ANAMCHARA:SOUL'S FRIEND OR FOE?
by PEADAR LAIGHLÉIS
Videmus nunc per speculum in aenigmate: tunc autem facie ad faciem - 1 Corinthians XIII, 12
JOSEPH SHERIDAN LE FANU has a lot to answer for. As a writer of ghost stories, he incorporated many themes from Irish folklore into his tales and was widely read in the Victorian great house. His best known story is the novella Carmilla which appears in his collection In a Glass Darkly.
Carmilla is a chilling vampire story and was among the models Le Fanu's compatriot Bram Stoker used for Dracula. Those who like to talk of Ireland's literary tradition should know that no Irish written work has made quite the impact on the world as Dracula.
Carmilla - which I find scarier than Dracula - is set in Carinthia ( an Austrian province where Jörg Haider is currently governor), but Le Fanu draws on Irish tradition here too. The female vampire Carmilla is like a banshee insofar as she is attached to certain families and draws her victims from among their daughters.
An anamchara is literally a soul-friend, and in early Irish monasticism was a confessor, who was the fore runner of the modern spiritual director. Perhaps the старец (elder) in the Russian monastic tradition provides a counterpart; both ultimately derive from the same source. But Father O'Donoghue's Anamchara does not tap into any type of recognisable Irish spiritual tradition. It goes off on its own distinct tangent. Before one even starts the book, nothing draws attention to Father O'Donoghue's status as a priest of the Galway & Kilmacduagh diocese. His photograph, in mufti, appears on the jacket cover which lists his academic achievements and publications. These are considerable, though one would question the wisdom of his then bishop in sending him to do a doctorate in philosophical theology in Tübingen, home of Rev Professor Hans Küng. Long before Father Küng, the Catholic Theological Faculty there (Tübingen is the international academic centre of the Lutheran Churches, but nevertheless had a Catholic theological faculty there for two centuries) had a history of blazing trails. Anamchara, however, does not blaze any trails.
The book goes through six chapters on friendship, the senses, solitude, work, ageing and death. Father O'Donoghue writes authoritatively on each of those subjects, almost as if he has direct personal experience of each. Well, Father is not yet aged, nor has he worked in the work environment he describes - except perhaps briefly - nor has he ever died. And I find how he writes about conjugal love and sex very disconcerting. Had he been a married man of his age (he is still very young), I would have been incredulous; for a priest to write of marriage, I would expect decades of pastoral experience, which was certainly not acquired in the academic groves of Tübingen. As for sex, the question of experience or lack of it is immaterial; it is quite disedifying to see a priest writing about sexuality as Father O'Donoghue does in this book. In this context, one might wonder whether Anamchara would have had such a roaring success if the author were identified as a priest.
Aside for the occasional citation, which in at least one case is quite wrong, for the most part Father O'Donoghue's case for "Celtic Spirituality" is based on hearsay evidence, which is encapsulated in a very misogynistic Irish saying which denotes gossip: Dúirt bean liom go ndúirt bean léi (a woman told me that a woman told her). In many incidents he talks of people he knows to illustrate his point. This is fine, but it is hardly something on which to construct a model for spirituality.
He cites many philosophers, notably Hegel, but his references to Christianity are few. Johannes Scottus Eriugena is notable by his absence, though he is one of the few indisputably Celtic philosophers in the textbooks. Father O'Donoghue's view of the cosmos seems to suggest pantheism: in his reaction against dualism, he comes very close to monism.
He has little time for a spiritual world apart from the material world. So it is not surprising his approach is very post-modernistic. Philosophers appear alongside ordinary people and superstition is juxtaposed with both science and theology without any qualification. So he mentions alleged phenomena such as the banshee and fairies quite positively. Personally I prefer Sheridan La Fanu's treatment of the same.
What the author seems to prove is that we only see things "through a glass in a dark manner", and he seems to provide an even darker glass through which to look at and beyond the world.
Essentially, it is a "feel-good" book. The spiritual counsel offered is to do nothing, to follow your heart, to go along with your feelings. Any effort to "improve" yourself is doomed to failure, and Father O'Donoghue insists that we were made the way we were for a purpose, that we are naturally good. It is difficult to see where either Fall or Redemption fit in here, but that does not mean they are absent. I wonder whether a true soulfriend would advise anyone to relax and do nothing. In my opinion that counsel is more consistent with the behaviour of a soulfoe - I suppose an anamnamhaid.
As I have said earlier, Father O'Donoghue does not say anything new or original in this book. There is nothing challenging in it, though it is the work of a man with a gifted mind and an ability to communicate. It was written to be a bestseller and the author succeeded in that aim. A pity. Father O'Donoghue could have used his talents to advance the teaching of the Gospel and the Church.
The Brandsma Review, Issue 48, April-May 2000.
Carmilla is a chilling vampire story and was among the models Le Fanu's compatriot Bram Stoker used for Dracula. Those who like to talk of Ireland's literary tradition should know that no Irish written work has made quite the impact on the world as Dracula.
Carmilla - which I find scarier than Dracula - is set in Carinthia ( an Austrian province where Jörg Haider is currently governor), but Le Fanu draws on Irish tradition here too. The female vampire Carmilla is like a banshee insofar as she is attached to certain families and draws her victims from among their daughters.
Off on a tangent
Rev John O'Donoghue has also drawn on Irish folklore, among other sources, to write an international bestseller: Anamchara: Spiritual Wisdom from the Celtic World. (Please excuse my typography: Father O'Donoghue puts a dot above the c in anamchara rather than using a ch. That is dreadfully pretensious). Some years ago, one Sunday Independent journalist described it as one of the creepiest books she knew, though Father O'Donoghue did not intend it as such.An anamchara is literally a soul-friend, and in early Irish monasticism was a confessor, who was the fore runner of the modern spiritual director. Perhaps the старец (elder) in the Russian monastic tradition provides a counterpart; both ultimately derive from the same source. But Father O'Donoghue's Anamchara does not tap into any type of recognisable Irish spiritual tradition. It goes off on its own distinct tangent. Before one even starts the book, nothing draws attention to Father O'Donoghue's status as a priest of the Galway & Kilmacduagh diocese. His photograph, in mufti, appears on the jacket cover which lists his academic achievements and publications. These are considerable, though one would question the wisdom of his then bishop in sending him to do a doctorate in philosophical theology in Tübingen, home of Rev Professor Hans Küng. Long before Father Küng, the Catholic Theological Faculty there (Tübingen is the international academic centre of the Lutheran Churches, but nevertheless had a Catholic theological faculty there for two centuries) had a history of blazing trails. Anamchara, however, does not blaze any trails.
'Wonderful', 'lovely'...
Anamchara is written in a very readable style. So readableI would describe it as positively patronising. He punctuates the work with quotations and references to literature, art, philosophy and to Irish folklore, normally qualifying either the phrase or the writer with adjectives such as "beautiful", "wonderful" or "lovely". For example:
A beautiful example is Berninis's Teresa in Ecstasy
The wonderful Polish poet Tadeusz Rozewicz describes the difficulty of writing good poetry
There is the lovely story of Oisín who was one of the Fianna, the band of Celtic warriors.This can sometimes be more than a little ridiculous, e.g.:
The phrase from Edith Piaf, Je ne regrette rien, is wonderful in its free and wild acceptance.Sometimes, Father O'Donoghue totally misses the mark:
There is nothing as near as the eternal. This is captured in the lovely Celtic phrase: tá tír na n-óg ar chul an tí - tír álainn trina chéile, i.e. the land of eternal youth is behind the house, a beautiful land fluent within itself. (sic).What he is in fact quoting here is the opening line of a very modern poem written by Seán Ó Ríordáin (1917-1977). Ó Ríordáin suffered from tuberculosis, and for part of his life lived in isolation in a pre-fabricated building at the back of the family home in Ballyvourney, Co Cork. This was tír na n-óg ar chúl an tí, the land of youth at the back of the house, so-called because the resident was fated to live a short life. It is a terrifying thought, really; though in the context of what Father O'Donoghue has to say about death, I think he would see beauty in it.
The book goes through six chapters on friendship, the senses, solitude, work, ageing and death. Father O'Donoghue writes authoritatively on each of those subjects, almost as if he has direct personal experience of each. Well, Father is not yet aged, nor has he worked in the work environment he describes - except perhaps briefly - nor has he ever died. And I find how he writes about conjugal love and sex very disconcerting. Had he been a married man of his age (he is still very young), I would have been incredulous; for a priest to write of marriage, I would expect decades of pastoral experience, which was certainly not acquired in the academic groves of Tübingen. As for sex, the question of experience or lack of it is immaterial; it is quite disedifying to see a priest writing about sexuality as Father O'Donoghue does in this book. In this context, one might wonder whether Anamchara would have had such a roaring success if the author were identified as a priest.
Living dog and dead lion
As for solitude, he has never lived an eremetical lifestyle. Though I can identify with a lot of what he has to say about the workplace, there seems to be something very cynical in the way it is put. (Just as in the way he describes marriage and sex). And I will believe his sincerity about this liberating force of death, if he is able to confirm it to me after he has in fact died. I thought of the phrase in Ecclesiastes 9,4: melior est canis vivus leone mortuo (a living dog is better than a dead lion). This was a reaction to Father O'Donoghue's peculiar treatment of death and the hereafter, rather than my actual view on the subject of both.Aside for the occasional citation, which in at least one case is quite wrong, for the most part Father O'Donoghue's case for "Celtic Spirituality" is based on hearsay evidence, which is encapsulated in a very misogynistic Irish saying which denotes gossip: Dúirt bean liom go ndúirt bean léi (a woman told me that a woman told her). In many incidents he talks of people he knows to illustrate his point. This is fine, but it is hardly something on which to construct a model for spirituality.
He cites many philosophers, notably Hegel, but his references to Christianity are few. Johannes Scottus Eriugena is notable by his absence, though he is one of the few indisputably Celtic philosophers in the textbooks. Father O'Donoghue's view of the cosmos seems to suggest pantheism: in his reaction against dualism, he comes very close to monism.
He has little time for a spiritual world apart from the material world. So it is not surprising his approach is very post-modernistic. Philosophers appear alongside ordinary people and superstition is juxtaposed with both science and theology without any qualification. So he mentions alleged phenomena such as the banshee and fairies quite positively. Personally I prefer Sheridan La Fanu's treatment of the same.
What the author seems to prove is that we only see things "through a glass in a dark manner", and he seems to provide an even darker glass through which to look at and beyond the world.
A 'feel-good' book
On the positive side, I agree totally with Father O'Donoghue on the topic of television and its effect on the world. But the book is written for television consumers.Essentially, it is a "feel-good" book. The spiritual counsel offered is to do nothing, to follow your heart, to go along with your feelings. Any effort to "improve" yourself is doomed to failure, and Father O'Donoghue insists that we were made the way we were for a purpose, that we are naturally good. It is difficult to see where either Fall or Redemption fit in here, but that does not mean they are absent. I wonder whether a true soulfriend would advise anyone to relax and do nothing. In my opinion that counsel is more consistent with the behaviour of a soulfoe - I suppose an anamnamhaid.
As I have said earlier, Father O'Donoghue does not say anything new or original in this book. There is nothing challenging in it, though it is the work of a man with a gifted mind and an ability to communicate. It was written to be a bestseller and the author succeeded in that aim. A pity. Father O'Donoghue could have used his talents to advance the teaching of the Gospel and the Church.
The Brandsma Review, Issue 48, April-May 2000.
Since I wrote this piece, John O'Donoghue left the active priesthood and died at a relatively young age. I ask readers to remember him in their prayers.
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