Ireland’s very national identity and
character are like a tapestry where each weave is tightly intertwined with its rich
and ancient Catholic tradition. Until
recently, cultural practices and discourse were more heavily influenced by the
Church than secular elements. Of course,
Saint Patrick (387-461), the patron saint of Ireland, comes quickly to mind
when looking for the beginning of this Catholic influence. His deeds and words, like the excerpt that
follows, set a spiritual flame alight across Ireland.
This is
because there is no other God, nor will there ever be, nor was there ever,
except God the Father. He is the one who was not begotten, the one without a
beginning, the one from whom all beginnings come, the one who holds all things
in being – this is our teaching. And his son, Jesus Christ, whom we testify has
always been, since before the beginning of this age, with the father in a
spiritual way. He was begotten in an indescribable way before every beginning.
Everything we can see, and everything beyond our sight, was made through him.
He became a human being; and, having overcome death, was welcomed to the
heavens to the Father… He is judge of the living and of the dead; he rewards
every person according to their deed. He has generously poured on us the Holy
Spirit, the gift and promise of immortality, who makes believers and those who
listen to be children of God and co-heirs with Christ. This is the one we
acknowledge and adore – one God in a trinity of the sacred name. (Saint Patrick, web)
If we consider that more than a millennium
separates modern times from the start of this religious and cultural legacy,
then we catch a glimmer of the significance of faith within Ireland. It is no exaggeration to declare that there
is very little simple about practicing the Christian faith in the Emerald
Isle. What may seem (to an outsider) as
a harsh critique of the Catholic Church, for instance, might be recognized as
more of a gentle reproach by the Irish audience. Context, history, and language connotations
all serve to potentially obfuscate the meanings behind Irish literature. The works of Samuel Beckett and Paul Durcan
offer a striking and vivid contrast in their approaches to Catholicism. Through careful examination of the
differences, the reader gains clearer insight of both the meaning of the Church
to these respective writers, as well as the unique role Catholicism has played
over the centuries in Ireland.
Before directly comparing and
contrasting the differences in religious perspectives offered by Samuel Beckett
and Paul Durcan, this essay will examine these writers individually in an
indirect contrast and comparison.
Beckett’s treatment of matters of faith within More
Pricks than Kicks was particularly evocative of the early life
of C.S. Lewis, who was raised in Belfast. In Joseph Pearce's remarkable
book entitled C.S. Lewis and the Catholic Church, he makes some
assertions regarding Lewis’ religious formation that are clearly relevant to
this discussion. The passage that follows
is from an online article by the author about of the aforementioned book.
One of Lewis's closest friends, the great Catholic
writer, J. R. R. Tolkien, believed that Lewis failed to become a Catholic
because of the deep-rooted and ingrained prejudices that he inherited as a
Belfast Protestant. As the Troubles in Northern Ireland have shown, Belfast is
one of the most sectarian cities in the world. It would indeed be a rare
occurrence for someone raised in such an Anti-Catholic culture to overcome the
prejudices of his upbringing and there is no doubt that Lewis's discomfort with
the position of the Virgin Mary in Christian tradition and his unease with the
institution of the papacy are typical of the prejudices held by Ulster
Protestants. On the other hand, as my book seeks to demonstrate, Lewis seemed
to be moving ever closer to Catholicism as he grew in his faith. It is this
tension between Lewis's ingrained opposition to Catholicism and his rational
attraction to Catholic doctrine which makes the study of Lewis's relationship
with the Church so fascinating. (Pearce,
Web)
It appears that Lewis'
own troubled feelings from being a young Protestant in Belfast may shed further
illumination upon Samuel Beckett's perceived ambivalence and alienation with
regards to Protestantism in Ireland--and religion in general. The shared
faith experiences of Beckett and Lewis are interesting as both turned away from
organized religion for a period. While, of course, C.S. Lewis returned to
the faith with a passion, the alienation experienced by Beckett permeates his
work.
Religion seems to occupy the mind of Belacqua Shuah primarily when he is
alone, however. In the presence of others, his mind seems less drawn to
reflect on the eternal. In the opening of "Walking Out," there
is a short, but telling observation from the character. "It was one
of those Spring evenings when it is a matter of some difficulty to keep God out
of one's meditations." (Beckett, 101) This implies not only an
indifference to God, but an active opposition to the presence of the eternal.
When Belacqua is in public settings, however, he seems less prone to this
kind of introspection. In this way, then, we could argue that noise and
bustle is perhaps partially pursued as a means to drown out the other, more
troubling thoughts.
The
introspection appears to also catch Belacqua in his nature escape at the opening
of "Fingal." "He began to feel a very sad animal
indeed." (Beckett, 23) When he wistfully refers to a distant sight
as "magic land," Winnie corrects him reproachfully; his meandering
mind gets him into trouble. (Beckett,
24) Again at the conclusion of "Walking Out," he seems caught off
guard by the silence and stillness of the forest as he waits in vain for Lucy.
This passage is also enlightening with regards to a kind of deep-seated
guilt that rises to the surface with the mysterious reference to the Tanzherr. This word, not found
within the Oxford English Dictionary,
appears to be German for something along the lines of “Mr. Dance.” (Babylon,
web) Belacqua is ashamed to admit his true voyeuristic behavior here even
to himself. Instead, he masks his
getting beaten up by the angry lover as the haunting attack of the “Tanzherr.” This not only highlights his own lack of
courage and honesty, but it also draws attention to his lack of self-control;
Belacqua possesses no control of his impulses.
As an Irish Literature professor recently described the character, he is
“unmoored,” and “grasping after bits of spiritual
understanding but always cut off from his religious tradition by a combination
of disdain for the way it's practiced in Ireland, and a literal spiritual
laziness bound up with his very conflicted attitudes to his bodily appetites.” [1]
It
is also helpful here to briefly point out that the protagonist of these tales
by Beckett, shares a name with a minor character from Dante's Divine Comedy. So, is Belacqua perhaps a sort of secular
pilgrim? Instead of searching for the spiritual, the character is doing
his best to avoid any hint of the supernatural in his pursuit of secular
knowledge and experience. In this determination to avoid the spiritual
dimension of Irish life, he is further alienating himself from his countrymen
(not to mention God). This paints a picture, then, of someone who is
timidly committing to the secular, turning his back on all associations with
faith, yet unable to avoid the occasional backslide back to reflections upon
the nature of faith and reality. He is in a self-imposed exile.
Turning to Paul Durcan’s “carnivalesque” titled
work “The Hauler’s Wife Meets Jesus on the Road Near Moone,” the reader has a
particularly vivid example of what might be described as a feminist-themed poem
about an unhappily married woman. (Augue,
Chapter 6) Her husband is an emotionally and physically abusive trucker—a
character that Durcan may envision as a type of “chaste soldier,” a misguided
example of Irish manhood. (Augue, Chapter 6)
Yet, because of the selection of the name Jesus for man this unnamed character
meets, the poem is also infused with a mysterious dimension of the faith and
spiritual. The following passage is
particularly illustrative in setting the scene and characterization.
Yet in my soul I yearn for
affection,
My soul is empty for the want
of affection.
I am married to a haulier,
A popular and a wealthy
man,
An alcoholic and a country
councillor,
Father with me of four
sons,
By repute a sensitive man
and he is
Except when he makes love
to me:
He takes leave of his
senses,
Handling me as if I were a
sack of gravel,
Or a carnival dummy,
A fruit machine or a
dodgem.
He makes love to me about
twice a year;
Thereafter he does not
speak to me for weeks,
Sometimes not for
months. (Durcan. 291)
In selecting the name “Jesus” for her desired lover, the poet may seem at first
glance to be leveling an attack upon Christianity for somehow sanctioning or
approving of the abusive husband’s behavior.
While there may be truth in this first impression, understanding some
background concerning this poet helps the reader to plumb the depths of this
work more effectively. According to Andrew
Augue’s A Chastened Communion: Modern Irish Poetry and
Catholicism, conclusions regarding this poet shouldn’t be
treated as quite so black and white.
Durcan's
positive representations of sensitive, down-to-earth priests deviates sharply
from the norm in contemporary Irish culture. In the wake of the abuse crisis,
as Harry Ferguson notes, a new stereotype of the "paedophile dophile
priest" has emerged. The trauma caused in Ireland by the clerical abuse of
children cannot be overestimated. But restrictively linking pedophilia to
priests not only stigmatizes an entire group for the crimes of a relatively
small minority, but it obscures the more extensive abuse perpetuated by men
outside the priesthood.50 Nonetheless, priests have become a convenient vehicle
through which the Irish public can convey its contempt for the Catholic
hierarchy's myriad failures. (Augue, Chapter 6)
When reading the works of Paul Durcan, it
is also critically important to bear in mind his own troubling past. According to Andrew Augue, the poet as a
young man was not sufficiently masculine for his father. In an attempt to make a man of this “sissy,”
he was institutionalized in an asylum for a short period of time. Ironically, this is one the times in which he
received his father’s approval during his part in a sports competition at the
asylum. As a way to perhaps deal with his own pain with
regards to his identity, Durcan took a view of Christ himself as an example of
androgeny.
Even more strikingly, he found sanction for his advocacy of
androgyny not in avant-garde psychology or exotic religious traditions as the
Beats did but rather in the Christian faith that was the bedrock of Western
culture. In conjuring the image of Jesus Christ as androgynous, Durcan turns
the tables on the Victorian cult of "muscular Christianity" that was
a central pillar of the Irish standard of masculinity. It is an altogether more
pliant Christ figure that Durcan can evokes, abstractly in the recent "The
Origin of Species," which pays homage to "Christ, all-fathering
mother!" and more concretely in the earlier "The Haulier's Wife Meets
Jesus on the Road Near Moone." The latter poem from The Berlin Wall Cafe
focuses upon the travails of a woman trapped in a loveless, and virtually
sexless, marriage to a prototypical Irish businessman: "A popular and
wealthy man, / An alcoholic and a county councilor" (LD, 117). Granted a
brief reprieve from her marriage, she dresses up like a "femme
fatale" and heads off to Dublin for a night out at the Abbey Theatre.
Having gotten lost, she is rescued by Jesus, who describes himself as a
"travelling actor." Her description of her "savior"
identifies him as being as capacious as her husband is constricted… (Augue, Chapter 6)
The reader and student may
certainly strenuously disagree with the poet’s characterization of Christ in
this way. If the poet’s position is
viewed as potentially heretical with regards to traditional Christianity, it is
more in-line with a different kind of spiritualism or universalism. Further, the poet’s positive
characterizations of priests make simple black and white characterizations of
Anti-Catholic or anti-religious perhaps a bit more complicated.
Having examined these two writers and
their works individually, what is the best method for contrasting them in a
meaningful way? Standard analysis would
begin with selecting portions of text from each work(s) and placing them
(figuratively) side-by-side, but is that the best approach for subtle
comparisons of this type? Given the
unorthodox characters present within these readings, the comparison and
contrast should perhaps begin with a less orthodox or formal approach. If the student pauses and reflects upon what
has been discussed regarding the characters of the “haulier’s-wife” and Beckett’s
Belacqua, how might these two characters interact face-to-face? This approach may assist the reader in
catching the differences in a fresh or unique light. Imagine this chance meeting, then, taking
place outside Saint Philomena’s Catholic Church in lower Dublin under partly
cloudy skies. For the purposes of this
essay, the haulier’s-wife is identified as “Caitlin.” Relying upon an omniscient narrative
perspective, what would her impressions be upon meeting Belacqua, and what
might they discuss?
Caitlin leaves church slightly ahead of her husband and four sons, as
she troubled by a stubborn sense of guilt and conviction. The paintings and artistic renderings of
Christ and the saints within the church seem to all stare at her with a knowing
reproach. The pangs of guilt for her
recent tryst at the Cross at Moone come more fiercely at church than at home. On
the outside, her demeanor and appearance are proper with an air of Sunday
elegance. Belacqua is seated on the edge
of an old flower box on the opposite side of the church’s rock wall. His hair is somewhat disheveled, and he is
preoccupied in thought. He immediately
notices Caitlin and quickly tucks a magazine into an inside pocket of his
jacket. She thinks him to be an
odd-looking character, yet she confides that she had “had just about enough”
that morning. Belacqua nods knowingly at
the attractive woman, glancing back at the emptying church behind him. He wonders if she came to church alone. He casually remarks that religion is like a
“sickness” from which one could never quite recover.
“A necessary evil,” he whispers.
“Perhaps,” Caitlin replies with a moment’s
hesitation. “But, why do you say it’s
necessary at all? I mean… Isn’t God in each of us? She
doesn’t have to be worshiped in some fancy building to be real, does she?”
Belacqua squirms and looks back at the church
doors, as if wishing the newcomer to be back on her way. Caitlin follows his gaze, noting that people
are still gathered speaking in groups upon the church steps. She feels uncomfortable and on-display, yet
also curious in the stranger’s view.
“It’s real, but no one understands or lives it
right, I guess,” Belacqua replies.
“Do you?” Caitlin inquires pointedly.
“No,” Belacqua answers without hesitation. “Nobody does, but that doesn’t make it less
real or more false. Faith makes me mad
and sad all at the same time, because I see truth like a lovely landscape or a
melody that I can’t quite reach or touch.
Oh, what does it matter anyway? I
have to go…”
In
the above exercise, the reader may glimpse some of the distinctions in
religious views between the writers as perhaps made clearer through the use of
their own characters’ unique voices.
Paul Durcan embraces something close to universalism, a spiritual
landscape devoid of doctrines and dogmas yet proclaiming a spiritual dimension
to life nonetheless. Samuel Beckett uses
a dysfunctional character to express an ambivalence and deep cynicism regarding
faith. The short passage below from the
chapter “What a Misfortune,” for instance, highlights the Belacqua’s own confused
and cynical mind regarding the spiritual dimension.
The
elder daughter was very dull. Think of
holy Juliana of Norwich, to her aspect add a dash of souring, to her tissue
half a hundredweight of adipose, abstract the charity and prayers, spray in
vain with opopanax and assafoetida, and behold a radiant Una after a Hamman and
a face massage. (Beckett, 121)
Spiritual cynicism, in particular, seems the
appropriate description or categorization for Samuel Beckett’s view. Faith seems something considered briefly,
then discarded as having no immediate usefulness or practicality. Belacqua appears to be a character who
struggles with feelings of faith, as Christians might describe struggling with
an unbelief. One interesting common
denominator between both of these writers, however, seems to be a grudging
respect for those who successfully live a life of faith, despite doubts and
failings. In the end, though, it is Paul
Durcan who seems to be searching the hardest for spiritual and eternal truth,
yet he is clearly troubled by what he sees as the patriarchal nature of the
Catholic Church. Like the enigmatic
nature of faith in Ireland itself, these two writers serve as a vivd contrast
between cynicism and hope.
Cited Sources
Auge, Andrew J. A Chastened Communion: Modern Irish Poetry and Catholicism. Syracuse, NY:
Syracuse UP, 2013. Ebook.
Beckett, Samuel. More Pricks than Kicks. New York: Grove, 1972. Print.
Durcan, Paul. "The Haulier's Wife Meets Jesus on the Road Near Moone."
Ed. Patrick Crotty. Modern Irish Poetry: An Anthology. Belfast: Blackstaff, 1995. 290-94. Print.
"German to English Translation." German to English Translation. Babylon
Software, N.p., n.d. Web. 04 Dec. 2016.
Patrick, Saint. "Confession | St. Patrick's Confessio." Confession | St.
Patrick's Confessio. Pádraig McCarthy, n.d. Web. 02 Dec. 2016.
Pearce, Joseph. "C. S. Lewis and the Catholic Church - CNA Columns:
Guest Columnist." Catholic News Agency. N.p., n.d. Web. 04 Nov. 2016.
