Tag Archives: St Patrick



The fate of religion and a society’s vision has a lot to do with poetry and poets, the bearers of vision – in  early Ireland poet and prophet were virtually identical . The classic example of poetic influence historically is the revival of Jewish faith under the prophetic careers of Isaiah and Jeremiah, the former the voice of a sublime messianism, the latter the voice of a “new covenant”.

In parts of Ireland today churches are often empty, some even being demolished. The astonishingly rapid decline of Catholicism in Ireland in the twenty first century, though not total and having several causes including grave clergy scandal, renewed emigration and controversial replacement migration forcing increased multiculturalism upon an unprepared often unwilling population, is nonetheless a conundrum.

It is one paralleled by the strange weakness of Irish literature at the spiritual level. How and why is the native tradition in religious verse so limited despite the long and celebrated intensity of national religious observance and devotion? Where is the devotional or metaphysical contribution?. How and why since full Republican independence in 1949 do we find little more than a religiously deconstructive kind of contribution from the nation’s artists, especially the poets?

Somewhere something is lacking. I will offer some radical perspectives and will even endeavour to “re-imagine” Irish religion which I regard as long founded on certain misconceptions exposed by recent developments. But first, because it’s scene setting and neatly introduces some main issues for the modern crisis, I will briefly summarize Andrew Auge’s rather Catholic dismissive, A Chastened Communion: Modern Irish poetry and Catholicism (2013).

This study examines the religious deconstruction and/or adjustments that six leading poets have been making since the modernist/elitist Denis Devlin (1908-1959), not reviewed by Auge, left the Yeatsian legacy behind and wrote some genuinely metaphysical if rather abstract religious verse. Much inspired by Pascal and St Teresa of Avila, God for Devlin is both absent from and imminent to creation in a way that allows unexpected brief moments of illuminating grace. But deity is basically remote. There’s nothing very Irish or relevant to Ireland’s future development in Devlin’s contribution save perhaps in his rejection of Teresa’s extreme division of body and spirit, the sort of question that troubled our first poet.



Auge’s first poet is Austin Clarke (1896-1974). HIs outlook belongs with the common image of a repressed, traditional Catholic Ireland. “Being sent to penance, come Saturday/ I shuffled slower than my sins should”. His evocation of sometimes extreme situations as in Mnemosyne Lay In Dust ( 1966) which evokes experience of an asylum, are almost more suited to fiction and memoir.

From childhood Clarke suffered under the over-zealous examinations of conscience in the confessional occasioned by little more than some masturbation (theoretically a mortal sin in Catholicism), but the long term result was he suffered serious nervous breakdown followed by a year in an asylum and then a soon failed unconsummated marriage. Clarke’s stylish poetry includes scenes and situations from the distant mirror of medieval, Romanesque, Ireland and its tensions ignored by the literature of the more Protestant or secularist Irish literary nationalism.Instead of Joyce’s outright rejection of a Catholicism that gets exchanged for a secular priesthood in service of aesthetics, Clarke gradually works his way to a transmutation of values which grants him a certain independence, finally making him almost a prophet in relation to the persons and system that almost destroyed him.

Accepting that any poet is always to some degree a heretic towards his faith (Milton would be a supreme example), Clarke comes to realize that there can be an over-indulgence in continence. Even the eyes of the spirit may not be opened where sensual imagery is denied, while excessive self-scrutiny can become a transgression against innocence, a persecution of incarnation. He realizes, as implied by the Book of Kells with its half hidden elements of the erotic, eros is part a total energy, a continuum not to be completely denied. (This is incidentally a point I made in different connections in the previous article and earlier offerings). He also learns from traditional Irish repentance poetry as of Gearoid Denvir, that he can define his own sins himself, achieve a measure of autonomy and self-absolution and with this he can overcome some of the paralysis which, like the characters of Joyce’s Dubliners, he had experienced.

With this new confidence Clarke later assumes a species of poetic/prophetic role. Enlarging on the practice of a scrutiny of wrongs, in the sixties and well before the time the scandals of the Irish church became common knowledge, he was pointing the finger at the physical abuse of boys by Christian Brothers,(“Corporeal Punishment”) the cruelty of nuns towards exploited unmarried mothers, (”Unmarried Mothers”) the politicking and dubious financial dealings of church leaders. It was an interesting development even when it did not always produce the greatest poetry – Clarke’s opus is of uneven quality. He was perhaps essentially a satirist who agreed with Swift the world is mad and he hoped with the medieval Irish philosopher, Erigena, that all would be forgiven and saved. (It’s beyond present scope but what Clarke perhaps needed to know along the lines of Rabbi Boteach’s Kosher Lust: Love is not the answer, is that there is less (biblically at least) a distinction between love and lust than between two kinds of lust, one an acceptable part of life even reaching into the psychology of the relation to God).


Patrick Kavanagh (1904-1967) was less prophet than (when thinking religiously and patriotically) a would-be mystic who falls against some unresolved contradictions. Born in rural Monaghan and rejecting standard nationalism in favour of “parochialism”, he sought any Irishness in a mysticism of local landscape and feeling harking back to early Gaelic writing like the Dinnseanchas. His ideal was a kind of Christian nature cult or animism which however never quite worked for him.

The post-Famine church had set the chapel against the well, locating all spirituality inside the often aesthetically inferior church building to the detriment of all traditional local sites associated with saints and miracles and often involving pilgrimage and festival dismissed as only superstitious. However, actual alternative experience of the wells doesn’t render the poet the hoped for levels of inspiration; at best they and the penitential pilgrimage site of Lough Derg (which looms large for numbers of poets including Heaney, who regard it as almost the epitome of Irish spirituality), suggest beyond the trivialities of popular piety, the real power of community and sharing. But gradually rural life with its domineering matriarchs, like the mother in Kavanagh’s masterpiece (The Great Hunger) and ugly churches becomes tomb-like. The poet will search new life and meaning in the city and community.

Anyone who has ever felt, as many have, including the poet AE with his talk of ‘the earth breath”, the peculiar “magic” of the Irish earth will be sympathetic to Kavanagh’s aims and intuitions. There is a magic but it’s a damp, GreenMan kind remote from the sun and deserts of early Christianity, (though it may have something of the first spring of the Song of Songs about it). Kavanagh doesn’t want Celtic nature feeling limited to churches or even just an altar with its “real presence” bread. Yet if one includes the altar and extends outwards into the world, has one not then arrived at simple pantheism with nothing really Irish and Catholic left? At this point one may feel that Kavanagh, like too many Irish Catholics,lacks either the theological knowledge or just liberty to go further and resolve the problems. The subject of the Irish and nature is in any case a big and historic one as is apparent from the medieval “Colloquy of the Elders” in which St Patrick is imagined  in argument with the hero Oisin over fundamentals of the native outlook.

But for Kavanagh the materialistic city would for years only present him another problem. His response was to try to evoke country and landscape within corners of urban landscape, bringing an extension of the rural into the urban. What he instead eventually realizes is “a placeless heaven”, essentially internal to himself (one might say archetypal?). The mysteries of nature are eternal to himself and he can impose them upon a scene. An urban scene like the Dublin Grand Canal can become renewing in the way a holy well was once supposed to be. It even reflects what in the poet/mystic’s mind is something of the flow of being that must be released and that can be the more positive side of what’s urban. Similarly to Clarke, Kavanagh has a felt need for the liberating flow suggested by everything from early Irish art to healthy eros. Spiritual health and inclusion is suggested by: “Give me ad lib/ To pray unselfconsciously with overflowing speech”.

This borders on a plea to be able to speak in tongues, something I always feel Joyce sought to do at some level in especially Finnegan’s Wake. Little or nothing of the sort has ever really manifested in Irish Catholicism as it has in some American and other Catholic circles under the so-called charismatic movement. This situation could reflect a strong underlying element of formality within Irish culture and religion that does not easily “let go”, but that a poet might always arrive to question as the mark of something lacking.  Which in a way it is. The problem is compounded by the fact national soul life is not helped by loss of the natural rhythms and  concepts of the mostly discarded native language.


A lot of modern Irish poetry has originated from Ulster, and John Montague (1928-1916) would be a prominent figure in this and one more directly engaged with the Ulster condition than the more celebrated Seamus Heaney. Montague shares with Kavanagh a strong feeling of place,  he likes traditions and dolmens but it’s not his main concern which is more  psychological. His        father was a Republican activist, a reason the poet was born in the America where his father was exiled, though early on the poet would live with relatives and be educated in Ireland. Montagu who believed “revolution is interior” is not easily summarized, but at the core of his poetry was a will to achieve cure for the wound occasioned by Irish partition and Ulster religion. Although not opposed to the Republican movement per se – Montague regarded the protests of a Bernadette Devlin and her followers the necessary release of a kind of “Blakean energy” – when it came down to it, the poet sought to bring not just people but ideas together, and via a mode of thinking more symbolic than literalistic (Ulster can be very literal minded!).

In works like The Bread God (1968), Montague re-visions the mass as a thought mode in its own right beyond familiar ceremony. He does this in the wake of trying to understand Ulster Protestant, especially Paisleyite, hostility to the mass as simply an idolatry linked to papal imposition, end-of-age scenarios and a whole range of assumed facts. At the same time Montague (never notably devout but church linked through a Jesuit uncle), was aware that a type of Catholic thinking might imitate or invoke just this Ulster Protestant response by the way it made the mass an object, the worshipped wafer, as in Corpus Christi processions. Still more this bread could become politicized, even rendered the sum of Irish identity itself as in the alienating Dublin Eucharistic Conference of 1932 which attributed Irish character, identity and survival most essentially to a Eucharistic devotion.

Even so, not only was the Ulster Protestant ignoring that Catholic mass certifies the presence of both Christ and the community in a sort of extension of incarnation, but that the ceremony is not just a recall of the past but an anticipation of the future. And this is how people of whatever persuasion could and should be thinking, joining together in awareness of the mythically charged Irish past (Ulster was mythically extreme long before its wars of religion and colonial plantation) but looking towards an interactive, open future.

Here could be another kind of “transubstantiation”. Common humanity and cooperation are more easily discovered amid symbolic and mythic modes of thought, more able and willing to improvise, especially as, (contra Yeats and his poetry of fixed cycles), history does and doesn’t repeat itself, but always requires us to respond.

It will be apparent that Montague’s remedy for the new Ireland is a kind of de-mythologization and re-mythologization of the whole concept of mass in which the layperson is very much a kind of their own priest to the task, somewhat as in the vaguely Protestant drift of Clarke. But I would note that like Kavanagh he does also perceive other registers of understanding. Montague recognizes language as authenticity related. In “A Grafted Tongue”  a second language is as “harsh a humiliation /as twice to be born…speech stumbles over/lost syllables of an old order”


By contrast, the less Ulster-engaged Seamus Heaney sought and (more or less) arrived at his own understanding of “grace”, which is a freedom away from the type of piety shaping his youth and as exemplified by especially his mother. That Heaney was genuinely devout in youth is reflected in the fact he visited the classic site of Irish penance, Lough Derg (which features in his  Station Island of 1985), three times. He began to perceive certain traditional Irish attitudes, especially of guilt and self-sacrifice as undermining regular action or else productive of the wrong kind of action, one based on the  resentment (or perhaps ressentiment as Nietzsche might controversially define it) of the downtrodden, and promoting some merely self-righteous vengeance.

Heaney arguably saw this kind of sweeping but only part true psychological summary of his fellow countrymen too much and well. It morphed into a sometimes unreasonably distanced, much criticized position away from what for Ulster Catholics of the Troubles era were often issues of basic justice as regards voting, housing, education and employment, everything that left them second class citizens under a quasi-apartheid. Nationalists on hunger strike to press their cause thus become for Heaney only a kind of belated Catholic fanatic and/or inheritor of ancient Celtic blood sacrifices – in his strangely ugly way of writing, Heaney says of one hunger striker who died, he “rotted like a pear”.

Aware he couldn’t offer either what fellow countrymen wanted politically, nor effect through poetic showings like those in North the kind of exorcism of root ills needed, Heaney retained his sense of guilt. Poetry had itself initially seemed to him a form of self-sacrifice or monkish vocation, repayment of a debt to God along the lines of the version of atonement theology on which he had been raised.

What he gradually discovered, however, was that much poetic inspiration came suddenly and unawares like a sort of unmerited grace and joining him to the flux of being. In short, poetic inspiration seemed almost the contradiction of religion. Christian poets generally have not been disposed to regard inspiration in this way, but Heaney is sunk in some mental Ireland of the perpetual guilts, among other things assisted by, as suggested in Canto 6 of Station Island, a cult of the Virgin that hampers a man’s natural relation to women. He will nevertheless strive towards what makes for freedom; he will not sin against its imperatives.

In one section of Station Island, a visionary account along Dantesque lines of visiting Lough Derg, the poet (who had once suffered like many academic Irish males pressures to become a priest) encounters a missionary priest he knew. He had died young in Africa and thus in many respects seemed, like the hunger strikers, to have wasted his life. Heaney also meets a ghostly James Joyce from whom he learns that when he refused to take the sacrament “I made my life an instrument of grace”. But Heaney cannot follow the completely secular alternative in the aesthetic priesthood of Joyce. Something mystical remains however awkwardly.

Also on the island he had learned from a Carmelite priest that poetry itself can be redeeming and read as prayer. But then, thinking of the negative way of the Carmelite St John of the Cross, Heaney understands Ultimacy in terms of “nothing” and “dark night” and so “when there is no thing that gives, there can be no demand that the gift be reciprocated”. This leaves Heaney free of “atonement” and reparation ideas of poetic labours and released to a more Wordsworthian ”wise passivity” towards reality. In this and with the God question left open, it’s “nothing”, or perhaps the death at the centre of all, that will supply inspiration.

A collection, The Squarings, attempts to articulate whispers, feelings, insights at this horizon edge of things. I don’t feel Heaney succeeds, but the project is meaningful for a type of Celtic knowing hard to convey yet vital all the same. It has something in common with the philosopher Heidegger’s idea of Being revealing itself in the light space, the Lichtung. It may have even more to do with German music, and I think that Heaney, less skilfully than the late poet and essayist Brian O’Donoghue, makes a way towards inclusion of the Germanic within the Celtic that always needed to be realized.

Heaney is too complex and verbally riddling with his ideas to summarize here. The main point however is that this post-Yeats, supposedly representative poet, gains the freedom of an alternative spirituality which hides or denies deity by ridding himself of a native self-sacrifice theme which he regards as the secret of an Irish paralysis akin to the one portrayed in Joyce’s story, The Dead…… I will add another less familiar way of summarizing Heaney.

Heaney was born in 1939 under the fighting, self-affirming sign of Aries that his Ulster Catholic upbringing repressed and which he let repress. Restrictive, demanding Saturn closely conjuncting his identity-giving sun reflects all of the repression, the hard work and guilt surrounding any will towards escape, firm action or self-justification. Heaney’s opus is often Saturn coarse and graceless, but since his sun closely conjuncts the Mars of modern Ireland’s foundation, he would be nationally influential, dragged into cultural conflicts and expected to take the sides he didn’t. His natal opposition of Jupiter (religion, faith) opposite Neptune (mysticism, self-sacrifice, vision) across the axis of the (Virgo/Pisces service signs, bespeaks his rooted spiritual conflict around service of all kinds.


Auge’s chapter on Eilean ni Chuilleanin’s poetry is headed Relics and Nuns in the poetry of Eilean ni Chuilleanin’s Poetry and subtitled Sifting the Remains of Irish Catholicism. This could be a bit misleading in the context of the whole book and my use of it here, because Eilean’s work does not present any obvious problem in relation to church decadence and decline. If there is a problem it is almost in the lack of any overt one and what that might betray regarding modern Irish religion.

Like many women in Ireland and outside it, Eileain ni Chuilleanin (b.1942) regards the nuns in her life, even the more eccentric ones, as a positive influence. Many Catholic women have felt the freedom of nuns from standard roles and the high culture of especially the teaching nuns, to be a liberating, even rather feminist example. In recent years when it has been impossible to deny all witness to the abuse and sadism of some nuns in such as Ireland’s Magdalene asylums, Catholic women have still been inclined to lay much blame for this on the use and abuse of nuns themselves by priests, bureaucrats and politicians rather than wholeheartedly condemn the women who enlivened and enlightened their youth.

Eileain, whose career has been rather successful by Irish and poetic standards, (she studied at Dublin and Oxford), attended a convent school and three of her aunts were nuns. We may not be so surprised as she herself is, that when she wants to write poetry, she so often mentally presented with the image of a nun. This leads to various musings and affirmations in which holy female figures convey mystery as in The Anchoress, Agnes Bernelle, St Mary Magdalene preaching at Marseilles  They can  imply a mystery of being or of a change into which they shimmer. The poetry generally would imply that Irish Catholicism can be judged against, improved, and developed by the faith of nuns, (or even ordinarily pious women) whose role may even somehow elide with those unfortunately abused by the few nuns that failed. It’s a case as per The Architectural  Metaphor of…. “Help is at hand/Though out of reach”

Influenced and possibly over influenced by the extreme Irish enthusiasm for the relics of St Therese de Lisieux brought to Ireland in 2001, Auge thinks of the nun and Eileain’s  nuns in terms of the philosopher Levinas’ theory of “the trace”, the something that exists between being and non being, between past and present, not tangible, not representable, something that lingers on after it has passed. The nun seems a bit  like the absent girl in The Absent Girl    who “searches for a memory lost with muscle and blood/ She misses her ligaments and the marrow of her bones”. But Auge is thinking especially of the poem The Brazen Serpent which manages to identify Moses’ Brazen Serpent with the True Cross.

Not to get into arguments about that poem, I sense the real issue for all the poetry of Eileain is this. To the extent the nuns represent things divine, it is as the Sophia, the Divine Wisdom, the feminine side of God. And Sophia can include knowledge and witty inventions in her character (Pro 19:21).

But at this point we touch on the little considered subject of the divine Yin/Yang (Catholicism associates the Sophia with the Virgin rather than God, thus avoiding if not compounding the definition problem). However;  to the extent “male” Logos initiates where “female” Sophia reacts, the Wisdom side of the faith does risk losing and becoming relic and trace, no matter how temporarily inspirational, given lack of sufficient, appropriate engagement with a Logos itself needing reform. Their modern situation is such that the nuns remind more than they reveal. Logos must be made to realize what the positive contribution of Sophia is, or Sophia will go to waste and Ultimacy itself be insufficiently seen or felt for the merely human input.

Eileain often sees the female body in terms of physical structures like the wrecked ship in The Magdalene Sermon, and the nun may even be the church; but the fact remains that though Sophia is a builder (Pro 9:1), Logos is the cornerstone and holding frame (Eph 2: 20,21). Eileain’s poetry is interesting for its unusual vision and implications; it doesn’t necessarily point to the future as it might and perhaps because it can’t quite do so where Logos is misunderstood or wrong…… The next poet’s contribution belongs with the problem of revealing and declaring truth from a more outsider position.


Priests are not a “trace” for Paul Durcan (b.1944). He has not had major problems with them (he respects many and has not joined the “paedophile priest” chorus), but he has long set his face against the hierarchy which, following his traumatic upbringing, he has made it easier to criticize. It is remarkable that Durcan has retained his sanity and humour in view of his story. His father was a circuit judge who got his son out of university and into an asylum where he was threatened with electric shock and a lobotomy because he was judged “too sissy”.

The prolific Durcan, best known for the collection Daddy, Daddy (1990), is not gay, he has been married with children, but original perception of him was that he was as good as an insolent, outsider gay. Auge rightly perceives the problem as somewhat linked to traditional binds affecting Irish masculinity.

The Irish male under centuries long colonialism was regarded as a weak, “feminine”, underclass figure. If he ever resisted (like the Fenians condemned to hell by church hierarchs) he was a barbarian lacking in proper manly self-control. There were no models for the male beyond sportsman, chaste solider (like arch nationalist Padraig Pearse who plainly was gay orientated) or the ubiquitous celibate priest. Even close male friendships could be suspect of homosexuality. And I would add that Ireland beyond Dublin used to be a place where it was not safe to be gay. Robert Drake, American author of the literary study The Gay Canon (1998) was crippled and part brain damaged for life when two homophobic thugs attacked him in Sligo in 1999. Violence of all sorts used to be easily excused. Durcan records his father thought it was no more than Protestants deserved when in the worst, most purely gratuitous case of IRA violence, ten innocent Protestant workers at a road block got slaughtered in January 1976.

Durcan would always be strong enough – and perhaps socially well connected enough – to fight back, buoyed by the conviction that the hierarchs uttering extreme things pompously (like declaring to allow any divorce in Ireland would be like releasing Chernobyl upon the nation), were ridiculous hypocrites. Even the titles of his verses would declare it like, Cardinal Dies of Heart Attack in Dublin Brothel. However this did not belong to a simple anti-clericalism. More spiritually it develops towards an examination, or rather re-examination, of images of Jesus whom he decides has to have been somehow androgynous, something he believes everyone should be somewhat. In effect, as stressed in my previous article, this matter is, (or at least should be) an unavoidable one for theologians and artists alike.

The undeniable fact is that Jesus is biblically described as both Logos (male) and Sophia (female) and then as married to a church with both male and female members. Short of ignoring this in the usual manner, how one treats of this matter stands to affect everything from art to social attitudes. Durcan was entering unfamiliar territory indeed, because it’s the Virgin rather than Jesus that is liable to be imagined and dialogued with in typical Irish Catholicism.

In his mature years Durcan would become an admirer of Ireland’s first female President (1990-97) Mary Robinson, a Catholic married to a Protestant who was prepared to embrace difference in people, including sexual. Durcan has also come round to the view and, in a measure of agreement with the implied position of Joyce in especially Ulysses, that fatherhood is a problem for Ireland and the Irish male may need to father himself. The troublesome father is a curse upon Ireland. It is common to portray parental problems (as in Kavanagh’s The Great Hunger) through the figure of the matriarch, but if this figure is a problem she might not always be where the trouble starts.

While Durcan brings to light perspectives and conversations long overdue in Ireland, because like Kavanagh he is not always theologically sophisticated enough to manage his own questions, he has also, however unwittingly released into the Irish atmosphere something bordering on spiritual pollution. Durcan’s style and themes would function like an invitation to the work of a leading poet Auge does not review, namely Brendan Kennelly. This poet’s 400 page succes de scandale, his stink bomb offering The Book of Judas (1991), may be said to have undermined clarity and respect in the whole area of religion – much of the collection is just abuse that only Kennelly’s academic status allowed him to get away with. The situation deserves poetic treatment – I give it some in “Judas stopped at Dublin


According to an Irish Independent article for her sixtieth birthday, Paula Meehan believes “two lines of poetry can save a life”. You could call that faith! Poetry has certainly been good for Meehan (b.1955) helping to bring her from the Dublin tenements of her youth to Ireland Professor of Poetry to Trinity and University Colleges Dublin in the wake of much general travel and experience.. Except that she supplies poetry a new autonomy as virtual scripture in its own right, Meehan recapitulates many of the issues for the other poets here, the repression, the problems of Virgin cult, management of the flow of life and eros, the desire to read and feel landscape, tracing it even in the urban scene etc.

Meehan can be all ways radical but sometimes and in some respects is closer to tradition and even the Yeatsian legacy too. This is apparent in the strong and haunting poem that made her reputation since 1991, “The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks” It was inspired by the tragic death in 1984 of Ann Lovett, attempting to give hidden birth outdoors at night before a shrine of the Virgin. The poem’s irony is that the Virgin herself is trapped. Denying her role in which people “fit me to a myth of a man crucified”, she admits that for Anne, “I did not move/ I did not lift a finger to help her/ I did not intercede with heaven….” This because she is really a symbol or goddess of something else, “who cries out to be incarnate/ incarnate, maculate and tousled in a honeyed bed”.

The mid eighties was a time of Marian obsession in Ireland following strange reports of “the moving statues” in a Kerry church. Children first saw these and then churches across especially the West of Ireland were reporting the same. Noticeably, like the late Victorian Knock apparitions, the visions were at once very Irish for dream/vision yet untrue to national character in being silent. They supplied no messages unless implied.

Unknown to the Christianity of St Patrick, the history of Ireland’s Marian devotion begins just prior to the Norman invasion and was at its strongest during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries’ severe English repression of Ireland and following the mid nineteenth century Great Famine. In short, the Virgin functioned as symbol of resistance and identity against the invader and death (and for the sort of reasons mentioned earlier, a male symbol could be more complex for men under repression, the Virgin could simply be sympathetic). In the mid 80s when some Irish laws and traditional values were beginning to be questioned, arguably the silent Mary can be seen as defending a threatened conservative national self-image.

Meehan’s development would be towards letting the goddess/archetype of Granard appear and speak as she finally does in “One Evening in May”. The poet hopes she will never regret being “bound to her rule for life”, the goddess having eventually declared, “Do my bidding”. Yet the authority and appearance of this figure could be disconcerting (her body is starry but she has “a great snakeshead”).  Meehan as in “The Man who was marked by Winter” can concede this goddess force may be pitiless and blind towards human nature. (I feel Meehan’s goddess has kinship with Robert Graves’ dangerous White Goddess). However, as Meehan seeks both vision and control, she must and does make adjustments to her object of dreams.

Her response develops in ways both feminist and Buddhist (though she always denies being a Buddhist despite poems like Dharmakaya). Like the shape-shifting shaman and his spirits Meehan will instead move between worlds, between rational and irrational, ancient and modern, urban and rural. The concern not to let herself and others be swallowed up by the visionary  forces of soul has brought her to work among addicts and prisoners (Meehan would see goddess energies in the heroin plague of Dublin in the eighties). A generalized Buddhism reflecting a strong influence from Beat Poet, Gary Synder, allows Meehan a distance, Zen or other possibly even Tibetan to the extent that  in Tibetan Buddhism one can create and dissolve worlds and gods. Meehan will also keep the earth goddess power under control by sharing record of this deity with especially those women who tell and share their stories.

The aim becomes a “democratic” spirituality. Instead of being in the hands of any elite group or patriarchal figures like priests and beholden to “doctrine”, vision will pass instead to women who share and modify what’s revealed, who accept the spontaneous and free ways of vision as perhaps exemplified in the ultimately inexplicable “My Father Perceived as a Vision of Saint Francis”.There is no reason why Meehan’s father should suddenly appear as that saint amid the musings of this poem.

But the prototype for  this strong emphasis upon vision’s power (and not necessarily accompanied by the Logos function of words), is the dream life of the poet’s grandmother. The latter used daily to recite her dreams to family and these dreams could function as prophecies – they were reportedly as impressive as any visions of St John on Patmos in Revelation! Although Meehan’s upbringing was loosely Catholic, the grandmother as evoked in verse gives a rather witchy even sinister impression as in “That Night There Was a Full Moon, Little Cloud”. Granny is hemming a shroud and knows the poet’s “black sin”, whatever that is, tells Paula her name should be “harlot” or “scarlet” and that she will have a song written in the blood of men who have displeased her.

Meehan is, as Auge concedes, complex; but I think it would not be too wrong to summarize her position as radically if unintentionally Jungian, a world in which symbol, archetype, the unconscious and perhaps very much the shadow, are paramount. I sense too that Meehan holds a rather special place within the new brew of Irish spirituality. Despite her visionary welcome of the wild and unprecedented, her persona is mild and almost dainty, quite similar to the continuously angels-aware Lorna Byrne who is now a cult figure translated into thirty languages and for many a new religion in itself and for some a natural development from their troubled Catholicism. More on Lorna in Part Two.


Certain themes have emerged from these six poets that seem fairly negative and disturbing. We learn that:

1) Irish Catholicism has been not simply repressive but traumatically so to the point that for  health and sanity’s sake one might need to become one’s own priest and spiritual adviser –  a (sort of) Protestant position.

2) It also forgets, ignores or represses the original Celtic Christian nature mysticism so that what remains of this is no longer vital.

3) It has promoted an attitude of guilt and self-sacrifice undermining of practical action in the world, while through Virgin cult, it has helped confuse realistic relations of men with women.

4) It is however ironically nuns more than wives and mothers who make up for some of the damage and represent the better and visionary side of the faith and possibly its future.

5) Even so, individualism of most kinds, especially for men, has risked being the object of virtual persecution until quite recently (when toleration of homosexuality has been portrayed by conservatives as bordering madness or irremediable decadence).

6) Religious doctrine has been so rigid and rationalized some would prefer a life lived according to vivid symbolism and what  one  could call “myths to live by” (title of a bestseller by Irish American Joseph Campbell) letting go not least of the ubiquitous Virgin cult in favour of “Our Lady of the Facts of Life”.

It can be argued the poets cited are not quite fair or representative. Maybe. However, if one adds to the mix facts like how for centuries the hierarchy would be almost the diplomatic ally of the oppressor, a hinderer of much national identity and resistance instead seeking rather its own authority, keen to render Ireland as under De Valera’s government the world’s most Catholic society, a colony no longer of England but of Rome itself, the pressing question is: why did the Irish  engage with a version of Christianity so unhelpful?

Three obvious, but not completely sufficient answers are that:

  1. There was obviously a lack of choice, variety and debate. Protestantism appeared, politically at least, an even worse solution, though we do know that where the ambitiously called “Church of Ireland” made concessions to the native language and/or did not require allegiance to England it did make some headway .

  2.  Once  Ireland had lost its main leadership through the Flight of the Earls in 1607,  priests became a multi-functional substitute elite. This might have mattered less if priestly loyalty was not so firmly attached to Rome as alternative power base which only bolstered many British and Protestant fears at the same time as it failed to serve national identity at a time of increasing national identity throughout Europe..

  3.  The Irish were in  thrall to a religion of fear. While the hellfire sermon in Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist, is by any standards extreme, something of the kind would still have influenced many. As Auge points out, even before the confessional and the regular confession of Clarke’s youth became a major feature of Irish life (the sacrament was previously more communal and even just annual), many were fearful of the possibility of dying without priestly absolution. It is not possible short of outright denial and heresy to erase hell from the Christian creedal picture, but it should be possible to speak of it in more acceptable terms as considered in later re-visioning here.

I think there was another reason, possibly the most important, for the general stasis, but I shall consider that in the next part where it is indissociable from definitions of Christianity and Irish Christianity and any revisioning of them.


I shall introduce  with a personal reminiscence  the unexpected answer I think is most nearly correct relative to the final question of Part One about the strange Irish attachment to a Catholicism often experienced as more wounding than healing.

On the occasions of the passing of both of my parents there were elements of the kind might be included in a study like La Legende de la Mort, (a record of death-associated experiences among the Brittany Celts, a people more voyant and spiritual than the French). Years ago, my father had been amazed to see my mother’s spirit depart from the bed in her hospital room and twenty four hours or so before he himself died he had suddenly informed me he would depart because Jesus had visited and told him he would soon be taken.

If something of this order was once more common, it isn’t now. In 2019 a leading Australian journalist of Irish background, Greg Sheridan, published a book God is Good For You. In my review of it,  I mentioned how little people he interviewed, even people of faith, strongly believed in survival in any meaningful form. This was similar to my own experience of people’s attitudes and responses following my father’s passing. The point is significant and raises questions, not least in relation to Irish spirituality and its history.

Anticipating what I have to say presently and which seems provable beyond just an impression, my idea is that much Irish attachment to Catholicism until quite recent times with its distractions, has been involved with a sense of quasi-salvation from structure and pattern rather than belief as such.

Moreover, the bizarre paradox I see as attaching to Irish Catholicism from medieval to modern times, is that it would manage either to justify, or at least sufficiently excuse, a kind of distinct unbelief and this unbelief’s related attachment to pagan customs such as the original Patrick Christianity would not and never justify.

In 433 at the hill of Slane Patrick won a contest against the druids in terms of their revered authority and magic, but across time he would lose against them more intellectually, as gradually the druids, or the druidic spirit among Irish leaders, made a comeback. Of this presently and also  concerning another quiet modern transformation of belief in the way that mild speaking, wildly popular Lorna Byrne is quietly drawing a lot of disaffected Irish (and Christians worldwide –she is translated into over thirty languages) into a substitute, default faith in angels. They are supposedly everywhere one looks if one can only look closely enough!


Various people and churches have at times sought to define by creed and/or practice what it signifies to be Christian. There are nonetheless two early and minimalist ones from St Paul to keep in mind.

“If you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved” (Rom 10:9).

“If there is no resurrection of the dead , then Christ has not been raised and if Christ has not been raised then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain. We are even found to be misrepresenting God….” (1 Cor 15:13-14)

But resurrection here means something quite specific. It is not continued existence as a spirit in some heaven or purgatory, nor reincarnation in another body, but rather the eventual acquiring at the Rapture or Last Day, of a new, more divine, versatile kind of spiritual (“pneumatic”) as opposed to earthly body. In effect, this fulfils the belief statement of Job 19:26 “And though… worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God…”

The ancients believed Celtic religion was a form of Pythagoreanism and that the Celts were fearless in the face of death because of their belief in some form of immortality. Even so, by the above Pauline standard, and despite a few early Celtic saints concerned about the site of their death and hoped-for resurrection from it, lively expectation of a new immortal body and existence, is absent to a degree that, at least at this level, the Irish barely qualify as Christian. It is probably true to say that traditional, average belief held vague expectations of a place in purgatory. Be that as it may, some kind of insistent imagining seems to go elsewhere than in the direction of heaven and resurrection.

A lot of significant Irish literature is about graveyards and the post-mortem condition. What is deemed the greatest Irish language novel, Mairtain O’ Cadhain’s Cre na Cilla, Churchyard Clay, is set there. It is a rambling, plotless, rather Rabelaisian record of the arguing, cursing, reminiscing dead. There are affinities with Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake which is about the wake prior to the burial. But whether it’s Brendan Behan’s Richard’s Cork Leg, set in a graveyard, or Yeats’ repeating purgatory in Purgatory, or many plays of Beckett set in indeterminate somewheres, all we receive is a sense of a meaningless, aimless continuation, not even a pagan voyage to some Tir na Og, Land of Youth. It would be hard to say what belief, unbelief or agnosticism is really entailed behind all this. When the Mary Poppins author, P.L Travers, asked her Irish guru the visionary poet AE, (the Irish Blake and reputedly a theosophist), what he believed about the afterlife he admitted he’d never thought about it.

One of the most significant novelists of modern Ireland has been John McGahern and his work is felt to successfully reflect the borderlines of traditional and modern and the effects of change. In That They May Face the Rising Sun (2002) the characters attend mass as a regular ritual but without any special belief in its meaning. In Amongst Women (1990) the sceptical, unbelieving head of the family, Moran, decrees daily reciting the rosary simply because it will help keep the family together. (“the family that prays together, stays together”). Out in the fields through love of the country his children discover the meaning of the Benedictine ‘to work is to pray”. This is a family open to nature and its rhythms.

In many ways the life of Moran and his alienated family make sense of life through order and symbolism; it’s a way of managing what the Irish supposedly find hard to do – living in the present as opposed to the past or the future (even if it’s the graveyard!). Moran is a disappointed man who fought in those Irish Independence Wars forgotten and ignored in the new Ireland but in which he could perceive himself mythically as a sort of Cuchulainn. Also in a (rural or small town) society where emotional life is rich but intellectual life could be limited, people are minimally or accidentally understood. However, their  unexplained, hidden selves are respected and associated with through ritual.

Moran, who is not a believer, is puzzled that the priests seem to be afraid of death, don’t talk of it or anticipate beyond life beyond life. To the extent this is true of Ireland’s priests (I wouldn’t say it universally was), the reason is surely simple. There can be no easy, reassuring answer because, mired in secondary considerations, there is no simple Pauline statement of faith they would be ready and willing to affirm. The afterlife subject is instead hopelessly tied up with trying to decide, Dantesque style, what level of merit the person might represent for entry to whatever zone of purgatory or heaven, (not to say if inadvertently they might not be more qualified for a place below!). For most of its history Irish religion has been about merit to an excessive degree, so before proceeding a bit of history must be referred to.


Asked what “Irish Christianity” means, probably most people would answer the faith of St Patrick. Patrick was the British, probably Welsh, missionary to an Ireland evidently not the pagan matriarchal utopia of some colourful modern imaginings – many of the first converts were women and Patrick said the condition of female slaves in Ireland was terrible.

Ironically, as becomes apparent from an honest reading of St Patrick’s Confession, (an at times wandering, slightly confusing testament that doesn’t answer questions we would like to know such as about his relations to the Roman and Gaulish churches), that the faith of the national saint has little in common with that of most Irish over the centuries.

Protestant claims to own the saint are not quite the fanciful chauvinism that might appear. Patrick’s faith, strongly Pauline and Trinitarian, knows no cult of the saints or Mary or purgatory, is all about faith and is  not far off what some evangelical missionaries and/or charismatics might write today, not least since Patrick believes he hears from and is guided by messages from the Spirit. The closest to any Catholic note is the mention of some converts becoming what sounds like dedicated monks and nuns.

Patrick’s mission was chiefly directed, strategically by the looks of it, on the Northern half of Ireland, the main centre of druidism and secular power. (There appears to have been some Christian presence related to Eastern churches earlier and in South Ireland, but it was not system-challenging like Patrick). Famously Patrick won a battle with druid power that was a landmark for Irish religion at Easter of 433, but I suggest the victory was partial only. The druids would make a comeback and they have more or less ruled the religious landscape ever since, either  through  the spirit of their own teachings or Rome’s.

Kidnapped as a youth, Patrick’s education was incomplete and he regrets his lack of learning, mentioning that the Irish aristocrats held it against him. Ireland would soon play a major role in saving the inherited culture of the West. If the country’s elite were so many primitives in a bog they would not have been able to do this. It is just unfortunate that the outlook of the elite  remained stuck in the druid mould where specifically faith was concerned…if they could be said to have “faith”.

It has been plausibly speculated that Patrick’s mission could have been encouraged by those in Europe at odds with the at one time influential heretical teachings of the British/Welsh monk Pelagius. This widely travelled monk taught salvation by works, Jesus being only a good example to follow. Since Jesus can be rather hard to emulate, practically such a doctrine can become a burden to carry! And in any case it was unbiblical.

However it struck some chord in the Celtic regions. Arguably the religious fate of the Celts, with its strange repressions and stuckness was even anticipated by St Paul in his epistle to Galatians written to the Romanized Celts of Galatia in what is now modern Turkey. Galatians is the justification through faith epistle that was Luther’s inspiration for a Reformation Ireland never had. Paul insists believers are already justified by Christ and an almost automatic curse is upon anyone who promotes otherwise and legalizes the faith: “you foolish Galatians, who has bewitched you?….for all who rely on the works of the Law are accursed” (Gal 3:1,10). He also exclaims (and one thinks of Celtic treatment of fairy thorns, and offerings to the sprites etc) “How can you turn back to the weak and beggarly elemental spirits? (Gal. 4:9).

Has Celtic management of spiritual essentials been as undermining through history as Paul anticipated it could be? Do we perhaps see the root error of Celtic Christianity starting with the revered but impetuous aristocrat Columcille (St Columba) who, unable to forgive himself for a tribal battle he had occasioned with massive loss of life, then perceived almost the rest of his life as necessarily a penance.

The druids and/or druidized Irish leaders, and especially their brehon lawyers, converted to the faith, but they not only sought to retain many native customs but their own power too (the bans and curses of the druids had always been much feared); but some also fell in love with laws of Israel and in no time invented super severe penitentials (whose punishments might stretch over half a lifetime and more). These rules accompanied Irish religious on their missionary travels across Europe, missions that included the novel custom of private confession that would become part of western Christianity. Early Irish love of the Hebrew legacy is symbolized by the odd way in which the annalists decided that the prophet Jeremiah made his final exile in Ireland where he married an Irish princess. (Someone managed to ignore this prophet had been forbidden to marry but hardly appears to have been the marrying kind in any case).

Irish contribution to the West at the crucial early medieval period was often more civilising than spiritually redeeming as such. Most essentially the gospel is a call to general repentance (metanoia/ mind change) with acceptance by faith of forgiveness through the messianic Christ (i.e, universal anointed high priest to manage sin and atonement) (Mk 1:15). The implications in terms of grace is what has often been deemed the distinguishing, most original feature of Christianity among world religions. (Christianity and the Jupiter Difference

The Bethlehem Star itself was Jupiter, universally star of grace, good fortune, religion and the teacher/guru, not Saturn symbol of law and custom. All the world religions in effect teach, like Buddhism with its wheel of the Law, systems of auto-salvation, effortful practices to increase merit and decrease ill effects (bad karma); but the absolute free and new beginning under God begun  by a will to place faith, is the Christian “good news” to the world.

If repentance was genuine something of its fruit in improved conduct should accompany it; but good deeds do not define, or earn, but only reflect and accompany salvation because “by grace you have been saved through faith and this is not your doing …not the result of works …”lest any should boast” as St Paul has it (Eph.2:9). The early Irish conversion, which in effect is a will to sanctify oneself so as to become an angel if not another Christ, was very much a way of merit earned. For centuries  St Patrick’s Purgatory, the penance island in Donegal’s Lough Derg associated with the saint by late legend only, would be a, or the, sombre symbol of painful, effort-ridden Irish religion.

The Irish church never became fully Pelagian i.e. teaching nothing but works, but its elitist priests and saints both absorbed and, penitentially-minded, contributed to, the western church’s strengthening of the role of priest as the supreme Christian, mediator of Christ’s sacrifice. This sacrifice was seen as continuously repeated in the mass, a sacrifice added to rather than already achieved once for all time as per Heb 7:27, an epistle that implies what 1 Pet 2:9 states, namely that there is a priesthood of all believers, not of any exclusive priestly caste. This new, early medieval Celtic and Roman Christ is a half redeemer whose example and death are sufficient pretext and essential building block upon which the believer can build their fund of merit for themselves or even others in order to qualify for salvation.

Unsurprisingly, the situation was little inspiration for poetry of personal devotion. Needed would be someone from a more diverse historical  and cultural background like the Dante of medieval    Florence whose imaginative universe has fascinated so many Irish poets (even Heaney), whose spiritual  labour is to put everyone in their merited place at every level. Dante does so with the mind of a sentencing judge, not least in the purgatory, an extra-biblical idea said to have owed much during the medieval era to Ireland’s Lough Derg and tales around it. But metaphysical poetry like that of the English seventeenth century that engages conversations, arguments and relations with God is still scarcely possible because hardly even imagined. Instead the Irish poets fall back on the main alternative, some wonder at God’s creation.

Based on the tribal system and organized around monastic centres, the much vaunted early Celtic church whatever its virtues was not truly democratic. There is no concept as in the house churches of the Roman empire like the one addressed in Ephesians, that there could be a church with pastors, teachers, prophets etc (Eph. 4) all playing their role. There is simply someone with priestly function and (often part or wholly secluded) monks and nuns who if not at prayer and meditation are likely working at decorating scriptures themselves little discussed or taught.

Post Patrick, as far as contact with deity is concerned, there is a twofold localizing and distancing effect at work. Local holy sites and popularly acclaimed holy persons (saints) are a hoped for point of local contact. The distancing effect arrives with late medieval Marian cult where the Redeemer, biblically the supposed one and only advocate with the Father,( 1 Tim 2:5) is only approached through “the Mother of God” whom a half feared Jesus will never refuse. (Among medieval  bardic poets and reflecting the confusion entertained by Marian cult I think it was Philib O’Huiginn exclaims “Oh Jesus you left even your mother distraught”)

Somewhere between these two poles of near and far guardian angels sufficed for spiritual contact and special appeals. Ignoring that in the NT the saint word is applied to all believers, mention of saints’ prayers rising (Rev 5:8) would justify ever more elaborate doctrines of the special status of holy souls with God. (The Roman church ignoring Celtic and Greek style sainthood by local vote, evolved elaborate ways of deciding if a given saint was truly in heaven and able to receive and grant prayers or not). At this point I shall jump from the historical perspective to a modern one that’s currently almost unavoidable.


The new Catholic, semi-Catholic or post Catholic religion of Ireland is, or is fast becoming, Lorna Byrne’s faith in angels which she claims to have seen continuously around her from birth (a world first?!). Her belief in these spiritual helpers is promoted in books translated in over thirty languages (and, over the objections of some, sold in churches). She is now a familiar figure on TV and media generally. If a person’s Catholicism has already encouraged prayer to a guardian angel, the switch to Byrne’s ubiquitous angels is easy; but for all sorts of reasons those angels, if they’re not imaginary, aren’t Christian ones including for the following.

The biblical angel word means “messenger”, because they are bearers of messages on direct divine command. The notion angels can hang around “unemployed” if we don’t keep them suitably occupied is between hilarious and heretical. Angels, whom it’s forbidden to worship, are fellow workers with believers and prophets in the cosmic struggle the gospel addresses (Rev 22:9). As such they are portrayed as doers, who will at least occasionally intervene in the affairs of the world. Byrne’s angels can only advise or send feathers for signs but they do it all the time.

If and when angels intervene on God’s behalf, biblically it’s not a secret. From earliest childhood Byrne’s angels tell her to keep quiet about them. It seems they have chosen her without any special consent on her part. Unlike Gabriel to Mary, Byrne’s chief helper/teacher angel can’t be named (though she does claim to have dealings with the archangel Michael). Overall the picture is less one of vocation than something like psychic lineages in which because an ancestor engaged the occult some unwitting descendant receives the energies in whatever form they can understand.

Angels assist worship and knowledge of God.  This is why an angel will support the kind of proclamation an angel tells Paul and Barnabas to pursue despite opposition from religious authorities (Acts 5: 17-21). The reason there’s any gospel to proclaim is because neither angels nor Christianity teach like Byrne the basic unity and equality of all religions (Acts 4: 12) or the reincarnation (Heb 9:27) of souls.

Whether it’s imagination or real, I don’t consider Lorna Byrne a wilful deceiver, and I don’t question her kindly desire to help people, which she sometimes can and does. She absolutely appeals to the sentimental side of Ireland. She is also the perfect pupil to her unearthly mentors. Her deprived background and dyslexia have protected her from any doubts that could arise from intense study in religion or bible. In the same way, her situation has helped prevent trenchant criticism of whatever she claims. And now as regards especially universal religion, Byrne (who even envisages Christians worshipping at Mecca), can nowadays seem to chime with recent statements from Pope Francis that understandably trouble some Catholics who regard him as an anti-pope. Certainly, to declare as Francis has done that any proselytizing is wrong, flies in the face of Christ’s parting command to proclaim the gospel worldwide and Paul’s statements “Woe is me if I do not preach the gospel” (1 Cor 9 :16).

Lorna Byrne (b.1954) is all of a mystery, but an astrologer might note that along with the likes of Heaney and others who make big waves in modern Ireland, it helps that she was born under the Aries so emphasized in the birth pattern of the Republic. At the same time, one could note that her Saturn directly aspects asteroid Lucifer, name of that deceptive being who can manifest as an angel of light. Byrne is certainly no devil, but she does appear to be a source of insufficiently challenged teachings misleading from no matter what Christian standpoint.


….Now finally for the re-imagining I’ve been leading to. In the wake of what’s already been considered, the following is obviously “Utopian”. It aims to stimulate thought, spark a few ideas, perhaps encourage a few new practices in the way just imagining things sometimes can.

The situation of  twenty first century Ireland both departs from tradition and, as  in the Byrne angel cult, radically develops it in broadly New Age ways.  There has of course always been change even amid the apparent conservatism of centuries.  The religion of Patrick, embroidered with a cult of local saints and holy sites, was eventually absorbed into the religion of Rome (which it in turn influenced). It disposed of much that was native from the anam cara (soul friend) to what looks to have been something like same sex unions, (which if so suggests some influence from medieval Eastern Churches which countenanced such). The Irish are perennially  good at sainthood and can achieve it almost anyhow, anywhere….like Maura “Soshin” O’Halloran (1955-1982) now deemed a Zen Buddhist saint worshipped in Japan as an incarnation of the goddess Kannon. If she had lived (and not died like her father before her in a road accident) she would like to have taught Ireland Buddhism along with the unity of all religions from a temple in Dublin (where there is however a Centre). I expect to devote an article to the O’Halloran phenomenon…… But short of such exotic, ultimately apostate developments, I shall consider how Ireland might  now be otherwise Christian.

Since the twelfth century Roman takeover assisted by English ambitions and Ulster’s reforming archbishop St Malachy, the only real alternative until modern times was a Protestantism that was political and didn’t appeal. Very belatedly we may ask what it could have done as an alternative and even how it could present itself as any distinct, viable option today.

Where it used the native language and didn’t impose loyalty to England as the price of conversion, Protestantism enjoyed some success. It would probably have enjoyed rather more if it had ritualized itself. For many Irish the flow of existence needs some organization and meaning via ritual, so….

1) The early Irish monks chanted the Psalms round the clock, some of them reportedly even did so standing in the sea. The Psalms as against the total biblical legacy is a bit limiting. Just as modern Ireland reads Joyce’s Ulysses round the clock for Bloomsday, I see no reason why the Bible couldn’t be read round the clock in selected churches.

2). Many Irish also need and value retreat. The spirit of the meditating hermits, the Culdees, remains. As the late mystically inclined Sean Dunne (1956-95) had it in The Hermitage:

A house for quiet built in the woods
One good place for a man alone…

Church of Ireland Sunday worship was never enough. Buddhism is wiser here than Catholicism here or Protestantism, despite the latter’s urge towards self-affirmation it is dead to reasonable spiritual individualism –   both Catholic and Protestant systems fail to see it should be possible to allow temporary vows lasting as long as the person feels is helpful and appropriate.

3) Both Catholicism and Protestantism in Ireland could use more and different forms of art and music. Irish Catholicism has too many “naturalistic” plaster saints around its churches and Protestantism too little of anything. As regards art, I don’t need either Yeats or Soshin O’Halloran to incline me to the conviction there are certain aesthetic strains of affinity between Ireland and Japan that could be developed in the direction of ornament, of li type impulse, of feeling for nature and zen type plainness (of which St Mary’s Cathedral Tokyo is a good example). There are even other Asian traditions of affinity (like the extreme detail of Tibetan art where everything has symbolic significance); and as regards music something akin to the more vibratory, meditational raga music of India could be employed on occasions in lieu of standard hymns. The insistent drone of the Celtic bagpipe is already half way there.

4) Because they lack saints, non-Catholic Christianity in Ireland (and elsewhere) lacks many festivals and the rituals prominent in traditional Catholicism. But rituals of some kind are almost a psychological necessity for the Irish. Whereas historically early Ireland made the mistake of turning Christianity back into the system of law St Paul warned against as contrary to the new era of grace, modern Irish Christianity could nonetheless well assimilate the not forbidden Jewish festivals. It could perhaps adopt the menorah (representing the seven spirits of God and the seven planets according to Josephus) as a symbol. The Jewish festivals are defined as moedim, times of special meeting with God, and some Christians who have experimented with the festivals do find them occasions of easier prayer, increased vision and renewal. Even just lighting a Sabbath candle and sharing a Sabbath meal could be meaningful. On the rare occasions I have attended a Shabbat meal I have been struck by the powerful and peaceful atmosphere it can evoke.

Regardless, it is beyond high time Ireland and its Christians sorted themselves out about Israel. It is disgraceful that Ireland could be nowadays described as perhaps the most anti-Israel in Europe.  It’s  a biblical injunction from the first not to be anti-Semitic ( Gen 12:3) but the Irish situation owes something to wildly distorted understanding of the Palestinian cause as somehow related to Irish issues plus, to add to the confusion, some alienating behaviour by those Irish who do support Israel like Eileen Byrne of the Justice and Equality department. This person is all for reminding people about the holocaust and Jewish identity at the same time as she has been involved with replacement migration hurtfully imposed upon those regions trying to preserve Gaelic language and culture. I can’t say more here than that massive (re)education and healing in this area is required, especially as in America it used be the Irish and Jews were often closely and politically involved. Both represent people groups who have suffered and endured a lot. Joyce through the Bloom theme of Ulysses, was aware of various Jewish/Irish affinities.

5) Modern Christian ritual in Ireland could use a new Rosary, one based on a more Trinitarian outlook and biblical/prophetic references. Even if you feel it can be justified by tradition and theology, there is too much evidence from Ireland that Marian cult is not experienced as psychologically helpful by many believers, especially not young ones. But objections can be raised against the rosary in itself including that (by tradition) its introduction is attributed to St Dominic, founder saint of the Inquisition. Why inherit from and affirm him? When I was growing up the mood was ecumenical and I was not encouraged to think of Catholicism as “wrong” or terribly different from Protestantism. It took residence in Mexico to persuade me something might indeed be wrong and the system considerably different. The cult of the Virgin of Guadalupe, clearly Mexico’s true deity, alerted me to just what levels of paganism Catholicism can cover and excuse via its Marian cult.

There are differing versions of the Rosary, but listening to it with its sometimes single Pater Noster to ten Hail Marys in a section, one could receive the impression that for all practical purposes, Mary is the redeemer or guarantor of salvation. (Jesus is supposed not to be able to refuse his mother anything!).

The rosary is based on the main events or mysteries of Jesus’ life leaving out all the teachings in between the events, and it concludes with the non-biblical assumption of Mary into heaven to be crowned its queen. Mary as queen and virtual co-redemptrix is patent in the medieval poem Stabat Mater which finishes entreating Mary to deliver from hell. Just by itself the Stabat Mater, memorably arranged by leading western composers, amounts to a collection of statements contrary to some of the most central, explicit biblical teachings. See my article following the Notre Dame conflagration and the last choral music sung there.

6) Beyond the problems of Marian cult, Irish Christianity, too often hurt by radical gloom and doom preaching, needs to re-visit its basic proclamation. While serious issues like hell and the last things can’t honestly be censored from core doctrine, there are more or less reasonable ways of presenting them. Hell especially has always needed an understanding closer to that promoted in Eastern Christianities where the same (spiritual) fires that burn the damned, illuminate the saved because the matter is considerably one of will and perception. Why God would irremediably damn anyone and especially as per Anselm’s medieval atonement doctrine, because sin had “offended” the divine honour makes little sense. There has to be more behind this and there are surely more logical, saner answers, a matter I touch on in review of Greg Sheridan’s God is Good for You

6). If one revises the message, it matters who will teach and proclaim what’s agreed. Ireland has been a mostly biblically illiterate society and its religious organizations, even Protestant, have reflected hardly anything like rabbinical instruction and organization. Any believer is supposed to know the bible and if need be argue over it like the commended Berean Jews in Greece who didn’t automatically accept what Paul told them but got down to study, waiting to be convinced (Acts 17:11). The first churches reckoned to distribute roles, pastors, teachers, prophets etc; there was no idea of a single presiding priest.

There is a distinct gay/queer strain within Irish culture – the ancients noticed a strong, openly expressed same sex disposition among the Celts. Whatever one makes of that, one of the subjects religious Ireland still needs to argue out is the question of sexuality,  something which always colours spirituality. It is a subject which has too often and still is cornered by inflexible fundamentalists unwilling to see that in some respects the same sex theme even constitutes a hidden biblical stream as indicated for example by this poem and its notes.

Irish Christianity needs to reach greater theological sophistication in this and other areas if it is to be relevant and develop. If it is not to finish ignored as is happening, especially Catholicism will have to get beyond the evident attachment of some new nationalists to the oppressive De Valera ideal of nationhood. In this gays were without any rights and protection, divorce was unthinkable and women, even in extreme situations, would never have abortions. Irish mismanagement of issues  like these had been so misguided Christians should not even be surprised at the national turnaround and not treat the  legal changes as the prime symbol of a purely secularist rejection of Christianity.

A recent  youtube about How the Most Catholic Nation left the Church seems oblivious to the idea the churches could actually have contributed anything at all to what has happened.  The turnaround has to a considerable extent been a vote against a backlog of outrageous clerical failures and a  belated correction to a virtual medievalism in aspects of the laws that had caused more than enough suffering.  Even if one’s personal theological position allows only for strictest tradition, a nation must still allow a few concessions to dissenters or it is a theocracy, not a democracy, and one that is not honestly giving to God and to Caesar their dues. The theocratic tones of the new nationalism have effectively doomed that movement’s chances at a crucial moment in Irish affairs.

But can and will there now be any creative development? Some might say the times being what they are, the more pertinent question is whether prophecies like St Patrick’s concerning Ireland’s end beneath the waves, or St Malachy’s forecast that would render the current Pope the last, will prove true. Even without any Wagnerian finales, borrowing from Douglas Murray on Europe one could well speak of “The Strange Death of Ireland”, because arguably there soon won’t be an Eire to salvage and preserve.

My above suggestions towards change embrace certain images, but also basic truths, about Ireland as tribe, clan, nation, race or whatever. There has been and even into fairly modern times, such a thing as a “land of saints and scholars” (even if as regards the sainthood it is as surprising as Maura O’Halloran’s and in scholarship as perverse but uniquely encyclopaedic as Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake).

Ireland, which effectively holds the last sizeable traces within Europe of the Celtic peoples and their culture, is too old and too young, too long alone within Europe as a colony and needing to be re-established from that, to manage the kind of social experiments, adjustments and massive immigration the nation’s irresponsible leadership has placed upon it in cooperation with a considerably myopic Europe itself in decline. The latter should now and again have been answered as by Hungary and Poland with a few firm refusals. Ireland of the welcomes cannot to its existential peril be the world’s doormat. The welcomes doormat ideal, evidently believed by the nation’s eccentric current president, is a mark of spiritual decline in itself because the only reason even Christianity is inclusive is because it can be exclusive also. Like any major institution and movement Ireland must always balance the two principles. A secular Irish leadership that ignores this prepares for a blowing out of the candle, the arrival of Patrick’s flood or the long Beckettian silence.

I began with affirming the importance of poets and poetry for religion and I briefly reviewed a book which included the problems and difficulties of six poets in the face of Irish Catholicism. This made for clarity in the face of a problem, but those considered sow few seeds towards spiritual renewal; Except perhaps sometimes Clarke, they don’t really speak in the high tones that poet and critic Kathleen Raine would maintain traditionally accompanies and triggers any vision – a lot of modern Irish poetry under the influence of American poetry can finish a rather prosy, meditative monologue on subjects great and small and often the latter. Soul is neither grasped nor sought.

It belongs with the current situation that a haunting, fairly traditionally presented poem about lost or absent faith, Denis O’Driscoll’s Missing God, gets quoted only in the Epilogue to Auge’s study. Its afterthought status is hardly surprising. I’ll not be vulgar and talk about the fate of my own religion relevant poetry, visionary, metaphysical etc – sufficient by way of complaint is included in the last section of my Staging Sweeney Frenzy article ( ) and its last section “To Lay my Burden Down”.

However, I do think in conclusion it might be necessary to stress that a true optic on the time and its possibilities is almost certainly not available to us. There are doubtless gaps resulting  from a degree of censorship, something which  must be seen as an ongoing, perennial Irish problem. Formerly it operated under Catholic influence, now through the secular prejudice of cliques. A handle on the Irish soul, fate and character that poetry should address, may need to be found in unexpected places.  But then,  historically, and not just in Ireland, this is where a lot of significant religious poetry has issued from and with it some recovery of soul.






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Posted by on February 28, 2020 in culture, Poetry, religion


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A net article recently caused me to recall something long forgotten, namely that St Patrick and also St Columba are supposed to have forecast the flooding of Ireland before “the last day”. To the extent that geographically Ireland is something of a bowl with its interior bog lands near or below sea level, I suppose a great ocean flood was never impossible. (The above picture derives from records of the rather ghastly floods of 2015) . But a wipe out? Does this mark just fantasy or spurious prophecy?

For little more than idle amusement I switched on the 1949 foundation chart for modern Ireland to see if there was anything remotely suggestive of such a fate. I was surprised by what I found using especially the new evidence of  name, place and concept asteroids which are found to be unusually descriptive and effective. Might the ancient prophecy be encoded there? In this instance you don’t even need to be an astrologer to appreciate what I basically saw and form some opinion.

A nation’s destiny and reputation is linked to its tenth house. In Ireland’s tenth sector sits Neptune, planetary symbol of any floods. This Neptune is then conjuncted by the asteroid Fini (French for finite and finished) and Fini is meaningful. It was for example definitely involved in the sudden, totally unexpected retirement of Pope Benedict.

I then observe Neptune and Fini exist in tense axis opposition to the asteroid Flood. This in turn is in exact degree aspect to Oceana (ocean flood?). Perhaps more significantly, Flood is closely conjunct asteroid Atropos. Though astrologers don’t often speak of it, it’s generally accepted nowadays that Atropos is much involved in highly fated events and death patterns.

The natal  Flood/Atropos combo is in exact, so-called stress square to the drowning asteroid, Ophelia, itself in a water sign (Cancer) in Eire’s death house.  When Hurricane Ophelia hit Ireland in Oct 2017, potentially deadly, destructive Pluto was at 16 Capricorn i.e dangerously opposite natal Ophelia at 15 Cancer

The fourth sector in which Flood/Atropos are placed represents the nation’s land and territory. Also its weather conditions and any places of ending like graves. The cusp of this house is exactly conjuncted by Patrice. There is no Patrick or St Patrick asteroid but Patrice is French for Patrick. So might this encode Patrick speaking for the nation’s endings?


If Patrick ever made the forecast attributed to him, we may well ask what he meant about an event seven years before “the last day” and with a disaster deemed a favour. It looks like his scribes or those who remembered him had insufficient knowledge of “the last things”.

It looks as though Patrick believed Ireland could disappear before either the so-called Tribulation, Revelation’s seven year rule of the Antichrist, (or perhaps before the Great Tribulation which begins at the midpoint of the seven years). However, this dire period is not  strictly speaking, followed by “the end of the world”. It would simply be the end of the era. Christ’s advent destroys the rule of the Antichrist and inaugurates a millennial rule through Israel. It signals neither the end of the world nor the Last Judgement, only the end of the world as people at the time would know it and with a judgement of nations only  If such apocalyptic events occurred within our times, plainly this would correspond astrologically to the end of the age of Pisces which Christ’s birth introduced and which is ending perhaps to the tune of tsunamis since Pisces is a water sign of the seas.(Relevant could be “distress among nations confused by the roaring of the seas and the waves” Luk 21:25).

St Patrick evidently thought if Ireland drowned (and tsunamis would involve almost instant death as flood walls hit) that this was a deliverance of sorts from the pains of the Tribulation period with its temptations to take the damning “Mark of the Beast” imposed in the second part of the Tribulation. The fact that the mentioned Patrice makes exact tension square to Achristou, an asteroid I’ve long found associated with Satanism and Antichrist themes, could just encode such a train of thought. The theme of deliverance by flood contrasts with the theme of deliverance by Rapture which has become much associated with Ireland (see Ireland’s Apocalyptic Puzzles


No astrologer in their right mind would or should forecast such extreme events as the Patrick prophecy envisages. The most they might affirm is that various time periods exist that held potential for heightened tensions and danger.

2020 looks stressed given a solar eclipse in late December 2019 squares the IC angle that affects land and weather, and then in January 2020 lunar eclipse squares the national sun. This and more could reflect tensions in the wake of Brexit and of course (if disputes and negotiations were ongoing), tensions over Ireland’s border;  but land and climate could well be major issues too for that year….. Perhaps astrologers should be supplying regular updates on the safety levels or otherwise of the Irish chart as indicated by especially theme-giving eclipses in coming times!

[ A version of this article was proposed to a couple of leading Irish papers in May/June 2016 when I was visiting Ireland. Both refused. I believe this belongs to the rabid, dismissive secularism of the new Irish elite which has no time for even just mysteries; also a kind of parochialism which no longer considers the Irish diaspora has any use or meaning and can be safely ignored! ]

Various articles archived  on this site devoted to Ireland’s religion and culture like Ireland’s Old/New Spirituality Problems

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Posted by on September 24, 2016 in Mysteries, religion


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