. He segregates the world into two spheres, one concerned with the facts of his biography, and one that charts a parallel spiritual path. It is not unusual to encounter a sort of latent or implied platonism in the sort of popular Catholicism in which Dunne was raised, a division of the human person into spirit and flesh. What is unusual is to find this dichotomy so clearly expressed in a mature spiritual writer.
12 The Road to Silence is divided into seven numbered chapters, which can be summed up briefly and which bear many resemblances to the patterns of classic spiritual autobiography. That pattern has been described by David Leigh as a “circuitous journey”: memoirists of the spiritual life follow “a general three-stage narrative pattern in which childhood events (stage one) raise questions that drive the author on a negative journey of wandering in a desert of illusory answers (stage two) before he or she discovers a transforming world in which the original questions can be resolved (stage three)"13.
13 These patterns play our clearly in Dunne’s story. The opening chapter conveys his profound sense of dividedness, his sense of standing apart from the world. He writes movingly of a childhood, and an entire Irish culture, that is ritually attuned to Catholic practice and the church calendar; his description of a Corpus Christi procession as “street theatre” (p. 10) imparts wholeness and sacramentality to the shabbiness of working-class Ireland. Part of the appeal of Catholicism in his early years is precisely its ability to make the transcendent real. He quotes Flannery O’Connor approvingly, citing her remark that “the Church is the custodian of the sense of life as a mystery” (p. 14). But immediately after this, he notes that, “Outside of such times, my sense of religion was dominated by terror” (p. 14).
14 Dunne follows the Augustinian model of “wandering” in the next chapter, when he describes his several efforts at trying on another belief system – but it is a sincere search, and not mere spiritual tourism. His yearning for a religious home is, he acknowledges, very much tied to the loosening-up of Irish life in the 1960s and the 1970s: “After decades of sexual and political obscurantism, Ireland had started to change in the 1960s”, reflecting that his rejection of convention “felt rebellious at the time, but I realise now many others felt the same. My revolt, then, was conventional in itself” (p. 19). Dunne’s historical situation of being between eras leaves him without a sense of rootedness in secular time, let alone eternity: “Unable to make the old and the new fit, I was like a hinge attached loosely to each” (p. 18)14.
15 Unsurprisingly, what troubles him most is regulation: it is the rigorism and legalism of the Irish church that Dunne cannot accept. The pervasive, unquestioned grip of the Catholic Church as an informing spirit in all aspects of Irish social and political life was at last beginning to relax, in the 1960s – a process that Louise Fuller has memorably described as “the undoing of a culture15”. As Dunne came of age, Catholicism in Ireland
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was shifting away from its highly public identity, and moving more into the realm of a personal faith. The easing of censorship mean that young writers in the 1970s, such as Dunne, were inspired by writers like John McGahern and Edna O’Brien, whose books depicted the life-killing, inhibiting aspects of Catholic restriction. Even among Irish Catholics who remained in the church, a previously unimaginable level of religious debate became possible in the wake of Vatican II.
16 The poet’s continuing objection to church authority and teaching underscores a significant difference between Augustine and Dunne. In the patristic conversion, the saint desperately wishes to align himself with orthodoxy and the rules of the church; Dunne’s postmodern conversion is in many ways a matter of setting aside and moving past precisely those elements. His resistance to regulation remains a problem to the end; “by temperament”, he writes in closing, “I cannot be rule-bound” (p. 71). His resolution comes in finding a space, that of contemplative silence, in which the many rules of the institutional church can be set aside as so much underbrush, in favor of a spirituality “rooted in prayer and silence rather than in structures and in rules” (p. 47).
17 Nonetheless, there are times when Dunne the seeker does, in fact, crave structure and conviction. “I desperately wanted to believe in something”, he writes. “Without a religious belief or a confident atheism, I felt adrift, and afraid”. Such a period of trying on various systems of belief is central to the “wandering” phase of the journey. As Leigh notes, “The use of a directional image [seen in the ‘road’ of the title] implies, of course, that the storyteller is going somewhere, even if it is, as Eliot says ‘to arrive where we first started and to know the place for the first time’… What it does not immediately indicate is what happens in all these modern stories of the wandering self (as in Augustine’s Confessions) is that, for most of the story, the direction is the wrong one. […] what intrigues many readers of spiritual autobiography is that the journey consists primarily of wrong turns and dead ends16.” And again, what Dunne at first wanted to find in all of these writers is a total, cohering system: “Whether in Marxism, Humanism, or Buddhism, I had an interest in systems of thought that gave structure and sense to life” (p. 21). He hungers for, but cannot find, an intellectual underpinning to life, remarking that “Oddly, I had little trouble with the idea of prayer and a great deal of trouble with the intellectual idea of God” (p. 47).
18 To address his spiritual hungers, Dunne looks within; he would surely agree with what the philosopher Charles Taylor said of Augustine’s faith, that the step “toward inwardness is a step toward God17” Yet, although the poet insists that his journey is interior, his journey is in no way undertaken alone. He pursues an exceptional range of literary mentors. Literature is central to his pursuit of a spiritual wholeness: “My reading pushed me beyond the forms in which religion was presented” (p. 20). In this context, we might note another of the stylistic oddities of The Road to Silence, which further contributes to the sense that it reads like a translation. In the entire book, there are exactly two sentences of spoken dialogue, both unremarkable: after Fr. Joseph has given Dunne the key to his room at Mount Melleray, we read, “I’ll see you after tea, he said. ‘There’s a few biscuits on a plate in the kitchen if you’re hungry until then’” (p. 41).
19 His conversation with authors, in contrast, is extensive. Writers whom he quotes from or alludes to in the course of the book include Matsuo Bashō; Albert Camus; Fyodor Dostoevski; the travel writer Patrick Leigh Fermor, who wrote a 1957 book on monastic life, A Time to Keep Silence; Eric Gill; Julian of Norwich; Carl Jung; D. H. Lawrence; Karl
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Marx; John McGahern; Thomas Merton, who, though much cited, is perhaps not present to the extent one would expect; Vladimir Nabokov; Flannery O’Connor; Henry David Thoreau; Simone Weil, to whom he is especially drawn; and Ludwig Wittgenstein.
20 Dunne clearly considers Thomas Merton to be a sort of mentor, quoting him on numerous occasions. His first trip to Mount Melleray is taken under the aspect of Merton: I was very excited by the prospect of my visit. My enthusiasm was fuelled by my general interest in spirituality and also by my love for the work of Thomas Merton, the American monk and poet. I had become aware of Merton in 1982. During that year, one of the most despairing I had known, I spent a long period in hospital and found that many of the books which normally pleased me were suddenly of no interest at all. Only two writers fired me: the novelist Francis Stuart, and Thomas Merton. In Merton, I found someone who had asked some of the same questions as myself and who had found answers in a life spent in silence on the margin of American society. Like the monks in Mount Melleray, he was a Cistercian (p. 34).
21 Despite this sympathy and admiration, Dunne notes that he disliked the “triumphalism” of Merton’s early writings, “and especially disliked his autobiography, The Seven Storey Mountain” (p. 34). It is also notable that Dunne’s attraction to Merton’s work is highly selective; for instance, he never mentions Merton’s activism and commitment to social justice. Indeed, he quotes with approval Merton’s remark that monks are “‘are deliberately irrelevant. We live with an ingrained irrelevance that is proper to every human being’” (p. 76). The psychology of vocation, and the physical and intellectual demands of monastic life, fascinate Dunne; he says, near the end of the memoir that “There is a monk in everyone: solitary, silent, and faced with questions of belief and eternity, and with the need to know God” (p. 77). But he picks and chooses which aspects of Merton’s thought he attends to, and which path he can follow in his own life.
22 During his period of searching, Dunne attends his first Protestant services – where he feels acutely aware of the historical baggage that accompanies the religious divide. It is in this period that he encounters his first experience of a formalized recognition of silence as a spiritual presence among the Society of Friends. He writes that, “while I could argue intellectually about the social role of religion in Ireland, it seemed that the very core of religious belief did not happen in such arguments but at what happened when I sat in silence at such meetings” (p. 30). Moreover, he adds, Quakerism “seemed to accommodate uncertainty”. It is a sign of sign of Dunne’s growing spiritual maturity that he comes to understand doubt and ambiguity not as a failure of faith, but as essential elements of his religious journey – in a sense, a Keatsian willingness to embrace mystery itself.
23 Dunne’s journey takes a decisive turn in the next chapter. At this point, he is getting by as a freelancer, following the method of simply coming up with article ideas and proposing them to editors. He has a working relationship with the editor of the Sunday Tribune, to whom he pitches the idea of an article on Mount Melleray. As in most spiritual autobiographies, caprice and circumstance play a significant role: his opportunistic assignment leads him to places he never expected. This, too, is a common feature in the genre, an admission by the author, that he or she is not the only one writing the story. We understand that Dunne is meant to have found the Trappists; the Sunday newspaper assignment may be an unexpected source, but so was St Augustine’s tolle lege moment in the garden.
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24 The next two chapters are essentially journalistic. In one, Dunne describes the rituals and practices of monastic life, clearly tinged by admiration and attraction. Chapter 5 is still more journalistic, concerning itself with the origins and history of Mount Melleray. The monastery has strong ties to Irish history – Daniel O’Connell frequently made retreats there – and provided generous help to the poor during the years of the Famine.
25 The sixth and seventh chapters conclude Dunne’s faith journey, to the extent that there is a clear conclusion. It would not be true to say that Dunne returns to the faith of his childhood. “No matter how regularly I attended church”, he writes, “I never gained a sense of my search having come to an end” (p. 65). As the last chapter opens, he says of his relationship to Mount Mellleray that, “while I loved the world I found there, and while I recognized that such a world was grounded in a particular set of religious beliefs, I still could not bring myself fully to practice as a Catholic” (p. 65). His experiences at Melleray, and later, his experiences at the urban retreat center of Saint Gervais in the heart of Paris, change that. His visits to Melleray, he writes, “made many things clear”, continuing that I had not become a compliant Catholic; rather, I saw faith practised in a way that was unsullied by the weight of social pressure and argument, and I felt that at the heart of the monastery lay an experience and faith that matched the heart of my own life, and that could be sustained despite the occasional absurdities of the church as a social entity. It was an interior experience and it changed everything (Emphasis added, p. 71).
26 But after his experience of the retreat at St Gervais, the longstanding resentments and struggles with Catholicism lose their potency for Dunne, and he is able to say that I had discovered once again that, despite all my arguments with the Catholic Church, there are signs of tremendous tenderness, excitement and promise. Some are social; some are liturgical; some are monastic. The best of them begin in an interior space that has been shaped by silence and prayer (p. 69).
27 Nevertheless, Dunne does not become “a compliant Catholic”; to the end, he continues to look for spiritual sustenance in traditions other than Catholicism, including Quakerism, Buddhism, and the nearly extinct sect of Shakerism. “What Dunne found in Mount Melleray and Merton”, Andrew Auge has written, in his recent study of Catholicism and modern Irish poetry, “bore a close resemblance to what he found in the other religious traditions into which he delved – a profound commitment to silence as a means of acknowledging an ineffable Absolute and a posture that allows ‘observed particulars [to] take on the mystery of revelation18’”.
28 Perhaps paradoxically, despite the unashamed bricolage of his religious thinking, Dunne is surprisingly prescriptive in his summing up about how the journey inward is to be taken. He is certain that it needs to be a road to silence, a paring away of irrelevant dailiness and irrelevant speech. His spirituality is apophatic, averse to language and drawn to the direct experience of the presence of God. The words “center” and “core” recur again and again. Describing the Catholic ceremonies of his youth, he writes that “somehow in the centre of it, there was a sense that life had another element… It was a wordless centre” (p. 12). Of his time among Quakers, Dunne reports that “it seemed that the very core of religious belief did not lie in … arguments but in what happened when I sat in silence at such meetings” (p. 30). Standing near the Blessed Sacrament at a Mount Melleray retreat, he reports “in the presence of the Eucharist, I felt in touch with a core of sacredness” (p. 59). Of monastic life, he observes, “monks do not escape the world but face it at its very centre which lies at the core of
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each person’s life” (p. 61). In France, in a “worn church by the Seine” he learns “that prayer is not simply a matter of words but it is often wordless, gathering an accretion of quiet as it deepens and grows. I learned that I could keep this core of silence in my life just as this [monastic] order keeps it within the heart of Paris” (p. 69).
29 Whether or not Dunne intended it, it is hard for readers acquainted with Irish poetry to not hear, in his quest for interiority, resonances of Yeats’s phrase “the deep heart’s core” from “The Lake Isle of Inisfree”. When Dunne speaks of the spiritually nurturing sound of flowing water, as an aid to contemplation, “one of those sounds that inhabits silence without destroying it“ (p. 51), we recognize a clear suggestion of Yeats’s line in the same poem, “I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore”.
30 Silence, for Dunne, leads to an experience of connectedness to the whole of creation: not to a sudden understandings, as in a Joycean epiphany, but rather, to an experience of primordial, unmediated awareness. These moments exist outside language; indeed, Dunne is mindful of the irony that he is a man of words, who at some serious level distrusts words, and believes that “Eloquence can hide more than it reveals” (p. 55). He writes that, “In a world wary of transcendence and religious meaning, the language used to express such experiences has either been trivialised or deadened” (p. 21). Later, he notes that “In religion, as in politics, there is a jargon to which my ears have been closed for many years. I found that I lacked the words for religious experience, and that the experience was more real than the language in which it is conventionally expressed” (p. 70). In the end, Dunne’s deeply intuited spiritual epistemology could hardly be more different from that of Yeats: the elder poet may have glimpsed something elemental in the deep heart’s core, but he quickly turned his back on it and went on to construct a fabulously complicated superstructure in words. Dunne, in contrast, rejects such accretions and stays with that core.
31 That core will have to be enough; we will never know what sort of memoirs Sean Dunne might subsequently have written, had he lived. The monastery, he says, “became a quiet haven to which I frequently retreated” (p. 65), but his writing life was tragically cut short.
32 It may be that the solace Dunne found in silence would, in time, have led him to undertake a more syncretic volume, one in which the centripetal tendencies of his spiritual life more specifically balances, and enters into dialogue with his life in the world. He suggests that such a move was underway in the book’s closing paragraphs; there, he writes of his pursuit of silence in many different places and among many different groups, that his journey has been “a pilgrimage along a path that, like Basho’s road to the far north of Japan, leads to a greater unity between what I am and what I do” (p. 79). Whatever shape the never-to-be written books might have taken, it seems certain that the silence that Dunne discovered at Mt. Melleray and elsewhere would remain, as his close friend and fellow poet Thomas McCarthy has written, his “enabling myth19”.
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NOTES
1. See especially David J. Leigh, Circuitous Journeys: Modern Spiritual Autobiography, New York, Fordham University Press, 2000. Leigh’s theorizing of the genre of spiritual autobiography is, to my mind, definitive. Other recent works on the topic include Wesley A. Kort, Textual Intimacy: Autobiography and Religious Identities, Charlottesville, University of Virginia Press,2012; John D. Barbour, Versions of Deconversion: Autobiography and the Loss of Faith, Charlottesville, University of Virginia Press,1994; and John Neary, Shadows and Illumination: Literature as Spiritual Journey, Eastbourne, Sussex Academic Press, 2011. 2. Spiritual autobiography is no longer “ghettoized” in religious publishing houses. Recent memoiristic religious books that have crossed into mainstream publishing success and become bestsellers include Kathleen Norris, Dakota: A Spiritual Geography, New York, Houghton Mifflin, 2001; Tony Hendra, Fr. Joe: The Man Who Saved My Soul, New York, Random House, 2004; and Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat Pray Love, New York, Penguin, 2006. For an example of a religious autobiography that became a bestseller, it would still be hard to top Thomas Merton’s The Seven Storey Mountain (1948), which after an initial print run of only 7,500, sold 600,000 copies in its first year, and millions more since. 3. Seán Dunne, The Road to Silence: An Irish Spiritual Odyssey, Dublin, New Island Books, 1994, p. 7. Subsequent page citations are given parenthetically in the text. 4. See, for instance, Patricia Hampl, “The Invention of Autobiography: Augustine’s Confessions”, in I Could Tell You Stories: Sojourns in the Land of Memory, New York, W.W, Norton, 1999, p. 166-183; Phillip Cary, Augustine's Invention of the Inner Self: The Legacy of a Christian Platonist, New York and Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2000. 5. Saint Augustine, Confessions, transl. Henry Chadwick, Oxford and New York, Oxford University Press, p. 57. 6. Janet Varner Gunn Autobiography: Toward a Poetics of Experience, Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982, p. 5. 7. To be accurate, Augustine’s famous phrase in Book IX of Confessions refers to the work of a rhetorician, not a journalist. 8. The generally disappointing quality of journalists’ autobiographies – often the result of an intentional absence of interiority – is discussed by Dennis Russell in “The Journalistic Autobiography: How Reporters View Themselves and Order Their Experience”, Studies in Popular Culture, volume 18, number 1, p. 83-92. Nevertheless, being a journalist is hardly an impediment to writing a spiritual autobiography: Dorothy Day, Thomas Merton, and Gandhi all worked as reporters. It is surely notable that two of the most admired spiritual autobiographers of modern Britain, Malcolm Muggeridge and Tony Hendra, were not just editors but editors of irreverent humor magazines, Punch and National Lampoon, respectively. A recent Irish example of a journalist turned spiritual autobiographer is the controversial and often pugnacious John Waters, Lapsed Agnostic, London, Continuum, 2007. 9. Janet Malcolm, “Thoughts on Autobiography from an Abandoned Autobiography”, New York Review of Books blog, March 25, 2010, available at http://www.nybooks.com/
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blogs/nyrblog/2010/mar/25/thoughts-on-autobiography-from-an-abandoned/ (accessed 31 January 2014). 10. It is worth remarking, too, that, apart from the dedication to his partner Trish Edelstein, one could read The Road to Silence and never know that Dunne was in a long- term relationship and had a family of four. Then again, we never learn the name of the woman who was Augustine’s mistress and the mother of his son either. 11. Seán Dunne, In My Father’s House, Dublin, Anna Livia Press, 1991, p. 118. 12. Frank O’Connor, An Only Child, New York, Alfred A. Knopf, 1961, p. 180. 13. Leigh, Circuitous Journeys, p 5. 14. Augustine, too, wrote in a period of enormous social change – the era of late antiquity, which witnessed the final collapse of Rome. 15. Louise Fuller, Irish Catholicism Since 1950: The Undoing of a Culture, Dublin, Gill and Macmillan, 2002. Other important studies of the changed religious environment in Ireland are Tom Inglis, Moral Monopoly: The Catholic Church in Modern Irish Society, Dublin, Gill and Macmillan, 1987; Mary Kenny, Goodbye to Catholic Ireland, Dublin, New Island Books, 1997; and J. H. Whyte, Church and State in Modern Ireland, 1923-1979, Dublin, Gill and Macmillan, 1980. 16. Leigh, Circuitous Journeys, p. 2-3. 17. Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity, Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 1989, p. 132. 18. Andrew J. Auge, A Chastened Comnmunion: Modern Irish Poetry and Catholicism, Syracuse, Syracuse University Press, 2013, p. 220. 19. Thomas McCarthy, “Seán Dunne, Poet and Friend, 1956-1995” in Gardens of Remembrance, Dublin, New Island Books, 1998, p. 176.
ABSTRACTS
In many ways, The Road to Silence, the slim second volume of autobiography by the Cork-based poet Seán Dunne, conforms to the “circular” pattern of spiritual biography as theorized by David Leigh and other critics. This article argues that this is one of several ways that Dunne’s memoir can profitably be read as an intertext with Augustine’s Confessions. However, Dunne’s book differs markedly from many of the conventions of both classic and contemporary spiritual autobiographies. Prominent among these differences are its brevity; its dispassionate tone; and the manner in which it scrupulously maintains a distinction between the author’s interior life and his life in the world.
The Road to Silence, le mince second volume autobiographique du poète résidant à Cork, Seán Dunne, se conforme de bien des manières au schéma « circulaire » de la biographie spirituelle telle que théorisée par David Leigh et autres critiques. Cet article défend ainsi l’idée que l’une des multiples façons de lire les mémoires de Dunne est de le faire en perspective intertextuelle avec Les Confessions de saint Augustin. Cependant, le livre de Dunne prend nettement ses distances vis à
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vis de multiples conventions du genre autobiographique à la fois classique et contemporain. Il se distingue en particulier par sa brièveté, son ton dénué d’émotion et la manière dont il établit scrupuleusement une distinction entre la vie intérieure de l’auteur et sa vie dans le monde.
INDEX
Mots-clés: Dunne Seán , poésie, spiritualité, autobiographie Keywords: Dunne Seán , poetry, spirituality, autobiography
AUTHOR
JAMES S. ROGERS University of St Thomas, St Paul (MN)
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“An Art that Knows its Mind”: Prayer, Poetry and Post-Catholic Identity in Seamus Heaney’s “Squarings”
Eugene O’Brien
Let us maintain that philosophy and poetry together indicate something they name with this word prayer. Let us also maintain that what they mean to designate with this word is a modality of language, whose property is to exceed the resources, possibilities, and horizons of both poetry and philosophy1.
1 In this conflation of philosophy, poetry and prayer, Jean-Luc Nancy, provides an intellectual framework through which Seamus Heaney’s “Squarings” sequence from his 1991 collection Seeing Things can be productively examined. In this sequence he speaks of the “virtue of an art that knows its mind2”, and this overdetermined phrase encapsulates the value of the sequence: it attempts to know the mind, in both its immanent and transcendent aspects, through the art of poetry. Heaney is writing in this sequence about issues of the spirit, of the numinous and of the search for transcendence. The poems have what one could term a religious subtext and yet, they are not religious – in terms of Nancy’s triadic formulation, they are more poetry and philosophy than prayer. And yet, I would argue that they are prayer as well, but a prayer transformed – almost a new form of secular prayer which acknowledges that which is beyond the range of human experience but which does so on its own terms, without any overt reference to the rules and precepts of the Roman Catholic Church. And those rules and precepts are very much part of Seamus Heaney’s mentalité.
2 He was born and brought up a Catholic, and went to a Catholic boarding school, Saint Columb’s in Derry. He lived during a period of rapid change in Ireland, politically, economically and religiously. The Ireland into which he was born was hegemonically Roman Catholic, but over the last years of the 20th century, all of this changed: From being a model of orthodoxy, a society where the various institutions of the State were strongly influenced by Catholicism, where loyalty to Rome or deference to the dictates of bishops informed the behaviour of people in their public and
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private lives, Irish society reached the stage where religion was relegated to a private, personal concern. In addition, because of the clerical abuse scandals and the mismanagement of same by the Catholic hierarchy in the 1990s, the Church lost its moral standing, with the result that a strong advocate for the poor and marginalized was no longer capable of making its voice heard to the extent that it might have done in the past3.
3 The above summary by Eamon Maher provides an accurate account of the way in which the Catholic Church has declined in power and influence over the last number of years. It is a truism that as Ireland became wealthier, religion decreased in systemic importance. There is a strong sense that “life in Ireland is no longer directed by religious values, and that the Irish Church is losing its power over the people’s hearts and minds4”. The process of secularisation which had been a feature of Western European, post-Enlightenment experience, had belatedly begun to take root in Ireland. Charles Taylor, who has written at length about secularization, describes this process in general terms. He sees the major influence of secularisation as being on public spaces which have been “emptied of God, or of any reference to ultimate reality”, because the various spheres of activity within which people operate, such as “economic, political, cultural, educational, professional, recreational”, do not refer overtly to God. This is in striking contrast to earlier periods in society, when Christian faith “laid down authoritative prescriptions, often through the mouths of the clergy, which could not be easily ignored in any of these domains, such as the ban on usury, or the obligation to enforce orthodoxy5”.
4 In an Irish context, this process was both belated and accelerated. Tom Inglis has traced the Irish experience, and noted that Ireland “was gradually transformed into a culture of self-realization and indulgence through a decline of the Catholic Church and the religious field, and their replacement by the media and the market6”. Inglis encapsulate this process in terms of Celtic Tiger Ireland having moved from “Catholic capitalism to consumer capitalism7”. Given Ireland’s entry into the European Union, it would seem that secularization would have developed in Ireland in tandem with the pattern elsewhere in Europe, but the pace of that process was accelerated by revelations surrounding Bishop Eamon Casey and Fr. Michael Cleary in the early 1990s, when it was revealed that each had a son out of wedlock (with Cleary rumoured to have also fathered a second son). Much worse was to come in the exposure of clerical abuse scandals contained in the Ferns Report8, the Ryan Report9, the Murphy Report10 and the Cloyne Report11, which revealed an institutional mindset that bears all the hallmarks of “groupthink”.
5 In Ireland, like the USA and the rest of the world, the response of the institutional church to the scandal of clerical paedophilia has been one of avoidance and denial. Rather than looking at the impact on victims, and on people of faith, the systemic church has closed ranks: “it serves the interests of a clerical culture too well12”, and the result has been a loss of faith in the church, a decline in attendance at mass and religious services, and an ongoing sense of church embattlement in the Irish public sphere. What is interesting in the context of this article is that the work of Seamus Heaney has been written in the shade of this process of secularization, and the discovery of church scandals. This is the environment within which he worked and lived, as he explained to Rand Brandes in 1988: “I believe the condition into which I was born and into which my generation in Ireland was born involved the moment of transition from sacred to profane13.” Interestingly, like Taylor, Heaney associates this
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process with space, both public and intellectual, stressing that his experience of the process was of moving from a condition where “the space of the world had a determined meaning and a sacred possibility”, to a condition where “space was a neuter geometrical disposition without any emotional or inherited meaning14”. He began with a strong grounding in the Catholic tradition “in my youth I was oversupplied” with religion15, and he told Frank Kinahan that the “specifically Irish Catholic blueprint that was laid down when I was growing up has been laid there forever16”. In this sense, Heaney is a synecdoche of the effect of this process of secularization, and of the changed reaction to the church as an influence on the lived life, and in this article, I will examine how he coped with this in his writing, especially in his “Squarings” sequence from Seeing Things.
6 The first point to note is that Catholicism still retains a strong hold in the Irish imagination. Despite the distrust of the church, there is still that groundwork of which Heaney spoke which has not been eroded or swept away: While enjoying the nominal allegiance of the people, the Irish Church has been forced to redefine its role as the country’s primary moral, political, and social force. In addition to the challenge posed by the modernized Irish state, the Church is also being transformed by confronting its past, specifically the sex abuse scandals perpetrated by Irish clergy in Church-operated schools, orphanages, and hospitals, some dating back a half century or more. Though still a force of consequence in Irish society, it has been difficult for a hierarchical, tradition-bound, and once supremely powerful Irish Church to adapt17.
7 One of the most thought-provoking things about religion that has been lost in all of the murky details of abuse and cover up, and in an increasing sense of drift in term of its societal influence, is the idea of spirit. If religion can be said to have a core area of interest, it is surely in the area of spirit, that sense of the more than mortal that is seen as being intrinsic to our human being. The search for, and the voicing of, the transcendent is a part of religion that has been very much lost in all of the wrangling over abuse, monetary recompense, and the attenuation of the church’s systemic power over areas of social policy such as health and education, and also the ongoing, but increasingly lost, cause of attempting to retain control over women’s sexuality.
8 However, as suggested by the opening quotation from Nancy, issues of spirituality, transcendence and the numinous are far more prevalent in the related discourses of poetry and philosophy. Given that there is now contestation, as opposed to unqualified acceptance, with regards to the pre-existence of an afterlife or spirit world, debate on the very nature of transcendence has become a feature of intellectual and aesthetic discourse. Slavoj Žižek focused on this in a discussion of Christ’s words on the cross by asking “When Christ says ‘My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?’ is he bluffing or not?”, and he goes on to explain that if the question is not rhetorical but serious, then “the implication is extremely radical18”. The radical nature of this comes from the fact that in the Christian religion, Jesus is not a representative of God but rather: “He is God. This means that God is radically split. A part of God doesn’t know what God is doing. There is a kind of inconsistency in divinity itself, which is I think the crucial insight of Christianity19.” Žižek feels that the image of Christ in a moment of doubt about his own relation to transcendence is what is most radical about Christianity, but systemic religion has attenuated this radical insight about the paradoxical, aporetic, transient and problematic nature of our connection with the numinous and transcendent. Thus a systemic religion which offers the regularity of access to the
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transcendent at the consecration of the mass every single Sunday, is far removed from the radical doubt that Žižek sees as embodied in Christ’s last cry.
9 So, in an Ireland where such systematic religion is already under severe scrutiny, it makes sense that the more cryptic and sporadic insights of poetry may be the discourse best-equipped to deal with this, because it is the discourse where thinking can go beyond its normal boundary: “the thinking essence of poetry and the poeticizing essence of thought20”. Poetized thinking allows for a different perspective on the immanent so that glimpses of the transcendent can be captured. As Maurice Blanchot avers “in imaginary space things are transformed into that which cannot be grasped. Out of use, beyond wear, they are not in our possession but are the movement of dispossession which releases us both from them and from ourselves21”. Seamus Heaney shares this perspective in seeing poetry as accessing the beyond: “a good poem allows you to have your feet on the ground and your head in the air simultaneously22”. Heaney’s sense of the emotional and intellectual heritage of Catholicism is generally speaking a positive one: “Catholicism gives you a set of precision instruments”; and he goes on to say that while a novelist might seem overwhelmed by the “authoritarian” or “repressive” nature of the worldview, for a lyric poet it offered a lot of possibilities. It allowed one to see: the whole cosmos ashimmer with God and to know you, a pinpoint of plasma, are part of It, He, whatever. There is a sense every volition that passes through you is registered. That you are accountable. That every action and secret thought is known out there on the rim of eternity. It’s a wonderful thing. It’s good for a young poet to have that sense of owning the whole space, the whole time, and being owned by it23.
10 Henry Hart suggests that “poetry replaces religion” in some of Seamus Heaney’s work, and that “Heaney demystifies the divine Word by transforming it into the poetic word24 ”, and I think he is correct in this, as much of Heaney’s work attempts to locate the numinous and the spirit in words and in things. In Heaney’s work, place and the locale are the keys to a major aspect of his poetic force. In “Gifts of Rain”, he speaks of “bedding the locale in the utterance25”, and in this phrase, one can see how the early certainties of a predefined and religiously-contextualised space becomes deconstructed. In “Squarings”, the focus is more on the utterance as something which is material, in the letters and words of language, but which is also numinous in terms of concepts, ideas and imaginings. These cannot be traced back to referents in the real worlds because, like images of justice, love and God, they transcend our lived- experience by having a share in the beyond of that experience, even though they ultimately derive from that experience. Richard Kearney has made the telling point about Heaney’s middle work (and I would contend that this is even more true of his later work), that this work, far from being a poetics of dwelling, is in fact one “of perpetual detour26”, because his poems are “not in fact primarily about place at all; they are about transit27”, and this sense of dialectical movement is made overt in “Squarings”.
11 Heaney’s earlier comment about the newly open nature of space is one which he addresses in “Squarings”. In this sequence, each poem has the same shape: all are twelve lines long and divided into four verses of three lines each, a form which recalls the Dantean terza rima, without its interlinked rhyme scheme. The poems are written in a loose form of iambic pentameter:
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There are four shorter sequences within the larger one: “Lightenings”, “Settings”, “Crossings”, and the concluding sequence “Squarings” itself. Each of these contains twelve poems: so that the shape of the sequence as a whole is a kind of geometrical “squaring”: 4 x 12 x 1228.
12 Hence, fluidity of structure and transformative perspectives are central to this sequence, as both structurally and thematically, it embodies the notion of a field of force as envisaged by Heaney. Tobin suggests that the ethical function of such a sequence is clear from its insistence that “the created order of any world exists meaningfully only in relation to the world of the other29”, and it is this ongoing interfusion of differences that is at the core of this sequence, and indeed, of much of Heaney’s later work. These poems are an example of his ability to “to dwell between the nitty-gritty and the visionary30”, and that is what “Squarings” does. He writes about things and how they become more than things, by gesturing towards the transcendent and numinous that is to be found in the world. The poems trace a dialectic between the immanent and the transcendent, and are full of openings to the sky and to the air as ways of voicing that which is part of our diurnal experience, but at the same time, also beyond it.
13 Keeping in mind Žižek’s comments about the crucifixion as a crucial site of the immanence/transcendence aporia, it is surely significant that the opening section of “Squarings” concludes with a poem based on the crucifixion itself. The poem sets out to explain one of the meanings of the title of the section “Lightenings”. Having dwelt on the senses of “alleviation / illumination” that are the normal meanings, he goes on to speak of a specific one: A phenomenal instant when the spirit flares With pure exhilaration before death – The good thief in us harking to the promise31!
14 Here the moment, or what he terms the “phenomenal instant” of transcendence, is embodied in the final word complete with exclamation mark (a grammatical signifier that is only used four times in “Squarings” and thirteen times in Seeing Things as a whole), and it is the promise which translates, and I use the word deliberately in its etymological sense of “carrying across”, the agony into a form of ecstasy for the thief. The poem apostrophises the reader to “paint him at Christ’s right hand”, and the use of art as a medium for the transcendent is clear in this ekphrastic imperative, as the word-painting is to capture the pain of a man who, while “scanning empty space”, is so: body-racked he seems Untranslatable into the bliss Ached for at the moon-rim of his forehead, By nail-craters on the dark side of his brain: This day thou shalt be with Me in Paradise [italics original]32.
15 Here we are at the moment of which Žižek spoke – the moment where man and God meet in most unusual and singular circumstances, circumstances which are always in doubt, and never guaranteed. In the midst of pain and suffering and death, there is the promise, the avenir, the “to come”, that sense of the beyond which is momentarily accessible, and which makes the present bearable because of the hope for the future beyond it. “Squarings” will focus on such moments, on such “phenomenal instant[s] when the spirit flares”.
16 Heaney has spoken of his sense of the poems being written quickly and easily, saying that what he loved about the poems was “the old sense of a sprint”, and the “air of
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devil-may-careness, abandon, a certain hurtle33”. The sequence has a source in the death of Heaney’s parents, his father dying from cancer while his mother had a stroke. The whole family were gathered around the bedsides, and the experience allowed him to “use words like soul and spirit”, words which he “had become unduly shy of, a literary shyness, I suppose34”. When asked by Dennis O’Driscoll if “Squarings” was related to his Catholic belief, Heaney’s response was “undoubtedly35”, but it is a Catholicism that has been filtered through his poetic thinking, which allows it to “exceed the resources, possibilities, and horizons” of this discourse. The opening poem of the sequence makes this clear: And after the commanded journey, what? Nothing magnificent, nothing unknown. A gazing out from far away, alone. And it is not particular at all, Just old truth dawning: there is no next-time-round. Unroofed scope. Knowledge-freshening wind36.
17 Here there is a flatly secular statement that there is “no next-time round”, that the conventional idea of an afterlife is not open to the speaker of the poem, and that this realisation is an “old truth”. One could see these lines as a poetic restatement of his earlier comments about the differences between his childhood sense of a predetermined space and the more neuter spatial construction of his adult life. Here, the “knowledge-freshening wind” is the significant signpost, as in an “unroofed” mental space, where the old dispensation no longer holds away, it is up to the individual to plot his or her own path to transcendence. Like Žižek’s idea of a God in self-doubt, so the poet here is making his way through such self-doubt in a radical way. An interchange with O’Driscoll about this very poem makes this clear: O’Driscoll: Even if the very first poem is firm in its conviction that there is no afterlife? Heaney: But it’s also firmly grounded in a sensation of “scope”, of a human relation to the “shifting brilliancies” and the roaming “cloud-life”. It’s still susceptible to the numinous37.
18 The focus is on the human and his/her search for the numinous as opposed to the human as following a pre-ordained, systemic set of rules: a type of religious snakes and ladders game where there are clear signs on the road. In Heaney’s thinking, this is not the case.
19 There is an original religious impact, in the sense of seeking the transcendent, in these poems, an impact that can be traced back to the Christian idea that in the person of Jesus, the immanent is the gateway to the transcendent; in Catholic communion: “God did not only make himself flesh for us once, every day he makes himself matter in order to give himself to man and to be consumed by him38.” The human body, and the things associated with that body, are seen as gateways or doorways to the transcendent. As Jean-Luc Nancy puts it: “open and exposed, fragile and vulnerable, body and its fleshly mantle of skin grant space to what remains avenir”, and this perspective is one shared by Heaney in “Squarings”, as both writers see in the body and in the immanent, what Nancy terms “the infinity proper to finitude” [italics original]39. The human experience of being-in-the-world, the Dasein as Martin Heidegger would have it, is a liminal one where there is access to the question of the transcendent. This idea of the body as a form of border or threshold is one which Heaney shares with Derrida, who has noted that we “have to cross the border but not to destroy the border40”, and for him, as for Heaney, language and translation of a particular type is crucial in this
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crossing of borders of all sorts. He speaks of a “procession of one language into another”, and the resulting movement of this procession “over the border of another language, into the language of the other41”.
20 In the second poem of his “Lightenings” sequence, Heaney makes this very clear. He is speaking about shelter and the making of a solid shelter: “Roof it again. Batten down. Dig in” and the minimalistic, and largely monosyllabic, instructions in the imperative mood stress the basic and almost elemental nature of this shelter which is being constructed: “Touch the cross-beam, drive iron in a wall42.” Significantly in this solidly constructed and carefully-drawn (“verify the plumb […] Take squarings from the recessed gable”), Heaney stresses the need to “Relocate the bedrock in the threshold43”. This is highly significant because the centre of the home, for Heaney, is based in the doorway which is the point of access and egress to and from the home. For Heaney, like Derrida, the border is the signifier of the bounds of one’s own identity, as well as the point of contact with the other, who may develop and change that identity, and this is an idea that is shared with Heidegger, who also speaks of its symbolic importance: “The threshold is the ground-beam that bears the doorway as a whole. It sustains the middle in which the two, the outside and the inside, penetrate each other. The threshold bears the between44.” For Heidegger, within the present is always located conditions of possibility, of a beyond of that present: “it is primarily Being-possible. Dasein is in every case what it can be, and in the way in which it is its possibility45”, and for him, the possibility is always more important than just the existence: “higher than actuality stands possibility46”, a possibility which is a form of transcendence of that present. For Heidegger, our being in the world is about attempting to access and actualise this sense of possibility by looking for a “passage across47” between the two, and he sees art and poetry as core forms of this crossing.
21 Similarly, in Seeing Things, “borders are there to be crossed rather than to be contested48”, and this crossing is very much part of the process: “you are neither here nor there,/A hurry through which known and strange things pass49”. It is as if gusts of transcendence can appear in an immanence that is open to them. As Heaney puts it: “We go beyond our normal cognitive bounds and sense a new element where we are not alien but liberated50.” This limit does not, according to Giorgio Agamben, open on to another determinate space: “the outside is not another space that resides beyond a determinate space, but rather, it is the passage, the exteriority that gives it access51”. Poetry is just such a passage. It is a “point of contact with an external space that must remain empty52”, and for both Agamben and Heaney, it is the emptiness of the space that is important, as the interaction of points of contact, and the summoning and summoning and releasing process will animate the space, so that new that new layers and levels of meaning may be created through the crossing and re-crossing of this space.
22 This is very much the case in “Lightenings i”, where the door is very much standing open, and new ideas and sensations are flowing in and out through it: Shifting brilliancies. Then winter light In a doorway, and on the stone doorstep A beggar shivering in silhouette53.
23 The shifting light, a revealing light, in the doorway is a portal to a new knowledge: “Unroofed scope. Knowledge-freshening wind54”. As well as the light on the doorstep, the structure of the house is unroofed and so is open to the sky, and what this brings to
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mind is a sense of the immediacy and the mortality of life. This is something which we rationally and cognitively know, but which attains a deeper truth when it becomes felt, when the “bastion of sensation” has been secured55. Heaney tells of how the term lightening can mean the “flaring of the spirit before death”, but also notes the attendant meanings “of being unburdened and being illuminated56”, and it is this sense of light, and openness and air that is used to symbolise the transcendent in these poems. In the absence of the pre-defined sacred, they offer a threshold where the numinous can be accessed. In the un-predetermined space of a secularized Ireland, this threshold or border in these poems offers access to some form of the spirit. This comes through a different view of things, a perspective which allows for the religious to be seen in them. Thus thresholds, doors and beggars can provide access to a form of the spirit in these secular prayer-poems.
24 The style of these poems is paratactic in that there are few subordinated clauses or sentences. Instead, they are connected by “and” or by a comma. As a stylistic device, parataxis pervades the sequence as a whole as each poem is connected to the next one through the number at the top with no title or with no subordinated or embedded structures. The reader moves from one poem to the other, and from one verse and sentence to the other, by traversing this gap between them: Paratax thus connotes the abyss of Not-Being which opens between phrases, it stresses the surprise that something begins when what is said is said. And is the conjunction that most allows the constitutive discontinuity (or oblivion) of time to threaten, while defying it through its equally constitutive continuity (or retention)57.
25 Thematically, the form fits with the dialectic from the immanent to gusts of the transcendent which pervade the sequence. Images of process and movement are omnipresent, as the speaker of the poems attempts to access the space wherein may be found those glimmerings of transcendence.
26 The sequence is full of those moments of attention to process and movement which can defamiliarise the quotidian so fully that it become the stuff of vision and change. In the opening section, “Lightenings”, he speaks of “Shifting brilliancies58”; of “Test-outs and pull-backs, re-envisagings59”, of the “music of the arbitrary60”; of Thomas Hardy’s imagining “himself a ghost”, and of how he “circulated with that new perspective61”. He poses the question, redolent of so much of this sequence, about whether one could “reconcile/What was diaphanous there with what was massive62?”
27 The second section, “Settings” is equally full of such defamiliarising visions of the ordinary, expressed in terms of process, journey and dialectic: […] whatever was in store Witnessed itself already taking place In a time marked by assent and by hiatus63.
28 This encompassing poetic continues: “I stood in the door, unseen and blazed upon64”, stresses his ability to inhabit different aspects of an opposition through the process of moving freely between them. In an homage to Yeats’s “What Then”, he poses the core question: “Where does spirit live? Inside or outside/Things remembered, made things, things unmade65?”, while the second section concludes with a poem that harks back to “Lovers on Aran” in Death of a Naturalist, where “Sea broke on land to full identity66”, as he writes of “Air and Ocean” as “antecedents” of each other”, going on to define this relationship as “omnipresence” and “equilibrium67”. The connections between the spirit and things is one already signalled by Blanchot, who sees poetry as the space
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where things become seen in their numinous aspect as things are transformed into “that which cannot be grasped”.
29 In “Crossings”, the third section, this theme of process and dialectic is further developed, as “Everything flows68”, and moments of clarity are found wherein a “pitch” is reached beyond “our usual hold upon ourselves69”. He talks of a “music of binding and of loosing70”, and exemplifies this through speaking of “a meaning made of trees./ Or not exactly trees71”, while in the final section, he invokes poems by “the sage Han Shan”, who is able to write about a place “Cold Mountain”, and refer, at the same time to: …a place that can also mean A state of mind. Or different states of mind At different times72.
30 Here place and mind are interfused, and the connection is made strongly that our sense of place is always motivated by language and by ideology and that an openness to difference is possibly the first stage in accessing the numinous. Thus “All these things entered you/As if they were both the door and what came through it73”, demonstrates how a thing can become a portal or a mode of access, and other things, sounds made in the world, can also be a point of access to forms of existence beyond that world: Was music once a proof of God’s existence? As long as it admits things beyond measure, That supposition stands74.
31 Thus “things” become “no-things” as they offer us a sense of the “beyond measure”, and this is achieved through sensation and feeling as much as through rational thinking. Here we are at the core of a poetized form of thinking as it is a mode of thought which includes sensation, feeling and the unconscious. Heaney’s use of words like “sensing” and “feeling” are significant here.
32 Throughout the sequence, he speaks about the significance of feelings, about securing “the bastion of sensation75”, and about being aware of the “presence you sensed withdrawing first time round76”. He speaks of how, having fired a .22 rifle, he now had a “whole new quickened sense of what rifle meant77”, suggesting that an achieved knowledge needs to be felt as well as being a matter of intellection. In this sequence, sensation and feeling are modes of access to the processes and glimmerings of the numinous “a sense/Of running through and under without let”78. A receptivity to these processes is what is being voiced in these poems “life all trace and skim … sensitive to the millionth of a flicker79”. Just as the good thief needed to be alert to the promise of transcendence, so “Squarings” urges us to be equally alert to possibilities in the everyday world. Thus, sitting on the basalt throne of “the ‘wishing chair’ at Giant’s causeway” (an area of some 40,000 basalt columns occurring naturally in County Antrim, in Northern Ireland): “The small of your back made very solid sense80.” It is from this solidity of sense, just as it was from the very physical pain suffered by the good thief, that access to the transcendent becomes available, as the wishing chair was seen to be “freshening your outlook/Beyond the range you thought you’d settled for81”. The senses, our way of interacting with the things of the world, are central as modes of access to pathways of knowledge beyond that world: Strange how things in the offing, once they’re sensed, Convert to things foreknown; And how what's come upon is manifest Only in light of what has been gone through82.
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33 In his valuation of the senses and sensation as modes of knowledge, Heaney is echoing the thinking of Martin Heidegger. In speaking about reality and the “thing”, Heidegger notes that feeling must be taken as part of the equation if we are to come to any complete assessment of reality: But in defining the nature of the thing, what is the use of a feeling, however certain, if thought alone has the right to speak here? Perhaps however what we call feeling or mood, here and in similar instances, is more reasonable – that is, more intelligently perceptive – because more open to Being than all that reason which, having meanwhile become ratio, was misinterpreted as being rational83.
34 For Heidegger, thought must be accompanied by feeling, and language must express both if there is to be any real expression of the reality in which we live. Thought and feeling, very like Heaney’s view of technique as the “whole creative effort of the mind’s and body’s resources” needed to “bring the meaning of experience within the jurisdiction of form84”, are fused together, and for Heidegger, poetic language is the vehicle through which this can be achieved. “Squarings” makes this clear: “Where does spirit live? Inside or outside/Things remembered, made things, things unmade85?” This is reminiscent of Blanchot’s ideas about things becoming “out of use” and “beyond wear”, and Nancy’s ideas of exceeding “the resources, possibilities, and horizons of both poetry and philosophy”.
35 Philosophically expressed, all poetry is idealistic, at least in ambition. But the materia poetica, the raw stuff out of which poetry makes its radiant atmospheres, is the real, real particulars, actual stuff, the incorrigible plurality of things. Poetry is the imagination touching reality: Poetry allows us to see things as they are. It lets us see particulars being various. But, and this is its peculiarity, poetry lets us see things as they are anew, under a new aspect, transfigured, subject to a felt variation. The poet sings a song that is both beyond us yet ourselves. Things change when the poet sings them, but they are still our things: recognizable, common, near, low. We hear the poet sing and press back against the pressure of reality86.
36 It is language that steadies the poet in ‘Crossings xxxii’: “It steadies me to tell these things87.” In all of these examples, we see language taking the things of the world and endowing them with different connotations of spirit. The things now become more- than-things in their telling – they have been dematerialised in language, but in a special poetised language which offers a transcendental perspective on them; it allows us to see the thingness of things. Heaney’s poems are very much secular prayers, taking into account poetry and philosophy in their context. They are pathways and border- crossings from this word to the beyond of this world: “Running and readying and letting go/Into a sheerness that was its own reward88”; the “Ultimate/Fathomableness” of water and the “ultimate/Stony up – againstness89” of the rock of the quarry where the scene is set. A question is asked: “Were you equal to or were you opposite/To build- ups so promiscuous and weightless90?”, and the answer is both and neither, as physical and material blend and fuse into each other. In a similar manner, he wonders if: the original Of a ripple that would travel eighty years Outward from there, to be the same ripple Inside him at its last circumference91.
37 The final poem which I will examine can be seen as a synecdoche of the sequence as a whole. Heaney has said that one could think of “every poem in ‘Squarings’ as the peg at
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the end of a tent-rope reaching up into the airy structure, but still with purchase on something earthier and more obscure92”. In “Lightenings viii”, he recalls a story from the annals of the monks of Clonmacnoise telling how, as they were at prayer, saw a ship appearing above them, whose anchor was “hooked … into the altar rails”. One of the sailors tried to come down a rope to release it but in vain. The abbot realised the “This man can’t bear our life here and will drown”: So They did, the freed ship sailed, and the man climbed back Out of the marvellous as he had known it93.
38 Here, in parvo, is the thrust of the mixture of prayer, poetry and philosophy that is “Squarings”. The transcendent is that which is beyond our normative perspective – for the sailors, it is the world of the monks; for the monks it is the world of the sailors. Heaney sees this poem in particular, which represents the sequence as a whole, as embodying the notion that “for your wholeness you need to inhabit both worlds”, and he goes on to explain that by this he means being “quite close to the two places at the one time, on the ground with the fatherly earthiness, but also keeping your mind open and being able to go up with the kite, on the magic carpet too, and live in the world of fantasy94”.
39 The transcendent is available to us in our everyday life, Heaney avers. By looking for glimpses, glimmerings, sightings, feelings and sensings, shards of the numinous in the ordinary world, Heaney offers insights into our life that are not readily available. In a country where the systemic and organised church rituals no longer seem to have traction with people, these poems, fusing as they do prayer, poetry and philosophy, offer a possible supplement in terms of accessing the transcendent. I would finish as I began, with Nancy, who has suggested that: Elevation is transcendence. Prayer does not rise toward a height, an altitude, or toward a summit (sovereign, ens summum), but is transcendence, or (and this is less noted) the very act of transcending. It is passing-to-the-outside, and passing-to-the- other95.
40 In an art that knows its mind, “Squarings” is just this – an enunciation of aspects of the transcendent which is achieved through poetic thinking and a language that is alert to the different forms of “knowing” involved – a knowledge of the senses and of emotions. It is a language of flux which access the beyond by squinting “out from a skylight of the world”96 to achieve a new perspective, a transcendent one.
NOTES
1. Jean-Luc Nancy, Dis-enclosure: The Deconstruction of Christianity, New York, Fordham, University Press, 2008, p. 130. 2. Seamus Heaney, Seeing Things, 1991, p. 97. 3. Eamon Maher, “Crisis, what Crisis? The Catholic Church during the Celtic Tiger Years”, in Eamon Maher & Eugene O’Brien (eds), From Prosperity to Austerity: A Socio-
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Cultural Critique of the Celtic Tiger and its Aftermath, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2014, p. 19-31, p. 20. 4. William Crotty, “The Catholic Church in Ireland and Northern Ireland: Nationalism, Identity, and Opposition”, in Paul Christopher Manuel, Lawrence C. Reardon & Clyde Wilcox (eds.), The Catholic Church and the Nation-State: Comparative Perspectives, Washington, D.C., Georgetown University Press. 2006, p. 117-130, p. 121. 5. Charles Taylor, A Secular Age, Cambridge, Massachusetts, Harvard University Press, 2007, p. 2. 6. Tom Inglis, Global Ireland: Same Difference. London, Routledge, 2008, p. 79. 7. Inglis, GlobalIreland, p. 256. 8. Francis D. Murphy, Dr Helen Buckley, and Dr Laraine Joyce, The Ferns Report presented by the Ferns Inquiry to the Minister for Health and Children, 2005. 9. Sean Ryan, Commission to Inquire into Child Abuse report. Vol. I, Artane, Letterfrack, Tralee, Carriglea, Glin, Salthill, Cabra, Daingean, Marlborough House. Dublin, Stationery Office, 2009. 10. Yvonne Murphy, Commission of Investigation: Report into the Catholic Archdiocese of Dublin, July 2009. Part 1. Dublin:, Stationery Office, 2009. 11. Yvonne Murphy, Ita Mangan & Hugh O’Neill, Commission of Investigation Report in the Diocese of Cloyne, Dublin: House of the Oireachtas, retrieved from http:// debates.oireachtas.ie/dail/2011/07/20/00013.asp#N17, 2010. Accessed on March 25th 2014 12. Thomas P. Doyle, T. P. (2007). “Clericalism and Catholic Clergy Sexual Abuse”, in Mary Gail Frawley-O’Dea, Virginia Goldner (eds.), Predatory Priests, Silenced Victims: The Sexual Abuse Crisis and the Catholic Church p. 147-162, Mahwah, N.J., Analytic Press, 2007, 153. 13. Rand Brandes, “An Interview with Seamus Heaney”, Salmagundi, 80, 1988, p. 4-21, p. 6. 14. Ibid. p. 6. 15. Seamus Heaney & Dennis O’Driscoll, Stepping Stones: Interviews with Seamus Heaney. London, Faber, 2008, p. 318. 16. Frank Kinahan, “An Interview with Seamus Heaney”, Critical Inquiry, 8 (3) (Spring), 1982, p. 405-414, p. 408. 17. Crotty, “Catholic Church in Ireland”, p. 120. 18. Slavoj Žižek, “Meditation on Michelangelo's Christ on the Cross”, in John Milbank, Slavoj Žižek, Creston Davis (eds.), Paul's New Moment: Continental Philosophy and the Future of Christian Theology, Grand Rapids, Michigan, Brazos Press, 2010, p. 169-181, p. 174. 19. Ibid. p. 175. 20. Giorgio Agamben, The End of the Poem: Studies in Poetics, trans. Daniel Heller-Roazen, Stanford, California, Stanford University Press, 1999, p. 33. 21. Maurice Blanchot, The Space of Literature, trans. Ann Smock, Lincoln, University of Nebraska Press, 1982, p. 131. 22. Seamus Heaney, Finders Keepers: Selected Prose 1971-2001, London, Faber, 2002, p. 48-49. 23. Nigel Farndale, “Interview with Seamus Heaney”, Sunday Telegraph, April 1, 2001, p. 20-25, p. 24.
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24. Henry Hart, Seamus Heaney, Poet of Contrary Progressions, Syracuse, New York, Syracuse University Press, 1992, p. 4. 25. Seamus Heaney, Wintering Out, London, Faber, 1972, p. 35. 26. Richard Kearney, Transitions: Narratives in Modern Irish Culture, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 1988, p. 112. 27. Ibid. p. 102. 28. Neil Corcoran, The Poetry of Seamus Heaney: A Critical Study, London, Faber, 1998, p. 174. 29. Daniel Tobin, Passage to the Center: Imagination and the Sacred in the Poetry of Seamus Heaney, Lexington, University Press of Kentucky, 1998, p. 258. 30. Mike Murphy, “Seamus Heaney: interview by Mike Murphy”, in Clíodhna Ní Anluain (ed), Reading the Future: Irish Writers in Conversation, Dublin, Lilliput Press, 2000, p. 81-98, p. 91. 31. Heaney, Seeing Things, p. 66. 32. Ibid. p. 66. 33. Henri Cole, “The Art of Poetry No. 75 Interview with Seamus Heaney”, The Paris Review, 144, 1997, p. 89-138, p. 107. 34. Ibid. p. 109. 35. Heaney, Stepping Stones, p. 319 36. Heaney, Seeing Things, p. 55 37. Heaney, Stepping Stones, p. 319. 38. Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace, trans. Emma Crawford and Mario von der Ruhr, London, Routledge, 2002, p. 34. 39. Jean-Luc Nancy, Corpus, trans. Richard Rand, New York, Fordham University Press, 2008, p. 122. 40. Jacques Derrida, “On Responsibility: interview with Jonathan Dronsfield, Nick Midgley and Adrian Wilding”, in Jonathan Dronsfield & Nick Midgley (eds.), Responsibilities of Deconstruction: PLI--Warwick Journal of Philosophy, vol. 6, 1997, p. 19-36, p. 33. 41. Jacques Derrida, “Living on: Borderlines”, in Harold Bloom, Paul de Man, Jacques Derrida, Geoffrey Hartman, J. Hillis Miller (eds.), Deconstruction and Criticism, New York, Continuum Press, 1987, p. 75-176, p. 77. 42. Heaney, Seeing Things, p. 56. 43. Ibid. p. 56. 44. Martin Heidegger, Poetry, Language, Thought, trans. Albert Hofstadter, New York, Harper & Row, 1971, p. 201. 45. Martin Heidegger, Being and Time, trans. Joan Stambaugh, Albany, State University of New York Press, 1996, p. 183. 46. Ibid. p. 63. 47. Ibid. p. 167. 48. Heaney, Finders Keepers, p. 56. 49. Seamus Heaney, The Spirit Level, London, Faber, 1996, p. 70.
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50. Seamus Heaney, Among Schoolchildren: A Lecture Dedicated to the Memory of John Malone, Belfast:, John Malone Memorial Committee, 1983, p. 16. 51. Giorgio Agamben, The Coming Community, trans. Michael Hardt, Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 1983, p. 66. 52. Ibid., p. 63. 53. Heaney, Seeing Things, p. 55. 54. Ibid., p. 55. 55. Ibid., p. 56. 56. Heaney, Stepping Stones, p. 321. 57. Jean-François Lyotard, The Differend: Phrases in Dispute, trans. Georges Van Den Abbeele, Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 1988, p. 66. 58. Heaney, Seeing Things, p. 55. 59. Ibid. p. 57. 60. Ibid., p. 59. 61. Ibid., p. 61. 62. Ibid., p. 64. 63. Ibid., p. 70. 64. Ibid., p. 71. 65. Ibid., p. 78. 66. Seamus Heaney, Death of a Naturalist, London, Faber, 1966, p. 47. 67. Heaney, Seeing Things, p. 80. 68. Ibid., p. 85. 69. Ibid., p. 86. 70. Ibid., p. 87. 71. Ibid., p. 98. 72. Ibid., p. 97. 73. Ibid., p. 9. 74. Ibid., p. 106. 75. Ibid., p. 51. 76. Ibid., p. 69. 77. Ibid., p. 77. 78. Ibid., p. 89. 79. Ibid., p. 89. 80. Ibid., p. 99. 81. Ibid., p. 99. 82. Ibid., p. 108. 83. Heidegger, Poetry, Language, Thought, p. 24-25. 84. Seamus Heaney, Preoccupations: Selected Prose, 1968-1978, London, Faber, 1980, p. 47. 85. Heaney, Seeing Things, p. 77.
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86. Simon Critchley, Things Merely Are: Philosophy in the Poetry of Wallace Stevens, London, Routledge, 2005, p. 11. 87. Heaney, Seeing Things, p. 90. 88. Ibid., p. 86. 89. Ibid., p. 64. 90. Ibid., p. 64. 91. Ibid., p. 60 92. Heaney, Stepping Stones, p. 320. 93. Heaney, Seeing Things, p. 62. 94. Murphy, “Interview with Seamus Heaney”, p. 90. 95. Nancy, Dis-enclosure, p. 138 96. Heaney, Seeing Things, p. 57.
ABSTRACTS
Seamus Heaney’s “Squarings” sequence from his 1991 collection Seeing Things speaks of the “virtue of an art that knows its mind”. This sequence attempts to know the mind in both its immanent and transcendent aspects, through the art of poetry. Heaney is writing in this sequence about issues of the spirit, about the numinous and the search for transcendence. The poems have what one could term a religious subtext and yet they are not religious – in terms of Jean-Luc Nancy’s triadic formulation, they are more poetry and philosophy than prayer. And yet this article argues that they are prayer as well, but a prayer transformed – almost a new form of secular prayer which acknowledges that which is beyond the range of human experience but which does so on its own terms, without any overt reference to the rules and precepts of the Roman Catholic Church, but which channels religious symbolism as a type of cultural unconscious throughout the sequence.
La série de poèmes intitulée « Squarings » de Seamus Heaney, tirée de son recueil Seeing Things, parle de « la vertu d’un art qui connaît son esprit ». Cette série tente de découvrir l’esprit à la fois dans ses aspects immanents et transcendants par l’intermédiaire de l’art de la poésie. Dans cette série, Heaney écrit sur des questions relatives à l’esprit, sur le numineux et de la quête de transcendance. Les poèmes ont ce que l’on pourrait appeler une dimension religieuse sous- jacente et pourtant ils ne sont pas religieux. Si l’on reprend la formulation triadique de Jean-Luc Nancy, ils tiennent davantage de la poésie et de la philosophie que de la prière. Et pourtant cet article défend l’idée qu’ils sont également prière, mais une prière transformée – presque une nouvelle forme de prière séculière, qui reconnaît ce qui existe au-delà de l’expérience humaine, mais qui le fait à sa manière, sans aucune référence explicite aux règles et préceptes de l’Eglise catholique romaine, en véhiculant le symbolisme religieux comme une sorte d’insconscient culturel tout au long de la série de poèmes.
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INDEX
Mots-clés: poésie, Heaney Seamus, spiritualité Keywords: poetry, Heaney Seamus, spirituality
AUTHOR
EUGENE O’BRIEN Mary Immaculate College, University of Limerick
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De quelques religions/religiosités en progression Examples of growing religions/religiosities
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From Irish Exceptionalism to European Normality?: The New Islamic Presence in the Republic of Ireland
Oliver Scharbrodt
1 Scholarship on the experiences of Muslim immigration to smaller countries at the geographical margins of Europe suggests that the dynamics that have become paradigmatic to Western European countries which have received the bulk of post- World War II Muslim immigration are only relevant to a limited extent. As patterns of immigration have differed, issues around the continuous socio-economic marginalisation of Muslim migrant communities in their new host societies, fear of an increasing Islamisation of the public sphere, the securitisation of Islam post-9/11 and public debates about the place of Muslims in Europe’s liberal democracies have not gained the same degree of prominence in Ireland. It appears that the integration of Muslims in the Republic of Ireland has been a success story, a notion that is reiterated by representatives of major Muslim organisations, Christian churches, the media, Irish politicians and in academic scholarship to some extent as well1.
2 Certain factors create different dynamics in discussions of the place of Islam in Ireland: Ireland is the only postcolonial country in Western Europe; religion in the form of the Catholic Church has played a significant role in the construction of Irish nationalism and exercised immense social power in the past; a process of secularisation only began in the 1970s; Ireland’s experience of multiculturalism is very recent, only beginning in the early 1990s with the economic boom leading to mass immigration to Ireland and a rapid increase of the Muslim population. As a result of these particular historical experiences, a discourse of “Irish exceptionalism” has emerged to suggest the exceptional position of Ireland within Western Europe. This discourse of exceptionalism also becomes apparent in questions of the integration of migrants in general and Muslims in particular, proposing a smoother path of integration for Muslim migrants compared to other Western European countries.
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3 The Muslim population has grown from around from around 4,000 in the early 1990s to almost 50,000 according to the 2011 Census. The rapid growth of the Muslim population is illustrative of the socio-cultural changes of Irish society in the aftermath of the Celtic Tiger Years (1995-2008) which turned Ireland from a country of emigration to one of immigration and transformed Ireland from a fairly homogeneous society to one that is marked by a high degree of cultural and religious diversity which challenges the traditional bi-sectarian lens of Irish religious history2. Apart from providing an overview of Muslim immigration to the Republic of Ireland in the last 20 years, the paper critically engages with the discourse of Irish exceptionalism and discusses how Ireland’s experience of colonialism shapes current discourses on the new Islamic presence in the Republic of Ireland.
The Discourse of Irish Exceptionalism
4 Nations are “imagined communities3” whose collective identities are products of discourses that are constructed, imagined and conveyed through narratives of national culture: “People are not only legal citizens of a nation; they participate in the idea of the nation as represented in its national culture. A nation is a symbolic community4”. This process of national identity construction utilises notions of “national uniqueness5” which differentiates a nation from other nations and creates a sense of homogeneity to transcend intra-national differences and diversity. Such a relational approach to national identification processes contains the demarcation from Others that are identified as different and distinct from the nation. Anna Triandafyllidou introduces the concept of the “Significant Other” which “refers to another nation or ethnic group that is usually territorially close to, or indeed within, the national community. Significant Others are characterized by their peculiar relationship to the in-group: they represent what the in-group is not6”. In contemporary Europe, immigrant communities and Muslim immigrants in particular have become the “Significant Other” of European societies threatening assumptions of ethnic, cultural and national homogeneity by their racial and cultural differences.
5 In the Irish context, Britain as Ireland’s former colonial power has historically been its external “Significant Other”. Postcolonial national identity discourses have created dichotomies between Britishness and Irishness in order to recover a sense of pre- colonial “authentic” Irish identity that was lost or destroyed by British cultural penetration. Protestants and Travellers have been construed as internal “Significant Others” in Ireland. Protestants have been associated with Britishness and hence religio- culturally different and Travellers have been seen as a social group whose non- sedentary life-style and assumed ethnic difference threatens mainstream definitions of Irish identity. While Protestants have managed to thrive in “a cultural ghetto7” because of their socio-economic status, Travellers have experienced significant discrimination and immense cultural and socio-economic marginalisation8.
6 Ireland’s unique position as Western Europe’s only postcolonial nation has also contributed to a sense of national uniqueness, referred to as Irish exceptionalism. It denotes the idea that Ireland is an anomaly among the nation-states of Western Europe, an anomaly that became manifest in economic underdevelopment, the highest emigration rates in the European Economic Community, confessional underpinnings of the island’s different national identities, a long and protracted history of ethno-
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religious conflict in Northern Ireland and the strong social power of the Catholic Church over public morality and clerical interventions in education and health. However, in the early 21st century, Ireland does not appear to be that exceptional any more. The Celtic Tiger economic boom countered the historical narrative of Ireland’s economic underdevelopment and turned Ireland from a country of emigration to one of immigration. Continuing and accelerating the trend that began in the 1970s, the increasing globalisation of the Irish economy and society, economic development and the revelation of clerical abuse scandals undermined the socio-cultural standing of the Catholic Church and its sway over public morality and resulted in the liberalisation of private morality and legislative changes which permit divorce or same sex marriages. The Good Friday Agreement of 1998 saw the end of the military conflict in Northern Ireland and the formation of a power-sharing government between Protestants and Catholics9.
7 Recent scholarship has questioned the notion of Ireland as an exception in Western Europe. Revisionist approaches to Irish history during British rule have problematised or rejected the discourse of colonial victimisation and argued that the notion of exceptionalism has been used to amplify and to internalise cultural, religious and political differences between Ireland and Britain in order to construe a postcolonial national identity. The questioning of Irish exceptionalism has gained further momentum in social science research on the socio-cultural transformation following the economic boom of the 1990s10.
8 However, it appears that there still exists one area in which Ireland is exceptional. Representatives of Muslim organisations in Ireland emphasise the good cooperation between them and the Irish government and emphasise the general respect shown in Ireland for religion which has helped Muslims to seek accommodation for their cultural and religious needs in a much easier fashion compared to the rest of Europe: Leaders of the small but growing Muslim community also speak warmly of their good relations with the Irish state and public, emphasising their preference for the respect paid to religion in Ireland compared to the secular atmosphere of a country like Great Britain11.
9 The contrast created in this statement between “religious Ireland” and “secular Britain” is a striking observation, echoing notions of Irish exceptionalism and the dichotomisation between Irish and British socio-cultural identities. In the following discussion, the new Islamic presence is connected with the notion of Irish exceptionalism. After providing an overview of Muslim immigration to the Republic of Ireland from the mid-1990s, discursive spaces of Islam in Ireland in light of the country’s own postcoloniality and national identity construction will be examined.
Muslim Immigration in the Celtic Tiger Years
10 It has become a common to mark the early to mid 1990s as a major watershed period in Irish economic development and consequent migration patterns12. The rapid increase of the Muslim population within the last 20 years is a striking example of the major socio-economic and cultural transformations in Ireland following the Celtic Tiger Years. The Muslim population has grown substantially and also diversified ethnically and socio-economically with high numbers of labour migrants, refugees and asylum seekers13. The census data of the last four censuses, in which a question on religions
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have been included (1991, 2001, 2006, 2011), illustrates the massive increase of the Muslim population in Ireland similar to the increase of other faith communities comprised of migrants. While in the 1991 census 3,875 residents of the Republic of Ireland identified themselves as Muslims, the number increased to 49,204 in 2011 rising from 0.1% of the entire population to 1.1%14.
Table 1: Census data of selected religions 1991-2011
Percentage change
Religion 1991 2002 2006 2011 2006-11
Roman Catholic 3,228,327 3,462,606 3,881,446 3,861,335 4.9
Church of Ireland 89,187 115,611 125,585 129,039 8.6
Muslim 3,875 19,147 32,539 49,204 51.2
Orthodox 358 10,437 20,798 45,223 117.4
Apostolic/ 285 3,152 8,116 14,043 73.0 Pentecostal
Buddhist 986 3,894 6,516 8,703 33.6
Hindu 953 3,099 6,082 10,688 75.5
Source: CSO15
11 Muslim migration to Ireland has been extremely diverse without any particular ethnic or cultural group being predominant. The census data also suggests a socio-economic gap within the overall Muslim population which is linked to patterns of Muslim settlement in Ireland post-WWII. Sustained Muslim settlement from the 1950s until the early 1990s was made up primarily of students who came for higher education and then stayed, or those wishing to set up businesses. Thus, they had solid educational and professional backgrounds. A significant proportion of Muslims are highly qualified, possess tertiary educational degrees and work as educated professionals on higher salary scales. Ireland’s economic boom since the 1990s has diversified the face of Muslim immigration. Growing numbers of Muslim asylum seekers have also arrived from Nigeria, Algeria, Libya, Sudan, Somalia and Iraq, as well as large numbers of economic migrants from across the world16.
The New Islamic Presence and Irish National Identity Discourses
12 The historical memory of British colonialism in the construction of Irish nationalism and an independent Irish nation-state is present, for example, in the annual
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commemoration of the Easter Uprising of 1916, museums documenting the Great Famine of 1845-1852, events and exhibitions on Irish emigration in the 19th and early 20th century as a result of economic deprivation during British colonial rule. Such events have become markers of the postcolonial memory reflecting the degree of repression by British colonial rule and the hardship of the Irish struggle for independence. This postcolonial historical memory is often used to suggest commonalities with African and Asian countries in the shared historical experience of colonial subjugation by British and European imperialism. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Irish nationalists were part of a global network of anti-colonial activists including Egyptian, Indian and Iranian nationalists17 – connections that buttress Irish postcolonial credentials. The young Irish republic exhibited a strong “Third-World” orientation being involved in anti-apartheid initiatives in the South African context and exhibiting a strong pro-Palestinian stance18.
13 As a consequence, the historical complexities shaping the relationship of Muslims to wider society in countries such as Britain or France based on their colonial past are not present. On the contrary, it appears that Ireland’s postcoloniality aligns it with other former colonies in Africa and Asia and separates it from the imperialist history of the rest of Europe. Interviews with representatives of Muslim organisations have highlighted a historical experience of colonial subjugation shared between Muslims and Irish: “What the Irish experienced by the British is much worse than what we Muslims experienced during colonialism19.” The choice to launch the European version of the Hijabi Monologues, an American theatre project that brings stories of Muslim women on stage, in Ireland was based on the argument “that Ireland is uniquely positioned to host the European premiere – unlike the historical relationships European Muslim minorities have had with other EU nations and colonialism, Ireland does not have the same history with its Muslim communities and new immigrants20”.
14 Analogies are also drawn between nationalist aspirations in other countries and the Irish struggle for independence. In an opinion piece, written by the clerical leader of the Iraqi Shii community in Ireland, to justify the American invasion of Iraq and the toppling of Saddam Hussein in 2003, a historical parallel is created between the aspirations of the Iraqi people and the struggle for Irish independence in the early twentieth century: “Iraqis today want what the Irish wanted in 1922: to live in peace, to rule ourselves, to raise our children according to the traditions of our religious faith and to be free of foreign oppressors21.” The overall pro-Palestinian stance of the Irish government is presented as constituting a different relationship between the Irish state and society and Muslims. As a major cause for global Muslim grievance, Muslims find in the Irish an ally supporting their cause, as they are perceived as “‘almost unique’…in the West in their sympathy with the Palestinians22”.
15 In light of European debates around the place of the Islamic headscarf in the public sphere and legislation in some European countries to ban it from public schools, one contribution creates a causal connection between Irish colonial experience and a different attitude of Irish society towards other cultures. The article argues that current negative views on Muslim minorities in Europe and their construction as Europe’s internal “Significant Other” have their roots in historical notions of European cultural superiority which shaped the continent’s encounter with other cultures in the colonial age and served as a rationale to legitimise European imperialism. However, Ireland as Western Europe’s only postcolonial nation is unique in this regard:
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Ireland is exceptional among the EU member states because for centuries it experienced colonialism from the perspective of the colonised. While this history remains tragic, today it gives the country a unique position in Europe. Not only could this experience help Ireland to accommodate the growing cultural diversity in its own society; it also enables the country to play a leading role in redefining the European stance towards other cultures23.
16 This line of argumentation connects Irish exceptionality with a European mission; Ireland not only is better prepared to cope with its new internal diversity, it should also lead the rest of Europe towards embracing a different attitude towards the cultures and societies of formerly colonised nations.
17 These discursive references to Ireland’s colonial past suggest “that there is a huge amount of historical and traditional commonalities between Muslim immigrants and the Irish natives24”. In addition, with the increasing importance of commemorating the Great Famine of 1845-52, efforts have been made to connect this paradigmatic tragedy of colonial Ireland with Muslim relief efforts at that time. Apart from Queen Victoria and some native American tribes, the Ottoman Sultan ‘Abdül-Mecid I (1823-61) donated £1,000 (after being dissuaded by Queen Victoria from donating more) and secretly sent three or five ships with food aid to Ireland which could unload at the port of Drogheda in 184725. In several Muslim web blogs, this episode is seen as an example of “Turkish- Irish friendship26”, showing “how Muslims helped Ireland during the Great Famine27” and explaining why “the Irish people, especially those in Drogheda, are friendly to the Turks28”. To honour the contribution of the Ottoman Sultan, the football club Drogheda F.C. apparently adopted the star and crescent as part of its coat of arms29.
18 These historical dynamics in relation to the Irish colonial experience appear to open up opportunities for a different rapport between Irish society and Muslim migrants. The discourses brought forward serve different purposes; they suggest a special rapport between the Irish and Muslims, facilitating an easier integration and acceptance of Muslims in Irish society because historical colonial barriers and their postcolonial continuities between Muslim migrants and their European host societies do not exist30. Muslims cannot be construed as the “Significant Other” of Irish national identity, because both groups share too much in common to be opposed to each other. In addition, Ireland’s postcolonial credentials, its tradition of neutrality and military non- intervention and pro-Palestinian stance provide little opportunity for young Muslims to be antagonised to the Irish state and to be lured by radical Islamic discourse31. This explains the weak securitisation of Muslims in Ireland as compared to other Western European countries32 The recently discovered anecdote of Turkish relief aid during the Irish famine – though not entirely factual – is supposed to create a space for Muslims in the Irish postcolonial memory of the Great Famine.
19 However, the postcolonial memory of victimisation and nationalist struggle of Ireland obscures the actual complicity of certain segments of Irish society in British imperialist endeavours. A more balanced reading of Ireland’s postcoloniality needs to pay attention to the ambivalent position of Ireland in the British Empire: “Given that the colonial moment was, and the imperial moment is, determinative of the cultural and political identities of twentieth-century peoples, Ireland is doubly hybrid, subject and object of the process33.” The supporters of Home Rule in the late 19th century, for example, did not refer to Ireland as a colony but pointed at the Irish contribution to the imperial project in order to justify Home Rule. Many Home Rule MPs were personally involved in colonies with various business interests and not opposed to British
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imperialism outside of Europe as such. While they denounced British colonial excesses in Africa and Asia, they also considered Canada or Australia as examples of how autonomy can be achieved within the Empire34. The racialisation of anti-colonial discourse also becomes evident in notions that the very whiteness of the Irish is the reason why they should be independent35.
20 Irish anti-colonial struggle is therefore marked by a particular ambivalence. On the one hand, it is based on an anti-British and anti-imperialist ideology which shaped Irish national identity formation after independence and resulted in Ireland’s support for the anti-colonial struggles of African and Asian nations. On the other hand, it is also based on a mono-cultural understanding of Irish identity as defined by birth and ethnicity, Gaelic language and culture, Catholicism and the predominantly rural life of Ireland which need to be defended against foreign intrusion and cultural penetration36. While Ireland’s postcoloniality is used to suggest a more accommodating environment for Muslim migrants, the ambivalence of the Irish colonial experience can also result in a more defensive stance of an Irish society whose mono-cultural self-perception is increasingly challenged by mass immigration. The 2004 Citizenship Referendum gives an illustration of this protectionist element of Irish national identity.
21 Mass immigration to Ireland has led to an increasing visibility of racist attitudes in Irish society37. The inadequate regulation of immigration and the fairly easy access to Irish citizenship triggered the Irish Citizenship Referendum of 2004 in whose course public debates tapped into concerns about mass immigration, the dilution of Irish ethno-cultural homogeneity and the abuse of welfare benefits by immigrants and asylum seekers38. Prior to the 2004 referendum, three pathways existed to citizenship of the Republic of Ireland: Irish descent (through a grandparent), residence or birth. After 2004 only descent and residence have remained, based on the notion that birth on Irish soil alone does not warrant granting Irish citizenship but that those who obtain it need to a have a sufficient link with Ireland either by descent or residence. The legislation moved from ius solis to ius sanguinis as descendants of Irish living outside of Ireland receive preferential treatment when applying for Irish citizenship39. Racialised notions of Irishness were upheld by mainstream political parties with their own postcolonial historical baggage of fighting for the country and soil and defending it against foreign intrusion40.
22 Citizenship was also conceived in neo-liberal terms. The close monitoring of immigration was legitimised in terms of economic benefits and to prevent welfare fraud by immigrants and asylum seekers. Because of this neo-liberal migration regime, arguments of the pro-referendum campaign did not utilise notions of cultural foreignness to restrict access to citizenship but presented citizenship as a kind of commodity which rewards hardworking immigrants for their contributions to Irish society and economy. Hence, anti-immigration discourse did not pay much attention to the cultural and religious backgrounds of immigrants41. A real Islamophobic discourse did not emerge and was not picked up by any of the political party and in wider public discourse before the Citizenship Referendum and afterwards.
23 However, with the growing numbers of Muslims living in Ireland and their increased visibility in the public sphere, discourse have emerged that echo anti-Muslim sentiments across Europe. Representatives of Muslim organisations often refer to the Irish “respect for religion” as creating an environment that is more accommodating than the more secular societies of other Western European countries42. Reference is
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made to the unproblematic establishment of two publicly-funded, faith-based Muslim primary schools in Dublin which went ahead without any bureaucratic complications or public outcry43. Debates around the permissibility of the Islamic headscarf in public schools have not gained the prominence in Ireland as they have elsewhere in Europe. There is a sense that “a number of issues, e.g. food, prayer, hijab… are usually sorted out easily44” when Muslim pupils enter schools.
24 In 2008, Ireland experienced its own minor headscarf affair when the principal of a secondary school in Co. Wexford referred a Muslim parent’s enquiry whether his daughter was allowed to wear the headscarf to the Department of Education and Skills45. The guidelines provided by the Department remained rather vague leaving it up to individual schools to decide on which policy to adopt with regards to the hijab46. In the course of the public debate following this incident, the hijab was presented as “a symbol of repression and submission47”, as having “an element of male domination over females48”, as expressing “a refusal to integrate49” and as an example of “repressive minority customs50” a liberal democracy cannot accept. Ruairi Quinn, at that time Labour spokesperson for education and since 2011 Minister for Education and Skills, stated that the hijab conflicts with “the rules and regulations” of “a Western society that is Christian and secular51”, echoing similar discourses across Europe which see wearing the headscarf as a sign to assert Muslim identity and as a challenge to a secularised cultural Christian identity of Europe52.
25 While most Irish schools allow Muslim girls to wear the hijab, a recent case in which a Muslim girl was not allowed to wear it when enrolling at a secondary school in Dun Laoghaire53 illustrates the uncertainty around this issue and the prevalence of views that deem the hijab as having no place in Irish society. Instances have been reported of Muslim women who had to remove their headscarf when their photos were taken for residence permits that are issued by the Garda54. A Lithuanian Muslim convert, employed at Dunnes Stores, opened a case for unfair dismissal in 2012 as she was not permitted to wear hijab at work55. A recently concluded research project has found out that Muslim women in Ireland wearing the headscarf are more prone to be victims of anti-Muslim verbal and physical assaults than Muslim women who do no wear it or Muslim men whose religious identity is not openly displayed56.
26 There has been increasing opposition to mosques in Ireland, usually related to traffic and planning issues. In Cork, a new mosque on a busy road close to the city centre in 2013 faced opposition of residents in the neighbourhood who complained of traffic and noise disruptions and violations of the original planning permission57. Similar objections were also raised to a mosque in Galway which is currently under construction58. In the run up to granting planning permission for the large mosque complex planned in Clongriffin, North Dublin, a local politician opposed the size of the development, arguing it does not meet local development plans59. While such opposition to mosque projects was rare in Ireland in the past, with the growing number of mosques and their increasing visibility, public debates around mosque construction have risen, mirroring similar debates in other European countries. While disguised in bureaucratic jargon with references to planning permissions, noise and traffic etc., these debates reveal a growing unease with the increasing visibility of Islamic religious practices in the public sphere across Europe60.
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Conclusion
27 The racialisation of Irish national identity and citizenship which came to the fore during the Citizenship Referendum of 2004 is not just a by-product of the Celtic Tiger and a consequence of large-scale immigration but dates back to postcolonial ethno- national definitions of Irishness as based on descent, Catholicism and Gaelic culture which emerged in contradistinction to Britishness61. Muslim immigrants and converts pose a particular challenge to Irish national identity as standing outside of conventional definitions of Irishness because of their different race, culture and religion. Such racialised notions of Irish identity have become manifest in anti-Muslim racism which a recent research project has just begun to document62. Yet, in immigration debates in Ireland, Muslims have not emerged as Ireland’s internal “Significant Other”, contrary to discourses that have been observed in other Western European countries.
28 A recent Islamophobic letter campaign in whose course threatening letters were sent to Muslim communities, organisations and individuals63 illustrates the presence of anti- Muslim attitudes and their potential and actual violent expressions in Ireland. Emergent discourses around the headscarf, the construction of mosques and the overall place of Islam in Irish society give an indication that discourses around Ireland’s new Islamic presence are similarly framed and influenced by pan-European discourses and perceptions. In this sense, Ireland is moving from Irish exceptionalism to European normality in its discursive approaches to its new Islamic presence. Further complicating predicaments lie in the very late experience of cultural, ethnic and religious diversity in Irish society and a lacking state and public engagement with the issue of racism in general and as directed against Muslims in particular64. As Ireland has lost is exceptional status post-Celtic Tiger vis-à-vis Britain and the rest of Europe, it has become more prone to anti-Muslim discourses which locate Europe’s “Significant Other” within its growing Muslim population.
NOTES
1. See Kieran Flynn, “Understanding Islam in Ireland,” Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations, no. 17, 2006, p. 223-238; Tuula Sakaranaho, Religious Freedom, Multiculturalism, Islam: Cross-reading Finland and Ireland, Leiden, Brill, 2006. 2. Olivia Cosgrove at al. (eds.), Ireland’s New Religious Movements, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Cambridge Scholars Press, 2011, p. 1-4. 3. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, revised edition, London, Verso, 2006. 4. Stuart Hall, “The Question of Cultural Identity”, Stuart Hall at al. (eds.), Modernity: An Introduction to Modern Societies, Malden and Oxford, Blackwell, 1996, p. 612.
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5. Ruth Wodak, Rudolf de Cilia, Martin Reisigl, The Discursive Construction of National Identity, translated by Angelika Hirsch and Richard Mitten, Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 1999, p. 27. 6. Anna Triandafydillou, “Nations, Migrants and Transnational Identifications: An Interactive Approach to Nationalism”, Gerard Delanty and Krishan Kumar (eds.), The Sage Handbook of Nations and Nationalism, London, Sage, 2006, p. 286. 7. Richard Clarke, “On Doing Things Differently: A Church of Ireland Glance at the Past”, Dennis Carroll (ed.), Religion in Ireland: Past, Present and Future, Dublin, The Columba Press, 1999, p. 37 8. Nathalie Rougier and Iseult Honohan, “Ireland”, Ricard Zapata-Barrero and Anna Triandafyllidou (eds.), Addressing Tolerance and Diversity Discourses in Europe: A Comparative Overview of 16 European Countries, Barcelona, Barcelona Centre for International Affairs, 2012, p. 256-260. 9. Michael Cronin, “Small Worlds and Weak Ties: Ireland in the New Century”, Journal of Irish Studies, no. 22, 2007, p. 63-65. 10. Linda Connolly, “The Limits of ‘Irish Studies’: Historicism, Culturalism, Paternalism,” Irish Studies Review, no. 12, 2004, p. 139-162. 11. Kevin Boyle and Juliet Sheen, Freedom of Religion and Belief. A World Report, London & New York, Routledge, 1997, p. 348. 12. Piaras Mac Éinrí and Allen White, “Immigration into the Republic of Ireland: A Bibliography of Recent Research”, Irish Geography, no. 41, 2008, p. 151-179; Piaras Mac Éinrí, “Immigration: Labour Migrants, Asylum Seekers and Refugees”, Brendan Bartley et al. (eds.), Understanding Contemporary Ireland, London, Pluto Press, 2007, p. 236-239. 13. Oliver Scharbrodt, “Muslim Immigration to the Republic of Ireland: Trajectories and Dynamics since World War II”, Éire-Ireland: Journal of Irish Studies, no. 47, 2012, p. 221-243. 14. Central Statistics Office, Census 2011: Profile 7 – Religion, Ethnicity and Irish Travellers, Dublin, Central Statistics Office, 2012, p. 16. 15. Central Statistics Office, Census 1991: Vol. 5 Religion, Dublin, Central Statistics Office, 1995, p. 22. Central Statistics Office, Census 2006: Volume 13 – Religion, Cork, Central Statistics Office, 2007, p. 23. CSO, Census 2011: Profile 7, p. 48. 16. Oliver Scharbrodt, op. cit., p. 221-243. 17. Mansour Bonakdarian, “Erin and Iran Resurgent: Irish Nationalists and the Iranian Constitutional Revolution”, Houchang E. Chehabi and Vanessa Martin (eds.), Iran’s Constitutional Revolution: Popular Politics, Cultural Transformations and Transnational Connections, London, I.B. Tauris, 2010, p. 291-318; Rozina Visram, Ayahs, Lascars and Princes: Indians in Britain, 1700-1947, London, Pluto Press, 1986, p. 77-110. 18. Rory Miller, “The Politics of Trade and Diplomacy: Ireland’s Evolving Relationship with the Muslim Middle East”, Irish Studies in International Affairs, no. 15, 2004, p. 123-145. 19. Author’s interview with Yahya Al-Husayn, 10 June 2009. 20. Sahar Ullah, “Column: Muslim women face all kinds of assumptions. Let’s look behind the headscarves”, The Journal.ie, 25 March 2012, available at: http:// www.thejournal.ie/readme/column-muslim-women-face-all-kinds-of-assumptions-
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let%E2%80%99s-look-behind-the-headscarves-393986-Mar2012/#comments, accessed 26 February 2014. 21. Dr Ali Al Saleh, “What Future do Iraqis want?”, TheIrish Times, 18 March 2006, p. 15. 22. Andy Pollock, “‘Just another chapter of Muslim suffering’”, The Irish Times, 19 January 1991, p. 13. 23. Jakob de Roover, “No point in banning headscarves and turbans”, The Irish Times, 19 June 2008, p. 16. 24. Ali Selim, “Integration of Muslims in Ireland”, Spectrum, no. 9, July 2005, p. 28. 25. Antoinette Kelly, “New evidence shows Turkey delivered food to Ireland during the famine”, IrishCentral, 2 June 2012, available at: http://www.irishcentral.com/news/ new-evidence-shows-turkey-delivered-food-to-ireland-during-the- famine-156681255-237507681.html, accessed 26 February 2014; “The Great Irish Famine and Ottoman Humanitarian Aid to Ireland, The Pen, 30 December 2011, available at: http://www.thepenmagazine.net/the-great-irish-famine-and-the-ottoman- humanitarian-aid-to-ireland/, accessed 26 February 2014. 26. Jawad Yaqub, “How quickly we forget”, Razormind, 6 August 2013, available at: http://www.razormind.co.uk/how-quickly-we-forget-how-muslims-helped-ireland- during-the-great-famine/, accessed 26 February 2014. 27. Mehdi Islam, “How Muslim helped Ireland during the Great Famine”, archive:islam, 28 March 2013, available at: http://archiveislam.com/how-muslims-helped-ireland- during-the-great-famine.html, accessed 26 February 2014. 28. “How the Khilafah aided the Irish during the famine of 1845”, Khilafah.com: Building a global movement for Khilafah, 30 December 2007, available at: http:// www.khilafah.com/index.php/the-khilafah/non-muslims/1586-how-the-khilafah- aided-the-irish-during-the-famine-of-1845, accessed 26 February 2014. 29. The star and crescent as part of Drogheda’s coat of arms pre-date the famine going back to 1210. Ken Murray, “President tells Turks an anecdote of myth not fact”, The Irish Times, 25 March 2010, p. 11. 30. For a discussion of this continuity in the context of Britain, see Maleiha Malik, “Angare, the ‘Burning Embers’ of Muslim Political Resistance: Colonial and Post- colonial Regulation of Islam in Britain”, Marcel Maussen et al. (eds.), Colonial and Post- Colonial Governance of Islam: Continuities and Ruptures, Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press, 2011, p. 199-209. 31. Sardar Aziz, “No Identity Please: On Integration of Muslims in Ireland”, Irish Journal of Public Policy 4:1 (2012), available at: http://publish.ucc.ie/ijpp/2012/01/AzizSardar/ 05/en, accessed 26 February 2014. 32. Nathalie Rougier and Iseult Honohan, op. cit., p. 269. 33. James Livesey and Stuart Murray, “Review Article: Postcolonial Theory and Modern Irish Culture”, Irish Historical Studies, no. 30, May 1997, p. 461. 34. Pauline Collombier-Lakeman, “Ireland and the Empire: the Ambivalence of Irish Constitutional Nationalism”, Radical History Review, no. 104, Spring 2009, p. 57-76. 35. Piaras Mac Éinrí, “‘A Slice of Africa’. Whose Side Were We on? Ireland and the Anti- colonial Struggle?”, Alana Lentin and Ronit Lentin (eds.), Race and State, Newcastle- upon-Tyne, Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2006, p. 262-272. 36. Nathalie Rougier and Iseult Honohan, op. cit., p. 250-252.
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37. Steve Garner, “Ireland and Immigration: Explaining the Absence of a Far Right”, Patterns of Prejudice, no. 41, 2007, p.109-130. 38. Bernard Ryan, “The Celtic Cubs: The Controversy over Birthright Citizenship in Ireland”, European Journal of Migration and Law, no. 6, 2004, p. 173-193; Gerry Boucher, “The Entrenchment of Ireland’s Laissez-Faire Integration Policy”, Translocations: Migration and Social Change, no. 6, 2010, available at: http://www.translocations.ie/ v06i02.html, accessed 3 March 2014. 39. Steve Garner, op. cit., p. 124-126. 40. Ibid., p. 128-129. 41. John A. Harrington, “Citizenship and the Biopolitics of Post-Nationalist Ireland”, Journal of Law and Society, no. 32, September 2005, p. 447. 42. Tuula Sakaranaho, op. cit., p. 270-273 43. Tuula, Sakaranaho, “‘For God and Eternal Values’: Muslim National Schools in Ireland”, Ednan Aslan (ed.), Islamische Erziehung in Europa. Islamic Education in Europe, Vienna, Böhlau, 2009, p. 203-218. 44. Ali Selim, op. cit. 45. Stacey Scriver, “Ireland through the Veil: Gender, Autonomy and the Nation”, Gender, Empowerment and Globalisation Research Cluster, Working Paper no. 4, 2010, p. 1-31. 46. Claire Hogan, “Accommodating Islam in the Denominational Irish Education System: Religious Freedom and Education in the Republic of Ireland”, Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs, no. 31, December 2011, p. 556-557. 47. Martina Devlin, “If Muslim men like the veil so much, let them wear it”, Irish Independent, 22 May 2008, available at: http://www.independent.ie/opinion/ columnists/martina-devlin/if-muslim-men-like-the-veil-so-much-let-them-wear- it-26449388.html, accessed 3 March 2014. 48. Ruadhán Mac Cormaic, “Looking beyond the headscarf”, The Irish Times, 14 June 2008, p. 1. 49. Ibid. 50. Sinead Ryan, “An insult to our values”, Herald, 23 May 2008, available at: http:// www.herald.ie/opinion/columnists/sinead-ryan/an-insult-to-our- values-27874531.html, accessed 3 March 2014. 51. Patricia McDonagh, “Muslim anger at opposition calls for school ban on hijab”, Irish Independent, 2 June 2008, available at: http://www.independent.ie/irish-news/muslim- anger-at-opposition-calls-for-school-ban-on-hijab-26451464.html, accessed 3 March 2014. 52. Valérie Amiraux, “The Headscarf Question: What is Really the Issue?”, Samir Amghar et al. (eds.), European Islam: Challenges for Public Policy and Society, Brussels, Centre for European Policy Studies, 2007, p. 124-143. 53. Shaun Connolly, “Quinn refuses to intervene in veil ban”, Irish Examiner, 16 August 2013, available at: http://www.irishexaminer.com/ireland/quinn-refuses-to-intervene- in-veil-ban-240039.html, accessed 20 January 2014. 54. Mary Fitzgerald, “Muslims asked to remove headscarves for new garda card”, The Irish Times, 21 March 2012, p. 3.
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55. Georgina O’Halloran, “Dunnes told Muslim worker she couldn’t wear her hijab”, Irish Independent, 12 September 2012, available at: http://www.independent.ie/irish- news/dunnes-told-muslim-worker-she-couldnt-wear-her-hijab-26897009.html, accessed 20 January 2014. 56. James Carr and Amanda Haynes, “A Clash of Racialisations: the Policing of ‘Race’ and Anti-Muslim Racism in Ireland”, Critical Sociology, July 2013, as doi: 10.1177/0896920513492805. 57. Eoin English, “Planners in row over Cork city Islamic centre”, Irish Examiner, 18 September 2013, available at: http://www.irishexaminer.com/ireland/planners-in- row-over-cork-city-islamic-centre-243372.html, accessed 15 January 2014. 58. Enda Cunningham, “Planners say Muslim group misled them over numbers at Galway mosque”, Connacht Tribune, 19 August 2013, available at: http:// www.connachttribune.ie/galway-news/item/1115-planners-say-muslim-group-misled- them-over-numbers-at-galway-mosque, accessed 15 January 2014. 59. Colette Colfer, “Ireland’s largest mosque gets approval from An Bord Pleanála”, The Irish Times, 29 August 2013, available at: http://www.irishtimes.com/news/social- affairs/religion-and-beliefs/ireland-s-largest-mosque-gets-approval-from-an-bord- plean%C3%A1la-1.1509586, accessed 15 January 2014. 60. See special issue on “Mosque Conflicts in Europe”, Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, no. 31, 2005, p. 1015-1183. 61. Gavan Titley, “Everything Moves? Beyond Culture and Multiculturalism in Irish Public Discourse”, The Irish Review, no. 31, Spring – Summer 2004, p. 11-27. 62. James Carr and Amanda Haynes, op. cit. 63. Fiona Dillon and Tom Brady, ‘Muslims target in “Hate Mail” campaign’, Irish Independent, 26 November 2013, available at: http://www.independent.ie/irish-news/ muslims-targeted-in-hate-mail-campaign-29783626.html, accessed 13 January 2014. 64. James Carr and Amanda Haynes, op. cit.
ABSTRACTS
Due to its colonial past, Ireland has often been described as an exceptional state in Western Europe. The discourse of Irish exceptionalism also suggests a smoother path of integration for Muslim migrants compared to other Western European countries. Apart from providing an overview of Muslim immigration to the Republic of Ireland in the last 20 years, the paper critically engages with the discourse of Irish exceptionalism and discusses how Ireland’s experience of colonialism shapes current discourses on the new Islamic presence in the Republic of Ireland.
En raison de son passé colonial, l’Irlande a souvent été décrite comme un Etat exceptionnel en Europe occidentale. Le discours fondé sur l’idée d’une exception irlandaise suggère également une voie plus aisée d’intégration pour les migrants musulmans que dans les autres pays d’Europe
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de l’Ouest. En plus d’une vue d’ensemble de l’immigration musulmane en République d’Irlande au cours des vingt dernières années, cet article propose une analyse critique du discours exceptionnaliste et discute la manière dont l’expérience irlandaise du colonialisme modèle les discours contemporains sur la présence islamique nouvelle en République d’Irlande.
INDEX
Mots-clés: religion - Islam, Union Européenne / CEE, post-colonialisme, religion - pratiques religieuses, religion - pluralité, société et religion, immigration, État irlandais (République d’Irlande) Keywords: post-colonialism, religion - religious practice, religion - Islam, religious diversity, society and religion, Irish State (Republic of Ireland), immigration, European Union / EEC
AUTHOR
OLIVER SCHARBRODT University of Chester
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Buddhism in Ireland: The Inner Life of World-Systems
Laurence Cox
Introduction1
1 The encounter between Buddhism and Ireland has a long history. Roman imperial trade links brought a Sri Lankan Buddha statue to Co. Meath; patristic church scholarship brought some information about Bactrian Buddhism; while accounts of Alexander the Great’s encounter with Indian ascetics were available in medieval Ireland. Records of the thirteenth and fourteenth century Franciscan and Polo journeys through the kingdoms of the Khans were widely distributed in a variety of forms, while early modern travel narratives and those of sixteenth and seventeenth century Jesuit missionaries were even more extensively available. The reception history shows that a certain degree of awareness of Asian Buddhism has been present in Ireland for many centuries, in both Catholic and Protestant contexts, among clerics and in secular literature; by the early modern period, contemporary eyewitness accounts were available not only to the wealthy but also in pirated or serial editions, while the Alexander material in particular may have been used in hedge schools.
2 As British trade and colonisation penetrated Buddhist Asia from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, reaching its peak in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, ever-larger numbers of Irish people, Catholic as well as Protestant, came to have first-hand encounters with Buddhism: as sailors and merchants, soldiers and colonial officials, missionaries and scholars. Deepening levels of awareness were represented not only in Irish universities training future members of the Indian Civil Service and diplomatic corps, but also in art and literature, museum holdings, newspaper reports and popular culture from the names of racehorses to bestselling novels.
3 Two such novels, Kipling’s Kim and The road to Mandalay – the latter by Roscommon author Bithia Croker – show respectively an Irish soldier’s orphan becoming the disciple of a Tibetan lama and an Irish deserter becoming a Burmese monk; and in fact
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most publicly known Irish Buddhists in this period were to be found in Asia. These included John Bowles Daly (?1845-1914?), who organised lay, modernist Buddhist schooling in Ceylon in the early 1890s in competition with Christian missionary schools; the Japanese Buddhist initiate Capt. Charles Pfoundes (1840-1907), who set up the first Buddhist mission in the west (London, 1889-1922) before returning to Japan as a very public Buddhist; the atheist Buddhist monk U Dhammaloka (?Laurence Carroll, ? 1856-1913?) whose pan-Asian career of preaching, publishing, educating and organising was structured by opposition to a colonial enterprise identified with “the Bible, the Gatling gun and the whiskey bottle3”; and in a somewhat later period Lobsang Jivaka (Michael Dillon, 1915-1962), a pioneer transsexual and committed anti-racist who died in a Ladakhi monastery. Such figures were heavily involved in the Asian Buddhist revival, which paralleled Irish ethno-religious nationalism of the period, and often drew on their Irish perspectives to interpret colonial and religious politics in Asia.
4 The situation in Ireland was quite different. Although we have evidence of Irish people becoming Buddhist at home, between the first such figures (in the 1871 census) and newspaper appearances in 1971 and 1972, not a single Irish person so far as is known came fully “out of the closet” as Buddhist in a hundred years. In the sectarian Ireland of this period, the social and personal costs for doing so were evidently too high; it is also worth noting that much employment entailed religious requirements and that blasphemy legislation in these islands was successfully invoked as late as 1921, resulting in a sentence of nine months’ hard labour.
5 Ireland was not, of course, unique in this: the “race treason” involved in colonial Asia of crossing colour lines, dressing like a “native”, converting from a Christianity which increasingly legitimated empire, engaging in the ritual poverty and begging involved in becoming a Buddhist monk, and obedience to Asian hierarchies was a serious threat to the fragile claim to supremacy of a small number of whites and an empire which in much of Asia did not last a lifetime, and a very strong personality was clearly required to do so4.
6 Apart from Buddhist immigrants in Ireland5, early Irish Buddhists were almost inevitably converts from established religious denominations, and it is no surprise that their motivations involved a search for something they could not find within actually- existing Christianity. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, the evidence suggests that Buddhism was valued in particular for its overt pacifism and tolerance by contrast with the Irish history of wars of religion, persecution and sectarianism; its freedom from association with colonialism and the “spiritual imperialism” of the missionary enterprise; and for its perceived rationalism as a religion not requiring commitment to a belief in miraculous elements.
7 Converts thus contrasted the religion of their own upbringing with the progressive reform movements of the Buddhist Revival on ethical, political and intellectual grounds. By contrast, it is unlikely that meditation – today the defining feature of western Buddhism – was a significant concern for converts before the second half of the twentieth century. Put another way, since the primary meaning of religion in the Ireland of this period was a political and polemical one, it is unsurprising that converts shared this approach to religion even while making different choices in these terms; the association with ethno-religious anti-colonialism was another shared feature, and Irish Buddhists (like Irish colonial officials) read Asian realities through Irish spectacles, not always mistakenly.
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8 At home, if Theosophy in Britain or America served as a launching-pad for early convert Buddhism, this was not the case in Ireland. Irish Theosophy enabled participants from mostly Protestant backgrounds to find a new place to stand in the context of rising Catholic nationalism and imminent independence6: an interest in Celtic legend, peasant folklore and esoteric Christianity enabled a self-positioning as authentically Irish which has had a lasting impact on Irish religious culture. Today’s “Celtic Christianity” is in some ways a second-generation descendant of this position, as is the self-legitimation of some contemporary Catholic groups as local and indigenous, reviving the holy wells and pattern days that the late nineteenth century hierarchy sought to eradicate7. In India, Irish Theosophists like James and Margaret Cousins or the Irish-identifying Annie Besant took a Hindu orientation as part of the Indian nationalist movement, as did Margaret Noble (Sister Nivedita), albeit without passing through Theosophy to get there.
9 The first Buddhists in Ireland appear in census reports between 1871 and 1911 (after which “minor religions” were not reported in the census until 1991); in the publications of international Buddhist organisations such as the Maha Bodhi Society, the London- based Buddhist Society of Great Britain and Ireland and the San Francisco Buddhist mission; and in personal accounts. Mostly fragmentary, these accounts nevertheless show a continuous although small presence of Buddhism in Ireland from 1871 until Buddhists started to come “out of the closet” in the 1970s.
“An Irish Gael” and the years of silence
10 The best-attested Irish Buddhists of this period are those with access to the “intellectual means of production”, mostly professional writers or public figures. The historical record thus privileges educated groups and men. If figures like the ex-hobo monk U Dhammaloka, whose life I am currently researching8, enable us to redress the class balance to some extent, attention to the life of Vivian Butler Burke enable us to explore women’s experience. Dhammaloka as Catholic-born Buddhist and Butler Burke as Irish-American also help with the overrepresentation of Anglo-Irish figures in the written record.
11 In 1928 the Maha Bodhi Society’s British Buddhist published one of a series of pseudonymous articles by their members and correspondents about their route to Buddhism. This particular article, by “an Irish Gael”, thus offers a rare glimpse into the internal spiritual lives of Irish Buddhists of this period9. Starting “I was always an alien in my family and my race (I mean the European race)”, the piece discusses the “horrified” reactions of her parents at her childhood resistance to Christianity and refusal to conform. Like other “Irish Orientalists10”, she contrasted an (implicitly colonised) Celtic identity to a colonising, European one, laying the groundwork for an identification not only with colonised Asian cultures but also with “that other, freedom-loving, so-called Indian race of the west” (a few years later she made what was then an arduous journey to visit Navajo territory) – not a common analysis on the part of Irish-Americans of the period11.
12 Like AE a natural mystic, she had “an intense love and reverence for Nature, an absolute faith in a spiritual, unseen world, a sense of comradeship with the beings of that world, a sense of love and brotherhood with all Nature’s children, animals and birds and plants, and a feeling of love and thankfulness for all beauty12”. This was
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perhaps a family trait: her grandfather told her “tales of the Irish fairies he had known and played with as a child”13. Having as a child explored many varieties of unorthodox Christianity and Judaism and used museums to encounter Greek and Egyptian paganism, she eventually encountered Edwin Arnold’s best-selling The Light of Asia, a long Victorian poem about the life of the Buddha: “It was my religion that I found expressed14”.
13 Her journey is expressed in terms which fit well with Tweed’s discussion of the “esoteric” type of American Buddhist in the period15, but she also returns repeatedly to make connections between what we would now call “Celtic spirituality” and Buddhism, a theme which has become important to many Irish Buddhists today. She does so, however, in disconcertingly literal terms: “I would be ungrateful if I did not admit the help and inspiration that have come to me from the Shining ones of Ireland, our Sidhe or Devas16… I have more than once felt waves of Buddhism in the air here, enveloping me with its spirit17.”
14 “An Irish Gael” was almost certainly Vivian Butler Burke (1881?-1937). Apparently born in Ireland, she was the daughter of a mixed marriage whose parents emigrated to the US. On their death, she was left wealthy but evidently very isolated, and she moved to Ireland around 1920. A strong Republican, it appears that her house was used by the anti-Treaty side during the Civil War and she was part of a Republican Memorial Committee with the Celticist poet Ella Young. In 1921 she wrote to Tucholsky’s Die Weltbühne seeking support from the German left in opposition to British atrocities in Ireland (and mentioning a supportive reply from Romain Rolland)18. In 1931 she corresponded with Gandhi about articles she had written and published in support of his movement19.
15 The Maha Bodhi journal, part of Anagarika Dharmapala’s anti-colonial movement, mentioned her as “a valued member of the British Maha Bodhi Society20”. Recent research has shown that she was something more than that, and in fact established Ireland’s first Buddhist centre. In 1927, she wrote to Buddhist India21, responding positively to an enquiry about establishing a Buddhist centre in Ireland22 “I sincerely hope it will be possible to bring some Eastern students and Buddhists here. My house is centrally situated although very quiet and it has a spiritual atmosphere…” Her house, on 11 Harcourt Terrace in Dublin, was indeed centrally located, and its “Shrine Room” became the venue for a number of Buddhist events. The Sinhala reformer AP de Zoysa23, completing his PhD in anthropology in London, spoke at a series of meetings in February 1929; a Buddhist study circle was proposed at this time and may have taken place24. The centre continued in operation at least until 1935, when Wesak (the festival commemorating the Buddha’s enlightenment) was celebrated by a nine-day series of evening lectures, with afternoon talks at the weekend, by William Hayes. Hayes was a Unitarian minister, close to the Buddhist Lodge in London, who founded the “Order of the Great Companions” as an inter-faith organisation which Butler Burke also participated in25. In 1936 she was listed as the Irish contact for the Maha Bodhi Society.
16 Thus for at least six (1929-35) and up to nine (1927-36) years Butler Burke was responsible for Ireland’s first-known Buddhist centre. If this achievement has subsequently been forgotten, this is not least because she was careful not to publicise her own Buddhist affiliations within Ireland; all the material above has been gathered from international Buddhist contexts, and publicity for the Irish events did not mention her name. This is hardly surprising: Butler Burke was clearly strongly
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introverted, and the Ireland of the day was not kind to religious dissenters. For those without resources, the pressures could be intense: Angela’s Ashes shows us “Mr Timoney”, an ex-soldier whose Indian wife was shot by the Army in a “disturbance” and whose Buddhism is expressed in pacifism and critical commentary on the Church. A “known Buddhist and a danger to good Catholics around him”, he is eventually institutionalised in the “City Home” on the intervention of the local bishop26.
17 Even though Butler Burke’s American upbringing, the death of her parents and her independent wealth freed her from many of the social sanctions used against non- conformists during this period, it still took great determination to persevere. That even her friend Micheál MacLiammóir thought she was eccentric speaks volumes; his autobiography preserves some anecdotes from her final years. She was a backer of the Gate theatre, and when MacLiammóir and Hilton Edwards performed with Orson Welles (who had made his stage debut at the Gate) in Illinois she brought them to “Taos, and Santa Fe, and Mesa Verde… and the Painted Desert and the sacred Kivas and all the rest of it”. His final comment is “She died there in 1937, on her way back to Santa Fe27”.
A new Ireland – and its Buddhists
18 From the 1970s onwards, Irish Buddhists were able to start coming “out of the closet”, albeit in fits and starts. A Buddhist Society appeared briefly at the then-New University in Coleraine in 1971, hardly a propitious time or place. In 1972 D.A. Marks of Blackrock wrote to the Irish Times as a Buddhist, pleading for religious tolerance (in the context of the debate on the special position of the Catholic Church in the constitution) and in a second letter arguing that contraception and abortion were matters for one’s personal conscience. The cultural changes shaped by (re-)industrialisation and the extension of education, by the civil rights, women’s and environmental movements, and migration (Irish migration to and from other western societies, and the arrival of migrants from those societies) were starting to make new religious identities publicly possible.
19 From the later 1990s in particular, Buddhism (and other minority religions) became less stigmatised, in particular in the Republic. The point should not be over-emphasised: 70% of convert members of new religions today conceal or have concealed their religious identities, with 68% having experienced discrimination, mostly in relation to work, accessing services or in social contexts28. Nonetheless, there is little doubt that the decline of sectarianism and Ireland’s (re-)insertion into increasingly global flows of capital and labour played an important role in enabling what in the 1970s and 1980s had often been a marginal and counter-cultural identity to become increasingly respectable.
20 The changes can be tracked to some extent in census data, but with caution. Returning to the pre-independence censuses, we find one (1871), two (1881), one (1891), three (1901) and six (1911) Buddhists listed29; yet with one possible exception, none of these are identical with the individuals we know through Buddhist organisational records or personal memoirs. There is a good reason for this: the census question on religion is widely interpreted not as a question about personal belief, still less practice, but rather as one on ethnicity and background30, meaning that census returns systematically underestimate the number of those who identify as Buddhists in other contexts.
21 When in 1991 the census returns for minor religions started once again to be published, there were 986 self-reported Buddhists in the Republic, a figure rising to 3,894 in 2002,
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6,516 in 2006 and 8,703 in 2011 (with perhaps another 1,000 in Northern Ireland) – roughly comparable to other non-imperial European countries. The proportion of Asian Buddhists to western converts represented approximately half of the total at each point in time. Thus (unlike e.g. Islam where migrants predominate), there are two independent dynamics at play, one of migration and one of conversion – or perhaps more accurately the increased social acceptability of identifying as Buddhist. In the 1991 census, only 264 individuals were Irish (26%); by 2006 the figure was 2175 (33%) and in 2011 it was around 3300 (38%).
22 Probably reflecting the same dynamic, the proportion of women has risen over time, from 75% of the male total in 1991 to 120% in 2011. The recent figure is unsurprising: in contemporary societies women tend to predominate among practitioners (but rarely leaders) in most religions. The lower proportion of women during Buddhism’s less “respectable” phase is perhaps best explained by gendered access to resources – and women’s greater role in negotiating family, school and social relationships in particular, where participation in religiously-marked rituals and institutions is more important than in workplaces; as Buddhism has become more acceptable the cost of publicly identifying in this way has declined.
Importing and exporting
23 Jan Nattier’s analysis of American Buddhist organisations31 controversially distinguished between “import Buddhism”, sought out by locally-based groups, “export Buddhism”, led by missionaries from other countries, and “baggage Buddhism” brought by migrant communities. These categories do not always distinguish different traditions, let alone the quality of practice in any context, but do indicate different organisational histories which have real implications.
24 The earliest Buddhist centres had an “import” character: founded in the late 1970s and early 1980s by small groups of Irish-based practitioners making contact with Buddhist teachers abroad: this is the case, for example, for Samye Dzong in Kilmainham, the Zen Meditation Group in Tallaght (now Insight Meditation Group), and Dzogchen Beara. In the later 1980s and early 1990s, western teachers arrived from abroad to establish “export” organisations in Ireland, such as the Galway Zen Centre, the Dublin Buddhist Centre, or Passaddhi in west Cork.
25 Subsequently a wide range of other traditions have arrived; equally important, however, is the situation of those who “practice with” a teacher or tradition abroad (who may not have local centres), and those whose relationship to Buddhism is primarily mediated through reading, the Internet and tools such as CDs, mobile phone apps, and the like. Most Buddhist traditions do not place a huge emphasis on exclusivity and in any case have few tools to enforce it, so that many of those who identify as “Buddhists” do not have a specific affiliation in the sense which has traditionally been expected of Christians, for example, and existing centres could only contain a small proportion even of those ticking “Buddhist” in the census.
26 More broadly, the question of “who is Buddhist?” assumes a western version of religious affiliation which is equally problematic for the study of Muslims32, while membership itself has less soteriological significance for most Buddhists than in most Abrahamic religions. For converts, too, one of Buddhism’s attractions is often that it is perceived as not involving the same exclusivity, institutional power relations and
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identification that converts have experienced in their own upbringing. Thus rather larger numbers of people than either those in the census or those who might call themselves Buddhist in other contexts actually resist identifying as Buddhist while nonetheless being primarily oriented towards a particular Buddhist group, practice or doctrine.
Creolisation and the politics of building bridges
27 A larger group again retain an ethnic religious identity but draw more or less strongly on Buddhist meditation, books, courses, retreats etc33. Sometimes this operates within a rhetoric of religious universalism; however, the strong critique of syncretism by then- Cardinal Ratzinger, and the rise in evangelical attitudes among some Protestants, has encouraged a situation where Buddhist meditation techniques in particular are often adopted without their origins being acknowledged, part of a general religious trend in the west away from liturgy and doctrine and towards “spirituality” and “experience”. From the Buddhist side, the development of secular meditation techniques, under the broad rubric of “mindfulness”, has facilitated their presence in health and educational contexts in particular34.
28 Conversely, many of those who do identify as Buddhist remain under some pressure to participate in Catholic rituals and institutions: baptism, schooling, first communion, Christmas, funerals etc.), often but not only for family reasons, and participation is common (as of course it is for nominal Catholics and non-believers). Scholars of religious studies use the metaphor of creolisation to discuss the results of such fluid situations, suggesting that what commonly occurs is the use of a new (in this case more or less Buddhist) vocabulary with an inherited (in this case broadly Catholic) grammar35.
29 This popular creolisation, but also the development of religious tolerance on the island, is often represented by statements such as “We all believe in the same God in the end” 36. Like the term “inter-faith” (faith not being a defining feature of most forms of Buddhist identity), such statements are meant as offers of inclusion, but on Christian terms. The Irish experience of sectarianism, in turn, means that rejecting such statements can easily be experienced as aggressive or intolerant: difference is fine so long as all “faith traditions” are the same really37. Of course, the point for converts in particular is usually a desire for something other than their birth religion, adding another dimension of tension.
Asian Buddhists in Ireland
30 This complexity is not unique to converts. I noted above that approximately half of all those identifying as Buddhists since 1991 have been “born Buddhists” from Asian backgrounds, but here too census figures simplify complex realities. In East Asia in particular, religious syncretism is common, and perhaps half of all Asian Buddhists in the Republic are ethnically Chinese (mostly from the People’s Republic, Taiwan and Malaysia), with Japanese and Vietnamese the next-largest groups38. Just as the Irish abroad often develop a stronger cultural identification, so too some Chinese individuals report a stronger interest in Buddhism – not least because it is widely recognised and approved in Ireland. Some members of Falun Dafa (Falun Gong) may also identify as
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Buddhist for census purposes. However, there is no Chinese Buddhist temple in Ireland (although there have been some lower-key forms of organisation), and indeed few public manifestations of ethnic community Buddhism of any kind.
31 Unlike countries such as France or the US, Ireland does not have large numbers of Buddhists within a single migrant community, and most immigrants are relatively recent; this situation makes organising migrant Buddhism particularly difficult. The longer-established Vietnamese population, some of whose members were Buddhist39, had at one point a temple in Clondalkin, while the Thai community set up the Rattanapadipa centre in Glasnevin in 2011. Soka Gakkai International’s Irish body has had significant Japanese involvement at leadership level since the 1990s, but no public centre40; and there are of course Asian teachers, some resident, in a number of Buddhist centres.
32 However there is little doubt that the vast majority of Irish Buddhist organisations are run by western converts, finding themselves responding at times to the religious needs of different migrant communities in a relatively ad hoc way – reversing the American or French situation of community-oriented migrant temples which have had to negotiate relationships with western “seekers” from the 1970s in particular, sometimes conflictually. Barring substantial future Buddhist migration to Ireland, this situation is likely to continue in the sense that ethnically Asian Buddhist temples would have very small constituencies. Perhaps, as with Soka Gakkai, particular centres will provide an appropriate space either for longer-established migrants or for their children. Conversely, it is likely that much Asian Buddhist practice will remain based in the home, perhaps with the occasional visit by monks or other specialists for festivals or funerals.
33 All of this means that the common Irish response to “multiculturalism”, which seeks to identify the Buddhist position on an issue, the Buddhist practice in a particular situation or the needs of the Buddhist community41, is fundamentally mistaken, and in its own way represents a form of Orientalism – the desire to ascribe to the Other a fictitious homogeneity, which is hardly accurate even when applied to the “self”. If Irish Buddhists often resist labelling in religious terms, and only a small minority can be counted as following the orthodoxy and orthopraxy of any single tradition, they are in this perhaps articulating more visibly a reality of internal diversity shared with the purported members of many other “communities”, “faiths” and “traditions” on this island.
Conclusion
34 In each of the periods discussed above – medieval, early modern, high imperial, Celtic Tiger – the encounter between Buddhism and Ireland has been shaped by world- systemic relationships which shaped developments in particular ways (the reception of travellers’ accounts, ethno-religious contestation within and against empire, a new politics of diversity). From the earliest times, Buddhism has been present as trope as well as reality, an imagined Other (often a philosophical, virtuous or spiritual one) against which to measure the local.
35 In the present, however, the extreme variety of forms of Buddhism present in Ireland, and their multiple routes – migrant communities, convert organisations, international
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media – make Buddhism in Ireland even less of a homogenous entity than it has ever been, at the same time as it has become more visible, more respectable and more included within the terms of multiculturalism, interfaith discourses and the like. This is certainly an enrichment, not only for Irish culture but for our relationships to other parts of the world; if Victorian Oriental Studies were geared to the Indian Civil Service, Irish university funding for Buddhist Studies is tied to trade and student links with China and elsewhere. It is perhaps important, as Lopéz cautions in relation to Tibet, not to allow the powerful image of Buddhism to take precedence over the voice of actual Buddhists, migrant or convert, whose needs and actions may not fit so neatly within the mainstream discourse of what Buddhists should be and do42.
NOTES
1. This introduction draws on research published in Laurence Cox, Buddhism and Ireland, Sheffield, Equinox, 2013. Thanks to Carmen Kuhling for comments on an earlier draft, to Richard Cox for assistance with the French-language abstract and to Margery Reynolds for discussions about Vivian Butler Burke. Remaining errors are entirely mine. 2. Brian Bocking and Laurence Cox, “Rewriting the history of UK Buddhism: the first London Buddhist mission of 1890”. Paper to Irish Society for the Academic Study of Religion conference, UCD, May 2013. 3. Alicia Turner, “The Bible, the bottle and the knife: religion as a mode of resisting colonialism for U Dhammaloka”, Contemporary Buddhism, Vol. 14 no. 1, 2013, p. 66-77. 4. Laurence Cox, “Rethinking early western Buddhism: beachcombers, ‘going native’ and dissident Orientalism”, Contemporary Buddhism, Vol. 14 no. 1, 2013, p. 116-133. 5. Migrant Buddhists in the early censuses include a male “Hindoo Buddhist” in Munster in 1901 (perhaps entered as such by the head of household); the Ceylonese domestic servant Narmo Kollagaran in Ballyhooly, Cork in 1911; also in 1911 Elizabeth and her daughter Isobel Warrington, Indian-born theosophists staying with Dublin Buddhists; and at least between 1910 and 1917 Oswald Reeves, a British-born member of the Arts and Crafts movement. Of these probably Reeves and the older (Mrs) Warrington were converts. 6. Selina Guinness, “Protestant magic reappraised”, Irish University Review, Vol. 33 no. 1, 2003, p. 14-27. 7. See for example Micheál MacGréil’s revival of the Mám Éan pilgrimage in Co. Galway. 8. See [http://dhammalokaproject.wordpress.com]. 9. An Irish Gael, “How I found Buddhism”, British Buddhist May 2472 (1928), p. 6-8. Thanks are due to Alicia Turner for this reference. 10. Joseph Lennon, Irish Orientalism, Syracuse, Syracuse UP, 2004.
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11. Robbie McVeigh, The racialization of Irishness, Belfast, Centre for Research and Documentation, 1996. 12. An Irish Gael, ibid.p. 6 13. An Irish Gael, ibid. p. 6 14. An Irish Gael, ibid. p. 7 15. Thomas Tweed, The American encounter with Buddhism 1844-1912, Chapel Hill, University of North Carolina Press, 2000. 16. In Buddhist myth the devas, or gods, are not creators or enlightened, but have magical powers and often support practitioners of meditation. The equation between devas and Irish fairies was common in this period. 17. An Irish Gael, ibid. p. 7. 18. Die Weltbühne, Vol. 17 no. 1, 1921, p. 186-191. 19. http://www.gandhimedia.org/cgi-bin/gm/gm.cgi?direct=Writings/ Correspondence/1931&img=420 20. The Maha Bodhi, vol. 37, 1929, p. 179. 21. This was the organ of the All-India Buddhist Conferences, organised by Nepalese reformer Dharmaditya Dharmacarya with the participation of other leading Buddhists such as Nyanatiloka, Sankrityayan, U Chandramani, Lama Govinda etc. Thanks to Douglas Ober and Alicia Turner for this information. 22. Buddhist India, Vol. 1, 1927, p. 242. 23. Father of post-colonial feminist scholar Kumari Jayawardena. 24. Maha-Bodhi, Vol. 37, 1929, p. 179. 25. Her correspondence with Gandhi is on Great Companions notepaper and it is likely that the articles she mentions were in the Order’s quarterly Calamus, then being published from Dublin. 26. Frank McCourt, Angela’s Ashes, New York: Simon and Schuster, 1998, p. 178. 27. Micheál MacLiammóir, All for Hecuba, London, Methuen, 1946, p. 196. 28. Olivia Cosgrove, “Religious discrimination in Ireland”. Paper to Irish Society for the Academic Study of Religions conference, UCD, May 2012. 29. Only one of these is for Ulster, a proportion which roughly corresponds to the later proportion between the Republic and Northern Ireland. 30. Malcolm Macourt, “Mapping the ‘new religious landscape’ and the ‘New Irish’”. p. 28-49 in Olivia Cosgrove et al. (eds), Ireland’s new religious movements. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars, 2011. 31. “Who is a Buddhist?”, in Charles Prebish and Kenneth Tanaka, The faces of Buddhism in America, Berkeley, UC Press, 1998, p. 183-195. 32. Oliver Scharbrodt, “Islam in Ireland”, in Olivia Cosgrove et al. (eds), Ireland’s New Religious Movements, Newcastle, Cambridge Scholars, 2011, p. 319-337. 33. Stephen Skuce, The faiths of Ireland, Blackrock, Columba Press, 2006, p. 129. 34. Kate Crosby, Theravada Buddhism: continuity, diversity and identity, Oxford, Wiley Blackwell, 2014. 35. Stephen Prothero, The White Buddhist: the Asian Odyssey of Henry Steel Olcott, Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 1996, p. 69.
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36. The handful of Buddhist celebrities who are willing to accommodate such statements, such as the Vietnamese Zen monk Thich Nhat Hanh, are particularly popular in Ireland. 37. Sinéad Lynch, Dublin City Interfaith Forum, MA thesis, NUI Maynooth, 2013. 38. Most PRC nationals do not identify as religious (Central Statistics Office, Non-Irish nationals living in Ireland, Dublin, Stationery Office, 2008, p 50; Richard O’Leary and Lan Li, “Executive summary in English”, Dublin, Dublin University Far Eastern Mission 2007, p. 1); in the 2006 census, of 3,562 Asian Buddhists probably 1,062 were Malaysian Chinese, about 670 mainland Chinese and 336 other Chinese diaspora (there were fewer than 200 individuals from Taiwan, all religions included). 39. Mark Maguire, Differently Irish, Dublin, Woodfield, 2004. 40. I would like to correct my Buddhism and Ireland, which mentions an SGI centre in Shankill (p. 344); this was in fact a private house which sometimes hosted public events. Thanks to those SGI members who pointed this out. 41. The Health Services Executive’s Health Services Intercultural Guide (Dublin, HSE, 2009, p. 43-45) has a less prescriptive account of Buddhism than many. 42. Donald Lopéz, Prisoners of Shangri-la, Chicago, UC Press, 1998.
ABSTRACTS
This article uses a world-systems perspective to analyse the development of Buddhism in Ireland, in particular the post-1990 period which saw a tenfold increase in those formally identifying as Buddhist. This shift is a result both of Ireland’s new positioning in global economic and migrant flows, and of the changed ethno-political meaning of religion in Irish society. More broadly, Buddhism has moved from an exotic or counter-cultural positioning to a partial respectability. Nonetheless many practical problems remain in negotiating a Buddhist identity in Ireland.
Cet article adopte le concept du système-monde pour analyser le développement du bouddhisme en Irlande, en insistant sur la période postérieure à 1990, au cours de laquelle le nombre de ceux qui s’identifient comme bouddhistes a été multiplié par dix. Cette progression résulte à la fois de la nouvelle situation de l’Irlande dans les flux économiques et migratoires, et d’un changement dans la signification ethno-politique que revêt la religion dans la société irlandaise. D’une façon plus générale, le bouddhisme perd son image exotique ou contestataire pour s’intégrer peu à peu à la culture dominante. Malgré cela, des problèmes pratiques continuent à se poser lorsqu’il s’agit de vivre l’identité bouddhiste en Irlande.
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INDEX
Keywords: religion - Buddhism, immigration, religion - religious practice, religious diversity, society and religion Mots-clés: religion - bouddhisme, immigration, religion - pluralité, religion - pratiques religieuses, société et religion
AUTHOR
LAURENCE COX National University of Ireland Maynooth
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The New Age Movement in the Post- Celtic Tiger Context: Secularisation, Enchantment and Crisis
Carmen Kuhling
Introduction: Secularisation and Enchantment in a Global Context
1 For centuries, social scientists and intellectuals have predicted that Western modernity will grow increasingly “secular”. Although there has always been some debate about this idea of the gradual increase of secularism, or the “secularisation thesis” as it has come to be known, critics of this thesis have grown substantially over the past few decades as global empirical evidence to the contrary has emerged. This concept of secularisation is underpinned by a linear conception of “progress” that views modern institutions such as democracy, capitalism and science as accompanied by a series of mutually reinforcing social processes, such as secularisation, rationalisation and disenchantment. Many classical and contemporary sociological paradigms assume that societal evolution is accompanied by the unfolding of these institutions. However, the global spread of these institutions has been inconsistent and uneven, and religious movements and belief systems have encroached upon the public sphere and public morals in all kinds of subtle and contradictory ways in both the West and the wider world. This paper will examine this secularisation thesis with reference to the recent social trends in Ireland which both confirm and contradict this thesis. The secularisation of educational and health systems combined with a decline in religious practices would seem to confirm this hypothesis, yet the high proportion of self- proclaimed Catholics and the emergence of New Religious Movements in Ireland, particularly New Age Spiritualities, contradict this thesis, and reflect broader global trend towards “post-secularisation” rather than secularisation. In fact, the proliferation of a range of New Age Spiritualities which are emerging in Ireland with increasing frequency in the past two decades are clear examples of this re-
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enchantment and post-secularisation, and demonstrate the co-existence of such post- secular and secular impulses within Irish society. I will demonstrate how Ireland is simultaneously pre-secular, secular and post-secular; it is both enchanted and disenchanted.
2 Typically the social sciences have taken up the position that the separation of religion from public life and particular social institutions such as education and health is evidence of increasing secularisation. However, the growth of traditional religions at a global level, the resurgence of religiosity within in the heartland of Western modernity, and the increasing popularity of the New Age Movement and other New Religious Movements all call into question the idea that modernity contains a linear, progressive evolution towards disenchantment and secularisation. Berger, Davies and Fokas provide empirical evidence which contradicts this secularisation thesis and argue that it is European secularisation rather than American religiosity that is the global anomaly2. The increased levels of religiosity recorded in the US and other countries have revealed that modernity, far from being accompanied by increased secularisation, defies any linear chronology, and is instead a “problem of entangled times… a timeknot3” or can be imagined in the words of Nead, “as pleated or crumpled time, drawing together past, present and future into constant and unexpected relations4”. Saler however cautions that “the seeming ‘universal’ distinctions championed by the Western metropole between modernity and tradition or secularisation and superstition often do not hold up when viewed from the periphery of non-Western cultures negotiating processes of modernisation in complex ways5”. Saler critiques this binary approach for relegating enchantment to the status of a residual, inferior “other” to the rational and secular tenets of modernity, and claims those who sought alternatives to this model have been characterised as nostalgic, reactionary anti-modernist holdovers from the pre-modern world. He argues instead that “modernity is less defined by binaries arranged in an implicit hierarchy, or by the dialectical transformation of one term into its opposite, than by unresolved contradictions and oppositions, or antinomies6”. The seemingly universal distinctions between tradition and modernity, religion and reason, and superstition and secularism which this secularisation thesis presupposes are deeply problematic from the point of view of non- Western societies, many of whom are modernising in ways which diverge from the path taken by the West. Empirical research and theoretical debates emerging from the controversy around secularisation have therefore provoked a radical rethinking of the nature of modernity, and have provided evidence for the idea of “multiple modernities”.
3 The idea that modernisation and secularisation proceed in tandem, which is a central assumption of the secularisation thesis, has dominated sociological thinking for the past 150 years. In his essay “Science as a Vocation” Weber says the “fate of our times is characterized by rationalisation and intellectualisation and, above all, by the ‘disenchantment of the world’7”. He was referring to the way in which modern processes of bureaucratisation, rationalisation and secularisation were accompanied by a corresponding loss of transcendent meaning, animistic connection, and magical expectations that characterised the premodern world. Thus Weber was articulating a critique shared by the Romantics of the late 18th century and developed by cultural critics throughout the 19th and 20th centuries of the ways in which Enlightenment science and reason had eclipsed other epistemological views of the world. In the words of Saler, “Enchantment was associated not only with transcendent meaning and
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purpose, but also with wonder and surprise; these were the qualities that modernity, with its emphasis on inviolable natural laws, threatened to extirpate”8. By the late 19th century, the mechanistic, scientific view of positivism was so deeply inculcated in the modern mind that in Weber’s words, “the world is disenchanted9”. This produced a narrative of modernity and disenchantment that equated a narrow, soulless instrumental rationality with a “hollow, expanding secularism permeating the West since at least the 17th century10”. Weber was not as deterministic as is often assumed with regards to the shift towards what he calls the “iron cage” of rationalisation and secularisation, since in The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism he makes it clear that a variety of futures are possible, including a growth in new prophets, a rebirth of old ideals, as well as a rise in secularism. Nonetheless, Weber is often assumed to be the author of deterministic versions of the secularisation thesis, and the nuances of his analysis are often overlooked.
4 This assumption that modernity would be accompanied by the presumed linear increase in secularisation, rationalisation and disenchantment has been contradicted by empirical evidence. Indeed, the crossovers between political/ social science and the theological have become so numerous in recent years that one can now speak of the “theological turn” in modernity studies, the increasing prominence in the past few years of political theology, and the growing body of research that defines itself as “post-secular”. For instance, the last quarter of the 20th century was accompanied by increased levels of religiosity in the US. Berger et al. in their book Religious America, Secular Europe argue that it is European secularisation rather than American religiosity that is the global anomaly11. Specifically, they show how within this general pattern of what they call Eurosecularisation, there are national and regional differences, with Ireland and Poland as the most religious countries. They demonstrate how despite the prevalence of Eurosecularisation, the rise of Pentecostalism across the developing world, the growth of Christianity in the southern hemisphere, the intrusion of Islam in global political affairs, and the increase in a specific kind of religiosity in the US all indicate that it is Europe, rather than the US, that is exceptional. There are, they argue, strong variations and complex and polarised power configurations in the US. Yet at a global level, even the high levels of religiosity in the US is strongly eclipsed by the exponential growth of Christianity in the developing world, and specifically in the global south, a growth that Jenkins argues outstrips the growth of the much discussed expansion of Islam in the late 20th century.
From Celtic Tiger to Austerity: Commodification, Crisis and Disenchantment in Ireland
5 The Republic of Ireland has long been considered an exception to the overall European trend towards secularisation, and Catholicism has long been considered a central aspect of Irish identity. During the later 19th and 20th centuries, the Catholic Church exerted a great deal of control over welfare and educational institutions, and the rapid growth in power of the Catholic Church in Ireland up until the 1960s meant that being “Irish” came to be equated with being “Catholic”. The level of religious adherence and affiliation in Ireland is still reasonably high by international standards, since 84% of the population still claim to be Catholic, but has been dropping steadily since its highest recorded rate of 95% in 1961. The 2011 census data reveals a quite significant growth in
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numbers who claim no religious affiliation in Ireland in recent years, since approximately 270,000 people defined themselves as being of no religion, an increase of 44 per cent on the 2006 census. The number of those with no religion, atheists and agnostics increased more than fourfold between 1991 and 2011, and there are some indications that this number could in reality be much higher. For instance, Macourt has argued that the 2006 census had too few categories and was far too narrowly defined to adequately capture the number of people who are consciously resisting religion, or the diversity of the contemporary Irish spiritual or religious landscape12. Similarly, Nic Ghiolla Phadraig also claims that high numbers of self- proclaimed Catholics is not an accurate indicator of religious affiliation. To her, this category is more of an indicator of cultural or national identity which has been historically constructed against British colonial occupation whereby the identities of Irish and Catholic are conflated13. Using 2008 ISSP data, she demonstrates that the number of those who attend Church once a week fell from 91% in 1973 to 43% in 2008, and that this drop was particularly high amongst young people aged 18-24, whose Church attendance fell to only 19%. As well, she shows that 16% of these self- declared Catholics claimed to be atheist, agnostic or do not believe in God. The fact that some individuals do not attend church or believe in God yet still self- identify as Catholic raises some questions as to what the category ‘Catholic’ actually means according to Nic Ghiolla Phadraig14. It is perhaps revealing that data on religious practice amongst the 18-24 age group young is largely hidden in 2011 Census data, yet detailed information is given in other areas (religion by county, religion of school children) which are much less political. On one hand, as Inglis argues, “much of the Catholic habitus lingers on, deeply embedded in our people’s identity and sense of self” (2004, 13), yet on the other hand, as Macourt insists, the lack of complexity in Census questionnaires reveal the implicit pressure on individuals to self- identify as Catholic. All these issues raised above reveal the fact that unprecedented levels of economic modernisation and globalisation combined with the various crises of the Catholic church in Ireland have contributed in some ways to a transition from what has been called a “‘traditional’, highly devotional society to a modern, increasingly secular one15”. The exposure of child sexual and physical abuse within religious institutions combined with unprecedented levels of globalisation, economic modernisation and other national factors facilitated a decline in the institutional power of the church in the last 40 years.
6 However a linear view that modernisation is inevitably accompanied by an increase in secularisation, a view that has been caricatured as “modernisation up, religion down16” is in some ways an oversimplification in the Irish case. The growth in New Religious Movements in Ireland in some ways challenges linear, triumphalist versions of history, and calls into question our ideas about the nature of social progress. While there is some evidence of secularisation, at the same time data from the last 20 years shows that Ireland’s new multiculturalism has been accompanied by a rise in Orthodox, Pentecostal/ Apostolic, Muslim, Hindu and Buddhist religions, as well as an increase in those from Protestant religions such as Church of Ireland. Because of the narrow range of categories and questions on the Irish census, it is difficult to get clear figures on rates of religious conversion, but there is significant evidence that some Irish people who were raised Catholic have converted to other religions such as Buddhism and Evangelical religions. Elsewhere, sociologists have noted a shift towards Mysticism, Paganism and other so called New or New Age religions17. The coexistence of increasing number of individuals who deny any religious affiliation alongside high numbers of
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self-proclaimed Catholics (as well as members of a range of the New Age and New Religious Movements) demonstrates how Ireland simultaneously inhabits pre-secular, secular and post-secular modernities; is simultaneously enchanted and disenchanted. Bauman’s notion of “liquid modernity” captures this idea that there is no singular modernity, single modern world, or a singular linear process of modernisation that is brought into being; there are rather multiple modernities, multiple invented “traditions”, a plurality of modern worlds, and multiple processes of modernisation18. As we have seen, modernity does not necessarily bring about secularism, but rather a kind of religious pluralism. As Berger et al. put it, religion is no longer taken for granted but has become more of a reflexive process and an object of individual reflection and decision19.
7 Yet from another point of view, Ireland’s Celtic Tiger years were a time of enchantment, and practices associated with consumption have to some degree taken over the ritual, meaning- making functions previously fulfilled by religion. The oxymoronic term “Celtic Tiger” was formerly been adopted as a potent image that captured various dimensions of the country’s recent economic boom such as the ambivalent nature of socioeconomic change and collective cultural identity. The contradictory images and temporalities underpinning the term “Celtic Tiger” revealed the tensions of this binary approach to enchantment/ disenchantment. For instance, the term “Celtic” conjured up an image of an “Enchanted Ireland”; a pre-modern, Romantic, mist-shrouded, “timeless arcadia, the province of fairytale and myth20”. In contrast, the term “Tiger”, borrowed from the Asian economic model, invoked the rhetoric of competitive individualism, survival of the fittest, and denotes the shift in Ireland towards a laissez faire, neoliberal ideology during the Celtic Tiger era21. “Tiger” also connoted a “disenchanted”, “cyborg” Ireland that was a fast-paced, (post) modern and global exemplar of the new informational economy, and is characterised by the instantaneous “accelerated time” of futuristic science fiction and cyberculture. However, official state policy during the Celtic Tiger economic boom, governed by so called “rational choice” economic theory and financialisation of markets, explicitly repressed the values of community and collectivity in favour of a “disenchanted”, neo- liberal form of rationalised acquisition; one that prioritised economic “growth” over social cohesion. In the 1990s, Ireland embraced free-market and neoliberal principles and aggressively courted foreign direct investment, which led to a rapid shift to high- skilled manufacturing, a growth in the service sector, and the development of a domestic consumer society. Irish people’s collective self- understanding self- definition, formerly organised around the dual pillars of Catholicism and Nationalism as higher ideals, came slowly to reside in the principles of Neoliberalism during the time of the Celtic Tiger22. Astronomical rates of spending in what Ritzer calls “cathedrals of consumption23”, particularly around Christmas in the early part of the decade (when Irish Christmas spending outstripped other EU countries, and even the US) have led to the somewhat accurate claim in the media that Irish spiritual life has shifted “from the parish hall to the shopping mall”. Morante described how in the US, the class of financial operators, investment bankers, traders, hedge fund managers and private equity fund managers emerged were idealised, and considered to be ‘titans of investment banking’, “leviathans”, “masters of the universe” or “high priests of finance” in both the City and Wall Street24. Thus in Ireland, the Celtic Tiger years were a time of decreasing enchantment with the Catholic Church, but increasing enchantment with neoliberal globalisation. The “God-like” status of economism and neoliberalism in
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the collective Irish imaginary is revealed by the fact that prior to the crisis, individuals in Ireland felt that the banks were “too big to fail”. Morante shows how in the US after the global financial crisis occurred there was a collective illusion “shared by investors in all sectors of society, from financial operators to educated, sophisticated, wealthy individuals and the so called sub-prime borrowers that the financial sector, like a benevolent God, would provide effortless and endless rewards” 25. This belief in the magic, God- like characteristics of the market and unquestioned faith in the high priests of finance justified the “light touch” regulation in Ireland as well. Despite extensive critiques of these economic principles, this belief in the omnipotence of the market “remains the bedrock of how conventional wisdom views the financial system, the key premise upon which we conduct monetary policy and the framework on which we construct our financial risk systems26”. In both contexts, entrepreneurial culture is highly valorised, and bankers are profoundly idealised. In many ways, the unquestioned faith in the texts, apostles, cathedrals and rituals associated with Catholicism have simply been superseded by unquestioned faith in texts, apostles, cathedrals and rituals associated with consumption, and which are bound to the mythologies of economism and neo-liberalism.
8 The dual character of the commodity is such that it is simultaneously enchanted and disenchanted, for it circulates within systems of production/desire that are animated by both political and libidinal economies. Benjamin perhaps best articulates the enchanted, reified, religious nature of commodity fetishism, by stating that the commodity is the idol of modernity… the arcades, the boutiques and the department stores are shrines to thecommodity, they are its temples where one goes to pay homage27. According to Žižek, the commodity form is of such fascination because it provides us with a little piece of the Real, a pure distilled matrix which “enables us to generate all other forms of the ‘fetishistic inversion’”28. Many Irish people have capitulated to the neo-religion of consumerism, and this dialectic of enchantment/ disenchantment can be seen through an analysis of the libidinal/ political economy of the Irish house, which on one hand is treated as pure materiality, as “real estate”, and on the other hand, as the “dream home”. The home, land and property have long held a central place in the Irish imaginary, and within the Celtic Tiger context, the home became the ambivalent repository of collective fears and desires. Lee provides a compelling formulation of the institutionalization of a characteristic mindset amongst the Irish peasantry during the second half of the 19th century, wherein, as a response to extreme insecurity of tenure the central focus of both private life and the public sphere centred around the “possessor principle”: all political questions boiled down to the question of real estate, and individual life strategies centred on the acquisition and retention of house and homestead as private property29. However, this “possessor principle” has so animated Irish life that in the ten years between 1995 and 2005, there were 584,073 new houses built, a substantial increase in a population of just over 4 million30. The pre-crash rise in the number and size of houses, the numbers of gated communities, and the astronomical rise in prices achieved for high status postcodes and during the Celtic Tiger years clearly demonstrates the performative function of the home as “cathedral” where one can showcase one’s techniques of elite, conspicuous consumption. However, the home is not simply real estate, bought for its exchange value, but rather its value is simultaneously primordial and transcendent. What is “real” about real estate is that it stands in the place of what Lacan terms the Real: the abyss of nothingness and meaninglessness over which human existence is suspended31.
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The idea of home and belonging resonates with deep seated anthropological needs that are both material and spiritual, and it is at times of material and/or spiritual insecurity that the house assumes an amplified value - hence the saying “as safe as houses32”. For Benjamin, the house retains a utopian potentiality, for it is a repository of the memory of a deeper, richer, collective life that transcends the eternal recurrence of the present as monadic individualism, for it retains traces of a childhood memory of a lost ideal that might be recollected33.
The New Age Movement in Ireland
9 The New Age Movement has been quite influential in shaping various political, religious, and popular discourses in both North America and Europe in recent decades. The New Age is not a unified movement or coherent cultural phenomenon, but rather can be understood as a series of concentric circles, some of which overlap significantly with environmentalism, feminism, anti-consumer politics, and some of which are perfectly consistent with individualism, capitalism and consumption. In the Irish context, this eclectic mix of Eastern mysticism, self-help therapy, Paganism, and holistic health, can be understood as a response to what some people experience as an oppressive Catholicism on one hand, and the spiritual vacuum at the heart of late capitalism on the other34. Despite the common description of Ireland as religiously very homogeneous in the 19th and 20th centuries, many New Religious Movements (NRMs) come to Ireland in the nineteenth century, including theosophists, spiritualists and astrologers35. Mulholland also describes the increase in folk healers, UFO sightings, occultism, tarot card readers, water diviners, yoga, and witchcraft groups in the 1960s and 1970s36. However, this movement has become particularly visible since the 1980s as part of the Mind-Body-Spirit movement which flourished when the Mind-Body-Spirit fair first came to Dublin in 1985, and which functions as an umbrella for many of the groups, beliefs and practices that constitute the New Age Movement in Ireland37. While the Mind-Body-Spirit movement occupies perhaps the more commodified, individualised end of the New Age spectrum, the Quay coop in Cork which began as an alternative community project by feminist, lesbian & gay, environmental and other alternative groups published the Alternative Ireland Directory from 1981-1993, which contains elements of both new social movements (ecology, gay rights) and the New Age. However, the New Age Movement in Ireland is not only strong in urban centres, for places such as the West Cork Dzogchen Beara, a Tibetan Buddhist Retreat centre running since 1992 on the Beara peninsula near Allihies have also been considered attractive to those interested in the New Age. Cox has painstakingly traced out the quite rich and deep history of Buddhism and Ireland, and though Buddhism and the New Age Movement are clearly quite distinct movements, he has noted how the New Age movement and Buddhism both have been positioned as “Christianity’s Other38”, and both have been condemned by the Irish Theological Commission and by other pro- Christian, anti-cult organisations39, and there are some overlaps in terms of their beliefs, practices and community members. Similarly, Butler has observed the interconnections between Irish neo-Paganism and the New Age movement, but cautions that neo-Pagans would reject the term “New Age”, as Butler notes, the term “New Ager” is considered offensive to some neo-Pagans as “whimsical rituals that have no serious spiritual intent40”. Nonetheless, an analysis of New Age Bookshops, magazines, and spaces such as the Quay Coop and the book shop in Dzogchen Beara
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reveal a significant overlap between the interests of Buddhists, Neo-Pagans, and the New Age Movement, or at the very least the New Age Movement’s ability to appropriate countercultural movements and alternative spiritualities into its fold.
10 The New Age Movement in the 1980s and early 1990s was seen as containing elements of a countercultural political culture, and as a more non-hierarchical, unstructured, DIY, or “patchwork” religion. Berger argues that humans have a deep-seated anthropological need to construct a “sacred canopy”, a “shield against terror” or a “cultural nomos” that “guarantees members of society the experiential certainty that their lives are an integral part of a higher reality, one whose cohesion stems from a cosmic, suprahuman ordering principle41”, and for some, the New Age filled a gap left by Catholicism. New Age literature and practices contain liberal reference to terms like reconciliation, integration, re-enchantment and rebirthing, which reveals the profoundly utopian desire for a richer spiritual life, for connectedness with others, for a union with nature, for health, for wholeness. This New Age desire for reconciliation and re-enchantment can be seen by the interest in neo-Pagan rituals, Celtic mysticism, and other pre- or non-Christian ceremonies. This appeal to the order of the “supernatural”: to New Grange, to the dolmens, and to stone circles and Pagan sites around Ireland is because these are liminal sites of highly symbolic but contested meaning. These “enchanted” spaces in the New Age imaginary are liminal sites which provide the possibility for the constitution of ambivalent identities and of a new social ordering wherebythe problematic conditions of work and consumption under global capitalism, can be transgressed, resisted, and then re-ordered.
11 However, since the economic crisis and the imposition of a brutal austerity regime in Ireland, the need for spiritual rejuvenation has become even more acute. We are living in a time of radical uncertainty, which for some has intensified this need for a “cultural nomos” or sacred canopy. Yet, as a result of neoliberalisation and the Celtic Tiger economic boom, this movement has become mainstreamed, and it is increasingly commodified for New Age consumers, on one hand, and increasingly “credentialised” by New Age producers who out of economic necessity are seeking accreditation for their various therapeutic and healing practices. For example, Martin Duffy, the director of the nonprofit organisation The Oaktree Trust (which runs the Irish Centre for Shamanic Studies and The Transpersonal Institute), says “there are a lot of problems being caused by the economic climate, and not a lot being done to address them… we want to make sure that people that are financially challenged have access and support42 ”. Similarly, psychiatrist Norman Rosenthal says : “Economic challenges, the feeble job market and information overload conspire to stretch people to breaking point… and has resulted in cardiovascular disease as well as psychiatric disorders… Having witnessed the mental and spiritual anguish of many hundreds of people… I find the potential clinical power of this technique (Transcendental Meditation) amazing43.” In the absence of other options, people are turning to New Age self-spirituality as a remedy for social ills, and more and more technologies and services are emerging to fill this need. However, those most hard-hit by austerity measures lack the financial resources to access such services or technologies both as consumers and producers. While the utopian energy of the New Age Movement is still alive in Ireland, another much more dystopian spiritual metaphor is present in Ireland: the image of the zombie. This image has been used with increasing frequency not only when referring to the banks as “zombie institutions” as dead-live entities continue to feed of the state, but
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also as a symptom of an exploitative society, as a metaphor for a compromised, distorted colonized subjectivity and for the breakdown of social solidarities since the economic crisis which is expressed in popular cultural form as the “zombie apocalypse”. Since the recession has hit, we are in a period of liminality; standing on the limen or sacred stone of the doorway marking the threshold, we are in a portal between one dimension and another, and do not know what the future will hold.
Conclusion
12 In this way, the New Age movement is an anchor, or a site of identity in the context of liquescence and permanent liminality of modernity44; the destabilization of the fiscal and legal bases of national citizenship and the identity insecurities of the postnational constellation45 as well as the ephemerality of postmodern culture and accelerated social transformation. Economic goods become dematerialized in the knowledge economy, and this process of dematerialisation becomes further perpetuated in flexibilized labour markets and transnational production systems, and in global financial and futures markets. A part of the appeal of the New Age movement is that it appears to offer protection from the infinities and abysses of the modern ontological and epistemological condition of “transcendental homelessness” where, as Lukacs put it “we are all secular, but yearning for the sacred, ironic, but yearning for the absolute, individualistic, but yearning for the wholeness of community, asking questions, but receiving no answers, fragmented, but yearning for imminent totality46”. It offers an antidote to spiritual malaise and our current condition of “transcendental homelessness”.
NOTES
2. P. Berger, G. Davies and E. Fokas, ‘Introduction’ in Religious America, Secular Europe? A Theme and its Variations. P. Berger, G. Davies and E. Fokas (eds), Farnham, Surrey, Ashgate, 2008, p. 12. 3. D. Chakrabarty, Provincialising Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference. New Jersey, Princeton, 2000, p. 243. 4. L. Nead, Victorian Babylon: People, Streets and Images in Nineteenth Century London. New Haven, Yale University Press, 2005, p. 8. 5. M. Saler, “Modernity and Enchantment: A Historiographic Review”, American Historical Review 111, 2006, p. 700. 6. Ibid. 7. M. Weber, “Science as a Vocation.” In From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology, Hans Heinrich Gerth and C. Wright Mills, New York, Routledge, 1946, p. 129. 8. M. Saler, op. cit. p. 695. 9. M. Weber, op. cit. p. 129.
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10. M. Saler, op. cit. p. 695. 11. P. Berger, Davie and Fokas, op. cit. p. 12. 12. M. Macourt, ‘Chapter 2: Mapping the “New Religious Landscape and the “New Irish”; Uses and Limitations of the Census in O. Cosgrave, L. Cox, C. Kuhling and P. Mulholland (eds), Ireland’s New Religious Movements. Newcastle Upon-Tyne, Cambridge Scholars Press. p. 28-51. 13. M. Nic Ghiolla Phadraig “Religion in Ireland: No Longer an Exception?” Academic Register’s Council Research Update no. 64, December 2009. http://www.ark.ac.uk/ publications/updates/update64.pdf (accessed November 21st, 2013). 14. Ibid. 15. H. Tovey, P. Share and M. Corcoran. Sociology of Ireland, 3rd ed. Dublin, Gill and Macmillan, 2007. p. 403. 16. Costopoulos, Phillip. “Introduction.” In World Religions and Democracy, L.Diamond, M. Plattner and P. Costopoulos (eds), Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University Press, 2005, p. x. 17. See “introduction” in O. Cosgrave et al., op. cit. 18. Bauman, Zygmunt. Liquid Modernity. Cambridge, Polity, 2000. 19. Berger et al, op. cit. p. 13. 20. M. Cronin, and B. O’Connor, “Introduction”, in Michael Cronin and Barbara O’Connor (eds), Irish Tourism: Image, Culture and Identity, Clevedon, Channel View Publications, 2003, p. 1-18. 21. D. O’Hearn, Inside the Celtic Tiger: The Irish Economy and the Asian Model, London, Pluto Press, 1998. 22. F. O’Toole, Enough is Enough, London, Faber & Faber, 2010. 23. G. Ritzer, Enchanting in a Disenchanting World, London, Sage, 2010, page 3. 24. F. Morante. “Omnipotence, Retreat from Reality and Finance: Psychoanalytic reflections on the 2008 crisis” in International Journal of Applied Psychoanalytic Studies, Vol 7, Issue 1, 2010, p. 4-21. 25. Ibid. p. 8. 26. Cooper, 2008, p. 11. 27. G. Gilloch, Myth and Metropolis: Walter Benjamin and the City, Cambridge, Polity, 1996, p. 119. 28. S. Žižek, The Sublime Object of Ideology, London, Verso, 1989, p. 16. 29. Lee, Joe, Ireland: 1912 -1985, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1989. 30. CSO, 2006 K. Whelan, Atlas of the Irish Rural Landscape, Cork, Cork University Press, 2012, p. 353. 31. J. Lacan, The Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis, New York, Norton, 1978. 32. K. Keohane and C. Kuhling, The Domestic, Moral and Political Economies of Post-Celtic Tiger Ireland: What Rough Beast?Manchester, MUP, 2014, p. 20. 33. W. Benjamin. “A Berlin Childhood around 1900.” In Walter Benjamin Selected Writings: 1935-1938, Volume 3, by W. Benjamin, H, Eiland and M. Jennings (eds), Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 2002, p. 344-414. 34. C. Kuhling, The New Age Ethic and the Spirit of Postmodernity, New Jersey, Hampton Press, 2004, p. VII.
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35. O. Cosgrove, L. Cox, C. Kuhling and P. Mulholland, ‘Editors’ Introduction’ in O. Cosgrove, L. Cox, C. Kuhling and P. Mulholland (eds), op. cit. p. 8. 36. P. Mullholland, “Moving Statues and Concrete Thinking.” Quaderns de l’Institut Català d’Antropologia: sèrie monogràfics 23, 2009, p. 159-179. 37. Ibid. p. 10. 38. L. Cox, Buddhism and Ireland: From the Celts to the Counter-culture and Beyond. Sheffield, Equinox, 2013, p. 13. 39. Ibid.p. 318-319. 40. J. Butler, “Irish Neo-Paganism : World View and Identity” in O.Cosgrove et al., 2011, p. 113. 41. R. Griffin, Modernism and Fascism, London, Palgrave, p. 74. 42. D. Phillips, “The Future of Network Magazine: an interview with Martin Duffy” in Network Magazine, Nov 6, 2011, accessed online on Dec 20th, 2013 at: http:// networkmagazine.ie/articles/future-network. 43. N. Rosenthal in “Transcendence: Healing and Transformation” in Network Magazine, Oct 11, 2012. 44. A. Szakolczai, Reflexive Historical Sociology. London, Routledge, 2000. 45. J. Habermas, The Postnational Constellation, London, Verso, 2001. 46. Lukacs, Georg, History and Class Consciousness, London, Merlin, 1971, p. 189. 1. Special thanks to Laurence Cox for his very helpful feedback and comments on this paper.
ABSTRACTS
This paper will examine the New Age Movement in Ireland in the context of theoretical debates and empirical trends relevant to the themes of secularisation, commodification and crisis. This paper will reflect on the “secularisation thesis”, the Census 2011 data on religion, and the rise of the New Age Movement in the context of the social changes in Ireland which occurred during the “Celtic Tiger” period, as well as changes which have resulted from the economic crisis1.
Cet article examine le Mouvement New Age en Irlande dans le contexte des débats théoriques et des tendances empiriques pertinentes en ce qui concerne les thèmes de la sécularisation, de la logique de marchandisation et de la crise. Il commente la « thèse de la sécularisation », les données relatives à la religion dans recensement de 2011 et la montée du Mouvement New Age dans le contexte des changements sociaux en Irlande à l’époque du « Tigre celtique », ainsi que les changements qui ont résulté de la crise économique.
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INDEX
Mots-clés: sécularisation, religion - pluralité, religion - pratiques religieuses, crise financière, religion - New Age Movement, société et religion Keywords: financial crisis, religion - religious practice, religious diversity, religion - New Age Movement, secularization, society and religion
AUTHOR
CARMEN KUHLING University of Limerick
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Comptes rendus de lecture Book Reviews
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Axel Klein, O’Kelly: An Irish Musical Family in Nineteenth-Century France
Adrian Scahill
REFERENCES
Axel Klein, O’Kelly: An Irish Musical Family in Nineteenth-Century France, Norderstedt, BoD, 2014.
1 Axel Klein has made a significant contribution to scholarship on music and Ireland, with the main concentration of his work to date being on the twentieth century. For this extensive volume, however, he has shifted focus away from Ireland and to an earlier period, for a study of the O’Kellys, an extended family of French musicians and composers of Irish origin. Almost nothing has been written on the family since the nineteenth century, so Klein is breaking new ground with this book, which is perhaps more revelatory about music in France than it is about music in Ireland. As he himself recognises in the introduction, the book is also a corrective to what Leon Botstein has described as “the continued dominance in the narrative of musical culture by ‘great’ music and leading figures”, something which “has conspired to block a fuller understanding of the history of musical life and its place and significance in culture and society1”.
2 The material is organised into chapters which each focus on a single musician of the family, almost encyclopaedia-like in style – useful in that it allows Klein to present a highly detailed profile of each musician, but which consequently somewhat divorces the material from the wider context of music in France (both in Paris and in the provinces). Perhaps this is to criticise what the book is not, but as a result, it does not clearly position the family within French musical culture. This is borne out by the lack of reference to musicological work on music in nineteenth-century France (for instance the work of Katharine Ellis on music criticism, Anselm Gerhard on music in the theatre, or Frits Noske on French song). That said, the book’s undoubted success is in its
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uncovering of sources which detail the lives and work of these “lesser known composers” (p. 21), as Klein himself describes them.
3 Before dealing with the family itself, Klein invests some effort into trying to trace its origins in Ireland, identifying potential links to the O’Kelly de Galway family and the singer and composer Michael Kelly, in an opening chapter which he himself admits is speculative. Because of this, the family’s story proper begins in Dublin, where Joseph Kelly (1804-1856) was born. His father, Thomas, moved the family to London at some point after this, and Joseph himself left for Boulogne-sur-Mer in c. 1823, where he taught piano before moving to Paris in 1835. Klein suggests that Thomas may have been involved in the music trade as a piano maker, but the sources available inhibit a more definite picture being drawn. Unfortunately this also means that nothing is known about the type of musical education Joseph received, whether this began in Ireland or took place primarily in London, and the identity of his teachers. Whatever the details, his only known composition, a set of quadrilles, suggest he was a highly competent and educated musician.
4 His avoidance of becoming a naturalised French subject, in his case in order to evade conscription, was followed by other members of the family. The issue of their identity is a naturally complex one given the period in question, with Joseph Kelly asserting himself as a “subject of His British Majesty” (p. 35), but also possibly sending his children to the College des Irlandais in Paris for a period. Three of these children (Joseph, August and George) were to make their living through music, although they would not have been allowed to enter the Conservatoire, as they would have been considered foreign pupils. Klein further suggests that the altering of the family name from Kelly to O’Kelly in 1859 (a step taken by the brothers) was a move made to accentuate the family’s Irish identity, which may have been more advantageous to in France than being perceived as English, although this suggestion is not explored in any great detail.
5 The most notable member of the family was Joseph O’Kelly (1828-1885), the subject of almost half of the book’s length. A well-connected and established musician and composer, he was familiar to critics (though not always to his advantage), and popular among the fashionable salons in Paris. At the same time he was not successful enough to avoid having to work for the piano firm of Pleyel-Wolf as a choral conductor and demonstrator, performing at trade fairs and exhibitions. Although Klein in his introduction makes the claim that his music is of “sufficiently high quality to deserve more recognition”, the evidence presented doesn’t always make a strong case. The piano music included here (and that available in digital editions online) is attractive and melodic, but hardly befitting one who considered themselves a composer-pianist (p. 48, p. 185). Most of it is well within the capabilities of the amateur pianist, and the salon (and the lesson) would seem to be its natural environment. As a performer, it does appear from the text that this was where he was most active, and there is less evidence of his appearing in more prominent concerts. For a pianist-composer he seems to have devoted a lot of energy in trying to establish himself as a composer for the stage, writing nine operas (of an admittedly small scale) over the course of his career. The most prominent work for the stage, La Zingarella (1878), was also his low point, as it was generally harshly criticized in the press. Yet his final stage work, La Barbière improvisée (1882), had a significant run, although it too was a one-act comic curtain raiser. He appears to have had more success with his songs, and the Victor
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Hugo settings seem, from the evidence provided, to be more substantial and adventurous works.
6 Of all the figures dealt with in the book, it is Joseph who had the closest links with Ireland and Irish musical culture. He was a member of the Anciens Irlandais, an organisation of aristocrats of Irish descent whose activities appear to have been more social than political. Possibly arising out of this connection, he composed the music for a cantata text by the Viscount O’Neill de Tyrone, which was proposed by the Viscount for inclusion at the O’Connell Centenary celebrations in 1875. The work having been accepted by the festival committee, O’Kelly and O’Neill de Tyrone, along with other Anciens Irlandais members, visited Dublin for the festivities, at which selections from the cantata were performed. Unfortunately the score has been lost, and only scant details about the work are known. Consequent to this, O’Kelly was proposed for the Légion d’Honneur by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and was elected (as Irish) in 1881. Aside from the cantata, O’Kelly’s works display little enough interest in Ireland or Irish music, and are restricted to some arrangements of familiar tunes (including “The Last Rose of Summer”) and a Mac-Mahon Marche (op. 41, OKC 104), probably written for Marshall Patrice MacMahon, a general and politician.
7 Joseph’s brothers Auguste and George were less prominent figures: the former active as a publisher in Paris; the latter returning to Boulogne-sur-Mer to work as a pianist, composer and teacher. Working in a more provincial centre seems to have been advantageous for George, and the dedicatees of his works reveal the mixed nature population of Boulogne. Klein confirms here that it was George, and not Joseph, who composed Le Lutin de Galway, a one-act opera set in Ireland. Although the music is lost, Klein’s commentary is perceptive here, and notes that despite the Irish setting, the story itself is not particularly Irish, with particularly the lutin being quite out of place. He suggests that in itself the setting of the opera would have been particularly appealing to the English and Irish community of Boulogne, and it was indeed well received. Other works of George’s discussed here include some substantive songs and piano works, which seem comparable to Joseph’s output.
8 Shorter chapters follow on Joseph’s son Henri O’Kelly, a pianist, organist and composer; his own son Henri, a bass player and composer; and Auguste’s son Gustave, also a publisher. These are informative chapters on musicians who had a certain prominence in their day – indeed the first Henri O’Kelly also was made a Chevalier de la Légion d’Honneur – but are since long forgotten, and function as vivid snapshots of the multifaceted activities of working musicians in France. For instance, Henri, who studied at the Paris Conservatoire alongside Debussy, worked out of necessity for most of his career as a church organist and choir director, as well as appearing as a concert pianist, recording piano rolls for Pleyel, and composing both church and secular music.
9 The final chapter has a wealth of information about non-musical members of the extended family, ranging from brief details of children to more extended profiles of businessmen. While they flesh out the wider family details, it seems of limited relevance for most readers, and I found it quite an abrupt and unsatisfying way to finish end the book – the final sentences concern Raoul O’Kelly, “a simple office employee” (p. 363), who was a German prisoner-of-war in World War II. An additional concluding chapter might have rounded the book off more satisfyingly, providing some estimation of the place of the family within French musical culture, and considering to what extent they can be thought of as being Irish composers. In light of recent work in
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this area – particularly John Flynn’s The Irishness of Irish Music (2009), and Flynn and Mark Fitzgerald’s edited volume Music and Identity in Ireland and Beyond (2014) – there is a sense of an opportunity lost here.
10 The book’s substantial appendices commence with an extended family tree, and perhaps the most impressive part of the book is the O’Kelly Catalogue of Works, which collects together all the compositions of the extended O’Kelly family, including works known only through newspaper and other references. Klein includes among the information for each piece places and dates of performances, names and details of dedicatees, and sources, all of which will be invaluable to future scholars working in this area. Having said this, an index of the works discussed would have made it easier to navigate between the biographical and commentary sections. Complementing the catalogue is an appendix with details of the French publishers who published music by the family, their date of foundation, brands, and connections to other publishers (whether taken over by or absorbed into another company).
11 Klein’s industry in producing this substantial book is highly impressive, and its documentation of the biography and the music of these composers will be of much use to future scholars. Having said this, it is very much a first step, and there is much scope for further contextualisation and analysis of these intriguing figures.
NOTES
1. Leon Botstein, “The Eye of the Needle: Music as History after the Age of Recording”, in Jane F. Fulcher (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of the New Cultural History of Music (2012), retrieved 12 Aug. 2014 from Oxford Handbooks Online, [http:// www.oxfordhandbooks.com/view/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780195341867.001.0001/ oxfordhb-9780195341867-e-22].
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Liam Harte, Reading the Contemporary Irish Novel 1987-2007
Sylvie Mikowski
RÉFÉRENCE
Liam Harte, Reading the Contemporary Irish Novel 1987-2007, Wiley Blackwell, Chichester, West Sussex, 2014, ISBN 978-1-4443-3620-7, 264 p.
1 Liam Harte, spécialiste reconnu et respecté du roman irlandais contemporain, propose ici la lecture approfondie de neuf romans, appartenant tous à l’ère pré-« tigre celtique », soit de par leur date de publication, soit de par l’époque à laquelle leur action est située. Sur une période de vingt ans, l’auteur a retenu de la production romanesque irlandaise des œuvres déjà abondamment commentées, à tel point qu’on peut les considérer comme constitutives du canon contemporain. Liam Harte étudie ainsi sept écrivains hommes (Roddy Doyle, Patrick McCabe, John McGahern, Colm Toibin, Seamus Deane, Sebastian Barry), et deux femmes (Edna O’Brien et Anne Enright), chacun à travers l’analyse approfondie d’un seul de leurs romans (la trilogie de Barrytown pour Doyle), même si chaque chapitre commence par un court résumé de la vie et de la carrière des écrivains. Liam Harte a pu s’appuyer sur un nombre considérable de ressources critiques, mais il a su les synthétiser à merveille, et surtout dépasser cette somme en présentant des interprétations personnelles d’une pertinence et d’une lucidité toujours impressionnantes, exprimées dans une langue à la fois limpide, précise et extrêmement riche et élégante.
2 À certains égards, le prisme à travers lequel Harte considère ces vingt années de production romanesque en Irlande est à peu près le même que celui utilisé par nombre de ses prédécesseurs-parmi lesquels on peut citer les faiseurs d’opinion que sont devenus Declan Kiberd, Luke Gibbons, David Lloyd, Gerry Smyth ou encore Fintan O’Toole : celui de la relation entre histoire et fiction, du roman considéré comme miroir de la société, de l’Irlande vue comme une société postcoloniale encore accablée par le poids du passé, mais aussi des douloureux ajustements aux évolutions de la modernité.
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Certaines analyses font par ailleurs déjà l’objet d’un consensus critique : il en va ainsi de la présence du gothique dans The Butcher Boy, de l’écriture du traumatisme chez McGahern, du procès du conservatisme de l’Etat irlandais dans The Heather Blazing. Cependant même si Harte privilégie souvent une lecture historiciste des œuvres, suivant en cela la tendance critique dominante en Irlande, on remarquera qu’il a aussi fréquemment recours au vocabulaire de la psychanalyse, poussé dans ce sens par la prédominance des symptômes névrotiques propres à l’Irlande pré-« tigre celtique » dans les romans analysés, comme en atteste par exemple sa lecture du roman de Anne Enright The Gathering. Toujours pénétrant dans ses analyses et mettant en lumière des aspects parfois mal reconnus de certains textes – par exemple la dimension postcoloniale de Felicia’s Journey –, Harte ne se départ pas pour autant d’un sens critique sévère, dénonçant par exemple les incohérences, voire ce qu’il considère comme les errances idéologiques, de Edna O’Brien dans House of Splendid Isolation, dans lequel le portrait du tueur de l’IRA est jugé complaisant. Harte n’hésite pas non plus à afficher des convictions autant esthétiques qu’idéologiques lorsqu’il condamne A Long Long Way de Sebastian Barry, dans lequel il reproche à l’auteur de susciter la compassion pour les soldats irlandais enrôlés pendant la Première Guerre mondiale, en développant ce qu’il appelle une « esthétique problématique et des aspects polémiques ». En Irlande, l’histoire, la politique et la littérature demeurent inextricablement mêlées.
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Laurence Cox, Buddhism and Ireland – From the Celts to the Counter-Culture and Beyond
Catherine Maignant
RÉFÉRENCE
Laurence Cox, Buddhism and Ireland – From the Celts to the Counter-Culture and Beyond, Sheffield (UK)/Bristol (USA), Equinox, 2013, ISBN 978-1-908049-30-8, 413 p.
1 Buddhism and Ireland propose l’exploration passionnante d’une question peu connue, l’histoire ou plutôt les histoires des interactions entre le bouddhisme et l’Irlande. Laurence Cox est sociologue, mais il offre au lecteur une réflexion interdisciplinaire de grande ampleur, un regard aux facettes multiples indispensable à l’évocation complète d’un sujet aussi complexe en perspective diachronique et synchronique. D’un point de vue théorique global, l’ambition de l’auteur est de montrer que l’on ne peut comprendre les phénomènes décrits que dans la perspective du système-monde. L’Irlande à différentes périodes est envisagée comme l’un des éléments d’espaces interdépendants qui définissent le cadre global de développements multiples. L’histoire du bouddhisme n’est donc pas une, mais plurielle ; aucune continuité n’y est décelable, outre celle qui lie entre eux les contextes généraux.
2 Après un premier chapitre théorique et méthodologique, l’ouvrage est structuré en trois parties, qui recouvrent les trois grands moments du rapport de l’Irlande au bouddhisme. La première va du vie siècle et des premiers textes qui attestent la connaissance de l’existence de cette religion dans l’île, jusqu’au milieu du XIXe siècle. Cette section constitue la toute première tentative visant mettre en forme une histoire de la réception du bouddhisme en Irlande à la période étudiée. L’auteur y démontre que connaissance ne rime en aucun cas avec adoption et conversion en l’absence de facteurs particuliers inconnus avant le milieu du XIXe siècle.
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3 La deuxième partie s’intéresse au siècle qui sépare la décennie suivante des années 1960. L’élément nouveau qui va alors déterminer de nouvelles interactions avec le bouddhisme et les premières conversions est le développement de l’Empire britannique en Asie, qu’accompagnent les premières missions chrétiennes, et singulièrement catholiques. Tandis que l’orientalisme et la théosophie connaissent leur heure de gloire en Irlande, les premiers convertis irlandais adoptent le bouddhisme pour se démarquer de l’impérialisme et marquer leur opposition face à l’effort missionnaire. La plupart d’entre eux se fixeront définitivement en Asie, les positions et le mode de vie choisis rendant tout retour socialement impossible dans une Irlande où religion et identité se cristallisent en un idéal social qui exclut toute dissidence.
4 La dernière période, étudiée dans la troisième partie du volume, se résume à l’ère contemporaine, des années 1960 à nos jours. La contre-culture, le développement du féminisme, la globalisation et, plus récemment, le déclin de l’Eglise catholique en République d’Irlande ont permis à diverses religions alternatives de prendre leur essor. Le bouddhisme, sous des formes diverses (institutionnelle, informelle, créolisée) a bénéficié de ce nouveau contexte et il figure aujourd’hui au 3e ou 4e rang des religions les mieux représentées dans le pays. Laurence Cox distingue clairement le bouddhisme occidental, qui l’intéresse au premier chef, du bouddhisme pratiqué par les immigrants attirés par les succès du Tigre celtique, qui n’a encore pu faire l’objet d’aucune étude ethnographique précise. S’il centre son analyse sur la République, il évoque le cas, bien spécifique, de l’Irlande du Nord et réfléchit aux avenirs possibles. Aujourd’hui, s’afficher comme bouddhiste est devenu possible et l’éloignement de la contre-culture a permis de gagner en respectabilité. De très nombreux centres, dont une liste complète figure dans l’ouvrage, ont ouvert leurs portes et accueillent adeptes et sympathisants. S’il reconnaît que le déclin suit souvent rapidement l’ouverture de tels établissements, Laurence Cox souligne néanmoins le succès très réel du choix d’une identité de moins en moins difficile à assumer, bien qu’elle s’inscrive nettement en opposition par rapport à la tradition irlandaise.
5 L’ouvrage est excellent et d’une lecture très agréable. Outre une réflexion en contrepoint sur la constitution des identités en Irlande et des dissidences par rapport à ces identités, il propose une galerie de portraits de personnages hauts en couleurs aux destinées aventurières tout à fait extraordinaires, qui ravissent le lecteur. À partir des marges, enfin, il suggère une lecture novatrice des différentes périodes examinées et aborde l’Irlande contemporaine d’une manière susceptible de trouver des développements tout à fait riches dans d’autres domaines que celui de la religion.
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