IRISH IS DOWN! And perhaps a good thing too! I think it just 'keeled over' a
couple of weeks back, like the cute little low-batt Smurf in the TV Ad. The
media was awash about Ireland's 'Taoiseach' Enid Kennedy 'giving lip' to the
Vatican about "an attempt by the Holy See to frustrate an inquiry in a
sovereign, democratic republic as little as three years ago; not three
decades ago". ". . . excavates the DYSFUNCTION, DISCONNECTION, ELITISM; the
NARCISSISM that dominate the culture of the Vatican to this day." Imagine;
and spoken by a good Irish Catholic, into the bargain; may the Wind be
always on his back!
Then, of a Monday (25-7), I see a column by that pretty & clever Irish girl
Maureen Dowd, writing in THE NEW YORK TIMES, and splashed around by
syndication to big National Dailies including The INDIAN EXPRESS. Her title,
in 20 Point boldface type---THE END OF AWE.
Aye, that could be 'the rub'. AWE, isn't it? I remember as a kid being
coached about kissing the Bishop's ring in anticipation of Confirmation Day.
Sure an' that champion of Irish freedom himself, the late and great Éamon de
Valera was often seen, in the papers, kissing bishops' rings. He could
kickass with English Royalty, but was quick to genuflect to an Irish
Bishop.
One might think that AWE is rooted in Natural LAW. But of course everything
is, I suppose, in the 'final analysis. Even with the Caveman, kids must have
learned to grovel before their Elders; mostly in fear perhaps, but in
fullness of time it had to take on the guise of 'respect' (lately to be lost
again, at least for the nonce, in places like the UK).
It could well be that at the dawn of humanity, the emerging 'person' who got
the most 'respect' was the one who brandished the biggest stick. People
learned how to 'bow and scrape', and somehow came to like it. As a saying
goes 'it takes two to clap'. For every one who can master the swagger; the
stentorian tone of command; there has to be a dozen who will happily 'cow
down'. Of course to a degree one 'has got to be taught. . .' A Naval
Commander in one of his training speeches once told us---'Officer-Cadets':
'Once you know how to take it; you can begin to dish it out". The mildly
cynical lower deck version was, "If it moves, salute it; if it doesn't move,
paint it".
The shepherd's crook would have evolved from the stick used to herd errant
sheep; but then some inspired woodcarver found that a bit of pretty
filigree, and fixings of shiny beads and paint, could add that subtle touch
of Mr. Dress-up. It would be more than a few eons before one primordial
event-manager could muster the kind of oratorical resonance for the
command---KNEEL! Attention! Achtung! Even in gentler times we are on the
lookout for someone to salute; in not so gentler times it becomes 'Heil Mein
Führer'.
On my confirmation day the bishop was handed all his fine raiment, from
beaded slippers to the towering 'miter' with its impressive nape-streamers,
by a 'monsignor' complacently resplendent in his purple cincture---while row
upon row of 'worshippers' sat in mummified silence---just a couple of
historical removes from the rising of the Sun King. IMPRESSIONNANT TERRIBLE!
History books tell that when Emperor Constantine summoned religious leaders
from all over his Empire, to 'Nicea' (325 A.D.), he himself made L' Entrée
Magnifique, arrayed in cloth-of-gold, calculated to have stun-gun effect on
the Gauls. An eon or so later, and not so long ago either, the pope was
still a 'temporal ruler'. Well, in principle if not in fact, he still
is---but getting less awesome with each passing decade. When I was a kid the
pope was CARRIED into St. Peter's Basilica, blessing one and all from his
palanquin---the 'Sedes Gestatoria'. Now he just walks in, supported of
course by a very substantial 'crosier' fabricated from rare metals and
encrusted with polished precious stones. Still pretty awesome; and his
ceremonial footwear likely continues with those gem encrusted slippers---now
in danger of being 'Made in China'.
Those who have 'put on the long white robe', the spotless cloak of celibacy,
the shining armor, may appreciate one tiny speculation: that, of all
'Temporal Rulers' the only one who is by 'bell, book and candle' a 'celibate',
is the Pope. Could this have been a factor in the phenomenon whereby kings
and emperors (poor creatures who perhaps indulged overmuch in weaknesses of
the flesh, could avail of some conscience healing balm by bending the knee
in reverence for the 'papal ring'; even if that madman Garibaldi had reduced
the papal status dimension of a smallish town?
So, if and when clerical celibacy is finally relinquished, it might hasten
the coming of an era freed from a host of 'demeaning sycophancies'---THE END
OF AWE.
