The Vulgar Image of Ireland
The following first appeared on the Substack ‘Ádhamh Mac Ármair’ and is syndicated with the permission of the author
There is an image of the historical Ireland popular both among the uneducated and among the biased. It is the image of Ireland propagated both by those who wish to besmirch the reality of our country and those who have internalised this false image and seek to advance it as some sort of ideal or aesthetic. Under this image, Ireland throughout the ancient and medieval periods was a loose collection of warring tribes led by chiefs who ruled from muddy huts. Occasionally, one chief would subdue a number of others in battles filled with horn-hatted, shirtless, tattooed screamers, and crown himself as warlord over the whole territory before being destroyed himself. There was a sort of rude culture — white-robed druids, speaking in tongues, would preside over the laws, such as they were, and mytho-history was taught only by poets. These people lived among the wild in their nature-loving, egalitarian society — peasants in white wool, and so on.
This image presents a number of problems for the prospective student of Irish history. One is the problem of language. This Ireland is comprised of ‘tribes’, ‘chiefs’, ⁊rl., translations of native terms such as tuatha or tríochaidí céad in the case of the former, ríthe or taoiseach in the case of the latter.
‘Tribe’ is clearly a derogative term. The implications are clear. An unsophisticated association, rough-hewn spears, a low level of civilisation. It is clear from a quick survey of those peoples who are labelled as ‘tribal’, for better or for worse, that the society of Ireland does not fit well among their ranks. A similar problem is found with ‘clan’, though it is perhaps not as severe. There term is, however, as inaccurate: at best, the word ‘clan’ ought to refer to a single family or collection of families, such as would rule a given tuath. Indeed, ‘clan’ derives from one manner of referral for such a family1, though the tuath itself could certainly not be said to be of one relation. Even when referring to the ruling family, I find that ‘clan’ shares the same air of disorganisation and churlishness as ‘tribe’, and ‘house’ or ‘dynasty’ are preferable words.
A similar problem exists with ‘chief’. It, and its associate ‘chieftain’, conjure to my mind certain images of those peoples around the world who have chiefs today. Venerable though these chiefs may be, they are certainly different sorts of rulers than the Irish rí. In our case, there is no implication whatsoever of spiritualist leadership or priesthood, nor that the role is occupied by a revered elder, and so on. Where ‘clan’ betrays an incorrect level of civilisation, ‘chief’ betrays an incorrect geographical and cultural context.
To demonstrate my point, I invite you to picture this, a regular occurrence in Gaelic Ireland, using these unfortunate translations: the gathering for the choosing of the clan’s chief. Perhaps one imagines a gathering of weathered old men, clad in wolf-skins, faces marked with dyes. In their main hut, they gather around a smoky fire, divining and inclining to the druid, before one amongst their midst is picked as chief through some rude ritual.
But consider the historical reality under the native terms, unblemished by linguistic bias. The comhrac of aireacha gathers in the house of the biadhtach for the election of the rí tuaithe2. The four-doored house, a magnificent many-chambered thing, ordinarily open at all hours of the day for the furnishing of all travellers (free of cost!), hosts the affair. The lintel of the door, decked with precious metal and stones, reflects brightly upon the fair faces of the aireacha as they pour into the main chamber. Arranged in colourful tunics and cloaks, bright swords at their sides, circlets on their brows, hair arranged neatly into long curls, they file into their iomdhadha — low couches and blankets arranged like little bird’s-nests in booths demarcated by decorated barriers. They emerge, the rídhamhnaí are presented, and from among them a rí is chosen. Is this not a dignified, princely image? And although perhaps esoteric to an Anglophone, accurate translations may be substituted in for such governmental terms, and a political system simultaneously courtly and republican is revealed. For is not the comhrac an electoral college or assembly; aireacha, lords, peers, or electors; biadhtach, mayor; rí, king; rídhamhnaí, royal candidates; tuath, stateship3. I think that the sophistication of the system and its marketability to the unaware modern is best exemplified in that the landless or land-limited workers (as qualification as an aire was determined, roughly, by one’s not being a tenant (though this is itself a simplified and potentially problematic definition, but let it suffice for talk’s sake)), such as the artisanal tradesmen, could band together and corporatise, electing one among them as a sort of representative aire to sit in the electoral college and in the senate.
I would not be misrepresented on this point.
Firstly, I certainly do not desire to sell the Gaelic system as some liberal democracy avant-le-lettre. I am highly critical of our modern liberal democracy and think that Gaelic Ireland was in many ways superior to the modern system, both in its politics and in its economics. I merely wish to demonstrate that even if one small aspect of the native system is explained without a hard-hearted bias contrary to Gaelicism, even the most thoroughly liberalised and anglicised modern must confess the system’s sophistication. Hence I have highlighted certain aspects which they would find appealing. Yet other aspects I have omitted, not because they betray a primitiveness, but because they would be unappealing in other respects to a modern Western audience. Those same features would, however, make the Gaelic system even more appealing to an ancient Roman or Greek philosopher, therefore before long I will draft an argument that the Gaelic State which was formed and consolidated at the start of the first millennium, and which continued to grow throughout the medieval period, was Ireland’s answer to classical republicanism. Indeed, it was a polity to make the Greeks blush, and surely not even the snidest of our enemies, who generally value the Western civilisation which the Greeks form a bedrock for, would speak of the Greeks’ lack of political sophistication. And if a house be divided against itself, that house cannot stand!
Secondly, I am not advocating for the blanket translation of each term into whatever the closest approximation is. The native term will always be preferable and should be used with regularity, yet it is a simple fact that other, known words must be used in the explanation of said native terms, if people are going to begin using them in the first place. ‘King’ is not a perfect equivalent of the Irish ‘rí’, yet when describing what exactly a rí is, ‘king’ ought to be used, not ‘chieftain’, regardless of however many additional qualifying sentences must be added to clarify that it is a different sort of king than one may be accustomed to. It is not perfect, but it is better, as the immediate associations of the word is better. It is a simple thing to adjust the image of ‘king’ to the image of ‘rí’.
“This is a sort of king,” one might say, “with a many-coloured silken robe in place of vair, and with a rod of carven white wood in place of a sceptre. A king elected by his peers as primary governor of the communal land, administrator of his citizens, and so on.” These are changes to the common notion of a king on a purely horizontal level. Yet to start from the poor foundations of ‘chief’ and attempt to construct an accurate image and description of the rí is to paint stripes on a housecat and call it ‘tiger’.
This whole affair is important not only for the sake of intellectual purity or a weddedness to rectitude in the abstract, nor only for the correction of foreigners, but primarily for our own sake. As it stands, the vulgar image which has certainly been internalised by the great majority of Irish persons, and which is propagated through the so-called education system, is a distinctly unserious one. It is an image of an Ireland inferior to the other nations of Europe. It is an image of Ireland as totally reliant on Britain for civilisation. It is an image of Ireland which rejects the genius of the Irish spirit. It is an image contrary not only to truth, but to justice, in how it so boldly lies. How are we to take ourselves seriously when, it is proposed, we are the only proud nation of Europe to emerge from dirt?
When internalised, this image of our past stunts our future. For centuries now, our would-be patriots have, with no success, appealed to foreign ideologies to secure prosperity for our homeland. In the past, this may be doctrines of the French Revolution or the shelter of the Empire. Today, all of the large political parties (which really constitute one party, with minor differences — the Establishment Party!) look to liberalism. Social liberalism, viz. progressivism; political liberalism, viz. internationalism, parliamentarianism, etc.; economic liberalism, viz. capitalism4. Smaller groups, recognising correctly the error of the establishment, look elsewhere, yet they look in vain to constructions just as foreign. Whether they appeal to the British or to Trotskyism or to whomever or whatever else, these idols cannot and will not take root in Irish soil because they are artificial to us. Regardless of whether this system or that ideology works elsewhere — we are not ‘elsewhere’! We are Ireland. And it follows simply that as states proceed from nations, and as nations are distinct, and as Ireland is a distinct nation, that the sort of state which we shall produce must be one which emerges from our unique genius, not from poorly copying a foreign project.
How one describes that state matters little. Call it a Worker’s Republic or socialism with Irish characteristics, call it Irish traditionalism or the rebirth of the kingdom — it matters little, so long as what one talks about is the product of Irish nationalism. The Gaelic State which will be as a beacon and guiding light for Europe must emerge from an awakened Ireland — awakened not only from the nightmare of today, but also from the false dream of what we were before.
The Gaelstát will, as a mirror, reflect the old image of Ireland. The gallant image of Ireland, not the vulgar. In rediscovering our past, we will surely discover our future. We have the perfect blueprint and we must use it.
References
To refer to the family itself, if the family name is a ‘Mac’ name, one uses ‘clann’. For example, I am Ádhamh Mac Ármair, hence my family is Clann Ármair. ‘Clann’ is also the Irish word for one’s children. ‘Muintir’ is the equivalent term for ‘Ó’ families.
Titles modernised from the old Irish. ‘Comhrac’ for '‘Tocomrac’, and so on.
‘Stateship’ is the preferred translation of '‘tuath’ among the great Gaelicists of the Revolutionary Period, such as Aodh de Blácam and Darrell Figgis. Figgis also proposes a compelling argument for ‘mayor’ as a translation of ‘biadhtach’ in his The Gaelic State in the Past & Future.
It is helpful to distinguish these for illustrative purposes, but let it be known that these are all dogmas of the one liberal religion — frothing heads of the liberal Cerberus — and cannot truly be separated from one another.