Ireland and the Reception of the Bible: Social and Cultural Perspectives 9780567678874, 9780567678898, 9780567678881

Citation preview

SCRIPTURAL TRACES: CRITICAL PERSPECTIVES ON THE RECEPTION AND INFLUENCE OF THE BIBLE

13 Editors Claudia V. Camp, Texas Christian University W. J. Lyons, University of Bristol Andrew Mein, Westcott House, Cambridge Editorial board Michael J. Gilmour, David Gunn, James Harding, Jorunn Økland Published under

LIBRARY OF HEBREW BIBLE/ OLD TESTAMENT STUDIES

665 Formerly Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series Editors Claudia V. Camp, Texas Christian University Andrew Mein, Westcott House, Cambridge Founding Editors David J. A. Clines, Philip R. Davies and David M. Gunn Editorial Board Alan Cooper, John Goldingay, Norman K. Gottwald, James E. Harding, John Jarick, Carol Meyers, Francesca Stavrakopoulou, Daniel L. Smith-Christopher, James W. Watts, Susan Gillingham

IRELAND AND THE RECEPTION OF THE BIBLE

Social and Cultural Perspectives

Edited by Bradford A. Anderson and Jonathan Kearney

T&T CLARK Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA BLOOMSBURY, T&T CLARK and the T&T Clark logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain in 2018 Paperback edition first published in 2020 Copyright © Bradford A. Anderson and Jonathan Kearney, 2018 Bradford A. Anderson and Jonathan Kearney has asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Editors of this work. For legal purposes the Acknowledgements on pp. xiv and xv constitute an extension of this copyright page. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN: HB: 978-0-5676-7887-4 PB: 978-0-5676-9250-4 ePDF: 978-0-5676-7888-1 eBook: 978-0-5676-8077-8 Series: Library of Hebrew Bible/ Old Testament Studies, volume 665 Typeset by Newgen KnowledgeWorks Pvt. Ltd., Chennai, India

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CONTENTS List of Figures and Tables Notes on Contributors Foreword John J. Collins Acknowledgements Permission List of Abbreviations INTRODUCTION: SITUATING IRELAND AND SOCIAL AND CULTURAL RECEPTION OF THE BIBLE Bradford A. Anderson and Jonathan Kearney

viii ix xi xiv xv xvi

1

Part I IRELAND AND THE TRANSMISSION OF THE BIBLE Chapter 1 THE MULTIFACETED TRANSMISSION OF THE BIBLE IN IRELAND, 550–1200 CE

25

Martin McNamara Chapter 2 THE BIBLE AND ‘THE PEOPLE’ IN IRELAND, CA. 1100–CA. 1650 Salvador Ryan

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Chapter 3 TRANSLATING THE BIBLE INTO IRISH, 1565–1850 Fearghus Ó Fearghail

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Chapter 4 ‘THE LITTLE ONES CALLED FOR BREAD AND THERE WAS NONE THAT WOULD BREAK IT FOR THEM’: SOME NOTES ON THE USE OF THE BIBLE IN THE SERMONS OF BISHOP JAMES GALLAGHER Ciarán Mac Murchaidh Chapter 5 IRISH CATHOLIC BIBLE READERS BEFORE THE FAMINE Brendan McConvery

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93

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Contents

Chapter 6 THE CATHOLIC LECTIONARY: ITS CREATION, RECEPTION AND CHALLENGE Kieran J. O’Mahony

107

Part II THE BIBLE AND IDENTITY IN IRELAND Chapter 7 ‘THIS BOOKE HATH BRED ALL THE QUARREL’: THE BIBLE IN THE 1641 DEPOSITIONS Bradford A. Anderson Chapter 8 THE LAST OF THE MILESIANS: IN SEARCH OF IRELAND’S BIBLICAL PAST, 1760–1900 Brian H. Murray Chapter 9 BETWEEN ULSTER AND THE KINGDOM OF GOD: USES OF THE BIBLE BY EVANGELICALS IN THE NORTHERN IRELAND TROUBLES Joshua T. Searle Chapter 10 DANCING LIKE DAVID AND OVERCOMING ENEMIES: SCRIPTURE AND CULTURE IN CHRIST APOSTOLIC CHURCH DUBLIN Rebecca Uberoi Chapter 11 GOD’S PREFERENCE FOR THE POOR: THE BIBLE AND SOCIAL JUSTICE IN IRELAND Patrick Mitchel Chapter 12 HOW SACRED TEXT BECOMES RELIGIOUS ARTEFACT: A CULTURAL GEOGRAPHY OF THE BOOK OF KELLS Eoin O’Mahony

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137

155

173

193

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Part III IRELAND AND BEYOND: RECIPROCAL INFLUENCES Chapter 13 TOLAND, SPINOZA AND THE NATURALIZATION OF SCRIPTURE Ian Leask

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Contents

Chapter 14 IRISH TRAVELLERS TO THE DEAD SEA: THE INTERPLAY AND IMPACT OF EMPIRICAL INVESTIGATION AND BIBLICAL EXEGESIS Thomas O’Loughlin Chapter 15 THE CHESTER BEATTY BIBLICAL COLLECTION: A TREASURY OF EARLY CHRISTIAN MANUSCRIPTS IN AN IRISH LIBRARY David Hutchinson Edgar Chapter 16 ‘CASTING BREAD UPON THE WATER’: A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY Carmel McCarthy

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259

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Part IV CULTURAL AND ARTISTIC APPROPRIATION: IMAGERY, MUSIC AND LITERATURE Chapter 17 THE BOOK OF KELLS AND THE VISUAL IDENTITY OF IRELAND Amanda Dillon Chapter 18 IMAGING THE BIBLE IN STAINED GLASS: FIVE STAINED GLASS WINDOWS BY MICHAEL HEALY IN ST BRENDAN’S CATHEDRAL, LOUGHREA Myra Hayes Chapter 19 THE BIBLE IN MUSIC DURING DUBLIN’S GOLDEN AGE Siobhán Dowling Long

295

313

331

Chapter 20 SCRIPTURE, MUSIC AND THE SHAPING OF IRISH CULTURAL IDENTITIES 351 Róisín Blunnie Chapter 21 JAMES JOYCE AND THE STUDY OF THE BIBLE Geert Lernout

365

Subject and Author Index Index of Biblical Texts

385 391

FIGURES AND TABLES Figures

10.1 10.2 10.3 17.1 17.2 17.3 17.4 17.5 18.1 18.2 18.3 19.1 19.2 19.3 19.4

Front cover: ‘Bedell’s Bible’. With kind permission of www.bawnboy.com and Bishop Ferran Glenfield. Women dancing at CAC Dublin Testimony time at CAC Dublin Congregation dancing at CAC Dublin, led by Pastor Aderounmu Book of Kells, Folio 180r, with inset detail of a hare illumination Michael Farrell, ‘A Shorter History’ ‘The Citizen’, 1981–83, Richard Hamilton (1922–2011) Jim Fitzpatrick, ‘Skellig Michael’ Image from Tomm Moore and Ross Stewart, Designing the Secret of Kells (Chicago: Trinquétte, 2014) Michael Healy, The Holy Family stained glass window Michael Healy, Christus Rex stained glass window Michael Healy, Last Judgment stained glass window George Frideric Handel: Messiah Word Book (Dublin: George Faulkner, 1742). OLS L-6–605 no. 8 George Frideric Handel: Judas Maccabaeus Word Book (Dublin: James Hoey, 1748) The Charitable Infirmary William Boyce: Blessed is he that considereth the sick

177 181 182 300 303 304 306 308 317 320 325 342 343 345 346

Tables 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4

Tridentine Roman Missal Readings Tridentine Roman Missal Gospel Readings 1969 Lectionary Readings Proper 19 in year B, Revised Common Lectionary and Roman Catholic Lectionary 12.1 ‘Return’ and ‘Book of Kells’

109 109 109 118 219

CONTRIBUTORS Bradford A. Anderson is Lecturer in Biblical Studies at Dublin City University. Róisin Blunnie is Lecturer in Music at Dublin City University and Conductor of Laetare Vocal Ensemble. John J. Collins is the Holmes Professor of Old Testament at Yale Divinity School. Amanda Dillon received her doctorate at Dublin City University. David Hutchinson Edgar is an independent scholar who has written extensively on the biblical texts in the Chester Beatty Library. Myra Hayes is Lecturer in Theology at Mary Immaculate College, Limerick. Jonathan Kearney is Lecturer in Jewish and Islamic Studies at Dublin City University. Ian Leask is Lecturer in Philosophy at Dublin City University. Geert Lernout is Professor Emeritus at the University of Antwerp, Belgium. Siobhán Dowling Long lectures in the School of Education at University College Cork. Ciarán Mac Murchaidh is Professor and Head of School in Fiontar & Scoil na Gaeilge at Dublin City University. Carmel McCarthy, MRIA, is Emerita Professor of Hebrew and Syriac at University College Dublin. Brendan McConvery, CSsR, lectured in Scripture at the Pontifical University, St Patrick’s College, Maynooth, and is currently editor with Redemptorist Communications Dublin. Martin McNamara, MRIA, is Professor Emeritus in Sacred Scripture at Milltown Institute, Dublin. Patrick Mitchel is Senior Lecturer in Theology at Irish Bible Institute, Dublin.

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Brian H. Murray is Lecturer in Nineteenth-Century English Literature at King’s College, London. Fearghus Ó Fearghail was Lecturer and Head of Scripture at Mater Dei Institute of Education, Dublin. Thomas O’Loughlin is Professor of Historical Theology at the University of Nottingham. Eoin O’Mahony is Teaching Fellow in the School of Geography at University College Dublin. Kieran J. O’Mahony, OSA, is Academic Coordinator of Biblical Studies for the Diocese of Dublin. Salvador Ryan is Professor of Ecclesiastical History at the Pontifical University, St Patrick’s College, Maynooth. Joshua T. Searle is Tutor in Theology and Public Thought at Spurgeon’s College, London. Rebecca Uberoi received her doctorate in Ethnomusicology from University College Dublin.

FOREWORD John J. Collins One does not usually think of the Bible as the book that shaped Ireland. When Ry Cooder put his song “The Sands of Mexico” on the lips of an Irish Catholic soldier on the San Patricio brigade in the American-Mexican war in the 1840s, and had him say “my Bible is my roadmap,” he only showed his ignorance of the men he meant to honor. For an Irish Catholic in the 1840s, to take the Bible as his roadmap would be equivalent to taking soup from proselytizing Protestants. The most conspicuous use of the Bible in Ireland in recent times was by evangelical Protestants such as Ian Paisley during the “Troubles,” and it was mainly employed to put a theological gloss on bigotry and intolerance. Up to the Second Vatican Council, Irish Catholic laypeople were actively discouraged from reading the Bible. And yet this is not the whole story. The editors of this remarkable volume have scoured the lanes and byways to offer snapshots ranging over a millennium, that show the Bible deeply embedded in Irish life, both Catholic and Protestant. This embeddedness is rooted in the monastic traditions before medieval times. A glimpse of this biblically inspired world can still be seen in the Book of Kells. The influence of the Bible was not confined to the literate. It was filtered through oral traditions about the lives of saints, and pictorial depictions of biblical scenes that can still be seen on stone crosses. It should be noted here that it was also filtered through a rich apocryphal lore, which Martin McNamara has done so much to retrieve,1 and which has recently been illustrated by a magnificent translation of Irish eschatological texts from University College Cork.2 The status of the Bible in Ireland was changed radically by the Reformation, which made the Bible into an icon of Protestantism. Yet the Protestant insistence on the Bible required and elicited a Catholic response. Brendan McConvery points to the amazing statistic that some seventy editions of the Bible, in whole or in part, were published in Ireland under Catholic auspices between 1749 and 1854. The first Irish translations of the Bible were produced by Protestants in the seventeenth century. Nonetheless, the Bible was largely viewed as a tool of proselytization in the early nineteenth century, and Catholic interest in it was largely defensive. The Irishman who would have the most far-reaching influence on the way the Bible is read in the modern world was a product of this period. John Nelson Darby 1.  Martin McNamara, The Apocrypha in the Irish Church (Dublin:  Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1975). 2.  John Carey, Emma Nic Cárthaigh and Caitríona Ó Dochartaigh, The End and Beyond: Medieval Irish Eschatology (Aberystwyth: CSP-Cimru Cyf, 2014).

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Foreword

was actually born in London, in 1800, but came from an Anglo-Irish family, was educated at Trinity College and served as a curate in the Church of Ireland parish of Delgany, Co. Wicklow. He devoted his early career to converting Catholics to the Church of Ireland, but resigned when the Bishop of Dublin required converts to swear allegiance to the crown. After a fall from his horse in 1827 he went on to become the major architect of the Plymouth Brethern and of Dispensationalist Theology, which he preached in Europe and America. Characterized by the expectation of the Rapture, Dispensationalism is a form of Fundamentalist theology that still commands the allegiance of millions of people in the United States.3 The most famous association of the Bible with music in an Irish context comes undoubtedly from the fact that Handel’s Messiah had its first performance in Dublin. The Bible is not strongly associated with Irish traditional music, but as Siobhán Dowling Long notes there is an abundance of old Gaelic songs based on the Passion of Christ. In the field of literature, biblical influence is pervasive throughout the English-speaking world. James Joyce may have parted ways with Catholicism, but his imagination was profoundly shaped by the church of his youth. One of the enduring images of Ulysses is of Bloom fleeing from Davy Byrne’s pub “like Elijah ascending on his chariot.” In Irish politics, the Bible is usually thought to be the preserve of Ulster Unionists. But while Irish nationalists may be less likely to quote biblical verses, it should be remembered that two of the leaders executed in 1916, Patrick Pearse and Joseph Mary Plunkett, saw their deaths as sacrifices by analogy with the crucifixion. Their appeal to the Bible was indirect, but ultimately grounded in the biblical story. The fact that the 1916 Rising took place on Easter Sunday had profound implications for the fusion of nationalism and Catholicism in the popular imagination in the first half of the twentieth century. Ireland’s greatest claim to fame in the world of biblical scholarship is undoubtedly the Chester Beatty Library, although only a fraction of its manuscripts are biblical. Trinity College has been the most stable seat of historical and textual biblical scholarship. The best-known name is that of Jacob Weingreen (1907–95), whose Practical Grammar of Classical Hebrew (2nd ed., Oxford, 1959) was a basic textbook for a generation. If one extends one’s view of the Bible to include the apocrypha, the name of Robert Henry Charles (1855–1931) looms large. Charles was a native of Cookstown, Co. Tyrone, studied at Trinity and was professor of Biblical Greek there before he moved to Oxford. More than any other scholar, it was he who brought non-canonical works such as the Book of Enoch to the attention of the English-speaking world.4 Incidentally, the first English edition of the Book of Enoch was by a Church of Ireland Archbishop of Cashel, Richard Laurence (1760–1838), who was English by birth.5 3. Paul Boyer, When Time Shall Be No More: Prophecy Belief in Modern American Culture (Cambridge, MA: Harvard, 1992), 86–9, on Darby. 4.  Robert H. Charles, The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament (2 vols; Oxford: Clarendon, 1913). 5.  Richard Laurence, The Book of Enoch the Prophet (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 1821).

Foreword

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St. Patrick’s College, Maynooth, and Queens University, Belfast, have long-standing biblical faculties. In the National University, Hebrew and related languages were taught at University College Dublin for a century. Unfortunately the department was closed at the retirement of Carmel McCarthy in 2008. At the more popular level, the work of educating people in the Bible in Ireland has largely been taken up by institutes like Mater Dei rather than the universities. The degree to which the Bible shaped Ireland, however, was never a matter of formal education. It was, rather, filtered through social and cultural familiarity with the Bible, and in particular the Gospels. It is the great merit of this book to have illuminated how this process has worked over the centuries.

Bibliography Boyer, Paul. When Time Shall Be No More: Prophecy Belief in Modern American Culture. Cambridge, MA: Harvard, 1992. Carey, John, Emma Nic Cárthaigh and Caitríona Ó Dochartaigh. The End and Beyond: Medieval Irish Eschatology. Aberystwyth: CSP-Cimru Cyf, 2014. Charles, Robert H. The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament, 2 volumes. Oxford: Clarendon, 1913. Laurence, Richard. The Book of Enoch the Prophet. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1821. McNamara, Martin. The Apocrypha in the Irish Church. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1975.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The editors would like to thank their colleagues at Dublin City University, and formerly at Mater Dei Institute and St Patrick’s College, Drumcondra, for the support shown throughout this project; special thanks are due to Drs Ethna Regan and Caroline Renehan for their encouragement. This book received financial support from the Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences Book Publication Scheme at Dublin City University, and we would like to thank Professor Eugene McNulty and others in the Faculty for their encouragement and support. Prompt help and assistance was provided at every step of the way by Andrew Mein and Claudia Camp, and we are grateful to them, along with Dominic Mattos at Bloomsbury T&T Clark, for accepting this volume for the Scriptural Traces series. Sarah Blake also offered invaluable assistance all along – we are grateful for her help. The anonymous readers offered perceptive and detailed feedback on the manuscript – we owe them a debt of gratitude for their careful readings. We would like to thank those who allowed images to be used in the volume, and express particular thanks to www.bawnboy.com and Bishop Ferran Glenfield for permission to use the image of Bedell’s Bible on the cover. Finally, our friends and families have been both encouraging and patient during the course of this project – most especially Georgie Anderson and Barbara Broaders, to whom we offer heartfelt thanks.

PERMISSION Kieran O’Mahony’s chapter, “The Catholic Lectionary:  Its Creation, Reception and Challenge,” appeared in a modified form in Kieran O’Mahony, Speaking from Within: More Effective Preaching (Dublin: Veritas, 2016), and is printed here with the kind permission of Veritas Books.

ABBREVIATIONS ABD BDB BETL BHS CBQ CCSL DSD EILS EMIR EQ GKC GRBS HB ITQ JBL JHS JSOTSUP JSS JTS KJV LHBOTS MS MT NASB NGO NIV NKJV NRSV NT NTS OBO OT PEQ PIBA RBén

David Noel Freedman (ed.), The Anchor Bible Dictionary (6 vols; New York: Doubleday, 1992) F. Brown, S. R. Driver and C. A. Briggs, A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (Oxford: Clarendon, 1907) Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia Catholic Biblical Quarterly Corpus Christianorum: Series Latina (Turnhout: Brepols, 1953–) Dead Sea Discoveries Early Irish Law Series Encyclopaedia of Music in Ireland Evangelical Quarterly Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar (ed. E. Kautzsch, revised and trans. A. E. Cowley; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1910) Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies Hebrew Bible Irish Theological Quarterly Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Hebrew Scriptures Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of Theological Studies King James Version Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies Manuscript Masoretic Text New American Standard Bible Non-governmental Organization New International Version New King James Version New Revised Standard Version New Testament New Testament Studies Orbis biblicus et orientalis Old Testament Palestine Exploration Quarterly Proceedings of the Irish Biblical Association Revue Bénédictine

Abbreviations VT VTSUP ZAW ZNW

Vetus Testamentum Supplements to Vetus Testamentum Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche

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I N T R O DU C T IO N : S I T UAT I N G I R E L A N D A N D S O C IA L A N D C U LT U R A L   R E C E P T IO N   O F T H E   B I B L E Bradford A. Anderson and Jonathan Kearney

The Bible, in the minds of many, is a static book; its place in the world is assumed to be a fixed one, relegated to ecclesial contexts and perhaps academic study. There is, of course, an element of truth to this conception, as the Bible has long held a place of importance in these contexts. And yet, in reality, the role of the Bible in our world is much more complex. The Bible is inextricably linked with broader social and cultural dimensions, from identity formation and politics, to language and literature. Nowhere is this clearer than in Ireland, with its rich and complex religious, cultural and social history. The present collection of essays examines these very issues, highlighting the varied ways in which the Bible has impacted Irish life and society, as well as the ways in which the cultural specificity of Ireland has impacted the use and development of the Bible on the island and further afield. In this introduction we locate the present volume in terms of context, content and methodology. We begin with a historical overview that helps situate Ireland and the Irish context. We then outline the assumptions that underlie the present volume, specifically in relation to what is meant by biblical reception history, as well as a focus on social and cultural dimensions of such reception. Finally, we offer an overview of the shape and content of the volume.

1. Ireland: A (Broad) Historical Perspective Because the essays in this volume stretch from early Christian Ireland to the present day, it may be helpful to situate Ireland in a broad historical context. In terms of such an exercise, it is important to note that both editors are professionally located in the Republic of Ireland, and are aware of the subjective and interpretative nature of historiography. The brief historical introduction offered in the following pages does not aim to be exhaustive – the choice of what we present, given the context, is highly selective, and germane to the essays presented in this volume. Nor does this brief historical introduction claim to offer any kind of objectivity or neutrality in its presentation. While we may aim for such scholarly

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Ireland and the Reception of the Bible

objectivity, our own, personal cultural locations inevitably inform both the selection and narration. Like the word ‘Israel’  – a not inappropriate comparison given the contents of this volume – the word ‘Ireland’ is notoriously polysemous. As is the case for scholars writing introductions to biblical studies, ancient Israelite history or cognate areas, one must begin by explaining the complex range of meanings of the designation. Just like the word ‘Israel’, the word ‘Ireland’ means, has meant and will continue to mean many (often disparate) things to different people in different contexts. Ireland is, at the most basic level, a relatively small island (81,631 square kilometres/31,521 square miles) on the western fringes of the Eurasian landmass with a total population of 6.4 million.1 However, while Ireland is the name of a place or a land, it also designates a state and an idea. Indeed, two states use the word ‘Ireland’ as part of their official names: Ireland (sometimes inaccurately referred to the Republic of Ireland)2 and the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. One might say  – without a great risk of challenge  – that the manifold and complex relationships between the inhabitants of the island of Ireland and the inhabitants of its nearest neighbour (and sometime colonial occupier) form the major theme of Irish history and historiography. These complex relationships between Britain and Ireland remain unsettled and ultimately unresolved – despite the very real benefits of the ratification in 1998 of the Good Friday Agreement (on which, more below) and more recent much touted, but possibly premature, proclamations of the ‘normalization’ of relations between the two states. Like any history, the history of Ireland is a contested space (just as the island itself is). There is, of course, no single history of Ireland; rather there are multiple histories of Ireland. It is not the purpose of this introduction to offer ‘a history of Ireland’ – that unenviable task has been undertaken by many more qualified experts3 – nor is it our purpose to enter into the ongoing, lively and often heated 1.  For the most recent data on the population of the island of Ireland, see Census 2011 Ireland and Northern Ireland (Cork and Belfast:  Central Statistics Office and Northern Ireland Statistics and Research Agency, 2014). 2. The frequently encountered ‘Republic of Ireland’ is not the official name of any state. Article 4 of Bunreacht na hÉireann (the Constitution of Ireland, adopted 29 December 1937)  declares that the name of the state is ‘Éire, or, in the English language, Ireland.’ ‘Republic of Ireland’ is a description of the state – not an official name (see Section 2 of The Republic of Ireland Act, 1948). 3.  For those seeking a relatively short, broad-stroke history of Ireland, a good starting point is the now classic general history (first published in 1967 under the editorship of T. W. Moody and F. X. Martin): The Course of Irish History. This key text is now in its fifth edition:  T. W. Moody, F. X. Martin, Dermot Keogh and Patrick Kiely, eds, The Course of Irish History (Lanham:  Roberts Rinehart, 2012). Also worthy of mention is James Lydon, The Making of Ireland: From Ancient Times to the Present (London: Routledge, 1998). Those seeking greater detail on particular periods can refer to the relevant sections of the magisterial nine-volume New History of Ireland published by Oxford University Press under the

Introduction

3

debates in Irish historiography.4 Instead, we wish to offer a minimal broad chronology to help the reader navigate the context of the individual essays, as well as some basic information on key themes in Irish history. The earliest extant traces of human habitation of Ireland are usually dated to the Mesolithic period (as early as 8000 BCE). The hunter-gatherer way of life of these first inhabitants was superceded by agriculture in the Neolithic period (around 4000 BCE). Among the material traces of these first farmers are the elaborate passage tombs they built – the most notable being that found in Newgrange, Co. Meath, part of the wider Boyne Valley complex.5 The Irish Bronze Age, lasting from around 2500 to 600 BCE, was followed by the Iron Age during which the first Celtic-language-speaking people arrived in Ireland. The Celtic languages form a distinct branch of the Indo-European language family. They are usually subdivided into Continental Celtic (spoken on the European landmass) and Insular Celtic (spoken in the islands of Ireland and Britain).6 Irish  – or Gaeilge (its language autonym), sometimes known as Irish Gaelic7  – is, according to the Constitution of Ireland, the national language of Ireland and ‘the first official language’, while English is ‘recognised as a second official language’.8 The Irish language is a core curriculum subject in the Irish Auspices of the Royal Irish Academy between 1987 and 2011. It would be invidious to single out individual monographs on particular aspects of Irish history; however, suffice it to say, Irish historiography is alive and well. 4.  The major debate in much of modern and contemporary Irish historiography concerns a particular tendency popularly identified as ‘Revisionism’. For an accessible introduction to this issue, particularly concerning the historiography of modern Ireland, see Diarmaid Ferriter, The Transformation of Ireland: 1900–2000 (London:  Profile, 2004), 19– 23. See also the seminal essay by Roy Foster, ‘We Are All Revisionists Now’, The Irish Review 1 (1986): 1–5. 5.  Newgrange is usually dated between 3000 and 2500 BCE. These tombs offer an excellent example of the antiquity and importance of socio-religious issues on the island. On this, and Irish prehistory in general, see J. P. Mallory, The Origins of the Irish (London:  Thames and Hudson, 2013). 6.  The Insular Celtic languages are in turn subdivided into Goidelic (Irish, Manx and Scottish Gaelic) and Brittonic (Welsh, Cornish and Breton). Although Breton, with more than 2,00,000 speakers, is spoken in mainland Europe (Brittany), it is not a Continental Celtic language, having been brought to Brittany by settlers from Britain around the ninth century CE. On the Celtic languages, see Donald Macauly, ed., The Celtic Languages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992); and Martin J. Ball and James Fife, eds, The Celtic Languages (London: Routledge, 1993). 7. The designation ‘Irish Gaelic’ is to be preferred to the often encountered ‘Gaelic’ – as the latter can lead to confusion with the closely related language ‘Scottish Gaelic’ (language autonym Gàidhlig) and Manx (language autonym y Ghaelg or y Ghailck). These three languages form the Goidelic branch of the Insular Celtic language family. 8.  Bunreacht na hÉireann, 8.1 and 8.2 (October 2015 edition; Dublin:  Stationery Office), 8.

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education system at both primary and post-primary levels in the Republic. The Census of Ireland, 2011, reported that more than 1.7 million people could speak Irish. However, a more modest 77,185 identified themselves as daily speakers of Irish outside of the education system.9 Irish is also recognized as minority/regional language in Northern Ireland.10 The Irish language and its numerous connections to the Bible are discussed in the essays by McNamara, Ó Fearghail, Mac Murchaidh and McConvery. Unlike its neighbour Britain, Ireland was not occupied by the Roman Empire, allowing it to develop in relative isolation from the second to the eighth centuries CE. However, Christianity – by then the state religion of the Roman Empire – was introduced to Ireland during the fifth century. The introduction of Christianity to Ireland is most often associated with the Romano-British missionary St Patrick, but there were, most likely, Christians in Ireland before the preaching of Patrick.11 It is only after the coming of Christianity to Ireland that Irish historiography can begin following the introduction of writing and the flourishing of literature both in Latin and Irish (see the contribution of McNamara). We are dependent on these Christian sources for much of our information about the society, culture and literature of pre-Christian Ireland. The history of Ireland, following its Christianization, can be seen as a succession of invasions, occupations or settlements.12 The first major group to arrive in Christian Ireland was the Vikings (from the late eighth century). Indeed, these Scandinavian invaders became settlers and founded numerous settlements, and enveloped others, including Dublin. This early Norse settlement and assimilation into the larger Irish population can be seen, at some levels, as paradigmatic of how Ireland has tended to absorb groups of invaders, migrants and settlers – incorporating them into the rich tapestry of Irishness. The next invasion of Ireland was that of the Anglo-Normans, invited by the twelfth-century king of Leinster, Diarmait Mac Murchada, to assist him in his own struggle to regain his kingdom. This invasion marked the beginning of English involvement in Ireland. In 1171, Henry II of England, with the blessing of Pope Alexander III, arrived in Ireland and declared himself lord of Ireland. The Lordship of Ireland was to last until the Parliament of Ireland (established 1297) passed the Crown of Ireland Act in 1542 which made the English King Henry VIII sovereign of the Kingdom of Ireland – a client state of England. English rule of Ireland was

9. Census of Ireland, 2011, Profile 9. What We Know (Dublin: Stationery Office, 2012), 25. 10.  See ‘Languages’, website of the Department of Culture Arts and Leisure, Northern Ireland, online: https://www.dcalni.gov.uk/topics/languages (accessed 20 April 2016). 11.  See D. Ó Cróinín, ‘Who Was Palladius “First Bishop of the Irish”?’, Peritia 12 (2000): 205–37. 12.  The varied terminology utilized here is indicative of the ongoing debates regarding the nature of these migrations:  invasion, occupation and settlement all carry a range of associations which may oversimplify or mischaracterize a reality now only indirectly accessible to us.

Introduction

5

to continue through the Dublin Parliament until the Act of Union of 1800 which created the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. The sixteenth-century Reformation reached Ireland through the rule of Henry VIII. Following the first Act of Supremacy (1534) Henry had become supreme head of the Church of England. The Irish Parliament confirmed Henry’s headship of the church in 1536. The competing claims of Catholic or Reformed Christianity were to become one of the major themes of the relationship between the English crown and the people of Ireland. For many, religious allegiance became a matter not just of personal identity, but one intimately connected with a more corporate, ‘proto-national’ identity – sowing the seeds of a conflict that was to dominate Ireland intermittently until the late twentieth century. This is, of course, not to offer a reductive model of the role of religious affiliation in Irish history – especially not in terms of the various revolutionary movements that sought to sever the political connection of Ireland to England. The reality points to a far more complex and nuanced set of circumstances and relationships: the facile equation of Irish nationalism with Catholicism and unionism with the Reformed Churches has long done a disservice to both the participants in the various national struggles and to the audience to whom such a model was presented as fact. While not denying the central role of religion in Irish history – a centrality that is a key theme in many of the contributions to this volume – we hope that we are moving away from simplified caricatures, and pointing instead to the important role played by religion in a complex system of interrelated issues. One of the most influential policies of English rule of Ireland in terms of changing demographics was the phenomenon of plantation. Initiated by the Tudors, this colonialist project saw land confiscated by the British crown and settled by Protestant Christian colonists from England and Scotland known as Planters. The plantations of Munster and Ulster led to an even more significant presence of Protestant Christians in Ireland and the ultimate collapse of what was left of the old Gaelic aristocratic order as well as the dispossession and exile of the native Irish (on this era, see the contribution of Anderson).13 Most of the Scots planters were Presbyterians – so despite being part of the Reformed church, they were regarded with some suspicion by the British crown whose Anglicanism saw the Presbyterians as dissenters. The Plantation of Ulster was to sow the seeds of a three-way tension between the British crown, the Scots Presbyterian planters and the native Irish Catholics – a tension which has continued in varied forms into

13.  The island of Ireland has been – and is – divided in a range of ways. One such historical division is that of ‘provinces’. There are four provinces in Ireland: Ulster, Leinster, Munster and Connacht, the origins of which lie in pre-Norman kingdoms. In Irish, a province is known as a cúige (meaning ‘fifth’), indicating that there was once a fifth province, Mide, later incorporated into Leinster. The provinces have no legal status in Ireland, but are a focus of personal and local identity for many Irish people. The sometime-encountered use of the term Ulster to designate the political entity of Northern Ireland is particularly problematic, given that three counties of the historic province of Ulster are part of the Republic.

6

Ireland and the Reception of the Bible

the second half of the twentieth century.14 In the context of religion in Ireland, it is also imperative to make reference to the Penal Laws. These were a succession of acts (beginning in 1695) passed by the British crown that actively discriminated against Catholic Christians in Ireland. Full civil rights were not granted to Irish Catholics until the Penal Laws were completely and formally dismantled in 1829 – so-called Catholic Emancipation. However, probably the most traumatic event in modern Irish history – and one with profound effects on the population of the island (and the national psyche, if one may speak of such a thing) is the ‘Great Famine’ of 1845–49. An Górta Mór (the Great Hunger, as it is known in Irish) was caused by three years of successive failure of the potato crop due to a fungal disease known as Potato Blight (Phytophtora infestans). For a range of factors beyond their control, the native (largely Catholic) Irish rural population had become dependent on the potato as the staple of their diet. The successive failures of the potato crop and the reaction of the British government (which has been characterized as everything from negligently incompetent to wilfully genocidal) led to the death of approximately 1 million Irish and the emigration of almost 1.5 million. The population of Ireland was reduced by nearly 25 per cent during these years, and has never again reached its pre-famine level of approximately 8.1 million. A great source of bitterness remains the fact that during the years of the Great Hunger, Ireland exported enough grain to feed the starving population of Ireland. The mass emigrations caused by the Great Hunger led to the growth of the Irish diaspora in North America.15 The 1916 Rising set in motion a chain of events that ultimately led to the independence in December 1922 of twenty-six of Ireland’s thirty-two counties under the title of the ‘Irish Free State’. Six of the counties of the historic Irish province of Ulster (Donegal, Cavan and Monaghan were excluded) formed ‘Northern Ireland’ – a constituent unit of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. The Irish Free State remained a dominion of the British Empire until 1931. A new constitution, Bunreacht na hÉireann, was introduced in 1937, and, as noted above, the Republic of Ireland Act was signed into law on 21 December 1948. The Anglo-Irish Treaty (formally the Articles of Agreement for a Treaty between Great Britain and Ireland), which was signed in London on 6 December 1921, while paving the way for limited independence of Ireland, also led to a bitter and bloody conflict  – the Irish Civil War (June 1922–May 1923). Although the

14.  One should, at this point, refer to the recognition of both Irish and Ulster Scots as minority languages by the Northern Ireland Executive – English is the official language. 15. Like any area of Irish historiography, the ‘Great Famine’ remains highly contentious. As Alvin Jackson, Ireland:  1798–1998 (Oxford:  Blackwell, 1999), 69–70, has noted:  ‘In truth, the Great Famine remains a source of pain and guilt and confusion and anger for the contemporary Irish, just as other natural or human-made disasters have created similar responses elsewhere in Europe.’ For those seeking an introduction to this deeply harrowing episode of Irish history, Cecil Woodham-Smith’s The Great Hunger:  Ireland 1845–1849 (London: Penguin, 1991 [1962]) remains an excellent starting point.

Introduction

7

conflict lasted less than twelve months, and those supporting the Anglo-Irish Treaty were victorious, the Irish Civil War (like all civil wars, a particularly savage affair) sowed a legacy of bitterness and enmity that still lies thinly buried beneath the surface of contemporary Ireland.16 The ultimately unsolved ‘national question’ reemerged in a bloody armed conflict euphemistically referred to as ‘The Troubles’. (See the contribution of Searle on this period.) This conflict, which lasted from 1968 to 1998, saw the armed forces of the British state engage in a protracted guerrilla war with paramilitary groups from both the republican/nationalist and loyalist/unionist traditions. One estimate gives the number of fatalities during the conflict as 3,532.17 As previously noted, the Troubles were frequently presented as a largely religious conflict. However, while the conflict certainly did have some of its roots in historical religious phenomena, the causes were far more complex than the Catholic versus Protestant caricature so frequently presented.18 The Troubles are usually seen to have come to an end with the Belfast Agreement, signed on 10 April 1998 – also known as the Good Friday Agreement. This agreement resulted in the establishment of a devolved form of government in Northern Ireland, with an elected legislature (the Northern Ireland Assembly) and its executive arm (the Northern Ireland Executive). Nevertheless, it remains the case that the national conflict is still part of the recent memory of many people on the island of Ireland: there are many thousands of people living with trauma, bereavement and injuries. In such circumstances, despite the very palpable results of the Good Friday Agreement, one is rightly wary of premature statements of normalization.19 16.  Indeed, the two major political parties of Ireland, Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael, trace their origins back to anti-Treaty and pro-Treaty factions respectively. A classic and accessible introduction to the complex elements of Irish nationalism remains Robert Key, The Green Flag: A History of Irish Nationalism (London: Penguin, 2000 [1972]). 17.  Malcolm Sutton, ‘An Index of Deaths from the Conflict in Ireland’, CAIN (Conflict Archive on the Internet), online: http://cain.ulst.ac.uk/sutton/tables/Status_Summary.html (accessed 20 April 2016). 18.  For a readable and fairhanded treatment of this difficult period, see Christine Kinealy, War and Peace:  Ireland since the 1960s (London:  Reaktion, 2010). For a history that sees the conflict as ultimately religious in its origins, see Marcus Tanner, Ireland’s Holy Wars: The Struggle for a Nation’s Soul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003). One might profitably here compare this reductive narrative to the one frequently presented to explain conflicts in the Middle East and identified by Rodinson as Theologocentrism, the tendency to hold that ‘almost all observable phenomena can be explained by reference to Islam, in societies where Muslims are the majority or where Islam is the official religion’ (Maxime Rodinson, Europe and the Mystique of Islam [London: I.B. Tauris, 2006], 204). 19. Part of the Good Friday Agreement led to the Nineteenth Amendment of Bunreacht na hÉireann (3 June 1998). The second article was amended from ‘The national territory consists of the whole island of Ireland, its islands and the territorial seas,’ to the following: ‘It is the entitlement and birthright of every person born in the island of Ireland, which includes its islands and seas, to be part of the Irish Nation. That is also the entitlement of all persons

8

Ireland and the Reception of the Bible

Moving to contemporary Ireland, several relevant issues are worth pointing out. We might first note the rapid economic, social and cultural transformations of Ireland beginning in the final decade of the past century. The so-called Celtic Tiger era is a name given to a rapid and massive expansion of the Irish economy (particularly in the Republic) that began in the mid-1990s. This economic boom – based largely on foreign direct investment and property speculation – inevitably underwent a bust, beginning in 2008.20 Nevertheless, one of the most notable changes wrought by the economic transformation of the Celtic Tiger was the shift of Ireland as a place from which people emigrated to one to which people immigrated. While Ireland has always had a diverse population, this population has become even more richly diverse in recent years. In April 2011, there were over half a million non-Irish nationals living in the Republic of Ireland (544,357) of 199 different nationalities. Census data also revealed that the number of non-Irish nationals resident in Ireland increased by 143 per cent in the nine-year period since the question about nationality was first introduced to the census form in 2002. In 2011, there were more than 10,000 people resident in Ireland from each the following countries: Poland, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Lithuania, Latvia, Nigeria, Romania, India, Philippines, Germany, the United States of America, China and Slovakia. Of these countries, the first two accounted for more than 100,000 each.21 (For a reflection of this changing demographic, see the contribution of Uberoi.) otherwise qualified in accordance with law to be citizens of Ireland. Furthermore, the Irish nation cherishes its special affinity with people of Irish ancestry living abroad who share its cultural identity and heritage.’ This latter formulation represented an extremely open, progressive and inclusive conception of Irishness and the Irish Nation. However, in a referendum held in June 2004, the electorate voted to amend the constitution to limit the right to citizenship. While Article 2 remained unchanged, a new article (9.2) was introduced, subsection 1 of which read: ‘Notwithstanding any other provision of this Constitution, a person born in the island of Ireland, which includes its islands and seas, who does not have, at the time of the birth of that person, at least one parent who is an Irish citizen or entitled to be an Irish citizen is not entitled to Irish citizenship or nationality, unless provided for by law.’ This amendment seems to represent a step back from the conception of Irishness articulated by the Good Friday Agreement and Article 2 of the Constitution, and suggests that the subject of Irish identity is not an issue relegated simply to the past. 20. Following the collapse of a number of banks, on 16 December 2010, the Republic of Ireland entered what was popularly referred to as the Bailout Programme. Although Ireland exited the programme on 15 December 2013, the economic situation in Ireland remains deeply inequitable, and debates still rage about various taxes and charges brought in as part of the austerity measures. 21.  Census of Ireland 2011, Profile 6, Migration and Diversity (Dublin:  Stationery Office, 2012). It is difficult for a society in transition to analyse that transition. However, for concise studies of the effects of globalization on Ireland, see Tom Inglis, Global Ireland (London: Routledge, 2008) as well as Carmen Kuhling and Kieran Keohane, Cosmopolitan Ireland:  Globalisation and Quality of Life (London:  Pluto, 2007). For a broad-ranging

Introduction

9

These developments have also brought about changes in relation to the religious landscape of Ireland, notably in the Republic.22 To begin with, despite the fact that more than 3.8  million respondents declared themselves to be Roman Catholics (just over 84 per cent of the population) in the most recent census in the Republic, it is essential to note that the once dominant position of the Catholic Church in Ireland has changed radically in the past three decades.23 For some time, the role of the Catholic Church in post-independence Ireland has been analysed, critiqued and challenged,24 to say nothing of pre-independence challenges (on which, see the contributions of Leask and Lernout). However, the revelations of the involvement of elements of the Catholic Church hierarchy (both in Ireland and Rome) in the covering-up of the sexual, physical and emotional abuse of children and vulnerable adults by some members of Catholic clergy undoubtedly led to an enormous disenchantment with the official, magisterial church. Nevertheless, while the Catholic Church no longer sets the dominant paradigm in Irish life, it still plays a significant role in Irish identity, education and healthcare – to name but three areas. For contributions that engage directly with the Bible among Irish Catholics, see those of McConvery, McCarthy, K. O’Mahony and Hayes. The religious landscape of Northern Ireland is also undergoing changes, with an increasing pluralism and diversity of religious adherence and non-adherence – moving beyond the reductive paradigm of Catholic and Protestant, even if these traditions remain influential.25 A second way in which the religious landscape of Ireland is changing is through increasing religious diversity along with more openness on the part of those who

collection of essays on the transformation of Ireland, see Brendan Bartley and Rob Kitchin, eds, Understanding Contemporary Ireland (London:  Pluto, 2007). For a more popular, yet highly readable and informative survey of significant events in the transformation of Ireland from the 1970s to the period just before the economic crash of 2008, see Colum Kenny, Moments That Changed Us (Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 2005). 22. A helpful discussion of the emerging religious landscapes of both the north and south of Ireland can be found in Gladys Ganiel, Transforming Post-Catholic Ireland:  Religious Practice in Late Modernity (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016). 23.  It is not the place here to discuss the apparent disparity between the number of people declaring themselves to be Roman Catholics and increasing lack of engagement by people with the church (one might, for instance, mention the dramatic decline in regular attendance at mass). We might venture to characterize the contemporary situation as one where something we might call ‘cultural Catholicism’ is on the rise – a new way of being a Catholic in Ireland that does not involve traditional notions of ‘religiosity’ and which is unmediated by the official church. 24.  See, for example, the pioneering work of Tom Inglis, Moral Monopoly:  The Rise and Fall of the Catholic Church in Ireland (Dublin:  University College Dublin Press, 1998 [1987]). 25.  The most up-to-date data on religious adherence and non-adherence in Northern Ireland can be found in Census 2011 Ireland and Northern Ireland, 29–32.

10

Ireland and the Reception of the Bible

claim no religion.26 For example, the Census of Ireland 1991 listed seven religious categories: Catholic, Church of Ireland (including Protestant), Presbyterian, Methodist, Jewish, Other Stated Religions, No Religion, and Not Stated. The results of the Census of Ireland 2011, meanwhile, were presented under twentyseven categories. Further, in 1991, 66,270 census respondents stated that they had no religion, while in the Census of Ireland 2011, 269,811 responded in the same way (constituting the second largest group in this category).27 (On the role of the Bible in a ‘post-Catholic’, increasingly non-religious Ireland, see the contributions of E. O’Mahony and Mitchel.) It is clear, then, that the new, emerging Ireland has undergone and continues to experience significant change in terms of the social, cultural and religious identities of its inhabitants. This historical overview demonstrates that the idea of ‘Ireland’ is complex  – whether we are speaking of the designation, the island, or the histories and identities of its peoples. Our contention is that the use of the Bible both reflects and has played a role in the shaping of this complex history and, sometimes, how this history is understood and interpreted  – as the essays which follow highlight in diverse ways.

2. Social and Cultural Reception of the Bible Before turning to the essays in the volume that demonstrate the complex relationship of the Bible and Ireland, we first wish to outline some of the assumptions and methodological underpinnings of the collection. The study of the reception of the Bible is an area that has grown exponentially in recent years, from commentary and monograph series focused on reception, to reference works incorporating reception history into more traditional forms of biblical scholarship, to an ever expanding constellation of works exploring the reception of the Bible in traditional exegesis, literature, music, film, visual arts, politics and beyond.28 While some in the guild have been slow to accept the turn towards reception, the role and place of reception history in biblical studies is becoming

26.  On the issue of religious diversity in Ireland, see Bradford A. Anderson, Gareth Byrne and Sandra Cullen, ‘Religious Pluralism, Education, and Citizenship in Ireland’, in Islam, Religions, and Pluralism in Europe, ed. Ednan Aslan, Rajna Ebrahim and Marcia Hermansen (Berlin: Springer, 2016), 161–72. 27.  The website of the Central Statistics Office of Ireland offers detailed census reports (http://www.cso.ie/en/census/). For a very readable summary of the recent demographic changes in Ireland, see This Is Ireland: Highlights from Census 2011, Part 1 (Dublin: Stationery Office, 2012). 28.  Examples of this growing attention to reception can be found in the multivolume reference work Encyclopedia of the Bible and Its Reception (Berlin: de Gruyter); the advent of several journals dedicated to the topic, including Biblical Reception; as well as book series such as Scriptural Traces (Bloomsbury T&T Clark).

Introduction

11

increasingly established. Indeed, there have been a number of contributions of late which have pointed to the way in which much that is done under the umbrella of traditional biblical studies is much closer to reception history than is often assumed.29 Nevertheless, difficulties remain in situating reception history, in part because of the broad-ranging nature of the enterprise.30 Three issues related to the approach and assumptions of the present study are worthy of further attention: (1) what we have in mind when we speak of ‘reception’ in the present volume; (2) what is meant by ‘social and cultural’ dimensions of reception history; and (3) the implications of this for understanding the nature of ‘Bible’ in biblical reception. First, what do we mean by ‘reception’ of the Bible? What modes are included in such reception? Broadly speaking, we situate the task of reception history within the wide-ranging discourse exploring the use, influence and impact of the Bible. Two issues are worth noting in relation to the present collection. To begin with, while the geographic and cultural parameters of the present study are relatively narrow, the range of contexts explored is intentionally broad, moving beyond biblical reception as found in the history of interpretation and exegetical traditions. Thus, the volume has contributions which explore the use and appropriation of the Bible in written texts, legal, literary and historical (McNamara, Anderson, Murray, Lernout); stories of individuals and their engagement with the Bible (Leask, O’Loughlin, McCarthy); sermons (Mac Murchaidh); translations (Ó Fearghail, McConvery); use in ecclesial contexts (Uberoi, K. O’Mahony); political and social engagement with the Bible (Searle, Mitchel); visual and artistic representations of the Bible (Dillon, Hayes); and use in music (Dowling Long, Blunnie). Here we see one of the potential benefits of reception history, as it allows for disparate and diverse contexts to be brought into conversation with one another around a common theme or source, in this case the Bible and Ireland. Further, while the volume has contributions from biblical scholars from and with an interest in Ireland, we also take seriously the call for greater interdisciplinary and multidisciplinary research in biblical reception. Thus, contributors from other fields and disciplines offer essays in this volume which explore the use of

29.  See Brennan W. Breed, Nomadic Text:  A Theory of Biblical Reception (Bloomington:  Indiana University Press, 2014); James E. Harding, ‘What Is Reception History, and What Happens to You If You Do It?’, in Reception History and Biblical Studies: Theory and Practice, ed. Emma England and William John Lyons, Scriptural Traces (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015), 31–44. 30.  On historical and philosophical underpinnings of the enterprise, see HansGeorg Gadamer, Truth and Method, rev. trans. Joel C. Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall (London:  Bloomsbury, 2013); Robert Evans, Reception History, Tradition and Biblical Interpretation:  Gadamer and Jauss in Current Practice, Scriptural Traces (London:  Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2014); Emma England and William John Lyons, ‘Explorations in the Reception of the Bible’, in England and Lyons, Reception History and Biblical Studies, 3–13.

12

Ireland and the Reception of the Bible

the Bible from diverse vantage points such as cultural geography (E. O’Mahony), musicology (Blunnie), anthropology (Uberoi), and philosophy (Leask), not to mention engagement with history, theology and literature. Here the expertise of other subject areas is brought to bear on the use and impact of the Bible in relationship to Ireland, with stimulating results. Taken together, the volume presents a picture of the reception of the Bible that is far-reaching in terms of modes of reception, and one that is interdisciplinary in terms of methodologies and approaches that might be used to explore such use of the Bible. Second, what are the implications of focusing on social and cultural dimensions of the reception of the Bible in Ireland? The very terms ‘social’ and ‘cultural’  – though ubiquitous in scholarship – are notoriously difficult to define and, like many of the ‘terms of art’ in academic discourse, lack single agreed-upon definitions. In terms of the present volume, we are adopting broad and inclusive senses of both words. For our purposes, the ‘social’ is anything that involves society, ‘as our most general term for the body of institutions and relationships within which a relatively large group of people live; and as our most abstract term for the condition in which such institutions and relationships are formed’.31 Williams, the source of the previous quotation, also points out, famously, that ‘culture’ ‘is one of the two or three most complicated words in the English language’.32 While Williams was undoubtedly correct in his assessment, we are going to utilize a somewhat simple understanding of culture – one that links culture to ‘meaning’: ‘Culture is the ensemble of social processes by which meanings are produced, circulated and exchanged.’33

31.  Raymond Williams, Keywords:  A Vocabulary of Culture and Society (London: Fontanna, [1983] 1988), 291. 32. Williams, Keywords, 87. 33.  Tony Thwaites, Lloyd Davis and Warwick Mules, Tools for Cultural Studies:  An Introduction (Melbourne: Macmillan Educational, 1994), 1. It is worth noting that our understanding of culture is not something that is exclusive to a particular group of people – though it is often used in this way. For our purposes, culture is far more general: it is the production of meaning that is open to all people. We should also make clear that our use of the designations ‘culture’ or ‘cultural’ is not evaluative: we do not distinguish between so-called high culture and low culture. In terms of culture, it is worth noting Irish Studies, a multidisciplinary academic discourse that – in essence – seeks to interrogate and reflect upon the meaning of Irishness and Irish culture(s), in light of historical and contemporary contexts. The present collection, it is hoped, will offer a contribution to the ongoing conversation that is Irish Studies, highlighting how attention to the Bible and its uses can add to this discourse. For a relatively recent survey of the nature and current state of Irish Studies, see Liam Harte and Yvonne Whelan, eds, Ireland beyond Boundaries: Mapping Irish Studies in the Twenty-First Century (London:  Pluto, 2007). Some of the foundational texts of contemporary Irish Studies can be found in the work of authors such as Declan Kiberd and Richard Kearney. See, for instance, Kiberd, Inventing Ireland: The Literature of the Modern

Introduction

13

What does this mean for the present collection? We suggest that reception history which is attuned to social and cultural dynamics must be cognizant of the constellation of issues that has a bearing on the use and impact of the Bible as a socially and culturally situated collection; that is, it should take into account how the Bible relates to the way in which people live in particular places, to the forming of institutions and relationships in those contexts and to the ways in which meaning is made, circulated and exchanged. Thus, the essays in this collection address, in different ways, the following questions: What social and cultural factors have contributed to the various ways in which the Bible has been transmitted in Ireland? In what ways has the Bible become embedded in elements of Irish culture and society? How does the Bible relate to notions of identity in Ireland, whether personal, communal, religious or otherwise? What role does the Bible play in relation to language in Ireland (and vice versa)? How has the Bible been appropriated culturally and artistically in Ireland, and in what forms? The present volume thus explores these and other issues with a focus on the Bible as an integral part of the complex social and cultural milieu that is Ireland.34 Third, the foregoing discussion leads us to reflect on what is meant by ‘Bible’ in biblical reception history. While it seems intuitive to think of biblical reception history as the use and impact of the text and content of the Bible, the reception of the Bible goes far beyond this.35 Several of the essays that follow do engage Nation (London:  Jonathan Cape, 1995), and Kearney, Navigations:  Collected Irish Essays 1976–2006 (Dublin: Lilliput, 2006). 34.  Some of our suggestions resonate with Timothy Beal’s arguments in ‘Reception History and Beyond: Toward the Cultural History of Scriptures’, Biblical Interpretation 19 (2011): 357–72. 35. A helpful way of thinking about these issues is to consider the varied ways in which the Bible is actually used, particularly in religious traditions. Helpful here is the work of James W. Watts, who offers a model that reflects on the functional dimensions of Scriptures in cross-cultural perspective. Watts suggests that the use of Scriptures can be classified in terms of a semantic dimension, a performative dimension and an iconic dimension, a reminder of the diverse ways in which Scriptures are taken up and used. These issues are discussed further in Bradford Anderson’s contribution (Chapter  7). Cf. James W. Watts, ‘The Three Dimensions of Scriptures’, Postscripts 2.2–3 (2006):  135–59. Over the past several decades some attempts have been made to address issues such as the phenomena of how Scriptures are actually used. See Wilfred Cantwell Smith, What Is Scripture? A Comparative Approach (London: SCM, 1993); Miriam Levering, ed., Rethinking Scripture (Albany :  SUNY Press, 1989); William A. Graham, Beyond the Written Word: Oral Aspects of Scripture in the History of Religion (Cambridge:  CUP, 1987); Vincent L. Wimbush, ed., Theorizing Scriptures: New Critical Orientations to a Cultural Phenomenon, Signifying (On) Scriptures (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2008). Further, calls have been made to expand what it means to do biblical studies. See, for example, Jonathan Z. Smith, ‘Religion and Bible’, JBL 128 (2009):  5–27. Specific examples taking up this call, though often from outside of biblical studies, include James S. Bielo, Words upon the Word: An Ethnography of Evangelical Group Bible Study, Qualitative Studies in Religion (New York:  NYU Press,

14

Ireland and the Reception of the Bible

with the reception of biblical texts, exploring how particular passages, characters or themes have been used and appropriated in various contexts (McNamara, Ó Fearghail, Mac Murchaidh, Dowling Long). Nevertheless, the Bible is used and received in ways that extend beyond appropriation of and engagement with biblical text and content. In this case, a focus on social and cultural elements brings to the fore other less text-centred dimensions of the Bible and its impact. How does the Bible become entwined with (and indeed invigorate) the spirit of the times, and thus inspire people’s journeys and missions (O’Loughlin, Edgar)? How does the iconic imagery or ancient provenance of a text weave its way into cultural identity (Murray, Dillon)? How do translations and physical Bibles relate to communities as well as political and religious identities (Ó Fearghail, Anderson, McConvery)? And how do broader hermeneutical developments and engagement with the world beyond Ireland impact on the reception of the Bible in Ireland (Leask, McCarthy, Lernout)? In many of these cases, it is not only the text or content of this collection, but the Bible – an iconic and sacred text, with all that this entails – which shapes and influences both individuals and cultures. In this sense, we are advocating for a more robust and expansive understanding of Bible in the study of biblical reception: an understanding that includes how the text and content of the Bible is received, but which also pays close attention to less text-centred elements of the Bible and its impact and influence. Taken together, the present volume presents a broad and interdisciplinary approach to reception history, one which is focused on social and cultural dynamics, and which calls for a thick understanding of the Bible in such usage.

3. Outline and Shape of the Volume The essays in this volume are presented under four thematic rubrics that highlight sociocultural dynamics relating to the Bible and Ireland. These thematic rubrics are: (1) Ireland and the Transmission of the Bible; (2) The Bible and Identity in Ireland; (3)  Ireland and Beyond:  Reciprocal Influences; and (4)  Cultural and Artistic Appropriation:  Imagery, Music and Literature. We are aware that any such presentation and the selection it entails involves subjective interpretation and allows for the possibility of overlap. Nevertheless, our hope is that these thematic rubrics will offer a coherent entry-point for engaging with the wide array of scholarship presented here and allow the essays to be read in a manner that draws attention to the manifold ways in which the reception of the Bible in Ireland has found expression. 2009); James S. Bielo, ed., The Social Life of Scriptures:  Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Biblicism, Signifying (On) Scriptures (New Brunswick:  Rutgers University Press, 2009); Brian Malley, How the Bible Works:  An Anthropological Study of Evangelical Biblicism (Walnut Creek: AltaMira, 2004).

Introduction

15

3.1 Ireland and the Transmission of the Bible In this first section, we explore the complex story of the Bible’s transmission in Ireland. How has the transmission of the Bible (through translation, production, reading, sermons) affected cultures and identities within Ireland? In what ways has the Bible been assimilated into Irish history and identity? In these essays we find narratives that one might expect given the historical precis offered above; but there are also a number of counternarratives that are both illuminating and surprising in the stories they tell about the Bible and its transmission in Ireland. Martin McNamara, a name known to many because of the lifetime of work he has done in highlighting the role of the Bible in Ireland, begins this section with an investigation of the multifaceted use and transmission of the Bible in early Christian and medieval Ireland. McNamara’s study of Irish biblicalism begins in the pre-Norman period, and goes on to describe a process of dynamic intertextuality at a pivotal time in Irish history, examining the transmission of the Bible in traditions as diverse as ancient law codes and genealogies to later devotional and monastic texts. Salvador Ryan then offers a fascinating glimpse into the numerous ways that ‘ordinary people’ accessed the Bible and its contents in the Middle Ages. His essay reminds us that this popular access to and engagement with sacred texts and their narratives need not necessarily assume widespread literacy or even direct access to the text itself: such access was often indirect – but no less important for it. The contributions of McNamara and Ryan both highlight the myriad ways in which the Bible was transmitted in Ireland, as well as how it became intimately connected to social and cultural dimensions of life on the island in early Christian and medieval Ireland. Fearghus Ó Fearghail presents a thorough study of the translation of the Bible into the Irish language from the mid-sixteenth to the mid-nineteenth century. Ó Fearghail’s contribution highlights the various political, religious, cultural and indeed linguistic issues that punctuate the story of the transmission of the Bible into Irish, including the fact that this activity was undertaken predominantly by those belonging to the Reformed churches. Continuing with the theme of the Irish language, Ciarán Mac Murchaidh next offers a glimpse into the sermons of the eighteenth-century Catholic Bishop James Gallagher, with a particular focus on Gallagher’s recognition of the importance of Scripture in his context. Mac Murchaidh offers one such counternarrative on the place of the Bible, as he highlights how Gallagher’s intentional use of the Bible contributed not only to doctrinal and catechetical formation, but also to the craft of preaching in this era. Brendan McConvery then turns our focus to Irish Catholic Bible production and readership in the century prior to the Famine (1749–1854). His chapter reveals a dynamic reality, with seventy editions of the Bible published ‘under Catholic auspices in Ireland’ (p. 93) between the dates in question, another such counternarrative that highlights Catholic use of the Bible. In these contributions from Ó Fearghail, Mac Murchaidh and McConvery we see the complex place of both translations and preaching in the transmission of the Bible in Ireland from the sixteenth to

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Ireland and the Reception of the Bible

the nineteenth century, highlighting issues ranging from religious and political interventions in such endeavours, to readers and hearers ‘on the ground’. Moving to the twentieth century, Kieran O’Mahony offers a history of the revised Catholic lectionary, unpacking the history which led to this document, along with some of the opportunities and challenges this has brought in terms of the use of the Bible in contemporary Catholic contexts. O’Mahony’s contribution suggests that while Catholics are now introduced to more Scripture than ever before in liturgical contexts, there is substantial work to be done in terms of helping people understand and make use of this material. 3.2 The Bible and Identity in Ireland As noted above, Irish identity has been – and remains – a highly contested space. Identity, whether personal or collective, is a complex and often emotive topic. For a good deal of Ireland’s history, one of the major elements of identity has been religious affiliation, and its role in the various political conflicts on the island have been alluded to in the brief historical outline offered above. In this section of the volume contributors explore some of the ways in which the Bible has played a role in identity formation in Ireland. In addition to engaging with the historical Catholic/Protestant dichotomy, the essays in this section also touch upon the role of the Bible in contemporary Ireland – one that is increasingly diverse in religious affiliation and (as some might venture) post-religious. Bradford A. Anderson begins this section by taking us to a highly contested period in Irish history, the mid-seventeenth century, and examines the role played by the Bible in a collection of documents known as the 1641 Depositions. He points out that these texts – reports made following the 1641 Rising – highlight the iconic power of the Bible not just as a written text, but as a signifying object that is closely tied to issues of identity. Brian Murray’s chapter then examines the fascinating phenomenon of Irish Orientalism. Here we encounter the rise and fall of Irish identification with the Milesians, a mythical people who provided the Irish with a foundational narrative that combined both Mediterranean and biblical motifs in shaping stories of Irish identity. The contributions from Anderson and Murray point to how the Bible shapes identities in ways not always directly related to the biblical text – whether in relation to physical texts and translations, or in terms of the broader world of the Bible and the ancient Near East serving as a foundational element of history and myth-making. The following two contributions explore examples where the biblical text has been used more explicitly in identity formation in Ireland, though again in diverse contexts. Joshua Searle looks at the role of the Bible in the formation of Northern Ireland evangelical identities, with a particular focus on the period of the ‘Troubles’. Searle helpfully demonstrates how many of the issues surrounding identity and the Bible in the North are in fact hermeneutical issues, and that even within particular traditions – such as evangelicalism – the Bible is used in diverse ways in shaping identity. Rebecca Uberoi then presents her contemporary ethnographic research on how an African Pentecostal church in Dublin makes use of

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the Bible in their worship. Here Uberoi unpacks how the Bible is read and used in ways that reflect the Yoruba culture of the congregation, while also serving to challenge the community in its present, Irish, context. The final two chapters in this section look at the relationship of the Bible and identity in an increasingly diverse and secular Ireland. Patrick Mitchel’s contribution looks at the way in which the Bible has been taken up constructively in social justice concerns in Ireland. Situating the issue in Ireland’s complex history on these matters, Mitchel offers a comparative study of Catholic and Protestant evangelical relief and aid agencies, highlighting the varied use of the Bible in these contexts, and the way in which these identities are situated in an increasingly secular state. Eoin O’Mahony engages with one of the most famous books in Ireland (as well as one of its leading tourist attractions), the Book of Kells, offering reflections from the perspective of cultural geography, looking at how this book highlights the complex relationship between sacred and secular in the contemporary world. O’Mahony argues that the Book of Kells is an example of the way in which ‘secular and religious places are made as a result of a series of contestations over belonging, identity and material culture’ (p. 223). 3.3 Ireland and Beyond: Reciprocal Influences Ireland, of course, is not a social and cultural vacuum. Thus, it is worth reflecting on the role of engagement with the world outside Ireland and the impact this has had in terms of the understanding of and engagement with the Bible on the island. Can Ireland be situated within the broader hermeneutical developments and cultural impulses which have contributed to the understanding and use of the Bible? How do we account for the confluence of historical accidence and foreign influence in the story of Ireland and the Bible? The essays in this section offer some explorations of these questions. The section begins with a contribution by Ian Leask on John Toland (b. 1670 in Co. Donegal) which looks at the relationship of this Irish-born philosopher’s work to that of Spinoza. Leask unpacks how Toland was deeply influenced by Spinoza’s writing, particularly the Theological-Political Treatise, and argues that this can help account for Toland’s radical approach to Scripture, an issue which played a large role in his tenuous relationship with the land of his birth. Thomas O’Loughlin’s contribution takes us off the island of Ireland, introducing several eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Irishmen:  Richard Pococke, Christopher Costigan and George Henry Moore. All three of these men had interests in the Holy Land, and their exploratory journeys and investigations there led to a number of contributions in the broader understanding of biblical geography, particularly the Dead Sea. O’Loughlin shows how these explorers all embodied the spirit of the times, noting ‘an ironic and fatal flaw in their paradigm in relation to the study of the Bible. The more they worked to answer historical and geographical problems posed to them from the reading of the Bible, whose authority they believed their researches would vindicate, the more that the sacred text was found to be wanting’ (p. 256).

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David Hutchinson Edgar next looks at the biblical manuscripts in the Chester Beatty Library. Edgar outlines the story of how these texts came to reside in Ireland, and points to their continued importance for critical study of the Bible. Edgar’s contribution highlights the role of historical accidence in Ireland’s relationship with these ancient and important texts, as well as the international element of the story: texts of Egyptian provenance are purchased by an American businessman who has relocated to England, only to make his way to Ireland in his later years as he becomes disaffected with the British political scene. Decades after his death, the manuscripts are now visited in Dublin by scholars (and tourists) from around the globe. Finally, Carmel McCarthy – biblical scholar, textual critic and the first woman to hold a professorship in biblical and cognate studies in Ireland – offers some first-person reflections on her own journey as a biblical scholar. McCarthy’s essay is especially important in drawing our attention to the scholarship and international contribution of an Irish woman to the field of biblical studies, and her account highlights the tremendous change which the study of the Bible has undergone on the island over the past half-century, including engagement with the wider world of biblical scholarship. Indeed, McCarthy’s career again points to the reciprocal influence of Ireland and the world beyond its shores: just as McCarthy and others studied and learned from scholars outside of Ireland, so the Irish scene has contributed in substantial ways to the world of biblical scholarship, including projects such as Biblia Hebraica Quinta, with which McCarthy has been intimately involved. 3.4 Cultural and Artistic Appropriation: Imagery, Music and Literature Interesting questions arise concerning ‘ownership’ of the Bible when we explore the cultural reception of the Bible in Ireland. How do we account for the role of the Bible in media such as traditional and choral music, stained glass and literature? How do we make sense of ancient religious texts that become important cultural and tourist attractions, in many ways divorced from their religious content and purpose? While the Bible is Scripture for many and so has particular authority and import, it is also something that has become embedded in culture and society, a cultural artefact with currency that transcends its primary religious location. To be sure, the religious significance of this collection has led to social and cultural use related to this religious importance, but there are broader uses that extend beyond the explicitly religious, at least in their expected forms. The chapters in this section explore questions related to this varied cultural and artistic use of the Bible. Amanda Dillon opens this section by drawing our attention to the Book of Kells (examined by Eoin O’Mahony using a very different disciplinary lens as noted above), exploring here the unique visual identity of this book in terms of text and image, highlighting its continued multifarious reuse in Irish history. Dillon’s contribution highlights the way in which the visual imagery of the book has become a part of Irish identity, while often divorced from the content of the Book of Kells. Myra Hayes next offers a study on the use of the Bible in another form of visual

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imagery:  Irish stained glass. Hayes’s contribution focuses on the stained glass which was created in the twentieth century for St Brendan’s Cathedral, Loughrea, Co. Galway. Hayes helpfully outlines the use of the Bible in these examples of ecclesial art, while also pointing out the specific political and religious dimensions that affected how and why these creations took shape. Moving to the world of music, Siobhán Dowling Long reflects on the unique role of the Bible in music in eighteenth-century Dublin. After situating in historical perspective the role of the Bible in Irish music, Dowling Long contextualizes the ‘great flourishing of biblical music in non-liturgical settings for charitable purposes’ (p. 331) in Dublin’s golden age, noting along the way important issues such as political developments and religious identities which contributed to this context. Róisín Blunnie next interrogates the relationship of Scripture, music and Irish cultural identities. Here the focus is on liturgical and choral music in a variety of contexts – ecclesial, professional and social – highlighting the complex relationship between music and text. Blunnie suggests that ‘Scripture-based music in and of Ireland represents a significant part of the country’s musical and choral landscape, and is inextricably interwoven with the complexities of the nation’s multifarious and ever-shifting cultural identities’ (p. 363). In the final chapter of this section, Geert Lernout brings his expertise to bear on the use of the Bible in James Joyce’s work. Here Lernout explores how Joyce’s varied use of biblical texts and motifs suggests on the part of the author engagement with and knowledge of currents in biblical studies, particularly from freethinkers. Lernout’s contribution brings us back to the question of how and why the Bible is appropriated in cultural contexts, as Joyce’s use of the Bible is indebted to his Catholic upbringing, yet it is used in such a way that it pushes back against the hegemony of the church and the very status of the Bible as Scripture.

4. Trajectories for Future Research Any collection of essays such as this can only hope to offer a glimpse of what is being done in a particular academic field. What is offered here, then, is a snapshot in order to open an interdisciplinary conversation that we hope will continue for years to come. Indeed, these essays highlight a number of areas that are ripe for further research. First is the question of academic biblical studies in Ireland, an issue touched on in various essays, most notably in that from McCarthy, as well as the Foreword from John Collins. While academic biblical studies is not the focus of this volume, it is an issue that is very much in the background. Ireland has made a significant impact in the area of biblical studies, both at home and abroad – an impact quite disproportionate to its small population. Very real and pressing questions remain about the future of this field of study on the island, as the past several decades have seen significant changes to higher education and to theology and religious studies in particular. Nevertheless, the study of the Bible continues to attract attention at university level, even if reflecting some of the broader societal changes seen in

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Ireland. The story of the academic study of the Bible in Ireland, and that of those who have carried on this work off the island, still needs to be told. Second, this volume explores the importance of the transmission of the Bible in Ireland, with contributors examining modes of transmission from early Christian Ireland to the present. While this transmission of the Bible has been one of great vitality and productivity, the question of how – some would more pessimistically say if – the Bible will continue to be transmitted is a pressing one. This question has particular relevance when we acknowledge the increasingly secular context of Ireland. As the essays from E. O’Mahony, Mitchel and Uberoi demonstrate, the Bible continues to have a real and influential place in Irish society, even if this is vastly different from previous generations. How people of faith as well as an increasingly secular Ireland will continue to engage these matters will be worthy of further reflection in the coming years. Finally, the essays in this volume point to the complex and interrelated role of ‘religion’ in society, and the equally complex place of the Bible within such discourse. Continued attention needs to be paid to this complexity, in the study of the reception of the Bible and also in the study of Irish history and culture. Future work must continue to push back against reductionist tendencies that essentialize religion on the one hand, while not erasing religious dimensions from the picture altogether on the other hand, and those interested in the reception of the Bible are well placed to contribute to such conversations.

5. Concluding Reflections As noted above, this collection can only offer initial soundings; there are many further stories to be told of the life of the Bible and Ireland, both past and present. Nevertheless, our hope is that this collection demonstrates the important role that the Bible has played – and continues to play – in the social and cultural dynamics of Ireland. It is also hoped that the essays collected here will show how scholarship on the Bible remains vital, and, if anything, is becoming more dynamic. In this regard, the present volume suggests that the Bible is no longer the privileged domain of only theologians and biblical scholars – the multidisciplinary nature of this volume attests to this new reality, one in which the boundaries between academic disciplines are becoming more permeable.

Bibliography Anderson, Bradford A., Gareth Byrne and Sandra Cullen. ‘Religious Pluralism, Education, and Citizenship in Ireland’. Pages 161–72 in Islam, Religions, and Pluralism in Europe. Edited by Ednan Aslan, Rajna Ebrahim and Marcia Hermansen. Berlin: Springer, 2016. Ball, Martin J., and James Fife, eds. The Celtic Languages. London: Routledge, 1993. Bartley, Brendan, and Rob Kitchin, eds. Understanding Contemporary Ireland. London: Pluto, 2007.

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Beal, Timothy. ‘Reception History and Beyond: Toward the Cultural History of Scriptures’. Biblical Interpretation 19 (2011): 357–72. Bielo, James S., ed. The Social Life of Scriptures: Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Biblicism. Signifying (On) Scriptures. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2009. Bielo, James S. Words upon the Word: An Ethnography of Evangelical Group Bible Study. Qualitative Studies in Religion. New York: NYU Press, 2009. Breed, Brennan W. Nomadic Text: A Theory of Biblical Reception. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2014. Bunreacht na hÉireann/Constitution of Ireland. Dublin: Stationery Office, 2015. Online: http://www.taoiseach.gov.ie/eng/Historical_Information/The_Constitution/ (accessed 20 April 2016). Cantwell Smith, Wilfred. What Is Scripture? A Comparative Approach. London: SCM, 1993. Census 2011 Ireland and Northern Ireland. Cork and Belfast: Central Statistics Office and Northern Ireland Statistics and Research Agency, 2014. Online: http://www.cso.ie/en/ census/census2011irelandandnorthernireland/ (accessed 20 April 2016). Census of Ireland 2011, Profile 6, Migration and Diversity. Dublin: Stationery Office, 2012. Online: http://www.cso.ie/en/census/census2011reports/ census2011profile6migrationanddiversity-aprofileofdiversityinireland/ (accessed 20 April 2016). England, Emma, and William John Lyons. ‘Explorations in the Reception of the Bible’. Pages 3–13 in Reception History and Biblical Studies: Theory and Practice. Scriptural Traces 6. Edited by Emma England and William John Lyons. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015. Evans, Robert. Reception History, Tradition and Biblical Interpretation: Gadamer and Jauss in Current Practice. Scriptural Traces. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2014. Ferriter, Diarmaid. A Nation and Not a Rabble: The Irish Revolution 1913–1923. London: Profile, 2015. Ferriter, Diarmaid. The Transformation of Ireland: 1900–2000. London: Profile, 2004. Fletcher, Alan J., and Raymond Gillespie, eds. Irish Preaching, 700–1700. Dublin: Four Courts, 2001. Foster, Roy. ‘We Are All Revisionists Now’. The Irish Review 1 (1986): 1–5. Gadamer, Hans-Georg. Truth and Method. Revised and translated by Joel C. Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall. London: Bloomsbury, 2013. Ganiel, Gladys. Transforming Post-Catholic Ireland: Religious Practice in Late Modernity. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016. Graham, William A. Beyond the Written Word: Oral Aspects of Scripture in the History of Religion. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987. Harding, James E. ‘What Is Reception History, and What Happens to You If You Do It?’. Pages 31–44 in Reception History and Biblical Studies: Theory and Practice. Scriptural Traces 6. Edited by Emma England and William John Lyons. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015. Harte, Liam, and Yvonne Whelan, eds. Ireland beyond Boundaries: Mapping Irish Studies in the Twenty-First Century. London: Pluto, 2007. Inglis, Tom. Global Ireland. London: Routledge, 2008. Inglis, Tom. Moral Monopoly: The Rise and Fall of the Catholic Church in Ireland. Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 1998 (1987). Jackson, Alvin. Ireland: 1798–1998. Oxford: Blackwell, 1999. Kearney, Richard. Navigations: Collected Irish Essays 1976–2006. Dublin: Lilliput, 2006.

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Kenny, Colum. Moments That Changed Us. Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 2005. Key, Robert. The Green Flag: A History of Irish Nationalism. London: Penguin, 2000 (1972). Kiberd, Declan. Inventing Ireland: The Literature of the Modern Nation. London: Jonathan Cape, 1995. Kinealy, Christine. War and Peace: Ireland since the 1960s. London: Reaktion, 2010. Kuhling, Carmen, and Kieran Keohane. Cosmopolitan Ireland: Globalisation and Quality of Life. London: Pluto, 2007. Levering, Miriam, ed. Rethinking Scripture. Albany : SUNY Press, 1989. Lydon, James. The Making of Ireland: From Ancient Times to the Present. London: Routledge, 1998. Macauly, Donald, ed. The Celtic Languages. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992. Malley, Brian. How the Bible Works: An Anthropological Study of Evangelical Biblicism. Walnut Creek: AltaMira, 2004. Mallory, J. P. The Origins of the Irish. London: Thames and Hudson, 2013. Moody, T. W., F. X. Martin, Dermot Keogh and Patrick Kiely, eds. The Course of Irish History. Lanham: Roberts Rinehart, 2012. Ó Cróinín, D. ‘Who Was Palladius “First Bishop of the Irish”?’ Peritia 12 (2000): 205–37. The Republic of Ireland Act, 1948. Online: http://www.irishstatutebook.ie/eli/1948/act/22/ enacted/en/html (accessed 20 April 2016). Rodinson, Maxime. Europe and the Mystique of Islam. London: I.B. Tauris, 2006. Smith, Jonathan Z. ‘Religion and Bible’. Journal of Biblical Literature 128 (2009): 5–27. Tanner, Marcus. Ireland’s Holy Wars: The Struggle for a Nation’s Soul. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003. This Is Ireland: Highlights from Census 2011, Part 1. Dublin: Stationery Office, 2012. Online: http://www.cso.ie/en/census/census2011reports/census2011thisisirelandpart1/ (accessed 20 April 2016). Thwaites, Tony, Lloyd Davis and Warwick Mules. Tools for Cultural Studies: An Introduction. Melbourne: Macmillan Educational, 1994. Watts, James W. ‘The Three Dimensions of Scriptures’. Postscripts 2.2–3 (2006): 135–59. Williams, Raymond. Keywords: A Vocabulary of Culture and Society. London: Fontanna, 1988 (1983). Wimbush, Vincent L., ed. Theorizing Scriptures: New Critical Orientations to a Cultural Phenomenon. Signifying (On) Scriptures. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2008. Woodham-Smith, Cecil. The Great Hunger: Ireland 1845–1849. London: Penguin, 1991 (1962).

Part I I RELAND AND THE T RANSMISSION OF THE  B IBLE

Chapter 1 T H E M U LT I FAC E T E D T R A N SM I S SIO N O F T H E B I B L E I N I R E L A N D, 5 5 0 – 1 2 0 0   C E Martin McNamara

1. Introduction Over the past decades scholars have come to realize that the identification of the literal sense of the Bible, what a text meant or was supposed to have meant to its original authors or compilers and first readers, or its first audience, did not exhaust its message. It had an afterlife, and modern studies are interested also in tracing this later history of the sacred texts for various topics, regions and countries. Little or nothing has been done in this regard for Ireland, chiefly by reason of the problems relating to the sources at our disposal for this. An attempt is made here to exemplify the use of the Bible in different forms of literature during the early, pre-Norman period of Irish history.1 The use of the Bible in the chief forms of literature is considered, civil and religious:  law tracts and law codes, genealogical tracts, Ireland’s imagined pre-history of its Celtic inhabitants, in various devotional works, in homilies, in biblical expositions and apocryphal compositions.

2. Early Social and Cultural Use The study and transmission of the Bible in Ireland in the pre-Norman period, that is, before the year 1200, suggests a prior examination of the relevant forces at work in Irish society, both civil and religious, during that period. These will determine our treatment of the topic in this essay. We have to reckon with a learned periti group, both civil and ecclesiastical, known from lore concerning genealogy and the early history of Irish settlers and the Gaelic peoples who finally inhabited the island. Modern Irish scholars are convinced of this early group of Irish periti. With regard to the topic of the 1.  For coverage of the period following this, see the chapter by Salvador Ryan in this volume.

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early invasions and Gaels, we probably have confirmation of this from the Welsh author of Historia Brittonum (paragraph 15) who says that he got his information on when Ireland was inhabited and when it was deserted from the Irish scholars who told him: sic mihi peritissimi Scottorum nuntiaverunt, ‘thus have most learned Irish scholars informed me’.2 We can bear this in mind when studying the Irish language traditional and Latin canonical law tracts, as well as the genealogies and the Lebor Gabála Érenn.

2.1 The Bible in Native Irish Law Tracts While pre-Christian Ireland was not literate  – writing and reading came with the Christian schools – pre-Christian Ireland had its learned classes, especially with regard to traditional lay texts and genealogies.3 The pre-literate Irish legal tradition was presumably passed on by lawyers from generation to generation in the form of alliterative verse and legal maxim.4 With the advent of the Christian school system from the later fifth and sixth centuries onwards, these traditional lawyers would seem to have availed of the new opportunity for literacy. Their initiation to writing and learning in the schools would have been through the Psalms. How much more of the Bible they would have learned is less certain. The introduction of Latin letters revolutionized the transmission of Irish legal material, as legal topics could now be discussed at length and consigned to writing. With this began the compilation of the huge corpus of Irish traditional law that has come down to us. While the writing down of the texts may have started as early as the sixth century, the linguistic evidence shows that the bulk of this work was done in the seventh and eighth centuries.5 The process of compilation led to two great law collections. The most important collection of Irish law tracts is that known as the Senchas Már law-school (or law-schools) in the Irish Northern Midlands (counties of Meath and Westmeath). Another group of texts comes from what is referred to as a ‘poetico-legal’ school, known as the Nemed (‘holy, privileged’) collection of texts, and is preoccupied with the rights and duties of ‘men of arts’, especially poets. Opinion is divided as to the authors of these law tracts. Daniel A.  Binchy summarizes the arguments in favour of the view that the law texts were composed by traditional lay jurists, whose main motive would have been to preserve in written form as much as possible of traditional Irish law in the face of the gradual encroachment of Christian ideas and

2.  John Morris, ed., Nennius. British History and The Welsh Annals (London and Chichester: Phillimore, 1980), 62 (Latin text), 21 (English translation). 3. On early Irish law, see Fergus Kelly, A Guide to Early Irish Law, EILS 3 (Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1988); Liam Breatnach, A Companion to the Corpus Iuris Hibernici, EILS 5 (Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 2005). 4. See Kelly, Guide, 232. 5. See Kelly, Guide, 232.

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organization.6 However, it has been pointed out that many Old-Irish law texts are based on canon law and Liam Breatnach has shown that parts of Bretha Nemed text consist of a translation or précis of the Collectio Canonum Hibernensis.7 After a detailed study by three scholars of one of the tracts, Córus Béscnai, which deals mainly with the mutual relations of clergy and laity, the conclusion is reached that there is no need to doubt that the law tracts, in Latin and in the vernacular, are the work of the same class of learned men who were as well versed in scripture as in the legal lore of their ancestors and founded their laws on a conscious and sophisticated compromise between the two.8 The compromise is not always there. Despite Christian teaching, the traditional law retained the practise of polygyny, the right of a man to have more than one wife at the same time. The jurists knew of the Christian position, with which they disagreed, and justified their position from the Old Testament. To quote one legal text on the matter: ‘There is a dispute in Irish law as to which is more proper, whether many sexual unions or a single one:  for the chosen people of God lived in a plurality of unions, so that it is not easier to condemn it than to praise it.’9 While the Old-Irish legal text Heptad 51 cites Mark 10:9 (‘What God has joined together, let no one put asunder’), the legal text Cáin Lánamna gives detailed descriptions for the procedure for divorce without any word of condemnation.10 We have a good example of the interaction between the traditional Irish jurists and the monastic exegetical tradition in the case of a glossed Old-Irish text on oaths, a text that can be dated to the eighth or ninth century. Immediately after a sentence in Old Irish, ISRUITHEM FÍR FRI HIUMNA EGA ADHAR, which can be translated as ‘an oath sworn when making a will at the moment of death is of most worth’, the following comes, in Latin: ‘CONFIRMATAM EST TESTAMENTUM ENIM IN MORTE (Heb 9:17). Tunc testamentum firmum est quando homo a seculo migrauerit.’ The Latin is translated in two glosses in Irish, which may be rendered:  (1) ‘The will a person makes when dying is that which is in force’; (2)  ‘It is then that the will is certain, when a person departs from the world.’ At the occurrence of the term ‘oath’ in the Irish law text, the glossator passed to the presence of this word in Heb 9:17, followed by the Latin gloss on this found in the commentary on this epistle in the manuscript St Gall Stiftsbibliothek 73.11

6.  Daniel A. Binchy, introduction to his edition of the Corpus Iuris Hibernici (Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1978), ix–x. 7.  Breatnach, A Companion, 190–1; Liam Breatnach, ‘Canon Law and Secular Law in Early Ireland: The Significance of Bretha Nemed’, Peritia 3 (1984): 439–59. 8. See Donnchadh Ó Corráin, Liam Breatnach and Aidan Breen, ‘The Laws of the Irish’, Peritia 3 (1984): 382–438 (412). 9. Cited in Kelly, Guide, 71. 10. See Kelly, Guide, 2, 73–5. 11.  For a study of the text, see Liam Breatnach, ‘How Irish Is the Commentary on Hebrews in MS St Gallen 73? A Note by Liam Breatnach’, PIBA 16 (1993): 122–4.

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2.2 The Bible in Ecclesiastical Law Codes (Collectio Canonum Hibernensis) The Collectio Canonum Hibernensis is a collection of ecclesiastical canon law.12 There are seventy books in this Collectio, each containing on average about twenty chapters. Each inquiry, inquisitio, on a topic follows the same pattern  – Bible, fathers, councils, decretals and histories. The work shows close acquaintance with the Bible on the part of the compilers. There are almost a thousand exact or close quotations from Scripture in the work, and of these about two-thirds are taken from the Old Testament. The composition indicates extensive research on the part of the compilers, from the Bible and other sources (fathers, councils, history). The work is known in two recensions, Recension A  and Recension B, and it is uncertain which is the older. The compilers of the work were Ruben of Dairinis, on the Blackwater, near Youghal in County Cork (d. 725), and Cú Cuimne of Iona (d. 747). The connection of the work with the Irish law text Bretha Nemed, already mentioned, has led Liam Breatnach to surmise that the author of the Irish text used that of the Munsterman Ruben of Dairinis, whose work would probably have been composed in Munster in the early eighth century.13 2.3 The Bible in Native Irish Genealogical Tracts Learned, even if not literate, circles and groups in pre-Christian Ireland had a keen interest in genealogical questions relating to their own clans and family groups. They would have carried this with them into Christian settings and scholarship. Genealogies as such do not interest us here, except insofar as they are related to knowledge and the transmission of the Bible in Ireland. This interest in genealogies will be considered in relation to the larger question of the earlier history of Ireland and its presumed, or imagined, relation with earlier history of humanity and the Israelites as presented in the Bible. Irish interest in the earliest history of the inhabitants of Ireland, and of the Gaels in Ireland is in clear evidence in the work Lebor Gabála Érenn (The Book of the Taking of Ireland). This was composed in the late eleventh century and is likely the culmination of a process going on since the seventh or eighth century. Much of the earlier material was in verse. The pagan Irish probably had an interest in traditions of the same kind, but if they had this is now lost, as all the extant material is told from the Christian point of view. The Lebor Gabála combines two complexes of traditions, one on the pre-Gael invasions, those of Cessair, Partholón, Nemed son of Agnoman, Fir Bolg, Tuatha Dé Danann, Milesians; the second those of the Gaels. In the Lebor Gabála elaborate genealogies are interwoven. The oldest summary of this Irish pseudohistory is not Irish but is found in the Welsh source Historia Brittonum, written in Wales in 829–830. In the Historia 12.  See Maurice Sheehy, ‘The Bible and the Collectio Canonum Hibernensis’, in Ireland and Christendom, ed. Proinséas Ní Chatháin and Michael Richter (Stuttgart:  Klett Cotta, 1987), 277–83. 13. See Breatnach, ‘Canon Law’, 456–7; and Breatnach, A Companion, 190–1.

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Brittonum mention is made of Partholomus¸ Nimeth . . . filius Agnominis and tres filii militis Hispaniae (this corresponding to the Irish phrase ‘three sons of Míl Espáne’, Éremón, Éber and Ír). The Historia Brittonum has no mention of the Fir Bolg or the Tuatha Dé Dannan, but among later settlers it has the name of the colonist Builc, which is probably a reinterpretation of Builg (Fir Bolg). In the Historia Brittonum there is no mention of any genealogy. In the Irish tradition of the Lebor Gabála, on the contrary, genealogies abound. The old traditions are now set within the biblical framework, with emphasis on the children of Noah and the dispersal of the seventy-two nations at the Tower of Nimrod (as the Tower of Babel is named). All the persons and peoples involved, including those of the earlier invasions, are traced back in genealogy to biblical persons. This has been shown by many scholars in this area, in particular Kim McCone14 and Donnchadh Ó Corráin.15 McCone notes that it has long been realized that the early history of Ireland as recounted in sources going back at least as far as the seventh and eighth centuries fits squarely into a narrative framework derived from the central events of Genesis and Exodus.16 McCone also notes that early Christian Ireland’s vast genealogical record was, of course, anchored in this scheme of invasions and through it connected to elaborate biblical genealogies such as 1 Chronicles 1–8 which go back to Noah and Adam. 2.4 Genesis 1–11 in Lebor Gabála Érenn It is accepted that the present text of Lebor Gabála Érenn is a product of the Irish literati.17 It is composed of prose texts and poems. It had a lengthy history of formation, from the seventh or eighth century to the eleventh.18 The final redaction came in the eleventh century, with the prose section incorporating the earlier poems.19 Although given a unity by the final redaction, the work should not be construed as entirely the product of the literati. The first section of the work, with

14. Kim McCone, Pagan Past and Christian Present in Early Irish Literature (Maynooth: An Sagart, 1990). 15. Donnchadh Ó Corráin, ‘Irish Origin Legends and Genealogy: Recurrent Genealogies’, in History and Heroic Tale. A Symposium, ed. T. Nyberg et al. (Odense:  Odense University Press, 1985), 51–96. 16. McCone, Pagan Past, 30. 17.  The Lebor Gabála has been edited, with introduction, translation and notes by R. A. Stewart Macalister, Lebor Gabála Érenn. The Book of the Taking of Ireland: Part I, Irish Texts Society 34 (Dublin: Irish Texts Society, 1938). 18. For the development, see R. Mark Snowcroft, ‘Leabhar Gabhála Part II: The Growth of the Tradition’, Ériu 39 (1968):  1–66, an essay which supersedes his earlier treatment (in Irish): ‘Miotas na Gabhála i Leabhar Gabhála’, Éire Banba Fódla: Léachtaí Cholm Cille 13 (1982): 41–75. 19. See John Carey, ‘A New Introduction to LEBOR GABÁLA ÉRENN’, in The Book of the Taking of Ireland, ed. and trans. by R. A. Stewart Macalister (Dublin: Irish Texts Society, 1993), 1.

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Genesis 1–11 and featuring Creation to the Dispersal of the Nations, has within it a great variety, and can be regarded in a sense as a commentary on Genesis 1–11, with a mixture of biblical text, imaginative creations and apocryphal items, as can be found in other Irish compositions. It contains the biblical text of these chapters, in Irish translation and in part in Latin. One of the poems in fifty-eight quatrains covers the entire period from creation to the dispersal and beyond, and has within it some apocryphal items, as in some manuscripts of the work the first stanza of the apocryphal piece on the composition of Adam, ‘Adam Octipartite’.20 The same holds true for the prose sections, which contain many expansions, some or many of them possibly Irish, but others drawn from or corresponding to Jewish or Christian expansions, some of which may be found in later Christian writings such as Peter Comestor’s Historia Scholastica (twelfth century).

3. Devotional Transmission The Books of Solomon. The Amra Choluim Chille and the Apgitir Chrábaid, ca. 600. The Amra Choluim Chille, a eulogistic poem on St Colm Cille (Columba) of Iona, was probably written soon after the saint’s death in 597. Among other matters it says of the saint: ‘Books of Cassian he loved. The books of Solomon he followed them.’ These would be the sapiential books of the Old Testament traditionally ascribed to Solomon: Proverbs, Ecclesiastes and Wisdom. A work roughly contemporary with the Amra according to some scholars is the Apgitir Chrábaid, ‘the Alphabet of Piety’, whose author seems to be inspired by both Cassian and Old Testament sapiential books, for instance, Proverbs and Ecclesiasticus.21 The ‘Altus Prosator’, Iona, ca. 650–700.22 The poem Altus Prosator has been traditionally ascribed to Columba of Iona (d. 597).23 While some consider this date

20. See Martin McNamara, The Apocrypha in the Irish Church (Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1975), 21–3 (23). 21. See Pádraig P. Ó Néill, ‘The Date and Authorship of Apgitir Chrábaid: Some Internal Evidence’, in Ireland and Christendom: The Bible and the Missions, ed. Proinséas Ní Chatháin and Michael Richter (Klett-Cotta: Stuttgart, 1987), 203–15. 22. See Jane Stevenson, ‘Altus Prosator’, Celtica 23 (1999): 326–68. 23.  A critical edition of the Altus Prosator is available in:  Die Hymnen des Thesaurus Hymnologicus H.A. Daniels und andere Hymnen-Ausgaben. I.  Die Hymnen des 5.-11. Jahrhunderts und Irisch-Keltische Hymnodie, ed. Clemens Blume (Reisland: Leipzig, 1908; repr., New York and London: Johnson Reprint Corporation, 1961). The full Latin text, with his own English translation has been presented by John Carey in King of Mysteries: Early Irish Religious Writings (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1988; revised paperback edition 2000), 31– 50. Carey’s translations are followed here. The Latin text of the Altus Prosator with English translation, together with introduction and notes, is also given by Thomas Owen Clancy and Gilbert Markus, Iona: The Earliest Poetry of a Celtic Monastery (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1995), 39–68.

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too early, and composition by Columba unlikely, the poem is still assigned an early date of composition (650–700), and at Iona.24 Writing on the style and vocabulary of the Altus Prosator, Stevenson notes: The basis of the author’s latinity is undoubtedly the language of the Bible and ecclesiastical Late Latin. He was familiar with both the Vetus Latina and the Vulgate Bible-texts, and probably knew some parts of the Bible off by heart: he conflates Genesis and Apocalypse in Stanza P25 in a way that suggests utter familiarity with both, and his choice of words and expression throughout the poem shows his thought to be permeated by that of the Pauline Epistles.26

Stevenson begins her section on the sources of the work as follows: ‘There are several points in the poem where a specific source can be clearly identified. The most important, of course, is the Bible, particularly the Apocalypse (Revelation), Job and the Pauline Epistles.’27 In a footnote she notes that the Apocalypse is used in seventeen different places, in Job ten and in the Pauline Epistles fourteen. In its transmission in the Liber Hymnorum there are prefaces and glosses in the Irish language of the tenth or eleventh century to each stanza of the Altus Prosator, in which the biblical references and citations are identified. The Apocalypse of John is identified by name in the prefaces for a number of stanzas, thus Stanza 3 (Rev 9:1), Stanza 4 (Rev 12:3–4), Stanza 14 (Rev 5:13, but really Phil 2:9–10; the theme of the glorification of the Lamb in Rev 5:12–13 is similar to Phil 2:9–10; a further citation from ‘the same book’, the Apocalypse follows: Rev 5:1, 3, 5), Stanza 15 (Rev 2:7 and 22:2), Stanza 16 (Rev 16:18), Stanza 19 (Rev 10:7), Stanza 21 (Rev 6:5–15)

24. Thus Stevenson, ‘Altus Prosator’, 364. 25. Altus Prosator Stanza P (XV): ‘Plantatus a prooemio / Paradisum a Domino / Legimus in primordio / Genesis nobilissimo, / Cuius ex fonte flumina / Quattuor sunt manantia / Cuius etiam florida / Lignum uitae in medio / Cuius non cadent folia / Gentibus salutifera, / Cuius inenarrabiles / Delicias ac fertiles’ (‘We read in the most noble opening of Genesis / that Paradise was planted by the Lord in the beginning / from whose spring four rivers flow / and in whose flowering midst is the tree of life / whose leaves, bringing health to the peoples, do not fall, / and whose delights cannot be told’; see Rev 2:7; 22:1–2). See also Stanza O (XIV): ‘Beneath the earth, as we read, we know there are inhabitants / whose knee is often bent in prayer to the lord, / and to whom it is impossible to unroll the inscribed book, / sealed with seven seals, with warnings concerning Christ, / which he himself opened after he stood forth as a victor, / fulfilling the prophecies foretelling his coming’; see Rev 5:1–12. And again Stanza Y (XXII): ‘In the fervent, resounding chanting of hymns / by thousands of angels flourishing in their holy dances, / and by the four beasts full of eyes, / and by the twenty-four blessed elders / casting their crowns beneath the feet of the Lamb of God, / the Trinity receives threefold praise eternally’; see Rev 4:4, 10 (twenty-four elders, casting down their crowns), 4:6–8 (four living creatures). 26. Stevenson, ‘Altus Prosator’, 334. 27. Stevenson, ‘Altus Prosator’, 347.

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and Stanza 22 (Rev 4:4). The preface to Stanza 23 says that the argument of the Stanza is from the Apocalypse: ‘A terrible fire will consume the enemy’, not found as such in the Apocalypse but close to Heb 10:27; ‘A fury of fire that will consume the adversaries’, to which there are similar sentiments in the Apocalypse.

4. The Bible in Imaginative, Apocryphal and Poetic Transmission In Tenga Bithnua (The Ever-New Tongue).28 The Ever-New Tongue is a revelation, or Apocalypse, of the apostle Philip. It opens with the first words of Genesis, in Old Latin: In principio fecit Deus caelum et terram. The text says that the wonders of creation, of the work of six days, were unknown to humanity until revealed by Philip, the Ever-New Tongue, to a great assembly convened at Mount Zion. The Ever-New Tongue expounds the mysteries of creation, as revealed in his expanded version of the Six Days of Creation. Over half the work is devoted to this. After this (at paragraph 83) Philip was asked about a range of other topics, including the horrors of hell, the Day of Judgment, the notable events connected with midnight and the characteristics of God himself. He ends with an evocation of the joys of heaven. The Work of the Sixth Day.29 This poem, drawing on the Tenga Bithnua tradition, apparently purports to deal with the sixth day of Genesis 1. Its scope, however, is much wider, and includes the transgression of Adam and its consequences: pain, suffering and the reductions of the good things with which Adam was endowed, and other things besides, such as the ‘twenty-four forms’ of Adam’s race, seventytwo as the number of species and (verse 42) dependent on In Tenga Bithnua (paragraph 84) ‘seventy-two kinds of languages upon the tongues of men’. It concludes with the events that happened or will happen on Friday, the sixth day, ending with the resurrection of the dead on that day. The editor notes that it contains material that probably entered into the notebooks of students, both ecclesiastical and lay, from the Old Irish period (pre-900) on until at least the early part of the Middle Irish period (900–1200). The material might include compendia of biblical history mixed with apocrypha and religious folklore, a smattering of universal geography gleaned chiefly from Genesis 10 and epitomes of classical cosmographers. It seems obvious that for his sixth-day material our poet seems to have drawn on some version or source of a version of the tract known as Tenga Bithnua.

28.  For an introduction to these issues, see Brian Murdoch, The Medieval Popular Bible: Expansions of Genesis in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2003); also Brian Murdoch, The Apocryphal Adam and Eve in Medieval Europe: Vernacular Translations and Adaptations of the Vita (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 2009). In relation to In Tenga Bithnua, the critical edition of the text can be found in John Carey, In Tenga Bithnua: The Ever-New Tongue, Apocrypha Hiberniae II, Apocalyptica 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2009). 29. Maura Carney, ‘The Works of the Sixth Day’, Ériu 21 (1969): 148–66; Carey, In Tenga Bithnua, §§ 69–73, 84, pp. 186–93, 200–201.

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The Bible in Saltair na Rann.30 Saltair na Rann (The Psalter of the Quatrains) is a poetical composition of 162 cantos or poems. The original work had only 150, a fact which gave the work its name. The extra 12 cantos express repentance and ignorance of God and discuss the Signs to occur during the nine days before Doomsday. The piece seems to be dependent on the apocryphal Apocalypse of Thomas. Internal evidence seems to point to 988 as the date of composition. Its author may have been Airbertach Mac Coisse of the monastic school of Ros Cairbre (present-day Roscarbery) and may have been intended as a text for his students. There is a prose version of the Saltair, made not long after the original verse text. The contents of the Saltair are biblical history from Adam to the resurrection of Christ. The first section, Cantos 1–12 on Adam and Eve, draw not from the Bible but from an earlier text of the original Greek apocryphon Vita Adae et Evae.31 At Canto 13 the text reverts to the biblical narrative which it follows relatively faithfully through various books, including Genesis, the rest of the Pentateuch, Joshua, Judges and Kings through the reigns of David and Solomon to the period of the prophets Elijah and Elisha. The ministry of both these prophets is treated, and with them the narrative of the history of Israel ends. This is followed by cantos, some very short, on armies sent by ‘the King’ (God) against Israel (134), victories worked by God for Israel (135), various gifts of God in nature to Israel (136–137), a long cantico (138) on persons of the Old and New Testaments saved by God and further gifts of God to Israel, including named prophets (139–141). The New Testament section begins with cantico 142, ending at 150, with John the Baptist, the Annunciation, the Nativity, the infancy, public life, miracles, multiplications of the loaves (and ‘two salmon’, bratán, line 7624, with ‘two fish’, iasc, two lines later), the Last Supper, Passion Narrative and glorification.

5. The Bible in Monastic Transmission 5.1 Introduction I began a recent survey of this topic with the words: Ireland has traditionally been known as ‘the island of saints and scholars’. Its early monastic schools were reputably renowned at home and abroad. A question that naturally arises in the mind is what the nature of the instruction in these centres of learning was, what books they used, what writings did they compose, what evidence for this learning now remains.32 30. For Saltair na Rann, see McNamara, The Apocrypha in the Irish Church, 14–20. 31.  These cantos have been critically edited, translated and commented on in The Irish Adam and Eve Story from Saltair na Rann, Vol. I: Text and Translation by David Greene and Fergus Kelly; Vol. II: Commentary, by Brian O. Murdoch (Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1976). 32.  Martin McNamara, ‘Bible Text and Commentaries in Ireland 600–800 A.D. An Overview’, PIBA 35 (2012): 121–46 (121).

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The answer would appear to be that for the period 600–800 very little indeed, at least in known Irish sources. The material for the Old Irish Law Codes is in the Irish language, and has been preserved at home. The manuscripts for the Collectio Canonum Hibernensis, although of Irish origin, have been preserved abroad, mainly in Brittany. The German scholar Professor Bernhard Bischoff believed that he had discovered in mainly Continental manuscripts evidence of a rich Irish exegetical activity for the period 650–800, both for the Old and the New Testaments, even though some or much of it may have been compiled by Irish scholars on mainland Europe. He published his findings in a pioneering essay in 1954.33 The most extensive of the manuscripts he introduced was one with a commentary on the Books of the Bible from Genesis to the Apocalypse, which he entitled ‘Das Bibelwerk’, rendered in English as ‘The Reference Bible’, now officially known as De enigmatibus. Objections have been raised by some scholars to Bischoff ’s views as to the Irish origin or affiliations of all, or many, of these works. However, the position seems now to have returned to Bischoff ’s position, on a unity and a family similarity between these works, which can be described as Hiberno-Latin, whether they originated in Ireland or on the Continent. 5.2 The Psalter The Psalter lay at the heart of Irish monastic life and monastic learning. Reading and writing were learned through it. It also provides us with rich material for study, both with regard to text, glosses and commentary. I can afford to be brief on this subject here, since I have written extensively on the matter in recent publications.34 Irish Psalm exegesis is strongly historical and literal throughout, due to direct influence from Antioch. The Antiochene scholar Theodore of Mopsuestia in his commentary on the Psalms held that only four (Pss 2, 8, 44, 109, LXX and Vulg. numbering) were direct prophecies of Christ. His commentary was translated into Latin by Julian, pro-Pelagian bishop of Eclanum. Most of the Greek original and of Julian’s translation has been lost, but an adaptation (generally referred to as the Epitome) of Julian’s work has survived, and circulated probably in northern Italy, finally in a single manuscript. There was also composed (possibly in northern Italy) another Antiochene-like commentary interpreting none of the Psalms of Christ (Pss 2 and 8 in this remnant of the commentary). An acephalous text of the

33.  Bernhard Bischoff, ‘Wendepunkte in der Geschichte der lateinischen Exegese im Frühmittelalter’, Sacris Erudiri 6 (1954):  189–281, at 241–2; revised edition Mittelalterliche Studien. Ausgewählte Aufsätze zur Schriftkunde und Literaturgeschichte, vol. 1 (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1966), 205–73 (244–5); English translation, ‘Turning-Points in the History of Latin Exegesis in the Early Middle Ages’, trans. Colm O’Grady, PIBA 1 (1976): 73–160. 34.  See McNamara, ‘Bible Text and Commentaries in Ireland 600–800 A.D.’, 123–32; Martin McNamara, ‘De Initiis: Irish Monastic Learning 600–800 A.D.’, Eolas: Journal of the American Society of Irish Medieval Studies 6 (2013): 4–40 (4–22).

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Epitome (missing Pss 1:1–17:11a) was supplemented in one branch of its transmission by the full translation of Julian, and in another by the relevant section of the other Antiochene-like commentary. Both branches reached Ireland before the year 700. Together with this, there is evidence of the composition in Ireland in the seventh century of a Davidic commentary understanding the psalms as referring to David and none of them as prophecies of Christ. The early-eighthcentury Vatican Glossa in Psalmos (in Vatican Library, Codex Pal. Lat. 68) combined both Christological and historical interpretation. The Milan Commentary in Amb. 301 inf. has the text of the Epitome of Julian with Julian’s full translation for Pss 1:1–16:11. It is heavily glossed in Old Irish by a scholar writing his name as Diarmuid, the glosses mainly attending to the sense of the Latin text without Christian additions. It may have served as a school textbook. The Double Psalter of St Ouen (Rouen, Bibl. mun. 24), with the Hebraicum and the Gallicanum texts has (Christological) glosses from Augustine on the Gallicanum and historical glosses on the Hebraicum. Our oldest Irish Psalter, the Cathach, introduces each psalm with a Christological or Christian title. Intense love of the Psalter is expressed in a poem titled Crínóc by Máel Íosa Ua Brollacháin († 1086), addressed to an old Psalter. The Psalter is regarded as an intermediary with God: ‘Not ever silent, you bring the word of God to all who in the present world abide.’ 5.3 Other Old Testament Books We have very little information on Old Testament texts or commentaries from early Ireland apart from the texts listed by Bischoff in his 1954 essay. The bulk of these are in the one-volume commentary ‘Das Bibelwerk’, the contents of which I have listed in an earlier essay.35 The introduction and the material on the Pentateuch have been critically edited.36 The opening words of the Latin title of the work, Pauca problesmata (‘Select Problems’), state very accurately the general approach of the work:  not coherent exegesis but rather various matters which interested the compiler. His sources (not always accurately reproduced) are the Fathers and later generally recognized ecclesiastical writers. This is the oldest medieval work covering the entire Bible from Genesis to the Apocalypse. Any attempt to link its treatment of the texts with any other early genre, such as Quaestiones, would require separate examination. The Book of Ezekiel.37 The chance preservation of two fragments of a glossed text of Ezekiel, in two damaged leaves (today in Zurich, Staatsarchiv, W3.19, XII

35. See Martin McNamara, ‘Plan and Source Analysis of Das Bibelwerk, Old Testament’, Ní Chatháin and Richter, Ireland and Christendom, 84–112. 36. Gerard MacGinty, Pauca Problesmata de enigmatibus ex tomis canonivis. Praefatio et libri de Pentateucho Moysi, Scriptores Celtigenae III (Turnhout: Brepols, 2000). 37. On this fragment, see Michael M. Gorman, ‘La plus ancienne édition commentée: The Ezechiel Fragment in Irish Minuscule, Now in Zurich (CLA 7.1008)’, RBén 114 (2004): 276–88.

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[olim.G. 19 XII], folios 24–6 [olim pp.  61–4]), written in Irish minuscule about the year 800, shed new light on Irish learning in the eighth century, despite the loss of so many manuscripts. The importance of the text has been highlighted by Michael Gorman, drawing on the earlier studies of Louis Holtz, an expert in the field of early medieval manuscripts.38 The fragments have the biblical text of Ezekiel (fol. 24: Ezek 2:6–3:5; 3:8–15; fol. 25: Ezek 16:3–25, 26–34) in the centre, with continuous gloss filling the margins. This has been noted by Holtz as the ‘oldest commented edition’ (la plus ancienne edition commentée) of the biblical gloss type, leading ultimately to the Glossa Ordinaria. It may have been entirely an original Irish invention, or may have been influenced by a commentary on the Eclogues and Georgics of Virgil (now in Berne), apparently of Irish origin. The glosses are from an epitome of Gregory the Great’s Homilies on Ezekiel, and the epitomist was probably the glossator himself. The fragments, and the background they reveal, throw a rich light on eighth-century Irish monastic culture, the evidence for much of which has been lost. 5.4 New Testament Books In his 1954 essay ‘Wendepunkte’ (nos 11A–38), Bischoff lists the New Testament texts up to the beginning of the ninth century which he regards as Hiberno-Latin and those showing Irish influences. Only when this evidence is all critically edited and fully analyzed can a history of early Irish New Testament scholarship be written. The Gospel of Matthew. In his introduction to the list of Hiberno-Latin commentaries, Bischoff comments that there are nine commentaries on, or introductions to, Matthew alone. Evidently this, the ‘ecclesiastical Gospel’, was the favourite of the four in the early Irish church. It will also have the most detailed glossing in the latest of our works, the Gospel of Máel Brigte (1138). Texts in De enigmatibus.39 The treatment of the New Testament books in De enigmatibus varies from section to section. Joseph Kelly believes that this section of De enigmatibus represents a rather poor specimen of Hiberno-Latin exegesis.40 The prefatory material represents the author’s fondness for categorization. There is detailed treatment of Matthew’s Gospel, and less of the other three. The commentary on the Apocalypse is in a class apart, and will be considered below. The (Irish?) Oldest Commentary on Mark. Bischoff believed that he could name the author of a commentary on Mark’s Gospel he lists as (the Irishman) 38.  Gorman, ‘La plus ancienne édition commentée’, with reference to Louis Holtz, ‘Les manuscrits latins à gloses et à commentaire de l’antiquitè à l’époque carolingienne’, in Il libro e il testo, ed. C. Questa and R. Raffaelli (Urbino:  Università delgi studi di Urbino, 1984), 139–67. 39.  See Joseph F. T. Kelly, ‘Das Bibelwerk: Organization and Quellenanalyse of the New Testament Section’, in Ní Chatháin and Richter, Ireland and Christendom, 113–23. 40. Kelly, ‘Das Bibelwerk’, 113.

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Comianus.41 The text has been critically edited and translated by Michael Cahill, who is not convinced of its Irish origins.42 There are very strong reasons for the Irish origins of this allegorical and first Latin commentary on Mark’s Gospel. Together with the arguments adduced by Bischoff we have the rather clear use of it in the glosses in the clearly Irish text, the Gospels of Máel Brigte (1138 AD), and a very probable influence from it in the apparently Irish commentary on Matthew in the Vienna Codex 940. The Gospels of Máel Brigte (1138 CE). The text and glosses for the four gospels in these gospels were written in Armagh in 1138 by Máel Brigte. The present writer has devoted part of a recent essay to them.43 They probably represent the teaching at the Cathedral School of Armagh. A feature of the glosses is the mixture in them of Latin and Irish. Pelagius and the Pauline Epistles. The usage of Pelagius’s commentaries on the Pauline Epistles in early Irish exegesis is generally recognized. The early use of Pelagius in Ireland has recently been graphically illustrated by the identification of glossed fragments of Colossians in the St Gall Stiftsbibliothek Codex 1395, of the eighth or early ninth century, with glosses drawn from Pelagius.44 The Würzburg Glossed Commentary on the Pauline Epistles. The manuscript Würzburg (Universitätsbibliothek M.  p. th. f.  12)  is a glossed text, in Latin and Irish, on the Pauline Epistles. It was written in Ireland in the eighth century, and was intended as a school text. The glosses are drawn from Origen, Hilary (the Ambrosiaster), Jerome, Augustine, Cassiodore, Gregory, Isidore and above all Pelagius from whom 1,311 glosses are taken. Commentaries on the Apocalypse (Revelation of John). There is a lengthy and continuous commentary on the Apocalypse in De enigmatibus. A related text has been identified in a manuscript in the Library of the University of Cambridge, and in other texts. Roger Gryson has examined this evidence thoroughly and is

41.  Bischoff, ‘Turning-Points’, 81–2. For use of the commentary in the Gospels of Máel Brigte (1138 CE), see Martin McNamara, ‘End of an Era in Early Irish Biblical Exegesis: Caimin Psalter Fragment (11th–12th Century) and Gospels of Máel Brigte (1138 A.D.)’, PIBA 33–34 (2010/11): 93–121 (112–14). For the very probable influence of its odd and rare allegorical interpretation of the darkness at the crucifixion at Mark 15:33 on Matt 27:45 in the probably Irish commentary on Matthew in Vienna, Nationalbibliothek Codex 940, see Martin McNamara, ‘The Irish Origin of Vienna Codex 940’, PIBA 38 (2015): 66–84 (79–80). 42.  Michael Cahill, ed., Expositio Evangelii secundum Marcum, Scriptores Celtigenae 2 (Turnhout:  Brepols, 1997); and Michael Cahill, The First Commentary on Mark, An Annotated Translation (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998). 43. McNamara, ‘End of an Era in Early Irish Biblical Exegesis’, 93–121. 44. See Brandon W. Hawk, ‘A Fragment of Colossians with Hiberno-Latin Glosses in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, Cod. Sang. 1395’, Sacris Erudiri 51 (2012): 233–56 (with reproductions of the two pages).

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convinced they all derive from a Hiberno-Latin commentary, composed either in Ireland or on the Continent in the early eighth century.45

6. Attention to the Different Senses of Scripture: The Bible Message through Sermons and Exegetical Homilies There is evidence from our earliest Irish texts of an awareness of the various senses of Scripture, including in a twofold historical sense: the first (or both) referring to David and his times, the other to later Jewish history; the other senses the spiritual and the moral.46 In the early work Argumenta Psalmorum, wrongly attributed to Bede, and probably Irish or with Irish connections, an attempt is made to combine all three senses: (1) the literal, (2) the spiritual and (3) the moral. The biblical message was also conveyed in Irish tradition through homilies. In some of those, best attested in the work known as the Catechesis Celtica (written in Brittany, tenth century) and in a series of Irish eleventh-century homilies, the treatment of the biblical text is in exegetical fashion, in accord with a twofold, threefold or fourfold sense of Scripture. Specific early Irish introductions to the Psalter, both Latin and vernacular, make mention of a twofold literal sense (stoir, historical sense) of the Psalms, one referring to David and his time, the other in general to later Jewish history. Other senses would be the spiritual (called in Irish síens or in Latin sensus) and the moral. The Old Irish Treatise on the Psalter specifically speaks of a fourfold sense of the Psalms, but not that general in the Western Church. The introduction says: ‘There are four things that are necessary in the Psalms, to wit, the first story (stoir), the second story, the sense (síens; the spiritual sense) and the morality . . . The sense (síens) refers to Christ, to the earthly and heavenly Church, the morality to every saint.’ The third sense here (síens) embraces the allegoria and anagogia of the generally accepted fourfold sense scheme of Scripture. The term anagoig, the anagogical sense of a passage, occurs in Irish texts of eleventhcentury homilies: in one homily in a threefold sense – stair 7 sians 7 anagoig, literal sense, spiritual sense and anagogical sense; or in another homily in a fourfold sense – historical or plain, interpretation, spiritual interpretation, moral, interpretation or in accordance with anagogy (iar n-anagóig). In a late (eleventh-century) gloss to the early-seventh-century Irish poem Amra Choluim Chille (§59) we meet the fourfold scheme stair 7 sians moráil 7 anogaig, ‘history and spiritual sense,

45.  For a summary of the evidence, see McNamara, ‘Bible Text and Commentaries in Ireland 600–800 A.D.’, 141–6. 46. For the senses of Scripture in Irish sermons, see Martin McNamara, ‘Irish Homilies A. D. 600–1100’, in Via Crucis: Essays on Early Medieval Sources and Ideas in Memory of J. E. Cross, Medieval European Studies 1, ed. Thomas N. Hall (Morgantown: West Virginia University Press, 2002), 235–84; and Thomas O’Loughlin, ‘Irish Preaching before the End of the Ninth Century: Assessing the Extent of Our Evidence’, in Irish Preaching, 700–1700, ed. Alan J. Fletcher and Raymond Gillespie (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2001), 18–39.

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moral sense and anagogy’. This is not far removed from the well-known medieval rhyme designed to help scholars remember the four interpretations of Scripture, attributed by some to thirteenth-century scholars, either Augustine of Dacia or Nicholas of Lyra: ‘Litera gesta docet, Quod credas allegoria, Moralis quid agas, Quo tendas anagogia’ (The literal sense teaches events, allegory what you should believe, Moral sense what you should do, Anagogy towards where you should aspire).

7. Illuminated Manuscripts and Humble Pocket Gospels Irish respect for Scripture, and the devotional use of it, are also in evidence in the great illuminated manuscripts, for instance, the Books of Durrow, Kells, St Gall, Stiftsbibliothek Codices 51 and 60, and also in the smaller works known as Pocket Gospels, designed either as gifts or for itinerant missionaries.47

8. Conclusion This brief survey of the use and influence of the Latin Bible in pre-Norman Ireland has taken account of the different sources both lay and ecclesiastical. It is a survey limited by the amount of research yet to be done on a number of the texts. The history of the Bible in Ireland yet remains to be written. One notable feature is that unlike Anglo-Saxon tradition during this period there seems to have been no attempt to translate the Bible or any of its texts into the vernacular Irish, nor is there evidence that there was any interest in having any such translation either in entire texts or in interlinear glosses. It is hoped that what has been written here will inspire and aid the research and publication required to present the fuller picture that the subject merits.

Bibliography Binchy, Daniel A. Corpus Iuris Hibernici. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1978. Bischoff, Bernhard. Mittelalterliche Studien. Ausgewählte Aufsätze zur Schriftkunde und Literaturgeschichte. Vol. 1. Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1966. Bischoff, Bernhard. ‘Turning-Points in the History of Latin Exegesis in the Early Middle Ages.’ Translated by Colm O’Grady. PIBA 1 (1976): 73–160. 47.  There is a very rich bibliography on these works. For the former I  may now mention:  Timothy O’Neill, The Irish Hand. Scribes and their Manuscripts from the Earliest Times (Cork:  Cork University Press, 2014); Patrick McGurk, ‘The Irish Pocket Gospel Book’, Sacris Erudiri 8 (1956):  249–70; and McGurk, Latin Gospel Books from A.D. 400 to A.D. 800 (Paris-Brussels:  Les Publications de Scriptorium, Éditions ‘Erasme’ and Antwerp-Amsterdam: Standard-Boekhandel, 1961).

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Bischoff, Bernhard. ‘Wendepunkte in der Geschichte der lateinischen Exegese im Frühmittelalter’. Sacris Erudiri 6 (1954): 189–281. Blune, Clemens, ed. Die Hymnen des Thesaurus Hymnologicus H.A. Daniels und andere Hymnen-Ausgaben. I. Die Hymnen des 5.–11. Jahrhunderts und Irisch-Keltische Hymnodie. Reisland: Leipzig, 1908. Breatnach, Liam. ‘Canon Law and Secular Law in Early Ireland: The Significance of Bretha Nemed’. Peritia 3 (1984): 439–59. Breatnach, Liam. A Companion to the Corpus Iuris Hibernici. EILS 5. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 2005. Cahill, Michael, ed., Expositio Evangelii secundum Marcum, Scriptores Celtigenae 2. CCSL 82. Turnhout: Brepols, 1997. Cahill, Michael. The First Commentary on Mark: An Annotated Translation. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998. Carey, John, ed. In Tenga Bithnua The Ever-New Tongue. Apocrypha Hiberniae II/ Apocalyptica 1. Turnhout: Brepols, 2009. Carey, John. King of Mysteries: Early Irish Religious Writings. Rev. ed. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2000. Carey, John. A New Introduction by John Carey to LEBOR GABÁLA ÉRENN. The Book of the Taking of Ireland. Edited and translated by R. A. Stewart Macalister, DLitt. London: Irish Texts Society, 1993. Carney, Maura. ‘The Works of the Sixth Day’. Ériu 21 (1969): 148–66. Clancy, Owen, and Gilbert Markus. Iona: The Earliest Poetry of a Celtic Monastery. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1995. Gorman, Michael M. ‘La plus ancienne édition commentée. The Ezechiel Fragment in Irish Minuscule, now in Zurich (CLA 7.1008)’. RBén 114 (2004): 276–88. Greene, David, and Fergus Kelly. The Irish Adam and Eve Story from Saltair na Rann. Vol. I: Text and translation by D. Greene and F. Kelly ; Vol. II: Commentary by Brian O. Murdoch. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1976. Hawk, Brandon W. ‘A Fragment of Colossians with Hiberno-Latin Glosses in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, Cod. Sang. 1395’. Sacris Erudiri 51 (2012): 233–56. Holtz, Louis. ‘Les manuscrits latins à gloses et à commentaire de l’antiquitè à l’époque carolingienne’. Pages 139–67 in Il libro e il testo. Edited by C. Questa and R. Raffaelli. Urbino: Università delgi studi di Urbino, 1984. Kelly, Fergus. A Guide to Early Irish Law. Early Irish Law Series 3. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1988. Kelly, Joseph F. T. ‘Das Bibelwerk: Organization and Quellenanalyse of the New Testament Sectiion.’ Pages 113–223 in Ireland and Christendom: The Bible and the Missions. Edited by P. Ní Chatháin and M. Richter. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1987. Macalister, R. A. Stewart. Lebor Gabála Érenn. The Book of the Taking of Ireland. Part I. Irish Texts Society. Volume 34. Dublin: Irish Texts Society, 1938. MacGinty, Gerard. Pauca Problesmata de enigmatibus ex tomis canonivis. Praefatio et libri de Pentateucho Moysi. Scriptores Celtigenae Pars III. Turnhout: Brepols, 2000. McCone, Kim. Pagan Past and Christian Present in Early Irish Literature. Maynooth: An Sagart, 1990. McGurk, Patrick. ‘The Irish Pocket Gospel Book’. Sacris Erudiri 8 (1956): 249–70. McGurk, Patrick. Latin Gospel Books from A.D. 400 to A.D. 800. Les Publications de Scriptorium. Paris-Brussels: Éditions ‘Erasme’; Antwerp-Amsterdam: Standard-Boekhandel, 1961.

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McNamara, Martin. The Apocrypha in the Irish Church. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1975. McNamara, Martin. ‘Bible Text and Commentaries in Ireland 600–800 A.D. An Overview’. PIBA 35 (2012): 121–46. McNamara, Martin. ‘De Initiis: Irish Monastic Learning 600–800 AD’. Eolas: Journal of the American Society of Irish Medieval Studies 6 (2013): 4–40. McNamara, Martin. ‘End of an Era in Early Irish Biblical Exegesis: Caimin Psalter Fragment (11th–12th century) and Gospels of Máel Brigte (1138 A.D.)’. PIBA 33/34 (2010–11): 93–111. McNamara, Martin. ‘Irish Homilies A.D. 600–1100.’ Pages 235–84 in Via Crucis: Essays on Early Medieval Sources and Ideas in Memory of J. E. Cross. Medieval European Studies 1. Edited by Thomas N. Hall. Morgantown: West Virginia University Press, 2002. McNamara, Martin. ‘Plan and Source Analysis of Das Bibelwerk, Old Testament’. Pages 84–112 in Ireland and Christendom: The Bible and the Missions. Edited. by Proinséas Ní Chatháin and Michael Richter. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1987. McNamara, Martin. The Psalms in the Early Irish Church. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000. McNamara, Martin. ‘Psalter Text and Psalter Study in the Early Irish Church (A.D. 600– 1200)’. Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy 73 (1973): 201–98. Morris, John, ed. Nennius. British History and The Welsh Annals. London and Chichester: Phillimore, 1980. Murdoch, Brian. The Apocryphal Adam and Eve in Medieval Europe: Vernacular Translations and Adaptations of the Vita. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Murdoch, Brian. The Medieval Popular Bible: Expansions of Genesis in the Middle Ages. Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2003. Ó Corráin, Donnchadh. ‘Irish Origin Legends and Genealogy: Recurrent Genealogies’. Pages 51–96 in History and Heroic Tale. A Symposium. Edited by T. Nyberg. Odense: Odense University Press, 1985. Ó Corráin, Donnchadh, Liam Breatnach and Aidan Breen. ‘The Laws of the Irish’. Peritia 3 (1984): 382–438. O’Loughlin, Thomas. ‘Irish Preaching before the End of the Ninth Century: Assessing the Extent of our Evidence’. Pages 18–39 in Irish Preaching, 700–1700. Edited by Alan J. Fletcher and Raymond Gillespie. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2001. Ó Néill, Pádraig P. ‘The Date and Authorship of Apgitir Chrábaid: Some Internal Evidence’. Pages 203–15 in Ireland and Christendom: The Bible and the Missions. Edited by Proinséas Ní Chatháin and Michael Richter. Klett-Cotta: Stuttgart, 1987. O’Neill, Timothy. The Irish Hand: Scribes and Their Manuscripts from the Earliest Times. Cork: Cork University Press, 2014. Snowcroft, R. Mark. ‘Leabhar Gabhála Part II: The Growth of the Tradition’. Ériu 39 (1968): 1–66. Snowcroft, R. Mark. ‘Miotas na Gabhála i Leabhar Gabhála’. Éire Banba Fódla: Léachtaí Cholm Cille 13 (1982): 41–75. Stevenson, Jane. ‘Altus Prosator’. Celtica 23 (1999): 326–68.

Chapter 2 T H E B I B L E A N D ‘ T H E P E O P L E’ I N I R E L A N D, CA. 1100–CA. 1650 Salvador Ryan

1. Introduction This essay surveys some of the ways in which biblical texts were mediated, assimilated and used by people in late medieval and early modern Ireland. Its scope is purposefully broad (both in chronology and types of evidence) and, therefore, there is much more that could be said about any of the sources mentioned. It should also be pointed out that, in referring to ‘the people’, this chapter is not strictly speaking of what is often termed ‘popular culture’; rather, its focus encompasses members of all social strata and their engagement with biblical themes. I have argued elsewhere that, in the Middle Ages, both elites and lower orders shared, in large part, a common religious and devotional culture. Moreover, historical studies of the past thirty years or so have convincingly demonstrated that deviations from theological orthodoxy were not always the preserve of the peasantry, nor indeed theological understanding the exclusive possession of the learned. The everyday practices typically associated with popular religion  – a preoccupation with miracles and signs, the veneration of saints and their shrines, recourse to charms and amulets – were indeed popular because they were common and widespread; and they were certainly not confined to the lower social orders, as the feverish business of relic collecting among the wealthy elites of medieval Europe attests, along with the associated phenomenon of religious pilgrimage to international shrines, something which was beyond the financial reach of all but the most well-heeled of devotees.1 The Middle Ages are not known as an age of popular access to the Bible; or, at least, more properly, to the biblical text which still awaited the level of widespread availability in the vernacular which the Reformers of the sixteenth century 1. For a discussion of some of the issues surrounding the notion of an elite/popular divide, see Salvador Ryan, ‘The Most Traversed Bridge: A Reconsideration of Elite and Popular Religion in Late Medieval Ireland’, Popular and Elite Religion: Studies in Church History 42 (2006): 120–9; Salvador Ryan, ‘Some Reflections on Theology and Popular Piety: A Fruitful or Fraught Relationship?’, Heythrop Journal 53 (2012): 961–71.

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championed. During this period of low literacy levels, so the argument goes, religious imagery assumed the role of ‘books of the unlearned’, the principal events of the life of Christ, as found in the Gospels, being seamlessly communicated to worshippers as they moved from one stained glass depiction to another. And yet, of course, the reality, as always, was far less tidy. For one thing, not all parish churches could afford stained glass – and certainly not enough to catechize in a step-by-step textbook manner. Second, images, by themselves, could most often only reinforce what a medieval preacher had already expounded to his congregation. The quality of the catechesis, not to mention the exegesis, depended on the level of training which one’s local parish priest had received; and, in a great many cases, that was quite low indeed. In a frequently quoted pessimistic assessment, one observer in 1515 noted that ‘there is no Archbishop, no Bishop, Abbot or Prior, Parson nor Vicar, nor any other person of the Church, high or low, great or small, English or Irish, that is accustomed to preach the Word of God saving the poor friars beggars.’2 And yet exposure to the Bible and its language, however uneven, was not confined to the medieval parish church or friary. It could also found in the manner in which quotidian trials were met and made sense of by medieval men and women who lived in – to borrow Sallie McFague’s term – a ‘sacramental universe’ in which ‘the things of this world, its joys and catastrophes, harvests and famines, births and deaths, are understood as connected to and permeated by divine power and love’.3 Moreover, the Lives of the saints, recounted in multiple textual recensions, and which medieval Christians were encouraged to commit to memory, were suffused with biblical allusions, through which the honoured saint and his or her deeds were compared with those of Christ, Mary, one of the apostles or, indeed, Old Testament figures such as Abraham, Moses or David. Such evidence tells us a couple of things; first, that the biblical parallels, which were inserted into hagiographical works to further glorify the saint and configure them more closely to Christ, were expected to be picked up on by the reader or, more often, the listener (otherwise there would be little point in having them there). Second, these stories assisted in reinforcing in people’s minds some of the most popular biblical stories of miracles, physical healing and religious instruction. Furthermore (and this is one of the richest sources that we have for late medieval and early modern Gaelic Ireland), a large corpus of Irish devotional poetry, composed by lay professional poets between the thirteenth and seventeenth centuries, provides a unique window into how biblical texts were taken, assimilated and re-presented for large audiences of lay men and women at the behest of some of Ireland’s wealthy patrons.4 As some

2.  See especially Colmán N. Ó Clabaigh, ‘Preaching in Late Medieval Ireland:  The Franciscan Contribution’, in Irish Preaching 700–1700, ed. Alan Fletcher and Raymond Gillespie (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2001), 81–93 (81). 3. Sallie McFague, Metaphorical Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1982), 1–2. 4. See especially Salvador Ryan, ‘A Slighted Source: Rehabilitating Irish Bardic Religious Poetry in Historical Discourse’, Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies 48.4 (2004): 75–99.

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of these poems were also composed by professional versifiers simply as exercises in the complicated metre of Irish bardic verse, their subject matter cannot be wholly divorced from the religious sentiments of the poets themselves.

2. Saints’ Lives and Their Biblical Parallels The compilation of saints’ Lives was a common feature of the medieval world, even if their usefulness frequently stretched beyond strictly religious concerns, playing an important part in local dynastic politics, both secular and ecclesiastical. The construction of these hagiographical works was often deeply influenced by wellknown biblical passages, which the reader or hearer could readily recognize. A twelfth-century Life of the sixth-century saint, Colum of Terryglass (presentday County Tipperary), compiled under the influence of Augustinian canons, is a good example of this. At one point, we find three disciples of Colum joining with him to search for a place to settle. Arriving at a certain location in the lands of the Leinstermen, they declare to the saint: ‘It is good for us to be here’, echoing Peter’s words to Christ in Matt 17:4 in the story of the transfiguration. But, in the Life of Colum, there is no transfiguration scene. Rather, the saint proceeds to tell his uncomprehending disciples that this was not the place that God had chosen for his monastery.5 On his deathbed, in a curious scene, the saint extends an invitation to one of his disciples to join him in death, an offer which the monk-disciple, perhaps understandably, declines. In response, Colum promptly extends the same invitation to a pagan layman, who readily accepts. The hagiographer then relates how this action was so noteworthy as to attract the attention of Colum Cille on Iona, who commented: ‘[M]y colleague Colum has now performed a great miracle; he takes to heaven with him a pagan countryman without any work of penance, in the likeness of Christ and his thief.’6 Here, Colum’s response is not just likened to that of Christ in Luke 23:43, but also, perhaps more remotely, parallels the parable of the wedding banquet in Luke 14:15–24. Irish saints were also portrayed as performing healing miracles which often closely resembled those of Christ. In the twelfth-century Life of Ruadhán of Lorrha, we find the following passage: Once, when the holy elder Ruadhán was in a certain place, a woman came to him in tears to ask that he raise from the dead her deceased son in Christ’s name. On seeing her misery, the holy elder prayed to God for him and, as he prayed, the boy rose from the dead and the saint gave him alive to his mother.7

5. Pádraig Ó Riain, ed., Four Tipperary Saints: The Lives of Colum of Terryglass, Crónán of Roscrea, Mochaomhóg of Leigh and Ruadhán of Lorrha (Dublin:  Four Courts Press, 2014), 12. 6. Ó Riain, Four Tipperary Saints, 17. 7. Ó Riain, Four Tipperary Saints, 84.

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Here we find strong echoes of the story of the raising of the widow’s son at Nain (Luke 7:11–15) in which the reader is also told that Christ ‘gave him back to his mother’. In a Life of Colum Cille, compiled by Manus O’Donnell of Tyrconnell in 1532, the narrator of a story, in which the saint feeds 200 people in Derry with just nine loaves and nine morsels of fish, is explicit in associating his subject with Christ, explaining the miracle as follows: ‘It is clear from this history that it sufficed not God to make Columcille like to the patriarchs and the other saints that came before him, but He made him like to Himself.’8 But this did not preclude parallels being drawn between Colum Cille and other figures from the Bible; for instance, elsewhere in the Life we find the saint striking his staff upon a rock three times and making it produce three streams of water to quench the thirst of a thirsty cleric. This was a common topos in saints’ Lives, which drew parallels with the action of Moses in Exod 17:6 and Num 20:11, but, in the context of the story of the cleric’s thirst, might also bring to mind the words of Christ to the Samaritan woman in John 4:14.9 And this was not the only parallel drawn between Colum Cille and a biblical figure in this Life: chapters also liken him to Abraham, Isaiah, John the Baptist, Solomon, John of the Bosom, Paul the Apostle and Stephen the Martyr. In some cases, they place him above the biblical figure in stature:  ‘He was like unto Paul the Apostle touching the sowing of the word of God and in bringing the Gentiles to the Faith. And we may say that he went a step of perfection above Paul, inasmuch as Paul in the beginning persecuted the Church of God and aided them that put to death Stephen the Martyr.’10 In the introduction to this Life, Manus O’Donnell indicates that he intended the work to be broadly accessible, claiming that he, himself, ‘bade put into Gaelic the part of this Life that was in Latin, and bade make easy the part thereof that was hard Gaelic, to the end it might be clear and easy of understanding to all’.11 As 8.  A. O’Kelleher and G. Schoepperle, eds, Betha Colaim Chille:  Life of Columcille, Compiled by Manus O’Donnell in 1532 (Urbana:  University of Illinois, 1918), 77. See also Brendan Bradshaw, ‘ “Manus the Magnificent”: O’Donnell as Renaissance Prince’, in Studies in Irish History Presented to R. Dudley Edwards, ed. Art Cosgrove and Donal McCartney (Dublin: University College Dublin, 1979), 15–36. 9.  Of course it was not just saints that were depicted as Moses-like figures. As God’s instrumental liberator of the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, comparisons between Moses and significant political figures of the period were quite common. In Beatha Aodha Ruaidh Uí Dhomhnaill, an early-seventeenth-century life of the Donegal chieftain Red Hugh O’Donnell (1572–1602), compiled by Lughaidh Ó Cléirigh, the author states that ‘as the destruction and evil deeds which the English practised on the people of the country . . . were not pleasing to God, he brought the prophesied child of mighty deeds [Hugh O’Donnell] . . . for their relief and succour, to protect and free them from the merciless foreign tribe, as Moses the son of Amram came to the aid of the people of God– to free them from Egyptian bondage’ (emphases mine). Beatha Aodha Ruaidh Uí Dhomhnaill, ed. Paul Walsh, 2 vols (London: Irish Texts Society, 1948, 1957), 2:35. 10. O’Kelleher and Schoepperle, Betha Colaim Chille, 433. 11. O’Kelleher and Schoepperle, Betha Colaim Chille, 7.

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was customary in this period, those for whom he wrote were expected to hear the text as much as read it; the book was compiled, O’Donnell explains, for the honour of Colum Cille (‘and to the Devil’s dishonour and great hurt’) and ‘for the good of the folk that read and hearken thereto’ (a tarba dona poiplechaib leghfes 7 [&] éstfes e).12 Furthermore, those who paid attention to O’Donnell’s text would find a saint who was not only renowned for miracles of biblical proportions, but also for his own attentiveness to God’s word. If, therefore, Colum Cille was being held up as a model for a broad audience, the saint’s own approach to Scripture must be taken into account. In his introduction to the Life, O’Donnell states that ‘he did take to himself also the teaching that the Lord gave to his disciples, as the Evangelist Matthew maketh mention in the sixteenth chapter: Si vult, etc.: “Whoso would come after me, let him deny himself and take his cross and follow me” ’.13 Here, then, was a saint who heard words of Scripture and took them to heart. Those who wished to emulate him would clearly be expected to do the same. However, some saints’ Lives went far beyond straightforward biblical allusions to make their point. The Liber Exemplorum,14 a late-thirteenth-century handbook of preaching exempla compiled by an English Franciscan who was based in Ireland, contains a tale drawn from a twelfth-century Life of St Martha by Pseudo-Marcilia. No doubt, like the others, this story was included in the preaching handbook as an edificatory tale which might be used to impress a particular point on a congregation. It relates how Martha, who had graciously received the Saviour into her home, died at Tarascon in southern France, and that Jesus turned up for her funeral ceremony, unbeknownst to the Christian mourners who failed to recognize him. When a certain official enquired the identity of Christ, whom he believed to be a stranger, the Lord remained silent; instead, he displayed a scroll which he held open in his hand. The scroll contained but a short verse: ‘Martha, who received Me, will ever be remembered; she need fear no adverse judgment on the Latter Day.’ The example ends with the following reflection: ‘If the Lord so much commended charity shown to Him in His own body, will He not reward charity shown to the poor who are His limbs? Of course, there is no doubt of it, for it was He who said: “As you do unto the least of these, you do unto me.” ’15 Here, then, it was envisaged that a late-thirteenth-century Irish congregation would be introduced to the teaching of Christ as found in Matt 25:40, but, in this instance, the teaching was couched in a tale drawn from the Life of St Martha rather than directly from the New Testament text.

12.  O’Kelleher and Schoepperle, Betha Colaim Chille, 9. Note that 7 represents ‘and’ in the Irish quotation. 13. O’Kelleher and Schoepperle, Betha Colaim Chille, 3–5. 14.  David Jones, ed., Friars’ Tales:  Thirteenth-Century Exempla from the British Isles (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2011). 15. Jones, Friars’ Tales, 106.

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3. Biblical Allusions in Bardic Religious Poetry The large corpus of bardic poetry that survives from the thirteenth to seventeenth centuries – and in particular its 400 or so religious poems – is invaluable in affording us an insight into how a largely lay profession understood and made use of biblical texts in works which were composed for both secular and ecclesiastical patrons.16 A brief sample of some of these treatments provides us with a sense of how biblical material was both received and disseminated. A good example to begin with is the poem A-táid trí comhruig am chionn (Three fights await me), a fifteenth-century poem attributed to Connacht poet Tadhg Óg Ó hUiginn (d. 1448).17 The poem deals, in large part, with the temptations of the world, the flesh and the devil; but, from stanza 18, the poet begins to refer to the sin of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. Having related how ‘Adam’s wife would not respect the tree of knowledge’, the poet continues: He would have asked of them only penance as éric [compensation]; He would have pardoned, had they only asked Him, That couple’s breach of the Commandments.18 The succeeding verses recount how God enquires of the pair whether either of them had appealed to him in the hope of receiving pardon. Instead, Adam replies that it was not he who plucked the apple, retorting, ‘Blame the woman for it!’19 Eve, likewise, denied any offence. And then comes the moral of the tale, as it were (or, at least, as the poet would have it): They denied their guilt, though Jesus saw their heart; Yet escape were easy for both by confessing their sins. Though loth, He ordered them to be driven from paradise’s wood And to set forth wandering, for not consenting to repent. I would fain feel my heart sad owing to my unbelieving mind; In the hour of penance may my case be not Eve’s. I crave pardon of my sins – humility is dear to Jesus; Heaven’s King has become one of my race to make settlement with you.20 16. For an extended treatment of this topic, see Salvador Ryan, ‘ “Once I Heard a Story . . . From Scripture Does It Come”:  Biblical Allusions in Irish Bardic Religious Poetry’, in Princes, Prelates and Poets in Medieval Ireland: Essays in Honour of Katharine Simms, ed. Seán Duffy (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2013), 524–37. 17. Lambert McKenna, ed., ‘The Soul’s Three Foes’, The Irish Monthly 57 (1929): 661–4. 18. McKenna, ‘The Soul’s Three Foes’, Stanza 20: 663. 19. McKenna, ‘The Soul’s Three Foes’, Stanza 23: 663. 20. McKenna, ‘The Soul’s Three Foes’, Stanzas 26–9: 663.

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This section of the poem is, of course, not primarily concerned with relating the story of the fall in the Garden of Eden. Instead, it is a commentary on contemporary issues relating to the Sacrament of Penance and Adam and Eve assume the roles of proto-penitents (and not very good ones at that). Like late medieval Christians, they have broken ‘the Commandments’ (which were increasingly encouraged as a suitable means of examining one’s conscience)21 and are slow in asking for pardon; rather, they deny their guilt, even though Jesus sees their hearts. They might have been spared banishment had they only had recourse to confession. However, their lack of humility prevented them from coming forward. This emphasis on would-be penitents approaching the sacrament with humility is interesting as it tallies with material found in Trinity College Dublin MS 667, a Franciscan manuscript originating in Munster (Clare, Limerick and Nenagh have all been suggested as possible places of origin) around the same time, and which contains Latin, English and Irish religious texts (many of which are translations of continental devotional works). One of these texts outlined the sixteen conditions necessary for a good confession, taking its cue from a short verse attributed to Thomas Aquinas, which began, ‘Let the confession be simple, humble, pure and faithful.’22 This text is found in a number of devotional miscellanies of the period, including a ‘Book of Piety’ compiled for a Donegal noblewoman, Máire Ní Mháille, in 1513.23 The use of biblical texts to illustrate points of doctrine or morality was a staple of medieval preaching and, thus, the access which many Christians of the period had to the content of Scripture was a mediated one. In the words of Eyal Poleg: ‘[T]he place of the Bible in medieval sermons can thus be seen in the image of Jacob’s Ladder (employed by medieval preachers), which linked heaven and earth and enabled preachers to connect tenets of Christian faith to their audience. However, both Jacob’s Ladder and the Bible were not the ultimate goal but rather the means of achieving it.’24 The poem Maith an sgéalaidhe an sgriobtúir, by the friar-poet Philip Bocht Ó hUiginn (d. 1487), comprises something of a biblical (and, indeed, extra-biblical)

21. John Bossy, ‘Moral Arithmetic: Seven Sins into Ten Commandments’, in Conscience and Casuistry in Early Modern Europe, ed. E. Leites (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1977), 214–34. 22.  Colmán N. Ó Clabaigh, The Franciscans in Ireland, 1400–1534:  From Reform to Reformation (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2002), 152. 23. Salvador Ryan, ‘Windows on Late Medieval Devotional Practice: Máire Ní Mháille’s “Book of Piety” (1513) and the World Behind the Texts’, in Art and Devotion in Late Medieval Ireland, ed. Rachel Moss, Colmán Ó Clabaigh and Salvador Ryan (Dublin:  Four Courts Press, 2006), 1–15. 24.  Eyal Poleg, ‘ “A Ladder Set Up on Earth”:  The Bible in Medieval Sermons’, in The Practice of the Bible in the Middle Ages: Production, Reception and Performance in Western Christianity, ed. Susan Boynton and Diane J. Reilly (New York: Columbia University Press, 2011), 206.

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aide-memoire in verse, beginning with the banishment of Adam and Eve from paradise and ending with the martyrdom of the apostle Bartholomew. For much of the poem, though, it is a case of recounting the precarious state of the human condition and how some of the most just men in the Bible had rather murky pasts (and, indeed, futures). For instance, the poem recalls how Noah lost his innocence and how ‘unfit to tell were the sins of the great king, David, for part of his life’; Solomon ‘master of wisdom, so loved a woman that his love, beguiling him, ruined his sanctity’; Peter ‘had a fall from which he was raised ‘ere death; the other apostle fell, but rose not triumphant’. There is also the claim that some biblical figures necessitated a martyr’s death before they could be saved:  ‘Paul, God’s favourite, after his conversion, was not allowed into His presence till he parted with his head’; likewise, Stephen’s stoning served as a bridge for him to enter heaven. This is a curious poem in many respects. On the one hand, it seems to wish to disabuse its intended audience of any presumption of being saved (in one stanza it remarks, ‘To Heaven, Heaven’s Maker made a strait path, whereon one foot trips over the other, so narrow is the way’, influenced, it would seem, by Matt 7:14). It also notes how pairs of individuals experience different fates: of the two criminals crucified with Christ, one was lost; likewise (as noted above), the fates of Peter and Judas. On the other hand, in its closing stanzas, the poem features what is almost a throwaway comment that ‘thou must not mind thy neighbour’s fault; attend to the good in everyone; wise are Scripture’s words’ (perhaps after Matt 7:3–4).25 As found in other bardic poems, Ó hUiginn refers to ‘Jesus [who] brought the folk over the Red Sea’. It is one of two instances in which the name ‘Jesus’ appears in the poem. The second is not so positive and draws its inspiration from what was a well-known incident in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas: ‘Inglorious the boy’s death at five years of age; Jesus’ two-edged wrath caused his condemnation’, proving that even Jesus had his moments. The emphasis in bardic religious poetry was not always didactic. At times, recourse to biblical passages could arise in more reflective (and even tragic) circumstances. One of the most poignant examples of this is the poem Ar iasocht fhuaras Aonghus (Only on loan had I Aonghus), ascribed to the thirteenth-century poet, Donnchadh Mór Ó Dálaigh, which treats of a father’s grief at the death of his son.26 In stanza 9 the poet laments ‘that God’s mercy did not visit me to relieve me, as the Lord’s mercy once visited a woman whose house He came to’, which sets up the story of the raising of Lazarus. When the Lord asks Martha what was the cause of her sorrow, she explains: ‘The youth whom thou knewest . . . O adorable Father, that fair-handed sweet youth is dead; why should I not weep for Lazarus?’27 The description of the raising in stanza 15 is itself interesting, for it introduces a

25. Lambert McKenna, ed., Philip Bocht Ó hUiginn (Dublin: Talbot Press, 1931), 173–5; Poem 16, Stanzas 1–39. 26.  Lambert McKenna, ed., ‘Poem Ascribed to Donnchadh Mór Ó Dálaigh’, The Irish Monthly 48 (1920): 371–4. 27. McKenna, ‘Poem Ascribed to Donnchadh Mór Ó Dálaigh’, 372: Stanza 12.

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body-soul dualism not present in the gospel text: ‘God said to the youth – woe to all who understand not – “I order thee, O body of clay, to come and join the soul.” ’ The succeeding stanza recounts how God restored ‘the false image (of a man) there, whence had fled the soul’ to ‘health on the path’.28 The exposition of the miracle soon turns, however, back to the grieving father’s plight: That miracle – for which I would thank Him! – did the marvellous Son work; A pity he works it not now, and does it not for Aonghus.29 The early-seventeenth-century bardic poet Fearghal Óg Mac an Bhaird, finding himself in exile abroad and writing poems for the Irish Franciscan community in Louvain, also had cause to seek meaning in Scripture, as exemplified in the poem Ní maith altuighim m’onóir (Poor thanks I give for my honour).30 In this poem, he contrasts his response to hardship with that of the biblical figure of Job: I am different from Job; the perversity of my anger broke forth; He thanked the One who is Three for the fortune he got from the Trinity.31 As in other similar poems, Job’s interactions are not with ‘God’, but, more specifically, ‘Jesus’ who ‘then thought to test His servant’s endurance’.32 The poem goes on to recount how, while Job is struck with illness, his wife stood outside the door of house after house, seeking alms. The stanzas immediately following are a marvellous example of the late medieval/early modern appropriation of a biblical text for a contemporary audience: He thanked the dear God and the sweet gracious Virgin For any alms given his wife or for her being refused it. Patiently he bore his sufferings till he got relief; And, prostrate by his wounds, he wept for the Lord’s piercing.33 Here we find, not an Old Testament just man, but a late medieval/early modern exemplar of patience and trust, who also exhibits a lively devotion to both the Virgin Mary and the passion of Christ. But this is precisely what a skilled late medieval preacher would have hoped to communicate by using a biblical example. The application needed to be crystal clear. And, as the poem progresses, this is

28. McKenna, ‘Poem Ascribed to Donnchadh Mór Ó Dálaigh’, 372: Stanzas 15–16. 29. McKenna, ‘Poem Ascribed to Donnchadh Mór Ó Dálaigh’, 372: Stanza 17. 30. Lambert McKenna, ed., ‘Ingratitude to God’, The Irish Monthly 56 (1928): 263–8. 31. McKenna, ‘Ingratitude to God’, 263: Stanza 6. 32. McKenna, ‘Ingratitude to God’, 263: Stanza 9. 33. McKenna, ‘Ingratitude to God’, 263: Stanzas 14–15.

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also in evidence. Fearghal Mac an Bhaird applies the example of Job to his own plight; in three stanzas in succession, he lists the various misfortunes that have befallen him, prefacing them, in each case, with the words: ‘I know ‘twas to test me that’34 This is then followed by three stanzas beginning with the words, ‘Let me thank Thee, O God’, and therein are listed his many deprivations. And this is then followed by six stanzas which begin with the words, ‘Alike should I give thanks.’35 The steps of reflection found in Mac an Bhaird’s poem would have been familiar to his Franciscan hosts in Louvain, for they mirror what was recommended in late medieval spiritual works such as Ludolf of Saxony’s Vita Christi and the ubiquitous Meditationes Vitae Christi, generally ascribed to Johannes de Caulibus. This involved a progression from recalling a biblical scene (articulus) to drawing a moral lesson from it (documenta) and culminating in a personal response, which could often be a prayer (actus conformacionis-oratio).36

4. The Bible and Counter-Reformation Catechesis The period of the Reformations saw the Bible become an ever more contested text – and issues surrounding the nature of its authority were vigorously debated. The increasing availability of vernacular Bibles and, concomitantly, the disputations that this engendered, prompted Catholic authorities, in their writing, preaching and legislation, to warn individuals against entering into debate with Protestants. The Irish Franciscan founder of St Anthony’s College, Louvain, Florency Conry (Flaithrí Ó Maolchonaire), in his spiritual treatise Desiderius, published in the Irish language in 1616, included a long section on issues of faith and authority in early-seventeenth-century Ireland in which he argued that Catholics should avoid all disputation with ‘heretics’, especially when they used the authority of Scripture in their arguments: Let nothing that you hear lead you to the slightest doubt regarding the articles of your faith; and if an angel were to come from Heaven to preach against them (as Paul says), dismiss his sermon and remember St Augustine’s words that it has been the usual custom of the heretics to deceive people with the perverted meaning that they place on the Scriptures. Therefore, as the same Doctor advises, every time they introduce a scriptural saying that goes against your faith, believe firmly that the interpretation that they place on it is not its true meaning.37

34. McKenna, ‘Ingratitude to God’, 263: Stanzas 24–6. 35. McKenna, ‘Ingratitude to God’, 263: Stanzas 27–35. 36. Siegfried Wenzel, Preachers, Poets and the Early English Lyric (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986), 14. 37.  Flaithrí Ó Maolchonaire, Desiderius: Otherwise Called Sgáthán an Chrábhaidh, ed. T. F. O’Rahilly (Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1955), 155.

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Conry’s confrere, Bonaventura Ó hEoghusa, who published a catechism in Irish (first at Antwerp in 1611, which was reprinted at the newly acquired press of St Anthony’s College, Louvain, by about 1618), tackled some of the issues relating to scriptural authority in a poem entitled Truagh liom-sa a chompain do chor (Sad to me thy state, O companion) addressed to a friend whom he considers to have fallen into error. Referring to the authority of both Scripture and Tradition, Ó hEoghusa notes: ‘The words of God are preserved in two forms – each form must be believed from the Church: some are in Scripture, others have always been in the memory of all.’38 While attesting the importance of Scripture, Ó hEoghusa states that there are many things that Christ said which are not recorded in Scripture, and cites the admission of John the Evangelist at the end of his gospel as proof of this.39 In a form of argument that was popular among Catholic apologists of the period, he continues by asking his interlocutor whether he believes only what is stated in the Scripture which he carries in his hand and, if so, why he believes that he carries Scripture in his hand at all as this fact is not found in the Bible. Ó hEoghusa then refers to some traditional tenets of Christianity which are not explicitly found in Scripture: ‘that Mary was always a Virgin, that a child should always be baptised, that Easter always falls on a Sunday; where did you read this in Scripture?’40 The potential for the ordinary Catholic faithful to become confused if they debated Scripture with Protestants was such a concern that five Irish synods between 1614 and 1632 explicitly forbade disputes with ‘heretics’ and the reading of heretical material.41 This, however, did not stop Catholic writers from using the Bible to illuminate aspects of Catholic doctrine in their own catechetical treatises. We have a good example of this in Bonaventura Ó hEoghusa’s own discussion of the sacrament of the Eucharist in his Irish catechism An Teagasg Críosdaidhe. When treating of the doctrine of transubstantiation, Ó hEoghusa explains the distinction between substance and accidents in relation to the Eucharist. He relates that, at the moment of consecration, without losing its form, colour, taste or smell, the substance of the bread is nevertheless annihilated when it is transformed into the body of Christ. But it is the scriptural analogy which he uses to illustrate this that is particularly interesting. He refers to the story of Lot’s wife being transformed into a pillar of salt, which is found in Gen 19:26, explaining that what remained displayed the figure and shape of Lot’s wife, but was nevertheless only salt in substance.42 Given that this work was designed to aid priests (and even appropriately educated lay

38.  Cuthbert Mhág Craith, ed., Dán na mBráthar Mionúr, 2 vols (Dublin:  Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1967, 1980), 1: Poem 9, Stanza 49. 39. Mhág Craith, Dán na mBráthar Mionúr, Stanzas 50–1. See John 20: 30–31. 40. Mhág Craith, Dán na mBráthar Mionúr, Stanzas 55–9. 41. Alison Forrestal, Catholic Synods in Ireland, 1600–1690 (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1998), 41. 42.  Bonaventura Ó hEoghusa, An Teagasg Críosdaidhe, ed. Fearghal Mac Raghnaill (Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1976), 80.

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men and women) in instructing early-seventeenth-century Irish Catholics in the fundamentals of their faith, Ó hEoghusa must have presumed some knowledge of this story on the part of those he wished to catechize. But what follows is equally noteworthy. Reiterating the teaching that the whole Christ is present in every particle of the Eucharistic host (and, so, his body is not dismembered when the host is broken), he continues by stating that those who find this difficult to understand should remember that ‘God can do more than you can comprehend’  – and he illustrates this by citing Scripture; for, he says, ‘God can pass a camel, i.e. an animal bigger than a horse, through the eye of a needle.’43 There are two things of interest here. By comparing the size of a camel to that of a horse, Ó hEoghusa believed that his audience was not necessarily familiar with what a camel was (or, at least, he was making allowance for this). But, second, he was using this biblical saying in a novel way which, in fact, placed a positive soteriological spin on Matt 19:24. The saying is perhaps most commonly interpreted as indicating how difficult it is for a rich man to enter heaven. However, Ó hEoghusa turns this around, indicating that God will perform the wonder (passing a camel through the eye of a needle) if that is what it takes to save the rich man. And, in like manner, he can thereby easily perform a miracle such as ubiquity in the Eucharistic species.

5. The Wonder-Working Bible There were other ways in which the Bible or part thereof could be appropriated in the daily lives of Christians. One of the final acts of the priest in administering the sacrament of baptism was to recite the prologue to John’s gospel over the child. Because it was understood by many to have great powers of protection, little wonder that we find William Camden referring to the Gaelic Irish hanging the text of the beginning of John’s Gospel around the necks of their children as a preservative against misfortune.44 Such practices were commonplace in the Middle Ages; indeed, two verses in particular from the Gospel of John were considered to offer protection against demons – ‘In principio erat verbum’ (John 1:1) and ‘et verbum caro factum est’ (John 1:14)  – and it was not unknown for early-seventeenthcentury sorcerers to sell copies of John’s Gospel to their clients as a preservative

43. Ó hEoghusa, An Teagasg Críosdaidhe, 81. 44.  William Camden, Britannia:  or a Chorographical Description of the Flourishing Kingdoms of England, Scotland and Ireland and the Islands Adjacent . . . trans. from the edition of 1607 and enlarged by the latest discoveries of Richard Gough, 3 vols (London, 1789), 3:658. Camden also claims that they do the same with a crooked nail out of a horse’s hoof or a piece of wolf ’s skin. The English Bible translator, William Tyndale (ca. 1492–1536), in a response to Thomas More’s Dialogue Concerning Heresies (London, 1529), also mentions this practice of hanging a piece of John’s Gospel about the neck, of which he takes a decidedly dim view. See Don C. Skemer, Binding Words: Textual Amulets in the Middle Ages (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2006), 89.

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against witchcraft.45 Likewise, many who crossed themselves while hearing John’s Gospel at Mass believed themselves to be preserved from harm for the rest of the day.46 This Gospel received further endorsement when Pope Clement V (r. 1305–14) granted an indulgence for the reading or hearing of the Gospel of John, notice of which appears in the ‘Book of Piety’ commissioned for her own use by Donegal noblewoman Máire Ní Mháille in 1513.47 Customs such as this one were where theology and daily life met. The understanding of the use of a biblical text in a sacramental rite was not all that dissimilar from the reasoning behind its use as an amulet of protection. For instance, in the Sarum liturgy of baptism (which was also in use in medieval Ireland), just before the Prologue to John’s Gospel was read out, a passage from Mark’s Gospel concerning the cure of an epileptic demoniac by Jesus (Mark 9:17–29) was read over the child. The rubric explained the reason for this as follows: ‘because according to doctors it is a good protection against falling sickness’.48 The curative properties of the Gospels were not confined to humans, of course. The custodian of the Irish ninth-century copy of the Latin gospels, known as the ‘Book of Durrow’, was in the habit of dipping the manuscript in his cattle trough to cure his cattle of disease in the seventeenth century.49 While such an action might be termed an archivist’s nightmare today, in the Middle Ages there was far less concern regarding the dunking of Scripture. One tradition surrounding St Crónán of Roscrea relates how he accidentally dropped an open Gospel book into a lake and, when it was recovered forty days later, not even one letter had suffered damage.50 Perhaps stories like these were themselves inspired by a biblical passage, namely, Matt 5:18, which promises that not one jot or tittle shall pass from the Law until all is fulfilled.

6. Conclusion It is, indeed, true that most late medieval and early modern Christians may not have had direct access to the text of the Scriptures – and, certainly by the Reformation period, Catholics, at least, were actively dissuaded from reading the Bible independently. Nevertheless, they did have a mediated access to a not-insignificant

45. Skemer, Binding Words, 88. 46. Skemer, Binding Words, 89. 47. Mary Ann Lyons, ‘Lay Female Piety and Church Patronage in Late Medieval Ireland’, in Christianity in Ireland:  Revisiting the Story, ed. Brendan Bradshaw and Daire Keogh (Dublin: Columba Press, 2002), 65. 48. E. C. Whitaker, Documents of the Baptismal Liturgy (London: SPCK, 1970), 248. 49.  See especially Bernard Meehan, The Book of Durrow:  A Medieval Masterpiece at Trinity College Dublin (Dublin: Town House, 1996). 50. Charles Plummer, ed., Vitae Sanctorum Hiberniae, 2 vols (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1910), 2:68.

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portion of its content, and both the sayings and deeds of Christ, in addition to the stories relating to the principal figures of the Old Testament were understood to be part of the linguistic and cultural currency of the age. In hagiography, the portrayal of saints as types of figures from both the Old and New Testaments would have been pointless had this not been readily accessible to the audiences for whom these stories were intended. Likewise, the many biblical allusions found in Irish bardic religious poetry. Even during the period of the ‘Counter-Reformation’, when the writers of Catholic catechetical and polemical tracts were anxious to copper-fasten doctrines such as transubstantiation and take issue with the sola scriptura arguments of their Protestant counterparts, in the very process of doing so they quite liberally employed biblical material to make their case. Perhaps this is the clearest indication that, to their minds at least, the Bible and ‘the people’ were still important bedfellows.

Bibliography Bossy, John. ‘Moral Arithmetic: Seven Sins into Ten Commandments’. Pages 214– 34 in Conscience and Casuistry in Early Modern Europe. Edited by E. Leites. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977. Bradshaw, Brendan. ‘ “Manus the Magnificent”: O’Donnell as Renaissance Prince’. Pages 15–36 in Studies in Irish History presented to R. Dudley Edwards. Edited by Art Cosgrove and Donal McCartney. Dublin: University College Dublin, 1979. Camden, William. Britannia: or a Chorographical Description of the Flourishing Kingdoms of England, Scotland and Ireland and the Islands Adjacent . . . Translated from the edition of 1607 and enlarged by the latest discoveries of Richard Gough. 3 vols. London: 1789. Forrestal, Alison. Catholic Synods in Ireland, 1600–1690. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1998. Jones, David, ed. Friars’ Tales: Thirteenth-Century Exempla from the British Isles. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2011. Lyons, Mary Ann. ‘Lay Female Piety and Church Patronage in Late Medieval Ireland’. Pages 57–75 in Christianity in Ireland: Revisiting the Story. Edited by Brendan Bradshaw and Daire Keogh. Dublin: Columba Press, 2002. McFague, Sallie. Metaphorical Theology. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1982. McKenna, Lambert, ed. ‘Ingratitude to God’. The Irish Monthly 56 (1928): 263–8. McKenna, Lambert, ed. Philip Bocht Ó hUiginn. Dublin: The Talbot Press, 1931. McKenna, Lambert, ed. ‘Poem Ascribed to Donnchadh Mór Ó Dálaigh’. The Irish Monthly 48 (1920): 371–4. McKenna, Lambert, ed. ‘The Soul’s Three Foes’. The Irish Monthly 57 (1929): 661–4. Meehan, Bernard. The Book of Durrow: A Medieval Masterpiece at Trinity College Dublin. Dublin: Town House, 1996. Mhág Craith, Cuthbert, ed. Dán na mBráthar Mionúr. 2 vols. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1967 and 1980. Ó Clabaigh, Colmán N. The Franciscans in Ireland, 1400–1534: From Reform to Reformation. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2002. Ó Clabaigh, Colmán N. ‘Preaching in Late Medieval Ireland: The Franciscan Contribution.’ Pages 81–93 in Irish Preaching 700–1700. Edited by Alan Fletcher and Raymond Gillespie. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2001.

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Ó Cléirigh, Lughaidh. Beatha Aodha Ruaidh Uí Dhomhnaill. Edited by Paul Walsh. 2 vols. London: Irish Texts Society, 1948, 1957. Ó Domhnaill, Manus. Betha Colaim Chille: Life of Columcille, Compiled by Manus O’Donnell in 1532. Edited by A. O’Kelleher and G. Schoepperle. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1918. Ó hEoghusa, Bonaventura. An Teagasg Críosdaidhe. Edited by Fearghal Mac Raghnaill. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1976. Ó Maolchonaire, Flaithrí., Desiderius: Otherwise Called Sgáthán an Chrábhaidh. Edited by T. F. O’Rahilly. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1955. Ó Riain, Pádraig, ed. Four Tipperary Saints: The Lives of Colum of Terryglass, Crónán of Roscrea, Mochaomhóg of Leigh and Ruadhán of Lorrha. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2014. Plummer, Charles, ed. Vitae Sanctorum Hiberniae. 2 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1910. Poleg, Eyal. ‘ “A Ladder Set Up on Earth”: The Bible in Medieval Sermons’. Pages 205–27 in The Practice of the Bible in the Middle Ages: Production, Reception and Performance in Western Christianity. Edited by Susan Boynton and Diane J. Reilly. New York: Columbia University Press, 2011. Ryan, Salvador. ‘The Most Traversed Bridge: A Reconsideration of Elite and Popular Religion in Late Medieval Ireland’. Studies in Church: History Popular and Elite Religion 42 (2006): 120–9. Volume edited by Kate Cooper and Jeremy Gregory. Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, 2006. Ryan, Salvador. ‘ “Once I Heard a Story . . . From Scripture Does It Come”: Biblical Allusions in Irish Bardic Religious Poetry’. Pages 524–37 in Princes, Prelates and Poets in Medieval Ireland: Essays in Honour of Katharine Simms. Edited by Seán Duffy. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2013. Ryan, Salvador. ‘A Slighted Source: Rehabilitating Irish Bardic Religious Poetry in Historical Discourse’. Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies 48.4 (2004): 75–99. Ryan, Salvador. ‘Some Reflections on Theology and Popular Piety: A Fruitful or Fraught Relationship?’ Heythrop Journal 53.6 (2012): 961–71. Ryan, Salvador. ‘Windows on Late Medieval Devotional Practice: Máire Ní Mháille’s “Book of Piety” (1513) and the World behind the Texts’. Pages 1–15 in Art and Devotion in Late Medieval Ireland. Edited by Rachel Moss, Colmán Ó Clabaigh and Salvador Ryan. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2006. Skemer, Don C. Binding Words: Textual Amulets in the Middle Ages. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2006. Wenzel, Siegfried. Preachers, Poets and the Early English Lyric. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986. Whitaker, E. C. Documents of the Baptismal Liturgy. London: SPCK, 1970.

Chapter 3 T R A N SL AT I N G T H E B I B L E I N T O I R I SH ,   1 5 6 5 – 1 8 5 0 Fearghus Ó Fearghail

1. Introduction The history of the Bible in Ireland from the time of Patrick gives ample evidence of the veneration of the Irish for the sacred Scriptures over the centuries, but apart from Old Irish glosses in biblical manuscripts from the seventh to the ninth centuries and extensive biblical and apocryphal material in vernacular manuscripts from the twelfth century onwards, there is little evidence of an interest in a vernacular Bible in Ireland before the mid-sixteenth century. By the end of the following century, however, the New Testament, the Book of Common Prayer (BCP) and the Old Testament had been translated into Irish and published, and the Irish Bible had been distributed among the Gaelic speakers of the highlands of Scotland. This chapter will look first at the translation into Irish and publication of the New and Old Testaments, and then at their republication in the first half of the nineteenth century, in quite a different context.

2. The Beginnings The first reference to the New Testament in the Irish language is to be found in a grant of £66 13s 4d given about 1565 by Elizabeth I for ‘the making of Carecter to print the New Testament in Irish’. The English authorities had evidently come to the conclusion that there was a need for religious texts in Irish, if the Reformation were to make progress in Ireland, and the appearance of Seon Carsuel’s Gaelic translation of the Form of Prayer for Presbyterians in Scotland in April 1567 may also have acted as a spur to the authorities to act. Nothing seems to have come of the grant, however, as in October 1570 the sum of £23 13s 4d was allowed unto John Kearney ‘treasorer of St Patrick’s Church’ for the ‘stampes, forms and matrises’ necessary for the printing of 200 catechisms.1 In June 1571 Kearney 1. See Nicholas Williams, I bPrionta I Leabhar: Na Protastúin agus Prós na Gaeilge 1567– 1724 (Dublin: An Clóchomhar, 1986), 22.

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published Aibidil Gaoidheilge & Caiticiosma, which included a number of short biblical texts (Exod 20:1–17; 22:28; Num 6:24; Ps 44 (43):23; Prov 20:2; Eccl 36:1; Luke 20:25; 2 Cor 13:13; the Lord’s Prayer). His letter to the reader suggests that he already had the project of an Irish translation of the New Testament in mind,2 and he was surely aware of the appearance of William Salesbury’s Welsh translation of the New Testament in 1567.3 Work on the translation into Irish of the New Testament probably began in late 1571 or 1572 when Nicholas Walsh, a contemporary of John Kearney in Magdalen College, Cambridge, joined the staff of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin. Kearney was most likely the initiator of and the driving force behind the translation. This was probably the reason why Uilliam Ó Domhnaill, the final editor and publisher of the Irish New Testament, placed him first among the ‘pious, virtuous and learned’ (diágha, foirfe, foghlomtha) translators mentioned in the Irish preface to the work. At what stage the translation was in 1577/78 when Walsh was appointed bishop of Ossory is not known. The presence in Kilkenny during Walsh’s brief episcopate (1577/78–85) of Fearganainm Ó Domhnalláin, a member of a learned Galway family and a Cambridge graduate,4 and his later involvement in the project, suggest that work on the translation probably continued in Kilkenny at least until the bishop’s murder in 1585. By 1587 John Kearney was also dead but an Irish version of the New Testament existed and was in the possession of the printer William Kearney, then resident in London. In that year the Privy Council in England urged the bishops of the established church in Ireland to raise funds for its publication and intimated to them that Kearney was willing to give his services free ‘for the benefyt of his nacion’.5 No progress was made, however, and in 1592, in a report on the state of Ireland for Queen Elizabeth I, Archbishop Miler McGrath mentioned the lack of an Irish translation of the Bible, adding that those who wished a translation were few and lacked the means, while those who had the means were unwilling to support it.6 The situation changed with the arrival in the newly founded Trinity College Dublin late in 1593 of Uilliam Ó Domhnaill (William Daniel), a student of Emmanuel College, Cambridge (1586–93). An accomplished linguist, as may be seen, for example, from the extensive Latin and Hebrew notes he made in Westminster in September 1592 (TCD MS 217)  from works of the famous

2.  See Brian Ó Cuív, Aibidil Gaoidheilge and Caiticiosma:  Seaán Ó Cearnaigh’s Irish Primer of Religion Published in 1571 (Dublin:  Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1992), 11–13. 3. William Morgan’s Welsh translation of the Bible was published in 1588. 4. He was vicar of Odogh or Castledoughe in Ossory in 1585; see James B. Leslie, Ossory Clergy and Parishes (Enniskillen: Richie, 1933), 324. 5. See John R. Dasent, Acts of the Privy Council of England 1587–88 (London: Stationary Office, 1897), 201. 6.  Calendar of the State Papers Relating to Ireland (CSPI) 1592, 497–8; Patrick J. Ryan, Archbishop Miler McGrath 1522–1622 (Roscrea: Lisheen Publications, 2014), 68.

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grammarian and teacher Elias Levita (Masoreth ha-Masoreth, Sepher Tab Ta’am, Lexicon Hebraicum), Ó Domhnaill was well fitted to the task of seeing the translation through to press. The printer William Kearney probably arrived in Trinity College at the same time and was given accommodation in the college along with his printing press. In preparing the Irish New Testament for the press Ó Domhnaill enlisted the help of his brother-in-law Fearganainm Ó Domhnalláin but more importantly that of the poet and scholar Maoilín Óg Mac Bruaideadha, the head of the well-known literary family of Mac Bruaideadha (McBrody) of Thomond, a family long associated with the O’Briens of Thomond. In late March 1594/95 Adam Loftus, Archbishop of Dublin, reported to William Cecil, Elizabeth I’s secretary of state, that the Irish New Testament ‘is now being printed’.7 Kearney printed the Gospels of Matthew and Mark in their entirety and five chapters of Luke (at the cost of the province of Connaught) but then the project ground to a halt over a dispute between the printer and the college authorities, probably over the issue of funding. Kearney left his rooms in Trinity, taking printing press and furniture with him. Maoilín Óg who had revised the Irish translation of the four Gospels returned to his native Clare. Ó Domhnaill seems to have made an effort to resolve the dispute between Kearney and the college authorities but to no avail.8 That same year Ó Domhnalláin became archbishop of Tuam, while Ó Domhnaill, towards the end of the year, left his lectureship in Trinity to help the cause of the Reformation in Galway (1595–1601). While working as a preacher in Galway, Ó Domhnaill secured the services of the Irish scholar and poet Domhnall Óg Ó hUiginn to edit the rest of the New Testament (Acts to Revelation). When Ó Domhnaill returned to Dublin sometime after June 1601 the editing was most likely complete. Encouraged by William Ussher, clerk of the Council, and probably also by Lord Mountjoy, the lord deputy, Ó Domhnaill set about publishing the New Testament. Seon Francton printed Luke 6–Revelation 21 in Ussher’s house at Bridgefoot (Cois an Droichid),9 with Ussher himself bearing the cost of the printing just as his father John had done for John Kearney’s Aibidil in 1571. At the end of the translation Ó Domhnaill included a prayer in praise of God who had brought the work to completion. The text, title page and Irish preface were printed by the end of 1602. In February 1602/3  Ó Domhnaill was in England to present the Irish New Testament to Queen Elizabeth, but she died in Richmond on 24 March 1602/3. Ó Domhnaill composed a letter of dedication to her successor James I and had it printed in London by Richard Field, Shakespeare’s Stratford friend and first printer.10 The language of the letter contrasts sharply with that of the preface in 7. CSPI 1592–96, 308. 8.  See TCD Mun/1/25; Ernest R. McClintock Dix, Printing in Dublin prior to 1601 (Dublin: O’Loughlin, 1932), 28–30. 9. On Francton, see Dermot McGuinne, Irish Type Design: A History of Printing Types in the Irish Character (Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 1992), 14. 10.  See Albert E.  M. Kirwood, Richard Field:  Printer, 1589–1624, in Library, ns 12 (1931): 1–39.

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Irish. In Dublin, sometime after the feast of St. James (25 July 1603) when William Ussher was conferred with a knighthood, Ó Domhnaill edited the letter of dedication and had this second version printed by Franckton. The translation was based, as is claimed, on the Greek text, and we find the translators on occasion putting forward their own interpretation of a Greek term or phrase, as, for example, in the case of Luke 1:28a where the greeting χαῖρε is translated as ‘bi forbhfáoilteach’ (be joyous) and the participle κεχαριτωμένη as ‘toghadh tré grásaibh’ (chosen by grace),11 or in Heb 4:11, where the verb Σπουδάσωμεν is rendered with ‘déunam dithchioll’ (let us do our utmost).12 It is difficult to say with certainty what Greek text was used but all indications point towards Theodore Beza’s very useful edition of the Greek and Latin New Testament first published in 1565.13 That first edition would have been available to Kearney and Walsh, while the editions of 1582 and 1588/89 would have been available to Ó Domhnaill. The Irish translation reflects a variety of influences – that of Beza’s Latin version, the Geneva Bible, the Bishops’ Bible and the Vulgate.14 The translation itself is written in a natural, readable style, with quite an amount of variation in the rendering of particular Greek terms, especially in the Gospels, and with idiomatic Irish expressions and some neologisms. The translation remained for the most part close to the Greek although there are what might be termed interpretive translations here and there, as, for example, in 1 Pet 2:13a, where the Greek phrase πάσῃ ἀνθρωπίνῃ κτίσει (every human institution) is rendered with ‘gach uile oifigeach’ (every officer). As Ó Domhnaill mentioned in the preface there are expansions intended to clarify the text (marked by brackets for the most part), as, for example, in Matt 17:27 where the translator specifies that the στατῆρα is a type of money (gné airgid airighthi). In the 1681 edition the problem is resolved by translating στατῆρα with ‘píosa airgid’ (a piece of money), a translation retained in later editions. There are occasionally what might be termed ‘confessional’ translations, as, for example, in Acts 1:26 where the translation ‘agus do toghadh é gu háontadhach a bhfhochair a néineasbuil dég’ (and he was chosen by agreement to be among the eleven) is similar to that of the Geneva Bible (‘and hee was by a common consent counted with the eleuen Apostles’) but different from that of Luther, for example.15 The verb

11. Diff. Vulgate (‘have gratia plena’), Luther (‘Gegrüßet seiest du, Holdselige!’), Tyndale (‘Hayle full of grace’) and the Geneva Bible (‘Haile thou that are freely beloved’). 12.  Diff. Vulgate (‘festinemus’), Erasmus and Beza (‘studeamus’), Tyndale, the Great Bible, and the Geneva and Bishops’ Bibles (‘study’), the King James Bible (‘labour’). The Greek verb followed by the infinitive means ‘to strive’, ‘to make every effort’; cf. RSV, NRS. 13. Theodore Bèze, Iesu Christi D.N. Nouum Testamentum (Geneva: 1565). 14. See Fearghus Ó Fearghail, ‘The Irish New Testament of 1602 in Its European Context’, PIBA 31 (2008): 90–105. 15.  Luther: ‘Und er ward zugeordnet zu den elf Aposteln’; the Great Bible: ‘And he was counted with the eleven Apostles’ (also the Bishops’ Bible; ‘numbred with’ in the King James Bible); cf. Bèze ‘qui communibus calculis allectus est cum undecim Apostolis’.

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συγκατεψηφίσθη signifies ‘to choose by voting’, ‘to count with/among’, ‘to be numbered with’, ‘to be enrolled with’ (RSV). The Franciscans in Dublin and Louvain used the translation  – Aodh Mac Aingil, clearly esteemed Ó Domhnaill’s work – and it was used by the Catholic priest, poet and historian Geoffrey Keating.16 The terms that caused such controversy between Thomas More and William Tyndale or the terms which annoyed the Douai-Rheims translators do not seem to have caused any controversy, and it was only in the 1830s that the translation of μετανοεῖτε (cf. Matt 3:2) with ‘déanuidh aithrighe’ (do penance) became a bone of contention – in Protestant circles.17 Christopher Anderson put the number of copies printed at 500.18 At the close of 1604 or early in 1605, Ó Domhnaill was given the task of translating the Book of Common Prayer into Irish but not the Psalter which would have taken too long.19 For the New Testament readings in the BCP Ó Domhnaill used the Irish New Testament, in most cases following the Irish translation almost exactly, but with some changes in style, in orthography and occasionally in vocabulary; for the Old Testament readings he used a variety of sources, apart from the BCP, including the Hebrew text, the Septuagint, the Latin versions of Tremellio and the Vulgate, and contemporary English versions.20 Ó Domhnaill had access to a draft translation of part of the King James Bible (Chronicles to Ecclesiastes; Apocrypha) sent to him by William Eyre, a student and fellow of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, but there is no indication that he used it for his translation.21 It may have been sent to him as a ‘learned man’ whose judgement was sought

16. See Ó Fearghail, ‘Irish New Testament of 1602,’ 106–107; and Fearghus Ó Fearghail, ‘ “A Work Which Generations Had Hoped For”:  The First Translation into Irish of the New Testament’, in ‘Wading Lambs and Swimming Elephants’: The Bible for the Laity and Theologians in Late Medieval and Early Modern Era, ed. W. François and A. A. den Hollander, BETL 257 (Leuven: Peeters, 2012), 370–1; Bernadette Cunningham, The World of Geoffrey Keating: History, Myth and Religion in Seventeenth Century Ireland (Dublin:  Fours Courts Press, 2000), 38–9. 17. See Charles Orpen, ‘ The First Part of Dr Charles Orpen’s Reply to H. M. M. with Proofs of a Few of the Errors of the Irish Bible’, Christian Examiner III (1834):  141– 80; John Quigley, ‘ The History of the Irish Bible’, The Irish Church Quarterly 10 (1917): 65–6. 18.  Christopher Anderson, The Native Irish, and their Descendants, 3rd ed. (London: Pickering, 1846), 190. 19. See CSPI 1603–1606, 357–8. 20. See Fearghus Ó Fearghail, ‘Uilliam Ó Domhnaill’s Irish Version of the Book of Common Prayer (1608) and His Old Testament Translations into Irish’, PIBA 32 (2009): 99–130. 21.  See Frederick H.  A. Scrivener, The Authorized Edition of the English Bible (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1884), 13–14 n.  2; David Norton, A Textual History of the King James Bible (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2005), 13; Ó Fearghail, ‘Old Testament Translations’, 104–105, 129.

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in relation to particularly obscure verses (rule eleven of the fifteen rules to be observed in the translation of the King James Bible).22 After Ó Domhnaill’s death in 1628 it was rumoured that his widow had a copy of an Irish translation of the Psalter in her possession – presumably made by her husband – but it never came to light.

3. The Irish Translation of the Old Testament, 1628–37 The year before Ó Domhnaill died, William Bedell, a contemporary of his in Cambridge (1584–1601), was appointed provost of Trinity College, Dublin. It was this English puritan clergyman who inspired and initiated the translation into Irish of the Old Testament. In Trinity College he introduced prayers in Irish in the college chapel and employed Murtagh King (Muircheartach Ó Cionga), a member of a learned family of scribes and poets of county Offaly, ‘to reade an houre every day’ to the native students destined for ministry in the established church.23 With the introduction of prayers in the college came the need for an Irish translation of the Psalter. Bedell had King translate the first Psalm which proved satisfactory and then gave him the task of translating the rest of the Psalter. On 12 August 1628 he wrote to Archbishop Ussher for the ‘manuscript Psalter in the Irish letter’ which he had loaned him some years earlier.24 This Latin Psalter (TCD MS 50), known as the Ricemarch Psalter (c. 1179 CE), belonged to Bedell and he clearly felt that it could be useful for the translation.25 Some months later (5 March 1628/29) he reported to Archbishop Ussher that ‘[o]ur translation goeth on in the Psalms, and we are now in the 88th’.26 Appointed bishop of Kilmore and Ardagh in May 1629, Bedell continued to push ahead with the translation of the Old Testament into Irish. The following February he reported to Ussher that James Nangle, whom he had employed to revise and transcribe King’s translation of the Psalms, was writing out a fair copy of the manuscript for the ‘Press’, while King, he hoped, ‘goeth on in the Historical

22.  See Gordon Campbell, Bible:  The Story of the King James Version 1611–2011 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 50–1. 23. On King and his background, see Terence McCaughey, Dr. Bedell and Mr. King: The Making of the Irish Bible (Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 2010), 36–41. 24.  See Charles R. Elrington, The Whole Works of the Most Rev. James Ussher I–XVII (Dublin:  Hodges, Smith and Co., 1864), XVI, 476; Bedell to Robert Cotton, 10 December 1627, in Thomas Wharton Jones, A True Relation of the Life and Death of the Right Reverend Father in God William Bedell (Westminster: Cambden Society, 1872), 257. 25.  See Hugh J. Lawlor, The Psalter and Martyrology of Ricemarch (London:  Henry Bradshaw Society, 1914). 26. Bedell to Ussher, 5 March 1629, in Elrington, Ussher XV, 427.

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Books of the Old Testament’.27 To hasten the completion of the project Bedell had King and Nangle stay with him while working on the translation. In September 1633 he ordained King and appointed him to the parish of Templeport, County Cavan. He appointed Nangle to the benefice of Mostrim, Co. Longford, in April 1636.28 By February 1633/34 the translation was being ‘written out fair’,29 and when it received the approval of Convocation later that year, the way seemed clear for its publication. The Irish translation was based on the King James Bible, first published in 1611. Since the King James Version was revised and corrected in later editions, it is possible to identify the edition used for the translation as that of 1628.30 For the benefit of the ‘ordinary people’ Bedell instructed King to translate the English text ‘into the plainest Irish, most understood of the vulgar’. While the translation is for the most part a literal one, it is natural and clear and relatively easy to understand. The particular method of ‘checking’ the translation for the press outlined by Alexander Clogie, Bedell’s son-in-law, which involved the retranslation of the Irish into Latin and the Latin into English followed by a comparison with the King James version, probably contributed to the literalness of the translation.31 Bedell, like Ó Domhnaill, knew Hebrew, and there are indications in the translation and in the interlinear corrections and variations in the original manuscript of the influence of the Hebrew text; the translation of Diodati, obtained by Bedell in Venice many years earlier, was also used, as was the Septuagint.32 What influence the Ricemarch Psalter had on the Irish version of the Psalms remains to be determined.33 King’s translation was probably written out fair by 1635 or 1636.34 The manuscript which survives in two volumes in Marsh’s library in Dublin (Genesis to Ruth, 1 Samuel to Song of Songs) and in one volume in Cambridge (Prophets, Apocrypha)35 was written mainly by one scribe but a second hand is evident in a number of psalms and in the apocryphal or deuterocanonical books.36

27. Bedell to Ussher, 15 February 1629/30, in Elrington, Ussher XV, 471. 28.  See James B. Leslie, Clergy of Kilmore, Elphin and Ardagh, ed. D. W. Coats (Belfast: Ulster Historical Foundation, 2008), 588, 710. 29.  See Bedell to Ward, 2 February 1633/34, in Tanner Letters, ed. Charles Mc Neil (Dublin: Stationary Office, 1943), 106. 30. See Fearghus Ó Fearghail, ‘The First Irish Translation of the OT (1634–85)’, Biblicum Jassyense: Romanian Journal for Biblical Philology and Hermeneutics 4 (2013): 108–10. 31.  Evelyn S. Shuckburg, ed., Two Biographies of William Bedell, Bishop of Kilmore (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1902), 56. 32. See Ó Fearghail, ‘First Irish Translation of the OT’, 112–13. 33. See Lawlor, Ricemarch, xxii–xxiii n. 8. 34. See Bedell to Laud, 2 September 1637, in Shuckburg, Two Biographies, 342. 35. Marsh’s Library MS Z.4.2.3a–b; University Library Cambridge MS Dd.9.7. 36.  Compare Padraig de Brún and Máire Herbert, Catalogue of Irish Manuscripts in Cambridge Libraries (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 120 n. 21.

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4. King and His Translation Discredited The project was now threatened by attacks on King who was accused among other things of being ‘unlearned in Holy Scripture and Divinity . . . neglecting his cure, not conforming his wife and children to the religion established’.37 He was prosecuted, deprived of his parish, fined and placed under arrest.38 His benefice was taken by a Scottish cleric, William Bayley. More worryingly for Bedell, the accusations levelled at King led to doubts being cast on his ‘Translation of God’s booke’.39 Since King was a person ‘so inconsiderable in the world’, nothing of his, it was suggested, ‘could be worthy of publick use in the church of God’.40 Bedell defended King, reminding his opponents that the Lord Primate and others had recommended him. He was, he wrote, ‘a man of yt [that] knowne sufficiency for the Irish especially, either in prose or verse, as few are his matches in the Kingdome’, and he made an appeal that his translation be allowed to speak for itself.41 It was all to no avail. The finances of the project were also affected. Clogie asserts that Bedell was prepared to print the translation of the Old Testament at his own expense, but it is more likely that he was dependent on support that was now no longer forthcoming.42 Any hope that remained of publishing the translation went with the outbreak of war in Ulster on 23 October 1641. Most of the English and Scottish colonists fled but Bedell stayed in the episcopal palace with his family and was well treated by his Catholic neighbours. He and his family were later moved to the island castle of Lough Oughter, and later to the house of Denis Sheridan, one of Bedell’s clerical friends; Sheridan retrieved Bedell’s belongings from the palace, including the ‘Hebrew Bible’, given to him in Venice, and presumably also the ‘Psalter in the Irish letter’ and the Irish translation of the Old Testament.43 Bedell died on 9 February 1642 from fever contracted in Sheridan’s crowded house. He was very well respected in the area and the ‘rebels’ gave him a military send-off.44 King’s translation survived, initially in Sheridan’s house, where Bedell died, and later in the possession of Henry Jones who was dean of Kilmore at the outbreak of the war (1637–45) and later bishop of Clogher (1645–61) and Meath (1661–81).

37. Jones, Life, 179. 38. Shuckburg, Two Biographies, 342, 344–7. 39. See Jones, Life, 179. 40.  Shuckburg, Two Biographies, 134; see also Bedell to Strafford, 1 December 1638, in Jones, Life, 179–80. 41. See Bedell to Strafford, 1 December 1638, in Jones, Life, 178. 42. See Shuckburg, Two Biographies, 135, 342 (Bedell to Laud, 2 September 1637). 43. Jones, Life, 73–7. 44. See Shuckburg, Two Biographies, 205.

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5. The New Testament Reprint of 1681 In the 1670s copies of the Irish New Testament were difficult to obtain and Robert Boyle, the ‘father of Chemistry’ (1627–91), who contributed liberally towards the publication of the Bible or portions of it in various languages, resolved to reprint it. He was helped in this venture by Andrew Sall, a former Jesuit whom he probably met in Oxford in 1678. Sall had more than a reprint in mind, though, being anxious that ‘expressions now in use’ were preferable to ‘obsolete antiquated words alien from common perception’.45 Boyle secured the services of an Irish scholar Hugh Reily (Aodh Ó Raghallaigh) to write out the Irish New Testament for the London printer Robert Everingham. Reily did more than write out the text. He edited it in a variety of ways.46 The influence of the Vulgate on his editing and his education in France suggest that he may have been a Catholic priest or at least a student for the Catholic priesthood. Boyle, having failed to find the Irish type that was used by William Kearney, had a new type cut by Joseph Moxon, modelled on the ‘Louvain A type of the Irish Franciscans’, and on 3 June 1680 he made an agreement with Everingham to print ‘five hundred books of ye new Testament in Irish at twenty seven shill. per sheet’.47 On 22 August 1681 Boyle informed Bishop Jones that the printing was finished and that he had dispatched 30 or 40 bound copies to Dublin; the following month he notified him that he had sent over 350 unbound copies in sheets. The whole ‘impression’, he told him, amounted to 500 copies, of which he was retaining some, ‘partly for the use of the Isle of Man, where Irish is spoaken, partly for some of the Scotch HighLanders that use the same Language, & partly for other purposes’.48 How many copies were actually printed is difficult to estimate but the figure may be around 650.49 Some of these were later sent to Scotland for the use of speakers of Scottish Gaelic in the highlands (see below). Boyle’s hopes of providing a New Testament or a Bible in their own language for the Manx people did not bear fruit and it was only in the eighteenth century that the sacred Scriptures were translated into Manx (from the King James version).50 In his editing of the New Testament Reily added marginal references and some explanatory notes, using a recent edition of the King James Version. He added

45. See Sall to Boyle, 17 December 1678, in Thomas Birch, The Works of the Honourable Richard Boyle, 5 vols (London, 1744), 5:602–603. 46. See Ó Fearghail, ‘First Translation into Irish of the New Testament’, 374–81. 47. See McGuinne, Irish Type, 51–3; Robert E. W. Maddison, ‘Robert Boyle and the Irish Bible’, Bulletin of the John Rylands Library 41 (1958): 83–4. 48.  See Boyle to Jones, 22 August and 17 September, in Dopping Papers, vol. 1, nn. 13 and 14, Armagh Public Library. 49. See Anderson, Native Irish, 190; Maddison, Irish Bible, 92. 50. The Gospel of Matthew was printed in 1748; the Gospels and Acts in 1762; Romans to Revelation in 1767; the Old Testament in 1773 (with Wisdom and Ecclesiasticus); a revised New Testament and the complete Bible in 1775.

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a number of notes on his own initiative, as, for example, the explanation of the technical Irish term ‘éiric’ in Mark 10:45 – ‘luach fuasgalta’ (payment for redemption/release). He deleted many of Ó Domhnaill’s additions intended to clarify the text but retained many more, although not always retaining the square brackets indicating their presence. He edited phrases and sentences and made quite a few orthographical changes. On the suggestion of Sall, he replaced rare words in the translation with what he considered to be more comprehensible words. Sall wrote a preface using elements from the preface of a 1667 French Catholic New Testament which Reily translated and Everingham printed. The English and Irish versions were sent to Ireland to be bound with 350 unbound exemplars.

6. The Old Testament of 1685 When the New Testament was being prepared for the printer, Boyle and Sall were notified of the existence of an Irish translation of the Old Testament. Henry Jones, now bishop of Meath, wrote to Boyle on 4 August 1680 offering him the manuscript for publication. For him the completion of the Bible in Irish was a ‘worke greately to Gods glory, in bringing, by his grace, many from darknes to light’.51 Jones was also in touch with Sall who had intimated to him that the manuscript would have to be revised before being printed.52 When Sall was eventually given Bedell’s manuscript in early December 1681 he found it ‘a confused heap, pittiefully defaced and broken’, which would require ‘verie great labour’ to bring it into some order. He had a bookbinder bind what he could gather, and he hoped to make up a ‘compleat old testament’ with the help of Pól Ó hUiginn (Paul Higgins), the Irish lecturer in Trinity College Dublin.53 A ‘cleere copie’ of the manuscript had to be made, since there were numerous corrections and revisions throughout, mostly interlinear, from the time of the translation.54 For this Sall employed a scribe Uilliam Ua Duinnín (William Denine) who could speak and write Irish well.55 Narcissus Marsh, the English provost of Trinity College, Dublin, was also involved. These were later joined by another Irish scholar, John Mullan (Seán Ó Maoláin), a former Catholic priest, and together they helped ‘to get the Book transcrib’d and prepar’d for the Press’.56 The final member of the team was the London-based Hugh Reily, 51.  Jones to Boyle, 4 August 1680, in Correspondence of Robert Boyle, ed. Michael Hunter, Antonio Clericuzio and Lawrence M. Principe, 6 vols (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2001): 5:208. 52. Jones to Boyle, 3 September 1681, in Hunter et al., Correspondence, 5:264. 53.  On Ó hUiginn, see Tomás Ó Fiaich, ‘Pól Ó hUiginn’, The Maynooth Review 2.1 (1976): 42–51. 54. See Sall to Boyle, 13 December 1681, in Hunter et al., Correspondence, 5:279. 55. On Ua Duinnín, see de Brún and Herbert, Catalogue, 121 n. 40; letter of Archbishop Narcissus Marsh to Thomas Smith, 19 January 1705–1706, in J. H. Todd, ‘Original Letter of Archbishop Marsh’, The Christian Examiner NS II (1833): 769–70. 56. See Marsh to Thomas Smith in Todd, ‘Original Letter’, 767–8, 769–70.

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who prepared the final copy for the printer. It was Reily’s criticisms of Denine’s work that led to the employment of Mullan.57 As the transcript progressed Marsh checked it against Bedell’s original copy with the aid of Sall (when he was able), Higgins, Mullan and Denine, and sometimes ‘some other Gentlemen well skill’d in Irish’. The transcript was translated into English so that Marsh, with his copy of Walton’s Polyglot to hand, could ‘observe whether it came up to the originall’. When doubts arose, which was seldom, it seems, they debated ‘the true import of the words’ and agreed on ‘a more proper expression’. They left a marginal note for Boyle to confer with Reily in London about it, but this, in Marsh’s view, led to ‘very few alterations’ in the printing.58 Nevertheless, it is evident from a comparison between the original manuscript and the published version of 1685 that Reily did quite a bit more than simply correcting the proofs. As he had done in the case of the 1681 New Testament, Reily added biblical cross-references, most likely from the same edition of the King James Bible that he had used earlier for the New Testament. Some marginal notes taken from the King James Bible at the time of the original translation into Irish were retained. The alternative ‘marginal readings’ of the King James Version were not included, Boyle agreeing with Marsh that ‘in an Irish version, intended chiefly for Papists’, it would not be ‘safe and prudent to put various Renderings, at least in ye first Edition that may breed some scruples & suspitions in ye Readers’.59 The brief summary introductions to the chapters in the manuscript were also omitted. Reily was strongly critical of the original translation – the variety of expressions used for ‘ye same words in ye originall’ and the slavish following of the English version.60 Marsh accepted that the translation followed the English verbatim to the detriment of the Irish idiom but he maintained on the authority of those who understood the language that the Irish, though less elegant, was ‘proper enough, and never the less intelligible by the vulgar people’. In their view it was ‘a good, plain, familiar translation’, and, he added, ‘if it were more elegant, it would not be so fit, as now it is, for common use’.61 On Sall’s death in April 1682 Marsh took upon himself the task of having the work transcribed and prepared for the press. He continued to work on the project in Trinity after his consecration as Bishop of Ferns and Leighlin in May 1683. When Marsh left the college for his diocese around Easter 1684 ‘all the Canonicall books had been prepared and fitted for the Press’; most, if not all of the Apocrypha ‘were transcribed’, he wrote, ‘but never compar’d & examin’d’.62 The latter were

57. See Reily to Boyle, 18 September 1682, Marsh’s Library Z4.4.8, letter n. 8 (enclosure), and January 1682/3, Marsh’s Library Z4.4.8, letter n. 13 (enclosure). 58. Todd, ‘Original Letter’, 767–78. 59. Boyle to Marsh, 2 September 1682, Marsh’s Library Z4.4.8, letter n. 7. 60. Reily to Boyle, 18 September 1682, Marsh’s Library Z4.4.8, letter n. 8 (enclosure). 61.  Marsh to Boyle, February 1682/83, in Birch, The Works of the Honourable Richard Boyle, 5:612. 62. Letter of Marsh to Thomas Smith, 19 January 1705/6, in Todd, ‘Original Letter’, 771.

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eventually omitted from the printed Bible, since neither Boyle  – nor Marsh, it seems – wished to have them included. The manuscript was preserved and is in Cambridge University Library. By the end of 1685 the Old Testament text was in print, with Boyle bearing the cost of the printing. In March 1685/86 fifty advance copies of the Old Testament unbound (to save customs charges) and without title page or preface were sent to Robert Huntington, Marsh’s successor as provost in Trinity College.63 Boyle put some copies aside for Gaelic speakers in Scotland but then discovered from the reverend James Kirkwood, a Scotsman ministering in exile in Astwick in Bedfordshire, how widely Gaelic was spoken in Scotland. The upshot of this was that Boyle decided to send more copies of the New Testament and of the Old Testament to Scotland as well as complete Bibles.

7. The Irish Bible of 1690 It was a suggestion of the Scottish minister Robert Kirk that led to the first printing of the Irish Bible in one volume in 1690. Kirk, a Gaelic scholar and a friend of Kirkwood, was minister of Aberfoyle, north of Glasgow, and was already involved in the distribution of Irish Bibles in the highlands.64 He favoured the distribution of the Bible free of charge and suggested that it be printed in Roman characters.65 In 1688 Kirk began the work of transcribing the Old Testament and New Testament into Roman type and eighteen months later set off with his transcript for London where he supervised its printing by Everingham.66 Kirk presumably used Reily’s manuscript to make good omissions in the 1681 New Testament (Matt 16:12; part of John 4:13–14 and of Rev 14:17–18) and in the 1685 Old Testament (Ezra 10:4; Job 17:9; Ps 63:8; Prov 8:2c–3; 22:6). Kirk did not just copy the Irish Bible. He composed brief introductions to the chapters after the manner of the King James Version and added running headings. He also made some corrections, as in Exod 35:11 where he altered the Irish translation of the English term ‘taches’ (hooks/bars) from ‘tuighe’ (thatch) to ‘táiste’ (hooks). Among other editorial interventions he brought Eph 1:10 and 6:21 closer to the King James Version. He added three pages at the end of the Old Testament containing a table of the names of officials and titles in the Bible, a table of kindred and affinity from the BCP and a table of measurements. He deleted the marginal references and notes added by Reily as well as the prayer at the end of the Irish New Testament, added a short glossary explaining the most difficult words and

63. Maddison, ‘Irish Bible’, 96, quoting letter of Marsh to Boyle of 22 March 1685/86. 64.  See Donald McLean, ‘The Life and Labours of the Rev. Robert Kirk, of Aberfoyle’, Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Inverness 31 (1922–24): 338, 340–4. 65. See letter of Kirkwood to Boyle, 27 December 1687, in Hunter et al., Correspondence, 6:242; McLean, ‘Robert Kirk’, 328–66. 66. McLean, ‘Robert Kirk’, 347.

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included a brief list of errata. Not all the mistakes in the original printing were detected by Kirk. The omission of the reference to Lot in Gen 13:1c, for example, escaped notice until McQuige’s edition of 1817. By 1 April 1690 an Irish Bible, ‘Kirk’s Bible’, as it came to be known in Scotland, was in print, Kirk announcing in a letter of April 1690 to Colin Campbell of Carwhin, ‘At last ye Bibles are printed. Blessed be God.’67 In all 3,000 copies of the Bible and 1,000 copies of the New Testament were printed,68 but their distribution was slow, and the Irish spoken in Ireland was not so popular among the Gaelic speakers of Scotland. This difficulty had already been mentioned in a letter of Bishop Ramsay of Ross to Kirkwood in August 1688: ‘we are removed at a distance from Ireland and the west Isles that it will Oblidge the Presbyters to Paraphrase many words in the Irish bible before they be Understood fully by Their people.’69

8. The Editions of McQuige and O’Reilly While thousands of copies of the New Testament were published for Gaelic speakers in Scotland in the second half of the eighteenth century, little was done in Ireland. The situation changed in Ireland in the first half of the nineteenth century, with the founding of the British and Foreign Bible Society (BFBS) in 1804. Initially, it seems, there was little enthusiasm in the established church for an Irish Bible for Irish speakers. According to a clergyman from Cashel writing in November 1804, the general opinion in Ireland was that ‘little, if any good, could in the present day be effected by their distribution’, that most Irish speakers could not read it and that those who could would probably be against its distribution.70 Having deliberated on the issue for a number of years the society decided to go ahead with the publication of the Irish New Testament. James McQuige, a Methodist preacher first appointed on the Limerick circuit in 1789 and a fluent Irish speaker, was appointed as editor.71 His edition of the New Testament in Roman type, completed in 1810 67. McClean, ‘Robert Kirk’, 347. 68.  Letter from Kirkwood to Boyle, 30 October 1690, in Hunter et al., Correspondence, 6:315; see also Appendix l:  ‘Documents connected with the circulation of the Bible and other religious texts in the Highlands, 1687–91’, Hunter et al., Correspondence, 6:343–55. 69.  Letter from Ramsay to Kirkwood, after 24 August 1688, in Hunter et  al., Correspondence 6:352; see McLean, ‘Robert Kirk’, 351; Donald Meek, ‘The Gaelic Bible’, in The Bible in Scottish Life and Literature, ed. David F. Wright (Edinburgh:  Saint Andrews Press, 1988), 14–15. 70. The First Five Reports of the British and Foreign Bible Society (London: BFBS, 1810), 37–8; compare pp. 39, 140–1, 176; emphasis in the original. 71.  See Robert H. Gallagher, Pioneer Preachers of Irish Methodism (Belfast:  Wesley Historical Society, 1965), 62; Risteard Ó Glaisne, Modaigh. Scéal Pobail–Scéal Eaglaise (Dublin:  An Clóchomhar, 1998), 64; Pádraig de Brún, Scriptural Instruction in the Vernacular:  The Irish Society and its Teachers 1818–1827 (Dublin:  Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 2009), 11–13, 95, 109.

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and printed by Thomas Rutt, a stereotype printer of Shacklewell in England, was in circulation in 1811.72 The text followed closely Kirk’s 1690 edition of Reily’s 1681 edition of the New Testament. McQuige retained the brief introductions to the chapters and the glossary at the end. He used italics for words in square brackets in earlier editions of the Irish New Testament, for italicized words in the King James Version and for words in the Irish translation that had no apparent parallel in the King James Version. One of the changes was his frequent italicizing of ‘féin’ (self), an emphasis he did not find in the King James Version. The first edition of the New Testament produced by the BFBS edition ran to 2,000 copies. An edition of 3,000 copies was produced from the same plates in 1813, with further editions in 1815, 1816, 1819 and 1824.73 McQuige’s preaching ministry was cut short in 1815 in the wake of an accusation made against him of improper conduct (an accusation that was withdrawn after his death). He continued working for the Bible Society and in 1817 the first edition of the complete Irish Bible published by the BFBS appeared in London. Printed in Roman type by James Moyes, it had a print run of 5,000 copies. For the New Testament McQuige used the text of the 1810 edition with some further editing (e.g. Matt 1:23; 2:11; 3:14; 4:25; 18:8; 23:27; 27:7; Luke 6:1; 8:25; John 10:22; Acts 4:34; 13:34). In 1 Cor 16:22 he rendered the Greek phrase ἤτω ἀνάθεμα. μαράνα θά with ‘biodh sé malluighthe óir atá an tighearna air na theacht’ (may he be accursed for the Lord has come) rather than the interpretive version of earlier editions, ‘biodh sé mallaighthe go síorruidhe’ (may he be accursed forever). For the Old Testament he used Kirk’s edition of 1690, making good the omission of Gen 13:1c that had escaped Kirk’s eagle eye, and revising the glossary. The following year the BFBS published an edition of the New Testament in Irish type, printed in London by Richard Watts, using the so-called Watts type for the first time.74 McQuige used the text of 1817 and edited it (e.g. Luke 1:3; 9:12b; Acts 4:34; Eph 1:11; Titus 1:5). He included a page with the alphabet in Irish and Roman type, a list of contractions and a glossary. The stereotype 1818 edition was frequently reprinted.75 Both the 1818 edition in Irish type of the New Testament and Tadhg Connellan’s publication in 1822 of Genesis and Exodus were harshly criticized by Edward O’Reilly.76 The criticisms of McQuige’s edition were discussed by the Hibernian

72.  See de Brún, Scriptural Instruction, 17 n. 4; Reports of the British and Foreign Bible Society (1811, 1812, 1813) (London: British and Foreign Bible Society, 1813), 26. 73.  See Thomas H. Darlow and Horace F. Moule, Historical Catalogue of the Printed Editions of Holy Scripture in the Library of the British and Foreign Bible Society II.2 (London: The Bible House; repr., Mansfield: Martino, 2001), 795–6. 74. McGuinne, Irish Type, 88. 75. 1819, 1820, 1821, 1823, 1827, 1827, 1828, 1837, 1844, 1861. 76. A Chronological Account of Nearly Four Hundred Irish Writers [. . .] with a Descriptive Catalogue (Dublin: Iberno-Celtic Society, 1820), clxxx–clxxxii.

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Bible Society in Dublin on 22 November 1822 and the members were satisfied that ‘material and very numerous errors exist in the Irish version of the New Testament edited by the British and Foreign Bible Society’. How serious these errors were, or what they were, is not made clear but for the next edition of the Irish Bible the Society urged that the texts of Daniel and Bedell should not be departed from unless out of absolute necessity. McQuige was placed under the supervision of a committee that included Monck Mason, the secretary of the Hibernian Bible Society, and four others, and he was instructed to adhere strictly to the text as he found it, except in the case of typographical errors. The Bible was published in 1827. Despite all the controversy, the Old Testament text was based on that of 1817, while the New Testament was that of 1818. A  characteristic of the 1827 edition, due perhaps to the influence of Monck Mason, was the replacement of ‘Anglicisms’ by ‘Irish terms’,77 as, for example: ‘spéur’ (air) for ‘fiormament’ (firmament) in Genesis 1 or ‘fáschrann’ for ‘plannda’ (plant) in Genesis 2, or, in Numbers 7–10, the replacement of ‘uachdarán’ (leader) for ‘prionnsa’ (prince), ‘reachd’ for ‘statúid’ (statute), ‘iodhabhartha’ or ‘tabhartus’ or ‘tioluchadh’ for ‘ofráil’ (offering), ‘damh’ for ‘bulóg’ (bullock), or the widespread replacement of ‘fábhar’ (favour) by a variety of words such as ‘cinéal’ (kindness), ‘grása’ (grace), ‘trócaire’ (mercy). Although this tendency is evident throughout the Bible, it is much more pronounced in the Old Testament.78 Other examples of McQuige’s editing may also be seen in the text (e.g. Job 17:9; Ps 63:8; Prov 10:10; Matt 6:5; Acts 13:17; Rom 3:8, 22; Eph 6:9). Unlike the Bible of 1817, that of 1827, printed by Grierson and Keene in Dublin, was in Irish type. The debate about the Roman or Irish type had continued for some years after the printing of the New Testament of 1810, and it was pointed out repeatedly that the Irish far preferred this Irish type to the Roman type.79 In 1829 the SPCK published in Dublin an edition of the New Testament with the text of McQuige and with biblical references between the columns taken from the SPCK edition of the Bible of George D’Oyly and Richard Mant.80 The following year the Hibernian Bible Society published a Bible and New Testament edited by Edward O’Reilly and supervised by Monck Mason. Despite O’Reilly’s earlier criticisms of McQuige, his text appears to be a faithful reproduction of that of 1827.81 The New

77.  See Henry J. Monck Mason, History of the Origin and Progress of the Irish Society (Dublin: Goodwin, Son, and Nethercott, 1844), 19–20. 78.  For further examples, see Fearghus Ó Fearghail, ‘An Bíobla Gaeilge in Éirinn’, in Irisleabhar Mhá Nuad 2015 (Dingle: An Sagart, 2015), 82–3. 79. See McGuinne, Irish Type, 176–8. 80. See Monck Mason, History, 35. 81.  See Henry J. Monck Mason, The Life of William Bedell, D.D. (London:  Seeley and Burnside, 1843), 317; Thomas K. Abbot, ‘On the History of the Irish Bible’, Hermathena 17 (1912): 47.

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Testament was also printed separately and was reprinted in 1849. The Bible and New Testament were reprinted in 1852. Between 1810 and 1850 many thousands of copies of the New Testament and Bible in Irish were printed – far in excess of those printed in the seventeenth century. In 1846 Christopher Anderson put the combined figure at over 80,000; the figure given in the forty-sixth report of the BFBS published in 1850 comes to almost 100,000.82 Despite the many editions of the New Testament of 1602/3, the Old Testament of 1685 and the Bible of 1690, and despite the editorial work of Reily, Kirk, McQuige and O’Reilly, the relatively few readings given at the foot of the page of O’Reilly’s edition of the Bible of 1830 give some indication of how faithful subsequent editors of the Bible and particularly of the New Testament remained to the work of the original translators.

9. Conclusion In comparison with most European countries, the Irish Bible was a late arrival on the scene. An Irish translation of the New Testament, although supported by Queen Elizabeth I, only appeared in 1602/3, while a further eight decades would pass before an Irish version of the Old Testament was printed (1685). It was only in 1690 that an Irish Bible in one volume was available to speakers of Irish in Ireland and of Scottish Gaelic in Scotland. This in itself was a major achievement since the authorities were none too positively disposed towards such translations. As to what influence the appearance of these translations had on the language, it is difficult to say, but the influence of the Irish translations was nothing like that of the Welsh Bible which had an extremely important influence on the development of the Welsh language and on the religious and social life of Wales. It is true that the Irish New Testament was used by Irish writers such as Aodh Mac Aingil and Geoffrey Keating and that neologisms which were created for the Irish version found their way into the language, but its association with the established church in Ireland, the negative view of Irish in government circles and the political realties on the island did not help its popularity even in the nineteenth century, when far more copies of the Irish Bible were distributed in Ireland. True the Irish translations were used by Catholic priests  – after all this was the only available translation at hand – but the broader national context in which copies of the New Testament and the Bible were distributed throughout the country, particularly the controversies relating to the Bible Societies in various parts of the country, not least in the strongest Irish-speaking areas, militated against the popularity of the translation. Nevertheless, the translation of the Bible into Irish remains one of the

82.  Anderson, Native Irish, 193; The Forty-Sixth Report of the British and Foreign Bible Society; MDCCCL (London: British and Foreign Bible Society, 1850), 52.

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greatest contributions to the language and literature of Ireland that deserves far more recognition and far more study than has been accorded to it in the past.

Bibliography Abbot, Thomas K. ‘On the History of the Irish Bible’. Hermathena 17 (1912): 29–50. Anderson, Christopher. The Native Irish, and Their Descendants. 3d ed. London: Pickering, 1846. Bèze, Theodore. Iesu Christi D.N. Nouum Testamentum. Geneva: 1565, 1582. Birch, Thomas. The Works of the Honourable Richard Boyle. London: 1744. Calendar of the State Papers Relating to Ireland (CSPI) 1592; 1592–96; 1603–1606. Campbell, Gordon. Bible: The Story of the King James Version 1611–2011. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Cunningham, Bernadette. The World of Geoffrey Keating: History: Myth and Religion in Seventeenth-Century Ireland. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2000. Darlow, Thomas H., and Horace F. Moule. Historical Catalogue of the Printed Editions of Holy Scripture in the Library of the British and Foreign Bible Society II.2. London: The Bible House, 1911. Repr., Mansfield: Martino, 2001. Dasent, John R. Acts of the Privy Council of England 1587–88. London: Stationary Office, 1897. De Brún, Pádraig. Scriptural Instruction in the Vernacular: The Irish Society and Its Teachers 1818–1827. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 2009. De Brún, Pádraig, and Máire Herbert. Catalogue of Irish Manuscripts in Cambridge Libraries. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Elrington, Charles R. The Whole Works of the Most Rev. James Ussher I–XVII. Dublin: Hodges, Smith & Co., 1864. The First Five Reports of the British and Foreign Bible Society. London: British and Foreign Bible Society, 1810. The Forty-Sixth Report of the British and Foreign Bible Society; MDCCCL. London: British and Foreign Bible Society, 1850. Gallagher, Robert H. Pioneer Preachers of Irish Methodism. Belfast: Wesley Historical Society, 1965. Hunter, Michael, Antonio Clericuzio and Lawrence M. Principe, eds. Correspondence of Robert Boyle. 6 vols. London: Pickering & Chatto, 2001. Jones, Thomas Wharton. A True Relation of the Life and Death of the Right Reverend Father in God William Bedell. Westminster: Cambden Society, 1872. Kirwood, Albert E. M. ‘Richard Field, Printer, 1589–1624’. Library, NS 12 (1931): 1–39. Lawlor, Hugh Jackson. The Psalter and Martyrology of Ricemarch. London: Henry Bradshaw Society, 1914. Leslie, James B. Clergy of Kilmore, Elphin and Ardagh. Edited by D. W. Coats. Belfast: Ulster Historical Foundation, 2008. Leslie, James B. Ossory Clergy and Parishes. Enniskillen: Richie, 1933. Maddison, Robert E. W. ‘Robert Boyle and the Irish Bible’. Bulletin of the John Rylands Library 41 (1958): 81–101. McCaughey, Terence. Dr. Bedell and Mr. King: The Making of the Irish Bible. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 2010.

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McClintock Dix, Ernest R. Printing in Dublin Prior to 1601. Dublin: O’Loughlin, 1932. McGuinne, Dermot. Irish Type Design: A History of Printing Types in the Irish Character. Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 1992. McLean, Donald. ‘The Life and Labours of the Rev. Robert Kirk, of Aberfoyle’. Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Inverness 31 (1922–24): 328–66. McNeill, Charles, ed. Tanner Letters. Dublin: Stationary Office, 1943. Meek, Donald. ‘The Gaelic Bible’. Pages 9–23 in The Bible in Scottish Life and Literature. Edited by David F. Wright. Edinburgh: Saint Andrew Press, 1988. Monck Mason, Henry J. History of the Origin and Progress of the Irish Society. Dublin: Goodwin, Son, & Nethercott, 1844. Monck Mason, Henry J. The Life of William Bedell, D.D. London: Seeley and Burnside, 1843. Norton, David. A Textual History of the King James Bible. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Ó Cuív, Brian. Aibidil Gaoidheilge and Caiticiosma: Seaán Ó Cearnaigh’s Irish Primer of Religion Published in 1571. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1992. Ó Fearghail, Fearghus. ‘An Bíobla Gaeilge in Éirinn’. Irisleabhar Mhá Nuad 2015. Dingle: An Sagart, 2015, 41–87. Ó Fearghail, Fearghus. ‘The First Irish Translation of the OT (1634–85)’. Biblicum Jassyense: Romanian Journal for Biblical Philology and Hermeneutics 4 (2013): 103–24. Ó Fearghail, Fearghus. ‘The Irish New Testament of 1602 in its European Context’. PIBA 31 (2008): 90–105. Ó Fearghail, Fearghus. ‘Uilliam Ó Domhnaill’s Irish Version of the Book of Common Prayer (1608) and His Old Testament Translations into Irish’. PIBA 32 (2009): 99–130. Ó Fearghail, Fearghus. ‘ “A Work Which Generations Had Hoped For”: The First Translation into Irish of the New Testament’. Pages 347–86 in ‘Wading Lambs and Swimming Elephants’: The Bible for the Laity and Theologians in Late Medieval and Early Modern Era. Edited by W. François and A. A. den Hollander. BETL 257. Leuven: Peeters, 2012. Ó Fiaich, Tomás. ‘Pól Ó hUiginn’. The Maynooth Review 2.1 (1976): 42–51. Ó Glaisne, Risteard. Modaigh: Scéal Pobail–Scéal Eaglaise. Dublin: An Clóchomhar, 1998. Ó Macháin, Pádraig. ‘Two Nugent Manuscripts: The Nugent Duanaire and Queen Elizabeth’s Primer’. Ríocht na Midhe 23 (2012): 121–42. O’Reilly, Edward. A Chronological Account of Nearly Four Hundred Irish Writers [. . .] with a Descriptive Catalogue. Dublin: Iberno-Celtic Society, 1820. Orpen, Charles. ‘The First Part of Dr Charles Orpen’s Reply to H. M. M. with Proofs of a Few of the Errors of the Irish Bible’. Christian Examiner III (1834): 141–8. Quigley, John. ‘The History of the Irish Bible’. The Irish Church Quarterly 10 (1917): 49–69. Reports of the British and Foreign Bible Society (1811, 1812, 1813). London: British and Foreign Bible Society, 1813. Ryan, Patrick J. Archbishop Miler McGrath 1522–1622. Roscrea: Lisheen Publications, 2014. Scrivener, Frederick H. A. The Authorized Edition of the English Bible. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1884. Shuckburg, Evelyn S., ed. Two Biographies of William Bedell, Bishop of Kilmore. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1902. Todd, James. H. ‘Original Letter of Archbishop Marsh’. The Christian Examiner NS II (1833): 761–72.

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Williams, Nicholas. I bPrionta I Leabhar: Na Protastúin agus Prós na Gaeilge 1567–1724. Dublin: An Clóchomhar, 1986.

MSS Marsh’s Library MS Z.4.2.3a–b; Z4.4.8. Papers of Anthony Dopping, Bishop of Meath (1682–97); Armagh Public Library. TCD MS 50. TCD Mun/1/25. University Library Cambridge MS Dd.9.7.

Chapter 4 ‘THE LIT TLE ONES CALLED FOR BREAD AND THERE WA S N O N E T HAT WOU L D B R E A K I T F O R T H E M’ :   S OM E N O T E S O N T H E U SE O F T H E B I B L E I N T H E S E R M O N S O F B I SHOP J A M E S G A L L AG H E R Ciarán Mac Murchaidh

1. Introduction Bishop James Gallagher was born in the early 1680s possibly around Kinlough, County Leitrim, where the borders of the three Catholic dioceses of Raphoe, Kilmore and Clogher meet.1 While the exact year of Gallagher’s birth is unknown, it was probably around 1684. Details of his early life are vague owing to a lack of extant documentary evidence. From the early 1700s, however, other facts are available that assist in creating a fuller biography. He was awarded an MA by the University of Paris in August 1715 and was appointed (Catholic) bishop of Raphoe in 1725.2 He administered that diocese until he had to leave it in 1735 owing to various threats against his person arising out of the effects of the Penal Laws. Between the years 1735 and 1736 it is alleged that he retreated to an island on Lough Erne where he wrote and prepared the collection of sermons for which he is famous.3 These sermons were published for the first time by Henry Babe in Dublin in 1736 under the title Sixteen Irish Sermons in an Easy and Familiar Stile. 1.  Ciarán Mac Murchaidh, ‘Nótaí Beathaisnéise ar an Dr Séamas Ó Gallchobhair’, Irisleabhar Mhá Nuad (1998):  169–86. See also Proinsias Mac Cana, ‘Séamus Ó Gallchobhair/James Gallagher’, in Collège des Irlandais Paris & Irish Studies (Dublin:  Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 2001), 122–3; Ciarán Mac Murchaidh, ‘Seanmóirí Uí Ghallchóir: Téacs agus Cúlra’, 2 vols (PhD diss., The National University of Ireland, Maynooth, 2003), 1:x–xii; and Ciarán Mac Murchaidh, ‘Dr James Gallagher, Alumnus Kilmorensis: Bishop of Raphoe (1725 Collège 1737) and Kildare and Leighlin (1737–1751)’, Breifne 10 (2004): 219–21. 2. L. W. B. Brockliss and Patrick Ferté, ‘Prosography of Irish Clerics in the Universities of Paris and Toulouse, 1573–1792’, Archivium Hibernicum 58 (2004): 26. 3. Michael Comerford, Collections Relating to the Dioceses of Kildare and Leighlin, 3 vols (Dublin: James Duffy & Sons, 1833–36), 1:76.

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The following year Gallagher was translated as bishop to the diocese of Kildare & Leighlin. He was in Paris in 1741, where he was one of four bishops who supplied an approbatio for Fr Andrew Donleavy’s An Teagasg Críosduidhe, a catechism of Christian doctrine in Irish and English published at Paris in 1742. He died in 1751 after a long and very active ministry. As with the exact details of his birth, the location of Gallagher’s final resting place is uncertain, although it is possible that he was buried at Cross-Patrick near Kilmeague in County Kildare.4 Despite his association with various dioceses during his career, he was an alumnus of the diocese of Kilmore.5

2. Publication of the Sermons While various sources assert that at least twenty-five editions of the sermons were published, this number is exaggerated, owing partly to a table compiled by the bibliophile Séamus Ó Casaide in Fr Pól Breathnach’s 1911 edition (the most recent one to appear).6 The sermons were nonetheless very popular and the full volume appeared in print sixteen times between 1736 and 1911.7 Gallagher’s first edition of the sermons contained sixteen sermons in Irish on a range of themes and a preface in English. From the second edition (1752) onwards, there were seventeen sermons. An extra one, composed by Gallagher after the publication of the 1736 edition, entitled ‘On the Joys of Heaven’, was included in each issue of the text thereafter.

3. Translation of the Sermons All issues of the sermons appeared in the Irish language until the year 1830 when, over a five-year period, a Mr James Byrne translated each sermon and published these in pamphlet form at the price of 3d each.8 In 1835 Mr William Powell of Dublin published the entire text as one volume. The sermons were described on the flyleaf of that volume as having been translated by Mr James Byrne but ‘revised and corrected by a Catholic clergyman’. The identity of this clergyman remains unknown. This was the first time that the sermons appeared in English in one single volume. An English translation was also published in the United States and probably appeared sometime after 1835 (possibly as soon as 1836), as even a

4. Comerford, Collections, 1:78. 5. Mac Murchaidh, ‘Téacs & Cúlra’, 1:xi–xii. 6. Pól Breathnach, Seanmóirí Muighe Nuadhad, IV (Dublin: Muinntir Ghoill, 1911), xii. 7.  Ciarán Mac Murchaidh, ‘Seanmóirí an Easpaig Séamus Ó Gallchóir:  eagráin, aistriúcháin agus aidhmeanna’, in Féilscríbhinn do Chathal Ó Háinle, ed. Eoin Mac Cárthaigh and Jürgen Uhlich (Indreabhán: Cló Iar-Chonnacht, 2012), 417–44. 8. Mac Murchaidh, ‘Seanmóirí an Easpaig Séamus Ó Gallchóir’, 440.

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cursory comparison clearly shows it was based on the Dublin pamphlets. It is the only edition of Gallagher’s sermons ever to have been published anywhere outside of Dublin. It was produced by the noted publisher Fielding Lucas Jnr, of 138 Market Street, Baltimore. It did not include Gallagher’s English-language preface or a contents page. Canon Ulick Bourke of Tuam, County Galway, also provided a translation of the sermons in a bilingual volume which first appeared in 1877 and which was reprinted twice thereafter in 1878 and 1881.

4. Purpose of Gallagher’s Text Gallagher used the preface to his text, which he wrote in English, to outline his objectives in producing the volume. He devoted much space to explaining his strongly held belief that the act of preaching was one of the primary functions of the pastor. In providing a range of sources in support of this contention in the preface, and in the sermons themselves, Gallagher drew on the writings of the church and synodal fathers but even more heavily on the Bible itself. In his preface to the sermons Gallagher established a firm basis in Scripture for the requirement of all clergy to preach the word of God. His first assertion was that: ‘Christ Jesus, the great shepherd of our souls, who when on earth spared no pains to feed his flock with celestial doctrine, ascending into heaven gave his disciples, and in their persons, to all bishops and priests, a most strict charge to preach the Gospel to all nations, Euntes ergo docete omnes gentes’ (Matt 28:19).9 Furthermore, he stated that the church herself had made it [t]he indispensable duty of as many as she entrusts with the care of souls, to feed them with the Word of God and by breaking the bread of doctrine to her children, to avoid that bitter imputation of the prophet Jeremy against the Jewish teachers: ‘The little ones called for bread, and there was none that would break it for them’ (Lamentations 4:4).10

In the very opening paragraph of his preface, therefore, Gallagher unequivocally establishes the importance of the word of God in the church’s mission to teach the faith and to ensure that this word is used to feed those that hunger for the faith. In the second paragraph he invokes St Paul (1 Cor 9:16) where he reiterates that he should have to endure a punishment (a vae) if he failed to preach the Gospel.11 His reasoning for such an assertion was that the faithful could not learn the mysteries of faith or develop true belief if they did not have the word of God preached to them. Once again he drew on St Paul in Rom 10:14 for his authority, asking how

9. James Gallagher, Sixteen Irish Sermons in an Easy and Familiar Stile (Dublin: Henry Babe, 1736), i. 10. Gallagher, Sixteen Irish Sermons, ii. 11. Gallagher, Sixteen Irish Sermons, ii.

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the faithful could believe in one about whom they had never heard, and how they might hear without recourse to a preacher.12 Gallagher presents two central and interrelated issues here: the responsibility of the church to relay the word of God to the faithful and to do so through the medium of the preached word. This chapter proposes to provide some indication as to the extent to which Gallagher used the Scriptures to encourage and assist his clergy in preaching the Gospel through the medium of the Irish language and to indicate the wider importance of the Bible in the tradition of Catholic preaching at the time.

5. Use of the Bible in the Sermons Gallagher’s respect for the authority of Scripture is evident throughout his book of sermons. Drawing on the Old and New Testaments, as well as some of the books of the Apocrypha, there are 242 discrete references to Scripture in the text. In the fourth sermon in the volume, ‘On Confession and its Conditions’, in a moment of unusual openness, Gallagher, reflecting on the spiritual power of the sacrament, states: Na glac m’fhocalsa air so, a Chriosdaigh, acht glac focal Chriosd ag Eoin ansa 20. cab, mur a ngeallonn don Eagluis a bpearsuin na n-easbol nach bhfuil peacamh ar bith mhaitheamh siadsan air talamh, nach maitheamh seision an sna Flaithios. Quorum remiseritis peccata remittentur eis. Jo. 20:23.13 (Fellow Christians, do not take my word for this but take the word of Christ in John at chapter  20, where he promises to the Church in the person of the apostles that there is no sin whatsoever which they might forgive on earth that he himself would not forgive in Heaven. Whose sins you shall forgive, they are forgiven them.)

It is an exhortation by Gallagher that the people receive the spoken word of God as if Christ himself were delivering it in person. Using the preface in the volume as a declaration of his intentions, it is clear that James Gallagher wrote his collection of sermons with a fourfold purpose in mind: (1) that through their availability to his clergy he could aspire to reach as wide an audience as possible ‘since my repeated troubles debar me of the comfort of delivering them in person’14; (2) to provide sermon material in Irish for the clergy for the reason that ‘they are not the worse to have some [sermon-books] in their mother tongue which may furnish them with thoughts or proper expressions very often wanting to such as gather their

12. Gallagher, Sixteen Irish Sermons, ii. 13.  Gallagher, Sixteen Irish Sermons, 45. I have reproduced quotations from the Irishlanguage text of the first edition faithfully throughout this essay. The síneadh fada accent mark was not used by the printer except in a very small number of instances. 14. Gallagher, Sixteen Irish Sermons, ii.

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discourses from foreign languages’15; (3) by means of his text to encourage those clergy who were not preaching regularly or who were too busy with their pastoral duties to do so that his ‘lucubrations may be of use to begin with till they gain a facility, assurance and leisure to work for themselves’16; and (4) to use language readily accessible to both priest and people, noting that ‘I have made them in an easy and familiar stile, and on purpose omitted cramp expressions which might be obscure to both the preacher and the hearer’.17 From the Council of Trent onwards one of the priorities of the Catholic Church was to seek improvements in the standard of preaching among the clergy. The requirement for priests to instruct their flock on Sundays and feast days was set out in the decree on preaching of 17 June 1546, and reliance on the sermons and preaching of other recognized practitioners was strongly encouraged at later provincial councils in Europe.18 As a consequence of the challenges posed by the Reformation, the concern of Irish bishops in respect of the role of preaching in the pastoral life of the Catholic Church was directly related to a desire to counteract what was perceived as the risk of heresy through the spread of the reformed faiths. Thus the emphasis up until the early 1630s was on countering ignorance, defending Catholic teaching and promoting the salvation of souls.19 Thereafter, however, the continual need to ensure effective preaching and the capacity of priests to discharge this duty through the medium of the Irish language remained a matter of significant anxiety for the Irish church throughout the late seventeenth and especially the eighteenth centuries.20 Such concern would suggest that priests did not always meet the required standard or, in some instances, that they failed to preach at all.21 15.  Gallagher, Sixteen Irish Sermons, iii. This echoes the comments of an earlier Irish Franciscan theologian named Aodh Mac Aingil in his 1618 work, Scáthán Shacramuinte na hAithridhe, ed. Cainneach Ó Maonaigh (Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1952). Mac Aingil noted that while every other Catholic nation had printed religious books, they were especially required in Ireland because that nation was ‘without teachers, prelates and preachers except for the few who were in hiding for fear of death or imprisonment’. See pp. 4–5, lines 67–73. 16. Gallagher, Sixteen Irish Sermons, iii–iv. 17. Gallagher, Sixteen Irish Sermons, iv. 18.  Peter Bayley, French Pulpit Oratory, 1598–1650 (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1980), 43–4. 19.  Bernadette Cunningham, ‘ “Zeal for God and for Souls”:  Counter-Reformation Preaching in Early Seventeenth-Century Ireland’, in Irish Preaching, 700–1700, ed. Alan J. Fletcher and Raymond Gillespie (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2001), 108–26 (110). 20.  Ciarán Mac Murchaidh, ‘The Catholic Church, the Irish Mission and the Irish Language in the Eighteenth Century’, in Irish and English: Essays on the Irish Linguistic and Cutural Frontier, 1600–1900, ed. James Kelly and Ciarán Mac Murchaidh (Dublin:  Four Courts Press, 2012), 162–88. 21.  David Ryan, ‘Catholic Preaching in Ireland, 1760–1840’, in The Remaking of Modern Ireland, 1750–1950:  Beckett Prize Essays in Irish History, ed. Raymond Gillespie

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The authority of the preacher derived from his role as the interpreter of the word of God and the conduit for the church’s teachings. The interpretation of Scripture, therefore, was a key element in the structure and import of the sermon.22 Bernadette Cunningham has noted that leading seventeenthcentury Irish Catholic preachers like Barnabas Kearney (1578–1640) and Geoffrey Keating (ca. 1569–ca. 1644) ‘constructed their sermons on the premise that references to Scripture were of themselves adequate and did not require much discussion. Just a very brief elucidation was offered of the meaning of the passages quoted. The authority of scripture was accepted as being fundamental’.23 This understanding had evolved by Gallagher’s time, as one of the consequences of the Penal Laws was that many clergy were not well educated and had received little more than an elementary training in theology. In many instances, it is most likely that the Latin quotation used by Gallagher was more a signifier than a theological embellishment for the priest using his text, perhaps as to how such quotations might be used to similar effect. Gallagher almost invariably translated the Latin quotation into Irish or, at the very least, glossed it in such a way as to explain to the reader or the hearer what it meant. Gallagher had intended that his text would be used by his fellow clergy and that through efficient and regular use of the sermons, they would improve their own capability in preaching, as he outlined in his preface: Take then cheerfully, beloved fellow labourers, this small mess of which I make you a gift with which you may feed your flock once a month thro’ the year and have some to spare . . . And by the time your store is exhausted, you’ll acquire a facility both of expression and invention to serve up fresh dishes of your own dressing.24

Gallagher’s aims, therefore, were to present Catholic doctrine in a readily accessible manner and thereby to correct error, encourage moral improvement and provide consolation and encouragement through the positive results of engaging with the word of God and the religious traditions of his church. Consequently, this collection of sermons represents an attempt on Gallagher’s part to reinforce the importance of the Catholic Church’s doctrinal tradition along with the relevance of the word of God for both the clergy as teachers and the faithful as hearers of the word through effective and clear catechesis. A selection of examples from the text of the sermons should help to illustrate the various ways in which Gallagher used scriptural references for the benefit of both preacher and hearer.

(Dublin:  Four Courts Press, 2004), 74–5. See also S. J. Connolly, Priests and People in Pre-Famine Ireland, 1780–1845 (1st ed., Dublin:  Gill & Macmillan, 1982; Dublin:  Gill & Macmillan, 1982; 2nd ed., Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2001), 78–9. 22. Cunningham, ‘Zeal for God and Souls’, 118. 23. Cunningham, ‘Zeal for God and Souls’, 118. 24. Gallagher, Sixteen Irish Sermons, v.

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6. Translation of Scriptural References This is Gallagher’s most frequent approach and there are numerous examples throughout the text of the sermons. At times, Gallagher will connect the point being made with a line from a familiar prayer or relate it to something written by one of the church fathers. In the sermon on the Blessed Lady, for example, drawing on the Hail Mary and the Gospel of Luke he writes: O, ’Mhuire, a Bhainrioghain na cruinne, as mor an cheim so agus an onoir a fuair tu os cean naoimh an domhain acht ni bhfuairis nachar bhfiudh thu . . . Is dimhin gur fior an nidh dubhairt Elisabeth, mathair Eoin Baiste leat gur bheannuighe thu thair na mna. Benedicta tu in mulieribus. Luc. 1:42.25 (Oh Mary, Queen of the universe, great is the recognition and honour you have received above all the saints of the world but you received only that of which you were worthy . . . What Elizabeth, the mother of John the Baptist, said is surely true, that you are blessed among women. Blessed are you amongst women.)

In his first sermon on death, Gallagher refers to the writings of St Basil and draws on a line from the Book of Job to lend emphasis to his point about the importance for all Christians to reflect carefully and regularly on the fact of their own demise. In so doing, he states that the dead themselves are a more effective preacher than any other living being. Dearbhuidh St Basil nach bhfuil iocshlainte ’n-aighe nimh an pheacaidh no leighios air easlainte an anama is eifeachtuidh no smuaineamh tairbheach an bhais. Agus nach bhfuil seanamontuidh no oide eoluis ’ann leas ar n-anama ’chuir romhainn is fear[r] no na mairbh. Agus go tuige? Ata, ma dhearcann tu annsan u[a]igh, chife tu innte, mur anna scathan, an t-amud da ndearnamh thu, mur ata, an luathramhan; an chrioch do gheabhus tu, mur ata, an bas; an id’ eireochus dod’ cholainn, mur ata, a bheth ’na biadh piasta agus ciorog. Putredini dixi pater meus es, mater mea & soror mea vermibus. Job 17:14. (St Basil affirms that there is no antidote against the poison of sin or cure for the ailments of the soul more effective than fruitful thoughts about death, and that there is no better preacher or instructor for the welfare of our souls than the dead themselves. Why so? Because if you look into the grave you will see in it, as if in a mirror, the substance of which you were made, that is, the dust; death, then, is the end that awaits you, and the fate that will befall your body is that you will become the food of worms and maggots. If I say to the pit ‘You are my father’ and to the worm, ‘You are my mother or sister’.)

On other occasions, Gallagher emphasizes his point by drawing on several quotations from Scripture which support his contention. He does so very

25. Gallagher, Sixteen Irish Sermons, 5.

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effectively in his sermon ‘On the Advantages and Conditions of Prayer’, for example, where he draws on three books of the New Testament to reinforce his message. Is eigin dibh, deir Criosd ag Lucas, cap. 18, a bheth choidhthe ag urrnaigh. Opportet semper orare & non deficere. Deir linn a n-ait eile gan scith dhul orrainn, acht ag guidh agus ag molamh De. Sine intermissione orate. 1 Thess. 5:16. Deir linn nach bhfuil meodhan no sligh re buaidh do bhreth air na caithidh is fearr no an urrnaigh. Vigilate & orate ut non intretis in tentationem. Matt. 26:41.26 (You must continually pray, says Christ in Luke, chapter 18. You must always pray and not lose heart. He tells us in another place never to cease praying and praising God. Pray unceasingly. He tells us that there is no better manner or means to overcome temptation than through prayer. Keep watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation.)

In the first of two sermons on the theme of death, Gallagher uses a similar approach in order to bolster the emphasis he wishes to bring to bear on the point being made, drawing on three different books in the Old Testament. Is ioghantus mor so, gan amhrus, agus gan ni ar bith ar an tsaoghal air a ndearcamuid nach gcuirionn an bas a n-amhail dhuinn. Ma dhearcamuid fuinn air an talamh, deirfe an talamh linn nach bhfuil ionainn acht cre agus luathramhan. Memento homo, quia pulvis es & in pulverem reverteris. Gen. 3. Ma fheachamuid suas air an aidhir, dearbhoidh an t-aidhir dhuinn nach bhfuil do bhuanthus annar mbeatha acht urad le siodan guithe. Memento quia ventus est vita mea. Job 7. Ma dhearcamuid uainn air an fhairge agus air na srothana, cuirfid a n-amhail dhuinn go n-imidheann ar n-aimsir agus ar saoghal tharainn gan mhothugh air aiste an tsrotha. Omnes morimur & quasi aquæ dilabimur. 2 Reg. 14. (This is a great wonder indeed, since there is nothing in this life that we behold that does not remind us of death. If we look upon the ground, it will tell us that we are but clay and ashes. Remember man that you are dust and unto dust you shall return. If we look up into the air, it will confirm for us that our lives are no more permanent than the breeze. Remember that my life is but a breath. If we look upon the sea and the rivers, they will show us that our time and our life pass us by unawares, like the waters of the brook. We must all die; just like water that is spilt.)

On many other occasions, Gallagher simply translates the quotation from the Bible without further comment, as he does in these examples from his second sermon on death and from his sermon against swearing:

26. Gallagher, Sixteen Irish Sermons, 137.

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’Ma shiubhalaim ‘measg scaile an bhais, ni baoghal damh olc’, air Davidh an righ. Si ambulavero in medio umbræ mortis, non timebo mala. Psal. 22:4. (‘If I walk in the shadow of death, I will fear no evil’, says King David. If I walk in the midst of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.) Cia be dhearcus air mhnaoi, deir Criosd ag Matha, agus shantuidhios anna chroidhe cuid do bheth aige dhi, ar son nach ndean se an gniomh, ata se, ar a shon sin cionntach a bpeacamh na druise. Qui viderit mulierem ad concupiscendam eam, iam mæcatus est eam in corde suo. Mat. 5. (Whoever looks at a woman, says Christ in Matthew, and desires in his heart to be with her, even though he does not commit the deed, he is nonetheless guilty of the sin of lust. He who looks at a woman lustfully, has already committed adultery with her in his heart.)

7. Expansion of Scriptural References Gallagher frequently uses scriptural references to develop or extend the image or metaphor contained in them. In his sermon on the Blessed Virgin Mary he does this to great effect, although it is worth noting that the trope of Mary’s breasts was a common one in mediaeval literature and theological commentary.27 Ata dha thobar ag Muire as a silean si na morthiolaca bheir si don domhan mur ata, an da chich chorra gheala dhiubhal Criosd ’na leanamh. Beatus venter qui te portavit et ubera quæ suxisti. Luc. 11:27. As an chich dheis bheir si bainne na ngrasa ’na thulle do na firein agus as an chich chlith rana si saidhbhrios na trocaire air na peacaidh. (Mary has two wells out of which she pours the great gifts she confers on the world, namely those two round, white breasts which Christ suckled as a child. Blessed is the womb that bore you and the breasts you have suckled. From the right breast she gives forth in torrents the milk of grace for all the just and from the left breast she shares the riches of mercy among sinners.)

One of the best examples of Gallagher’s use of Scripture to develop an extended image occurs in his famous sermon about the events that Christians believe will take place on the day the world will end, ‘On the Last Judgement’.28 Gallagher uses 27. See, for example, Yael Manes, Motherhood and Patriarchal Masculinities in SixteenthCentury Italian Comedy (Farnham:  Ashgate, 2011), 29–30; and Gary D. Martin, Multiple Originals: New Approaches to Hebrew Bible Textual Criticism (Atlanta:  Society of Biblical Literature, 2010). Gallagher may have been drawing on Gregory of Nyssa’s commentary on the Song of Songs here, as there are several references therein to breasts from which the ‘divine milk’ of nourishment flows. He was certainly familiar with the work of many of the church fathers, as there are numerous references to them throughout the sermons. 28.  Preachers who published collections of sermons later in the eighteenth century almost certainly drew on Gallagher’s sermon on the Last Judgement. See, for example,

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the inspiration to be found in Luke 21:25 to paint a vivid picture of how he sees the events of that day unfolding. He succeeds in creating a frightening and dramatic description designed to move his listeners to action in respect of the need to prepare well in advance of God’s judgement. He does this by using the phrase ‘et in terris pressura gentium’ as a basis from which to create a graphic and vivid account of the last hours of the world. It is one of the most impressive passages in the entire volume. Taibhsidhmid dhuinn fein go bhfaicemid na comharrthaidh ioghantach ud air a labhran an scrioptuir ansa ghrein agus ansa ngealaidh, ansan aedhir agus ann sna realtaibh, air muir agus air tir, ann sna nasuin agus ansa domhan uile. Erunt signa in sole et luna et stellis et in terris pressura gentium. Luc. 21:25. God e an chuma, mheasus sibh, a bheis air an tsaoghal an uair thucfus na comharrthaidh ud? An uair a bheis an fhairge mhor air dearglasugh, togbhail a tonna suas ’na morshleibhte anson aedhir, ag deanamh torman agus fuama eugsamhla? An uair bheis na heleminnte a gcomhbhuaireamh agus a gcogugh re cheile? Nuair bheis eclips air an ngrein, an ghealach ’na fuil, na realta tuitim as na speiridh, an talamh ar crith, na palais agus na caslain a tuitim, na cathreacha mora da slugamh, uaidhe agus tombaidh na mairbh da bhfoscailt agus ag tligin cuirp agus cnamha na marbh asta, na daoine faghail bhais re eagla agus ag aiseridh gan mhoil ’ann a’ bhretheamhinuis. (Let us imagine that we see those wondrous signs about which Scripture speaks in the sun and the moon, in the air and in the stars, at sea and on land, in the nations and in the whole world. There will be signs in the sun, the moon and the stars and, on earth, the distress of nations. What appearance, do you think, will be upon the world when those signs come? When the ocean will be alight with red flames, churning its waves up in great mountains into the air, creating a tumult and making all kinds of noises. When the elements will be in commotion and at war with one another. When the sun will be eclipsed, the moon appear blood red, the stars fall out of the sky, the earth trembling, the palaces and castles collapsing, great cities being swallowed up, the graves and tombs of the dead opening up and flinging forth from them the bodies and bones of the dead, people dying in terror and rising immediately unto judgement.)

Gallagher uses a quotation from Scripture to similar advantage in his sermon ‘On the Advantages of Receiving Worthily’. He takes as his text Luke 14:16: ‘A certain man once gave a great banquet and invited many to it.’ In the opening paragraph of that sermon, he explores his own understanding of what the concept of the banquet stands for but also how others, including the church fathers, and the church more widely – which may be taken as referring to the magisterium – have done so. In so doing, he provides within a few paragraphs a perfect example of

William Gahan, ‘On the General Judgment’, in Sermons for Every Sunday and for the Leading Holidays of Obligation, ed. James O’Leary (New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co., 1880), 11–12.

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how a preacher might take a quotation from Scripture and use it to develop a much broader narrative for the reader of the sermon, or for a congregation. The use of the simple image of someone inviting friends to a meal is one easily built on. From this one line of Scripture, Gallagher creates an entire preamble (amounting to almost 400 words) for his sermon on the advantages of receiving the Eucharist in a worthy state.29 For the novice or inexperienced preacher it is a lesson in how to go about drawing on such a technique to assist in crafting an effective piece of oratory. Later on in the sermon, Gallagher quotes rather cleverly from 1 Peter to expand on the theme of preserving one’s state of grace for reception of the Holy Sacrament. Nil, a chairde, arm is suraillte agus is eifeachtuidh no an tSacrament Naomhtha so, ’an diobairt agus briseamh chur air an leoghan chraosach ud, an diabhal, bhios go cinnte, mur deir St. Peadar, ag cur lionnta agus luidheachan romhainn ’an ar sluighthe. Tamquam leo rugiens circuit quærens quem devoret. 1 Pet. 5. (My dear friends, there is no surer and more effective weapon than this Holy Sacrament with which to repel and conquer that rapacious lion, the devil, who most certainly, as St Peter says, sets traps and lays ambushes before us in order to swallow us up. Like a roaring lion, prowling around looking for someone to eat.)

Using the character of Judas and drawing on St John’s Gospel in his sermon on the danger of making an unworthy Communion, Gallagher asserts effectively the necessity for receiving the Eucharist in a state of grace. He manages to convey very powerfully in a few lines the consequences of failing to receive the body of Christ in a manner expected of a faithful member of Christ’s flock. Ata so follus as an id fuair an treaturach Judas. Do rinne Criosd foighid rena lochtuibh eile, rena shaint, rena mhurmur, ren’ eagcorach, acht cho luath is ghlac se Corp Chriosd air dhrochstaid, threig Dia e gan mhoill agus d’fhag e faoi imeartus an diabhail. Et post buccellam intravit in eum Satanas. Jo. 13:27 (This is clear from the treatment meted out to the traitor Judas. Christ suffered patiently his other faults, his greed, his slanderous murmurings and his misdeeds, but as soon as he received the Body of Christ in an unworthy state, God deserted him immediately and left him to the devices of the devil. And after the morsel, Satan entered into him.)

8. Conclusion First and foremost, it must be stated that Gallagher followed the normal convention in many religious and devotional tracts of his time in peppering the text with references to the Scriptures. His practice was in keeping with the post-Tridentine,

29. Gallagher, Sixteen Irish Sermons, 120–2.

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Counter-Reformation approach of using Scripture in this fashion, especially in Irish-language catechetical and spiritual texts of the period. Examples of such texts are Bonaventura Ó hEodhusa’s An Teagasc Críosduidhe (1611), Flaithrí Ó Maolchonaire’s Desiderius (1616), Aodh Mac Aingil’s Scáthán Shacramuinte na hAithridhe (1618), Geoffrey Keating’s Trí Bior-Ghaoithe an Bháis, also known as The Three Shafts of Death (ca. 1631), and Froinsias Ó Maolmhuaidh’s Lucerna Fidelium (1676). These texts assisted Irish Catholics in maintaining their faith and exposed them to aspects of the spirituality of their Catholic counterparts in Europe. This exposure prevented the Irish from being completely isolated in spiritual matters and enabled them to have a better understanding of the Catholic world.30 It may be observed that writing during a period later than those texts, Gallagher was working in the much more challenging era of the Penal Laws. It was also during a time when the English language was beginning to encroach more pervasively on the Irish landscape and the need to provide assistance to poorly educated clergy was more acute than ever. Gallagher’s intention in using the Scriptures in his sermons was more than a mere academic ploy or an exercise in theological convention. One might aver that he wished to make a more practical contribution towards the art of effective preaching by using the Scriptures as a method of improving preachers’ knowledge of the Bible and in demonstrating how they might use scriptural quotations to better effect in their preaching. Other preachers followed Gallagher’s example in this regard later in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Among those who should be mentioned are Fr Tadhg Ó Conaill of Cork, who translated La Trompette du Ciel into Irish under the title Trompa na bhFlaitheas (1755); Fr John Heely of Louth, who composed sermons in phonetic script (1790s); and Fr Muiris Paodhar of Cork, who published a preacher’s commentary on the Old Testament, Teagasc ar an Sean-Tiomna, in the 1860s. Gallagher’s own understanding of the Scriptures as an integral part of the Catholic catechetical and doctrinal tradition is clear from the text of his sermons. That his focus was to pass on this understanding to his contemporaries as well as those to whom they ministered is best understood in the context of his pastoral role. It is clear from the text of the sermons that Gallagher wished to honour fully that crucial role and that he sought to ensure that those ‘little ones who called for bread’ under his care could not accuse him of spiritual or catechetical neglect.

Bibliography Bayley, Peter. French Pulpit Oratory, 1598–1650. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980. Bourke, Ulick J. Sermons in Irish-Gaelic by the Most Rev. James O’Gallagher. Dublin: M. H. Gill & Son, 1877. 30. Cathaldus Giblin, ‘The Contribution of the Irish Franciscans’, in Irish Spirituality, ed. Michael Maher (Dublin: Veritas Publications, 1981), 103.

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Breathnach, Pól. Seanmóirí Muighe Nuadhad. IV. Dublin: Muinntir Ghoill, 1911. Brockliss, L. W. B., and Patrick Ferté. ‘Prosography of Irish Clerics in the Universities of Paris and Toulouse, 1573–1792’. Archivium Hibernicum 58 (2004): 7–166. Comerford, Michael. Collections Relating to the Dioceses of Kildare and Leighlin. 3 vols. Dublin: James Duffy & Sons, 1833–36. Connolly, S. J. Priests and People in Pre-Famine Ireland, 1780–1845. Dublin: Gill & Macmillan, 1982. Repr., Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2001. Cunningham, Bernadette. The World of Geoffrey Keating: History, Myth and Religion in Seventeenth-Century Ireland. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2000. Cunningham, Bernadette. ‘ “Zeal for God and for Souls”: Counter-Reformation Preaching in Early Seventeenth-Century Ireland’. Pages 108–26 in Irish Preaching, 700–1700. Edited by Alan J. Fletcher and Raymond Gillespie. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2001. Cunningham, Bernadette, and Máire Kennedy. The Experience of Reading: Irish Historical Perspectives. Dublin: Rare Books Group, 1999. FitzGerald, Garret. Irish Primary Education in the Early Nineteenth Century. Dublin: Royal Irish Academy, 2013. Fletcher, Alan J., and Raymond Gillespie, eds. Irish Preaching, 700–1700. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2001. Gahan, William. Sermons for Every Sunday and for the Leading Holidays of Obligation. Edited by James O’Leary. New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co., 1880. Gallagher, James. Sixteen Irish Sermons in an Easy and Familiar Stile. Dublin: Henry Babe, 1736. Giblin, Cathaldus. ‘The Contribution of the Irish Franciscans’. Pages 88–103 in Irish Spirituality. Edited by Michael Maher. Dublin: Veritas, 1981. Kelly, James, and Ciarán Mac Murchaidh, eds. Irish and English: Essays on the Irish Linguistic and Cultural Frontier, 1600–1900. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2012. Mac Aingil, Aodh. Scáthán Shacramuinte na hAithridhe. Edited by Cainneach Ó Maonaigh. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1952. Mac Cana, Proinsias. Collège des Irlandais Paris & Irish Studies. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 2001. Mac Murchaidh, Ciarán. ‘“You May Be Young Enough To Live But You Are Old Enough To Die”: Life and Death in the Sermons of James Gallagher, William Gahan and Silvester Goonan.’ Pages 159–73 in Grave Matters: Death and Dying in Dublin 1500 to the Present. Edited by Lisa Marie Griffith and Ciarán Wallace. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2016. Mac Murchaidh, Ciarán. ‘The Catholic Church, the Irish Mission and the Irish Language in the Eighteenth Century.’ Pages 162–88 in Irish and English: Essays on the Irish Linguistic and Cutural Frontier, 1600–1900. Edited by James Kelly and Ciarán Mac Murchaidh. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2012. Mac Murchaidh, Ciarán. ‘Dr James Gallagher, Alumnus Kilmorensis: Bishop of Raphoe (1725–1737) and Kildare and Leighlin (1737–1751)’. Breifne 10 (2005): 219–37. Mac Murchaidh, Ciarán. ‘Nótaí Beathaisnéise ar an Dr Séamas Ó Gallchobhair’. Irisleabhar Mhá Nuad (1998): 169–86. Mac Murchaidh, Ciarán. ‘Seanmóirí an Easpaig Séamus Ó Gallchóir: eagráin, aistriúcháin agus aidhmeanna.’ Pages 419–44 in Féilscríbhinn do Chathal Ó Háinle. Edited by Eoin Mac Cárthaigh and Jürgen Uhlich. Indreabhán: Cló Iar-Chonnacht, 2012. Mac Murchaidh, Ciarán. ‘Seanmóirí Uí Ghallchóir: Téacs agus Cúlra’. 2 vols. PhD diss. National University of Ireland, Maynooth, 2003.

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Manes, Yael. Motherhood and Patriarchal Masculinities in Sixteenth-Century Italian Comedy. Farnham: Ashgate, 2011. Martin, Gary D. Multiple Originals: New Approaches to Hebrew Bible Textual Criticism. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2010. Ó Ciosáin, Niall. Print and Popular Culture in Ireland, 1750–1850. London: Macmillan Press, 1997; Dublin: Lilliput Press, 2010. Ó Dúshláine, Tadhg. ‘Gealán dúluachra: Seanmóireacht na Gaeilge c.1600–c.1850’. Léachtaí Cholm Cille 26 (1996): 83–122. Ó Madagáin, Breandán. Teagasc ar an Sean-Tiomna. Dublin: An Clóchomhar, 1974. Ó Maonaigh, Cainneach. Seanmónta Chúige Uladh. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1965. Ryan, David. ‘Catholic Preaching in Ireland, 1760–1840’. Pages 72–100 in The Remaking of Modern Ireland, 1750–1950: Beckett Prize Essays in Irish History. Edited by Raymond Gillespie. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2004. The Sermons of the Right Rev. Dr Gallagher Translated from the Original Irish by James Byrne. Baltimore: Fielding Lucas Jr. (n.d.).

Chapter 5 I R I SH C AT HO L IC B I B L E R E A D E R S B E F O R E THE FAMINE Brendan McConvery

1. Introduction Despite the honoured place the Bible occupies in the cultural history of Ireland, it is often said that Irish Catholics were not biblically literate. This may be due in part to widespread illiteracy and to ignorance of the English language in which the Bible usually circulated in Ireland.1 Irish Catholic readers were, however, well-served by the editions of the Scriptures produced for their use between the mid-eighteenth and mid-nineteenth centuries. Two are especially worthy of comment: the fresh translation of the New Testament by the Dublin priest Cornelius Nary, and the five times reissued edition of the whole Bible by Bernard McMahon. This growing biblical culture among Irish Catholics began to shudder to a halt with renewed missionary activity by several Evangelical missionary societies, especially in Mayo, Connemara and Kerry. Their use of the Scriptures and the foundation of ‘mission stations’ as centres of education and employment for converts was viewed by many Catholics as active proselytizing, and it left bitter memories, as well as a suspicion of the Bible as ‘a Protestant book’ in many parts of rural Ireland. Between 1749 and 1854, some seventy editions of the Bible, in whole or in part, were published under Catholic auspices in Ireland. While the majority of them originated in Dublin, Catholic printers in places like Cork, Waterford, Kilkenny, Strabane, Newry and Carrick-on-Suir also produced Bibles. Scarcely any Catholic books were published in Belfast until the 1790s, but more than twenty editions of the Scriptures were produced there in the first half of the nineteenth century. That number dwindled rapidly in the years after the Famine and remained relatively static until the Catholic ‘Bible renewal’ which followed in the wake of the Second Vatican Council (1962–65).

1. There were Irish translations of the New Testament by William Daniel (O’Domhnuill 1602) and of the Old Testament by William Bedell (1685), but they did not circulate widely until the nineteenth century.

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The Protestant Reformation had led to an explosion of Bible translation and publication throughout Europe. While the initiative was driven in the first instance by the Reformers, officially approved Catholic editions soon followed in the major European languages. An English version of the New Testament was published by the refugee English community in Rheims in 1582. It was followed by a two-volume Old Testament published at Douai in 1609 and 1610:  together they are known as the Douai-Rheims version. Although the exiled Irish Franciscans established a printing press in Louvain, and another in Rome, to produce books in Irish for export to Ireland, most were books of devotion or short catechisms and the question of translating the Bible into Irish never arose. An Irish translation of the New Testament was produced by William Daniell (Ó Domhnaill) in 1602. It was completed by the translation of the Old Testament by a team lead by William Bedell (1571–1641), but this was not published until 1685. Both were produced under the auspices of the Established Church and intended for the conversion of the Catholic Irish, but it is likely that they were actually used by Catholics.2 The copies of the Douai-Rheims version that circulated in Ireland in the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries were printed on the continent, but even these appear to have been in very short supply.3 The earliest known edition of a Catholic Bible printed in Ireland was a Rheims New Testament, ‘certainly printed in Dublin in 1699, or possibly 1698, by Brian Wilson and Cornelius Carter for James Malone and his partners. It was apparently suppressed on account of its alleged inaccuracy and no copy is now known’.4 If Irish Catholics read the Bible, it was probably either the Authorised Version or else the Vulgate. According to Raymond Gillespie, ‘Catholics of the upper social ranks were quite likely to own a text of scripture but usually a vulgate for which a knowledge of Latin was required.’5 When the eighteenth century opened, Irish Catholics still felt the full brunt of the Penal Laws. The Dublin book trade was supervised by the Guild of St Luke the Evangelist made up of the Dublin printers and booksellers. Catholics were expected to know their place. They were only permitted to be ‘quarter members’ of the guild, though paying the full subscription. Even the publication of a book of prayers could be fraught with danger. A  Dublin newspaper reported on 20 November 1709:

2.  Raymond Gillespie, ‘Reading for Salvation’, in Reading Ireland:  Print, Reading and Social Change in Early Modern Ireland, ed. Raymond Gillespie and Andrew Hadfield (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2005), 133. 3. See the chronological list of editions in Henry Cotton, Rhemes and Doway; an Attempt to Show What Has Been Done by Roman Catholics for the Diffusion of the Holy Scriptures in English (Oxford: Oxford University Press: 1865), especially pages vii and viii. 4. A. S. Herbert, Historical Catalogue of Printed Editions of the English Bible, 1525–1961 (London: United Bible Societies, 1968), 242. 5. Gillespie, ‘Reading for Salvation’, 133.

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On Friday, Saturday and Monday last, the following persons were taken into custody of her majesty’s messengers, on suspition [sic] of printing and vending Popish Prayer-Books contrary to law, viz. Cornelius Carter and Edward Waters [Protestant] printers, Mr Malone, Mr Dowlin, Mr Murtagh, Mr Lawrence, Book sellers and Mr Bermingham, merchant. All the said persons (except the 2 latter) remain still in custody.6

There may be a political edge to this charge, as one of the prayers in the book seems to have been for the Stuart ‘old pretender’ as legitimate ruler of the United Kingdom. As the century advanced, however, the growth of the religious book trade in Dublin may be taken as an index of the improvement of the social status of the Catholic community.7

2. A Fresh Translation: Cornelius Nary It was in this climate that Cornelius Nary, a Dublin priest, published his own translation with annotations of the New Testament in 1718.8 Nary is believed to have been born in 1658 near Naas, County Kildare, where he received his early education.9 It was the custom of those unsettled times to give a promising young man a crash course in the basics of pastoral care under the charge of a local priest and then send him for formal theological study to one of the Irish colleges on the continent. Nary was ordained in 1682 in Kilkenny and sent to the Irish College in Paris the following year. He was an intelligent student, taking a doctorate in civil and canon law at the Sorbonne. He remained in Paris until 1695. After a short period in London acting as tutor to the son of the Catholic Earl

6.  Cited in John Brady, ‘Catholics and Catholicism in the Eighteenth-Century Press’, Archivium Hibernicum 16 (1951): 5. 7. Thomas Wall, The Sign of Doctor Hay’s Head. Being Some Account of the Hazards and Fortunes of Catholic Printers and Publishers in Dublin from the Later Penal Times to the Present Day (Dublin: MH Gill, 1958). 8. It is worth quoting the title in full: The New Testament of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, Newly Translated out of the Latin Vulgate and with the original Greek and divers Translations in vulgar Languages diligently compared and revised, together with Annotations upon the most remarkable Passages in the Gospels and Marginal Notes and upon other difficult Texts of the same and upon the rest of the Books of the New Testament for the better understanding of the literal Sense. By C.N. C.F.P.D. Printed in the year 1719. Neither printer nor place of publication is named. The initials stand for Cornelius Nary, Consultissima Facultatis Parisiensis Doctor. An online version of the text can be found at https://archive. org/stream/NaryNewTestament1719#page/n1/mode/2up. 9. For a study of Nary, see Patrick Fagan, Dublin’s Turbulent Priest: Cornelius Nary 1658– 1738 (Dublin:  Royal Irish Academy, 1991). Chapter 6 is devoted to Nary’s work as a Bible translator.

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of Antrim, Nary returned to Dublin and took up duty as priest in St Michan’s parish in the north side of the city. Nary appears to have had an appetite for public controversy but he devoted most of his energy during the years 1705–15 to his translation of the New Testament. It was a daring undertaking as very few of the critical aids a modern translator might expect to use were available in Catholic Dublin, so it is likely that he may have availed himself of the resources available in Marsh’s Library.10 Nary’s preface of ten pages outlines the reasons for the work and gives some idea of his translation method.11 He is critical of the Douai-Rheims translation, now over a hundred years old: ‘[T]he language whereof is so old, the words in many places so obsolete, the orthography so bad and the translation so very literal that in many places it is unintelligible and all over so grating on the ears of such as are accustomed to speak, in a manner, another language that most people will not be at the pains of reading them.’ He was critical too of the bulk of existing Bibles: ‘My design is to make this work of as little bulk as possibly I can, that it might be easily carried about in the pocket for publick [sic] and private devotions.’ Obliged by current ecclesiastical law to translate from the Latin Vulgate, Nary outlines his method of proceeding. ‘I have endeavoured’, he writes ‘to make this New Testament speak the English tongue now used.’ Although Latin was his base text, he realized that he needed to also read the Greek closely, and even at times, to check out a translation decision against a modern language version, usually either the Authorised Version, the Douai or the French. He recognized, as many others have done, that certain words in the Greek ‘serve only for ornament or sound and signify nothing in any vulgar languages, on the contrary would be a great defect in them if they were expressed’. Some passed into the Vulgate but they are more or less redundant and cannot be given a verbal equivalence in English. The annotations to the text are intended to clarify obscurities and contradictions and so expound its literal meaning, but ‘as to moral or mystical reflections, I have industriously omitted to make any’. He ends the preface with a brief statement of intent: ‘[M]y aim is to encourage my countrymen to read and meditate upon the Will and Testament of their heavenly Lord and Master by giving it to them in a stile [sic] less obscure and somewhat more engaging than it has been for many years past.’ Although Nary had received encouragement from his clerical colleagues and superiors during his years of labouring at the translation, it met opposition shortly after its appearance. An anonymous complaint to Rome by another cleric brought a directive to Archbishop Edmund Byrne (1656–1724) in 1720 to suppress the translation. Five Irish bishops rallied to Nary’s aid.12 They argued that a new 10. Fagan, Dublin’s Turbulent Priest, 79. 11. The following quotations from Nary are drawn from this Preface. 12. In addition to his own archbishop, these were Christopher Butler of Cashel, Edmund Kelly of Clonfert, Malachy Dulany of Ossory and Gabriel O’Kelly of Elphin.

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translation was badly needed due to the difficulties with the Douai. Irish Catholics were at a social disadvantage to their Protestant neighbours in their limited knowledge of the Bible. Nary’s critics, including members of the regular clergy, continued to send complaints to Rome. His French academic background made him particularly suspect in an age where Rome saw its greatest challenges coming from France, namely, Gallicanism (a tendency to downplay the role of the papacy in the local church) and Jansenism (a theological school that emphasized the darkness of the human condition). Jansenism had encouraged popular Bible reading in the vernacular. The Réflexions morales sur le Nouveau Testament of the leading Jansenist theologian Pasquier Quesnel (1634–1719) was a meditative commentary on the New Testament that gave expression to principal tenets of Jansenism. Published in 1692, over one hundred propositions in it were condemned as heretical in 1713. Although Nary had stressed that he avoided making any moral reflections on his text, the association his critics made with Quesnel was too close for comfort. Another of Nary’s critics chose a different tack. An anonymous pamphlet published by the English College in Douai is believed to be the work of Robert Witham (1667–1738), its president. Witham agreed with Nary on the need for a new translation of the Scriptures, but claimed that by neglecting many of the strengths of the Douai, Nary had ‘fallen into an incredible number of unpardonable errors’. He also charged him with being less than faithful to the Vulgate and ‘frequently copying the Protestant translations made from the Greek’.13 Witham was at the time preparing his own version of the New Testament with annotations, so he may have seen Nary as a competitor.14 Nary’s version saw only two editions, the 1718 in Dublin and 1719 in London. His critics may have been nervous of its possible Jansenist tendencies, but his episcopal friends had at least prevented it from meeting the same fate as Quesnel’s book and ending up on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum. It was not the end of Nary’s story. He continued to play a public role in the life of Dublin until his death in 1738, championing Catholic Emancipation, engaging in public debate, and writing; nevertheless, ‘despite his great learning, qualifications, and ability, Nary – because of his Gallican proclivities – was never likely to be acceptable to Rome when it came to the filling of Irish episcopal vacancies’.15

13. Fagan, Dublin’s Turbulent Priest, 87. 14.  Annotations on the New Testament of Jesus Christ, in which, 1.  The literal sense is explained according to the Expositions of the ancient Fathers. 2. The false Interpretations, both of the ancient and modern Writers, which are contrary to the received Doctrine of the Catholic Church, are briefly examined and disproved. 3. With an Account of the chief differences betwixt the Text of the ancient Latin Version and the Greek in the printed Editions and Manuscripts. Douai: n.p. 1730, 2 vols. 15.  Patrick Fagan, ‘Nary, Cornelius’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography [n.p.]. doi: http://www.oxforddnb.com/index/19/101019783/.

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3. Irish Bible Publication in the Second Half of the Nineteenth Century Following the failure of Nary’s Testament, it would be thirty years before another Catholic Bible was published in Dublin. Richard Challoner (1691–1781) had been a colleague of Robert Witham in Douai and encouraged the publication of his work. He had been born an Anglican but converted to Roman Catholicism in his early adolescence and realized the need for an extensive revision of both the translation and the notes of the Douai-Rheims Bible. He would produce no less than eight revisions of either the New Testament or of the entire Bible between 1738 and 1772. Most of this work was done in moments snatched from his main occupation as ‘acting bishop’ or vicar apostolic of the London District and the composition of numerous works of devotion. Many of his devotional works, especially the classic Garden of the Soul, circulated in Irish editions from Catholic Dublin printers.16 In 1749, the first edition of Challoner’s New Testament appeared both in London and Dublin. The following year, his revised Old Testament appeared in four volumes along with a fresh edition of the New Testament. Two years later, his third revision of the New Testament appeared in Dublin. Challoner’s revised Douai-Rheims Bible came to occupy for Roman Catholics the same status as the King James Bible did for Protestants, until the appearance of Ronald Knox’s version (complete Bible 1950) and eventually, the Jerusalem Bible (1965). Challoner made a distinct effort to freshen the language. There is a more ‘Anglo-Saxon’ feel to his English. Latinate words disappear so that ‘miracles’ become ‘mighty works’, ‘testament’ is replaced by ‘covenant’, ‘adored’ by ‘worshipped’, ‘cured’ by ‘healed’, ‘illuminated’ by ‘enlightened’ and so on. Redundant words in the original Greek or Latin are eliminated, as Nary had proposed. Tenses are corrected and sentences where words are inverted are returned to a more normal structure, so that ‘diligently enquire’, for example, becomes ‘search diligently’. Nor did Challoner hesitate to adopt renderings from the King James Version if he judged the tone or rhythm was right. The extent to which trade in Catholic Bibles was becoming a regular feature of Dublin life can be seen in a letter from a disgruntled reader to the Freeman’s Journal in May 1765. He writes to register his dismay at being offered an advertisement for a Catholic Bible as he made his way home. The letter ran: ‘Gentlemen, as I was passing over Essex Bridge not long since, an advertisement was put into my hand to the following effect: “that Richard Fitzsimons, Bookseller in the Highstreet had then just published, in five volumes, the holy bible, translated from the Latin Vulgate.” ’ Although he bought a copy, he was rather alarmed at ‘the dangerous tendency, and evil consequence of the work of this kind, (than which nothing could be better compiled for the seducing the unthinking and unwary Protestant) in this kingdom, and at this time is so glaring as to need no comment’.17

16. Wall, Sign, 31. 17.  Cited in Cormac Begadon, ‘Laity and Clergy in the Catholic Renewal of Dublin 1750–1830’ (PhD diss., Department of History, National University of Ireland, Maynooth, 2009), 116.

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Bibles were expensive in any case: a New Testament cost fifteen shillings compared to one shilling for the Garden of the Soul or sixpence-halfpenny for a popular book of meditations, Hell Open to Christians.

4. The Bible as Bestseller? Two of the most successful Bibles published in Ireland in the last quarter of the eighteenth century and the first decades of the nineteenth are commonly referred to by the names of their editors or publishers. Between 1783 and 1810, Bernard McMahon, a priest of the Archdiocese of Dublin, oversaw the publication of five editions of the New Testament and two of the entire Bible (‘the McMahon Bible’). McMahon was born in County Louth in 1736 and studied in the Irish College at Antwerp. Ordained originally for his native Diocese of Armagh, he appears to have come to Dublin relatively early in his priestly life for he was incardinated into the archdiocese in 1787.18 For the most part, he ministered in Hardwick Street Chapel, eventually becoming a canon of the archdiocese before his death in 1816. McMahon appears to have been something of a polymath. He was granted facilities by the Dublin port authorities to study the tides in the bay, the outcome of which was a table of tides. He became involved in Bible publication thanks to the encouragement of Dr Carpenter. McMahon probably knew Greek, but beyond his basic course in theology, he had little academic preparation to edit the complete Bible. He seems to have been a man able to spot a gap in the market, and ready to fill it by dint of his labour. In addition to the Bible, he produced an edition of the Roman Missal with a supplement for the Irish saints, as well as editing the annual Dublin liturgical directory (or Ordo) and a revision of the famous Lives of the Saints by the English priest Alban Butler (1711–73), first published between 1756 and 1759. He was considered to be of a ‘cheerful, pleasant temper, abounding with anecdotes. His disposition was amiable, and his views of religion liberal and enlarged’.19 McMahon followed Challoner’s revision for the most part, but continued to make some improvements and changes of his own.20 The notes mainly followed Challoner, but he omitted some and introduced about ninety additional notes of

18. Séamus Ó Casaide, ‘Bernard MacMahon: Priest and Scientist’, Journal of the County Louth Archaeological Society 9.4 (1940): 267–79. 19. Ó Casaide, ‘Bernard MacMahon’, 270. 20.  Hugh Pope OP, English Versions of the Bible (revised and edited by Sebastian Bullough OP; St Louis and London: Herder, 1952); see also his article, ‘An Unusual Edition of the Rheims New Testament’, Irish Ecclesiastical Record 55 (1940): 468–84. Pope was critical of most of McMahon’s alterations, but John Henry Newman thought that they may be colloquial and reflect more accurately Anglo-Irish spoken English. See J. H. Newman, ‘The History of the Text of the Rheims and Douay Version of Holy Scripture’, The Rambler 1.2 (July 1859): 145–69.

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his own on Old Testament passages and more than seventy on the New Testament. A quarto edition of the complete Bible appeared in 1791; a folio edition followed in 1794. Both editions, as well as the New Testaments, were endorsed by members of the hierarchy. They also carried a translation of a letter from Pope Pius VI to Antonio Martini, archbishop of Florence, warmly commending a new Italian translation and recommending Bible reading to the laity. Tables of references enabled the reader to find biblical references especially to doctrinal points that were controverted on the basis of the Reformers’ reading of the Bible, such as absolution, the institution of the sacrament of ordination by Christ and the veneration of relics. A table of Epistles and Gospels enabled the book to be used in association with the weekly celebration of the Mass. Catholic publishing, and Catholic self-confidence, were flourishing in this period and this is evident from Bible publication. In 1813, James Augustin McNamara, a colourful Cork printer, announced that he, too, intended publishing the entire Bible in a series of fortnightly instalments, costing one shilling and one penny each to subscribers. Since McNamara was simply a printer and publisher, the revising of the text and notes was in the hands of the Rev. Patrick A. Walsh of Denmark Street, Dublin. By the time the instalments reached Romans, McNamara was bankrupt.21 Forced to go to America to make good his financial losses, publication was taken over by Richard Coyne who issued a single-volume Bible in 1816. McNamara returned and resumed publication under his own name in 1818. Walsh had reverted to the uncorrected notes of the original Douai Bible. The strongly anti-Protestant tone both in Coyne’s edition and McNamara’s did not augur well for good relations between Roman Catholics and Protestants. Something of the flavour can be seen in the title page which deserves to be quoted at some length: The Holy Catholic Bible containing the whole of the Books in the Sacred Scriptures, translated from the Latin Vulgate. The Old Testament first published at the English College of Doway 1609. The New Testament first published at the English College, Rheims AD 1582. Explained and illustrated by valuable and copious notes to which are added useful tables of the weights, measures and coins mentioned in the scriptures, with an Evangelical History and a controversial index. Also the Errata of the Protestant or Sectarian Bible, with explanations and references to the principles of Roman Catholicism and Vindication shewing their abhorrence of certain tenets commonly alleged against them. An Epitome of Ecclesiastical History from the Apostles’ days to the present time compiled from the best authorities for this edition of Holy Scripture [six paragraphs outlining structure of this are omitted here] by James A McNamara.

This was an unapologetically, if not indeed aggressively, Catholic production, but the idea of providing a Bible with illustrations and an array of Catholic resources makes it a forerunner of the Catholic ‘family Bible’.

21. Pope, English Versions, 417.

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4.1 Irish Catholic Bible Readers A publisher’s advertisement for the first edition of McNamara’s Bible has survived, along with subscription lists in several of the editions.22 The subscription list of McMahon’s 1791 edition, in addition to bishops and members of the Catholic aristocracy such as Lord Fingal and Lord Kenmare, includes a number of booksellers who had taken multiple copies, obviously with a view to selling them on. They are as far scattered as Cork, where William Flynn took twenty-one copies, and Kilkenny, where Mrs Flynn, printer, took a further twenty; but the majority of names on the subscription list seem to come from Dublin and the east coast. Individual bishops and clergy also took multiple copies: Bishop Delaney of Kildare and Leghlin took twelve copies and the Reverend Francis Phelan of Waterford took twenty. For most subscribers on the list, nothing more than a name and address is given. In some cases, mention of a trade or profession enables us to put a more human face on the list. Many are merchants or in trade, but there are carpenters (Denis Meagher and William Mulhall), a wheelwright (James Clark of Summerhill, Dublin), a bricklayer (Patrick Foley of Plunket Street), a stucco-plasterer (Patrick Connolly) and even a student, M. Sutton Esquire, of the Middle Temple, London. Edmund Rice, founder of the Irish Christian Brothers, subscribed to both Bibles: his copy of the McNamara Bible with his notes and markings is preserved in the Edmund Rice Heritage Centre in Waterford. McNamara’s Bible, emanating from Cork, seems to have targeted Munster. The subscription list begins with Cork but includes places throughout the country with the exception of places along the western sea-board. In each place, the list is headed by the local bishop and important clergy, secular or regular. A  small entry lists Drogheda, Athlone, Castlebar, Trim, Tralee, Tullamore, Dungannon, Ballyconnell and Athy and notes ‘the subscribers in these towns we must regret having omitted, the consequence of the neglect of the agents not sending forward their names for insertion’. But might it also be McNamara’s attempt to suggest that his subscription list was bigger than it actually was? Popular versions of the Bible continued to appear throughout the first half of the nineteenth century. On the bibliographical evidence of Cotton and Herbert, about sixty-two translations of the whole or part of the Bible were issued in Ireland before 1854. Belfast printers, particularly under the episcopate of Cornelius Denvir (1835–65), produced more than twenty editions. Small local printers turned out cheap editions. Commending a New Testament produced in his Cathedral town of Newry in 1838, Bishop Blake of Dromore notes the importance of cheapness and readability: Knowing that there are many who cannot purchase the sacred volume if it be not very cheap, and others who cannot read it if the type be very small, it has been our duty to provide an edition of the most precious portion of the sacred

22. Pope, English Versions, 415.

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writings, suited to the scanty means of the poorer classes of society and easily legible to readers of every age.23

5. Bible Wars: Refighting the Reformation? If the eighteenth century opened in the full rigour of the Penal Laws,24 the nineteenth opened with the determined march towards Catholic Emancipation which would be achieved in 1829. That agenda was to shape decisively the history of Irish Catholics and the Bible. The battle for the Bible in the first half of the nineteenth century was fought, sometimes bitterly and acrimoniously, on two fronts. The first was part of a long, drawn out battle over the control of education. The history of the organization of Irish education on a national scale is complex, so this account can only discuss one aspect of it, namely, religious education and the role of the Bible as a text book. Nano Nagle, a Corkwoman, had established a school in Cove Lane in Cork in 1754: twenty years later, she organized her co-workers into the ‘Society of Charitable Instruction of the Sacred Heart of Jesus’ (1775), which would later become the Presentation Order. By the beginning of the new century, the Waterford merchant Edmund Rice was inspired by Nagle’s example to organize a group of men for the education of boys. Both were inspired by a Catholic understanding of education that placed training in faith and religion at the centre of the educational process. The ‘Society for Promoting the Education of the Poor in Ireland’ (more commonly known as the ‘Kildare Place Society’) was founded in 1811. It was nondenominational but the majority of its members belonged to the Established Church. Its objective was to promote basic general education throughout the country. Its schools were open to children of any faith, but it wished that no religious education, apart from reading from a plain text of the Bible, ‘without note or comment’, be given in its schools. While the members of the Society might have assumed that this would be the Authorised Version, they were prepared to be inclusive, issuing in 1814 Extracts from the Old and New Testament for the Schools of Ireland according to the Respective Translations of the Church of England and the Church of Rome. Running to 319 pages, it had the Authorized Version and the Douai on opposite pages. Some years later, it published A Selection from the New Testament consisting of Lessons Composed from the Writings of the Evangelists for the Use of Schools (1818), using the Douai alone but without notes: it was approved by Archbishop Troy of Dublin. This might have seemed like a creative ‘ecumenical’ solution to a complex question. It failed to reckon, however, with the redoubtable figures of Daniel O’Connell and John McHale, bishop of Killala (1825–34) and later archbishop of Tuam (1834–81). O’Connell had been a member of the Kildare Place Society but

23. Quoted in Pope, English Versions, 439. 24. See ‘Introduction’, p. x.

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when he failed to get the Bible policy amended, he resigned.25 The battle for control of education continued long after the foundation of the national school system in 1830. The Bible text ‘without note or comment’ became a skirmish within the bigger battle for the Bible and it was not confined to the school room. Some members of the Established Church believed that an edition of the Bible with notes was in conflict with the Reformation doctrine of sola scriptura (scripture alone) and its corollary, the right to private interpretation. A ‘Society for Circulating the Roman Catholic Version of the New Testament’ was established in 1819. A  meeting of ‘gentlemen of both persuasions’, presided over by the Earl of Meath, proposed that ‘a society was to be constituted, the object of which shall be the circulation of the Roman Catholic version of the New Testament without note or comment’ and an agreement was made with the Catholic printer, Richard Coyne, to provide 20,000 copies ‘on stereotype plates’, that allowed for fast and cheap reruns.26 In his inaugural sermon, delivered on 24 October 1822, William Magee, archbishop of Dublin, asserted that the Church of Ireland was the only legitimate ecclesial body in the land and that it should re-energize itself to draw others (i.e. Roman Catholics) into its fold. Whatever Magee’s intentions may have been, his sermon has been taken as the beginning of what has come to be called ‘the Second Reformation’ in Ireland.27 Irene Whelan is more accurate in tracing the renewed missionary fervour aimed at the Irish, especially those living in rural, and even Gaelic-speaking, areas, to the work of Methodist evangelists from 1799 and who were joined by an increasing number of missionary societies such as the ‘London Hibernian Society for the Diffusion of Religious Knowledge in Ireland’ or the ‘Baptist Society for Promoting the Gospel in Ireland’.28 It would have been given a greater urgency with the growing clamour for Catholic Emancipation.

6. Conclusion It is probably accurate to speak of a Catholic biblical renaissance, albeit of comparatively restrained scope, in late-eighteenth-century/early-nineteenth-century Ireland. That it was not without what we might term today ‘ecumenical features’ reflects the complex social and religious forces at work within Irish society at the time. Catherine McAuley, founder of one of the first communities of religious women in Dublin, first became familiar with the Bible in the home of the Protestant relatives by whom she was fostered. A similar openness of mind can be seen in the decision of Kildare Place Society to make available to Catholic students the Douai

25. Irene Whelan, The Bible War in Ireland: The Second Reformation and the Polarization of Protestant-Catholic Relations, 1800–1840 (Dublin: Lilliput Press, 2005), 136. 26. Cotton, Rhemes and Doway, 122. 27. Whelan, Bible War, 155–6. 28. Whelan, ‘The Mission to the Catholic Population’, in Bible War, 86–124.

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version of the Scriptures in the reading book prepared for its schools. Asenath Nicholson, an independent-minded American distributor of Bibles, was critical of propagating the Bible while ignoring the causes of poverty that afflicted the masses, and she could identify more with the single-minded devotion of a community of teaching sisters than with the narrower vision of a nearby mission station.29 That Belfast could produce more than twenty editions of the Catholic version of the New Testament, many in cheap editions and printed by non-Catholic printers, was also a sign of the openness between Catholic, Protestant and Dissenter. While the Evangelical hopes for an Irish ‘Second Reformation’ were representative of only a minority within Irish Protestantism, and after what appeared like initial victory, were quickly challenged by a vigorous Catholic reaction, the damage had been done. The Bible would remain a symbol of suspicion and division rather than the Word of Life until the renewal of Catholic biblical scholarship in the wake of the Second Vatican Council.

Bibliography Begadon, Cormac. ‘Laity and Clergy in the Catholic Renewal of Dublin 1750–1830’. PhD diss. Department of History, National University of Ireland, Maynooth, 2009. doi: http://eprints.maynoothuniversity.ie/2412/. Bowen, Desmond. Souperism: Myth or Reality? Cork: Mercier Press, 1970. Brady, John. ‘Catholics and Catholicism in the Eighteenth-Century Press’. Archivium Hibernicum 16 (1951): 5–112. Cotton, Henry. Rhemes and Doway; an Attempt to Show What Has Been Done by Roman Catholics for the Diffusion of the Holy Scriptures in English. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1865. Fagan, Patrick. Dublin’s Turbulent Priest: Cornelius Nary 1658–1738. Dublin: Royal Irish Academy, 1991. Gillespie, Raymond. ‘Reading for Salvation.’ Pages 131–58 in Reading Ireland: Print, Reading and Social Change in Early Modern Ireland. Edited by Raymond Gillespie and Andrew Hadfield. Manchester: Manchester University Press: 2005. Herbert, A. S. Historical Catalogue of Printed Editions of the English Bible, 1525–1961. London: United Bible Societies, 1968. Newman, John Henry. ‘The History of the Text of the Rheims and Douay Version of Holy Scripture’. The Rambler 1.2 (July 1859): 145–69. Nicholson, Asenath. Ireland’s Welcome to the Stranger. Edited by Maureen Murphy. Dublin: Lilliput Press, 2002. Ó Casaide, Séamus. ‘Bernard MacMahon: Priest and Scientist’. Journal of the County Louth Archaeological Society 9.4 (1940): 267–79. Pope, Hugh, OP. English Versions of the Bible. Revised and edited by Sebastian Bullough OP. St Louis and London: Herder, 1952.

29.  Asenath Nicholson, Ireland’s Welcome to the Stranger, ed. Maureen Murphy (Dublin: Lilliput Press: 2002).

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Wall, Thomas. The Sign of Doctor Hay’s Head. Being Some Account of the Hazards and Fortunes of Catholic Printers and Publishers in Dublin from the Later Penal Times to the Present Day. Dublin: MH Gill, 1958. Whelan, Irene. The Bible War in Ireland: The Second Reformation and the Polarization of Protestant-Catholic Relations, 1800–1840. Dublin: Lilliput Press.

Chapter 6 T H E C AT HO L IC L E C T IO NA RY:   I T S C R E AT IO N , R E C E P T IO N A N D C HA L L E N G E Kieran J. O’Mahony

1. Introduction On 6 April 2014, the Bishop of Rome did something that would perhaps have surprised some of his predecessors: he distributed copies of the Gospel to all present in St Peter’s Square. The gift was accompanied by the following words: I would now like to make a simple gesture for you. Over the last few Sundays, I suggested that you should all acquire a small copy of the Gospel, to have with you during the day, to be able to take it out frequently. Then I remembered the old tradition of the Church whereby, during Lent, the Gospel was handed over to those preparing for Baptism. Today I would like to offer to you who are present in the St Peter’s Square – but as a token to everyone – a pocket Gospel. It will be given out for free. There are set places in the Square for distributing the text. I can see a few from here. Go up to one of those places and take the Gospel. Take it and carry it with you and read it every day: it is Jesus himself who speaks within. It is the word of Jesus: this is the word of Jesus. It is he who says to you: you have received at no cost, give at no cost. Give the message of the Gospel. Perhaps someone cannot believe that it really is for free. ‘How much is it? What should I pay, Father?’ Let’s make a deal: in exchange for this gift, do some act of charity, a gesture of gratuitous love, a prayer for your adversaries, a reconciliation, anything . . . These days you can read the Gospel using all sorts of gadgets. You can have the whole Bible on your mobile or tablet. What matters is to read the word of God, in whatever medium, but read the word of God: it is Jesus who speaks to us there. Welcome that word with an open heart because the good seed will bear fruit.1 1.  Pope Francis, ‘Angelus’, 6 April 2014, n.p. doi:  http://w2.vatican.va/content/ francesco/en/angelus/2014/documents/papa-francesco_angelus_20140406.html (author’s translation).

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There is even today a strong cultural memory of Catholics being forbidden to read the Scriptures. It is hard to trace whether this ever officially happened or not.2 Nevertheless, the use of the Bible was hardly encouraged, even though the Douay Bible (1582–1610) was published before its more famous contemporary, the King James Bible (1611). As a matter of course, the reading of Protestant versions was forbidden. So, whether formal or not, the direct use of the word of God was not a mark of Catholic spirituality for some centuries. The major turnaround (illustrated in the vignette of Pope Francis) is the fruit of several movements in the twentieth century, the Second Vatican Council and the teachings of all the popes since that Council. The most visible evidence for the ordinary believer has been the post-conciliar lectionary with its greatly increased selection of biblical readings. Nothing really prepared people or priests for this development. Traditionally the time spent at Mass in Ireland was taken up with private devotions. Although this point can be overstated, Irish Catholics did not turn naturally to the Bible.

2. The Sunday Lectionary In the early twentieth century, three movements had a particular impact: ecumenism, the liturgical movement and the biblical theology movement.3 All three found their place at Vatican II and influenced the understanding of Scripture and its place in the worshipping community. The evidence of the change is apparent every Sunday in communities using the Catholic Lectionary or the Revised Common Lectionary (RCL). Until then all the traditions have their own sequence of readings, usually a one-year cycle. Statistics will not express everything, but in this case they are eloquent. In the Tridentine Lectionary, generally, there were two readings, both from the New Testament, the Epistle and the Gospel. How much of the Bible was used? In fact, surprisingly little.4 It is instructive to note that there was no ‘lectionary’ in the form of a book or books. Instead, because the readings were few, they were conveniently incorporated into the Roman Missal of those days. Counting the readings used on Sundays, Vigils and Major Feasts, the ordinary Catholic (with a Missal in English) would have heard this much Scripture over the course of a single liturgical year (see Table 6.1):

2. On this point, see the other essays in this book, especially those by Ryan, Ó Fearghail and McConvery. 3. I am grateful to my friend and colleague Dr Tom Whelan (Milltown Institute, Dublin) for drawing my attention to Normand Bonneau’s work: The Sunday Lectionary. Ritual Word, Paschal Shape (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1998). 4. I have benefited greatly from the compendious website of Felix Just, SJ: ‘The Catholic Lectionary Website’, n.p., doi:  http://catholic-resources.org/Lectionary/Roman_Missal. htm.

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Table 6.1 Tridentine Roman Missal Readings Total verses NT Gospels NT Epistles Old Testament5

3772 4178 25,044

Verses in the Missal

Percentage in the Missal

848 461 255

22.4 11 1.02

Table 6.2 Tridentine Roman Missal Gospel Readings

Sundays Vigils, etc. Total

Matthew

Mark

Luke

John

21 5 26

3 1 4

18 3 21

12 8 20

Table 6.3 1969 Lectionary Readings

NT Gospels NT Epistles Old Testament6

Total Verses

Lectionary Verses

Lectionary Percentage

3772 4178 25,044

2,184 1,063 932

57.8 25.4 3.7

The breakdown of use of the Gospel is striking. The prominence given to Matthew and the neglect of Mark reflect the patristic understanding that Mark was a subsequent abbreviation of Matthew (see Tables 6.1 and 6.2). The fathers do not tell us why they gave scant attention to Mark. From the point of view of moral and catechetical teaching, Matthew’s Gospel has more material for the preacher and, in any case, almost all of Mark is found in Matthew. The neglect of Mark can still surprise, given the intense attention accorded to this Gospel over the past two and half centuries of scholarship. There is no sign of Markan scholarship abating and the spate of commentary continues in abundance. Usually, this is based on the conviction that Mark was the first Gospel to the written. The Lectionary of 1969 was greatly enriched, as even the following bare statistics indicate (see Table 6.3). Given that the readings are spread over a three-year cycle, the actual quantity of the New Testament read on any given Sunday is more or less the same. The major difference is that nearly two-thirds of all the Gospels are read over the three-year cycle. This does contrast with the previous one-fifth. If someone were to attend 5.  The Old Testament was aired especially during Lent, Holy Week and the Easter Triduum. For a convenient overview of the Tridentine Lectionary, see http://www.bombaxo. com/tridentine.html. 6. These statistics for the Old Testament exclude the Psalms.

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the celebration of Mass with absolute regularity over three years, then she would be presented with more or less the complete Gospels, when one bears in mind the duplicate passages. In the case of the Old Testament, the change is even more notable. Each Sunday (with seasonal exceptions), some passage from the Jewish Scriptures is read. Nevertheless, this still comes to only 3.7 per cent, again over three years. Thus the quantity of Old Testament read in one year is approximately 1.2 per cent, not too different really from the previous percentage of 1.02 per cent. Of course, it may feel as if we are hearing great quantities of the Old Testament, but this is not so for two reasons. First, the readings are carefully excerpted and mostly quite brief. Second, there is one period in the liturgical year when even the first reading is taken from the New Testament, that is, throughout Eastertide and for the day Mass of Pentecost. Thus for eight Sundays, there is no reading from the Old Testament. The reception of these readings from the Old Testament has varied from catechetical enthusiasm to what we may call ‘closet Marcionism’. The feeling that we are somehow getting too much of the Old Testament hardly stands up to critical analysis, but it may reflect the inability of those present to make much sense of such passages without some assistance. Finally, even though in the previous lectionary there always was an ‘Epistle’, only 11 per cent of the non-Gospels books of the New Testament was read. This now stands at 25 per cent – a notable increase, even when spread over three years. It means we are hearing more of this part of the New Testament but in shorter ‘doses’. It must be said that this true enrichment of the lectionary was presented to the ordinary parishioner and priest without much help or explanation. It simply happened. It was noted by the experts preparing the new lectionary that neither the faithful nor the clergy had sufficient preparation or training to make good of this new situation. How did such a revolution take place?

3. Composing the Lectionary The Lectionary of the Roman Missal, promulgated on Pentecost Sunday 1969, was the fruit of previous decades of enquiry and research and, more specifically, of five years of the most intense and varied experiment and review. The background to the new liturgy and lectionary included several significant ‘movements’, without which it would be impossible to understand how things moved so swiftly in the 1960s. The roots of the Liturgical Movement lay in the nineteenth century. There were several dimensions to this. In part this was very scholarly: the recovery of plainchant (Solesmes)7 and recovery of patristic 7.  The great Benedictine Abbey of Solesmes pioneered the recovery and use of chant in the Catholic liturgy. A  convenient overview of the history of Chant may be found here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gregorian_chant. For the Abbey of Solesmes, the best website is their own: http://www.solesmes.com.

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texts with the publication of the Patrologia Graeca and the Patrologia Latina (Migne). In part it was very pastoral, with the founding of national institutes of pastoral liturgy and the promotion of Pastoral Theology as such. A great deal of this work was ecumenically inspired and the Ecumenical Movement itself was part of the energy and vision. In the preparation period, the lectionaries of all churches of whatever tradition were inspected for inspiration and ideas. Finally, the Biblical Theology Movement was a reaction both to the Great War and to the perceived failure of liberal Protestantism. It may be said to have begun with the publication of the first edition of Karl Barth’s Epistle to the Romans.8 In the long term, the Biblical Theology Movement did not prosper but it did have great influence and left its mark on the new Lectionary. For instance, the renewed focus on typological reading of the Old Testament comes in part from this movement. The History of Salvation approach felt the Old Testament was always straining forward to its fulfilment in the New. The church fathers also read the Old Testament typologically, so this was not really an innovation, but it was new theologically. Thus, the intense work from 1965 to 1969 was not without a much wider foundation, which helps us to understand how so much was achieved in so short a time. The Bible itself was fundamental to the Second Vatican Council. When the Council came to consider the liturgy, it famously said: ‘The treasures of the Bible are to be opened up more lavishly, so that richer fare may be provided for the faithful at the table of God’s word. In this way a more representative portion of the holy scriptures will be read to the people in the course of a prescribed number of years.’9 Some other less familiar citations capture something of the energy and vision: Thus to achieve the restoration, progress, and adaptation of the sacred liturgy, it is essential to promote that warm and living love for scripture to which the venerable tradition of both eastern and western rites gives testimony. (Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy §24) Easy access to Sacred Scripture should be provided for all the Christian faithful. (Constitution on Divine Revelation §22)10 Therefore, all the clergy must hold fast to the Sacred Scriptures through diligent sacred reading and careful study, especially the priests of Christ and others, such as deacons and catechists who are legitimately active in the ministry of the word. This is to be done so that none of them will become ‘an empty preacher of

8. Karl Barth, Der Römerbrief (Bern: Bäschlin, 1919). 9.  Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, §51, 4 December 1963, doi:  http://www.vatican.va/ archive/ hist_ councils/ ii_ vatican_ council/ documents/ vat- ii_ const_ 19631204_ sacrosanctum-concilium_en.html. 10. That fact that this needed to be said is eloquent in itself. See Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation, 18 November 1965, doi: http://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_const_19651118_dei-verbum_en.html.

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the word of God outwardly, who is not a listener to it inwardly’ since they must share the abundant wealth of the divine word with the faithful committed to them, especially in the sacred liturgy. The sacred synod also earnestly and especially urges all the Christian faithful, especially Religious, to learn by frequent reading of the divine Scriptures the ‘excellent knowledge of Jesus Christ’ (Phil. 3:8). ‘For ignorance of the Scriptures is ignorance of Christ.’ (Constitution on Divine Revelation §25)

As part of the renewal of worship, experimentation with different lectionaries was permitted. For a synthetic view of what happened, the account given by Annibale Bugnini in The Reform of the Liturgy 1948–1975 remains fundamental.11 At the request of national hierarchies, experimental lectionaries were explored. A great deal of consideration went into the principles which should govern the creation of the new lectionary. Should there be only two or three readings? Should there be a two- or three-year cycle? Should the old lectionary be retained as one of those cycles? Should there be continuous reading of all texts, including the Old Testament? Should the selection of reading be thematic or some combination of continuous and thematic readings? The name of Fr Gaston Fontaine has not made it into the popular memory of Vatican II. He provided a tremendous service by creating a vast comparative analysis of all previous lectionaries, ancient and modern, Western and Eastern, Catholic and Reformed. At the same time, thirty-one biblical scholars were asked to select from all the books of the Bible those passages they regarded as both suitable and/or essential for lectionary use.12 About a hundred catechetical experts and pastors were also involved. A gargantuan process was set in motion with the goal of fulfilling the wish of the Council that ‘the treasures of the bible are to be opened up more lavishly’.13 Finally, the Ordo lectionum pro dominicis, feriis et festis sanctorum was published in July 1967. Then, some eight hundred experts on Scripture, liturgy, catechesis and pastoral care scrutinized the results. As a result, a radical revision took place immediately and was finalized through 1968. Eventually, in May 1969 the proofs were presented to the Pope. In the apostolic constitution Missale Romanum, Paul VI said: We are fully confident that both priests and faithful will prepare their hearts more devoutly and together at the Lord’s Supper, meditating more profoundly

11.  Annibale Bugnini, The Reform of the Liturgy 1948–1975 (Collegeville:  Liturgical Press, 1990). Chapter 26 (pp. 406–25) synthesizes briskly – even breathlessly – the intense experimentation, research and review of the short time from 1965 to 1969. 12. The full list of names is given by Bugnini in The Reform of the Liturgy in the footnotes on pp. 412–13. 13.  Second Vatican Council, Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy (Sacrosanctum Concilium), §51, doi:  http://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/ documents/vat-ii_const_19631204_sacrosanctum-concilium_en.html.

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on Sacred Scripture, and at the same time they will nourish themselves more day by day with the words of the Lord. It will follow then that according to the wishes of the Second Vatican Council, Sacred Scripture will be at the same time a perpetual source of spiritual life, an instrument of prime value for transmitting Christian doctrine and finally the centre of all theology.14

The result of this tremendous labour is the lectionary as we now have it. In the end, a three-year cycle was agreed on. The continuous or thematic debate ended in a compromise:  the Gospel and Epistle would be continuous while the Old Testament would be chosen mostly to anticipate the Gospel theme. John’s Gospel would be read in the seasons of Lent and Easter, as well as supplementing the year of Mark. For the weekday lectionary (not really under consideration here), the Gospels are the same each year but there is a two-year cycle for the first reading. In this way, a semi-continuous reading of some Old Testament books was achieved. As noted, even that is not without its difficulties.

4. The Lectionary in Practice As anticipated by those who prepared it, neither priests nor people were able to take in the new richness of Scripture immediately.15 Great efforts were made – the establishment of the publication Scripture in Church would be a good example of the attempt at making such resources available at the local level in Ireland. Resources for preaching were also regularly provided in the Irish context by such pastoral periodicals as The Furrow and Intercom. For the ordinary person in the pew, The Word magazine published a helpful series on the readings over three years by Seán Goan, later published as three books.16 But because the previous teaching of Scripture in Ireland seems to have been generally less than adequate17 and because Irish Catholics were not really familiar with the Bible as such,18 the 14. Pope Paul VI, Missale Romanum, 3 April 1969, online: http://w2.vatican.va/content/ paul- vi/ en/ apost_ constitutions/ documents/ hf_ p- vi_ apc_ 19690403_ missale- romanum. html. 15.  See Thomas O’Loughlin’s excellent Making the Most of the New Lectionary (London: SPCK, 2012). 16.  Seán Goan, Let the Reader Understand:  The Sunday Readings of Year C (Dublin: Columba Press, 2007); Let the Reader Understand: The Sunday Readings of Year A (Dublin: Columba Press, 2008); Let the Reader Understand: The Sunday Readings of Year B (Dublin: Columba Press, 2009). 17.  In general, the teaching of Scripture in the Catholic Church before the Second Vatican Council was subservient to dogmatic theology. This meant that arguments from Scripture took the form of proof-texting, with little attention to historical context, literary forms and the like. 18.  It is a truism to note that Catholics in the post-Reformation period were wary of the Bible. There were notable exceptions, of course. For example, a meeting was held on 9

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effect of the lectionary was muted, initially. This is just beginning to change now, some fifty years later. If I may put it like this, in the immediate aftermath of Vatican II, Catholics (laity and clergy) took up the Bible because they were told to. Today, after all the difficulties of recent decades, Catholics (laity and clergy) now take up the Bible because they need to. The shift is significant. There is greater hunger for the Word of God and for the understanding of the Word of God among both laity and those in ministry. By choosing a mixed approach of both thematic and continuous reading, the lectionary has privileged (rightly) the Gospel. Because the Gospel stories have to do with Jesus and his teaching, most people find the Gospel more approachable and nourishing. Narrative has a direct appeal and usually in the Gospel we have a complete narrative, with a satisfying beginning, middle and end. Matching the Gospel with an Old Testament reading linked to it has had a number of effects. It first of all strengthens the idea that the Gospel is the most important reading by anticipating in some way the content and message. The Old Testament reading connects either by explicit theme or by typology to the Gospel scene. With a small amount of training and practice, spotting what is going on is not difficult for most people. There are disadvantages. First, it means that the Old Testament is never read as such and for itself, but always in view of something else. This ‘in view of something else’ is in tension with much contemporary biblical scholarship, which tries to recover the meaning at the time of writing without neglecting the Christian reception of such books. A typological reading, however, tends to turn our gaze firmly away from the meaning at the time of writing. When we bear in mind that the Old Testament is never read continuously on Sundays and feasts, it may be said that the lectionary constitutes a certain (unintentional) devaluing of the Old Testament. Continuous reading from the Old Testament is not without it challenges, as we know from the weekday lectionary, and yet the fact that we never get to hear the overarching narratives of the different books means they remain somewhat on the fringes of Irish Catholic awareness.19 Perhaps liturgy is not the place for achieving this, and I am not really suggesting that we review the Sunday lectionary to include a third continuous reading, without thematic link to the other readings. I am merely noticing some weakness inherent in this way of reading Scripture, specifically the Old Testament. Also, the typological reading of the Old Testament, already begun in the New, is a somewhat dated way of handling the ancient texts, reflecting more the patristic period and the interest in patristic exegesis just before Vatican II.20 The didacticism of

November 1824, at Carrick on Shannon, between Protestants and Catholics for the discussion of the important question as to the right of distributing the Scriptures. But, in general, the distribution of Bibles was perceived as a form of proselytism. 19. A good attempt is made in the Lent lectionary, where the cycle offers a different overarching Old Testament narrative. 20.  Note, however, that there is a return to such approached among evangelicals and Catholic intergristes.

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yesteryear does not always serve us well. Some such ‘wider reading’ approach is necessary but not always at the price of subjugating the Jewish Scriptures to needs of Christian proclamation. After all, we still hear on Sundays and feasts only 1.2 per cent of the Old Testament each year. It really is not a lot. With the focus firmly on the teaching line running from the Old Testament to the Gospel reading, another effect of the new Lectionary has been the practical neglect of Paul in Catholic preaching. This must always seem extraordinary. The centrality of Paul’s ideas in Christian thinking and no less in Vatican II reminds us what a gift it was that someone of his extraordinary faith, spiritual intelligence, physical energy and sheer brilliance was at the service of the Christian movement at its inception. He was not the founder of Christianity, as some have in the past and still today maintain, but it would have been very, very different without him. Given the importance of ‘the apostle’ for the church Fathers, the scholastics and the Reformers, his relative neglect today, at least in preaching, is all the more regrettable. A strength of the new Lectionary – despite the neglect of Paul in preaching – is that Paul is read at least semi-continuously. But it remains a challenge to take meaning from what is only a paragraph or so each Sunday. His arguments are like great mosaics, expansive and engaging. In a mosaic, while it is possible that a tessera or two might be jewel-like and beautiful in their own right, in reality each tessera or even each vignette of a mosaic makes sense only when we see it in the context of the overall design. It will be well known that Paul’s grand arguments usually extend over three or four chapters. It is also well known that these grand arguments are organized according to the principles of Hellenistic rhetoric. This is so much the case that any single paragraph – perhaps jewel-like and beautiful in its own right – takes on its true meaning only within the overarching persuasion of the argument. When we bear in mind that Paul is offering discursive thought rather than storytelling, it is easy to see why both hearers and preachers shy away from him. The neglect of Paul is regrettable for another reason. One of the challenges of faith today is the demise of the classical Western understanding of atonement.21 One of the consequences is that the contemporary proclamation of salvation is without a core narrative carrying cultural and existential resonance. If the ordinary believer (or preacher for that matter) were asked today what ‘happened’ in Jesus’s death and resurrection, a confused silence would be the result. This is perfectly understandable because of the just mentioned collapse of the classical atonement model, but also because the Synoptic Gospels do not offer a clear teaching on salvation and redemption. Of course they tell the story – and in the telling, they promote a view, but they do not offer a theology. Three New Testament writers give us intellectually challenging and satisfying theologies of salvation: Paul, Hebrews

21.  The classical atonement theory of Anselm of Canterbury (and its Reformed reception, Penal Substitution) no longer stand up to critical analysis based on biblical studies, the advance of science, the theology of God and the theology of the resurrection of Jesus.

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and the Fourth Gospel. Paul, for example, offers a culturally viable and theologically resonant account: the compassionate solidarity of Jesus, which discloses the faithfulness of God.22 Along with Hebrews and the Fourth Gospel, Paul could help us build a new vision of salvation and redemption and give us alternative ways of presenting the Good News in our time.

5. The Impacts on People and Preachers The initial impact on both people and preachers was like giving a starving man a multi-course Christmas dinner. It must have seemed all too sudden and all too much. The ordinary believer had no ‘training’ for dealing with so much Scripture, some of it very unfamiliar. In this, the people were in many ways no different from the priests, as the latter were also ill-prepared. It bears recalling that the centrality of Scripture in contemporary Catholic theology is a fruit precisely of the Second Vatican Council. It is not that seminarians did not ‘do’ biblical studies in earlier generations; rather, the new way of approaching the Biblical text – in particular the final acceptance by the Catholic Church of the historical-critical method  – really was new then and still today has not quite made it into mainstream thinking when it comes to preaching.23 The current crisis of preaching is evidence of that. Irish culture, for mainly historical reasons, is highly verbal. It can still surprise and disappoint that this facility for language and delight in verbal pyrotechnics seem not yet (with exceptions) to have made their way into the homily. This (non-)phenomenon matches in some ways the difficulty of getting people to sing in church. The challenge in other settings is getting them to stop! It has taken a long time for the Lectionary to bed down in Ireland and perhaps it is happening now. Many Irish people feel the need to take responsibility for their own faith and engagement with the Bible is the first step in that project and the best resource. The growth in Bible study groups and the practice of lectio divina are both measures of a new interest in the Word of God in Ireland.24 It some ways, it is easier for the laity – they may have more time and they do not have to pretend

22. The best synthesis is perhaps Rom 3:21–26 (in the NET Bible translation). 23. The history of the Catholic Church’s painfully slow acceptance of contemporary biblical studies and, in particular, of the historical-critical methods has often been told. The thaw starts, perhaps surprisingly, with Pius XII’s 1943 encyclical Divino Afflante Spiritu. The documents of the Pontifical Biblical Commission themselves constitute a documentation of the evolution. These are all available on the website of the Commission (http://www.vatican. va/roman_curia/congregations/cfaith/pcb_doc_index.htm). 24.  Fr. Seamus O’Connell, the current professor of Sacred Scripture at Maynooth, is an energetic promoter of the practice of lectio divina, in all contexts but especially among the clergy. See, for example, Seamus O’Connell, ‘Walking towards God: On Practicing Lectio Divina’, Intercom 39.2 (March 2009): 26–7.

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to a professionalism. In faith conversations, the professionals, such as clergy and catechists, often feel the need to defend church teachings, whereas the ordinary churchgoer can be more spontaneous and somehow less guarded. The clergy  – many deeply committed to Scripture – often lack the time and skills to become true masters of the Word. The current insistence of Pope Francis on the place of the Bible in the lives of those in ministry implies the recognition of a lack. We read in his The Joy of the Gospel: The first step, after calling upon the Holy Spirit in prayer, is to give our entire attention to the biblical text, which needs to be the basis of our preaching. Whenever we stop and attempt to understand the message of a particular text, we are practising ‘reverence for the truth’. This is the humility of heart which recognizes that the word is always beyond us, that ‘we are neither its masters or owners, but its guardians, heralds and servants’. This attitude of humble and awe-filled veneration of the word is expressed by taking the time to study it with the greatest care and a holy fear lest we distort it. To interpret a biblical text, we need to be patient, to put aside all other concerns, and to give it our time, interest and undivided attention. We must leave aside any other pressing concerns and create an environment of serene concentration. It is useless to attempt to read a biblical text if all we are looking for are quick, easy and immediate results. Preparation for preaching requires love. We only devote periods of quiet time to the things or the people whom we love; and here we are speaking of the God whom we love, a God who wishes to speak to us. Because of this love, we can take as much time as we need, like every true disciple: ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening’ (1 Sam 3:9).25

The new Catholic lectionary was quickly recognized as a major liturgical, biblical, spiritual and ecumenical achievement. A  fruit of that achievement has been the development of the Revised Common Lectionary. Following extensive consultations, this emerged in 1994. While following the ordo of readings created after Vatican II, it does increase the readings from the Old Testament (especially the Wisdom books) and it offers, as an alternative, lectio continua from the Old Testament. In Ireland, the easiest way to appreciate the RCL is to consult the 2004 Irish Book of Common Prayer. The Table of Readings may be found on pages 24–70.26 By way of illustration, here are the appointed readings for Proper 19 (= Sunday 24 in Ordinary Time) in year B (see Table 6.4).

25. Pope Francis, Evangelii Gaudium, §146. doi: http://w2.vatican.va/content/francesco/ en/apost_exhortations/documents/papa-francesco_esortazione-ap_20131124_evangeliigaudium.html. 26.  The previous 1926 Church of Ireland lectionary for use at Holy Communion (also instructive in relative neglect of the Old Testament) is conveniently given in the same book on pages 71–3.

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Table  6.4 Proper 19 in year B, Revised Common Lectionary and Roman Catholic Lectionary Proper 19 = Revised Common Lectionary CONTINUOUS Prov 1:20–33 Psalm 19 or Canticle: Song of Wisdom PAIRED Isa 50:4–9a Ps 116:1–9 Jam 3:1–12 Mark 8:27–38

Sunday 24 Roman Catholic Lectionary

Isa 50:5–9 Ps 114 (= Psalm 116):1–6, 8–9 Jam 2:14–18 Mark 8:27–35

As is apparent, the overlap is great while certain adjustments have been made. Such a revision of the Catholic lectionary was foreseen when it was in preparation but never enacted. The hope had been to let three three-year cycles elapse and then to conduct a thorough review and revision. Perhaps the time has come again for the Catholic Church to learn from the experience and commitment of other Christian families? In the mid-twentieth century many churches revised their liturgy and their lectionary. Broadly, the churches of the Reform were reappraising their practice of sacraments, especially the Eucharist. At the same time, the Roman Catholic Church was rediscovering the place and power of the Word, in life and in worship. Such convergence is a sign of mutual appreciation of the gifts of different traditions. It is a matter of considerable satisfaction and even hope that across the most varied churches,27 many Christians worldwide are now nourished by a substantially shared reading of the Word of God when they come together for worship on Sundays. It is a kind of communion, impaired but real.

27.  For example, the following incomplete list illustrates just how many churches have adopted the RCL:  Church of Ireland, Anglican (Ireland); Church of England; Church of Scotland; Church in Wales; Methodist Church of Great Britain; Scottish Episcopal Church; United Reformed Church (UK); Anglican Church of Australia; Uniting Church in Australia (Australia); Anglican Church of Canada; Canadian Baptists of Western Canada; United Church of Canada; Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada; Mennonite Church Canada (Canada); American Baptist Churches (USA); Community of Christ; Disciples of Christ; Episcopal Church in the United States of America; Evangelical Lutheran Church in America; King’s Chapel, Boston – an autonomous Unitarian Universalist church in the Anglican tradition; Moravian Church in America; Lutheran Church  – Missouri Synod; Presbyterian Church (USA); Reformed Church in America; United Church of Christ; United Methodist Church; Unitarian Universalist Christian Fellowship (USA).

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6. Conclusion Where to from here? As Catholics in Ireland and elsewhere take up the Bible more and more, this is having an effect on the continued reception of the lectionary. Unsatisfactory or puzzling readings now give rise to criticism at a popular level. The bedding down of feminist criticism offers one such example. Why should we have to struggle with such material? A greater familiarity with Scripture also raises expectations regarding preaching. It can happen that at least some of the listeners are more in tune with the Word than some of the speakers. Finally, while some continue to have difficulties with the Old Testament, a more interesting question is coming to light: why listen to such ancient texts at all? This is a wider question affecting our identity as Christians and our rootedness in the classical texts of our tradition. In the meantime, we can continue to enjoy and explore ‘that richer fare . . . at the table of God’s word’.

Bibliography Barth, Karl. Der Römerbrief. Bern: Bäschlin, 1919. Bonneau, Normand. The Sunday Lectionary: Ritual Word, Paschal Shape. Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1998. Bugnini, Annibale. The Reform of the Liturgy 1948–1975. Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1990. Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy. 4 December 1963. Online: http://www.vatican. va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_const_19631204_ sacrosanctum-concilium_en.html. Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation. 18 November 1965. Online: http://www. vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_const_ 19651118_dei-verbum_en.html. Goan, Seán. Let the Reader Understand: The Sunday Readings of Year A. Dublin: Columba Press, 2008. Goan, Seán. Let the Reader Understand: The Sunday Readings of Year B. Dublin: Columba Press, 2009. Goan, Seán. Let the Reader Understand: The Sunday Readings of Year C. Dublin: Columba Press, 2007. O’Connell, Seamus. ‘Walking towards God: On Practicing Lectio Divina’. Intercom 39/2 (March 2009): 26–7. O’Loughlin, Thomas. Making the Most of the New Lectionary. London: SPCK, 2012. Pope Francis. ‘Angelus’. 6 April 2014. doi: http://w2.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/ angelus/2014/documents/papa-francesco_angelus_20140406.html. Pope Francis. Evangelii Gaudium. 24 November 2013. doi: http://w2.vatican.va/content/ francesco/en/apost_exhortations/documents/papa-francesco_esortazione-ap_ 20131124_evangelii-gaudium.html. Pope Paul VI. Missale Romanum. 3 April 1969. doi: http://w2.vatican.va/content/paul-vi/ en/apost_constitutions/documents/hf_p-vi_apc_19690403_missale-romanum.html.

Part II T HE B IBLE AND I DENTITY IN I RELAND

Chapter 7 ‘ T H I S B O O K E HAT H B R E D A L L T H E QUA R R E L’ :   T H E B I B L E I N T H E 1 6 4 1 D E P O SI T IO N S Bradford A. Anderson

1. Introduction ‘The English and Scotts combyned and joined in a petition to his Majestie . . . to come into Ireland with the Bible in one hand, the Sword in the other.’1 So begins ‘The Grievances of the Peers and Gentry of Ireland’, a seventeenth-century document outlining the concerns of Irish gentry at a time when tensions between the English and the Irish were escalating in dramatic fashion. This quotation raises a number of issues, including what role, if any, the Bible did play in Ireland during the contentious seventeenth century. As a starting point to begin exploring this question, I will survey a collection of documents known as the 1641 Depositions, and the various references to the Bible found in this collection. Following on from this I  will explore one recent study on the functional dimensions of Scriptures that highlights the issue of iconicity, an issue which is particularly relevant for the present volume and its focus on social and cultural dimensions of the Bible and its use. I will then return to the Depositions and tease out the ways in which this theory might be helpful for understanding the references to the Bible in this collection, and conclude with some reflections on the role of the Bible in shaping identities in seventeenthcentury Ireland. 1.  TCD MS 840, f.  25r, ‘The grievances of the peers and gentry of Ireland’. This and subsequent references to documents from the 1641 Depositions cite manuscript and folio number from the Trinity College Dublin collection, which can be accessed online at www.1641.tcd.ie. This example is unique in that it comes from the vantage point of native Irish (even if the upper echelons), while the vast majority of the collection gives voice to settlers.

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2. The Rising and the 1641 Depositions Conflict between the English and Irish did not, of course, begin in the seventeenth century; indeed, the seventeenth century inherited a number of issues that had taken root in the centuries prior (see the discussion on pp. 4–6 of the Introduction). The issue of settlers and plantations, for example, and thus colonization more broadly, came to the fore in the sixteenth century in the age of the Tudors, particularly under Mary and Elizabeth. By the beginning of the seventeenth century, an England that was now firmly Protestant had mustered enough stability to impose its will on Ireland, or at least those parts about which it was concerned. And with the Flight of the Earls in the early seventeenth century, many of England’s greatest threats on the island were no longer on the scene.2 There remained, however, many who found themselves increasingly unsettled, in both senses of the word. Events that transpired in Ireland in 1641 began with a rising of the Irish Catholic gentry. These ‘Old English’, many of whom had been in Ireland for generations and were Catholic, had remained loyal to the crown. However, an increasingly Protestant-centric English Parliament, coupled with progressively aggressive appropriation of lands for new English and Protestant settlers in Ireland, made life increasingly uncomfortable for this class of Irish Catholic landowners. In 1641 the Irish gentry rose up against Protestant settlers in Ulster and demanded changes to English rule in Ireland, including the treatment of Catholics and the continued appropriation of lands for these new settlers. The uprising seems to have quickly spread beyond this upper, landowning class to a broader base, in essence pitting all Irish Catholics against English and Scottish Protestant settlers. The conflict turned violent and the events of 1641 would instigate over a decade of conflict in Ireland.3 While the Ulster plantations and the question of land played a significant role in this conflict, the rising was complex and was triggered by a number of factors, including political unrest in Ireland and Britain; ethnic and nationalistic differences; social and cultural change; and, of course, religious tension.4 2. The historical context of this period is clearly and helpfully laid out in Alan Ford, James Ussher: Theology, History, and Politics in Early-Modern Ireland and England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007). 3. The literature on this period and the rising in particular is voluminous. Helpful entry points include Hiram Morgan, ‘Rising of 1641’, in The Oxford Companion to Irish History, ed. S. J. Connolly (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 1998), 487; John McCavitt, ‘Rebellion 1641’, in The Encyclopaedia of Ireland, ed. Brian Lalor (Dublin:  Gill & Macmillan, 2003), 917; Andrew Hadfield, ‘The Rebellion of 1641’, in Strangers to that Land: British Perceptions of Ireland from the Reformation to the Famine, ed. Andrew Hadfield and John McVeagh (Gerrards Cross: Colin Smyth, 1994), 115–22; Brian MacCuarta, ed., Ulster 1641: Aspects of the Rising (Belfast: The Institute of Irish Studies/Queen’s University Belfast, 1993). 4.  On issues related to land, see Raymond Gillespie, Colonial Ulster: The Settlement of East Ulster 1600–1641 (Cork: Cork University Press, 1985). Political dimensions are outlined in T. W. Moody, F. X. Martin and F. J. Byrne, eds, A New History of Ireland, Vol. 3: Early

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The 1641 Depositions are a compilation of materials that were gathered over several years following the Rising, and consist of claims by refugees for compensation for losses incurred during the Rising, statements taken to gather intelligence for military purposes and materials gathered to prosecute those accused of atrocities.5 This leads us to a significant issue: the historiographical questions and ideological agendas that surround the Depositions. The veracity and usefulness of the Depositions have both been vigorously contested, on historical and ideological grounds.6 To begin with, it is important to keep in mind that these Depositions are in fact a compilation of materials that were gathered over several years following the rising, and consist of claims and requests for compensation, among other things. Thus, there are serious questions about the reliability of the testimonies in the Depositions, particularly as many of the deposed are settlers seeking reparations. For example, the numbers which were said to have been killed during this conflict has long been a matter of contentious debate, with a general agreement now that the numbers given in the Depositions are seriously inflated. Related, it is worth noting that almost all of the reports we have of Irish Catholics in the Depositions come from the testimony of English and Scottish Protestant settlers,

Modern Ireland 1534–1691 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978). Ethnic and nationalistic issues are discussed in Ciaran Brady and Raymond Gillespie, eds, Natives and Newcomers: Essays on the Making of Irish Colonial Society 1534–1641 (Dublin:  Irish Academic Press, 1986). For more on social and cultural changes, consult George O’Brien, The Economic History of Ireland in the Seventeenth Century (Clifton: Augustus M. Kelley, 1972 [1919]). Religious dimensions are helpfully elucidated in Alan Ford, The Protestant Reformation in Ireland, 1590–1641 (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1985); Phil Kilroy, ‘Protestantism in Ulster, 1610–1641’, in Ulster 1641, 25–36; Nicholas Canny, ‘Religion, Politics and the Irish Rising of 1641’, in Religion and Rebellion, ed. Judith Devlin and Ronan Fanning (Dublin:  UCD Press, 1997), 40–70. 5.  This collection was recently digitized and transcribed by a digital humanities initiative at Trinity College Dublin. Known as the Depositions, it actually contains four sets of documents:  statements from refugees taken from 1641–47 by a commission headed by Henry Jones, related to claims to compensation for property lost in the rebellion; depositions taken in Munster in 1642–43 by the English Parliament; statements taken to gather intelligence, from both Protestant refugees and captured insurgents for military purposes; and materials collected by High Court of Justice in 1652 to prosecute those accused of atrocities in the Confederate War (Irish Civil War, 1641–53), which followed the 1641 rising. The Depositions are thus a response to 1641 in later years and a snapshot of a particular time, including ongoing hostility. See Hiram Morgan, ‘Depositions’, in The Oxford Companion to Irish History, 141; Liam Irwin, ‘Depositions’, in The Encyclopaedia of Ireland, 283–4; Aidan Clarke, ‘ The 1641 Depositions’, in Treasures of the Library: Trinity College Dublin, ed. Peter Fox (Dublin:  Royal Irish Academy for Trinity College Library, 1986), 111–22. 6. See Morgan, ‘Depositions’, 141; Irwin, ‘Depositions’, 283–4.

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and so the collection is by no means a balanced account.7 There are, in short, very few Catholic voices in these documents. What use, then, might these documents have for us today? There has been a recognition in recent years that, in spite of historiographic and ideological difficulties, these Depositions are helpful in painting a broad picture of social and cultural dynamics in seventeenth-century Ireland, and it is to this end that we can perhaps best employ this collection when reflecting on the role of the Bible in these Depositions.8 2.1 The Bible in the 1641 Depositions In researching these texts, I was able to isolate over sixty different references to the Bible in the depositions, and have categorized these into examples referring to oath swearing, and those related to destruction or desecration of Bibles. 2.1.1 Oath Swearing The first grouping of references invokes the Bible in the act of swearing an oath.9 In these cases the Bible is said to have been used on account of an assumed positive quality: an ability to solicit honesty and integrity of word and deed on behalf of those that use it in this manner. Examples of this include gentry being asked to swear, on the Bible, allegiance to the king, Protestants being made to swear upon their Bibles an oath of association with the rebels, and Protestants swearing on the Bible not to conceal things from the rebels.10 In all of these occurrences the Bible is understood primarily in constructive terms: it should bring forth honesty on the part of those swearing oaths. In fact, a recurring theme in several of these depositions is the shock that such oaths have been disregarded, particularly in light of the solemnity of invoking the holy text.

7. It is also important to keep in mind that there are significant differences and tensions between the English and Scottish in Ireland at this time, not to mention conflict between the home countries themselves. For more on these issues, see Hugh Kearney, ‘Scotland’, in The Oxford Companion to Irish History, ed. S. J. Connolly (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 1998), 501–502; J. C. Beckett, ‘Irish-Scottish Relations in the Seventeenth Century’, in Confrontations:  Studies in Irish History (London:  Faber, 1972), 26–46; Phil Kilroy, ‘Protestantism in Ulster, 1610–1641’, in Ulster 1641, 25–36. 8. N. P. Canny, ‘The 1641 Depositions: A Source for Social and Cultural History’, History Ireland 1.4 (1993): 52–5; Morgan, ‘Depositions’, 141; Irwin, ‘Depositions’, 284. 9. Whether this is literally or figuratively in the Depositions is not always clear. For more on the concept of oath swearing, see John Spurr, ‘A Profane History of Early Modern Oaths’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 11 (2001): 37–63. Spurr (46) also addresses the rise of the use of Bible in the Middle Ages in ritual contexts of oaths. 10. TCD MS 840, f. 23r, ‘Declaration of the Lords Gentry of Leinster and Munster’; TCD MS 828, f.  209v, ‘Deposition of Michael Vine’; TCD MS 831, f.  99v, ‘Deposition of Jane Boswell’; TCD MS 831, f. 113r, ‘Deposition of Rose Ennis’.

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2.1.2 Destruction and Desecration In contrast to these few instances of using the Bible to swear an oath, there are well over fifty references in the Depositions to the Bible that suggest destruction and desecration of these texts. These references are composed almost entirely of examples of Bibles being burned, stolen, destroyed or otherwise desecrated, and all such cases are reported to have been done at the hands of Catholics against Protestants.11 The most common type of destruction recounted in the Depositions is the burning of Bibles, with over twenty-five separate instances cited.12 Some examples are worth noting. In the testimony of one Thomas Ricroft, for example, we read, ‘Those rebells . . . before the faces of severall protestants burnt all the bibles they cold meete . . . saying . . . in disgrace & contempt of religion, what will yow doe now yor bibles are burnt.’13 In another instance we read that one man ‘tooke the deponents new testament and & first opening of it spread it vpon the fire and burnt it & kept his foot vpon it, that it might be burnt the sooner, & in that action sayd of the booke that this is the thing that offends me’.14 In addition to burning, the Depositions note the physical abuse, destruction and denigration of Bibles. Thus, there are several instances of Bibles being cut up or torn to pieces and thrown about.15 Other examples are given of rebels throwing

11.  On Bibles being stolen: this is noted to have happened to individuals, as well as in churches, as reclamation of church property was a large issue during this period. For personal examples, see TCD MS 834, F. 175r, ‘Deposition of William Reinoldes’; TCD MS 815, f. 47r, ‘Deposition of Morgan Couraghie’; TCD MS 813, f. 307r, ‘John Walsh’; TCD MS 831, f. 242r, ‘Deposition of James Bayley’; TCD MS 817, f. 177r, ‘Deposition of Arthur Aghmoty and Martin Johnston’. For church-related examples, see TCD MS 816, f. 111r, ‘Deposition of William Howard (vicar)’; TCD MS 820, f. 211r, ‘Deposition of Phillip Chappell’; TCD MS 817, f. 148v, ‘Deposition of Nathaniel Hollington’; TCD MS 834, f. 131v-132r, ‘Deposition of John Mountgomery’; TCD MS 835, f.  176r, ‘Deposition of Elizabeth Taylor’. On the issue of reclaiming church property, see Canny, ‘Religion, Politics, and the Irish Rising of 1641’, 56–8. 12. Examples of personal Bibles being burned include TCD MS 818, f. 25r, ‘Deposition of William Whalley’; TCD MS 811, f. 170r, ‘Deposition of Timothy Pate’; TCD MS 815, 241v, ‘Deposition of Thomas Collins’; TCD MS 817, f. 38r, ‘Deposition of Thomas Fleetwood’; TCD MS 835, f. 198v, ‘Deposition of Simon Crane’; TCD MS 813, f. 380v, ‘Deposition of Mary Squirrel’; TCD MS 815, 300v, ‘Deposition of Joseph Woolley’; TCD MS 815, 295r, ‘Deposition of John Wilmott’; TCD MS 834, f. 109v, ‘Deposition of Alexander Creichton’; TCD MS 836, f.  58r, ‘Deposition of Ellen Matchett’; TCD MS 811, f.  40r, ‘Deposition of Edward Deane’; TCD MS 815, f. 217r, ‘Deposition of David Buck’. In one case it is specifically mentioned as a Greek New Testament and a book of penitential psalms (TCD MS 834, f. 103r, ‘Deposition of Robert Browne’). 13. TCD MS 818, f. 124r, ‘Deposition of Thomas Ricroft’. 14. TCD MS 820, f. 20r, ‘Deposition of Richard Belshire’. 15.  TCD MS 815, f.  173r, ‘Deposition of Thomas O’Carroll’; TCD MS 835, f.  109r, ‘Deposition of Robert French’; TCD MS 815, f.  217r, ‘Deposition of Dennis O’Brennan’;

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Bibles out of houses and hurling stones at them.16 A number of the documents give fuller explication of such episodes. One account notes that after a vicar had been killed, ‘in derision to his function they tore a Leafe out of a Bible . . . & put this leafe vnto the said Breretons hand (being already dead) calling to him & bidding of him to preach’.17 Another deposition notes that Hugh Brady . . . and divers others of the Rebells, did then often take into their hands the protestant bybles & wetting them on the durty water did 5 or 6 seuerall tymes dash the same on the face of the deponent & other protestants saying come I know you love a good lesson. Here is a most excelent one for you & come to morrow & you shall have as good a sermon as this.18

Finally, we read in one account that on the 24. of october last the said Rebells tooke this deponents byble opend it, and laying the open side in a puddle of water lept and stampt vpon it, Saying a plague ont this booke it hath bred all the quarrel, . . . & they hoped that within 3 weeks all the bibles in Ireland shold be vsed as that was or worse & that none should be left in the Kingdome.19

This leads us to one final category of references to the Bible, those which point to specific religious, theological and sociocultural issues of the day. To begin with, several accounts make the connection between the Protestants’ Bibles and their misguided ways. One list makes note of a rebel in the ‘parish of Kill whoe burned the Church bible saying it was the words of the divell & that . . . the protestants were vncristened people’.20 In other depositions we see a deep-seated suspicion towards the Bible being available to laity. One deponent notes that ‘one of the rebels . . .

TCD MS 815, f. 253r, ‘Deposition of Robert Robins’; TCD MS 836, f. 49r, ‘Deposition of William Duffeild’. 16. TCD MS 824, f. 149r, ‘Deposition of Agnes Tucker’. 17. TCD MS 815, f. 376r, ‘Deposition of Martha Piggot’; also recounted in, TCD MS 815, f. 381r, ‘Deposition of Isabelle Smith’. Similarly, another deponent ‘did see Major Piggott kild by 3 soldjers . . . & was stript naked before hee was kild. hee alsoe saw the Rebells sett him with his naked & dead body to the wall, & saw them put a bible into his hands’ (TCD MS 815, f. 439v, ‘Deposition of Edmund MacShane Doyne’). Another episode recounts that ‘in the howses & shopps . . . & divers other Merchants within the said Cittie the protestant bybles & prayer books & other good English & protestant books were torne in peecs & vsed & imployed as wast paper to wrapp in sope startch Candles and other Wares’ (TCD MS 812, f. 213v, ‘Deposition of James Benn’). 18. TCD MS 833, f. 1v, ‘Deposition of Adam Glover’. 19. TCD MS 835, f. 170r, ‘Deposition of Edward Slacke’. 20.  TCD MS 833, f. 162v, ‘List of Rebels’. See also TCD MS 811, f. 47r, ‘Deposition of Henry Ffisher’.

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teareing the singeing Psalmes out of this deponents Bible or Testament & shee reproueing of him for doeing soe, . . . said to this deponent I am sory . . . honest woman that you are soe deluded, for there is nothing in that booke but the devills Inventions’.21 We also see this idea from the vantage point of the clergy. In one account we are told of a Friar Malone who had taken pity on a group that had been captured. Sometime later, the said fryer . . . fownd sume bybles and other prayer bockes: which said bockes he after Cast into the fyer: and wished that he had all the bybles in Christendome and he would sarue them all soe: and demanding of him what was his reson he asnwered that it was fittinge for euery man to haue the byble by rote and not to mistrucke them which should haue it by rote.22

3. Materiality, Iconicity and the Functional Dimensions of Scriptures What are we to make of these references to the Bible in the 1641 Depositions? For those interested in the Bible and its reception, attention is often focused on the biblical text – the content of the book and how that has been received. While the perceived content of the Bible is very much in the background of the stories told in the Depositions (they contain, after all, the ‘devil’s inventions’), there is very little actual reference to this content. Instead, we have oath swearing and examples of the destruction and desecration of the text. And yet, the book is there, and in some sense plays an important role. As noted in the Introduction to this volume (p. 13–14), it is worth bearing in mind less text-centred elements of the reception of the Bible, and the Depositions seem to offer us a useful example of such usage. One potentially fruitful way of thinking further about these issues is found in the work of James Watts, who has

21. TCD MS 820, f. 50v, ‘Deposition of Elizabeth Hooper’; emphasis in the original. 22.  TCD MS 834, f.  119r, ‘Deposition of Roger Holland’. Related:  ‘the ladyes were contynually assaulted and laboured to goe to Masse by the preists and amongst others had one booke of controuersy deliuered them Wherein it was vndertaken that the protestants should bee confuted in their owne bibles’ (TCD MS 831, f.  194r, ‘Deposition of John Gouldsmith’). In another scene involving a priest, ‘when the deponent desired his Bible, which the said ffryer tooke from him with other Books, he refused to give it, but told this Deponent that he was sworne to burne all the protestant Bibles that came to his hands’. The deposition goes on to note: ‘The said ffryer vsed many perswasions to this deponent and his wife to turne to their Religion and promised them, that if they would soe to doe, they should goe with him to the howse of Mr Barnewell of Brymore, and fare noe worse then he did’ (TCD MS 810, f. 245r, ‘Deposition of Edward Leech’). The role of clergy in the uprising and subsequent conflict is complex. On this, see Canny, ‘Religion, Politics, and the Irish Rising of 1641’, 58–60.

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proffered a three-dimensional model for understanding the use of Scriptures.23 Watts’s model has several important dimensions that lie beyond the scope of this study, including a focus on the ritualized use of Scriptures that draws heavily on ritual theory, as well as a focus on Scriptures across religious traditions.24 What I would like to focus on here is Watts’s threefold functional scheme, whereby the use of Scriptures can be classified in terms of a semantic dimension, a performative dimension and an iconic dimension. The semantic dimension, according to Watts, includes all aspects of interpretation and commentary as well as appeals to the text’s contents in preaching and other forms of persuasive rhetoric. This dimension has always received most if not all of the attention of scholars, for the very good reason that religious traditions themselves place great emphasis on scholarly expertise in scriptural interpretation.25

Meanwhile, the performative dimension of Scriptures, Watts suggests, is the performance of what is written, be it the performance of the words or the contents of Scriptures. This can take the form of ritualized public readings, recitation of texts, musical performance or singing of Scriptures, dramatic presentation and artistic illustration.26 Watts’s third dimension, iconicity, is the most relevant for the present study. Beyond the semantic and performative levels, Scriptures function as icons. Sacred texts are iconic in that they point to something beyond themselves. As such, their physical forms are treated differently from those of other books. Scriptures are often the objects of detailed, painstaking artistic attention and

23. James W. Watts, ‘The Three Dimensions of Scriptures’, Postscripts 2.2–3 (2006), 135– 59, reprinted in Iconic Books and Texts (ed. James W. Watts; London: Equinox, 2013), 9–32. Watts (136) notes that scholars in biblical studies, and in the scholarly study of Scriptures and religious texts in general, ‘have devoted the vast majority of their time and publications to explaining the origins and meaning of scriptural texts’. Over the past few decades some attempts have been made to deal with this disparity, touching on issues such as orality and the phenomena of how Scriptures are actually used, outside of the academy. Important examples include Wilfred Cantwell Smith, What Is Scripture? A  Comparative Approach (London: SCM, 1993); Miriam Levering, ed., Rethinking Scripture (Albany : State University of New York Press, 1989); William A. Graham, Beyond the Written Word: Oral Aspects of Scripture in the History of Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987); Vincent L. Wimbush, ed., Theorizing Scriptures: New Critical Orientations to a Cultural Phenomenon, Signifying (On) Scriptures (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2008). 24. See Jonathan Z. Smith, To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987); Catherine Bell, Ritual Theory and Ritual Practice (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992). 25. Watts, ‘The Three Dimensions’, 141. 26. Watts, ‘The Three Dimensions’, 141–2.

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illumination. ‘They are often displayed prominently on podiums or tables, hung on walls, or else hidden within special cases that call attention to them.’27 Further, ‘Scriptures are also often treated differently from other books. They are carried in religious processions, displayed to congregations, and venerated through bowing and kissing . . . They are also manipulated in political ceremonies – displayed or touched as part of oath ceremonies and waved in political rallies and protests’.28 This iconicity can lead to another factor, which is that Scriptures often come to be identified with the tradition as a whole, and so also with the legitimization of particular traditions. Giving the example of some contemporary forms of evangelicalism, Watts notes that they take pride in carrying their Bibles, in both sacred and secular contexts. ‘In their hands, Bibles function as badges of Christian Identity’29; Scriptures, then, often function as signifiers. The issues of scriptural iconicity and signification lead to another factor, which is the potential desecration of Scriptures.30 ‘Insofar as the scripture has become identified with the religion to the point that the tradition’s legitimacy is conveyed by . . . the material book, its ritual abuse can feel like an attempt to delegitimize the whole religious tradition.’31 Thus, people often ‘view an attack on scriptures as an attack on themselves, on their religion, and on their god. As a result, “violence against books is understood by all parties involved as being comparable to violence against people and/or ideas” ’.32

4. Returning to the 1641 Depositions Watts’s reflections on the functional dimensions of Scriptures, it seems to me, are helpful for thinking about the references to the Bible in the 1641 Depositions because, rather than the semantic text or the performance of it, it is the iconic, signifying book that is most often invoked here. The material, iconic text is used to swear oaths, it is used as a bargaining chip, it is desecrated and destroyed. Why this focus on the material text, the iconic dimension? To begin with, it is clear that the Bible – and in particular, the English Bible – was emerging as a Protestant signifier in this period. It is well known that the vernacular Bible was a key agent in Reform-based efforts during the sixteenth and

27. Watts, ‘The Three Dimensions’, 142. 28. Watts, ‘The Three Dimensions’, 142. 29. Watts, ‘The Three Dimensions’, 148. 30. James W. Watts, ‘Desecrating Scriptures’, A Case Study for the Luce Project in Media, Religion, and International Relations (2009), http://surface.syr.edu/rel/3/. 31. Watts, ‘Desecrating Scriptures’, § 1. 32. Watts, ‘Desecrating Scriptures’, § 4. The last quotation is from Cordell Waldron, ‘New Testaments Burned in Israel’, from the Iconic Books Blog, 28 May 2008, 20 October 2014, http://iconicbooks.blogspot.ie/2008/05/new-testaments-burned-in-israel.html.

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seventeenth centuries.33 The Reformed traditions would thrive on the notion of individuals engaging the Bible for themselves. Further, as Christopher Hill’s study on the use of the Bible in the English revolutionary period points out, the vernacular Bible played a major role in English nationalism during the century and a half prior to the Revolution. This correlation of the English Bible and nationalism, Hill notes, became potent in part because it asserted ‘the supremacy of the English language’.34 This highlights a unique confluence of issues during this period: for Protestants in seventeenth-century Ireland, to possess the vernacular Bible spoke of their Reformed faith, of their language and even of their nationality and political allegiance. In fact, one Deposition notes that a Protestant was urged to convert, to join the rebellion and to burn her Bible. She responds that ‘before she would burne her Bible . . . or turne against her countrie shee would die upon the poynt of the sword which [she and her husband] made good upon the saboath day in the morneing next’.35 Here the Bible and nationalism are explicitly linked. Thus, it is clear that the English Bible became an iconic text for Protestants in seventeenth-century Ireland, a signification that was at once religious and political. The numerous references in the Depositions to the material Bible and its misuse appear to bear this out. The way in which the Bible is treated symbolizes larger issues at play. Desecration of the holy book is seen as coterminous with antipathy to the peoples and traditions for which it stands. What, if anything, might we say about Irish Catholics from this period? This question is more complex. We do know that while the Reformed traditions were embracing the vernacular Bible, the Catholic tradition held firm to its belief that the Scriptures were better off in Latin, and in the hands of the clergy.36 Further, when the Bible would eventually be translated into Irish at the turn of the seventeenth century, it was primarily a Protestant-led endeavour, to be used as a tool of conversion of Gaelic-speaking Ireland (see Chapter  3 by Ó Fearghail).37 Thus, it is not hard to imagine that for the Irish Catholics of this period, there might have been hostility towards this book. For Catholics, the English Bible was no Bible at all; the Bible was in Latin; this book stood for

33.  Christopher Hill, The English Bible and the Seventeenth-Century Revolution (London:  Penguin, 1993), 3–44; Gerald Hammond, The Making of the English Bible (Manchester:  Carcanet, 1982); Katherine Walsh and Diana Wood, eds, The Bible in the Medieval World: Essays in Memory of Beryl Smalley (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985); Fearghus Ó Fearghail, The Irish Testament of 1602, The Bedell Boyle Lecture 2003 (Dublin: National Bible Society, 2004). 34. Hill, The English Bible, 7; cf. 264–70. 35. TCD MS 815, f. 197v, ‘Deposition of John Glass’. 36.  This notion lasted in effect until Vatican II. See Daniel J. Harrington, ‘Catholic Interpretation of Scripture’, in The Bible in the Churches: How Different Christians Interpret the Scriptures (New York: Paulist Press, 1985), 35. 37. Ó Fearghail, The Irish Testament of 1602. See also Ford, The Reformation in Ireland.

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otherness, English imperialism and perhaps theological and ecclesial chaos.38 However, the extent to which this might have informed action taken against Protestants and their Bibles is not a straightforward issue, at least as far as the Depositions are concerned. Here we must bear in mind the serious historical and ideological questions that surround these documents. As noted earlier, it is important to note that these Depositions are in fact a compilation of materials that were gathered over several years following the rising, and consist of claims by refugees for compensation for losses incurred during the rising, statements taken to gather intelligence for military purposes and materials gathered to prosecute those accused of atrocities. With this in mind, I would suggest that we are able to glean much more from these Depositions about seventeenth-century Protestants than about Irish Catholics. The Protestants being deposed recognize the value and significance of the Bible as an iconic text, and highlight this in their own narrative retellings of the events to their Protestant audience. Indeed, the ideological nature of these testimonies may reinforce the larger point here under discussion: the Bible, the iconic signifying text, becomes a tool by which passions might be aroused and sympathy might be gained because of what the book itself has come to represent. The Bible does not even actually have to have been desecrated for this process to take root; the mere telling of such stories highlights and reinscribes the (English) Bible’s iconic status. What comes through very clearly in these Depositions is that the Bible was emerging as (another) significant marker of difference between natives and settlers.39

5. Conclusions Taking on board the various historical and ideological complexities inherent in dealing with this collection, it remains the case that it is primarily the material object and the Bible as icon that we find in the pages of the 1641 Depositions. While it is all but impossible to verify the veracity of statements given in these Depositions, the very way in which the Bible is invoked in the testimonies belies larger understandings of what the Bible had come to represent in this era, particularly for Protestants, and the significant place the Bible as an iconic text was coming to have in identity formation. The Depositions are a reminder that fully appreciating how Scriptures are used may require us not just to look at the content of sacred texts, but to take seriously the functional dimensions of these texts, not least of which is their iconic, signifying power.

38. As Alan Ford points out (Reformation in Ireland), there was an underlying assumption on both sides that Reformation and Anglicization would go hand in hand. 39.  I am thankful to James Watts and William Murphy for offering helpful comments on these issues.

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Bibliography The 1641 Depositions. Trinity College Dublin collection. Dublin: Trinity College Dublin, 2010. www.1641.tcd.ie. Beckett, J. C. ‘Irish-Scottish Relations in the Seventeenth Century’. Pages 26–46 in Confrontations: Studies in Irish History. Edited by J. C. Beckett. London: Faber, 1972. Bell, Catherine. Ritual Theory and Ritual Practice. New York: Oxford University Press, 1992. Bielo, James S., ed. The Social Life of Scriptures: Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Biblicism. Signifying (On) Scriptures. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2009. Brady, Ciaran, and Raymond Gillespie, eds. Natives and Newcomers: Essays on the Making of Irish Colonial Society 1534–1641. Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 1986. Canny, N. P. ‘The 1641 Depositions: A Source for Social and Cultural History’. History Ireland 1.4 (1993): 52–5. Canny, Nicholas. ‘Religion, Politics and the Irish Rising of 1641’. Pages 40–70 in Religion and Rebellion. Edited by Judith Devlin and Ronan Fanning. Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 1997. Clarke, Aidan. ‘The 1641 Depositions’. Pages 111–22 in Treasures of the Library: Trinity College Dublin. Edited by Peter Fox. Dublin: Royal Irish Academy for Trinity College Library, 1986. Connolly, S. J. Contested Island: Ireland 1460–1630. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Connolly, S. J. Divided Kingdom: Ireland 1630–1800. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. Ford, Alan. The Protestant Reformation in Ireland, 1590–1641. Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1985. Gillespie, Raymond. Colonial Ulster: The Settlement of East Ulster 1600–1641. Cork: Cork University Press, 1985. Gillespie, Raymond. ‘Destabilizing Ulster, 1641–2’. Pages 107–22 in Ulster 1641: Aspects of the Rising. Edited by Brian MacCuarta. Belfast: The Institute of Irish Studies/Queens University Belfast, 1993. Graham, William A. Beyond the Written Word: Oral Aspects of Scripture in the History of Religion. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987. Hadfield, Andrew. ‘The Rebellion of 1641’. Pages 115–22 in Strangers to that Land: British Perceptions of Ireland from the Reformation to the Famine. Edited by Andrew Hadfield and John McVeagh. Gerrards Cross: Colin Smyth, 1994. Hammond, Gerald. The Making of the English Bible. Manchester: Carcanet, 1982. Hill, Christopher. The English Bible and the Seventeenth-Century Revolution. London: Penguin, 1993. Irwin, Liam. ‘Depositions’. Pages 283–4 in The Encyclopaedia of Ireland. Edited by Brian Lalor. Dublin: Gill & Macmillan, 2003. Kearney, Hugh. ‘Scotland’. Pages 501–502 in The Oxford Companion to Irish History. Edited by S. J. Connolly. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. Kilroy, Phil. ‘Protestantism in Ulster, 1610–1641’. Pages 25–36 in Ulster 1641: Aspects of the Rising. Edited by Brian MacCuarta. Belfast: The Institute of Irish Studies/Queens University Belfast, 1993. Levering, Miriam, ed. Rethinking Scripture. Albany : State University of New York Press, 1989. MacCuarta, Brian, ed. Ulster 1641: Aspects of the Rising. Belfast: The Institute of Irish Studies/Queens University Belfast, 1993.

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McCavitt, John. ‘Rebellion 1641’. Page 917 in The Encyclopaedia of Ireland. Edited by Brian Lalor. Dublin: Gill & Macmillan, 2003. Moody, T. W., F. X. Martin and F. J. Byrne, eds. A New History of Ireland, Vol. 3: Early Modern Ireland 1534–1691. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978. Morgan, Hiram. ‘Depositions’. Page 141 in The Oxford Companion to Irish History. Edited by S. J. Connolly. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. Morgan, Hiram, ‘Rising of 1641’. Page 487 in The Oxford Companion to Irish History. Edited by S. J. Connolly. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. O’Brien, George. The Economic History of Ireland in the Seventeenth Century. Clifton: Augustus M. Kelley, 1972 [1919]. Ó Fearghail, Fearghus. The Irish Testament of 1602. The Bedell Boyle Lecture 2003. Dublin: National Bible Society, 2004. Robinson, Philip S. The Plantation of Ulster: British Settlement in an Irish Landscape, 1600–1670. Dublin: Gill & Macmillan, 1984. Smith, Jonathan Z. ‘Religion and Bible’. JBL 128 (2009): 5–27. Smith, Jonathan Z. To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987. Smith, Wilfred Cantwell. What Is Scripture? A Comparative Approach. London: SCM Press, 1993. Spurr, John. ‘A Profane History of Early Modern Oaths’. Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 11 (2001): 37–63. Walsh, Katherine, and Diana Wood, eds. The Bible in the Medieval World: Essays in Memory of Beryl Smalley. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985. Watts, James W. ‘Desecrating Scriptures’. A Case Study for the Luce Project in Media, Religion, and International Relations (2009). http://surface.syr.edu/rel/3/. Watts, James W. ‘The Three Dimensions of Scriptures.’ Postscripts 2.2–3 (2006): 135–59. Wimbush, Vincent L., ed. Theorizing Scriptures: New Critical Orientations to a Cultural Phenomenon. Signifying (On) Scriptures. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2008.

Chapter 8 T H E L A S T O F T H E M I L E SIA N S :   I N S E A R C H O F I R E L A N D’ S B I B L IC A L P A ST, 1 7 6 0 – 1 9 0 0 * Brian H. Murray

1. Introduction: Looking East The historical and rhetorical sympathies of the Irish for the peoples of biblical antiquity were complex and often contradictory. This chapter investigates the circumstances whereby the imaginative embrace of other races, languages and peoples became a way of exploring national and ethnic identity in nineteenth-century Ireland. Irish Catholics were always eager to align themselves with the victims of classical and biblical empires (Jews, Greeks, Etruscans and Carthaginians), while they frequently cast the English as Romans, Arabs and Saxons, the bull-headed conquerors of militarily underdeveloped but culturally superior civilizations. In pointed opposition to the Anglo-Saxon and Teutonic identity embraced by English Protestants throughout the nineteenth century, many Irish patriots branded themselves ‘Milesians’. Milesian was widely understood as a synonym for Irish or Celtic from the mid-eighteenth century until the end of the nineteenth, when it fell from general use. The Milesians were supposedly the descendants of Goídel Glas, a Scythian witness to the fall of the Tower of Babel, and Scota, the daughter of an Egyptian pharaoh (see the contribution from McNamara in Chapter 1). After crossing paths with Moses and the Israelites in Egypt, Goídel’s descendants (the original Gaels or ‘Scots’) embarked on a protracted exodus via the Greek and Phoenician colonies of the Mediterranean before settling in Galicia, where the sons of the eponymous warrior Míl Espáine (Milesius) launched an invasion of Ireland. This satisfyingly epic lineage, drawn from the eleventh-century Irish Book of Invasions (Lebor Gabála), provided the Irish with a racial heritage intertwined with the classical and Oriental past but, more importantly, also found ‘a place for Ireland *  This chapter has benefitted from the generous comments of Kenneth Madden, Peter Hession, James Golden, Peter Moran, Michael Ledger-Lomas and Rosanna Da Costa. The research leading to this chapter has received funding from the European Research Council under the European Union’s Seventh Framework Programme (FP7/2007–2013). ERC grant agreement No. 295463.

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in the biblical history of the world’.1 As Joseph Lennon has suggested, this foundation myth perpetuated a narrative in which the ‘Irish ancestors departed Egypt and wound up, eventually, in a land analogous to the Jewish “promised land” ’.2 Ireland’s imagined cultural isolation on the northwestern edge of Europe paradoxically offered a means through which it could be associated with the East. The historian Joep Leerssen has usefully categorized this widespread rhetorical device as a form of ‘auto-exoticism’.3 But Irish Orientalism did not exist in isolation from other forms of cultural and ethnic identification. In recent years, important critical accounts have emerged of the ways in which nineteenth-century racial ‘science’ informed both colonially inflected denigration of the Irish and romantic appreciation of Celtic culture.4 Much less attention has been paid, however, to the ways in which national and racial consciousness was bound up with Ireland’s perceived connection to, or isolation from, the Hebraic and Hellenistic roots of European civilization. If we are to make sense of shifting scholarly and popular understandings of the Irish past, we need to read the Irish Orientalist project alongside efforts to locate the origins of Irish identity in biblical and classical narratives. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, many historians, antiquarians and artists were still committed to synthesizing chronologies preserved in classical, Oriental, Gaelic and biblical sources. While this comparative approach often served to vindicate the historicity and authority of the biblical text, many less exacting scholars breezily reconfigured their sources – including the Bible – to fit existing theories and ideologies. By the end of the century, however, the Irish had begun to explain the peculiarities and particularities of their past in increasingly insular and secular terms. The decline and fall of the Milesians in popular consciousness was a corollary of this epistemological transformation.

2. Antiquarianism and Race As Colin Kidd has recently argued, race is, in some sense, a ‘theological construct’, and ‘although many social and cultural factors have contributed significantly to western constructions of race, scripture has been for much of the early modern and 1.  Clare O’Halloran, Golden Ages and Barbarous Nations:  Antiquarian Debate and Cultural Politics in Ireland, c.  1750–1800 (Cork:  Cork University Press, 2004), 15. For a detailed discussion of the origins of the Milesian narrative, see Joseph Lennon, Irish Orientalism:  A Literary and Intellectual History (Syracuse:  Syracuse University Press, 2002), 23–36. 2. Lennon, Irish Orientalism, 11. 3. Joep Leerssen, Remembrance and Imagination: Patterns in the Historical and Literary Representation of Ireland in the Nineteenth Century (Cork: Cork University Press, 1997), 37. 4.  L. P. Curtis, Apes and Angels:  The Irishman in Victorian Caricature (Washington DC:  Smithsonian, 1971); Bruce Nelson, Irish Nationalists and the Making of the Irish Race (Princeton:  Princeton University Press, 2012); Sinéad Garrigan-Mattar, Primitivism, Science, and the Irish Revival (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004).

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modern eras the primary cultural influence on the forging of races’.5 Throughout the early modern period, the ethnic and cultural identities of the inhabitants of the British and Irish Isles were bound to the Mosaic account of the descent and dispersal of peoples from Noah and his sons.6 But as Clare O’Halloran has shown in her study of Irish antiquarianism, in Ireland ‘writers from across the political and religious spectrum adhered more closely to the traditional account for much longer’ than their European counterparts.7 In nineteenth-century Ireland, we frequently encounter forms of ethnic and national identity that can only be understood, in Anthony D. Smith’s terms, ‘by exploring collective beliefs and sentiments about the “sacred foundations” of the nation and by considering their relationship to the older beliefs, symbols, and rituals of traditional religions’.8 In the early modern era, the Milesian narrative found its greatest supporters in the diminishing and dispossessed Roman Catholic nobility. Most prominent among early modern Irish historians was the Roman Catholic priest Geoffrey Keating (1569–1644), whose manuscript history Foras Feasea ar Eireann (1634) did much to revive the Milesian myth-history, particularly after it was translated and printed in English in 1723.9 In response to the Stuart Restoration, the Latin chronicle Ogygia by Galway Catholic Roderic O’Flaherty (1629–1716) promised ‘a chronological account of Irish events: collected from very ancient documents faithfully compared with each other & supported by the genealogical & chronological aid of the sacred and profane writings of the globe’.10 Here the Milesian mythography was resurrected in service of the claims of the Stuart dynasty, but also to assert the Irish roots of the monarchy of England and Scotland.11 5. Colin Kidd, The Forging of Races: Race and Scripture in the Protestant Atlantic World, 1600–2000 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 19. 6.  On various attempts to locate the separation of races to a period before the flood, see David Livingstone, Adam’s Ancestors: Race, Religion, and the Politics of Human Origins (London: John Hopkins, 2008). 7. O’Halloran, Golden Ages, 13–14. 8. Anthony D. Smith, Chosen Peoples: Sacred Sources of National Identity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 4. 9.  See Bernadette Cunningham, The World of Geoffrey Keating:  History, Myth and Religion in Seventeenth-Century Ireland (Dublin:  Four Courts, 2000). John Morrissey suggests that Keating exploited the techniques of ‘autoethnography’ to contest an antiCatholic and proto-racialist colonial discourse espoused by Protestant settlers and rulers. See ‘Geography Militant: Resistance and the Essentialisation of Identity in Colonial Ireland’, Irish Geography 37.2 (2004): 166–76. On the use of antiquarian arguments in defence of English colonialism, see Andrew Hadfield, ‘Briton and Scythian: Tudor Representations of Irish Origins’, Irish Historical Studies 28.112 (1993): 390–408. 10. Roderic O’Flaherty, Ogygia, trans. James Hely (Dublin: W. M’Kenzie, 1793), 1:1. 11. Clare O’Halloran, ‘Ownership of the Past: Antiquarian Debate and Ethnic Identity in Scotland and Ireland’, in Conflict, Identity and Economic Development: Ireland and Scotland, 1600–1939, ed. S. J. Connolly, R. A. Houston and R. J. Morris (Preston:  Carnegie, 1995), 136–47 (138). For a lucid overview of the complex and often contradictory political and

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During the eighteenth century, the Milesian narrative became an acceptable myth of national patriotism for loyal Protestants, particularly in the antiquarian circles of Georgian Dublin, Cork, Galway and Belfast. Irish legends were given new life in the late eighteenth century, as a fashion for all things Celtic blossomed in the wake of James Macpherson’s controversial ‘translations’ from Ossian and the subsequent celtomanie among French philologists. Irish antiquarians were particularly influenced by the theories of the French Protestant philologist and biblical critic Samuel Bochart (1559–1667). Bochart had erroneously traced the Celtic languages back to the ancient Semitic Phoenician, a discovery which seemed to vindicate Milesian tales from the Irish Bardic tradition.12 After all, the Irish appeared to share many characteristics with the Phoenicians. The sphere of this mercantile and diasporic race included colonies in Italy, Spain and North Africa (most significantly Carthage, destroyed by the Romans in the second century BCE). As inhabitants of the imperial margin and rivals to both Israel (at Tyre) and Rome (at Carthage), the Phoenicians were a useful bridging point between the biblical and classical Mediterranean. The Phoenician model was widely discredited as modern systematic linguists such as Franz Bopp and Johan Casper Zeuss integrated the Celtic languages into the dominant Indo-European or Aryan model. Yet popular patriots – like the poet Thomas Moore – revived Phoenicianism at various points throughout the nineteenth century, most often as a foil against the rampant ‘Anglo-Saxonism’ of the English.13 Charles O’Conor of Belanagare (1710–91), a remnant of the diminishing class of landed Catholic aristocracy, drew on the Milesian narratives in his description of a bardic golden age prior to the Norman invasions. In O’Conor’s efforts to prove that early Irish culture was civilized and literate – and that modern Irish Catholics could be loyal and law-abiding subjects of the Crown  – the Phoenicians of the Levantine coast (often regarded as inventors of the first alphabet) proved useful antecedents. O’Conor erroneously interpreted Ogham writing as a Semitic script.14 But he also collected and conserved many important Gaelic manuscripts and his work represents an important turn towards solid textual criticism in Irish historical and philological research.15 Within the new Royal Irish Academy (RIA), the ‘Phoenician School’ of antiquarianism was headed up by the English military

religious motivations underlying debates about Irish ethnicity, see Colin Kidd, British Identities before Nationalism:  Ethnicity and Nationhood in the Atlantic World, 1600–1800 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 146–81. 12.  Leerssen, Remembrance and Imagination, 72–4; Joep Leerssen, ‘On the Edge of Europe:  Ireland in Search of Oriental Roots, 1650–1850’, Comparative Criticism 8 (1986): 91–112 (94–6). 13.  On nineteenth-century English enthusiasm for ‘Teutons’ and ‘Anglo-Saxons’, see Robert J. C. Young, The Idea of English Ethnicity (Oxford: Blackwell, 2008). 14. O’Halloran, Golden Ages, 25. 15. O’Halloran, Golden Ages, 23–9; O’Halloran, ‘Ownership of the Past’, 141–5; Leerssen, Remembrance and Imagination, 76.

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surveyor Charles Vallancey (1731–1812). As Norman Vance has shown, Vallancey ‘was quite unconscious of any tension between his official position with the army which supported the English domination of Ireland and his imaginative sympathy with the old Ireland before the coming of the invader’.16 In 1785 Vallancey played an instrumental role in the setting up the RIA, which thereafter became the locus for antiquarian and philological study of Irish culture.17 Vallancey’s conviction that the origins of the Irish race lay in the East is best illustrated by quoting the full titles of some his publications: these include An Essay on the Antiquity of the Irish language: Being a Collation of Irish with the Punic language (1772) and the Ancient History of Ireland proved from the Sanscrit Books (1797). As the poet Thomas Moore explained in 1834: So long had Vallancey been accustomed to look at his beloved Ireland through an orientalizing medium, that she grew, at last, to be as completely an Eastern Island, in his eyes, as if (like the Casa Santa which angels wafted, we are told, from Galilee to Loretto,) the Green Isle had, in times past, been transported from the Sea of Oman, or some other such summer quarters, and dropped, much to its discomposure, in the cold comfortless Atlantic.18

The impulse to read Scripture and literature laterally and comparatively across ancient history was encouraged by the form in which most antiquarians encountered Irish annals and epics: medieval manuscript anthologies. The gentlemen scholars of the RIA read the Book of Invasions in manuscript codices like the fourteenthcentury Book of Ballymote (acquired in 1785). In this volume, the exploits of the Milesians were shelved alongside accounts of the wanderings of the lost tribes of Israel, the travels of Ulysses and the exiles of Troy.19 In this sense, the synthesizing impulses of eighteenth-century antiquarians were encouraged by the comparative methods of earlier medieval scribes. The Phoenician model was, however, contested by several contemporary antiquarians, most notably the Anglican clergyman Edward Ledwich, whose lavishly illustrated Antiquities of Ireland (1790) begins with a provocative essay, berating contemporary Irish historians for adhering to ‘idle Tales concerning Noah’s grand-daughter, of Partholanus and Milesius, and their arrival here in

16.  Norman Vance, ‘Carthaginians and Constitutions:  Anglo-Irish Literary Relations, 1780–1820’, Irish Historical Studies 22.86 (1980): 216–38 (226). 17.  For detailed accounts of Vallancey, see Lennon, Irish Orientalism, 88–95; Leerssen, Remembrance and Imagination, 68–77; and O’Halloran, Golden Ages, 41–70. 18.  Thomas Moore, ‘O’Brien’s Round Towers of Ireland’, Edinburgh Review 59 (1834): 143–54. 19.  Robert Atkinson, ed., The Book of Ballymote. A collection of pieces (prose and verse) in the Irish language compiled about the beginning of the fifteenth century:  now for the first time published from the original manuscript in the library of the Royal Irish Academy (Dublin: Royal Irish Academy, 1887).

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very remote times’. A  staunch Protestant and advocate of British rule, Ledwich lamented the Irish antiquarians’ irrational allegiance to the errors of the ignorant monastic scribes who ‘thought it glorious to their country to have their ancestors derived by a mother from the Egyptian Pharoes [sic], and to have had familiar conversation with Moses and the Israelites’.20

3. Phoenician Patriots in Popular Culture One of the major barriers to identification between Protestant antiquarians and the Catholic Milesian masses was, of course, religion. However, the Milesian identity also enabled some Protestants to obviate the problem of race and religion by stressing the unified Oriental origins of pre-Christian Ireland. This is not to say that the promoters of the cult of the Milesian were necessarily anti-sectarian but rather that the Milesians proved a useful tool for gesturing beyond sectarianism at specific moments. In the aftermath of the rebellion of 1798, however, there was an abrupt decline in philo-Milesian antiquarianism among an Anglican elite who had been disturbed by militant Southern Catholics and Ulster Presbyterians alike.21 Yet during the first two decades after the Act of Union of 1801 antiquarian theories were successfully popularized by novelists, like Charles Maturin and Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan), and the poet Thomas Moore. Like their Scottish contemporary Walter Scott, Owenson and Maturin made use of the antiquarian investigations of the RIA to colour their picturesque ‘national tales’.22 In these romances the authentically Irish Milesian is portrayed as the rightful heir to a feudal Gaelic past and an immediate witness to the Oriental origins of Western Civilization – a category of knowledge denied to the prosaic and blundering Anglo-Saxon colonizer. As Glorvina, the harp-strumming heroine of Owensons’s The Wild Irish Girl (1806), haughtily explains, ‘[W]e trace the spirit of Milesian poetry to a higher source than the spring of Grecian genius; for many figures in Irish song are of Oriental origin.’23 In Maturin’s The Milesian Chief (1812), the brooding hero of the title, Conall O’Morven, is the heir to a dispossessed ancient Catholic family, a sort of Irish Heathcliff. In his ‘wild and romantic sublimity of expression’ he resembles ‘the bust of a classic hero’, embodying the barbarous vigour and poetic refinement which characterizes the true Milesian.24 In this, he is a fitting type for his nation, 20. Edward Ledwich, Antiquities of Ireland (Dublin: Arthur Grueber, 1790), 2. 21. Leerssen, ‘On the Edge of Europe’, 102. 22.  Clare O’Halloran, ‘Harping on the Past:  Translating Antiquarian Learning into Popular Culture in Early Nineteenth-Century Ireland’, in Exploring Cultural History: Essays in Honour of Peter Burke, ed. Melissa Calaresu, Filippo De Vito and Joan-Pau Rubiés (Farnham: Ashgate, 2010), 327–43; Leerssen, Remembrance and Imagination, 33–67. 23.  Sydney Owenson, The Wild Irish Girl: A National Tale (Hartford:  Silas Andrus and Son, 1855 [1806]), Letter IX. 24.  Charles Maturin, The Milesian Chief: A Romance (London:  Henry Colburn, 1812), 127–30.

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‘the only country on earth’, explains Maturin, ‘where, from the strange existing opposition of religion, politics, and manners, the extremes of refinement and barbarism are united, and the most wild and incredible situations of romantic story are hourly passing before modern eyes’.25 In the early nineteenth century, patriotic antiquarianism was largely the domain of the Anglo-Irish ascendency, and frequently tended towards racial essentialism and primitivism. As Joseph Lennon explains, just as the indigenous Irish were touted as the most authentically Oriental Milesians and the ‘antithesis of modernity’, so the modern Catholic peasantry were patronisingly ‘regarded as living relics of ancient cultures’.26 The Milesian genealogy, a product of the synthesizing imaginations of medieval bards and early modern chroniclers, became in the nineteenth century a historiographical tool for making sense of the politics of colonization in terms of racial difference. As Norman Vance has suggested, ‘Phoenician fantasies’ were always double-edged, and ‘could either be used to vindicate the ancient dignity of the Irish or adapted into a more refined version of the colonialist dogma that anything good in the colony much have come from outside’.27 Maturin was a high Calvinist clergyman who had penned a popular series of sermons On the Errors of the Roman Catholic Church. In the Milesian Chief the decline of the noble Milesian primitive is lamented as a tragic but ultimately unavoidable effect of colonial modernity.28 Patrick Brantlinger has identified this trope as a ‘proleptic elegy’, in which the colonizer is prompted to mourn ‘the lost object before it is completely lost’ and thereby rationalize the extinction of the native as inevitable and unavoidable.29 Yet unlike many American and Australasian colonies, the Irish Catholic ‘natives’ were far from a diminishing minority, a fact which makes the force of Maturin’s elegiac tone all the more striking.30 Yet despite its association with Anglo-Irish Romanticism, the Milesian tag was increasingly co-opted by a self-consciously Catholic print culture, both in Ireland and among the diaspora. Boston’s Monthly Milesian, launched in 1829, combined coverage of the campaigns for Catholic Emancipation and the repeal of the Union with nationalist history and antiquarian speculation. The first issue begins with an extract from the editor George Pepper’s own History of Ireland,

25. Maturin, Milesian Chief, iv–v. 26. Lennon, Irish Orientalism, 86, 69. 27. Norman Vance, ‘Archaeology and the Ideology of Colony and Nation: The Case of New Grange’, in Forging the Smithy: National Identity and Representation in Anglo-Irish Literary History, ed. Jeop Leerssen, A. H. van der Weel and Bart Westerweel (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1995), 175–82 (179). 28.  Charles Robert Maturin, Five Sermons on the Errors of the Roman Catholic Church Preached in St. Peter’s Church (Dublin: William Folds, 1824). 29. Patrick Brantlinger, Dark Vanishings: Discourse on the Extinction of Primitive Races, 1800–1930 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2003), 4. 30.  For a detailed analysis of Maturin’s anti-nationalist primitivism, see O’Halloran, ‘Harping on the Past’, 336–43.

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and explains how Ireland was first colonized three hundred years after the flood by the Greek mariner Partholon, a contemporary of Abraham and a direct descendent of Noah. Later the story of the Milesians is again cited in support of Irish claims to Phoenician ancestry. With an air of unease which mirrors contemporary concerns with critical assaults on the reliability of biblical and Homeric texts, Pepper warns against the ‘rancorous prejudice’ and ‘incredulity’ of English and Scottish sceptics who pour scorn on the authenticity of Irish annals. The ancient Irish sources, argues Pepper, actually compare favourably with the sketchy records of early Greece and Rome:  ‘The authenticity of the events enumerated in our annals, is at least as well established as that of the history of England, and the united testimony of foreign and native writers has fortified our pretension to remote antiquity, with evidence and arguments that cannot be impeached or subverted.’31 After Catholic Emancipation, the Phoenician model of the Irish past found a home in the burgeoning Catholic popular press  – just as it was falling out of fashion among elite and institutional antiquarians. The radical journalist Martin Andrew O’Brennan (1812–78) was born in Co. Mayo and educated in St Jarlath’s College, Tuam – then a hive of Catholic nationalist sentiment. O’Brennan founded the Connaught Patriot in 1859 as a platform for political agitprop interspersed with his own brand of patriotic antiquarianism.32 His School History of Ireland, from the Days of Partholan to the Present Time (1857) begins with the Scythian/Egyptian origins of the Milesians and their Mediterranean voyages, and ends with the erection of a statue to Thomas Moore in College Green.33 As Marie-Louise Legg has demonstrated, O’Brennan exemplified a form of popular patriotic antiquarianism that was solidly (though not always conventionally) Catholic and which flourished in the West under the aegis of the formidable Archbishop of Tuam, John MacHale (1791–1881). In opposition to the ultramontane and conservative Cardinal Paul Cullen (Archbishop of Dublin), MacHale led a nationalist faction within the Irish church and was a firm advocate of the native language, translating the Iliad, the Vulgate Pentateuch and Moore’s Irish Melodies into the native tongue.34 MacHale’s biographer, Canon Ulick Bourke, president of St. Jarlath’s College, tutored several future Fenians and published an important grammar of the Irish language.35 Bourke also devoted considerable attention to the fraught issue of Milesian origins. His heroic biography of Archbishop MacHale begins with a torturous attempt to determine whether the bishop’s family were ‘of Milesian, Belgic, or

31.  George Pepper, ‘History of Ireland’, Irish Shield and Monthly Milesian 1.1 (1929): 2–5 (2). 32.  Marie-Louise Legg, Newspapers and Nationalism: The Irish Provincial Press, 1850– 1892 (Dublin: Four Courts, 1999), 97–8, 103. 33. Martin A. O’Brennan, A School History of Ireland, from the Days of Partholan to the Present Time (Dublin: Martin A. O’Brennan, 1857). 34. Hilary Andrews, Lion of the West: A Biography of John MacHale (Dublin: Veritas, 2001). 35. Legg, Newspapers and Nationalism, 94.

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Danann origin’.36 Bourke’s Aryan Origins of the Gaelic Race and Language:  The Round Towers, the Brehon Law, Truth of the Pentateuch (1876) is again dedicated to MacHale (‘the firmest citadel of the Irish-Gaelic tongue’).37 Although many of the claims in Bourke’s Aryan Origins are repeated from previous antiquarian works, the author has absorbed the abiding critical consensus that the Irish language is of Aryan origin  – although he still insists that ‘the Gaels were the first who came westward from the ancient Aryan region of Asia’.38 Throughout his meandering study, Bourke demonstrates a remarkable capacity to misread all manner of recent research – including the philology of Max Müller and the archaeological excavations of Layard and Schliemann – in support of his core argument: that the Celt-Aryans have descended directly from Noah via Japheth and Gomer.39 In Bourke’s sanguine analysis the revelations of modern ‘historical science’ are found to vindicate both the ‘Mosaic record’ and the ‘ancient annals of Ireland’ on every account.40 As the careers of MacHale, O’Brennan and Bourke demonstrate, evidence for the antiquity of precolonial Irish culture still depended on supposed Oriental connections. But the highly selective approach favoured by these methodologically flexible amateurs ensured that even the revelations of modern archaeology and linguistics could be reconciled with scriptural truth and Catholic piety.

4. Lamenting the Milesians The persistence of the Milesian in popular historical accounts did not go unchallenged. By the 1840s tales of the Gaelic golden age were becoming less palatable in a present characterized by dire poverty, emigration, famine and political violence. The Milesian identity, which had long been a badge of pride, emblematic of auspicious claims to autonomy and antiquity, was increasingly used as a pejorative, and the primitivizing tendencies already nascent in the writings of Romantic antiquarians were increasingly coming to the fore. In Thomas Carlyle’s famous discussion of the ‘Condition of England’ Question (1840), the degraded and impoverished Catholic Irish masses are explicitly described as ‘Milesians’. In reaction to mass economic migration and the ‘crowds of miserable Irish’ swamping British cities, Carlyle recoiled from this ‘wild Milesian’, who in ‘his rags and laughing savagery . . . in his squalor and unreason, in his falsity and drunken violence [was] the ready-made nucleus of degradation and disorder’.41

36.  Ulick J. Bourke, The Life and Times of the Most Rev. John MacHale, Archbishop of Tuam and Metropolitan (New York: P.J. Kennedy, 1883), 17–18. 37. Ulick Bourke, The Aryan Origins of the Gaelic Race and Language: The Round Towers, the Brehon Law, Truth of the Pentateuch (London: Longmans, Green & Co., 1876), iii. 38. Bourke, Aryan Origins, ix. 39. Bourke, Aryan Origins, 381, 394. 40. Bourke, Aryan Origins, 422. 41. Thomas Carlyle, Chartism (London: James Fraser, 1840), 28.

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Once the term ‘Milesian’ had become such an obvious racial slur, it was difficult to sustain as patriotic myth, and many radical Irish nationalists were soon happy to move on from Oriental fantasies. We see a similar rejection of the Milesian narrative in the literary and historical efforts of the nationalist and anti-sectarian Young Ireland movement of the 1840s, whose members were philosophically indebted and personally intimate with Carlyle.42 The Young Irelander Thomas D’Arcy Magee’s Popular History of Ireland (1862) gave short shrift to Milesian origin myths: ‘As we should not altogether reject, though neither are we bound to believe, the wild and uncertain traditions of which we have neither documentary nor monumental evidence, we will glance over rapidly what the old Bards and Story-tellers have handed down to us concerning Ireland before it became Christian.’43 The Young Ireland newspaper, The Nation, even carried ‘A Lament for the Milesians’ in 1845. The lyric, penned by Young Ireland’s poetic mouthpiece Thomas Davis, lauded the proud chieftains of ‘green Inis-Fail’ but sharply distinguished their legacy as patriotic exemplars from their status as literal ancestors of the modern Irish: We are heirs of their fame, if we’re not of their race, – And deadly and deep our disgrace, If we live o’er their sepulchres, abject and base; – As truagh gan oidhir ’n-a bh-farradh!44 (What a pity that there is no heir of their company) By suggesting an unbridgeable genealogical gap between Milesian and modern Ireland, Davis aims to move beyond distinctions of race and religion. Even so, Davis saw the melancholy potential for the Milesian as a lost figure of romantic nationalism. In his essay on ‘Hints for Historical Paintings’, for example, he places ‘The Landing of the Milesians’ at the top of a list of appropriate ‘national subjects’ for patriotic artists.45 In 1845, the year of his untimely death, Davis admitted that 42.  R. F. Foster, Words Alone:  Yeats and His Inheritances (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 2011), 45–90. 43.  Thomas D’Arcy McGee, A Popular History of Ireland: From the Earliest Period to the Emancipation of the Catholics (Glasgow : Cameron and Ferguson, 1869), 12. 44. Thomas Davis, ‘Lament for the Milesians’, in Poems of Thomas Davis (Dublin: James Duffy, 1853), 75–7. 45.  Thomas Davis, ‘Hints for Historical Paintings’, in Literary and Historical Essays, ed. C. P. Meehan (Dublin:  James Duffy, 1883), 169–72 (169). The career of another Young Irelander, the lawyer Alexander Martin Sullivan, complicates this narrative. Sullivan’s Pictorial History of Ireland: From the Landing of the Milesians to the Present Time (1884) demonstrates both the persistence of the Milesians as nationalist icons and the continuing influence of eighteenth-century antiquarianism. His ‘history’ is in fact a new edition of Sylvester O’ Halloran’s General History of Ireland (1778). Sullivan’s additional chapters

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while he was naturally disposed to tales of Ireland’s Oriental ancestry, the force of modern archaeological evidence had convinced him to abandon such theories. And yet this admission was bittersweet, the exotic foundation myths of Vallancey and others had proved liberating to many Irish artists and intellectuals, and it was difficult not to feel a sense of loss at their departing. In an essay on the famous Irish round towers – which had recently been downgraded from pagan firetemples to medieval bell towers – Davis summed up his ambivalence towards Irish Orientalism.46 Accustomed from boyhood to regard these towers as revelations of a gorgeous, but otherwise undefined antiquity – dazzled by oriental analogies – finding a refuge in their primeval greatness from the meanness or the misfortunes of our middle ages, we clung to the belief of their Pagan origin. In fancy, we had seen the white-robed Druid tend the holy fire in their lower chambers – had measured with the Tyrian-taught astronomer the length of their shadows – and had almost knelt to the elemental worship with nobles whose robes had the dye of the Levant, and sailors whose cheeks were brown with an Egyptian sun, and soldiers whose bronze arms clashed as the trumpets from the tower-top said, that the sun had risen. What wonder that we resented the attempt to cure us of so sweet a frenzy?47

Davis mourns the loss of a fantasy of cosmopolitan interconnectedness that must ultimately give way to a more mundane and insular nationalist vision; a vision of the Irish past composed in opposition to, rather than in sympathy with, other cultures and other times.48 The search for Milesian origins tended to point towards aspects of a pre-Christian, pagan inheritance, which had the potential to unite Catholics and Protestants. By contrast, the strength of Celtic Christianity seemed to lie in its separation from the mainstream of European civilization, and its legacy had always been a cause of contention between Protestants and Catholics.49 The Milesian myth had presented a cosmopolitan model, whereby Ireland was continually enriched by Eastern influence (a series of invasions), but the saints and connect the adventures of the Milesians and their ancestors to the struggles of modern constitutional nationalists. 46.  On the long antiquarian controversy surrounding the origin and function of the round towers, see Leerssen, Remembrance and Imagination, 108–43; Lennon, Irish Orientalism, 108–14. 47.  Thomas Davis, ‘The Round Towers of Ireland’, in Literary and Historical Essays (Dublin: James Duffy, 1865 [1845]). 48. For an illuminating discussion of the tension between cosmopolitanism and insular nationalism during the Revival, see Declan Kiberd, Inventing Ireland (London:  Random House, 1995), 155–65. 49. Kidd, British Identities, 161–77.

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scholars of medieval Ireland were cultural imperialists, evangelizing Europe from West to East with the gospel of monasticism. The loss of the Milesian myth created a vacuum filled by sectarian histories, which embedded narratives of the Irish past within either Catholic or Protestant teleologies.

5. The Insular Gael Eighteenth-century antiquarians had sought to lend the Irish past prestige through association with Bible lands, but by the end of the nineteenth century a new generation of cultural nationalists were insisting on the peculiar isolation of preChristian Ireland. Sinéad Garrigan-Mattar has described the fin-de-siècle Celtic Revival in terms of a shift from Romantic to modernist forms of primitivism. The universal ideal of the Enlightenment noble savage gives way to the ethnically proscribed primitive of the modern anthropological gaze – the object of an increasingly positivistic ‘Celtology’.50 In Standish O’Grady’s popular History of Ireland (1878) contemporary racial categories (Scythian and Turanian) are inserted in place of Milesian genealogies, giving a pseudoscientific makeover to the familiar narratives of migration, invasion and conquest.51 The legacy of Thomas Carlyle’s emphasis on the heroic individual as a transformative historical agent permeates O’Grady’s History.52 The Gaelic ‘heroes and heroines’, we are told, ‘were the ideals of our ancestors, their conduct and character were to them a religion, the bardic literature was their Bible’.53 And yet O’Grady can only suggest that the Milesian myths should be read comparatively – as if they were the Bible – because he has moved beyond an era in which scholars had read the Milesian legends with the Bible. If medieval Christian scribes had once been the proud preservers of venerable Irish antiquity, they were now distorting Christian ‘rationalizers’ who had diluted the grandeur of an eloquent mythic cycle by ‘formulating, as annals, what was really the theogony and mythology of their country’.54 Elsewhere, O’Grady laments the ‘wholesale interference by the monks and Christianized bards with the ethnic traditions’ of pagan myth.55

50. Garrigan-Mattar, Primitivism, Science, and the Irish Revival, 21–40. 51.  Standish O’Grady, History of Ireland:  The Heroic Period (London:  Sampson Low, Searle, Marston, & Rivington, 1878), 1:12–13. 52. See Thomas Carlyle, On Heroes, Hero-Worship, & the Heroic in History (London: James Fraser, 1841). 53.  O’Grady, History of Ireland, 1:vii. On the importance of Carlyle’s conception of heroism for the revivalists, see Geraldine Higgins, Heroic Revivals from Carlyle to Yeats (New York: Palgrave, 2012). 54. O’Grady, History of Ireland, 1:66. 55.  Standish O’Grady, History of Ireland: Critical and Philosophical (London:  Sampson Low & Co., 1881), 1:150–1.

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For the Revival’s most important commentator on Gaelic literature, Douglas Hyde (1860–1949), the Milesian tales were ‘a mass of pseudo-historic narrative and myth, woven together into an apparently homogenous whole’. In order to distil the original and authentic pagan material contained within these narratives, Hyde needed to reject the passages containing biblical characters like Pharaoh, Moses and Aaron as ‘post-Christian invention[s]’.56 Hyde’s sometime collaborator, the young nationalist poet and educationalist Patrick Pearse (1879–1916), presented the virility of Gaelic literature as an antidote to the ‘unnatural senility’ of modern culture in an early lecture. Although ostensibly sketching an idealized model for a cultural nationalist future, his praise of ancient Ireland in ‘The Intellectual Future of the Gael’ (1897) was expressed in thoroughly primitivist terms: ‘[T]here is but one race, among the races of to-day, which possesses a literature natural and uncontaminated . . . a race whose literature is as different from the unnatural literature of to-day as the pure radiance of the sun is different from the hideous glare of the electric light.’57 For Pearse, the pristine virtue of Gaelic culture lay not in its associations with Greece or Palestine or Persia but in its total isolation from all external influence: Gaelic literature, we should remember, has grown up among and been developed by the Gael alone. Its sources of inspiration have been entirely native, and in this one point, at least, it can claim superiority even to Greek literature itself. As regards manner and style, it has been absolutely uninfluenced by the literature of any other nation. This is why it is so unique, so peculiar, so unlike everything else we are accustomed to.58

Pearse’s ideal of insularity and ‘separatism’ was only possible once Irish tales had been edited, extracted and translated from their original manuscript provenance. In this sense, the arrangement and bowdlerization of ‘pure’ Irish literature in the collections of O’Grady and Lady Gregory was both a cause and an effect of the move away from Milesian cosmopolitanism to Gaelic insularity. Many Revivalists wished to undo the syncretic work of previous generation by disentangling Ireland’s pagan past from biblical narratives. By doing so, they encouraged others to read Celtic myth in splendid isolation. This is not to suggest that the Revivalists were not also interested in classics or the Bible. Catholic piety was absolutely central to Pearse’s nationalist vision, and his Irish-language Passion play for the National Theatre was a great success. Another National Theatre production, Lady Gregory’s The Deliverer (1911), presented the Exodus as an allegory of Charles

56. Douglas Hyde, A Literary History of Ireland (London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1903), 44–5. 57. Patrick Pearse, ‘The Intellectual Future of the Gael’, in Three Lectures of Gaelic Topics (Dublin: M.H. Gill, 1898), 217–36 (224). Cited 20 November 2014, online: http://www.ucc. ie/celt/online/E900007-015/text002.html. 58. Pearse, ‘Intellectual Future’, 225.

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Stewart Parnell’s struggle to liberate the Irish from colonial bondage.59 Indeed, fellow Revivalist John Eglinton even went so far as to praise Gregory’s Cuchulain of Muirthemne (1902) as ‘the “authorized version” of the “Old Irish Testament” ’.60 But while the Revivalists could analogize and allegorize the history of the Irish race through the familiar narratives of Greece, Rome and Palestine, these comparisons were only valid precisely because the Irish stories had developed in isolation from these traditions. The Revivalists could comfortably compare the Irish with Jews or Carthaginians, because they no longer believed the Irish to be Jews or Carthaginians. The ‘Oriental’ character of Irish literature was now viewed as a product of convergent evolution rather than direct descent. The literary and material conventions of ‘Gaelic’ manuscripts had bound Irish narratives and chronicles to long traditions spread across the Latin Christian West, and emphasized the cross-fertilization of biblical, classical and Celtic myth. However, later critical editions placed a high value on purging early Irish texts of interpolations and accretions. There is a close parallel here with nineteenthcentury biblical criticism, and the escalating search for authentic Greek Gospels and the original Hebrew of the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible. Indeed, as the scholarly study of Irish was yet in its infancy, it was almost inevitable that the groundwork should be undertaken by scholars who had cut their philological teeth on biblical and classical studies. In 1848, the Rev. James Henthorn Todd, an accomplished biblical critic, ecclesiastical historian and Church of Ireland minister, published a critical edition and English translation of an eleventh-century Irish version of the ninth-century Latin Historia Britonum of Nennius (a narrative which included the origins of both the Britons and the Milesians). The text was a collation of three manuscripts in the libraries of Trinity College Dublin and the Royal Irish Academy and appeared under the imprint of the Irish Archaeological Society (which Todd had founded in 1840).61 In 1849, Todd was appointed Regius Professor of Hebrew at Trinity College Dublin. Many eighteenth-century antiquarians had first encountered the Milesians in the Book of Ballymote, and this manuscript codex was published in a photographic facsimile edition by the RIA in 1887. This lavish and technologically challenging production, edited by Robert Atkinson, Professor of Sanskrit at Trinity, received attention and funds which had previously been reserved for important biblical and classical manuscripts. When the ultimate source of all Milesian myths, the Lebor Gabála, finally appeared in a critical print edition with English translation in 1938, it was fitting that the editor

59.  Elaine Sisson, Pearse’s Patriots:  St Enda’s and the Cult of Boyhood (Cork:  Cork University Press, 2004), 40–8. For a fascinating discussion of Gregory’s use of biblical allegory, see Abby Bender, ‘Lady Gregory’s Bible Lessons:  “The Deliverer” and “The Story Brought by Bridget” ’, Princeton University Library Chronicle 68.1–2 (2007): 142–62. 60. Augusta Gregory, Seventy Years: Being the Autobiography of Lady Gregory, ed. Colin Smythe (New York: Macmillan, 1976), 405. Quoted in Bender, ‘Lady Gregory’, 143. 61.  James Henthorn Todd and Algernon Herbery, The Irish Version of the Historia Britonum of Nennius (Dublin: Irish Archaeological Society, 1848).

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be R. A. Stewart Macalister (1870–1950), one of the leading biblical archaeologists of the era and a former director of excavations for the Palestine Exploration Fund.62

6. Conclusion This essay has explored the fate of the wandering Milesians by asking why an essentially early modern approach to history and genealogy continued to provide the Irish with a powerful narrative long after other European peoples had abandoned similar foundation myths. Aside from the external pressure exerted by an increasingly sceptical ‘science of history’, we should also note the rise of an educated Catholic middle class who were less conversant with the Bible than the urban Protestant elite who dominated Irish intellectual culture prior to Emancipation. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, the patriotic elevation of Gaelic antiquity still relied on proving intimate connections between Ireland and the cultures of the Mediterranean and the Orient. By the end of the century, however, both Protestant and Catholic revivalists forcefully insisted on the essential isolation of ancient Ireland from the mainstream of Indo-European culture. If syncretic Milesian ancestry was emblematic of the cosmopolitan aspirations of eighteenthcentury antiquarianism, the Revival Gael was the answer to a ‘scientific’ search for an authentically primitive and unsullied ‘folk culture’. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, scholars of all political and religious stripes were still determined to use the Bible to make sense of Irish past. By the end of the century, pioneering biblical scholars and critics played an important role in extracting early Irish myths from their later Christian packaging. At the turn of the century, with the Revival in full force, W. B. Yeats could anticipate a final sundering of the long-standing connection between Irish antiquity and its classical and biblical antecedents. Reflecting on the literary history of medieval Ireland in his preface to Lady Gregory’s translations from the Cúchulainn cycle, Yeats bemoaned the medieval Christian chroniclers who perversely pursued a ‘chronology that would run side by side with that of the Bible’ and so ‘delighted in arranging their Kings and Queens, the shadows of forgotten mythologies, in long lines that ascended to Adam and his Garden’.63 For Yeats, the revival of an authentically Celtic literature meant a firm rejection of biblical and classical accretions and an embrace of the pristine pagan twilight. For ‘if we will but tell these stories to our children the Land will begin again to be a Holy Land, as it was before men gave their hearts to Greece and Rome and Judea’.64

62. R. A. S. Macalister, Lebor Gabála Érenn: The Book of the Taking of Ireland (Dublin: Irish Texts Society, 1938–39). 63.  W. B. Yeats, ‘Preface’, to Cuchulain of Muirthemne: The Story of the Men of the Red Branch of Ulster Arranged and Put into English by Lady Gregory, by Augusta Gregory (London: John Murray, 1902), vii–xvii (xi). 64. Yeats, ‘Preface’, xvii.

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Bibliography Andrews, Hilary. Lion of the West: A Biography of John MacHale. Dublin: Veritas, 2001. Atkinson, Robert, ed. The Book of Ballymote. A collection of pieces (prose and verse) in the Irish language compiled about the beginning of the fifteenth century: now for the first time published from the original manuscript in the library of the Royal Irish Academy. Dublin: Royal Irish Academy, 1887. Bender, Abby. ‘Lady Gregory’s Bible Lessons: “The Deliverer” and “The Story Brought by Bridget” ’. Princeton University Library Chronicle 68.1–2 (2007): 142–62. Bourke, Ulick. The Aryan Origins of the Gaelic Race and Language: The Round Towers, the Brehon Law, Truth of the Pentateuch. London: Longmans, Green & Co., 1876. Bourke, Ulick. The Life and Times of the Most Rev. John MacHale, Archbishop of Tuam and Metropolitan. New York: P.J. Kennedy, 1883. Brantlinger, Patrick. Dark Vanishings: Discourse on the Extinction of Primitive Races, 1800– 1930. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2003. Carlyle, Thomas. Chartism. London: James Fraser, 1840. Carlyle, Thomas. On Heroes, Hero-Worship, & the Heroic in History. London: James Fraser, 1841. Cunningham, Bernadette. The World of Geoffrey Keating: History, Myth and Religion in Seventeenth-Century Ireland. Dublin: Four Courts, 2000. Curtis, L. P. Apes and Angels: The Irishman in Victorian Caricature. Washington DC: Smithsonian, 1971. D’Arcy McGee, Thomas. A Popular History of Ireland: from the Earliest Period to the Emancipation of the Catholics. Glasgow : Cameron and Ferguson, 1869. Davis, Thomas. Literary and Historical Essays. Dublin: James Duffy, 1865. Davis, Thomas. Poems of Thomas Davis. Dublin: James Duffy, 1853. Foster, R. F. Words Alone: Yeats and His Inheritances. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Garrigan-Mattar, Sinéad. Primitivism, Science, and the Irish Revival. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. Hyde, Douglas. A Literary History of Ireland. London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1903. Kiberd, Declan. Inventing Ireland. London: Random House, 1995. Kidd, Colin. British Identities before Nationalism: Ethnicity and Nationhood in the Atlantic World, 1600–1800. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Kidd, Colin. The Forging of Races: Race and Scripture in the Protestant Atlantic World, 1600–2000. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Ledwich, Edward. Antiquities of Ireland. Dublin: Arthur Grueber, 1790. Leerssen, Joep. ‘On the Edge of Europe: Ireland in Search of Oriental Roots, 1650–1850’. Comparative Criticism 8 (1986): 91–112. Leerssen, Joep. Remembrance and Imagination: Patterns in the Historical and Literary Representation of Ireland in the Nineteenth Century. Cork: Cork University Press, 1997. Legg, Marie-Louise. Newspapers and Nationalism: The Irish Provincial Press, 1850–1892. Dublin: Four Courts, 1999. Lennon, Joseph. Irish Orientalism: A Literary and Intellectual History. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2002. Livingstone, David. Adam’s Ancestors: Race, Religion, and the Politics of Human Origins. London: John Hopkins, 2008.

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Macalister, R. A. S. Lebor Gabála Érenn: The Book of the Taking of Ireland. Dublin: Irish Texts Society, 1938–39. Maturin, Charles. Five Sermons on the Errors of the Roman Catholic Church Preached in St. Peter’s Church. Dublin: William Folds, 1824. Maturin, Charles. The Milesian Chief: A Romance. London: Henry Colburn, 1812. Moore, Thomas. ‘O’Brien’s Round Towers of Ireland’. Edinburgh Review 59 (1834): 143–54. Morrissey, John. ‘Geography Militant: Resistance and the Essentialisation of Identity in Colonial Ireland’. Irish Geography 37.2 (2004): 166–76. Nelson, Bruce. Irish Nationalists and the Making of the Irish Race. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012. O’Brennan, Martin A. A School History of Ireland, from the Days of Partholan to the Present Time. Dublin: Martin A. O’Brennan, 1857. O’ Flaherty, Roderic. Ogygia. Translated by James Hely. Dublin: W. M’Kenzie, 1793. O’Grady, Standish. History of Ireland: the Heroic Period. London: Sampson Low, Searle, Marston, & Rivington, 1878. O’Halloran, Clare. Golden Ages and Barbarous Nations: Antiquarian Debate and Cultural Politics in Ireland, c. 1750–1800. Cork: Cork University Press, 2004. O’Halloran, Clare. ‘Harping on the Past: Translating Antiquarian Learning into Popular Culture in Early Nineteenth-Century Ireland’. Pages 327–43 in Exploring Cultural History: Essays in Honour of Peter Burke. Edited by Melissa Calaresu, Filippo De Vito and Joan-Pau Rubiés. Farnham: Ashgate, 2010. O’Halloran, Clare. ‘Ownership of the Past: Antiquarian Debate and Ethnic Identity in Scotland and Ireland’. Pages 136–47 in Conflict, Identity and Economic Development: Ireland and Scotland, 1600–1939. Edited by S. J. Connolly, R. A. Houston and R. J. Morris. Preston: Carnegie, 1995. Owenson, Sydney. The Wild Irish Girl: A National Tale. Hartford: Silas Andrus and Son, 1855. Pearse, Patrick. Three Lectures of Gaelic Topics. Dublin: M.H. Gill, 1898. Pepper, George. ‘History of Ireland’. Irish Shield and Monthly Milesian 1.1 (1829): 2–5. Sisson, Elaine. Pearse’s Patriots: St Enda’s and the Cult of Boyhood. Cork: Cork University Press, 2004. Smith, Anthony D. Chosen Peoples: Sacred Sources of National Identity. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Sullivan, A. M. The Pictorial History of Ireland: From the landing of the Milesians to the Present Time. Boston: Murphy and McCarthy, 1884. Todd, James Henthorn, and Algernon Herbert. The Irish Version of the Historia Britonum of Nennius. Dublin: Irish Archaeological Society, 1848. Vance, Norman. ‘Archaeology and the Ideology of Colony and Nation: The Case of New Grange’. Pages 175–82 in Forging the Smithy: National Identity and Representation in Anglo-Irish Literary History. Edited by Jeop Leerssen, A. H. van der Weel and Bart Westerweel. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1995. Vance, Norman. ‘Carthaginians and Constitutions: Anglo-Irish Literary Relations, 1780– 1820’. Irish Historical Studies 22.86 (1980): 216–38. Whelan, Kevin. The Tree of Liberty: Radicalism, Catholicism, and the Construction of Irish Identity, 1760–1830. Cork: Cork University Press, 1996. Yeats, W. B. ‘Preface’. Pages vii–xvii in Cuchulain of Muirthemne: The Story of the Men of the Red Branch of Ulster Arranged and Put into English by Lady Gregory. By Augusta Gregory. London: John Murray, 1902. Young, Robert J. C. The Idea of English Ethnicity. Oxford: Blackwell, 2008.

Chapter 9 B E T W E E N U L ST E R A N D T H E K I N G D OM O F G O D :   U SE S O F T H E B I B L E B Y E VA N G E L IC A L S I N T H E N O RT H E R N I R E L A N D T R O U B L E S Joshua T. Searle

1. Introduction The most divisive political and ethical issues over which churches and Christian communities contend often revolve around conflicting biblical hermeneutics; that is, they are disputes driven, or at least aggravated, by disagreements concerning how parts of the Bible ought to be read. These hermeneutical issues can impinge decisively on the question of religious and national identity. Evangelicals in Northern Ireland have often understood Christian identity as a matter not only of doctrines and beliefs, but also of nationality and cultural affiliation. Scholars of the Troubles have thus described Northern Ireland as a place in which theology and politics are ‘mutually conditioning’1 to the extent that an ‘extreme religious view often goes hand in hand with an extreme political view’.2 The diverse landscape of evangelicalism in Northern Ireland during the Troubles illustrates the ways in which biblical interpretation intersects with evangelical political allegiance and cultural identity in a context of crisis and conflict. As a ‘people of the book’,3 evangelicals who experienced the Troubles read the violent events and social upheaval of the conflict in light of how they read the Bible. Evangelicals in the Northern Ireland Troubles often invoked biblical rhetoric in order to provide a theological framework within which to interpret the political context and to establish and reinforce their sense of dual allegiance to both ‘God and Ulster’. Historians, social scientists, theologians and church leaders have considered the role of the Bible in Northern Ireland in the formation of evangelical identity 1. Claire Mitchell, Religion, Identity and Politics in Northern Ireland (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), 132. 2.  Alwyn Thomson, Beyond Fear, Suspicion and Hostility: Evangelical-Roman Catholic Relationships (Belfast: ECONI, 1994), 7. 3.  Kevin J. Vanhoozer, ‘Scripture and Hermeneutics’, in The Oxford Handbook of Evangelical Theology, ed. Gerald R. McDermott (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 35.

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during the Troubles from a variety of perspectives. Some have critically examined evangelical interpretations of Scripture that tended to support unionist national identities.4 Others have considered the ways in which selective readings of particular passages of Scripture have been used to justify acts of violence.5 This chapter takes a slightly different point of departure. The main aim is not to pass critical judgements upon particular biblical interpretations, but to highlight the complex ways in which the Bible is used in the shaping and formation of evangelical identities. In pursuit of this objective there are two lines of enquiry which seem to stand out most clearly, not simply because of their intrinsic importance for understanding the interaction between the Bible and cultural identity, but also because they find characteristic manifestation in the interpretations of biblical texts among evangelical communities during the Troubles. These are, first, a consideration of how dualistic biblical categories corresponded with evangelical understandings of the underlying meaning of the violence associated with the sectarian conflict, and how these perspectives fuelled the perceptions of some evangelicals that they were living in the ‘end times’. It will be demonstrated that for many evangelicals who interpreted their experience of the Troubles through a biblical paradigm, the conflict was not merely a manifestation of a political or ethnic conflict, but an eschatological confrontation in which the ‘eschatological fate of Ulster’ was at stake.6 The conviction that the sectarian conflict was, at a deeper level, an apocalyptic confrontation between Christ and Satan also gave rise to ominous speculations that the deplorable political conditions and the prevalence of ‘damnable heresies’ (2 Pet 2:1) and the ‘doctrines of devils’ (1 Tim 4:1) in Northern Ireland were signs portending the advent of Antichrist and the persecution of Christians that would mark the ‘Great Tribulation’ (Matt 24:21; Rev 2:22; 7:14).7 According to those evangelicals who held such beliefs, the role of the church was to remain faithful in the midst of prevailing apostasy and to await the ‘great day of the Lord’ (Zeph

4.  Patrick Mitchel, Evangelicalism and National Identity in Ulster, 1921–1998 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003). 5.  A classic example of such a selective reading was the loyalist mural in South Belfast, which quoted from Deut 7:2 (KJV): ‘And when the LORD thy God shall deliver them before thee; thou shalt smite them, and utterly destroy them; thou shalt make no covenant with them, nor shew mercy unto them.’ (Unless noted otherwise, all biblical quotations are from the KJV.) See Joseph Liechty and Celia Clegg, Moving beyond Sectarianism: Religion, Conflict and Reconciliation in Northern Ireland (Dublin: Columba Press, 2001), 327–9; see also, John Brewer and Gareth Higgins, Anti-Catholicism in Northern Ireland, 1600–1998:  The Mote and the Beam (London: Macmillan, 1998). 6.  Patrick Mitchel, ‘Unionism and the Eschatological “Fate of Ulster” ’, in Protestant Millennialism, Evangelicalism and Irish Society, 1790–2005, ed. Crawford Gribben and Andrew Holmes (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006), 202–27. 7.  Steve Bruce, Paisley:  Religion and Politics in Northern Ireland (Oxford:  Clarendon Press, 2008), 49.

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1:14).8 The ways in which these beliefs found expression in evangelical readings of the meaning and significance of the Troubles will be examined in the first part of this chapter. Second, there were other evangelical groups which maintained that the Bible contained clear injunctions to be active in conflict resolution and to promote social justice, rather than merely withdrawing from society and awaiting the second coming of Christ. The ways in which these readings informed evangelical perceptions of the Troubles will be considered in the final part. The initial difficulty in determining the role of the Bible in the Troubles is the diversity of communities in Northern Ireland who claimed that the Bible was the primary authority for their faith and practice. It is thus necessary to introduce some general considerations of the term ‘evangelical’.

2. The Role of the Bible in the Formation of Evangelical Identities in Northern Ireland during the Troubles Several recent studies have rightly emphasized the diversity of evangelical belief in Northern Ireland during the Troubles. Commentators have enumerated and categorized the multiplicity of convictions concerning such issues as doctrine,9 ethics,10 national and ethnic identity11 and attitudes towards conflict.12 Groups to whom the adjective ‘evangelical’ has been affixed include Baptists, Brethren, Presbyterians, Free Presbyterians, Pentecostals, Church of Ireland, Methodists and organizations such as ECONI (Evangelical Contribution on Northern Ireland), the Orange Orders and the Caleb Foundation. Given the variety of evangelical orientations, the term ‘Northern Ireland evangelicalism’ can be misleading insofar as it could imply a homogeneity or uniformity of belief and practice among a clearly delineated social or religious group. The issue of evangelical identity in Northern Ireland is further complicated by the uncertainty of commentators about where to draw the lines of demarcation between politics and religion.13 The extent 8.  This view was associated with ‘pietism’, which, according to some commentators, exercised a strong influence on some sections of Protestantism in Northern Ireland. See Crawford Gribben, ‘Protestant Millennialism, Political Violence and the Ulster Conflict’, Irish Studies Review 15 (2007):  55;Steve Bruce, The Edge of the Union: The Ulster Loyalist Political Vision (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 35. 9. Glenn Jordan, Not of This World:  Evangelical Protestants in Northern Ireland (Belfast: Blackstaff, 2001). 10.  Gladys Ganiel and Claire Mitchell, Evangelical Journeys:  Choice and Change in a Northern Irish Religious Subculture (Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 2011). 11. Mitchel, Evangelicalism and National Identity. 12.  Gladys Ganiel, Evangelicalism and Conflict in Northern Ireland (London:  Palgrave Macmillan, 2011). 13.  Duncan Morrow, ‘ “Suffering for Righteousness’ Sake?” Fundamentalist Protestantism and Ulster Politics’, in Who Are the People:  Unionism, Protestantism and Loyalism in Northern Ireland, ed. Peter Shirlow and Mark McGovern (London: Pluto Press,

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to which evangelicalism has shaped Unionist politics is demonstrated by the large representation of evangelicals in mainstream political parties, most notably the Democratic Unionist Party (DUP).14 Although the phenomenon of ‘evangelicalism’ in Northern Ireland in the Troubles is difficult to characterize, one aspect of evangelicalism that was common across the confessional spectrum, from fundamentalist Free Presbyterianism to more moderate groups, such as ECONI, was an overriding allegiance to the Bible and a commitment to interpret one’s experience through the lens of Scripture. The Bible was the fundamental text for evangelicals in Northern Ireland, as it has been for the global evangelical movement.15 Thus the use of the reverential phrase ‘Word of God’ for the Bible was as common to Ian Paisley,16 the fundamentalist New Protestant Telegraph17 and conservative Baptist pastors18 as it was to evangelicals associated with ECONI19 and moderate Presbyterians.20 The designation ‘Word of God’ is also found in evangelical readers’ letters published in popular local and national newspapers, such as the Larne Guardian21 and the Belfast Telegraph.22 Even those writing in the official publications of the Loyalist paramilitary organization, the Ulster Volunteer Force, professed loyalty to ‘the inspired Word of God’, which they compared favourably to the ‘uninspired ravings of Marx, Lenin or Connolly’.23 For evangelicals the Bible was a living and dynamic text that addressed them at the level of their ‘ultimate concern’.24 Several studies of evangelicalism in Northern Ireland do not emphasize sufficiently the fact that for many evangelicals, biblically

1997), 57; Robin Eames, ‘The Religious Factor’, in Protestant Perceptions of the Peace Process in Northern Ireland, ed. Dominic Murray (Limerick:  Centre for Peace and Development Studies, 2000), 126. 14.  Neil Southern, ‘The Democratic Unionist Party and the Politics of Religious Fundamentalism’ (PhD thesis, Queen’s University of Belfast, 2001); Clifford Smyth, ‘The DUP as a Politico-religious Organisation’, Irish Political Studies 1 (1986): 33–43. 15. As the Oxford Handbook of Evangelical Theology puts it: ‘Biblicism is one of the most frequently cited defining marks of evangelicalism’ (Vanhoozer, ‘Scripture and Hermeneutics’, 35). See also, Daniel J. Treier, ‘Scripture and Hermeneutics’, in The Cambridge Companion to Evangelical Theology, ed. Timothy Larsen and Daniel J. Treier (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2007), 35–49. 16.  Ian Paisley, The Woman Rides the Beast:  A Remarkable Prophetic Fulfilment:  The E.E.C. Prophetically Considered (Belfast: Martyrs’ Memorial, 1984), 3. 17. New Protestant Telegraph (April 1989), 1. 18. Norman Porter, Ecumenism, Romanism and Irish Baptists (Belfast: Graham & Heslip, 1965), 4. 19. Lion & Lamb (Winter 1998), 3. 20. Frontiers (Spring 1996), 2. 21. Larne Guardian (6 October 1988), 10. 22. Belfast Telegraph (13 January 1997). 23. Combat 2 (April 1975), 3. 24. Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology (London: Nisbet & Co., 1953), 1:11–14.

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derived religious convictions were not primarily ethnic boundary markers or reservoirs of cultural practice; rather, they were held as vital and ultimate matters of eternal salvation. The tendency to relegate the significance of religious convictions to the level of nationality and ethnicity may be attributed to the dominance of the social sciences in the existing scholarship on the Troubles.25 It should be understood, therefore, that evangelical faith was more than ‘a system of ideas and values that have been used as a resource for identification’.26 For evangelical Christians, religion was more a matter of soteriology rather than ethnicity. From the perspective of evangelicals, one’s religion was a matter that determined whether one would spend eternity in the glorious light of heaven or languish forever in the place of outer darkness, where ‘the worm dieth not and the fire is not quenched’ (Mark 9:44, 46, 48). Therefore, for evangelicals the Bible was not simply a religious document that could be invoked to uphold a particular Protestant (British) identity, but an existential text that supervened on issues of ultimate concern. Neither was the Bible merely a private book of personal devotion. It was also the primary text that informed evangelicals’ interpretations of society and provided a fecund semantic reservoir which occasionally overflowed in a ‘surplus of meaning’27 by infusing everyday events with ultimate meaning and significance.28 There is clear evidence that many evangelicals interpreted the violent events of the Troubles as unmistakable signs that they were living in the midst of a ‘wicked and perverse generation’ (Matt 16:4). Some associated these signs with the end times and the imminent arrival of Antichrist and the False Prophet.29 Thus for many evangelicals the Bible was neither a static document of doctrinal formulae nor a dry repository of theological proof-texts; rather, Scripture was ‘the Word of God’ – a dynamic, living text which shaped evangelicals’ experience of living through a context of conflict. Biblical texts were not merely invoked in response to specific contexts of crisis, but profoundly formative of these contexts, which evangelical interpretations of Scripture actively shaped through a dynamic process of reinterpretation, appropriation and application.30 25. On this point, see Crawford Gribben, ‘Antichrist in Ireland – Protestant Millennialism and Irish Studies’, in Gribben and Holmes, Protestant Millennialism, Evangelicalism and Irish Society, 1790–2005, 1–30. See also Joshua T. Searle, The Scarlet Woman and the Red Hand:  Apocalyptic Belief in the Northern Ireland Troubles (Eugene:  Wipf and Stock, 2014), 30–43. 26. Mitchell, Religion, Identity and Politics, 114. 27.  Paul Ricoeur, Interpretation Theory:  Discourse and the Surplus of Meaning (Fort Worth: Texas Christian University Press, 1976). 28.  Richard Landes, ‘Millenarianism and the Dynamics of Apocalyptic Time’, in Expecting the End:  Millennialism in Social and Historical Context, ed. Crawford Gribben and Kenneth Newport (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2006), 4. 29. Ulster Bulwark (January/February 1978), 4. 30.  I have explored this thesis in depth in my book on interpretations of biblical apocalyptic texts among evangelical communities in Northern Ireland. See Searle, The Scarlet Woman and the Red Hand.

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Notwithstanding the general consensus concerning the elevated status of the Bible as the norma normans (norming norm)31 of their theological convictions and as the primary authority for faith and practice,32 evangelicals in Northern Ireland were deeply divided in their beliefs concerning not only how the Bible ought to be interpreted, but also over the issue of which biblical texts within the canon ought to take precedence. Although a central tenet of evangelical biblical interpretation is that ‘all scripture is given by the inspiration of God’ (2 Tim 3:16), there were particular texts that had a distinctive resonance among certain expressions of Northern Ireland evangelicalism during the Troubles. Whereas groups which Gladys Ganiel refers to as ‘traditional evangelicals’33 tended to focus more on the Pentateuch and apocalyptic texts,34 those communities identified as ‘mediating evangelicals’35 generally emphasized the Old Testament prophets and the Gospels.36 The fact that such divergent interpretations of Scripture could arise despite a common belief in the divine inspiration of the biblical texts as the ‘Word of God’ indicates the key role of hermeneutics in understanding and accounting for these differences, particularly in evangelical responses to the sectarian conflict. Whereas some read Scripture as an earnest exhortation to retain their doctrinal purity in the midst of the prevailing godlessness and apostasy, other evangelicals read the same texts as blueprints for social action in order actively to promote justice and reconciliation. These differences can be illustrated through a consideration of two

31. Stanley J. Grenz and John R. Franke, Beyond Foundationalism: Shaping Theology in a Postmodern Context (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001), 56–166. 32. As John Wesley put it in the preface to one of his sermon collections: ‘Let me be homo unius libri.’ See Stanley J. Grenz, ‘Nurturing the Soul, Informing the Mind: The Genesis of the Evangelical Scripture Principle’, in Evangelicals & Scripture:  Tradition, Authority and Hermeneutics, ed. Vincent E. Bacote, Laura C. Miguélez and Dennis L. Okholm (Downers Grove: Inter-Varsity Press, 2004), 21–41. 33.  Under the term ‘traditional evangelicalism’, Ganiel includes groups such as the Independent Orange Order, the Evangelical Protestant Society and the Caleb Foundation. See Ganiel, Evangelicalism and Conflict, 107–11. 34.  According to the Free Presbyterian clergyman Ivan Foster, the book of Revelation ‘stands in eminence above other Scripture, since it is the closing word of the canon of Holy Scripture’. See Foster, Shadow of the Antichrist:  A Study in the Book of Revelation (Belfast: Ambassador, 1996), 7. 35.  Groups falling under this classification include ECONI (now the Centre for Contemporary Christianity in Ireland), the Evangelical Alliance, Zero28 and Ikon. See Ganiel, Evangelicalism and Conflict, 120–6. 36.  John Brewer claims that evangelicals in Northern Ireland exhibit ‘a preference for Old Testament covenantal theology and New Testament apocalyptic passages’. See Brewer, ‘Contesting Ulster’, in Homelands Poetic Power and the Politics of Space, ed. Ron Robin and Bo Strath (Brussels: Peter Lang, 2003), 284. However, Brewer’s claim applies mainly to fundamentalist expressions of evangelicalism, rather than to moderate evangelical groups such as ECONI.

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salient features of evangelical biblical interpretations during the Troubles: (1) the Troubles as an apocalyptic confrontation between Good and Evil and a sign that evangelicals were living in the ‘end times’; and (2) the Bible as an imaginative resource for promoting reconciliation and overcoming sectarian categories.

3. Biblical Interpretations of the Troubles as an Apocalyptic Struggle between Christ and Satan and a Sign of the ‘End Times’ Some evangelical interpretations of the Bible created a dualistic hermeneutic, which organized the world into binary classifications of Good and Evil. According to certain interpretations, some parts of Scripture seem to depict a world in which the boundaries between light and darkness are clearly demarcated and absolute.37 When evangelicals read the Bible through a ‘hermeneutic of absolute commitment’,38 the biblical text engendered a total rejection of compromise with their perceived religious and political enemies. An address given by a leader of the Orange Order in November 1974 offers a typical illustration of how this hermeneutic informed evangelical responses to the Troubles. Drawing explicitly on the words of Christ’s letter to the angel of the Laodicean church (Rev 3:16, ‘So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth’), the Orange preacher urged his audience to renounce lukewarmness and compromise: ‘It is fashionable to tone down religious distinctions in this ecumenical age. Tonight I challenge all of us to a position of Protestant extremism. The Lord not only said “he that is not with me is against me”, but also in the Book of Revelation repudiated a lukewarm approach.’39 The biblical text’s apparent prohibition on making concessions was echoed by Paisley, who, alluding to the words of Christ (Luke 11:23), insisted that ‘[i]f we are not of Christ, we are of Satan’.40 The evangelical imagination tended to posit the Troubles as a manifestation of cosmic struggle between Christ and the forces of darkness.41 Keeping in mind ‘the spiritual background and dimension to the conflict’,42 some evangelicals in Northern Ireland believed that behind the violence of republican terrorism was an even greater evil, deriving from Satan himself. Such interpretations were grounded in appeals to specific texts such as the parable of the Wheat and Tares (Matt 13:24–30), which contrasts the good wheat sown by the Son of Man with the

37.  This is particularly the case in apocalyptic biblical texts. See Searle, The Scarlet Woman and the Red Hand, 181–4. 38. Joshua T. Searle, ‘The Future of Millennial Studies and the Hermeneutics of Hope: A Theological Reflection’, in Beyond the End:  The Future of Millennial Studies, ed. Joshua Searle and Kenneth Newport (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2012), 134. 39. Orange Standard (December 1974/January 1975), 3. 40. New Protestant Telegraph (March 1991), 4. 41. Mitchell, Religion, Identity and Politics, 126–7. 42. Alan Campbell, Remember 1641 (Belfast: Open-Bible Ministries, 1991), 24.

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evil tares planted by the devil. An article from the May 1975 issue of the Orange Standard used this parable in order to depict the Troubles as a conflict in which the good wheat (i.e. Bible-believing Protestants) and the evil tares (i.e. Roman Catholics, ecumenists, charismatics, communists and other ‘enemies of the cross of Christ’) grow together on the same turf.43 Alluding directly to this parable, the evangelical author contends that ‘wheat and tares grow together in the same field. The virile Christian witness of Ulster was always in train with a pseudo-religion which was to spawn the callous criminal and depraved revolutionary by whom we have suffered so much’.44 The attempt of the evangelical writer to establish semantic concurrence between the wicked tares and the enemies of ‘Ulster’ was an example of an adroit application of a familiar biblical text to the contemporary conflict. Not only would the agricultural allusions of this parable have been particularly pertinent to the many rural readers of the Orange Standard, but also the interpretive strategy employed in this instance distinguished itself from the usual literalism of many fundamentalist interpretations of biblical texts. Instead of resorting to crude identifications between contemporary figures and biblical symbols, this writer invited readers to enter imaginatively into the story world of the parable and thereby to discern for themselves the fusion of the horizon of the text and that of their contemporary experience. The violent clashes between Loyalists and Republicans and the apparent breakdown of law and order corresponded to the ultimate battle in the heavenly realms between the ‘Son of man . . . and all the holy angels’ (Matt 25:31) and the ‘rulers of the darkness of this world’ and ‘spiritual wickedness in high places’ (Eph 6:12). This conviction is clearly present in the following reading of the conflict by one evangelical commentator, who maintained that the ‘anarchy and violence which we are witnessing today is one manifestation of the activities of those principalities and powers, those rulers of the spiritual darkness of this world’.45 Likewise, the editorial of a 1988 edition of the New Protestant Telegraph drew attention to the multifaceted nature of the Troubles: The dark shadow of lawlessness and the darkest shadow of all, the shadow of terrorist killings lie across our Province. We have a Prime Minister who has sold us. We have a Government which has destroyed us. We have a Parliament which has betrayed us. We have Security Forces which are not permitted to defend us. We have Churches which have misled us.46

Although not explicitly derived from any specific biblical text, the language is redolent of the biblical theme of lawlessness. The ‘dark shadow of lawlessness’ may well be a conscious allusion to the biblical ‘man of sin’ (2 Thess 2:7), but the phrase

43. Revivalist (August 1976), 1. 44. Orange Standard (May 1975), 8. 45. Irish Baptist 94 (March 1972), 2. 46. New Protestant Telegraph (September 1988), 2.

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may have been used in a more generic sense in order to appeal to a broader base of political supporters beyond the fundamentalist core of evangelical Protestants.47 As well as generating uncompromising convictions relating to the alleged universal significance of the Troubles, the Bible was sometimes read as a prophetic text that foretold the events of the conflict. According to Patrick Mitchel, Ian Paisley’s interpretation of prophetic scripture presupposed ‘the ability to discern exact prophetic fulfilment in contemporary political events’.48 This apparent ability to read the significance of current events in the light of Scripture was assumed by many other evangelicals, who read the biblical texts as symbolic or literal descriptions of the situations with which they were confronted. One particular biblical symbol, which occupied a prominent place in the imagination of evangelicals in the Troubles, was that of Antichrist.49 It is notable that the apparent relative insignificance of Northern Ireland in the grand sphere of international politics did not seem to diminish the view that the Troubles was a conflict of universal significance. Indeed, given its alleged status as one of the last remaining bulwarks of biblical Protestantism,50 ‘Ulster’ was perceived by some evangelicals in Northern Ireland as being particularly vulnerable to an end-times onslaught by Antichrist. The narrative of ‘Ulster exceptionalism’ was a pervasive myth among some sections of the evangelical community.51 The Free Presbyterian and DUP politician Clifford Smyth maintained that ‘Ulster is part of God’s plan. God has blessed the people of the Province with times of great spiritual refreshing and revival . . . that secret story of triumph is known to God alone’.52 On the basis of its purported special status and historical legacy of faithfulness to the Scriptures, it was assumed by some evangelicals that when he came to earth, Antichrist would devote himself to the destruction of Northern Ireland as one of his first priorities.53 Some evangelicals interpreted passages from the Bible as warnings that the forces of evil would become progressively stronger as the world came closer to the advent of Antichrist in the end times.54 There are several biblical passages which appear to indicate that the latter days of the earth would be marked by the multiplication of immorality, perversity and heretical departures from biblical teachings.

47. The NIV translates this phrase as ‘the secret power of lawlessness’. 48. Mitchel, ‘Unionism and the Eschatological fate of Ulster’, 208. 49. Gareth Higgins, ‘Great Expectations: The Myth of Anti-Christ in Northern Ireland’ (PhD thesis, Queens University Belfast, 2000); Searle, The Scarlet Woman and the Red Hand, 93–106. 50.  Ian Paisley referred to Northern Ireland as ‘the last bastion of Bible Protestantism in Europe’. See Padraig O’Malley, Uncivil Wars:  Ireland Today (Boston:  Beacon Press, 1990), 178. 51. Mitchel, Evangelicalism and National Identity, 209. 52. Clifford Smyth, Rome – Our Enemy (Belfast: Puritan Printing, 1974), 81. 53.  Alan Campbell, For God and Ulster:  The 90th Anniversary of the Ulster Covenant (Belfast: Open-Bible Ministries, 1992), 25. 54. Ulster Bulwark (March/April 1989), 5.

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For evangelicals the deficit of faith (Luke 18:8), hope (Luke 21:26) and love (Matt 24:12), together with the proliferation of heretical beliefs and evil practices (2 Tim 3:1–5; 2 Pet 2:1–3, 9–22; Jude 8–16), would be clear portents of Antichrist’s imminent arrival. As one evangelical commentator, writing in the official newspaper of the Orange Order, remarked: The troubles we are suffering bear great importance in themselves and yet it is only a part of a chain of events being masterminded throughout the world. We are on the verge of the last great thrust of Satanic power against God and his people . . . How do we know this? If we turn to Ezekiel chapter 38 and 39 we see God’s plan unfolding.55

The Bible thus offered evangelicals a framework within which to interpret the deplorable events that were happening around them. Each terrorist outrage or sectarian killing was subsumed under a biblically shaped apocalyptic narrative, which corresponded to what Paisley’s New Protestant Telegraph referred to as ‘the great unveiling of the prophetic calendar of God’.56 Thus Ivan Foster, a prominent Free Presbyterian fundamentalist, could claim that parts of the Bible contain ‘a resume of events that will mark the end of the age’.57 Evangelical biblical interpretations thus generated the conviction that the Troubles was part of an overarching divine plan involving a ‘Great Tribulation’, but which would culminate in the Second Coming of Christ, who would return in glory and send his angels to gather up his chosen people ‘from the four winds’ (Matt 28:20; 24:31). Affirming these biblical prophecies, one evangelical, on the eve of the Troubles, warned that ‘[t]his is a watershed in history, a great spiritual conflict is taking shape’.58 For evangelicals, such as Paisley and some members of the Orange Order, one of the signs of this momentous phase in the history of Northern Ireland was the resurgence of the Catholic Church. Positing a direct identification of the Catholic Church with the Whore of Babylon (Rev 17:4–6), some fundamentalists accused the papacy of being ‘a Satanic parody of the Christocentric principle in the Kingdom of God’.59 Given the perception of historic atrocities committed by Irish Catholics against the Protestant planters, the Roman Catholic Church was branded as the ‘Harlot Church’,60 who, like the Whore of Babylon, was ‘drunk with the blood of the saints and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus’.61 In particular, 55. Orange Standard (March 1980), 5. 56. New Protestant Telegraph (March 1991), 5. 57. Foster, Shadow of the Antichrist, 154. 58. Smyth, Rome – Our Enemy, 78. 59.  New Protestant Telegraph (September 1988), 7; Ian Paisley, The Massacre of St Bartholomew (Belfast: Puritan, 1972), 130. 60. Bob Jones, ‘Foreword’ to Paisley, Massacre of St. Bartholomew, x. 61. New Protestant Telegraph (June 1989), 8.

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Ian Paisley used the Bible as a terminological arsenal of hostile epithets  – such as ‘synagogue of Satan’,62 ‘Roman Antichrist’,63 ‘man of sin’,64 ‘the spawn . . . of the Devil’65 and ‘apostate body’66 – with which to brand the Catholic Church as ‘the determined foe of Protestant Ulster’.67 Paisley and his supporters claimed that his identification of the Roman Catholic Church with the Babylonian Whore of Revelation 17 was derived from a ‘plain reading’ and ‘simple exegesis’ of the text and that his view was ‘not a bigoted one but a biblical one’.68 These anti-Catholic beliefs were a constant feature of fundamentalist evangelical interpretations of the Bible throughout the Troubles.69 Such views were still widespread in the lead up to the Good Friday Agreement of 1998, when Paisley’s magazine, Battle Standard, continued to warn of an alleged Catholic plot to overthrow ‘biblical Protestantism’ and replace it with a syncretistic ‘Super One World Church’,70 which would be taken over by Antichrist and his diabolical accomplice, the False Prophet (Rev 13; 19:20): ‘The whole current of . . . ecumenism is set towards the ultimate union of all Christians in a one world church (probably under the leadership of the Pope) . . . [this] would pave the way for Antichrist with a vengeance.’71 Remarkably, even after his apparent political ‘conversion’,72 which led to his signing the St Andrew’s Agreement in 2006, Paisley’s religious beliefs remained fundamentally consistent with the position he had assumed throughout the Troubles. Paisley continued to publically air his anti-Catholic views and staged a public protest in Edinburgh in September 2010 against a visit by Pope Benedict XVI to the United Kingdom. Paisley maintained in an interview with a UTV journalist that it was his religious duty to resist the ‘Roman Antichrist’ and that he believed the Catholic Church was a ‘false church’ and was ‘the church as depicted in the seventeenth chapter of the Book of Revelation’.73

62. Paisley, Roman Catholic Priests, 13. 63. New Protestant Telegraph (October 1990), 2. 64. Revivalist (June 1975), 15. 65. Paisley, Antichrist: An Exposition (Belfast: Martyrs’ Memorial, n.d.), 41. 66. Paisley, Antichrist: An Exposition, 6. 67. Smyth, Rome – Our Enemy, 11. 68. Ronald Cooke, Paisley and Mystery Babylon the Great (Hollidaysburg: Manna Press, 1985), 3. This booklet, written by an American author with links to Bob Jones University, appeared as the second volume in a series entitled ‘Paisley: A Defense of Paisley’s Exegesis’. 69. See Brewer and Higgins, Anti-Catholicism in Northern Ireland. 70. Protestant Telegraph (April 1971), 5. 71. Battle Standard 1/1 (October 1997), 2. 72.  The Christian magazine Third Way described Paisley’s political transformation in exaggerated tones as ‘the unlikeliest conversion since Paul on the road to Damascus’: Third Way 31 (April 2008), 17. 73. Paisley, quoted in Searle, The Scarlet Woman and the Red Hand, 210.

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4. The Role of the Bible as a Transformative Text of Reconciliation in the Troubles In contrast to the anti-Catholic readings mentioned above, there were several examples of evangelical biblical interpretations that sought to use the Bible as a reconciling text that would undercut customary distinctions between ‘Catholics’ and ‘Protestants’. For those evangelicals who believed that the biblical narrative culminated in a vision of ‘humanity united in worship and praise’,74 the Bible was interpreted so as to offer a new perspective on the meaning of the Troubles by raising people’s vision above parochial, nationalistic dimensions of their identities and offering a vantage point from which to perceive themselves and others in terms of their common humanity. During the Troubles interdenominational groups and organizations such as Corrymeela, the Currach Community and the Irish School of Ecumenics were formed. These initiatives attempted to embody an alternative hermeneutic of reconciliation,75 which challenged traditional interpretations of key biblical texts. In the late 1980s critical voices within the evangelical movement in Northern Ireland began to use the biblical texts in order to deconstruct the historical links between evangelical faith and Protestant national identity. One prominent voice came from the ECONI. In the 1988 landmark publication, entitled For God and His Glory Alone, ECONI stated its commitment to the teachings of Scripture and located itself firmly within the evangelical tradition: As Evangelical Christians we confess the historic faith of the Gospel as it is revealed in the Bible. We affirm that the Bible, which is the Word of God, reveals God’s plan of salvation. . . . We want our thinking and behaviour to be governed by these Scriptures, as our only infallible rule of faith and practice . . . Our primary aim is to address our fellow Evangelicals in order to encourage a continuing process of relating the Bible to our confused situation.76

In keeping with this aim, members of ECONI launched an energetic campaign, which included organizing conferences to discuss evangelical perspectives on the conflict. Seeking to repudiate what they regarded as the ‘territorial ambitions’ of evangelicals, which had allegedly ‘in effect reduced God to a tribal deity who fights on behalf of a particular people’, ECONI affirmed that ‘God’s people are in every nation . . . To worship God is to belong to a new humanity whose homeland is not of this world . . . to follow him is to declare a new allegiance to Jesus as Lord and to engage in a struggle against all that is in conflict with the kingdom’.77 The 74. ECONI, Thinking Biblically, Building Peace (Belfast: ECONI, 2002), 128. 75. Maria Power, ‘Getting to Know the Other: Local Churches and the Peace Process in Northern Ireland’, in The Long Road to Peace, ed. Marianne Elliott (Liverpool:  Liverpool University Press, 2007), 196–202. 76. ECONI, For God and His Glory Alone (Belfast: ECONI, 1988), 6. 77. Lion & Lamb (Spring 2000), 5–6.

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biblical metaphor of the ‘new heaven and earth’ (Is 65:17; 2 Pet 3:13; Rev 21:1) was presented as a prototype of the new creation. According to ECONI, this biblical imagery provided a vision of a new era in which deeply cherished (yet idolatrous) national identities would evaporate like the morning dew in the light of a new eschatological dawn. ECONI drew explicitly from the depiction of the New Jerusalem in order to promote a vision of peace and reconciliation. For some the whole of the book of Revelation was interpreted as a vision of ‘the healing of the nations’ (Rev 22:2), which enunciated a time when ‘the fullness of God’s redemptive work in Jesus Christ will be realized. This is our hope and it is made credible when Christians live in the present reality of what we believe is to come’.78 In the lead up to the Good Friday Agreement in 1998, several evangelicals made explicit use of the biblical narrative as the most appropriate framework for a viable and lasting peace79: ‘Aspirations to peace in a stable political framework must be set in context of the eschatological framework of Scripture.’80 Therefore, whereas some evangelical interpretations of the Bible tended to exacerbate sectarian tensions by repudiating compromise and inculcating fear and suspicion towards perceived enemies, other evangelical interpretations of similar texts yielded inclusive visions of redemption that aimed to overcome the customary sectarian dichotomies that fuelled the conflict. For instance, while Paisley often used the book of Revelation to denounce his religious and political enemies as synagogues of Satan, the Beast, the False Prophet, Antichrist and the Whore of Babylon,81 other evangelicals used the same texts to argue in favour of ecumenical dialogue on the basis of a common participation of all the people of God in the redeemed humanity: ‘We look forward to the day . . . when there will be “that great multitude that no one can count, from every tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the lamb” ’ (Rev 7:9).82 ECONI gave expression to several disparate voices within evangelical communities in Northern Ireland that were dissatisfied with the frequent association of evangelicalism with politicized conceptions of ‘Protestant Ulster’. A document produced by the Irish Council of Churches, published in Belfast in 1979, likewise quotes from Revelation 21 to argue that ‘[p]assages like these . . . should . . . help us to see that peace is possible. God in Christ has inaugurated a Kingdom of peace . . . he has released a power of love into the world whose fullest expression is peace’.83 Similarly, John Dunlop, 78. Lion & Lamb (Spring 1999), 17. 79.  David McMillan, ‘Where Wrath and Mercy Meet:  Using the Bible When Making Moral Decisions in the Context of Conflict’ (unpublished research paper). McMillan was a leader of ECONI. 80. Frontiers (Summer 1998), 26. 81. Joshua T. Searle, ‘ “Sweet in the Mouth and Bitter in the Stomach”: Interpretations of the Book of Revelation among Evangelicals in Northern Ireland during the Troubles’, ITQ 79 (2014): 22. 82. ECONI, Evangelicals and Catholics Together in Ireland (Belfast: ECONI, n.d.), 10. 83.  The Irish Council of Churches, What the Bible Says about Peace (Belfast:  Appletree Press, 1979), 12.

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the Ulster Presbyterian minister, cited from Revelation in order to build a case that this text’s celebration of ‘apocalyptic extravagance’ could be used to inculcate ‘a mental attitude, which is . . . capable of accommodating diversity’ among people in Northern Ireland who held different political and religious beliefs.84 As well as citing from Revelation, groups of ‘mediating evangelicals’85 also appealed to the Gospels86 (particularly the parable of the Good Samaritan)87 and the Old Testament prophets, such as Isaiah and Jeremiah,88 in support of their peacemaking initiatives. Therefore, notwithstanding the proof-texts that were cited by some fundamentalists to claim a biblical warrant for their anti-Catholic or antiecumenical positions, it would be incorrect to conclude that the Bible’s influence on the course of the sectarian conflict in Northern Ireland was mostly destructive. Evangelical biblical interpretation during the Troubles was a highly complex and idiosyncratic phenomenon. Whereas some evangelicals tended to use the Bible as a terminological arsenal of hostile epithets with which to denounce their enemies, others drew on similar texts in order to facilitate dialogue and understanding between opposing political and religious communities. The fundamentalist interpretations may have obtained more coverage in the mainstream media and may have served the purposes of those who wished to depict Northern Ireland as a religiously atavistic backwater of Western society.89 Paisley’s vociferous denunciations of the pope as Antichrist may also have been deemed more newsworthy than the discreet attempts of local churches and trans-denominational communities to build relationships and facilitate reconciliation within and among Northern Ireland’s divided communities.90

84.  John Dunlop, A Precarious Belonging:  Presbyterians and the Conflict in Ireland (Belfast: Blackstaff, 1995), 91. 85. Ganiel uses this term to describe evangelicals who maintained separation of church and state and who advocated pluralism and nonviolence. See Ganiel, Evangelicalism in Northern Ireland, 7. 86. See, for example, Tim Kinahan, A More Excellent Way: A Vision for Northern Ireland (Belfast: Corrymeela, 1998), 89–90. 87. ECONI, Border Crossings: Affirming Faith by Crossing Boundaries: Readings in Luke’s Gospel (Belfast:  ECONI, 1999); Alwyn Thomson, The Politics of Holiness (Belfast:  ECONI, 1998), 26–7. 88. Alwyn Thomson, The Fire and the Hammer (Belfast: ECONI, 1997). 89. Arthur Aughey argues against this depiction in his book Under Siege: Ulster Unionism and the Anglo-Irish Agreement (Belfast: Blackstaff, 1989), 5. 90. Some of these initiatives have been discussed in publications, including: Philip Orr, New Loyalties:  Christian Faith and the Protestant Working Class (Belfast:  CCCI, 2008); Margaret McNulty and Charles Leeke, A Time to Heal:  Community Bridge Building in the Church or Ireland Diocese of Down and Dromore (Belfast:  Church of Ireland House, 2003); Joseph Liechty and Celia Clegg, Moving beyond Sectarianism: Religion, Conflict and Reconciliation in Northern Ireland (Dublin: Columba, 2001).

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5. Conclusion In an article written in response to the unrest and division generated by the Good Friday Agreement in 1998, David Porter, a Baptist pastor from Northern Ireland who was then Director of ECONI, remarked that ‘[t]he current problems with the peace process in Northern Ireland are, at one level, a problem of hermeneutics’.91 This was a perceptive insight, which indicates the awareness on the part of certain evangelical leaders of the extent to which the conflict in Northern Ireland was exacerbated by issues pertaining to conflicting interpretations, particularly those related to the Bible. Although the complex dynamics of the Troubles cannot be reduced to biblical hermeneutics, it is nevertheless the case that for evangelicals, who represented a large proportion of the total population of Northern Ireland,92 the Bible was formative of their identity and shaped their perceptions of the conflict. In some cases, evangelicals even identified particular events and prominent individuals involved in the Troubles as specific symbols depicted in biblical prophecy. This chapter has sought to demonstrate that the appropriation of biblical symbols and their application to the events of the conflict was a standard feature of evangelical perceptions of the Troubles. Notable voices have demonstrated how, in the hands of some evangelicals in the grip of a totalizing or dehumanizing hermeneutic, the Bible can become a ‘savage text’93 and be put to all sorts of immoral ends. The history of Christianity in Ireland offers numerous examples of how sectarian readings of biblical texts have consequences beyond ideological polemics and theological debates. For evangelicals in Northern Ireland who believed that the Bible was the ‘Word of God’, the issue of biblical interpretation was much more than an academic matter of exegetical method. The way that evangelicals interpreted the Bible determined how they related not only to their families and friends, but also to their churches, their culture and their government. This explains why of all the battlegrounds on which issues of Irish religious convictions and national identity have been fought, none have been as bitterly contested as the Bible. As other contributors to this volume have highlighted, conflicting interpretations of the Bible have been a recurring feature of the history of Christianity in Ireland. Both the apocalyptic ferment generated by anti-Catholic interpretations, and the biblically inspired reconciliation initiatives that arose during the Troubles, offer compelling examples of how these diverse interpretations can shape the identity of Irish evangelicals and their response to situations of conflict and crisis.

91. Lion & Lamb (Winter 1998), 3. 92. According to Ganiel and Marti, ‘[M]ost estimates of the evangelical population put it at 25–33 percent of the Protestant community.’ See their article ‘Northern Ireland, America and the Emerging Church Movement: Exploring the Significance of Peter Rollins and the Ikon Collective’, Journal of the Irish Society for the Academic Study of Religions 1 (2014): 30. 93.  Adrian Thatcher, The Savage Text:  The Use and Abuse of the Bible (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2008).

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Bibliography Aughey, Arthur. Under Siege: Ulster Unionism and the Anglo-Irish Agreement. Belfast: Blackstaff, 1989. Brewer, John. ‘Contesting Ulster’. Pages 283–304 in Homelands Poetic Power and the Politics of Space. Edited by Ron Robin and Bo Strath. Brussels: Peter Lang, 2003. Brewer, John, and Gareth Higgins. Anti-Catholicism in Northern Ireland, 1600–1998: The Mote and the Beam. London: Macmillan, 1998. Bruce, Steve. The Edge of the Union: The Ulster Loyalist Political Vision. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001. Bruce, Steve. Paisley: Religion and Politics in Northern Ireland. Oxford: Clarendon, 2008. Campbell, Alan. ‘The Anglo-Irish Agreement’. Sermon preached at Shankill Gospel Hall, 25 May 1987. Available on cassette from Open-Bible Ministries. Campbell, Alan. For God and Ulster: The 90th Anniversary of the Ulster Covenant. Belfast: Open-Bible Ministries, 1992. Campbell, Alan. Remember 1641. Belfast: Open-Bible Ministries, 1991. Cooke, Ronald. Paisley and Mystery Babylon the Great. Hollidaysburg, PA: Manna, 1985. Dunlop, John. A Precarious Belonging: Presbyterians and the Conflict in Ireland. Belfast: Blackstaff, 1995. Eames, Robin. ‘The Religious Factor’. Pages 101–36 in Protestant Perceptions of the Peace Process in Northern Ireland. Edited by Dominic Murray. Limerick: Centre for Peace and Development Studies, 2000. ECONI. Border Crossings: Affirming Faith by Crossing Boundaries: Readings in Luke’s Gospel. Belfast: ECONI, 1999. ECONI. Evangelicals and Catholics Together in Ireland. Belfast: ECONI, n.d. ECONI. For God and His Glory Alone. Belfast: ECONI, 1988. ECONI. Thinking Biblically, Building Peace. Belfast: ECONI, 2002. Foster, Ivan. Shadow of the Antichrist: A Study in the Book of Revelation. Belfast: Ambassador, 1996. Ganiel, Gladys. Evangelicalism and Conflict in Northern Ireland. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011. Ganiel, Gladys, and Claire Mitchell. Evangelical Journeys: Choice and Change in a Northern Irish Religious Subculture. Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 2011. Ganiel, Gladys, and Gerardo Marti. ‘Northern Ireland, America and the Emerging Church Movement: Exploring the Significance of Peter Rollins and the Ikon Collective’. Journal of the Irish Society for the Academic Study of Religions 1 (2014): 26–47. Grenz, Stanley. ‘Nurturing the Soul, Informing the Mind: The Genesis of the Evangelical Scripture Principle’. Pages 21–41 in Evangelicals & Scripture: Tradition, Authority and Hermeneutics. Edited by Vincent E. Bacote, Laura C. Miguélez and Dennis L. Okholm. Downers Grove: Inter-Varsity, 2004. Grenz, Stanley, and John Franke. Beyond Foundationalism: Shaping Theology in a Postmodern Context. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001. Gribben, Crawford. ‘Protestant Millennialism, Political Violence and the Ulster Conflict’. Irish Studies Review 15 (2007): 51–63. Higgins, Gareth. ‘Great Expectations: The Myth of Anti-Christ in Northern Ireland’. PhD thesis, Queens University Belfast, 2000. Irish Council of Churches. What the Bible Says about Peace. Belfast: Appletree, 1979.

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Jordan, Glenn. Not of This World: Evangelical Protestants in Northern Ireland. Belfast: Blackstaff, 2001. Kevin J. Vanhoozer, ‘Scripture and Hermeneutics’. Pages 35–52 in The Oxford Handbook of Evangelical Theology. Edited by Gerald McDermott. Oxford: OUP, 2010. Kinahan, Tim. A More Excellent Way: A Vision for Northern Ireland. Belfast: Corrymela, 1998. Landes, Richard. ‘Millenarianism and the Dynamics of Apocalyptic Time’. Pages 1–23 in Expecting the End: Millennialism in Social and Historical Context. Edited by Crawford Gribben and Kenneth Newport. Waco: Baylor University Press, 2006. Liechty, Joseph, and Clegg, Celia. Moving beyond Sectarianism: Religion, Conflict and Reconciliation in Northern Ireland. Dublin: Columba, 2001. Mitchel, Patrick. Evangelicalism and National Identity in Ulster, 1921–1998. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Mitchel, Patrick. ‘Unionism and the Eschatological “Fate of Ulster”’. Pages 202–27 in Protestant Millennialism, Evangelicalism and Irish Society, 1790–2005. Edited by Crawford Gribben and Andrew Holmes. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006. Mitchell, Claire. Religion, Identity and Politics in Northern Ireland: Boundaries of Belonging. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006. Morrow, Duncan. ‘ “Suffering for Righteousness” Sake?’ Fundamentalist Protestantism and Ulster Politics’. Pages 55–71 in Who Are the People: Unionism, Protestantism and Loyalism in Northern Ireland. Edited by Peter Shirlow and Mark McGovern. London: Pluto, 1997. O’Malley, Padraig. Uncivil Wars: Ireland Today. Boston: Beacon, 1990. Orr, Philip. New Loyalties: Christian Faith and the Protestant Working Class. Belfast: Centre for Contemporary Christianity in Ireland, 2008. Paisley, Ian. Antichrist: An Exposition. Belfast: Martyrs’ Memorial, n.d. Paisley, Ian. The Massacre of St Bartholomew. Belfast: Puritan, 1972. Paisley, Ian. The Woman Rides the Beast: A Remarkable Prophetic Fulfilment: The E.E.C. Prophetically Considered. Belfast: Martyrs’ Memorial, 1984. Porter, Norman. Ecumenism, Romanism and Irish Baptists. Belfast: Graham & Heslip, 1965. Power, Maria. ‘Getting to Know the Other: Local Churches and the Peace Process in Northern Ireland’. Pages 196–202 in The Long Road to Peace. Edited by Marianne Elliott. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2007. Ricoeur, Paul. Interpretation Theory: Discourse and the Surplus of Meaning. Fort Worth: TCU Press, 1976. Searle, Joshua T. ‘The Future of Millennial Studies and the Hermeneutics of Hope: A Theological Reflection’. Pages 131–48 in Beyond the End: The Future of Millennial Studies. Edited by Joshua Searle and Kenneth Newport. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2012. Searle, Joshua T. The Scarlet Woman and the Red Hand: Apocalyptic Belief in the Northern Ireland Troubles. Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 2014. Searle, Joshua T. ‘ “Sweet in the Mouth and Bitter in the Stomach”: Interpretations of the Book of Revelation among Evangelicals in Northern Ireland during the Troubles’. Irish Theological Quarterly 79 (2014): 14–29. Smyth, Clifford. ‘The DUP as a Politico-Religious Organization’. Irish Political Studies 1 (1986): 33–43. Smyth, Clifford. Rome – Our Enemy. Belfast: Puritan Printing, 1974.

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Southern, Neil. ‘The Democratic Unionist Party and the Politics of Religious fundamentalism’. PhD thesis, Queen’s University of Belfast, 2001. Thatcher, Adrian. The Savage Text: The Use and Abuse of the Bible. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2008. Thomson, Alwyn. The Fire and the Hammer. Belfast: ECONI, 1997. Thomson, Alwyn. The Politics of Holiness. Belfast: ECONI, 1998. Tillich, Paul. Systematic Theology. London: Nisbet & Co., 1953. Treier, Daniel. ‘Scripture and Hermeneutics’. Pages 35–49 in The Cambridge Companion to Evangelical Theology. Edited by Timothy Larsen and Daniel J. Treier. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007.

Chapter 10 D A N C I N G L I K E D AV I D A N D O V E R C OM I N G E N E M I E S :   S C R I P T U R E A N D C U LT U R E I N C H R I ST A P O ST O L IC C H U R C H D U B L I N * Rebecca Uberoi

1. Introduction The large-scale presence of African immigrants living in Ireland is a relatively recent phenomenon, beginning in the 1990s. The 2002 Census of Ireland put the number of African nationals living in Ireland at 20,981. This figure had risen to 35,326 in the 2006 census, and to 41,642 in 2011. Nigerians represent the largest African national group, with 17,642 recorded in 2011. Of these, 14,599 were Christian, including 3,861 who described themselves as Apostolic or Pentecostal.1 Christ Apostolic Church (CAC) is one of a number of Nigerian Pentecostal churches to have been established in Ireland during this time. CAC is a predominantly Yoruba church that emerged from the early twentieth-century Aládǔrà (meaning ‘people who pray’) movement in southwestern Nigeria. The first CAC congregation was established in Ireland approximately eighteen years ago, and the Vineyard of Comfort zone now has six assemblies (Dublin, Cavan, Drogheda, Dundalk, Midleton and Galway).2 The Dublin headquarters, the congregation which forms the case study for this chapter, has approximately 300– 350 members (mostly of Yoruba ethnicity) and an average weekly attendance of *  I would like to thank Dr Adewale Kuyebi and all the members of Christ Apostolic Church Vineyard of Comfort (Dublin Assembly) for welcoming me so warmly, and for allowing me to undertake extensive fieldwork within their community. I  am grateful to Prof. Thérèse Smith for her helpful feedback on a draft version of this chapter. The doctoral research on which this chapter is based was generously funded by a Government of Ireland Postgraduate Scholarship from the Irish Research Council. 1. Census of Ireland results available online: www.cso.ie. 2.  CAC have another five assemblies in Ireland that come under the CAC Outreach zone. These are based in Dublin, Tullamore, Galway, Dunboyne and Athlone. A  further six churches have been established by former CAC Ireland members. These include Christ Ambassador, Cornerstone Tabernacle Ministry and Christ Glory Ministry.

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about 200.3 I carried out ethnographic fieldwork there over a four-month period in 2012 and returned at the end of 2013 to complete a year-long study. There is a tendency among African Pentecostals in Ireland to attend African-led rather than Irish-led churches. Abel Ugba states that ‘they have chosen to associate with groups dominated and led by Africans rather than ones led by Irish persons because they represent the kind of Pentecostal practices and setting they are accustomed to’.4 Members of CAC Dublin told me that they had tried attending Irish-led churches, but had not been satisfied by them. Different approaches can be taken to explore more specifically why African Christians in Ireland are left unfulfilled by Irish-led churches, and what it is about the practices in African-led churches that satisfies them. For the purpose of this chapter, I aim to examine the distinctive use of the Bible in CAC Dublin. As Paul Gifford has noted, the everyday use of the Bible in African churches is not very well documented.5 Gifford himself provides an excellent account of the declarative use of scripture in Africa, much of it relevant to the congregation which forms the focus of this study. Gifford describes the way in which the ‘anointed man of God’ is considered able to effect the promises of Scripture in believers’ lives through proclaiming it over them.6 He likens this to the speech-act theory of J.  L. Austin, and later on, attributes the prophetic declarations of pastors to biblical passages such as Ezek 37:4–5, where Ezekiel is commanded to prophesy to the dry bones and make them live.7 Although biblical parallels exist (and indeed are heavily drawn on by African Pentecostal leaders), it is important to examine African church practices in the context of diverse African worldviews. Such an approach acknowledges the situatedness of religious expression and invites us to consider the relationship between the spiritual and the material. In her fascinating study of an African American church in Mississippi, Thérèse Smith explores the expression of religion through ritual and musical performance, and how these help members to situate themselves in the world. Smith argues that ritual performance ‘must be considered in context, underpinned by the religious beliefs and worldview that generate it and give it meaning’.8 This is a

3. The vast majority of members in CAC Dublin are Yoruba and the CAC movement as a whole was initiated by Yoruba Christians (though with some early input from the Faith Tabernacle in Philadelphia and the British Apostolic Church). Hence, for the purpose of this study it is imperative to examine church practices in light of Yoruba culture. It is also important, however, to point out that the leaders in CAC Dublin are keen to welcome people of all ethnicities and nationalities, and thus do not like to label their church as ‘Yoruba’. 4.  Abel Ugba, Shades of Belonging: African Pentecostals in Twenty-First Century Ireland (Trenton, NJ; and Asmara, Eritrea: African World Press, 2009), 169. 5. Paul Gifford, ‘The Bible in Africa: A Novel Usage in Africa’s New Churches’, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 71.2 (2008): 203–19, see especially p. 205. 6. Gifford, ‘The Bible in Africa’, 206. 7. Gifford, ‘The Bible in Africa’, 214. 8.  Thérèse Smith, ‘Let the Church Sing!’ Music and Worship in a Black Mississippi Community (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2004), 6–7.

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helpful approach to adopt in studying the declarative use of Scripture in African churches. The Yoruba, for example, believe in the efficacy of speech; potent words, or incantations, are considered powerful and are used in traditional religion to ward off evil and ensure success.9 Similarly, scriptural passages are drawn upon from the perspective of Yoruba culture, replacing the potent words of traditional religion.10 David Tuesday Adamo has written an interesting account of the use of Psalms in African Indigenous Churches in West Africa (particularly within the Yoruba Aládǔrà Churches). Adamo claims that early Christian missionaries ‘did not teach us how to use the Bible as a means of protecting, healing, and solving the daily problems of life, but by reading the Bible with our own eyes we have found ways of appropriating it for our context’.11 It is this idea of the appropriation of the Bible from a particular cultural viewpoint that is of interest in this chapter. I will provide two examples of the way in which the Bible is used in CAC Dublin to meet specific needs that are rooted in Yoruba culture. First, I will look at the way in which the story of David dancing before God (2 Samuel 6) features in CAC, and how aspects of this story resonate with Yoruba ideas about dance. Second, I will consider the Yoruba beliefs about enemies, and the way CAC members employ biblical passages concerning enemies to address their fears. Culture is not static and so this culturally driven appropriation of Scripture is open to change. As members of this immigrant community are settling into a new life in Ireland, they are negotiating the various changes that this brings to themselves, their families and their community. I will also discuss, then, the ways in which both dancing and dealing with enemies are undergoing a process of change.

2. Dancing Like David 2.1 Dance in Yoruba Culture Dancing is an important part of Yoruba culture. As in many other African cultures, dance is considered to be not merely a performance genre, but an important part of communal life.12 There is an expectation that everyone can dance, an idea that 9. Adewale Ogunrinade, Elements of African Religion in Christ Apostolic Church Nigeria (Saarbrücken: Lambert Academic, 2013), 86. 10. It is worth noting here the common ground between Yoruba worldview and the context in which Old Testament prophets – such as Ezekiel – must be read. The Yoruba believe in àṣẹ, a life-force that exists in everything and which can be transferred via speech in order to bring what is spoken into reality. Similarly, prophetic utterances in the Old Testament can be understood against a background in which words have power. 11.  David Tuesday Adamo, ‘The Use of Psalms in African Indigenous Churches in Nigeria’, in The Bible in Africa: Transactions, Trajectories and Trends, ed. G. O. West and M. W. Dube (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 336. 12. Omofolabo Ajayi, Yoruba Dance: The Semiotics of Movement and Body Attitude in a Nigerian Culture (Trenton, NJ:  African World Press, 1998), 4; Ruth Stone, ‘African Music

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is expressed in the Yoruba proverb: ‘There is a lot of dance in the cripple; what he or she lacks are legs.’13 Cyrus Damisa Suru, a Nigerian dance scholar, says, ‘We are alive when we can still move our muscles and joints in reaction to emotion and feeling,’14 reflecting the way in which the Yoruba equate dance, or movement, with the state of being alive. Although there is a large variety of Yoruba dance styles and settings, there are a number of common features. First, there is a standard posture in which the upper torso is bent forwards, back straight, and the lower torso is flexed forward at the knees; this creates a stooped posture directed towards the earth.15 Scholars have explained the significance of this stooped posture as representing humility, reverence for nature and respect for others.16 A second common feature of Yoruba dance is the use of improvisation and individualized movements.17 Although dance is usually a communal activity, individual expression is valued. Third, drumming and dancing are inextricably linked in Yoruba culture.18 The Yoruba talking drum can be used to beat specific instructions to dancers on how to move. Dancers are expected to respond to the drummer and change their movements accordingly. 2.2 Dance and Scripture in CAC Dublin Dance is a prominent feature of CAC worship, occurring during the main praise and worship, the peace offering, the giving of tithes, thanksgiving and testimonies, the monthly thanksgiving and other special thanksgivings (Figure  10.1). In all but the main praise and worship, dancing takes place in processions from the back to the front of the sanctuary. The aforementioned features of dance are

in a Constellation of Arts’, in The Garland Handbook of African Music, ed. Ruth M. Stone (New York: Routledge, 2008), 7–12, see especially pp. 8–9; Jeleel O. Ojuade, ‘African Dance in Diaspora:  The Examples of Nigerian Yoruba Bata and Dundun’, Themes in Theatre 6 (2011): 385–406, see especially p. 386. 13. Oyekan Owomoyela, Yoruba Proverbs (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2005), 373; Stone, ‘African Music’, 9. 14.  Cyrus Damisa Suru, ‘Nigerian Dance: A Socio-descriptive Approach’, n.p. (cited 17 October 2014), online: http://scholarsviews.com/?p=214. 15.  Ajayi, Yoruba Dance, 35; M. T. Drewal and H. J. Drewal, Gelede:  Art and Female Power among the Yoruba (Bloomington:  Indiana University Press, 1990), 138; Suru, ‘Nigerian Dance’. 16. Ajayi, Yoruba Dance, 69; Suru, ‘Nigerian Dance’. 17.  Omofolabo Ajayi, ‘Aesthetics of Yoruba Recreational Dances as Exemplified in the Oge Dance’, Dance Research Journal 21.2 (1989):  1–8, see especially p.  6; Ajayi, Yoruba Dance, 36. 18. Alan P. Merriam, African Music in Perspective (New York: Garland, 1982), 141; Ruth Stone, Music in West Africa:  Experiencing Music, Expressing Culture (New  York:  Oxford University Press, 2005), 15; Christopher A. Waterman, ‘Yoruba Popular Music’, in Stone, The Garland Handbook of African Music, 189–215, see especially p. 199.

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Figure 10.1 Women dancing at CAC Dublin. With permission of Rebecca Uberoi.

present in CAC: the standard forward-bent posture is often seen; individuals improvise their own movements; and members often respond to the messages of the gángan (talking drum) in their dancing.19 The lack of dancing in non-African-led churches has been given as a reason for not attending those churches. Evangelist Yetunde Olaseni, a soloist in the CAC Dublin choir, told me that she had tried other churches in Dublin but did not like sitting still and quietly. Although dance is an important feature of Yoruba culture, members of CAC are keen to stress that their dancing in church is biblical.20 The scriptural text most often referred to is 2 Samuel 6, when David danced before God as the Ark of the Covenant was returned to Jerusalem. I  have observed three ways in which this Scripture is applied to the understanding and practise of dance within CAC Dublin; while each is drawn from the scriptural passage, they all also resonate with Yoruba concepts about dance. First, the humility of David as he danced is taken as a pattern to follow. In a survey I carried out in 2012, one member answered the question ‘Why did you join CAC?’ with the following response: ‘David was the king and he humbled himself before the Lord and danced in public with the heart of thanksgiving. CAC practise 19. For a more detailed discussion on the use of the gángan in CAC Dublin, see: Rebecca Uberoi, ‘If You Play the Talking Drum They Will Be Happy:  The Role of the Gángan in Christ Apostolic Church Dublin’, Ethnomusicology Ireland 4 (2016). 20. One of Ugba’s interviewees also expressed the idea that dancing is not just ‘African’, but it is also biblical. She referred to the same scriptural text I often hear quoted in CAC: 2 Sam 6. See Ugba, Shades of Belonging, 71.

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the way King David praised the Lord.’ This idea of humility in dance does correspond with Yoruba culture. As noted earlier, the low, earth-bound position typical of Yoruba dance has been explained by some scholars as representing humility and respect. It is quite common to see people dancing in the standard stooped posture in CAC Dublin, especially those in their mid-thirties and upwards (i.e. those who have spent their childhood, and perhaps early adulthood, in Nigeria). This posture is especially used when the gángan begins to beat a message. The use of the standard forward-bent posture and the response of dancers to the gángan demonstrate the way in which dance in CAC is rooted in Yoruba culture, even though a biblical support is pointed out. The idea of humility expressed in movement is taken even further through the practice of rolling on the floor. It is quite common to see people not only lying prostrate on the floor, but also rolling from one side of the building to the other (Figure 10.2). When I questioned Pastor Peter Ibiyemi, one of the leaders in CAC Dublin, about this, he explained it as ‘a humble way of appreciating God’. He referred to 2 Sam 6, saying: ‘King David uses dancing, removing his cloth; that is how he knows how to appreciate God.’ Pastor Ibiyemi went on to explain the practice of rolling on the floor from a cultural perspective: ‘Even in our culture when you give somebody something, the person will prostrate, as a man, a woman will kneel down, say “thank you”. If we can do that to our elderly parents, or elderly brothers or sisters, how much more our God? Why can’t we roll before our God? Say, “God, I thank you.” ’21 So, the humility of David, expressed through physical movement as thanksgiving to God, matches the Yoruba value of humbling oneself before one’s elders. A second understanding of dance in CAC is that it is a means of securing God’s blessing and increasing one’s joy. In his introduction to the special monthly thanksgiving,22 Pastor Ibiyemi often refers to the fact that David danced before God and was greatly blessed because of it; he then encourages people to dance in order to receive their own blessing from God. In his interview with me, he explained: ‘Dancing makes people have relief . . . When you are troubled in heart [and] you pick up your hymn book, or you will pick up any songs of praise, that joy will come back. Because in praising God you will receive more blessing.’23 The phrases ‘forget about your sorrow’ and ‘dance your sorrow away’ are often used before the dancing ensues in the monthly thanksgiving.24 During the interviews I carried out, this theme of joy in music and dance was constant. When I asked Pastor Isaac Ogundiran, the

21. Pastor Peter Ibiyemi, interview, 20 September 2014. 22.  The monthly thanksgiving takes place on the first Sunday of each month, at the end of the main worship service. It is a way of marking the new month and giving thanks to God. During this time, the whole congregation participates in a dancing procession, moving from the back of the church around the front and back to their seats. 23. Ibiyemi, interview, 20 September 2014. 24. I have written elsewhere on the concept of dancing away sorrow; see Rebecca Uberoi, ‘Dance Your Sorrow Away:  Spirituality, Community, and Wellbeing in Christ Apostolic Church, Dublin’, Legon Journal of the Humanities 27.2 (2016).

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assistant pastor and music director of CAC Dublin, to talk to me about dance and what it means in CAC, he sat back and laughed contentedly, saying: Yeah, definitely, if you listen to music you have to dance! If you listen to music you have to dance. People believe in, I myself believe in one thing, that when you listen to music, if you are not happy, you are happy. That’s just my own personal belief. And then when you are happy you will dance – if the music is good.25

Both Pastor Ogundiran and Pastor Ibiyemi compare and contrast dancing in church with going out and getting drunk, seeing the former as a much more effective means of relieving sorrow. As Pastor Ibiyemi puts it: When that alcoholic work finish, hangover will come up. That problem that you are thinking, that makes you to go and drink, will come back again. But, in singing, in dancing, it’s not like that. ‘Cause that moment that God put joy into your heart, you feel elated, you feel great, and that moment, God can remove that body that makes you . . . that pulls you down. God will remove it! [He claps his hands to emphasize this point.]26

From this comment it is clear that Pastor Ibiyemi attributes the removal of sorrow and the receiving of joy to the work of God; but it is singing and dancing that enables this to take place. This last point brings us to the third way in which the story of David’s dancing is applied in CAC; it is believed that dancing and physical movement (or lack of it) invite the supernatural to impact the physical realm. As Pastor Ibiyemi noted: The only one woman barren in the Bible, [David’s] wife  – it’s because of his dancing. He was dancing before the ark of God, and that one just messed himself [up], and like, ‘why? You call yourself king and you are dancing before . . . everybody like this [and] remove your clothes?’ You see, and he told the woman that ‘I am dancing before the father who is greater than your father’. That is when that one received what [claps loudly] she was not supposed to have received.27

Pastor Ibiyemi clapped to emphasize both the barrenness received by David’s wife, for her contempt of his dance, and the way in which God will remove the ‘body’ that pulls you down if you are willing to participate in dance. He used the following story to emphasize his point: Let me take, for instance, there was a woman. They were jumping. When the revival comes, they were jumping. This woman was fat, she can’t jump. ‘Ah!’

25. Pastor Isaac Ogundiran, interview, 4 October 2014. 26. Ibiyemi, interview, 20 September 2014. 27. Ibiyemi, interview, 20 September 2014.

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she say, ‘okay, if I cannot jump I will roll before my God.’ I’m telling you, that sickness in her that make her not to jump – vanish! By the time she wake up, get up like this, she started bouncing like others – that is miracle of God!28

This narrative demonstrates a belief that humbling oneself before God through physical actions can invite supernatural blessing. This is the opposite effect of what David’s wife Michal experienced through her contempt for the humbling nature of dance. I witnessed a particularly striking example of the use of movement to manipulate the supernatural, and in turn the physical, during the 2014 Annual Convention of CAC Ireland. Pastor Korede Aderounmu, visiting from Nigeria, led the congregation in a prayer time in which declarative songs featured (Figure 10.3). He asked everyone to sing the following song: ‘Satan come out of the road (Satan get out of my way) / I hit, you go die (I will hit you, and you will die).’29 Everyone sang the song, waving their arms or punching their fists in front of them, as directed. After this first performance, Pastor Aderounmu stopped everyone and said, ‘You are panicking; are you a coward?’ He told them, ‘I want you to display’, indicating that he wanted everyone to accentuate their movements, assuring them that the ‘devil cannot possess you’. After this second, apparently more successful, performance, he exclaimed, ‘I could see! I could see! The enemy of your families is dying. Look at him!’ He continued to encourage people, saying, ‘The more you pray, the more you will be moving him.’ This was a particularly clear example of the belief that physical movements (accompanied by declarative prayer or song) can help to bring into reality what one is praying for.30 2.3 Dance and the Second Generation When dancing takes place, the second generation (children, teens and young adults in their early twenties) do not participate equally with the adults; they tend to walk along in the processions rather than dance. Leaders try to encourage them to dance, but it has little effect. During my interview with four youth members (aged 13–15 years) I asked how they feel about the dancing in church. They explained that they feel ‘awkward’ because the adults expect them to dance in the same way as they do, but those moves do not feel natural for them.31 While the adults move in multiple directions and utilize the whole body, the few youth who do dance tend to display much more limited movements (typically a side to side motion involving a left-right-right-left

28. Ibiyemi, interview, 20 September 2014. 29.  A video recording of this performance filmed by the author is available to view at: https://youtu.be/jMwv4g7YOJU. 30. This belief is based on a holistic view in which the spiritual and physical worlds are interconnected. For a more detailed discussion of this, see Uberoi, ‘Dance Your Sorrow Away’. 31. Youth interview, 23 November 2014.

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Figure 10.2 Testimony time at CAC Dublin. With permission of Rebecca Uberoi.

pattern in the feet). These differences in movement and the general lack of dancing by the youth are particular to the Irish context. Evangelist Florence Kuyebi, the senior pastor’s wife, assured me that the youth in Nigeria participate in dancing to a much greater extent than those who live in Ireland,32 and Grace told me that ‘those children that were born here, the way they dance, the way they move, is really, really different from those people that are coming from Africa’.33 The second generation are not only influenced by the Yoruba culture of their families and church community, but are also exposed to the culture of the wider Irish society in which they are growing up. Whereas the majority of interview participants over thirty described themselves as ‘Nigerian’, those in their teens and twenties self-identified as ‘Nigerian Irish’. The adoption of a hybrid identity reflects the fact that the second generation have absorbed elements of Irish culture. While the dance moves of the first generation enable them to express their Yoruba identity, those same moves do not allow the second generation to articulate their affinity with Irish culture. As John Blacking noted, social processes and music are inseparable: ‘[T]he function of music is to reinforce, or relate people more closely to, certain experiences which have come to have meaning in their social life.’34 It is the lack of congruity between the adults’ dance moves and the youths’ developing hybrid identities that gives rise to the sense of awkwardness experienced by the youth.

32. Evangelist Florence Kuyebi, 28 November 2014. 33. Grace, interview, 18 November 2014. 34.  John Blacking, How Musical Is Man? (Seattle:  University of Washington Press, 1973), 99.

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Figure 10.3 Congregation dancing at CAC Dublin, led by Pastor Aderounmu. With permission of Rebecca Uberoi.

During one Sunday worship service Dr Adewale Kuyebi, the senior pastor and national leader of CAC Ireland, publicly expressed his concern over the lack of dancing by younger members of the congregation: My only concern is the youth – look at the youth. They shouldn’t be sitting by section. They always like to sit down. So, in the next 30 years, 20 years, when we come to this church, is that how you’re going to be sitting down? . . . I am kind of concerned about that, because if you want to sing and dance and celebrate you need to cheer up; you have to celebrate our father. Jehovah will help us, in the name of Jesus. If the church is so lukewarm, is so boring, I wonder how your children will follow you. So, if it’s good to serve God, to serve God with all your energy, you be yourself, you celebrate in your father’s house. Jehovah God will bring revival in all our souls in the name of Jesus.35

Gifford notes that West African Pentecostalism is characterized by ‘exuberance and participation’,36 traits that clearly exist in this congregation. If we consider the wording used by Dr Kuyebi, we can see that ‘sitting down’ is equated with being ‘lukewarm’ and ‘boring’, which it is speculated could lead to the tailing off of the movement (‘I wonder how your children will follow you’). However, singing, dancing, celebrating and being happy and energetic are equated with revival. If we consider the importance attached to dancing and the spiritual power that is attributed to movement, this concern over what will become of the youth if they do not participate is understandable. 35. Dr Adewale Kuyebi, Sunday Worship Service, 31 August 2014. 36. Gifford, ‘The Bible in Africa’, 206.

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3. Overcoming Enemies 3.1 The Yoruba Concept of Otá The fear of one’s enemy, or otá, is particularly acute in Yoruba society, and is evident in everyday speech.37 One Yoruba proverb states, ‘Whoever is on earth and has no enemy is already dead’, indicating that the Yoruba expect enemies to be a part of daily life.38 Any difficulties encountered in one’s life immediately raise the suspicion of foul play.39 As Pastor Ibiyemi explained to me: ‘If you hit your leg with this chair now, you will say back home, “It’s enemy!” You see, some people have cancer. They say, “It’s enemy!” Some people have headache; “Ah, it’s enemy that is knocking my head!” ’40 This reflects the belief that an enemy can inflict harm on you through the casting of spells and incantations.41 Pastor Ibiyemi continued: Some people, when you tell them your experience of what God has done in your life . . . envy will come . . . jealousy will come. They say, ‘Ha! Are you the only one? I’ve been asking for this all this while and you ask God and God gave you!’ And these people, no matter how good you do to them, they won’t mind go to the herbalist, go to the sorcerers because of you.42

The most feared enemy is the one found within one’s own family or household.43 The otá ilé (enemy within) is considered to be far more dangerous than any other enemy; as the Yoruba proverb states: ‘The enemy outside is no match for the enemy at home; one is done in in one’s own home.’44 There is a belief that once an enemy is exposed they do not pose as great a threat,45 as the proverb states, ‘Once God has revealed your enemy, that enemy can no longer kill you.’46 The Yoruba not only wish to escape the trap set for them by their enemy and emerge victorious, they also desire their enemy to fall into that very trap.47 37.  Adamo, Use of Psalms, 337; Ogunrinade, Elements of African Religion, 122; Akin Oyetade, ‘Enemy in the Belief System’, in Understanding Yoruba Life and Culture, ed. N. S. Lawal, M. N. O. Sadiku and A. Dopamu (Trenton, NJ:  African World Press, 2004), 81–95, especially p. 81. 38. Oyetade, ‘Enemy in the Belief System’, 81. 39. Adamo, ‘Use of Psalms’, 338; Ogunrinade, Elements of African Religion, 113. 40. Ibiyemi, interview, 20 September 2014. 41. Ogunrinade, Elements of African Religion, 106. 42. Ibiyemi, interview, 20 September 2014. 43.  Ogunrinade, Elements of African Religion, 114; Oyetade, ‘Enemy in the Belief System’, 82. 44. Owomoyela, Yoruba Proverbs, 313. 45. Oyetade, ‘Enemy in the Belief System’, 84. 46. Owomoyela, Yoruba Proverbs, 112. 47. Oyetade, ‘Enemy in the Belief System’, 84–6.

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3.2 Methods of Dealing with Enemies Traditional Yoruba religion provides means of dealing with enemies through potions and incantations, which are expected to provide protection and sometimes to reverse the harm intended by the enemy back onto them.48 Through dealing with enemies in this way, the Yoruba attempt to alleviate the strong fear associated with them. Christian missionaries in Nigeria did not allow converts to resort to the methods of traditional religion to gain protection from enemies. But, as John Peel points out, the Christian practice of praying for enemies was an inversion of the Yoruba use of prayer to protect themselves from them.49 Rather than transforming their concept of enemies, or allowing a vacuum in which the fear of enemies runs unchecked, Yoruba Christians have turned to the Bible and imprecatory prayers based on Scripture as a new method of dealing with them.50 According to Oyetade: ‘The intensity with which [Yoruba Christians] learn scripture verses that deal with the issue of enemy and the rate at which they quote them in prayers, sermons and songs demonstrate that they only suppress the original Yoruba belief in the idea of ota; they have not succeeded in removing it.’51 Pastor Ibiyemi drew a parallel between the Yoruba concept of enemies and the presence of enemies in the Old Testament: Even in the Bible there are so many enemies. Israelites  – they faced enemy; Egyptians are the enemy of Israelites because they don’t want them for good, they want to enslave them. Anybody that enslaves you is your enemy. If you want to take a step that will make your life change for the better and somebody come and destruct it – it’s your enemy! That is why you see our prayer goes like that, ‘Anyone that will not allow my glory to shine – Lord, deal with them!’52

This parallel is drawn to provide a biblical basis for the Yoruba concept of enemies and to justify praying against them. However, the emphasis on particular biblical passages and the ways in which they are used in prayers of imprecation and protection reflect the continuation of Yoruba traditional belief. As Ogunrinade states:  ‘Though Christ Apostolic Church could claim that she [sic] got her [sic] idea of imprecation prayer from the Bible, the Yoruba worldview about curse and its harms reflect richly in the prayers offered in the church.’53 Adamo describes the way in which Yoruba Christians have found in the book of Psalms what they consider to be potent words of protection against witches and all kinds of evil.54 Such 48. Adamo, ‘Use of Psalms’, 338. 49. J. D. Y. Peel, Religious Encounter and the Making of the Yoruba (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2003), 166. 50. Adamo, ‘Use of Psalms’, 337. 51. Oyetade, ‘Enemy in the Belief System’, 91. 52. Ibiyemi, interview, 20 September 2014. 53. Ogunrinade, Elements of African Religion, 112. 54. Adamo, ‘Use of Psalms’.

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passages of Scripture are then employed in the same way as ọ̀gẹ̀dẹ̀ (the incantations, or imprecatory potent words, of traditional Yoruba religion) would have been used. In a similar vein, scriptural texts concerning enemies are turned into prayers of imprecation and protection in CAC Dublin, as I will now demonstrate. 3.3 Enemies and Scripture in CAC Dublin In CAC Dublin, Scriptures relating to enemies are drawn on heavily, especially in ways that match the specific Yoruba ideas outlined above. During a Friday-night prayer vigil, Dr Kuyebi preached from Josh 7, which outlines the story of Achan, an Israelite whose sin roused God’s anger and caused the Israelites to lose their battle. God revealed to Joshua that the defeat was due to one person’s sin, and Achan was exposed and destroyed in order to restore Israel’s fortunes. This story matches the Yoruba fear of the enemy within, and their desire to expose the enemy so that s/he can no longer cause harm. After preaching for a short time from this passage, Dr Kuyebi moved into a time of prayer, an extract of which follows: Everybody that is doing evil things around me Lord Jehovah God – expose them! In my family – expose them! Open your mouths and pray in the name of Jesus Christ! . . . Anyone with witchcraft or other evil power Any witches or wizards around me God – expose them! Anybody with a different spirit Or anybody that is, that is trying to pull me down Every conspirator Lord – expose them right now! Anybody, anybody, any power that is strange That is exalted in this church That is exalted in my family In Ademola’s family In Okoye’s family In Akinlade’s family55 Lord – expose them! In the name of Jesus Christ Anybody in occult That is hindering our progress That would bring you shame That would bring you downfall Lord Jehovah God – expose them!56 55. The names have been changed to maintain the anonymity of church members. 56. Dr Adewale Kuyebi, Friday Night Vigil, 7 April 2012.

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In this prayer, Dr Kuyebi addressed the fear of the enemy within the church, or within individuals’ families, and asked God to expose any such people. The idea of an individual within the family or community causing trouble and having to be exposed is based upon the passage in Josh 7. However, the prayer directly addresses the specific beliefs and fears present in the minds of the members of CAC, that is: witches and evil power; the enemy within; and the hidden enemy. In the following prayer extract, Evangelist Kuyebi draws on Lev 26:6–7 to pray for protection from enemies: You said that you will rid the land of evil beast Every evil beast in my life That is making fun of me Let an end come to them In the name of Jesus Christ! Render them powerless and useless In the mighty name of Jesus Christ! In Jesus’ name we pray (amen!) Verse seven says ‘You will chase your enemies’ Say amen (amen!) ‘And they shall fall by the sword before you’ Say amen (amen!) . . . I chase you Begin to fall by my sword Every enemy of my joy Every enemy of my marriage Every enemy of my wealth Every enemy of my health Every enemy at the place of my work In the name of Jesus Christ! Begin to fall down flat In the mighty name of Jesus Christ! I charge you to get away In the name of God the Father In the name of God the Son In the name of God the Holy Spirit Every evil that is pursuing me In the mighty name of Jesus Christ! I drive you out of my life.57

57. Evangelist Florence Kuyebi, Sunday Worship Service, 2 March 2014.

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In this prayer, not only is protection from enemies sought, but so too is their destruction or downfall, rendering one victorious over them. While this prayer is based upon Scripture, it directly addresses the Yoruba preoccupation with enemies, replacing traditional methods of seeking protection from enemies through incantation. 3.4 Negotiating Change I have encountered a number of ways in which the Yoruba concept of enemies, and methods of dealing with them, is being re-thought to some extent in CAC Dublin. This is occurring in response to the move from Nigeria to Ireland, and the differences experienced in the process. As Pastor Ibiyemi explained to me: ‘When we come to this part of the world we now discover that some things that we thought was done by bewitching us by the evil ones; we now discover that, maybe that it’s ‘cause of other consequences of things or maybe the atmosphere of the area where you are.’58 This comment demonstrates how the experience of living in Ireland has begun to impact upon Pastor Ibiyemi’s traditional Yoruba worldview. As church members navigate the differences between home and host cultures, key leaders play a significant role in helping them to reassess their thoughts and behaviour in light of their new environment. A number of CAC pastors who lead churches in Europe and North America have pursued theological training to a high level in the countries to which they have migrated. Dr Kuyebi gained several master’s degrees and a PhD in the United States and Canada, and Dr Emmanuel Tukasi (who is based in the United Kingdom and often visits the Dublin congregation) completed his doctorate in theology at Kings College London. This Western-based theological training may help to explain the different perspectives these two pastors have on the subject of enemies compared to most firstgeneration CAC Dublin members (who generally hold on to a more traditional Yoruba view). Dr Kuyebi highlighted this difference, telling me, ‘I personally believe [in] praying for your enemy. I believe pray for the enemy, but the majority [of members] believe pray against the enemy.’59 Dr Kuyebi is, however, attempting to change members’ thinking, and to encourage their greater adaptation to life in Ireland. One of the contrasts between Nigeria and Ireland lies in the levels of personal security. Grace,60 a member of the congregation, told me that they tend to pray against their enemies in CAC because Nigeria is not as safe as Ireland. If you have a problem in Ireland you can go to the Gardaí (the Irish police) and they will help you, she explained, but you do not receive that kind of help in Nigeria; there is real physical danger there and people live in fear as a result. According to Grace,

58. Ibiyemi, interview, 20 September 2014. 59. Kuyebi, interview, 18 December 2014. 60. This member’s name has been changed in order to maintain anonymity.

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it is this fear that motivates people to pray against their enemies. On one occasion Dr Kuyebi specifically addressed this issue of fear: When you look at your right, you see enemy; when you look at your left, you see enemy . . . You fear everything! . . . There are some people we see on the street at twelve midnight, at one midnight. You say, ‘Ah, they’re Irish, they’re Irish!’ But they are human being. You know what’s happened to us? We’ve transferred the fear of Nigeria to Ireland, that, when it’s seven o’clock you must get home.61

Dr Kuyebi thus tried to encourage his congregation to adjust to the greater safety that is found in Ireland and to let go of patterns of thinking and behaviour that emerged in response to the relative insecurity of Nigeria. During one of his visits to the CAC Dublin congregation, Dr Tukasi also challenged the idea of praying against enemies. He told members that this kind of prayer is misguided, and encouraged them to instead focus their efforts on selfimprovement: ‘If you haven’t got the joys of [self-]discovery and you are praying, “Lord, destroy my enemies”, let me tell you, you have no enemy! . . . You know, the prayer should be, “Lord, let me discover”, and discovering yourself will be the starting point of better things, of good things in life.’62 This idea of removing the focus from enemies and redirecting it towards personal transformation is echoed in Pastor Ibiyemi’s discussion of enemies: You who says that your enemy must die, you are an enemy to somebody . . . Revenge is not for us, we have to leave it for God . . . It takes someone to a certain level in the faith before they . . . look, I was once so hot, ask Pastor Kuyebi – I don’t hide myself! But one thing for me is that, if I open this door, before I get to that gate I will be feeling guilty. So when I discovered this, I don’t allow anything to come and disturb my peace again.63

Here, Pastor Ibiyemi sees himself as having matured ‘in the faith’, from being hottempered to someone who is able to maintain a sense of peace. The reason for this transformation is the realization that his attempts at revenge lead to a feeling of guilt, and therefore rob him of peace. He has become more aware of the negative impact that his own thoughts and actions have on himself, and this has motivated him to change. It is interesting to note Pastor Ibiyemi’s reference to Dr Kuyebi here, as it is likely that he has been influenced by Dr Kuyebi’s opinion. There are, of course, Scriptures that refer to loving one’s enemies, praying for them and helping them. As CAC use biblical references prolifically it is inevitable that these Scriptures will surface at one time or another. This occurred during a Sunday morning Bible study, focussing on Acts 7:54–60. When Stephen was being

61. Dr Adewale Kuyebi, Sunday Worship Service, 29 December 2013. 62. Dr Emmanuel Tukasi, CAC Ireland Leaders Convention, 30 May 2014. 63. Ibiyemi, interview, 20 September 2014.

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stoned to death he asked God not to hold this act against any of the perpetrators. The conversion of Saul, who witnessed and approved of Stephen’s stoning, was seen by the participants in the Bible study as God’s response to Stephen’s prayer. The group agreed, through discussion of this passage, that they should pray for their enemies rather than curse them, but acknowledged that this is difficult to do. Later on in the service that followed, a prayer was made for enemies and persecutors, that they would have a change of heart like Saul. Although this Bible study brought about a change in the way people prayed during that morning’s service, by the following week members had reverted to the usual practice of praying against enemies, demonstrating that their beliefs about enemies run deep and are therefore resistant to change. The tenacity of traditional Yoruba worldview is further strengthened by the church’s active connection with their headquarters and other CAC churches in Nigeria. While Dr Kuyebi and Dr Tukasi try to help members adjust their thinking, Nigerian-based pastors who come to minister in the church fuel traditional Yoruba views and worship practices. Pastor Aderounmu, for example, told a story about a woman who stole his ‘fire’ because she had a ‘spirit of witches’.64 While he explained to the congregation what had happened to him, I  heard members around me commenting to each other that ‘It’s true’ and ‘It can happen’. Pastor Aderounmu’s narrative drew on traditional Yoruba beliefs about enemies being able to inflict harm through witchcraft. As CAC Dublin members heard his story and expressed agreement with it, they reaffirmed their traditional Yoruba worldview. This event seemed to pull in the opposite direction to the reappraisal of beliefs described by Pastor Ibiyemi. Whereas Pastor Ibiyemi referred to shifting perceptions (where explanations other than witchcraft are being considered), Pastor Aderounmu’s story confirmed to members the validity of their long-held beliefs. The perceptions of the second generation demonstrate a more lasting shift away from traditional Yoruba beliefs about enemies. When Evangelist Kuyebi was telling me about the kinds of enemies they have in Nigeria and the ways in which people use witchcraft to try and destroy your life, she remarked that ‘our children that are born here, they don’t understand it. They don’t believe it’. While her generation ‘pray about enemy all the time’, their children do not have the same beliefs and so do not pray in the same way.65 It is likely, then, that as the leadership of the church passes to the second generation the strong focus on praying against enemies will dissipate.

4. Conclusion In CAC Dublin the Bible is drawn on from a distinctly Yoruba worldview, and appropriated for that context. Fundamental beliefs in Yoruba culture, and the

64. Pastor Korede Aderounmu, CAC Dublin, 26 August 2014. 65. Kuyebi, interview, 28 November 2014.

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needs they engender, are thus addressed. The dancing of David resonates with the Yoruba concept of dance in a number of ways:  first, it reflects the practice of expressing humility and respect for one’s elders (the elder in this case being God); second, it is viewed as a means of securing God’s blessings and increasing one’s joy; third, it acts as a method of inviting the supernatural realm into the physical world. Scriptures concerning enemies are used as a basis for prayers of imprecation and protection, addressing specific beliefs about enemies in Yoruba culture. These Scripture-based prayers are used to gain protection from enemies, to expose hidden enemies (in particular, the enemy within), to seek the downfall of enemies and to ensure success in one’s endeavours. The two examples I have provided demonstrate specific ways in which Yoruba Christians have appropriated the Bible to address their own culture-specific needs. To refer back to Adamo, they reflect the ways in which the Bible is used by the Yoruba ‘as a means of protecting, healing and solving the daily problems of life’.66 As relatively new immigrants in Ireland, members of CAC are continuing to use the Bible in this way. By demonstrating the different needs that arise from a Yoruba worldview, and the ways in which these needs are met through the appropriation of the Bible in CAC Dublin, I have highlighted one of the reasons why African Christian immigrants in Ireland find greater satisfaction in attending African-led rather than Irish-led churches. However, although members of CAC Dublin continue to use the Bible in ways they have been used to in Nigeria, some changes are also perceptible as the community engages with the process of acculturation. First, the youth who have grown up in Ireland are not participating in the dancing. The dance moves of the first generation do not reflect the second generation’s affinity with Irish culture and this leads to feelings of awkwardness for the youth. The lack of dancing among the youth concerns their elders, who equate enthusiastic dancing with spiritual potency. Second, some leaders and members are beginning to reassess their concept of enemies, adjusting to the very different society in which they now reside, and redirecting their focus from the power held by others to the power they hold to transform themselves.

Bibliography Adamo, David Tuesday. ‘The Use of Psalms in African Indigenous Churches in Nigeria’. Pages 336–49 in The Bible in Africa: Transactions, Trajectories and Trends. Edited by G. O. West and M. W. Dube. Leiden: Brill, 2000. Ajayi, Omofolabo. ‘Aesthetics of Yoruba Recreational Dances as Exemplified in the Oge Dance’. Dance Research Journal 21.2 (1989): 1–8. Ajayi, Omofolabo. Yoruba Dance: The Semiotics of Movement and Body Attitude in a Nigerian Culture. Trenton, NJ: African World Press, 1998. Blacking, John. How Musical Is Man? Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1973.

66. Adamo, ‘Use of Psalms’, 336.

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Drewal, Margaret Thompson, and Henry John Drewal. Gelede: Art and Female Power among the Yoruba. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990. Gifford, Paul. ‘The Bible in Africa: A Novel Usage in Africa’s New Churches’. Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 71.2 (2008): 203–19. Merriam, Alan P. African Music in Perspective. New York: Garland, 1982. Ogunrinade, Adewale. Elements of African Religion in Christ Apostolic Church Nigeria. Saarbrücken: Lambert Academic, 2013. Ojuade, Jeleel O. ‘African Dance in Diaspora: The Examples of Nigerian Yoruba Bata and Dundun’. Themes in Theatre 6 (2011): 385–406. Owomoyela, Oyekan. Yoruba Proverbs. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2005. Oyetade, Akin. ‘The Enemy in the Belief System’. Pages 81–95 in Understanding Yoruba Life and Culture. Edited by N. S. Lawal, M. N. O. Sadiku and A. Dopamu. Trenton, NJ: African World Press, 2004. Peel, J. D. Y. Religious Encounter and the Making of the Yoruba. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2003. Smith, Thérèse. ‘Let the Church Sing!’ Music and Worship in a Black Mississippi Community. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2004. Stone, Ruth. ‘African Music in a Constellation of Arts’. Pages 7–12 in The Garland Handbook of African Music. Edited by R. M. Stone. 2d ed. New York: Routledge, 2008. Stone, Ruth. Music in West Africa: Experiencing Music, Expressing Culture. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. Suru, Cyrus Damisa. ‘Nigerian Dance: A Socio-descriptive Approach’. No pages. Cited 17 October 2014. Online: http://scholarsviews.com/?p=214. Uberoi, Rebecca. ‘Dance Your Sorrow Away: Spirituality, Community, and Wellbeing in Christ Apostolic Church, Dublin’. Legon Journal of the Humanities 27.2 (2016). Uberoi, Rebecca. ‘If You Play the Talking Drum They Will Be Happy: The Role of the Gángan in Christ Apostolic Church Dublin’. Ethnomusicology Ireland 4 (2016). Ugba, Abel. Shades of Belonging: African Pentecostals in Twenty-First Century Ireland. Trenton, NJ: African World Press, 2009. Waterman, Christopher A. ‘Yoruba Popular Music’. Pages 189–215 in The Garland Handbook of African Music. Edited by R. M. Stone. 2d ed. New York: Routledge, 2008.

Chapter 11 G O D’ S P R E F E R E N C E F O R T H E P O O R :   T H E B I B L E A N D S O C IA L J U S T IC E I N I R E L A N D Patrick Mitchel

1. Introduction In Ireland, the word ‘Bible’ has a tempestuous history. Various strands of that story are unravelled by others in this volume, and, when woven together, the resulting tapestry forms a decidedly ambiguous picture. On the one hand, the use of the Bible can lead to generous acts of grace and mercy to those in need; on the other hand, there exists a long history on this island of claiming ‘biblical’ justification for attitudes and actions contributing to bitter sectarian conflict, the misuse of power and exclusion and demonization of ‘the Other’ where God ‘is on our side’ and not yours.1 My interest in this essay is to analyse and reflect critically on those ‘threads of grace’  – how the Bible inspires and informs acts of generous justice among Christian communities. Particular focus will be on the relationship between the Bible and selected contemporary expressions of Christian social justice in Ireland – here understood as actions motivated by a theological framework that are intended to serve others in need, particularly the alleviation of poverty and suffering by challenging injustice and fostering dignity and self-sufficiency for the powerless. Before discussion of particular examples of contemporary practice, some historical perspective is necessary. The historical context will take the form of a brief overview of particular ‘echoes’ from the past regarding the Bible and social justice in Irish culture and history that continue to be heard in the present. Of prime significance here are the controversial events of the nineteenth-century Protestant ‘second Reformation’ and Catholic ‘counter-Reformation’ in which the Bible and social action played a pivotal, and highly contentious, part. I will sketch the legacy

1. For some examples of destructive use of the Bible, see Patrick Mitchel, Evangelicalism and National Identity in Ulster, 1921–1998 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003).

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of this era in terms of changing attitudes to the Bible in Irish culture up to our post-Christendom and postmodern present.2 From this historical context, the discussion will focus on two broadly representative contemporary organizations with strong links to distinct Christian traditions. They are Trócaire3  – the official overseas development agency of the Catholic Church in Ireland; and Tearfund Ireland4  – a sister organization of Tearfund UK5 launched in the Republic of Ireland in 2008. Tearfund is wellestablished as a global relief and development agency operating within an evangelical Christian ethos. Obviously, many other organizations could be selected, but comparing and contrasting these two Irish Christian development agencies will provide a useful route into discussion of how the Bible is used within each organization in shaping and informing its vision and praxis of social justice.

2. Sketching the Bible in Irish Memory and Culture from the Nineteenth Century to the Present Conflict tends to demand our attention. Certainly the ‘Bible war’ of the 1820s, the development of Protestant missions and Catholic resistance during the nineteenth century has been well documented.6 This is for good reason: it was during this period that two polarized and oppositional national identities emerged with religion embedded as the ultimate marker of belonging. Within a broader context of moral reform and evangelical advance in Britain and America,7 Protestants

2. ‘Irish culture’ is a contested term. For our purposes it refers to the Republic of Ireland and does not include Northern Irish culture with its distinct relationship to the Bible. On the latter, see the historical context provided in the Introduction to this volume, as well as the contribution by Searle. 3. See the official website of Trócaire: http://www.trocaire.org/ (cited 27 October 2014). 4. See the official website of Tearfund: http://www.tearfund.ie/ (cited 27 October 2014). For its statement of faith and vision and values, see http://www.tearfund.ie/who_we_are/ vision_values/. 5.  Tearfund UK was formed in 1968 and is now one of the largest non-governmental organizations in the United Kingdom. 6.  For example, Desmond Bowen, Souperism: Myth or Reality (Dublin:  Mercier, 1970); Desmond Bowen, The Protestant Crusade, 1800–70: A Study of Protestant-Catholic Relations between the Act of Union Disestablishment (Dublin: Gill & Macmillan, 1978); Irene Whelan, The Bible War in Ireland: The ‘Second Reformation’ and the Polarization of Protestant-Catholic Relations, 1800–1840 (Madison:  University of Wisconsin Press, 2005); Miriam Moffitt, Soupers & Jumpers: The Protestant Missions in Connemara, 1848–1937 (Dublin:  Nonsuch, 2008); and Miriam Moffitt, The Society for Irish Church Missions to the Roman Catholics, 1849–1950 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2010). 7. John Wolffe, The Expansion of Evangelicalism: The Age of Wilberforce, More, Chalmers and Finney (Nottingham: Inter-Varsity, 2006).

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of various hues in Ireland engaged in a remarkable period of urgent missionary and educational activity to bring moral and spiritual reform to the native Catholic population through the work of a range of Protestant societies formed with the intention of rescuing large numbers of Irish Catholics from ignorance and spiritual slavery.8 To this specifically spiritual factor behind polarization can be added others: the wider context of increasing political threat to Protestant minority rule from Catholic Emancipation; the organizational revitalization of the Catholic Church; violent agrarian reform movements like the Rockite rebellion in West Limerick9; the Tithe War of 1831–38; the rise of formidable leaders of Catholic popular opinion like O’Connell and Bishop James Warren Doyle; Catholic millennialism in the form of Pastorini’s prophecies of the downfall of Irish Protestantism by around 1821–2510; counter-versions of Protestant millennialism11; and a deepseated Protestant belief that unfamiliarity or opposition to the Word of God was linked to political rebelliousness.12 All of these acted to catalyse an astonishing range of evangelical Protestant missionary activity during the nineteenth century. Our particular interest is in the contested association of the Bible with social justice within that story. The methodology of Protestant evangelism revolved around the central place of Bible reading and the Bible in popular education. This was based on a confidence that the Scriptures alone would speak powerfully to Irish Catholics perceived to be deliberately kept in ignorance of the liberating power of the gospel by their Church. The promotion of the Bible ‘without note or comment’ was not perceived as a ‘neutral’ educational methodology by Catholic leaders.13 Within an increasingly sectarian conflict, the Bible came to be viewed, in Catholic eyes, as a foreign and Protestant book, a tool of political and religious oppression. As one Catholic pamphlet writer put it, ‘The Bible, without note of comment, is not less a means of Protestant dominion than the Orange Yeoman’s military array – Bibles as mere sheets resolve themselves into a question of power and triumph, religion and truth as altogether extrinsic.’14

8. Whelan traces their origins and development in chapter 2 of The Bible War, 53–85. 9. Gerard Curtin, ‘Religion and Social Conflict during the Protestant Crusade in West Limerick 1822–49’, Old Limerick Journal (Winter 2003): 43–54. 10.  James S. Donnelly, Captain Rock: The Irish Agrarian Rebellion of 1821–1824 (Cork: Collins, 2009). 11. See Kelley for discussion of how Nangle’s famous Achill Mission was, in part, motivated by his millennial thought. Thomas J. Kelley, ‘ “Come Lord Jesus, Quickly Come!”: The Writing and Thought of Edward Nangle, 1828–1862’, in Protestant Millennialism, Evangelicalism and Irish Society, 1790–2005, ed. Crawford Gribben and Andrew R. Holmes (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006), 99–118. 12.  Joseph Liechty and Cecelia Clegg, Moving beyond Sectarianism:  Religion, Conflict and Reconciliation in Northern Ireland (Dublin: Columba, 2001), 88. 13. Whelan, The Bible War, 269. 14. George Ensor, Letters Showing the Inutility, and Exhibiting the Absurdity, of What Is Rather Fantastically Termed ‘The New Reformation’ (Dublin: R. Coyne, 1828), 41.

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Neither (to put it mildly) was later Protestant alleviation of suffering during the Famine seen in disinterested terms, being inextricably linked to the charge of ‘souperism’.15 For example, Moffitt, in her detailed research on the work of the Society for Irish Church Missions to the Roman Catholics (ICM) during the Famine, describes an era of sectarian bitterness, court cases, public condemnations, riots, exaggerated claims of missionary success on one side against apocalyptic warnings about converting on the other and social ostracism of converts that occasionally overflowed into violence.16 This picture of sectarian warfare in the rural West was replicated in the Dublin slums.17 Moffitt argues that while the ICM’s work in feeding thousands of starving people who would have otherwise perished during the Famine should be acknowledged, this good work has been completely lost in public memory because the ICM did link alleviation of suffering with the wider goal of eradicating Catholicism, and converts did benefit in terms of relief, employment, housing, education and knowledge of the Scriptures. The social cost for converts was extremely high and many reverted to Catholicism by the mid1850s. In the longer term, hardly a trace was left behind from the vast energy expended during the ‘second reformation’. Moffitt’s findings are consistent with how Protestant mission and the ‘Protestant Bible’ continued to be strongly resisted by Catholics, particularly in rural communities, into the late twentieth century. Examples include itinerant preachers distributing Scriptures being run out of towns, and new converts within the modest growth of evangelicalism in the Republic since the late 1970s sometimes being denounced from pulpits at Mass or perceived as joining some sort of cult.18 Finally, it is worth ‘fast-forwarding’ to contemporary attitudes to the Bible and Christianity within a post-Christendom Ireland where the plausibility and credibility of Christianity has been profoundly undermined.19 Elsewhere I have written that, in dramatic contrast to the past, many people in modern Ireland are convinced that ‘religion is bad for you’ and are determined to construct a society free from its negative influence. This 15.  The accusation of ‘Souperism’ can be defined as Protestant mission to Catholics exploiting a context of desperate poverty in order to gain converts through the provision of material aid. 16. Moffitt, The Society for Irish Church Missions, 266–84. 17.  Jacinta Prunty, ‘Battle Plans and Battlegrounds:  Protestant Mission Activity in the Dublin Slums, 1840s–1880s’, in Gribben and Holmes, Protestant Millennialism, Evangelicalism and Irish Society, 1790–2005, 119–43. 18. On these issues, see Patrick Mitchel, ‘Evangelicals and Irish Identity in Independent Ireland: A Case Study’, in Irish Protestant Identities, ed. Mervyn Busteed, Frank Neal and Jonathan Tonge (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2012), 155–70, see 162–3. 19.  For further discussion, see Stuart Murray, ‘Post-Christendom, Post-Constantinian, Post-Christian . . . Does the Label Matter?’ n.p. (cited 27 October 2014), online: http://www. anabaptistnetwork.com/book/export/html/506.

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impulse strongly resonates with . . . John Rawls who argued that the public square should form an ‘overlapping consensus’ consisting only of ‘reasonable’ points of view (rather than ‘comprehensive doctrines’ such as religious beliefs) that could be accepted as such by all participating groups.20

In other words, there is now, for many, a pervasive ‘hermeneutic of suspicion’ regarding ‘comprehensive doctrines’ such as the belief that the Bible represents divine revelation. In such a context, churches (and their Bibles) are now increasingly viewed by many as an irrelevant if not malign influence on public life. Rather than her Scriptures dealing in public truth, they are taken to represent the personal views and prejudices of an increasingly marginal proportion of the population. All this is to say that in Irish history the Bible is not a neutral book and there exist significant barriers to its reception in contemporary culture. Ireland is not unique in this regard within post-Christendom Europe, but she does have a particular and complex relationship to the Bible. With that relationship in mind, it is time to press ahead into description, comparison and contrast between two current expressions of social justice in Ireland based on their self-understanding, with theological and practical comments developing retrospectively out of that comparison.21 The focus of discussion will not be so much the details of what is done by the organizations but how the Bible and theology inform praxis.

3. Two Contemporary Expressions of the Bible and Social Justice in Ireland 3.1 Trócaire and Catholic Social Teaching Trócaire was established in 1973 by the Bishops of Ireland who simultaneously issued a pastoral letter on development. In it they describe utterly inadequate aid and trade relationships between the rich West and poor countries in the developing world and follow this with a brief account of why Christians should be engaged in addressing such wrongs. This appeal had two foundations. One is a call for Christian personal discipleship of obedience to Jesus and love of others in need.22 The other is a call for fairness that puts an obligation on governments of rich nations to act for global justice since ‘[t]he earth and its good things belong to all the people of the earth and no nation has the right to build its own prosperity

20.  Patrick Mitchel, ‘Sex, Truth and Tolerance:  Some Theological Reflections on the Irish Civil Partnership Bill 2010 and Challenges Facing Christians in a Post-Christendom Culture’, EQ 84.2 (2012): 155–73. 21. Analysis is based on extensive published documents on both organizations’ websites. 22. Based on two texts: Matt 25:40 and 1 John 3:17–18.

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upon the misery of others’.23 While not developed, there is a strong implicit critique of unrestrained capitalism here. Wealth is not to be viewed as a private resource to be protected and selfishly accumulated but a gift of God to be shared. This original Pastoral Letter is best set in the double context of the decline of the Catholic Church as a mass provider of social services in Ireland and simultaneously dramatic developments in Catholic social thought globally: Vatican II; the conference of Latin American bishops in Medellín in 1968; the rise of Liberation Theology; the development of the concept of solidarity with the poor; and a willingness to confront and challenge unjust secular authority in the cause of social justice all lie in the background. These developments led to a tension, visible in Trócaire’s work today, I believe, between an emphasis on Catholic Social Teaching (CST) as a body of universal principles and an increased awareness and emphasis on social justice being informed and shaped by local contexts and other strands of thought – for example, as we shall see, human rights legislation. Fahey argues that ‘[t]he very notion of Catholic social thought as a unitary, general and universally valid set of principles, laid out in Rome and handed down to the faithful everywhere, was implicitly abandoned and replaced by a more fragmentary, variable and democratically sensitive approach’.24 Consequently, on the one hand, Trócaire is one of Ireland’s largest non-governmental organizations and has an explicit Catholic basis and structure. It is an episcopal trust, under the overall direction of the bishops and with strong local connections to individual parishes where it is seen as an important global witness to the gospel.25 On its website, the strongest links to an overtly Christian and biblical basis for its mission can be found in links to (very impressive and highly professional) local parish resources.26 In some of these resources core principles of CST are highlighted.27 Executive Director 23.  ‘Pastoral Letter of the Bishops of Ireland Establishing Trócaire’ (cited 29 October 2014), online:  http://www.trocaire.org/whatwedo/pastoral-letter-bishopsireland-establishing-trocaire. 24.  Tony Fahey, ‘The Catholic Church and Social Policy’, in Values, Catholic Social Thought and Public Policy, ed. Brigid Reynolds and Sean Healy (Dublin:  Conference of Religious of Ireland, 2007), 155–6. 25. Trócaire receives around €30 million each year from the Irish public, mainly through its annual Lenten campaign. Éamonn Meehan, ‘Faith in Action: Trócaire and the Future of the Church in Ireland’ (cited 29 October 2014), online:  http://www.icatholic.ie/irishcatholic-eamonn-meehan/. 26. Resources which develop theological application from core biblical material include the ‘Just Faith’ programme developed by Trócaire with the Offices of Evangelisation and Ecumenism in the Archdiocese of Dublin, various Lenten materials and The Cry of the Earth: A Call to Action for Climate Justice, A Pastoral Reflection on Climate Change from the Irish Catholic Bishops’ Conference, 2014. 27.  A three-minute video was used by Executive Director Éamonn Meehan to launch his talk at the ‘Pope Francis and the Future of the Church in Ireland’ conference hosted by the Irish Catholic on 4 October 2014 (Meehan, ‘Faith in Action’). Eight principles of CST listed in the video are:  human dignity, solidarity, the common good, subsidiarity, rights

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Éamonn Meehan, in a recent address, argued how CST, and development of CST by Pope Francis, informs the work of Trócaire globally. He states: ‘I believe that in the work we do, we are the minds, the hearts, the arms, the legs of the Irish Church in transmitting this love and compassion [of God] to the furthest corners of the world.’28 It is therefore evident that Trócaire is self-consciously inspired by Christian values and the social teaching of the Catholic Church in its overall mission. Yet, on the other hand, the organization’s overriding focus is rights-based development within a firmly ‘this-world’ horizon. Fahey argues that Trócaire’s ‘work in the field is drained of any overt Catholic message and its inspiration in Catholic thinking is held firmly in the background’.29 The organization’s six core themes (sustainable livelihoods, human rights, gender equality, HIV, climate change and emergency relief) are framed within a general theme of justice rather than being developed around specific biblical themes. For example, there is little mention in Trócaire’s many publications, as far as I have been able to find, of themes such as the kingdom of God; future hope; the New Testament’s eschatological structure for Christian ethics; themes of sin; forgiveness, the uniqueness of Christ; new life in the Spirit; the church as the people of God and so on. The three elements of CST that Trócaire highlights are dignity (all people are created in God’s image and are therefore due respect); option for the poor (putting the poor and vulnerable first); and the common good (everyone is included with a right and responsibility to promote the community’s good and benefit from it). These are applied in ways to support (good and valuable) development objectives of helping practically those in need. The same can be said in general for how the Bible is used in a presentation on CST.30 Verses used include classic ‘justice’ texts such as Isa 58:6, 10 (fasting as loosening the bonds of injustice), Mic 6:8 (do justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God), Prov 31:8–9 (speak out for those who cannot), Luke 4:18–19 (good news to the poor) and Luke 10:25–37 (parable of the Good Samaritan). These texts are applied within a broad creational framework to support general rights-based teaching on the value of all human life which compels those with resources to help those without. In a similar vein, Trócaire’s ‘Vision and Mandate’ envisages ‘a just and

and responsibilities, option for the poor, stewardship and participation. For resources on Catholic Social Teaching, see the online list of Papal, conciliar and other official documents at http://www.cctwincities.org/page.aspx?pid=441 (cited 31 October 2014). CST is summarized in a compendium of the Social Doctrine of the Church by the Pontificial Council for Justice and Peace, available online:  http://www.cctwincities.org/page.aspx?pid=441 (cited 31 October 2014). 28. Meehan, ‘Faith in Action’. 29. Fahey, ‘Catholic Church’, 157. 30. ‘An Introduction to Trócaire and to Catholic Social Teaching’, n.p. (cited 29 October 2014), online:  http://www.trocaire.org/sites/trocaire/files/images/Anintroductiontotrocair eandtocatholicsocialteachingpower.pdf.

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peaceful world’ where people’s dignity is ensured and rights are respected. Such a world will exist when ‘basic needs are met and resources are shared equitably; people have control over their own lives; and those in power act for the common good’. My point is not to make any comment on the merit of rights-based development, nor on the undoubted professionalism and quality of Trócaire’s work. It is simply to say that this work is semi-detached from CST, fits relatively comfortably within the values and narratives of secular aid agencies and ‘backgrounds’ explicit biblical and theological themes. Fahey argues that the ‘secular nature’ of its mission is reflected in its staff, hired primarily for their expertise in development, resulting in the fact that ‘the organisation’s worth lies in its technical competence and commitment, not in its denominational colour’.31 Fahey’s point carries weight when one examines Trócaire’s numerous excellent advocacy publications (many of them submissions at governmental and EU level) as opposed to its Parish Resources. Reference to CST, use of the Bible and even discussion of Catholic teaching on sexual ethics in its work on HIV/AIDS is virtually absent. In general, the organization adopts a consistent and strong rights-based approach to global development. One example is the organization’s analysis of the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs). Trócaire criticizes the ‘failure to embed the MDGs within existing human rights commitments, standards and principles . . . the MDGs miss the point that every woman, man and child on the planet. . .is inherently endowed with moral entitlements to a dignified life . . . These moral entitlements are enshrined in international human rights law’.32 If there is a ‘duality’ to Trócaire’s identity and praxis – that it is explicitly informed by broad Christian values and CST and yet these strands lie implicitly well in the background of the organization’s work  – I  can only speculate here as to what some of the reasons for this might be.33 Possibly, given the legacy of Irish history discussed earlier, there is a deep-seated reservation in Irish culture about explicitly connecting social justice with any form of Christian mission that could be perceived as an overseas version of ‘souperism’. Perhaps another relates to the negative perceptions of the Bible (and Christianity) discussed above within a post-Christendom liberal secular democracy. Also, in the important work of global development, it may be pragmatically much easier to make progress in helping others if ‘religion’ (and particularly the Bible) is kept firmly in the background.

31. Fahey, ‘Catholic Church’, 157. 32.  Justin Kilcullen, ‘Foreword’, in My Rights Beyond 2015:  Making the Post-2015 Framework Accountable to the World’s Poor, 4 (cited 26 October 2014), online: http://www. trocaire.org/ sites/ trocaire/ files/ resources/ policy/ trocaire- my- rights- beyond- 2015.pdf (emphasis mine). 33.  I did contact Trócaire to discuss these themes, but it was not possible to arrange a meeting.

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3.2 Tearfund and Integral Mission While considerably smaller, Tearfund Ireland (hereafter simply Tearfund) shares many similarities with Trócaire. Tearfund is also a professional and experienced faithbased development organization which depends to a significant degree on support from local churches across Ireland, and is a member of Dóchas, the umbrella body of Irish development agencies. It also prioritizes aid to the poorest and most vulnerable people in the world through focus on four areas (some of which overlap with Trócaire):  emergency relief, forgotten children, vulnerable women and HIV. Like Trócaire, Tearfund offers resources and training for churches in Ireland to engage with issues of social justice.34 As with Trócaire, Tearfund recognizes that the causes of poverty are complex and that bringing justice involves both aid to relieve suffering and action to address the root causes of injustice.35 Likewise, Tearfund places significant emphasis on sustainability and empowerment at a local level. Finally, like Trócaire, Tearfund roots its call to action in the belief that ‘God’s loves all people equally and that his vision for this world is a place where all people are cared for, where everyone’s needs are met and everyone is respected and valued. We believe that our call is to make this vision and reality’.36 At this point, it is clear that the two organizations share significant points in common. However, on closer examination noticeable differences begin to appear, both in the praxis of overseas development and especially in how the Bible shapes and informs that praxis. At the heart of these differences lies Tearfund’s understanding of ‘integral mission’. Numerous resources on integral mission exist with Tearfund’s own publications and partner organizations; I will simply offer a brief synopsis here. First, some very brief context. For decades the precise relationship between evangelism and social responsibility has been a major topic of discussion and debate within the global evangelical world of which Tearfund is a part – with a continual tension between those who want to protect the primacy of individual faith, repentance and forgiveness of sin through the atoning work of Christ, and those who want to widen what they see as an overly ‘narrow’ understanding of the gospel to include God’s redemptive work to redeem creation, establish his kingdom rule, and rescue people from injustice in the ‘here and now’.37 The history of that debate is not our concern here, save to say that the key issue is if ‘social action’ is an 34.  ‘In Ireland’, n.p. (cited 28 October 2014), online:  http://www.tearfund.ie/what_we_ do/in_ireland/. 35.  ‘The Heart of the Matter: Our Vision’, n.p. (cited 28 October 2014), online:  http:// www.tearfund.ie/lib/images/uploads/Tearfund_Ireland_Vision.pdf. 36. Reuben Coulter (former CEO), ‘Tearfund Ireland Strategic Plan 2009–2013’, 4 (cited 31 October 2014), online: http://www.tearfund.ie/lib/images/uploads/Tearfund_Strategic_ Plan.pdf. 37. Some resources on this discussion include Tim Chester, Good News to the Poor: The Gospel through Social Involvement (Leicester:  Inter-Varsity, 2004); Dewi Hughes, God of the Poor:  A Biblical Vision of God’s Present Rule (Carlisle:  Authentic, 2007); Jamie A. Grant and Dewi Hughes, eds, Transforming the World? The Gospel and Social Responsibility

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integral component of the gospel or a secondary (and therefore distinct) implication of that gospel. This is no academic debate. On one hand, behind conservative concerns lies the ghost of Rauschenbusch38 and fears of ‘downgrading’ Christian mission so that social action takes centre stage over and above proclamation of the gospel of Jesus Christ. On the other hand are concerns of socially engaged evangelicals, particularly beyond the West,39 who are passionately convinced that the gospel is not dualistic, dividing the spiritual from the physical. Tearfund belongs in the latter category and defines integral mission as ‘the work of the church in contributing to the positive physical, spiritual, economic, psychological and social transformation of people’, with particular focus on the poor.40 Dewi Hughes,41 in discussing Tearfund’s statement of faith (that is adopted by Tearfund Ireland)42 outlines a theological rationale for integral mission. Mission must be understood within the biblical narrative of creation, fall, redemption and consummation, with the church ‘in the time between the arrival of the Holy Spirit’s new redemptive power on earth following Christ’s resurrection and the consummation of all things when Christ returns’.43 This means that the call of the church is to declare Jesus as the one ‘who forgives the sins of those who believe in him’, but also that ‘this initial experience of Jesus as a door into a growing understanding of his lordship’ in the power of the Spirit for all aspects of life. Further, this puts the church as a ‘caring, inclusive and distinctive community of

(Nottingham:  Inter-Varsity, 2009); Marijke Hoek and Justin Thacker, eds, Micah’s Challenge: The Church’s Responsibility to the Global Poor (Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2008). 38. Walter Rauschenbusch (1861–1916): author of Christianity and Social Crisis (1907); A Theology for Social Gospel (1917); and The Social Principles of Jesus (1918). Debate continues as to whether he has been unfairly caricatured, but for many evangelicals his name is intrinsically associated with the ‘social gospel’ that is perceived to turn the good news of the kingdom of God into merely a societal reform movement. 39.  It is significant that some of the earliest advocates of holistic mission among evangelicals in the latter half of the twentieth century include people like Rene Padilla from Ecuador. Padilla is a key figure in both Tearfund and the Micah Network’s Declaration on Integral Mission (2000). For his views, see Padilla, ‘What Is Integral Mission?,’ 1–5 (cited 28 October 2014), online: http://tilz.tearfund.org/~/media/Files/TILZ/Churches/What%20 is%20Integral%20Mission.pdf. 40. ‘Tearfund’s Definition of Integral Mission’, 1 (cited 31 October 2014), online: http:// tilz.tearfund.org/ ~/ media/ Files/ TILZ/ Churches/ 041%20Tearfunds%20definition%20 of%20integral%20mission.pdf. 41.  Dewi Hughes was, until recently, Tearfund UK’s theological advisor for nearly twenty years. 42.  ‘The Statement of Faith’, 1–2 (cited 31 October 2014), online:  http://www.tearfund. ie/lib/files/pdf/Statement_of_Faith_2007.pdf . 43.  Dewi Hughes, ‘Theology of Integral Mission’, 1–4 (cited 31 October 2014), online:  http://tilz.tearfund.org/~/media/Files/TILZ/Churches/Theology%20of%20 Integral%20Mission.pdf.

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reconciliation reaching out in love to the world’ at the centre of Christian mission. Hughes argues that ‘[t]he church is not the means by which Tearfund can deliver “development” to the poor but the most convincing evidence that we now have of the outworking of God’s purpose to redeem his creation’. While churches are frequently broken and imperfect, it is Tearfund’s ‘privilege to be continually looking for such churches within the worldwide evangelical community that we may encourage them in their integral mission’ since ‘showing mercy and acting on behalf of the poor belongs to the essence of the church . . . a church that does not care for its poor is not a true church’.44 In terms of development, Tearfund’s praxis is also drawn explicitly from the Scriptures. Hughes contends, We accept as consistent with the Bible the development community’s analysis of poverty as a lack of empowerment, opportunity and security and emphasise that the poor are denied power, opportunity and security by the rich and powerful . . . Showing mercy to the poor, therefore, often requires a lot more than a handout although in an emergency a handout/alms may be required. To show mercy requires a whole range of different actions and gifts needed to reduce the vulnerability of the poor. These actions and gifts also cost money.45

It is evident that the objective of a theology of integral mission is to knit together Christian mission, development and the local church into a coherent rationale for praxis. Tearfund outline what they expect to see as evidence of integral mission as including practical needs being met, increasing participation and empowerment of the poor, advocacy to challenge structural injustice, personal understanding of individuals as made in the image of God, local church engagement in service to the poor alongside worship and witness, and ‘provision of opportunities for people to encounter, acknowledge and follow the lordship of Jesus Christ’.46 Tearfund’s vision for integral mission locates the organization within a wider network of evangelical organizations and theologians sharing similar commitments. In true evangelical fashion, biblical scholar Chris Wright is emphatic that holistic mission must be cross-shaped in that it is only in the cross that guilt, sin, the powers of evil, victory over death, alienation between humanity and the reconciliation of all of creation are achieved. This is the ‘mission of God’.47 44. Hughes, ‘Theology of Integral Mission’. 45.  Hughes, ‘Theology of Integral Mission’. For further information on Tearfund’s development policies, see http://tilz.tearfund.org/en/resources/policy_and_research/ (cited 31 October 2014). 46. ‘Tearfund’s Definition of Integral Mission’. 47.  For further discussion, see Chris Wright, The Mission of God: Unlocking the Bible’s Grand Narrative (Downers Grove:  IVP Academic, 2006). Wright is a key figure in global evangelicalism and played a central role in drafting Tearfund’s statement of faith as well as the Cape Town Commitment agreed at The Third Lausanne Congress on World Evangelization 2010.

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It is a mistake, in my view, to think that, while our evangelism must be centred on the cross (as of course it has to be), our social engagement has some other theological foundation or justification . . . So it is my passionate conviction that holistic mission must have a holistic theology of the cross. That includes the conviction that the cross must be as central to our social engagement as it is to our evangelism.48

Wright’s comments are strongly aligned with that of the Micah Network which was developed by an international group of Christian organizations to campaign for delivery of the MDGs. Its ‘Declaration on Integral Mission’ states, If we ignore the world we betray the word of God which sends us out to serve the world. If we ignore the word of God we have nothing to bring to the world. Justice and justification by faith, worship and political action, the spiritual and the material, personal change and structural change belong together. As in the life of Jesus, being, doing and saying are at the heart of our integral task.49

It is worth noting here that, in regard to the MDGs, Tearfund’s policy response lacks mention of a political rights-based approach to development.50 Elsewhere, the organization affirms the value and importance of rights, but says that ‘Christian organisations need to be fully aware of human rights, but with a distinctly Christian perspective. Christians and the church may be called to accept injustice and violation of rights against themselves but at the same time to be committed to actively seeking justice and upholding other people’s rights. It is a motivation of love rather than law’.51 So, while Tearfund and Trócaire share many similarities as Christian, faithbased organizations which affirm the truth and authority of the Bible, it is clear than on closer inspection significant differences exist in both theology and praxis. Most, if not all, of these differences lie in the organizations’ distinct Catholic and evangelical identities. Rather than Catholicism’s dual source of revelation, evangelicals hold to the Reformation’s notion of sola scriptura whereby the Bible is

48. C. Wright, ‘Reaffirming Holistic Mission’, 1–6 (cited 31 October 2014), online: http:// tilz.tearfund.org/ ~/ media/ Files/ TILZ/ Churches/ Wright%20- %20Re- affirming%20 Holistic%20Mission.pdf. 49.  From the Micah Declaration on Integral Mission (cited 31 October 2014), online: http://www.micahnetwork.org/integral-mission. 50.  ‘Financing Development at the G8 Summit 2003:  Meeting the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) by 2015’, 1–2 (cited 31 October 2014), online:  http:// www.tearfund.org/ webdocs/ Website/ Campaigning/ Policy%20and%20research/ G8%20 Briefing%20on%20Meeting%20the%20MDGs.pdf. 51.  Paul Stephenson, ‘From Needs-Based to Rights-Based Approaches’, n.p. (cited 1 November 2014), online:  http://tilz.tearfund.org/en/resources/publications/footsteps/ footsteps_61-70/footsteps_66/from_needsbased_to_rightsbased_approaches/ (accessed 1 November 2014).

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‘supremely and uniquely authoritative for our belief and behaviour’.52 This means that, for Tearfund, the Bible is explicitly at the forefront of its mission and vision of how development is to happen in practice. Close attention is paid to the content of the biblical narrative and the new covenant role of the church as a subversive community of God’s people embodying kingdom-life in the Spirit within a sinful and unjust world.53 Themes of personal conversion, the cross and activism (working on behalf of the poor) are all evident in Tearfund’s vision and mission. While professional advocacy to power-holders is an important part of the organization’s work, there appears to be less emphasis on a ‘top-down’ right-based approach to development but more a ‘bottom-up’ emphasis of change at the local level. This reflects an evangelical ecclesiology of the church as a ‘gathering community’ of believers who have committed their lives to the risen Lord; what Hughes calls ‘an ordered society under the government of Jesus’.54

4. Concluding Reflections It is time to offer some concluding reflections on the Bible and Irish culture in light of our overall discussion. First, given a widespread (and often justifiable) contemporary negative reaction against Ireland’s damaging experience of nineteenth-century religious conflict and subsequent experience of all-pervasive forms of Christendom,55 it is important that ‘threads of grace’ not be cut out of the overall picture. Those threads include people from many church groupings, inspired to confront injustice and to work for fairness in Ireland and overseas by voices in the Bible which demonstrate a radical commitment to the poor and marginalized. Just two organizations have been focused on here, but thousands of others, across all sorts of charities, religious congregations, local churches and para-church organizations could be listed, not to mention innumerable acts of individual self-giving and compassion by individuals.56 They reflect a deep-seated characteristic of Christianity to serve those in need that, I  suggest, has had a profound global impact and continues to influence and shape Irish culture. Increasingly the important contribution of

52. ‘Tearfund Ireland Statement of Faith’. 53.  See Dewi Hughes, Power and Poverty: Divine and Human Rule in a World of Need (Nottingham: Inter-Varsity, 2008). 54. Hughes, Power and Poverty, 200. 55. By this I refer to both Catholic and Protestant forms of Christendom within the island of Ireland. 56.  One local church I know of did an ‘audit’ of its members’ involvement in areas of social concern. The results were an astonishing list of activity across youth, children, community development, counselling, care for the elderly, overseas development, human rights and religious freedom and so on for a relatively modest sized group. Such findings could be multiplied many times over via churches and Christian organizations nationally.

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faith-based organizations (FBO) to global development and to social provision ‘at home’ is being recognized by policymakers acutely aware of the limitations of government social provision.57 It would be a fascinating area for further research to attempt to quantify the contribution of FBOs to the common good in Ireland.58 From personal experience of church life in Ireland, my sense is that the level of engagement in social action is pervasive but patchy and often not thought through theologically.59 It would seem that there is room here for organizations like Trócaire and Tearfund increasingly to use their expertise in developing social justice partnerships overseas in local contexts here in Ireland. Second, picking up on Moffitt’s point about mission being done primarily for the needs of Protestants rather than the poor, motives for engaging in social justice are of paramount importance. The astonishing organizational efforts of many nineteenth-century Protestants in feeding the poor were fatally tainted by their connection with aggressive evangelism.60 Similarly, Fahey is persuasive in arguing that even though the Catholic Church’s contribution to social action in Ireland has been enormous (particularly in education and hospitals), it tended to be pragmatic, as a means to an end (the dissemination and safeguarding of faith) rather than to combat social inequality or to reform society. This meant that it tended to reinforce social divisions rather than challenge them and it was the church that tended to resist social change rather than initiate it.61 The ‘dark-side’ of this level of control was abuse and marginalization of the most vulnerable in society who did not fit into the ‘imagined community’ of Irish Catholic identity. It is significant how transparent both Trócaire and Tearfund are in aid being given impartially on the basis of need alone.62 This sort of vision is vital for any Christian organization 57. For an overseas example (Nigeria), see O. O. Olarinmoye, ‘Faith-Based Organizations and Development:  Prospects and Constraints’, Transformation:  An International Journal of Holistic Mission Studies 29.1 (2012):  1–14. For discussion of this trend in the United Kingdom, see Sheila Furness and Philip Gilligan, ‘Faith-Based Organisations and UK Welfare Services:  Exploring Some Ongoing Dilemmas,’ Social Policy and Society 11.4 (2012): 601–12. 58. The work of St Vincent de Paul Society would be a significant example in this regard. 59.  Jonathan Reid also makes this point in Faith Expressing Itself through Love:  An Applied Theology of Evangelical Social Action for Today’s Ireland (Saarbrücken: Lap Lambert Academic, 2012), 87. 60.  This is in contrast to the positive Famine legacy of the Society of Friends/Quakers who provided a remarkable level of aid to the starving ‘without strings attached’. Their generosity probably lay behind their inclusion as one of the named denominations in the 1937 Constitution. See Reid, Faith Expressing Itself through Love, 73. 61.  Fahey, ‘The Catholic Church and Social Policy’, 146–50. For example, Fahey notes that schools and religious congregations themselves reflected status distinctions into their structures. 62.  On impartiality, Tearfund states that our ‘own Christian affiliations do not affect the provision of needs based assistance but rather affirm a calling to respond based on need alone (Matthew 25:31–46)’. ‘Tearfund Quality Standards for Emergency Response’, n.p. (cited

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attempting to engage in social justice in Ireland today. It would be all too easy to see ‘care for the poor’ become a means to an end – perhaps attracting funding or the growth or reputation of the organization, for example. The Bible itself is a powerful resource here in the central place of love as a basis for all of Christian life. Third, while (many) Catholics may approach issues of social justice through the lens of CST and the Magisterium of the Church, and (many) evangelical Protestants come to the issues via a theology of integral mission, both traditions agree that God is a God of the poor and that they are therefore called to God’s mission of justice and love in a broken world, both overseas and at home. Unrestrained capitalism has wreaked havoc on the Irish economy63 and contemporary Ireland is now one of the most unequal societies among OECD member states.64 In this context, all those who claim to follow the resurrected Jesus as Lord are called to challenge all forms of oppression and to help relieve human suffering in all its diabolical manifestations. God is not indifferent to the plight of the poor, the hungry, the illiterate, the victims of war and prejudice, and those oppressed by military, political, and economic tyranny. The church has no choice but to dive in and help those whose worldly address lies within one of the many suburbs of hell. It has no choice but to accept the partnership with God in the creation of a better world.65

Bibliography Bowen, Desmond. The Protestant Crusade, 1800–70: A Study of Protestant-Catholic Relations between the Act of Union Disestablishment. Dublin: Gill & Macmillan, 1978. Bowen, Desmond. Souperism: Myth or Reality. Dublin: Mercier, 1970. Busteed, M. A., Frank Neal and Jonathan Tonge. Irish Protestant Identities. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2012.

1 November 2014), online http://www.hapinternational.org/pool/files/tearfund-qualitystandards-approved-29-feb-08.pdf. Similarly, for Trócaire, see http://www.trocaire.org/ opinion/strengthening-humanitarian-principles (cited 1 November 2014). Both organizations are committed to international codes on impartiality and good governance in development. 63. Irish national debt is, at the time of writing, over €200 billion (up about €160 billion since 2006). It costs over €8 billion to service this debt annually. Over €60 billion was paid into insolvent banks. See Arthur Beesley, ‘National Debt and Its Servicing Still Weigh Heavily on State’, The Irish Times (16 October 2014), n.p. (cited 1 November 2014), online: http://www.irishtimes. com/news/politics/national-debt-and-its-servicing-still-weigh-heavily-on-state-1.1965128. 64.  Ireland performs poorly across five categories of poverty, education, labour market inclusion, social cohesion and equality, and generational equality. See ‘Ireland Has One of the Worst Levels of Social Justice among OECD Member States’, n.p. (cited 1 November 2014), online:  http://www.socialjustice.ie/content/policy-issues/ ireland-has-one-worst-levels-social-justice-among-oecd-member-states. 65. Duncan S. Ferguson, Biblical Hermeneutics: An Introduction (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1986), 194.

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Chester, Tim. Good News to the Poor: The Gospel through Social Involvement. Leicester: Inter-Varsity, 2004. Clark, Samuel, and Donnelly James S., eds. Irish Peasants: Violence and Political Unrest, 1780–1914. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2003. Curtin, Gerald. ‘Conflict during the Protestant Crusade in West Limerick 1822–49’. The Old Limerick Journal Winter (2003): 43–54. Donnelly, James S. Captain Rock: The Irish Agrarian Rebellion of 1821–1824. Cork: Collins, 2009. Ensor, George. Letters Showing the Inutility, and Exhibiting the Absurdity, of What Is Rather Fantastically Termed ‘The New Reformation’. Dublin: R. Coyne, 1828. Fahey, Tony. ‘The Catholic Church and Social Policy’. Pages 143–63 in Values, Catholic Social Thought and Public Policy. Edited by Brigid Reynolds and Sean Healy. Dublin: Conference of Religious of Ireland, 2007. Ferguson, Duncan S. Biblical Hermeneutics: An Introduction. London: SCM, 1986. Fuller, Louise. Irish Catholicism since 1950: The Undoing of a Culture. Dublin: Gill & Macmillan, 2004. Furness, Sheila, and Philip Gilligan. ‘Faith-Based Organisations and UK Welfare Services: Exploring Some Ongoing Dilemmas’. Social Policy and Society 11.04 (October 2012): 601–12. Grant, Jamie A., and Dewi Arwel Hughes, eds. Transforming the World? The Gospel and Social Responsibility. Nottingham: Inter-Varsity, 2009. Gribben, Crawford, and Andrew R. Holmes, eds. Protestant Millennialism, Evangelicalism and Irish Society, 1790–2005. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006. Hoek, Marijke, and Justin Thacker, eds. Micah’s Challenge: The Church’s Responsibility to the Global Poor. Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2008. Hughes, Dewi Arwel. Power and Poverty: Divine and Human Rule in a World of Need. Nottingham: Inter-Varsity, 2008. Hughes, Dewi, and Matthew Bennett. God of the Poor: A Biblical Vision of God’s Present Rule. Carlisle: Authentic, 2007. Kelley, Thomas J. ‘ “Come Lord Jesus, Quickly Come!”: The Writing and Thought of Edward Nangle, 1828–1862’. Pages 99–118 in Protestant Millennialism, Evangelicalism and Irish Society, 1790–2005. Edited by Crawford Gribben and Andrew Holmes. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006. Liechty, Joseph, and Cecelia Clegg. Moving beyond Sectarianism: Religion, Conflict and Reconciliation in Northern Ireland. Dublin: Columba, 2001. Mitchel, Patrick. Evangelicalism and National Identity in Ulster, 1921–1998. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Mitchel, Patrick. ‘Evangelicals and Irish Identity in Independent Ireland: A Case Study’. Pages 155–70 in Irish Protestant Identities. Edited by M. A. Busteed, Frank Neal and Jonathan Tonge. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2012. Mitchel, Patrick. ‘Sex, Truth and Tolerance: Some Theological Reflections on the Irish Civil Partnership Bill 2010 and Challenges Facing Christians in a Post-Christendom Culture’. Evangelical Quarterly 84.2 (2012): 155–73. Moffitt, Miriam. The Society for Irish Church Missions to the Roman Catholics, 1849–1950. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2010. Moffitt, Miriam. Soupers & Jumpers: The Protestant Missions in Connemara, 1848–1937. Dublin: Nonsuch, 2008.

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Olarinmoye, O. O. ‘Faith-Based Organizations and Development: Prospects and Constraints’. Transformation: An International Journal of Holistic Mission Studies 29.1 (1 January 2012): 1–14. Prunty, Jacinta. ‘Battle Plans and Battlegrounds: Protestant Mission Activity in the Dublin Slums, 1840s–1880s’. Pages 119–43 in Protestant Millennialism, Evangelicalism and Irish Society, 1790–2005. Edited by Crawford Gribben and Andrew Holmes. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006. Reid, Jonathan. Faith Expressing Itself through Love: An Applied Theology of Evangelical Social Action for Today’s Ireland. Saarbrücken: Lap Lambert Academic, 2012. Reynolds, Brigid, and Sean Healy, eds. Values, Catholic Social Thought and Public Policy. Dublin: Conference of Religious of Ireland, 2007. Whelan, Irene. The Bible War in Ireland: The ‘Second Reformation’ and the Polarization of Protestant-Catholic Relations, 1800–1840. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2005. Wolffe, John. The Expansion of Evangelicalism: The Age of Wilberforce, More, Chalmers and Finney. Nottingham: Inter-Varsity, 2006. Wright, C. The Mission of God: Unlocking the Bible’s Grand Narrative. Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2006.

Chapter 12 H OW S AC R E D T E X T B E C OM E S R E L IG IO U S A RT E FAC T:   A C U LT U R A L G E O G R A P H Y O F T H E B O O K OF KELLS Eoin O’Mahony

1. Introduction It is a bright August morning.1 I  am standing in the grounds of a Dublin university, waiting in line alongside many others. In front of me are Italians, behind me Spanish speakers. We are all waiting in line to purchase a ticket to see one of Ireland’s premier tourist attractions: the Long Room of Trinity College Dublin and the display of the Book of Kells. Trinity College is the only college of the University of Dublin. The establishment of this college in the 1590s is deeply embedded in the colonial history of Dublin city and of Ireland more generally. It is a place where an elite was and is still educated and which has helped shape the history of the island. It is where two of the four volumes of the Book of Kells are on permanent display. The Book is a tourist attraction, with over 588,000 people visiting in 2013, making it the fifth most visited paid attraction in Ireland at the time of writing.2 The Book is also the centrepiece of state visits by foreign dignitaries. When the president of the United States visited Ireland in 2012, his wife Michelle and their two children were shown the Book of Kells as one of Ireland’s foremost cultural treasures. All of the public relations around such a visit could not hide the fact that the president’s daughters looked uninterested in almost every photograph taken of them in the Long Room. But on this fine late summer’s morning, the queue is fast moving and within twenty minutes I am buying my €8 ticket to see the Book of Kells and the Long Room. We enter and exit through the gift shop, a storehouse of vaguely Book of Kells–connected items and assorted Irish tourist paraphernalia. It is an odd 1. I wish to thank Dr Julianna Adelman, School of History and Geography, Dublin City University, for her comments on this chapter. 2.  Fáilte Ireland, ‘Fáilte Ireland Reveals Nation’s Top Tourist Attractions’, n.p. (cited 1 July 2014), online: http://www.failteireland.ie/Footer/Media-Centre/Failte-Ireland-revealsnation%E2%80%99s-Top-Tourist-Attrac.aspx.

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experience. Everything from cookies to bookmarks with some sort of Book of Kells–related theme is sold here. It seems that the gift shop itself has become the central attraction. I move past the first display boards explaining the context of the Book and its companion pieces; walking past them into the next room, I almost missed the Book itself. It is displayed in a heavily guarded case in a darkened room. Pilgrims  – for that is what we are  – crowd around the illuminated manuscripts and gaze at their colours and their content. We shuffle quietly around the display case; hardly a word is uttered between us. Those who do speak, do so in quietened tones. We show the Book respect by being quiet; no photography is allowed. Is this a religious experience? Is the Book of Kells here serving as an evangelical text? As a tourist in my own city waiting in line to see the Book, I was asking questions about why and how the Book of Kells came to be a tourist attraction. What is the meaning of the Book of Kells as a tourist attraction and as a cultural resource in Ireland? Is it still a religious text, and if so, what are the implications for its use as a Bible if it remains one of Ireland’s most popular tourist attractions? In this chapter I wish to address some of these questions from a cultural geography perspective. Cultural geography looks at the practices and performances of people in different locations as well as the broader consequences of these practices and performances for other locations. Place and its meaning are central to this address. In the first section of the chapter, I outline the meaning of space, place and religious texts within the emergent discipline of the geography of religion. Alongside routine practices in prescribed and recognized sacred places, texts form a crucial part of a broader religious landscape. The second part of this chapter explores the ways in which the Book of Kells has moved from being a text of education and catechesis to a cultural and tourist resource. While some may see this as a result of a secularization process, it is here characterized as a series of contestations about what is and is not the secular and how places are made. The third section is an outline of a cultural geography of the Book of Kells, taking into account a contemporary struggle around its location and its meaning for Ireland. I conclude the chapter by drawing together the major themes and by offering a way to understand a geography that contributes to the well-established study of the Bible more generally. This is an attempt to place the Book of Kells within tourism studies and research but more particularly, I wish to place the Book within a cultural landscape that excavates its meaning in contemporary Ireland.

2. Space, Place and Religious Text The geography of religion in Ireland can be about enumerating and mapping churches, mosques, mandirs and other places of religious worship. These buildings in the Irish landscape concretize religious identities and the sense of belonging found there. The placing of a church, a temple or a mosque is important and is characterized by many social geographers as both foundational and temporal.3 3. See, for example, Simon Naylor and James Ryan, ‘The Mosque in the Suburbs: Negotiating

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They are foundational in that they form a central focus for people’s social practices; they are temporal inasmuch as they link present-day communities of interest with past generations. In these senses, buildings like these are nodes of religious significance, brought together in one particular place. But a geography of religion is more than what occurs in particular buildings. It includes people who design, build and use these places. In looking beyond the locations of a church or temple building, recent geographies of religion have concentrated on the material cultures of the religious found in other places. This more recent approach allows a focus on broader landscapes of the religious. It includes buildings of significance as one part of this landscape. The material culture of religion consists of domestic space as well as public rituals in locations other than churches and temples.4 This material culture includes statuary, pilgrimage sites, domestic shrine spaces, books and music, clothing and personal decoration. These are placed among the everyday spaces within which we all move. Religious space as material culture draws our attention to what is considered not religious or designated as profane. This distinction made between the religious and the profane has proven problematic for human geography and the wider social sciences. Without wishing to rehearse a more extensive debate, by religious I  mean those intentions, practices and traditions that draw their inspiration from, and confer a sacredness on, a supernatural force or deity. Intimately bound with this idea of the religious is a definition of the profane: that which is not held to be sacred, ideas that also inform the practices in the material world. The geographies of religion take account of the traditional spaces of worship but include a broader definition of ‘the religious.’ This allows geographers to consider the Book of Kells a tourist attraction in a secular educational institution, as a religious object. As such, the examination of the material cultures of religion is a way to understand how we draw boundaries. These are boundaries between what is right and wrong in specific locations and also the boundaries between what we see and what is ignored. This is a necessarily anthropological sketch of the religious and in this, I draw inspiration from the work of Talal Asad.5 The material cultures that arise from how we draw these boundaries create landscapes. These landscapes become ways of seeing; these ways are an act of appropriation.6 Ideas

Religion and Ethnicity in South London’, Social & Cultural Geography 3 (2002):  39–59; and Claire Dwyer, David Gilbert and Bindi Shah, ‘Faith and Suburbia:  Secularisation, Modernity and the Changing Geographies of Religion in London’s Suburbs’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 38 (2013): 403–19. 4.  See Sian MacKian, Everyday Spirituality: Social and Spatial Worlds of Enchantment (Basingstoke:  Palgrave Macmillan, 2012);Lawerence Taylor, Occasions of Faith:  An Anthropology of Irish Catholics (Dublin: Lilliput, 1995); and Dwyer, Gilbert and Shah, ‘Faith and Suburbia’. 5.  Talal Asad, Formations of the Secular:  Christianity, Islam and Modernity (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2003). 6. See Denis Cosgrove, ‘Prospect, Perspective and the Evolution of the Landscape Idea’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 10 (1985): 45–62.

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and material culture are appropriated to become ‘this way of seeing’ the world which we all inhabit. In this section, I want to focus attention on geographic place as central to how people perform and practice religion. The Book of Kells and its location is not incidental to these two functions; it is central to our understanding of the location of Christian heritage. The geography of religion implies a spatial understanding of belonging.7 Belonging in space can be understood as the practices and discourses that maintain material and other boundaries. These boundaries correspond to what we imagine places, a nation or a state to be in our minds.8 The significance of particular places in people’s lives is established and maintained by the boundaries that we draw; for example, how we understand the place we call home and its relationship to other places that are not home. Similarly for religious places: we establish and maintain some places as sacred and others as profane. Our sense of belonging to a place is maintained through boundaries, some of which are not immediately present but imagined to be important in our sense of belonging in a particular place. When we speak of Ireland, we are referencing the place where we are but also an imagined community of people and places that we and others understand as Ireland (for more on these matters, see the Introduction to this volume). A sense of belonging in religious places is also maintained materially. People continue to pass on the ideas and practice of religious duty as sets of practices. These practices are embedded in wider social relations.9 Embedding religious practice in this way allows us to examine the deep links between belonging, space and place. This is what geographers refer to as the spatialization of religion. Churches and temples exist in places but this is not the outcome of a random process – it is a purposeful process of how space is used in particular ways. The different ways of passing on ideas and practices about these places contain within them scales of meaning and importance. The links between belonging, identity and religion are made more complex again by a frequent insistence ‘that religion is primarily a matter of incorporation in a designated religious institution’.10 The religious exists in place but these places are not always institutional and are not always officially religious places. They are, for example, to be found in the ways in which people visit the Trinity College Long Room and the Book of Kells. Research conducted by Woodhead confirms that examining religion as a relation is more productive for social scientists than seeing it as an identity. Identity draws attention to the boundaries within and between individuals about what is religious and what is secular. As such, religion as a relation problematizes religion as

7.  Denis Trudeau, ‘Politics of Belonging in the Construction of Landscapes: Drawing and Exclusion’, Cultural Geographies 13 (2006): 421–43 (423). 8. Trudeau, ‘Politics of Belonging’, 421. 9. Asad, Formations of the Secular, 243. 10.  Linda Woodhead, ‘Five Concepts of Religion’, International Review of Sociology 21 (2011): 121–43 (129).

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mere identity. However, and in support of Woodhead, for religion as a social relation: ‘Attention is directed more to interconnections and networks than differences and boundaries, and what is of greater concern than how religion defines identity is how it relates people together, what gains and costs are involved, how they are distributed, and how they relate to other forms of social relation and stratification.’11 By focusing on the distributions of these gains and costs Woodhead implies a spatial understanding of religion. This draws the work here away from an excessive focus on church and temple buildings in accounts of the secular. That is, when thought of as identity, the everyday and materially cultural experience of the religious is often diminished. Furthermore, as MacKian has argued, religion as a social relation brings the spirituality-beyond-religion perspective back into play.12 For MacKian, spirituality-beyond-religion means acknowledging the ways in which mundane practices are brought into a sense of the spiritual, which includes geographical analysis itself.13 If my examination of the Book of Kells in Trinity College is asking questions about the site being both religious and touristic, a relational approach to religion may be fruitful in accommodating both dimensions in one site. The visitors to the place do not then have to be thought of as consumers in a secular place. Religion as a relation in different places confers a depth to the visitor experience at the Long Room. There is a fleeting sense of belonging when visiting the Book of Kells; identities are brought there and taken away from there. This approach is helpful for seeing the geography of religion in contemporary Ireland generally and in places that are often thought of as secular in particular. Religion as a social relation focuses on everyday practice. It aids an understanding of how the world as a whole remains enchanted to some extent.14 Within this approach, we can see how religious places are established and maintained alongside nominally secular places. For Kong and others, while the placement of this temple or that church is important politically, the sacred cannot be defined in isolation.15 This, she argues, is because the sacred draws meaning from social and political relationships. The intertwining of place and belonging is no less political because it is inspired by the transcendent. To create an artificial distinction between the political and the poetic is analytically redundant.16 It is as if an object like the Book of

11. Woodhead, ‘Five Concepts of Religion’, 130. 12. MacKian, Everyday Spirituality, 18. 13.  Claire Dwyer, ‘Why Does Religion Matter for Cultural Geographers?’ Social & Cultural Geography 17.6 (2016): 758–62 (758). 14. MacKian, Everyday Spirituality, 18. 15.  Lily Kong, ‘Mapping Geographies of Religion:  Politics and Poetics in Modernity’, Progress in Human Geography 25 (2001):  211–33 (212–13); and Max Weber, The Sociology of Religion (London: Methuen, 1965), 1. 16.  Catherine Brace, Adrian Bailey and David C. Harvey, ‘Religion, Place and Space: A Framework for Investigating Historical Geographies of Religious Identities and Communities’, Progress in Human Geography 30 (2006): 28–43 (29).

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Kells is deconsecrated when located within a wider tourist attraction. People seek something more than a tourist experience when going to see the Book of Kells. As visitors we view the text in different ways, some of which are poetic. However, we must draw attention to the limitations of analysing religious places as existing outside of social relations. Religions of whatever kind demonstrate their legitimacy and establish their provenance by reference to specific histories and geographies, which are codified in cultic and banal texts, documents, devices, instruments, protocols and systems of discipline.17 So the material culture of religion is more than what goes on inside a church or temple. This is because:  ‘All religions construct space and time through their own specific ontological commitments, and so it follows that, in order to understand the nature of religious landscapes, representations and practices, work must be contextualized within a temporal and spatial framework that is cognizant of these commitments.’18 This codification of a religion’s ontological commitments situates the religious in time and in space. This is a relational understanding of the co-production of religious and secular places together. In this way belonging is brought to a site like the Long Room as are the pre-existing social relations of the visitors. This accommodates the site as a place of both religious and tourist experience. The analysis presented here allows for both a political and a poetical meaning of the Book of Kells. In this frame, contestations by the Kells Heritage Group about the location of the volumes make more sense. The relationship between the secular and the religious in spatial terms is important. It binds the religious and the secular together in a way not found in other analyses. Recent writings by Gökariksel and others have pointed to the reorganization of an ideology of secularism that has ‘not meant the disappearance of religion, but its redefinition and reorganisation’.19 The reorganization has not always aided the development of geographies of religion because the places that have been examined define ‘religion’ in a specific sense. Instead, Gökariksel appeals for us to look beyond the officially sacred because this ‘focus necessitates shifting our analytical register to consider different scales and geographies related to the fluid and mobile body’.20 This form of scholarship aims to show how religion interacts with the secular and how the categories require interrogation.21 The wearing of head scarves in public, or blessing oneself passing a church or when a funeral hearse 17. Brace, Bailey and Harvey, ‘Religion, Place and Space’, 30. 18. Brace, Bailey and Harvey, ‘Religion, Place and Space’, 31. 19. Banu Gökariksel, ‘Beyond the Officially Sacred: Religion, Secularism, and the Body in the Production of Subjectivity’, Social & Cultural Geography 10 (2009): 657–74 (659). 20. Gökariksel, ‘Beyond the Officially Sacred’, 658. 21.  Banu Gökariksel and Anna Secor, ‘Post-secular Geographies and the Problem of Pluralism:  Religion and Everyday Life in Istanbul, Turkey’, Political Geography 46 (2015): 21–30 (22).

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passes are all unofficially sacred actions. People move through space, reacting, changing and being reacted to. For the geography of religion, the politics of people moving through space matters. In Kong’s earlier summary of the geographies of religion,22 she charts how research on the management and maintenance of sacred spaces is a necessary task but on its own is not adequate. By the end of the first decade of the twentyfirst century, Kong reported that many more areas for geographical enquiry had been developed.23 Her review of the previous decade’s literature charts the rise of a different awareness of the maintenance of religious and secular spaces than was evident in earlier decades. Sites of practice beyond the officially sacred had been examined. What was once social space is being denominated as religious social space, standing in relation to a particular idea of the secular. In her study of museums, it is not only about what gets represented but who as well. For Kong: ‘To understand religious life, identity and community in contemporary urban society, it is perhaps insufficient to focus only on a study of “officially sacred” places. Ordinarily secular places also play important roles in contributing to the construction and contestation of religious identity and community.’24 Going beyond the officially sacred takes a central place in the geography of religion. Kong is asking that ‘sacred and secular spaces . . . be examined in tandem in order to understand the constitution of modern religious identity and community’.25 This is also important for the argument presented here:  I draw attention to the spaces of religious expression at the Book of Kells site and what this means for the cultural expression of the Bible in Ireland today. Geographies of religion must be about the politics and poetics of these sites if place making is to be more than just the spatial arrangement of formal religious reservations. Religious space is reproduced in the actions of everyday life, and not merely confined within particular buildings. People’s homes are decorated with Sacred Heart imagery or images of the Guru Nanak; piety is encouraged within households through parental example to their children. More specifically, religious place making is a relational process where change brings contestation about what is the correct way to do things. This informs my work here on the placement of the Book of Kells through a focus on the generation of contested religious place making in

22. Kong, ‘Mapping Geographies of Religion’, 211–33. 23.  Lily Kong, ‘Global Shifts, Theoretical Shifts:  Changing Geographies of Religion’, Progress in Human Geography 34 (2010): 755–76 (756). 24.  Lily Kong, ‘Re-presenting the Religious:  Nation, Community and Identity in Museums’, Social & Cultural Geography 6 (2005): 495–513 (510). 25. Kong, ‘Re-presenting the Religious’, 510.

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Ireland. The Book of Kells, an everyday touristic resource, continues to generate contestations about where it should be located.

3. The Book of Kells as a Tourism Resource At the beginning of her work, Farr poses questions about the lack of research on the audience of the Book of Kells.26 Addressing this deficiency in her book, she frames this in terms of the enrichment that attends examining the political, social and historic contexts of the volumes. She encourages us not to see the discovery of the texts as the end of a process but part of a longer journey. This journey is about how the Christian message was spread across northern Europe from the third to the fifth centuries. She urges us to examine the volumes of the Book of Kells not as a peculiar example of seventh-century Insular art and representation.27 Instead, it must be placed in a broader context of representation and decoration then prevalent and developed out of a longer artistic European tradition. I will return to Farr in the next section but her view remains important to the argument here: the book is no more a symbol of specific Irish identity and form than the topography of the Cliffs of Moher or being at Slieve League can be. And yet, the display of the volumes is an essential stop for many tourists to Ireland, with Trinity College promoting the site as part of a more general tour of the city centre university campus. As indicated above, people come from all over the world to view the Book of Kells. The volumes have been on display in Trinity College since the middle of the nineteenth century. How they came to be there is not fully understood. Their origin of course is not Dublin itself but more than likely the island of Iona. Farr is quick to point out however that the style of the texts and illustrations does not mean that they were all produced in Iona.28 The story of their origin tells us what we need to know about the importance of the political and cultural contexts within which religious texts are produced. The relationship between the places of Northumbria, Iona, Armagh and then Kells and Dublin is a direct one. Such a relationship is important inasmuch as it composes a narrative about how we understand these volumes as part of the heritage of the islands. Many in Ireland would know that it was Irish monks who founded and maintained island religious communities along the west coast of Scotland. It is also an important part of how we understand the uses made of the Gospel in Ireland today. However, one thing is clear about the Book of Kells: it is a cultural product in demand, both as an attraction in Dublin and among a small campaigning group in the town of Kells, county Meath. In the one hundred years to 2014, there are several hundred mentions of the return of the Book of Kells to the town of Kells

26. Carol Farr, The Book of Kells: Its Function and Audience (London: The British Library, 1997), 14. 27. Farr, The Book of Kells, 15. 28. Farr, The Book of Kells, 14.

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Table 12.1 ‘Return’ and ‘Book of Kells’ "Return" AND "Book of Kells" 50

44

40

35

30 22 20 10

6

24

27

26 20

9

1 0 1915-24 1925-34 1935-44 1945-54 1955-64 1965-74 1975-84 1985-94 1995-04 2005-14 Source: Irish Newspaper Archive/Irish Independent. Online: https://www.irishnewsarchive.com/.

in the archives of the Irish Independent. The graph above (Table 12.1) shows the distribution of the key search words over the time. It should be emphasized that only a small proportion of these results relate directly to the request by the Kells town authorities for the return of some or the entire Book to the town. Every few years there is a request from the Kells Heritage Centre to take part of the manuscript on loan from Trinity College. A sample of these articles from the past two decades indicates that the Book of Kells has travelled extensively since 1994. In 2000, part of the manuscript was on display in Canberra, Australia, and there was a subsequent request for some of the manuscript to be displayed at the Library of Congress in the United States of America. Later that year, that American request was refused after some damage was detected following the Australian visit.29 A further request for display in Kells was made in early 2011 but it was again refused. It is not entirely clear why the volumes have never travelled to Kells as part of a wider exhibition of ecclesiastical treasures of Ireland. It is also not entirely clear why the Kells Heritage Centre wishes the volume to travel to the town. Kells is a small town in County Meath with a population of a little over 2,200 people. It lies 70 kilometres to the northwest of Dublin city. The Book is seen as a tourist resource and would potentially draw visitors to the town. There is, however, an additional meaning to the return of the volumes to the town of Kells and that is a claim to authenticity of the Kells site itself. The volumes now on display in Trinity were given to the university in the 1660s but it was not until their display in the 1950s, and particularly from their three hundredth anniversary in 1961, that the volumes became a tourism resource. The Trinity College authorities, themselves claiming authenticity over the Book, contest the claim to authenticity by the town of Kells. This is a political claim to authenticity but with additional poetical claims. These poetical claims draw upon the affective and symbolic power of the place and not merely its status as a place of learning and education. Trinity College, the seat of establishment learning in 29. ‘US Seeks Book of Kells’, Irish Independent, 26 April 2000, p. 9.

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a colonized country, keeps the volumes in trust for almost three centuries before they become a tourism resource. This is their political claim and a claim to authenticity that the town of Kells cannot match. Nominally, Trinity College has no more of a right to store and display the volumes than Kells does. However, Trinity College has made these volumes of the Gospels religious artefacts. The College authorities have drawn millions of people over the past fifty years or so to see these illustrated manuscripts. It is a site of religious pilgrimage beyond the officially sacred, some of the poetics of which the town of Kells seeks to claim for itself. The claim to authenticity is a claim for the poetics of the place, not necessarily its political significance. Trinity College claims an affective meaning for this place, greater than that can be provided in the town of Kells. Furthermore, the catechetical significance of the volumes is never discussed in either of these claims. If the Book of Kells, via Northumbria, Iona and Kells, was designed as a work of catechesis for people within or without the walls of monasteries, their current housing in Trinity College Dublin bears no such function. Individual pages are displayed every day and the exhibition lays out the form of the pages including the shape and meaning of the symbols used to depict the Evangelists. There is considerable explanation of the design of the majuscule letters and what vellum is. The pilgrims to the Book of Kells are brought through the room of their display unguided and without any sense of the Book being a means of Christian evangelization. Walking through this first room, we walk into a darker space where the volumes are displayed alongside the much older Book of Armagh. The site is one of unofficial sacredness; there is a hushed silence among the pilgrims. We walk around the display cases mostly in silence and are reminded periodically that photography is not allowed. There is a poetical reverence here, a reverence reserved for other sites of emotional significance, such as that found at the Louvre in Paris or at Berlin’s Holocaust Memorial.

4. A Cultural Geography of the Book of Kells As I have shown above, the material culture of religious practice stands in relation to the secular. They are often grounded in particular places. These places are the locations in space where belonging and identity are made material. This materialization is one of the ways in which places are continually recreated. Central to my argument here is not whether the display of the Book of Kells is a religious or a secular site but what kinds of social and spatial relations are detected by their display at Trinity College? Not all of the visitors to the Book of Kells at Trinity are religious, seeking the divine in the illuminated manuscripts on display. Nor could we describe visiting the volumes in Trinity College a wholly secular experience, shorn of any religious meaning. Not all who visit here are avowed secularists, in admiration of the images and inscriptions made on vellum made by monks all those hundreds of years ago. When viewed instead as the location of a particular relationship between what the secular and the religious mean in various contexts, the Book of Kells becomes more amenable to a geographic analysis. Its placement within the Long Room at

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Trinity College is no less secular than the surrounding university. The volumes stand in relation to a set of religious practices, some of which may be understood by those visiting the exhibition spaces. The contestation over the volumes’ location is real but not on the basis of them being sacred texts drawing from transcendent power. Instead, their location is contested as a tourist resource and possessing an unstated economic advantage by the Kells Heritage Group. Their relocation to the small County Meath town would undoubtedly confer this advantage. The Book has some meaning in this location in that it is named after the nearest town but affective meaning is not contested in the dispute of the volumes’ location. This way of looking at the cultural geography of the Book of Kells comes from two mundane, yet significant, historical understandings. First, the volumes are part of a longer tradition of Christianization across Europe associated with the centralization of the emergent church of the seventh and eighth centuries. Second, the volumes represent that point in Ireland’s Christianization at which pilgrimage becomes central to spirituality in Western Europe. As a way to unpack the relationship between the secular and the religious meanings of the volumes, I will examine these briefly here. They both involve the movement of people and their relationships with place. Farr lays out the early medieval relationship between Kent, York, Iona and Kells.30 This is not just a case of pointing out that monasteries are centres of clerical training and learning but of political accommodation. In the mid-sixth century, Columba was granted the land and the resources for his monasteries across Britain and into Scotland. The family of O’Neill whose territory, by then, extended across Scotland granted this. The political accommodation allows for the movement of people across boundaries and the establishment of centres of evangelization and learning. In Farr’s terms, Columba’s network of monasteries helped shape ‘the culture which directly or indirectly became the environment in which the Book of Kells was created’.31 Later in the mid-seventh century, Columba’s monasteries and the traditions he helped create gained the political patronage of the southern O’Neill clans, the land of whom would be granted for the foundation of a monastery at Kells. A political division between Northumbrian landowners and these Scottish/Irish families over the date of Easter allowed for the increasing influence of centralizing bishops under greater Roman influence on the island of Britain.32 Against this background of political favour and ecclesiastical development, the volumes’ movement to Iona and eventually Kells seemed like a wise decision. The relationships between these places and across the two larger islands thus become clearer: the development of monastic and anchoretic traditions in Scotland and Ireland depended on favourable political conditions. As pointed out above, this is a relational understanding of the co-production of religious and secular places together. It is not that the Book of Kells, in its present location of Trinity College, is any less religious. If anything the university represents a later development of

30. Farr, The Book of Kells, 18–21. 31. Farr, The Book of Kells, 18. 32. Farr, The Book of Kells, 19–21.

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a centre of learning and evangelization seen earlier in Iona and Kells. It is the co-production as both secular and religious held in tension in both the monastic settlements and Trinity College that is important here. Second, the relationship between the secular and the religious, a largely eighteenth-century division,33 is also noted in the popularity of pilgrimage by the time of the Book’s production. Again, Farr aids this understanding. She argues that ‘the spirituality of Columbanus represented the world as a pilgrimage, the body as a temporary tent wandering through it . . . it evoked an understanding of the world as spiritual time and place’.34 Examining pilgrimage in this way makes it less of a personal journey and more of a political process with evangelization as its aim. Farr goes on to state how the continuing alliances with aristocracy and the economic involvement of local magnates facilitated the development of a local church, in tension with the centralization of Roman influence seen elsewhere in Europe. For her ‘Christianisation of society had been largely achieved [by the eighth century] but not without the proliferation of exceedingly wealthy monasteries directly involved in native, secular power’.35 Pilgrimage became a vital practice in the late eighth century because of the competing interests of the fractured and territorialized Anglo-Saxon and Irish churches with the expanding Roman church. Pilgrimage was a means by which to spread the word of the gospel more effectively than hiding away from the world that was more in keeping with the anchoretic tradition. A stable political context allows that practice of pilgrimage to develop and by the early ninth century, the establishment of the Kells monastery in the southern O’Neill land shows that isolation and permanent exile were no longer possible.36 The southern O’Neill clan were adapting to these new alliances between the monasteries and the local kings. The two kingdoms of Armagh and Meath are thus drawn into a contestation over land and religious community favour. The finding of the volumes of the Book of Kells must be seen in this context, as the result of a contestation that itself seems to have little to do with Kells as a monastic community. The volumes ended up in Kells – they did not originate from the small Meath town. The political rift that arose between Ireland and Scotland after the Viking raids cemented the Book’s style as Irish artefact, sundered from their broader island-based origins and a broader still European tradition of illumination.

5. Concluding Remarks In this chapter, I  have argued that religious and secular places are made in relation to each other. The secular does not supersede the religious in a process 33.  See, for example, Mark Lilla, The Stillborn God: Religion, Politics, and the Modern West (New York: Knopf, 2007); and Talal Asad, Formations of the Secular: Christianity, Islam and Modernity (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2003). 34. Farr, The Book of Kells, 22. 35. Farr, The Book of Kells, 23. 36. Farr, The Book of Kells, 24.

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that is inevitable. Secular and religious places are made as a result of a series of contestations over belonging, identity and material culture. In this way, the Book of Kells and its display at Trinity College’s Long Room is as much religious as it might be characterized as secular. Looking for the religious only in officially sacred buildings means excluding a broader cultural geography of religious material culture. I have shown here how a cultural geography perspective can aid this process. First, I laid out the basis for a less rigid understanding of how religious place is made and re-made in everyday contexts. Where in Ireland today do we find the Gospels? The answer to this question depends largely on how we understand the re-creation of religious and secular places in relation to each other. It is a geographical question. The wider social relations within which we can examine religious places are a vital component of answering questions like this. As I  have shown, religion as a social relation brings the spirituality-beyond-religion perspective back into play. I have argued for a more accommodative approach in defining religion in relation to the secular in my examination of the Book of Kells in Trinity College. The poetical reverence reserved for the Book’s display in Trinity College is meaningful in this way. The sacred draws meaning from the social and political relationships within which it finds itself. The argument for the volumes re-placement to Meath is seen in that broader context. Fixing the Book’s place of origin to Kells seeks to diminish the social and political context of the volumes’ importance in the longer history of Irish Christianity. Second, I have shown how the poetic meaning of the Book in Trinity College is not the basis of its contestation by the Kells Heritage Group. Placing the volumes in Meath confers a political meaning for this artefact of Christian material culture. The longer political history of the Book’s volumes between the two islands and a broader European heritage of Christian evangelization goes unacknowledged. I have suggested that the Book’s movement was dependent upon the ebb and flow of kingly politics and ecclesiastical development across Britain and Ireland and in the face of larger centralizing forces across Europe. These are as much part of the cultural geography of the Book of Kells as their evangelical purpose.

Bibliography Asad, Talal. Formations of the Secular: Christianity, Islam, Modernity. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2003. Brace, Catherine, Adrian Bailey and David C. Harvey. ‘Religion, Place and Space: A Framework for Investigating Historical Geographies of Religious Identities and Communities’. Progress in Human Geography 30 (2006): 28–43. Cosgrove, Denis. ‘Prospect, Perspective and the Evolution of the Landscape Idea’. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 10 (1985): 45–62. Dwyer, Claire. ‘Why Does Religion Matter for Cultural Geographers?’ Social & Cultural Geography 17.6 (2016): 758–62. Dwyer, Claire, David Gilbert and Bindi Shah. ‘Faith and Suburbia: Secularisation, Modernity and the Changing Geographies of Religion in London’s Suburbs’. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 38 (2013): 403–19. Fáilte Ireland. ‘Fáilte Ireland Reveals Nation’s Top Tourist Attractions’. No pages. Cited 1 July 2014. Online: http://www.failteireland.ie.

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Farr, Carol. The Book of Kells: Its Function and Audience. London: The British Library, 1997. Gökariksel, Banu. ‘Beyond the Officially Sacred: Religion, Secularism, and the Body in the Production of Subjectivity’. Social & Cultural Geography 10 (2009): 657–74. Gökariksel, Banu, and Anna Secor. ‘Post-secular Geographies and the Problem of Pluralism: Religion and Everyday Life in Istanbul, Turkey’. Political Geography 46 (2015): 21–30. Kong, Lily. ‘Global Shifts, Theoretical Shifts: Changing Geographies of Religion’. Progress in Human Geography 34 (2010): 755–76. Kong, Lily. ‘Mapping Geographies of Religion: Politics and Poetics in Modernity’. Progress in Human Geography 25 (2001): 211–33. Kong, Lily. ‘No Place, New Places: Death and its Rituals in Urban Asia’. Urban Studies 49 (2011): 415–33. Kong, Lily. ‘Re-presenting the Religious: Nation, Community and Identity in Museums’. Social & Cultural Geography 6 (2005): 495–513. Lilla, Mark. The Stillborn God: Religion, Politics, and the Modern West. New York: Knopf, 2007. MacKian, Sian. Everyday Spirituality: Social and Spatial Worlds of Enchantment. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012. Naylor, Simon, and James Ryan. ‘The Mosque in the Suburbs: Negotiating Religion and Ethnicity in South London’. Social & Cultural Geography 3 (2002): 39–59. Taylor, Lawrence. Occasions of Faith: An Anthropology of Irish Catholics. Dublin: Lilliput, 1995. Trudeau, Denis. ‘Politics of Belonging in the Construction of Landscapes: Drawing and Exclusion’. Cultural Geographies 13 (2006): 421–43. ‘US Seeks Book of Kells’. Irish Independent. 26 April 2000. Weber, Max. The Sociology of Religion. London: Methuen, 1965. Woodhead, Linda. ‘Five Concepts of Religion’. International Review of Sociology 21 (2011): 121–43.

Part III I RELAND AND B EYOND:  R ECIPROCAL I NFLUENCES

Chapter 13 T O L A N D, S P I N O Z A A N D T H E N AT U R A L I Z AT IO N OF SCRIPTURE Ian Leask

I never cease to be amazed at the ingenuity of those . . . who uncover in Scripture mysteries too profound to be explained in any human terms. (Spinoza, Theological-Political Treatise, 173)

1. Introduction Spinoza’s role in shaping the early Enlightenment in general is no doubt better recognized than ever1; meanwhile, the specific importance of that ‘book forged in Hell’,2 the Theological-Political Treatise (original Latin title:  Tractatus TheologicoPoliticus),3 has recently begun to attract the kind of scholarly attention previously restricted to the Ethics. Overall, it seems, the TTP – especially its uncompromising, naturalistic, levelling of Scripture – is now understood to be as culturally and intellectually significant as Spinoza’s monistic metaphysics (and its equation of God and Nature); indeed, as Jonathan Israel would have it, the TTP can now claim its place as ‘one of the most profoundly influential philosophical texts in the history of western thought’.4 1.  See, especially, Jonathan I. Israel, Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity, 1650–1750 (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 2001); Israel, Enlightenment Contested: Philosophy, Modernity, and the Emancipation of Man, 1670–1752 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). 2.  A contemporaneous condemnation of Spinoza’s Theological-Political Treatise, which Stephen Nadler takes for the title of his monograph, A Book Forged in Hell:  Spinoza’s Scandalous Treatise and the Birth of the Secular Age (Princeton:  Princeton University Press, 2011). 3. Baruch Spinoza, Theological-Political Treatise [1670], ed. Jonathan Israel, trans. Michael Silverthorne and Jonathan Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). Hereafter TTP. 4. See Israel’s ‘Introduction’ to the TTP, viii.

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This chapter explores the influence of Spinoza on the biblical criticism of the Irish freethinker and iconoclast John Toland; specifically, it will examine how the TTP informs so much of his most famous (or infamous) work, Christianity Not Mysterious.5 Toland is neither an ‘English Deist’ nor merely the acolyte of John Locke, the greatest anglophone philosopher of the age; and by attending to provenance of his thought and the ‘fine grain’ of his writing – but without subscribing to some notion of an ‘Irish Mind’ (and all the dubious essentialism it can entail) – we can appreciate some of the wider discursive currents that shaped a very particular Irish reception of Scripture. As we shall see, Toland does not only channel the force and power of the great Dutch-Jewish thinker: CNM itself acts to increase the wider, international impact of a Spinozistic reading. Born in Inishowen, Donegal, in 1670, Toland was an Irish-speaking Catholic (possibly even the son of a priest) who, by converting to Protestantism, as a teenager, was able to attend a Church of Ireland school near Derry. He was subsequently awarded scholarships to study at university in Glasgow, and later, after he had graduated, in the Netherlands. The two years he spent at the universities of Leiden and Utrecht were central for his intellectual development: he absorbed new historical and critical scriptural methods emanating from Spinoza, and propounded by theologians like Jean Le Clerc; he also became involved in the ‘libertine’ and freethinking circles that thrived in the Netherlands. He spent most of the rest of his career as a kind of freelance scholar, pamphleteer and hack, based mainly in London (where he died, in 1722), but with a remarkable, pan-European, set of contacts across the ‘Republic of Letters.’ Included in a sprawling range of writings (of varying intellectual quality) that Toland produced were three texts of serious philosophical substance  – the aforementioned CNM (1695), the Letters to Serena (1704) and the Pantheisticon (1720)  – which all demonstrate an ongoing engagement with the thought of Spinoza. And while the intellectual relationship between Spinoza and Toland has hardly been ignored,6 it has received specific impetus from two recent, significant

5.  The edition used here is:  John Toland, Christianity Not Mysterious [1695]. Text, Associated Works and Critical Essays, ed. Philip McGuinness, Alan Harrison and Richard Kearney (Dublin:  Lilliput, 1997). Hereafter CNM. Emphases shown in quotations reflect the usage in this edition. 6.  See, for example:  Paul Vernière, Spinoza et la Pensée Française avant la Révolution (Paris:  Presses Universitaires de France, 1954), 355–60; Rosalie Colie, ‘Spinoza and the Early English Deists’, Journal of the History of Ideas 20 (1959):  23–46; Pierre Lurbe, ‘Le Spinozism de John Toland’, in Spinoza Au XVIIIe Siècle, ed. Olivier Bloch (Paris: MéridiensKlincksieck, 1990), 33–47; Stuart Brown, ‘Theological Politics and the Reception of Spinoza in the Early English Enlightenment’, Studia Spinozana 9 (1993):  181–200; Rienk Vermij, ‘Matter and Motion: Toland and Spinoza’, in Disguised and Overt Spinozism around 1700, ed. Wiep van Bunge and Wim Klever (Leiden:  Brill, 1995), 275–88; Ian Leask, ‘Unholy Force: Toland’s Leibnizian “Consummation” of Spinozism’, British Journal for the History of Philosophy 20 (2012): 499–537.

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scholarly developments. First, Israel has included Toland (‘a creative “Spinozist” ’,7 in his description) in that vanguard emanating directly from Spinoza and in turn disseminating Spinozistic principles.8 Second, Tristan Dagron has unpacked, over the course of a finely crafted study, the full implications of Paul Vernière’s earlier description of Toland as a neo-Spinozist who paves the way for the development of the mainstream Enlightenment, later in the eighteenth century.9 Increasingly, then, Toland’s intellectual entanglement with Spinoza seems well established, even if the extent and nature of that entanglement remains unsettled. Despite both of the above factors – the wider recognition of the significance of Spinoza’s TTP, along with the wider recognition of the Spinozism informing Toland’s thought  – the direct impact of the TTP upon Toland’s CNM remains largely unexplored. Accordingly, this essay sets out to unveil something of this hidden source, by exploring three related yet discrete areas: (1) the Spinozistic operative principle that governs CNM, overall – namely, the refusal of any distinction between the categories ‘above’ and ‘contrary to’ reason; (2)  the methodological commitment that Toland displays towards a particularly Spinozistic conception of sola Scriptura, or ‘Scripture as its own interpreter’, with special focus on CNM’s treatment of mystery and revelation; and (3) the opposition that becomes foundational for both Spinoza and Toland, whereby the clear ethical teaching of the Gospel is contrasted with the version of religion that results from political adulteration and manipulation, exemplified by the dubious role of religious ceremonial. Altogether, these three areas demonstrate that the influence of Spinoza on Toland goes deeper than some general inspiration for a pantheistic metaphysics; as we shall see, Toland’s radical approach to Scripture in CNM is already an application of Spinozistic apparatus and attitude.

2. ‘Above Reason = Contra Reason’ One of Toland’s principal aims in CNM is completely to level the venerable, Scholastic distinction between what is ‘contrary to reason’ and what is ‘above reason’: in effect, Toland suggests, what is deemed supra rationem is itself contra rationem. This putative identity of the two categories shapes the entirety of CNM; he even tells us, in his introductory remarks, that his rejection of ‘mystery’ is the consequence of his (supposedly) proving both notions to be flawed.10 7. Israel, Radical Enlightenment, 614. 8.  See Israel, Radical Enlightenment, esp.  609–14; and Enlightenment Contested, esp. 123, 183–7. 9.  Tristan Dagron, ‘Introduction’, in Toland’s Lettres à Serena et autres textes, ed. and trans. Tristan Dagron (Paris:  Honoré Champion, 2004), 9–60; Dagron, Toland et Leibniz. L’Invention du Néo-Spinozisme (Paris:  Vrin, 2009). Contra Israel, Dagron sees Toland’s ‘neo-Spinozism’ as being more like the symptom of a wider crisis in early-Enlightenment thought. 10. See Toland, CNM, 19.

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Specifically, Section Two of CNM tackles that which seems the ‘contrary of reason’, while Section Three – the culmination of the entire monograph – sets out to justify Toland’s claim that the Gospel contains ‘nothing that is above reason’; together, these are taken to demonstrate that ‘an implicite Assent to any thing above Reason . . . contradicts the Ends of Religion, the Nature of Man, and the Goodness and Wisdom of God’.11 The ‘Subject of Faith’ must be intelligible to all, and must be built upon ‘very strict Reasoning from Experience’; otherwise it simply cannot be communicated.12 This total identification of supra rationem and contra rationem puts Toland at a huge philosophical and theological distance, not just from Locke, ostensibly the most obvious intellectual source for CNM,13 but also from Hobbes, Leibniz and Malebranche; it even distances him from the most radical Socinians. Yet, whatever the prominence that Toland affords this issue, its significance seems underdetermined in scholarly consideration. In particular, what remains apparently unnoticed is that Toland is drawing upon a singular and very loaded source for this denial of any ‘supernatural rationalism’ – namely, Spinoza’s treatment of miracles in the TTP. Accordingly, we can understand the basic thesis of CNM as being shaped at a foundational level by Spinoza’s levelling of a very ancient and apparently unshakeable aspect of philosophical-theological tradition. In Spinoza’s case, the radical equivalence of the categories supra and contra rationem is posited almost surreptitiously: midway through his wider discussion of miracles, apparently as an innocent aside, he informs us that ‘I [do not] acknowledge any difference between a phenomenon which is contrary to nature and a phenomenon which is above nature (i.e., as some define it, a phenomenon that does not conflict with nature but cannot be produced or made by it)’.14 (Given Spinoza’s metaphysical commitments, there is no fundamental distinction, for him, between logic and ontology:  ‘nature’ here means, in effect, the knowable structures of reality.) Yet the low-key nature of Spinoza’s statement belies its tremendous importance, which Theo Verbeek has summarized thus: [For Spinoza, t]he belief that something could be ‘above nature’ has the same destructive effect as the belief that something could be ‘against nature’, for both mean that we accept that something inconceivable could exist. So, either we conceive God and on the basis of that concept prove his existence but then the only viable solution is to make him coincide with nature, or we allow God to be an exception to the principles of nature and then all knowledge, whether of God or nature, becomes radically impossible.15 11. Toland, CNM, 86. 12. See Toland, CNM, 83. 13. See, for example, John C. Biddle, ‘Locke’s Critique of Innate Principles and Toland’s Deism’, Journal of the History of Ideas 37 (1976): 411–22. 14. Spinoza, TTP, 86–7. 15.  Theo Verbeek, Spinoza’s Theologico-Political Treatise:  Exploring ‘the Will of God’ (Aldershot:  Ashgate, 2003), 169. As Verbeek also notes, Spinoza’s point here is a radical

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Evidently, then, the claim is charged. And, in contrast to the relative reticence we find in the TTP, Toland seems happy to highlight what is at stake. Indeed, Toland’s application of Spinoza’s equation could hardly be more conspicuous: the very subtitle of Christianity Not Mysterious announces that ‘there is nothing in the Gospel Contrary to Reason, Nor Above it’; and the culmination of the overall thesis is devoted explicitly to refuting any supposed distinction between ‘contrary to’ and ‘above’ reason. In other words, the central operative principle of Toland’s text makes manifest the full, or fuller, implications of a central, and heretical, Spinozistic principle. However, the rejection of the category ‘above reason’ is hardly the full extent of Spinoza’s influence on CNM; as already indicated, this Spinozistic equivalence is more like the foundation for fuller assault. In terms of Toland’s direct engagement with the Bible, perhaps the most striking aspect of CNM qua Spinozism is methodological rather than substantive  – for, throughout CNM, Toland demonstrates an unwavering commitment to Spinoza’s radical appropriation of the notion of Scripture as its own autonomous interpreter. Both the TTP and CNM give us explicit statements of what this particular scripturalism entails; more importantly, perhaps, both texts demonstrate the continuous application of this principle. 2.1 Method Arguably, Spinoza’s stress on the autonomy of Scripture – or, rather, his naturalistic inversion of the standard Protestant notion of Scriptura sui interpres – is the greatest innovation provided in the TTP, overall.16 By basing the substance of his arguments on the data provided in the Bible itself, but, contra standard Protestant practice, simultaneously refusing the Bible any kind of authoritative or normative status, Spinoza is able to intensify his immanent, naturalistic critique. Scripture is to be treated on its own terms, not those of any external criterion. Thus: The [correct] method of interpreting nature consists above all in constructing a natural history, from which we derive the definitions of natural things, as from certain data. Likewise, to interpret Scripture, we need to assemble a genuine history of it and to deduce the thinking of the Bible’s authors by valid inferences from this history, as from certain data and principles. Provided we admit no other criteria or data for interpreting Scripture and discussing its contents than what is drawn from Scripture itself and its history, we will always proceed without any danger of going astray . . . [T]his method is not only the sure

reformulation of the Cartesian Malign Demon, but with the traditional understanding of God now cast as systematic deceiver. 16. See Sylvain Zac, Spinoza et l’Interprétation de l’Écriture (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1965), 13, 15–41.

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way but also the only way, and is consistent with the method of interpreting nature.17

Acutely aware of the potency of this Spinozistic version of sola Scriptura, Toland provides us with equivalent methodological statements: ‘For the Question being, whether or no Christianity is mysterious, it ought to be naturally decided by the New Testament, wherein the Christian Faith is originally contain’d. I heartily desire to put the Case upon this Issue, I appeal to this Tribunal.’18 Or, as he notes elsewhere: ‘They come nearest the thing who affirm, that we are to keep to what the Scriptures determine about these Matters: and there is nothing more true, if rightly understood.’19 Scripture is not to be assessed in the light of ‘something else’; rather, it is to be examined according to its own, internal evidence, its own consistencies (or lack of them), its own assumptions. No one can be sure that Scripture is the Word of God, Toland stresses, ‘till he exactly studies it, to speak now of no other Means he must use’.20 So, both Spinoza and Toland insist that Scripture is to be treated exactly as any other textual product or material artefact: for Spinoza, ‘the method of interpreting Scripture does not differ from the [correct] method of interpreting nature, but rather is wholly consonant with it’21; for Toland, ‘there [is no] . . . different Rule to be follow’d in the Interpretation of Scripture from what is common to all other Books’.22 Indeed, the extent of Toland’s commitment to this immanent critique is such that all transcendental reference points – not just those that are theologically informed – are refused any kind of eminence: the point is to apply a thorough naturalism, rather than some ‘pure’ rationalism. Thus, just as Spinoza will caution that ‘in seeking the sense of Scripture, we must take care especially not to be blinded by our own reasoning, insofar as it is founded on the principles of natural knowledge (not to mention our preconceptions)’,23 so Toland will oppose those who ‘make the Scriptures speak . . . according to some spurious Philosophy’.24

17.  Spinoza, TTP, 98–9. Further, ‘[a]ll of our knowledge of the Bible . . . must be derived only from the Bible itself . . . just as definitions of natural things are deduced from the different actions of nature’ (99). 18. Toland, CNM, 65. 19. Toland, CNM, 16. 20. Toland, CNM, 12. 21. Spinoza, TTP, 98. 22. Toland, CNM, 44. See also CNM, 86: ‘I never pretended that the Gospel could be understood without due Pains and Application, no more than any other Book.’ 23.  Spinoza, TTP, 100. See J. Samuel Preus, Spinoza and the Irrelevance of Biblical Authority (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), for a full and detailed treatment of how Spinoza’s radical alternative to orthodox interpretation was also quite distinct from a (largely ahistorical) rationalist hermeneutics, espoused by the likes of Lodewijk Meyer. 24. Toland, CNM, 16.

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The explicit avowal of method is plain, then. But, perhaps more significantly, there is also the continuous application of this method. Both texts are formed, just about in their entirety, by their commitment to the principle of sola Scriptura (albeit in thoroughly radicalized fashion). Spinoza will already have plunged his readers into readings of prophecy and prophets, election, revelation, ceremonies and miracles, over the course of the first six books of the TTP, before he makes any explicit statement of his method. Toland, meanwhile, will draw on over a hundred biblical references in the thirteen parts that comprise the three sections of CNM, most notably, perhaps, in Part 3 of Section Three, where he provides an exhaustive catalogue, or concordance, of the use of ‘mystery’ in the New Testament. This lexical account of mystery is again styled as an appeal to the only ‘Tribunal’ that carries any real weight: the Bible itself. As Toland puts it, rather hyperbolically, [D]id I  not infinitely prefer the Truth I  learn from these sacred Records to all other Considerations, I  should never assert that there are no Mysteries in Christianity. The Scriptures have engag’d me in this Error, if it be one; and I will sooner be reputed Heterodox with these only on my side, than to pass for Orthodox, with the whole world, and have them against me.25

And what Scripture itself shows is that there is nothing mysterious, so to speak, about biblical usage of the term ‘mystery’: ‘Mystery in the whole New Testament is never put for any thing inconceivable in it self, or not to be judg’d of by our ordinary Notions and Faculties.’26 By and large, the word ‘mystery’ is used to suggest a ‘future Dispensation’,27 whereby the full meaning of an event or phenomenon only becomes known, or revealed, with the fuller passing of time; as such, a ‘mystery’ then transforms into a manifested mystery or ‘unfolded secret’,28 and hence is no longer a mystery, in any proper sense. Toland lists eight passages which he takes to illustrate ‘mystery’ qua ‘future dispensation’: Rom 16:25–26, 1 Cor 2:7 and 4:1, Eph 6:9, Col 2:2 and 4:3–4, along with 1 Tim 3:8–9 and 3:16. Each provides an example of ‘mystery’ referring to a situation that pertained prior to the Christ-event, rather than to the Christ-event itself: ‘the gracious Manifestation of Christ and his Gospel is not only to us wonderfully stupendous and surprizing, but . . . was likewise a very great Mystery to all preceding the New Testament-Dispensation.’29 Similarly, he lists nine passages that, as far as he is concerned, clearly depict ‘mystery’ in terms of an ‘unfolded secret’: Eph 1:9–10, 3:1, 5:31–32, 6:9, Rom 11:25, Col 1:25–27, Eph 1:9–10, 1 Cor 15:51–52, and 2 Thess 2:8. And he gives three examples of ‘mystery’ being used to describe parables that ‘were not in themselves incomprehensible, but mysterious

25. Toland, CNM, 65. 26. Toland, CNM, 73. 27. Toland, CNM, 68. 28. Toland, CNM, 68. 29. Toland, CNM, 70.

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to them only to whom they were not unfolded, that (as it is there said) hearing they might not understand’: Matt 13:10–11, Mark 4:11 and Luke 8:10. Altogether, Toland suggests, these justify the famous Pauline claim that ‘Christ removes the veil of obscurity’ (2 Cor 3:14); in other words, they provide an immanent justification of the claim that Christianity is not mysterious. Hence Toland’s threefold conclusion, based on the centrality of biblical unveiling: First, that the Mysteries of the Gospel were certain things in their own Nature intelligible enough, but call’d Mysteries by reason of the Vail under which they were formerly hid. Secondly, that under the Gospel this Vail is wholly remov’d. From which, Thirdly, follows the . . . Conclusion, that such Doctrines cannot now properly deserve the Name of Mysteries.30

Moreover, in his wider insistence in CNM that ‘revelation’ be regarded (only) as a ‘means of information’ – that is, as material that should comply with the unofficial rules that ground our epistemological judgements in general – Toland again claims a historical-biblical precedent that once more exemplifies his commitment to a radicalized notion of sola Scriptura. We can treat revelation as ‘information’, Toland suggests, precisely because this is how great biblical figures themselves understood revelation: ‘it was from clear and weighty Reasons, both as to Fact and Matter, and not by a blind Obedience, that the Men of God of old embrac’d his Revelations.’31 Mary, for example, refused to believe the claim that she would be the mother of God’s son until an angel persuaded her otherwise; the prophet Jeremiah only accepted the ‘revelation’ about his cousin Hanameel after the relative had acted as predicted and urged Jeremiah to buy his field at Anathoth (Jer 32:8); and, similarly, we are told that if the ‘prophecy’ of one who claims to speak on behalf of God does not come to pass, then, as Toland puts it (referring to Deut 18:21–22), ‘it was to be a rational Sign he spoke presumptuously of himself, and not of God’.32 Toland wants to insist that his biblical epistemology is not about retrospectively applying some modern principle: the principle was applied all along, he claims, by biblical protagonists themselves. Christianity was never, in its originary formation, contrary to reason. Hence, What we discours’d on Reason before, and Revelation now, being duly weigh’d, all the Doctrines and Precepts of the New Testament (if it be indeed Divine) must consequently agree with Natural Reason, and our own ordinary Ideas. This every considerate and well-dispos’d Person will find by the careful Perusal of it:  And whoever undertakes this Task, will confess the Gospel to be not hidden from us.33

30. Toland, CNM, 67. 31. Toland, CNM, 42. 32. Toland, CNM, 41. 33. Toland, CNM, 43.

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In summary, then, both the TTP and CNM provide a sustained application of the kind of ‘immanent’ reading that Spinoza advocates, whereby the evidence presented is drawn from Scripture itself. Underpinned by a naturalistic conception of the Bible as essentially a human fabrication, such an approach not only undermines the authority of official ecclesiastical readings, but it also serves to undermine any conception whatsoever of ‘the Word’ as divine or supernatural revelation. 2.2 Gospel Morality and Religious Adulteration Obviously, then, this methodological commonality is central in any appreciation of the Spinozism that informs CNM. But what also demands attention is the way in which both Spinoza and Toland prize what they take to be the rational kernel of Scripture – namely, Jesus’s moral message – by positing a profound, structural opposition between the Gospel’s ‘philosophical’ message (as revealed by their immanent approach) and the historical distortions to which Christianity’s basic teaching (supposedly) has been subjected by the subsequent machinations of ecclesiastical-political power. In general, the trope of historical decline is commonplace for both philosophers. Spinoza is unequivocal in his assessment: Christianity was originally the religion of the politically marginalized, he suggests, and it stood in a kind of constitutive opposition to Power. Thus, ‘[i]t was not kings who first taught the Christian religion, but rather private individuals, who were acting against the will of those who exercised political power, whose subjects they were’.34 Slowly, however, the church as institution became thoroughly entangled  – fused, even  – with the structures of state; its personnel became a self-perpetuating and self-justifying elite (leaving religious principle hopelessly entwined with philosophical speculation); and its main concern moved from genuine teaching and guidance to control and manipulation. The end result of this ‘deplorable situation’35 is clear: ‘nothing remains of the religion of the early church except its external ritual (by which the common people seem to adulate rather than venerate God), and faith amounts to nothing more than credulity and prejudices’.36 For Spinoza, Christianity needs to be saved – from its institutions and its practices, and thus from so much of itself. It has to be reminded of its proper, ethical core. Arguably, Toland has an even stronger concern with the decline of Christianity; throughout his career, he will contrast the lamentable condition of contemporary Christianity with its earlier formations.37 (The Primitive Constitution is

34. Spinoza, TTP, 247. 35. Spinoza, TTP, 7. 36. Spinoza, TTP, 7. 37.  For an excellent survey, see Laurent Jaffro, ‘Toland and the Moral Teaching of the Gospel’, in Philosophy and Religion in Enlightenment Britain, ed. Ruth Savage (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 77–89.

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particularly important, in this respect38; so, too, the idealized portrayal of the early Celtic church that Toland regularly uses as a stick with which to beat its modern, degenerate successor.39) It is CNM, though, that provides some of the sharpest and most acute observations in this regard. Here, in order ‘to shew how Christianity became mysterious’, Toland wants to set out ‘how so divine an Institution did, through the Craft and Ambition of Priests and Philosophers, degenerate into mere Paganism’.40 Pure and straightforward in its first century or so, Christianity was gradually overcome by dubious interest groups and political forces: a self-serving caste of philosopherpriests set itself up as the only possible arbiter of divine truth; the plain message of the Gospel was ‘absolutely perverted and destroyed’41 by ever-more elaborate rituals and rites; and the official adoption of Christianity by the Roman emperors took the religion even further from its marginal origins (as well as producing a swathe of purely expedient conversions). However, beyond this general concern with historical decline, the specific case of religious ceremonial provides perhaps the clearest expression of how layers of excrescence piled upon, and so obscured, the putative purity of an original, ethical message. Both texts devote explicit and extended attention to the function of ceremonies; both argue that this function is historically contingent and bears no relation to religious substance; and both argue that the ethical core of Christianity needs to be understood in total separation from the practice of ceremonial. The last of these three points provides the overall presupposition for the wider discussion; accordingly, the issue of Jesus as essentially a moral philosopher seems the obvious foundation for any fuller consideration. For Spinoza, Jesus’s pivotal significance is that he expresses a universal moral truth which, as such, transcends the particular domain of individual complexion or contingent tribal or political interests. As the TTP puts it: ‘[Jesus] was not sent to conserve a commonwealth and institute [particular] laws, but to teach the universal law alone . . . His over-riding concern was to offer moral teaching, and to distinguish it from the laws of the state.’42 Jesus may have had to draw upon and reference the biblical prophets, in order to make his message more readily understandable; yet he was able to adopt and adapt this tradition, in order to promulgate a universal moral code. The result is that external commandment (enforced by threat) is transformed into internal, rational recognition of moral precepts; indeed, with Jesus, ‘the entire Law consists in just one thing, namely, love of one’s neighbour’.43 38. Toland, The Primitive Constitution of the Christian Church, in A Collection of Several Pieces by Mr John Toland (London: J. Peele, 1726), 120–200. 39.  See, especially, Toland, Nazarenus, ed. Justin Champion (Oxford:  Voltaire Foundation, 1999), Letter II, 194–235. 40. Toland, CNM, 96. 41. Toland, CNM, 97. 42. Spinoza, TTP, 70. 43. Spinoza, TTP, 179.

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Similarly, Toland:  Jesus ‘fully and clearly preach’d the purest Morals’, he tells us; and Christianity’s primal significance seems to have been as a vehicle for promoting a universal ethical code, accessible to all. In Jesus’s hands, religion fulfils a properly philosophical function: the significance of Trinitarian, eschatological or soteriological issues falls away, and Jesus’s essentially demythologizing, rationalist potency reveals itself. As Toland’s Primitive Constitution will put it: When Jesus Christ, the most resplendent sun of sanctity, justice, and knowledge, begun to disperse those thick clouds of ignorance which from the Jews and Gentiles had much obscur’d the perfect truth, he engag’d his principal followers in the noble task of rescuing men from the tyranny of custom, fraud, and force: and (instead of superstitious practices, introduc’d by the foolish and improv’d by the crafty; instead of unintelligible theories, calculated as much for the authority of some, as for the subjection of others) he fixt the true notion of one God.44

And what stands as the most significant result of this demythologizing, Toland tells us, is that Jesus ‘settl’d morality upon its just and natural foundation’.45 This, then, is the presupposition of the treatment offered by both Spinoza and Toland: at one and the same time, the critique of ceremonial is the promulgation of Jesus as moral philosopher. However, the significance of the latter in no sense undermines the acuity of insight into the former, and it is the detail of their consideration of ceremonies that now demands further attention. Spinoza’s general point is that ceremonies may have an important political role, especially for the theocratic imperium, but that they have no intrinsic religious merit or significance. Or, rather: they have a particular, pragmatic function, but no universal status. The bulk of his consideration is devoted to the Pentateuch, but the principle he outlines can be applied to religion at large, it seems, and he will conclude with briefer but more concentrated attention to Christianity.46 In his more exhaustive account of the Pentateuch, Spinoza seeks to show how ceremonial observance played such a significant role in constituting, consolidating and legitimizing ‘state religion’.47 Strong theocratic government seemed necessary after the Hebrews’ release from captivity, given their dissolution; muscular, covenantal law was (merely) a material expediency within this particular historicalpolitical conjunction; and the ceremonies that expressed this law were thus crucial in terms of the subordination of any deviance and the formation of a cohesive

44. Toland, Primitive Constitution, 130. 45.  Toland, Primitive Constitution, 130. See, as well, Toland’s comment in the Parallele, in Lettres à Serena et Autres Textes, ed. Tristan Dagron (Paris: Champion, 2004), 242: ‘Et l’essence même du Christianisme consiste dans la plus parfait morale.’ 46.  See Susan James, Spinoza on Philosophy, Religion, and Politics:  The TheologicoPolitical Treatise (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 119–24. 47. See Spinoza, TTP, 75.

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social whole. As Spinoza puts it: ‘It is clearer than daylight that ceremonies have no connection with happiness, and that the ceremonies of the Old Testament, and indeed the entire Law of Moses, related to nothing but the Hebrew state and consequently nothing other than material benefits.’48 In terms of Christian ceremonies, the same principle holds:  ‘Although these ceremonies were not instituted for the purpose of [upholding] a state’,49 rites such as baptism and the Lord’s Supper came about ‘only as external signs of a universal church and not as things that contribute to happiness or have any sanctity in them’.50 Thus, Christian ceremonial, like its Hebrew predecessor (and precedent), has a contingent and functional significance, but nothing to do with the universal, ethical core of Jesus’s message. Indeed, Spinoza will even question whether the ceremonies that have apparently always been common to Christendom were ever instituted by Jesus himself, or his apostles. Toland’s consideration is restricted to Christianity; but, while he shares Spinoza’s understanding of Jesus as an essentially ethical teacher, he goes even further than Spinoza in separating the core of Christianity from ceremonial in general. For Toland, ‘there is nothing so naturally opposite as Ceremony and Christianity’.51 Toland begins with an account of how Jesus ‘fully and clearly preach’d the purest Morals’, how he taught the need for ‘reasonable Worship, and how he provided ‘just Conceptions of Heaven and Heavenly Things’, all of which explains, in turn, why Jesus ‘stripp’d the Truth of all those external Types and Ceremonies which it made it difficult before, [and] . . . rendred [sic] it easy and obvious to the meanest Capacities’.52 Attention to Jesus’s teachings makes clear, then, that ceremonial has no role to play in achieving blessedness. For Toland, the distortion of Jesus’s clear ethical teaching would seem to have three principal factors behind it: (1) the way in which the extent of adulteration grew exponentially with the extent of conversion; (2) the way in which Christianity came to be annexed, or appropriated, by classical philosophy; and (3) the impact of the official conversion of entire regimes and polities. The first two factors affected both the substance and the institutional practice of Christianity: residual ‘Pagan Mystick Rites’,53 on the one hand, and metaphysical obscurity, on the other, both conspired to veil the essential clarity of the Gospel’s ethical injunctions; in turn, both fed the growth of an institutional elitism, based on the assumptions that only the initiated had access to ‘tremendous and unutterable Mysteries’,54 and that only the suitably learned were able to provide legitimate theological interpretation  – quite alien to Christianity in its original formation. The third factor, although

48. Spinoza, TTP, 75. 49. Spinoza, TTP, 75. 50. Spinoza, TTP, 75. 51. Toland, CNM, 98. 52. Toland, CNM, 92. 53. Toland, CNM, 93. 54. Toland, CNM, 93.

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chronologically the result of the previous two, has the effect of exacerbating the first: through sheer opportunism and concern ‘to preserve those Places and Preferments whereof they were possess’d’, multitudes of political subjects made superficial play of following their leaders’ conversions; yet, because their Christianity was ‘purely embrac’d out of Politick considerations’, they remained ‘Pagans in their Hearts’, and their belief was constituted by prejudices and confusions that were essentially pre-Christian.55 In effect, then, what might seem to be Christianity taking over the world was more like the takeover of Christianity. The combined result of this obscurantism and opportunism was an apparently unstoppable decline in Christianity, a decline that was already under way by the second and third centuries after Jesus’s death. All kinds of dubious practices, performances, rituals and rites arose, none of them authorized by Scripture, all of them more like pagan borrowings and accretions (catalogued fairly exhaustively in CNM).56 Concomitantly, the elites which alone had access to the supposed truth of these matters grew hugely in terms of prestige, influence and power, to the extent that they would eventually form ‘a separate and politick Body’.57 All told, ceremonial is not just void of any intrinsic significance – it consists of ‘mystical Representations of a merely arbitrary Signification’58 – but, more significantly, it is politically pernicious: it involves ‘fraudulent Arts’59 that ‘strangely affect or stupify the Minds of the ignorant People’ at the same time that it ‘increase[s] the Splendor’ of the state.60 In summary, then, we can see the treatment in CNM as the application, and even extension, of the principles established in chapter 5 of the TTP. Ceremonies are refused any intrinsic merit and understood, instead, purely in terms of their material, historical efficacy  – that is, in terms of the extent to which they consolidate institutional power. As such, ceremonial must also be understood as obstructing the proper grasp of the Gospel’s core precepts: it operates at the level of the imagination, not reason, and can thus serve only to deepen credulity rather than rational comprehension.

3. Conclusion We have seen, then, that the operative principle that determines the overall course of CNM seems to originate in the TTP; likewise, the main methodological approach. In turn, the kind of reading that emerges is supposed to make plain a critical counterpoint between the purity of Gospel ethics and the obfuscation and

55. See Toland, CNM, 93. 56. See Toland, CNM, 94–6. 57. Toland, CNM, 97. 58. Toland, CNM, 98. 59. Toland, CNM, 98. 60. Toland, CNM, 97.

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baroque excess of institutional religion – again, a profoundly Spinozistic binary. For sure, stressing this commonality hardly rules out the undoubted influence on Toland of so many other intellectual and cultural factors, from Bruno to Locke, or from Stoicism to Socinianism. However, the case offered here still does enough to indicate that one of the most famous, perhaps infamous, Irish engagements with Scripture was far more than the work of some minor Lockean maverick. Instead, and as we have seen, it was more like the perspicuous application of a far more dangerous source – a ‘Book Forged in Hell’, no less – and, as such, part of a vanguard that changed how the world as a whole related to the Bible and to religion. In a sense, the worthy members of the Irish Commons had already realized this, when  – in September 1697  – they had the public hangman ceremonially burn copies of CNM at College Green in Dublin. Their official anger proved prophetic recognition of a Donegal heretic’s achievement.

Bibliography Biddle, John C. ‘Locke’s Critique of Innate Principles and Toland’s Deism’. Journal of the History of Ideas 37 (1976): 411–22. Brown, Stuart. ‘Theological Politics and the Reception of Spinoza in the Early English Enlightenment’. Studia Spinozana 9 (1993): 181–200. Colie, Rosalie. ‘Spinoza and the Early English Deists’. Journal of the History of Ideas 20 (1959): 23–46. Dagron, Tristan. ‘Introduction’. Pages 9–60 in John Toland, Lettres à Serena et Autres Texts. Edited and translated by Tristan Dagron. Paris: Honoré Champion, 2004. Dagron, Tristan. Toland et Leibniz. L’Invention du Néo-Spinozisme. Paris: Vrin, 2009. Israel, Jonathan I. Enlightenment Contested: Philosophy, Modernity, and the Emancipation of Man, 1670–1752. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Israel, Jonathan I. Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity, 1650– 1750. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001. Jaffro, Laurent. ‘Toland and the Moral Teaching of the Gospel’. Pages 77–89 in Philosophy and Religion in Enlightenment Britain. Edited by Ruth Savage. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. James, Susan. Spinoza on Philosophy, Religion, and Politics: The Theologico-Political Treatise. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Leask, Ian. ‘Unholy Force: Toland’s Leibnizian “Consummation” of Spinozism’. British Journal for the History of Philosophy 20 (2012): 499–537. Lurbe, Pierre, ‘Le Spinozism de John Toland’. Pages 33–47 in Spinoza Au XVIIIe Siècle. Edited by Olivier Bloch. Paris: Méridiens-Klincksieck, 1990. Macherey, Pierre. Hegel ou Spinoza. Paris: François Maspero, 1979. Nadler, Stephen. A Book Forged in Hell: Spinoza’s Scandalous Treatise and the Birth of the Secular Age. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011. Preus, J. Samuel. Spinoza and the Irrelevance of Biblical Authority. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Spinoza, Benedict de. Theological-Political Treatise. Edited by Jonathan I. Israel. Translated by Michael Silverthorne and Jonathan I. Israel. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007.

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Toland, John. Christianity Not Mysterious. Text, Associated Works and Critical Essays. Edited by Philip McGuinness, Alan Harrison and Richard Kearney. Dublin: Lilliput, 1997. Toland, John. A Collection of Several Pieces by Mr John Toland. Edited by Pierre Desmaizeaux. London: J. Peele, 1726. Toland, John. Lettres à Serena et Autres Textes. Edited by Tristran Dagron. Paris: Champion, 2004. Toland, John. Nazarenus. Edited by Justin Champion. Oxford: Voltaire Foundation, 1999. Verbeek, Theo. Spinoza’s Theologico-Political Treatise: Exploring ‘the Will of God’. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003. Vermij, Rienk. ‘Matter and Motion: Toland and Spinoza’. Pages 275–88 in Disguised and Overt Spinozism around 1700. Edited by Wiep van Bunge and Wim Klever. Leiden: Brill, 1995. Vernière, Paul. Spinoza et la Pensée Française avant la Révolution. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1954. Zac, Sylvain. Spinoza et l’Interprétation de l’Écriture. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1965.

Chapter 14 I R I SH T R AV E L L E R S T O T H E D E A D S E A :   T H E I N T E R P L AY A N D I M PAC T O F E M P I R IC A L I N V E ST IG AT IO N A N D B I B L IC A L E X E G E SI S Thomas O’Loughlin

1. Introduction While the topic of the Bible and Ireland inevitably suggests the role that the Bible played within Ireland and how it influenced life and scholarship on the island, it was also a powerful factor drawing people out of Ireland and leading to them making a contribution to its study outside of the island. This essay explores such reciprocal influences by observing how the fascination with just one place, the Dead Sea, manifested itself in the early modern period in a variety of travellers connected with Ireland, dating from the mid-eighteenth century to the mid-nineteenth century. This interest in the physical nature of the Dead Sea, which might appear to belong more to geography than to biblical studies, attracted those whose inspiration was a mixture, in varying proportions, of textual investigation and terrestrial exploration. Today we may marvel at their physical courage and enterprise, and express curious amazement at their exegetical assumptions, but we should also note that we live in the aftermath of their contributions to ‘biblical geography’ and how we relate to the biblical texts.

2. The Scene in Literature and Landscape The Dead Sea, as a place, is now of little interest to biblical studies1; by contrast, it is a place of fascination to geographers, geologists and tourists.2 This fascination with 1.  An index to this decline in interest is the amount of attention devoted to it in two biblical dictionaries separated by ninety years. In J. Hastings’s Dictionary of the Bible (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1898) it received four columns (E. Hull, ‘Dead Sea’, 1:575–7) while in the Anchor Bible Dictionary (New  York:  Doubleday, 1992) it received seven lines (M. C. Astour, ‘Salt Sea’, ABD 5:907). 2. Still today there are some who travel to the Dead Sea region out of religious motivation, but this is a tiny minority of those who go on pilgrimage to the Holy Land. If a trip to

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the strange landscape of the region – its desert banks next to the fertile land around Jericho, its salty water with bizarre qualities, and the other minerals found there such as salt pillars and bitumen – is anything but new. For readers of the Bible, down the centuries, this curiosity reached back to the earliest times as recorded in Genesis. This area was explicitly identified as the Valley of Siddim (Gen 14:3) where the kings of Sodom, Gomorrah, Admah, Zeboiim, Bela (explicitly identified as Zoar) joined battle with the kings of Elam, Goiim, Shinar and Ellasar, and it was noted as full of bitumen pits (14:8–10). This great valley – imagined originally as a plain – of the Jordan had already been designated as the land chosen by Lot the nephew of Abraham (13:10–3). He went to live in Sodom, here described as one of the ‘cities of the plain’ and already famous as a place of ‘great sinners against the Lord’. He was still living among the Sodomites when two angels came to him, as the only righteous man in the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, to deliver him and his family from divine vengeance. When he reached Zoar, ‘the Lord rained . . . sulphur and fire . . . out of heaven’ and the whole region and its inhabitants were destroyed (19:24–25). Alas, his wife looked back and ‘and she became a pillar of salt’ (19:26). By a later time within the traditional biblical chronology, the Dead Sea,3 now viewed as a body of water filling what had once been the plain with its cities,4 was one of the boundaries in the division of the land (Num 34:3 and 12; and Deut 3:17), and it became one of the nodal locations in working out the tribal divisions in the Book of Joshua.5 In short, no reader of the Old Testament could avoid it: when one imagined the land, the Dead Sea loomed large; and while Jerusalem stood near the centre of the picture, this dismal place hovered out to the east of the city in the background.6 The Dead Sea region stands out in the biblical narrative in other ways also. While the geography of a region is very often the backdrop to an historical

the Dead Sea is on a pilgrim itinerary, and it often is, it is included as a curiosity rather than as a ‘shrine’ to biblical events. Such ‘pilgrims’ are more likely to be amazed at being able to float in this body of water sitting upright reading a newspaper than they are to reflect that its waters mark the punishment of ‘the cities of the plain’ in Genesis 19. 3.  This name – by which this body of water is invariably known by Europeans – is derived from the Vulgate translation of Josh 3:16. 4. The Septuagint’s Greek rendering of Gen 19:25 is the origin of what became a standard element in the story: that at the time of the punishment there was a great upheaval of the earth such that the plain became a valley and then this was filled in with water to become the Dead Sea. 5.  Josh 3:16; 12:3; 15:2 and 5; and 18:19. For an example of how the text of Joshua was read traditionally in order to produce a textually derived map, in which the Jordan-Dead Sea valley formed the spine of tribal divisions, see Thomas O’Loughlin, ‘Map and Text: A Mid Ninth-Century Map for the Book of Joshua’, Imago Mundi 57 (2005): 7–22 and plate 1. 6.  See J. R. Bartlett, Mapping Jordan through Two Millennia (London:  Maney, 2008), where one of the recurring themes is how the Dead Sea was understood, imagined and mapped.

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narrative, and in some cases essential to the plot of the biblical narrative – one could think of the wandering of the Israelites in the desert (Num 14:33–34) or the period of Jesus ‘in the wilderness’ (Mark 1:13) – in the case of the Dead Sea region the geography and the narrative seem to merge. The very shape of the land, and its deadly features, are there as a result of a mighty work of God in history. The geography was the result of an action like that which many still feared might await them:  brimstone had fallen there, its like was a continuing threat (Deut 29:22–24) and it was promised again (Isa 30:33; Ezek 38:22). The threat posed in that landscape, and marked in stone and water, was not simply some obscure deduction from ancient days and the Old Testament: its warning was repeated in the gospels,7 and its ‘moral’ stood before Christians in their preaching.8 This scene of obliterated cities was far more important than a conjunction of history with geography; its memory had become a by-word for sinful depravity and the danger of divine retribution. The Dead Sea differed in a second respect from other biblical sites of memory in that the memory did not depend solely on the Bible. Two authors whose information formed the commonplaces of Western geographical knowledge had left detailed descriptions which confirmed its position as one of nature’s mirabilia. Strabo (64/63 BCE–after 21 CE) having described the balsam growing around Jericho, moves on to ‘Lake Sirbonis’ (i.e. the Dead Sea) which is 1,000 stadia in circumference, and 200 in length lying parallel to the coast; it is very deep, and its strange waters give it a convex surface resembling a hill.9 No one entering it can sink, but rather floats on its waters. It is full of asphalt rising from its depths, its vapours tarnish even gold, and from it rises soot and smoke. He cites Posidonius’s opinion that there are fires in the depths of these waters (a contradiction within his physics), and recalls that its surrounding hills, near Masada (Moasada), show signs of being ‘fiery’ and covered in ashes. It is a place of boiling waters and foul odours, and ruins can be seen round about. He then notes that the local inhabitants say that once there were thirteen cities, with Sodom as the metropolis, which were destroyed by earthquakes, eruptions of fire and hot waters containing asphalt and sulphur. He also notes the opinion that the lake burst its bounds and swallowed some cities while others were left derelict. While we read Strabo as an instance of a biblical story affecting a pagan author and being rationalized, in another milieu this was a partial account confirming the fuller account known to those who possessed the book the Genesis. Pliny the Elder (23 CE–79 CE), writing in the aftermath of the First Revolt, likewise recorded the Sea’s wondrous details.10 It was a ‘dreadful (dirum) lake’ which

7. Matt 10:15; 11:23–24; Luke 10:12 and 17:29. 8. Rom 9:29; 2 Pet 2:6; Jude 7 and Rev 11:8. 9.  Strabo, Geographica 16, 42–45, ed. and trans. H. L. Jones, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1954), 292–7. 10.  Pliny the Elder, Naturalis historia 5.15, ed. and trans. H. Rackham, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1942), 272–7.

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the lovely Jordan sought to avoid having to enter.11 It waters are poisonous, full of asphalt, and a bull or a camel would float upon them. It is 100 miles in length, 25 miles wide at its broadest point12 and 6 at its narrowest. Around the lake are Callirrhoë (famous for its healing waters), En Gedi (he notes that it is now, like Jerusalem, in ruins), Masada and the settlement of the strange Essenes. Pliny does not present us with any history or any speculation on causes, but all he says fits with the other accounts. Here is a dystopic location which does not fit our normal view of nature and its lakes. These two ‘pagan’ accounts also fitted with the many references to the area found in Josephus,13 and this rare coalition of ‘sacred’ and ‘secular’ history gave authority and significance to the biblical account: there – in Syria – was a place where direct observation of nature could demonstrate the truth of the revealed account.

3. The Eighteenth-Century Agenda: Method and New Problems Curiosity about the biblical landscape was not new. As an adjunct to exegesis such interest could be traced to the period before Eusebius of Caesarea, had been endorsed by Augustine and for much of the middle ages a basic source book on the land had been the work of an Irishman: Adomnán’s De locis sanctis.14 Over the centuries many of the pilgrims to the Holy Places had combined devotion with

11.  On this personification of the Jordan, and on Pliny’s account in general, see J. E. Taylor, ‘On Pliny, the Essene Location and Kh. Qumran’, DSD 16 (2009): 1–21. 12.  The standard modern text of Pliny gives these numbers longitudine C [millia] p[assuum], latitidudine maxima LXXV [millia passuum] implet, minima VI [millia passuum]; however, few items so easily corrupt in a manuscript tradition as numerals and for this reason the traditional second measure – that the lake is XXV miles broad at this widest point – is used here. See the numbers given by Pococke below. 13. Josephus referred in passing to the Dead Sea both as a location in biblical history such as his description of Lot’s wife as a pillar of salt which he says he saw for himself (Antiquities 1.11.4) or more recent events (Jewish War 7.6.1–3), but his most important reference to it comes in the form of a geographic digression which describes the Dead Sea as natural wonder where many unique phenomena can be seen (Jewish War 4.8.4). This geographical account is not only based on Josephus’s experience and his collection of folklore, but draws on geographical sources available to him – hence the overlap with what is found in Tacitus and Strabo. Moreover, this account in Josephus became such a commonplace in the early modern period that it can be seen as forming the backbone of virtually every account of the Dead Sea until the later nineteenth century. For an example of how Josephus’s account in the Jewish War 4.8.4 still influences the history of the Dead Sea, see Barbara Kreiger, The Dead Sea: Myth, History, and Politics (Hanover, NH:  Brandeis University Press), 4, 21–23, 92 and 131. 14. See Thomas O’Loughlin, Adomnán and the Holy Places: The Perceptions of an Insular Monk on the Location of the Biblical Drama (London: T&T Clark, 2007).

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meticulous observation, and sought to provide a richer reading of the Bible from their experiences. But with the eighteenth century some new forces were at work among visitors to the region. For a start, there was now a clear distinction between the ‘traveller’ who sought out exotic places and the ‘pilgrim’ who sought out places of religious power. The former could be a Protestant for whom the Bible held a central place in religious understanding and also for whom many of the devotions of the pilgrim were ‘superstitions’ to be rejected. The traveller was not only a student of literature, embracing both the Bible and the classics, but a ‘natural philosopher’ in the widest sense, an historian and a geographer, and someone who placed a great deal of value on empirical observation – not simply looking carefully but verifying propositions by experience. One did not simply take the opinions of the ancients, much less the statements of the natives, regarding phenomena, but checked them out for oneself after the fashion of a detective gathering evidence. Two other differences between the pilgrim and the traveller in the Levant are significant. Whereas the pilgrims saw the religious motive as central to their journey and all other benefits as peripheral, the traveller was interested in a whole range of topics from botany to imperial routes, and included in this was his interest in religious knowledge which could be seen as a set of biblical footnotes. With regard to that religious knowledge there was also a major chasm between traveller and pilgrim. For the pilgrim the ‘truths of religion’ were part of a cosmos – accepted, linked to customs and traditions – and the journeys were celebrations of that cosmos. For the traveller the ‘truths of religion’ were a series of deductions from the Bible and as such were subject to verification. The book was to be elucidated by historical and geographical investigation; and insofar as it became the subject of such a quest, its content became the basis of a series of empirical questions. While the traveller might set out with the intention of adding detail and clarification to Bible’s narratives through historical enquiries, in the process the Bible became subject to the very process of verification. So did the facts fit the narrative? In which case, the travellers’ experiences became an apology not only for a particular story but the veracity (and, indeed, the inspiration) of the whole. And the converse also held: if the experiments did not accord with the text, then the whole biblical edifice was under assault. While travellers did not explicitly recognize the intrinsic connection between their epistemological assumptions/empirical methods and the larger issue of the credibility of the Bible, they seem to have sensed the need to find coherence between text and observation knowing that if that link were broken, then the text itself would be undermined.15 In this quest, which lasted until the late nineteenth century, people connected with Ireland played a small but significant role, and it is to them that I now turn.

15.  While we are familiar with this phenomenon in terms of the problems associated with the concept of ‘biblical archaeology’, it is worth noting that the epistemological problem is older and more deep-seated in the ways that the Bible has been approached over the past three centuries.

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4. Richard Pococke: Traveller and Bishop Although born in Southampton in 1704, Pococke is best remembered as the Church of Ireland bishop of three dioceses in succession: Ossory, Elphin and Meath.16 From the time of his arrival in Ireland in 1744 until his death in 1765 he combined his episcopal duties with restoring the fabric of churches, charitable works, making tours of the country with a keen eye to agriculture and industry and with encouraging ‘improvements’ which he believed would benefit the country both economically and morally. He founded a school to teach linen-weaving, was a member of the Dublin Society for Promoting Husbandry and Other Useful Arts in Ireland, of the Physico-Historical Society of Dublin and also of another group which anticipated the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland; he was a seventeenth-century man to his fingertips. Pococke is also remembered as a traveller in Europe, Egypt and the Middle East, and he reached the Dead Sea from Jerusalem in the early part of 1738.17 From the moment he arrives in Palestine his observations take on a quite distinct character: while he is always the geographer/ethnographer with a detailed historical knowledge, he now shows that he has far more than passing familiarity not only with the Bible, but also with ancient sources touching upon it, and with the theological implications of observing the scenes of the sacred narrative. In his preface he notes that ‘the places of [the Holy Land] we hear mentioned every day, and generally take pleasure in acquiring the least knowledge in relation to them’ (p. iii). Therefore, in addition to prose, he inserts maps and plans (e.g. of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the Dome on the Rock; a pilgrim would only have inserted one or other of these), views (e.g. the tombs in the Kidron Valley) and scale drawing: observation and measurement are the key to knowledge.18 Pococke set out for the Dead Sea from Jerusalem on 3 April not by the more usual road down to Jericho but by following the course of ‘the brook Kedron’ which

16.  See Elizabeth Baigent, ‘Pococke, Richard (1704–1765)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 2004) (cited 14 November 2014), online: http://www.oxforddnb.com/ view/article/22432. 17.  His travels were published in a multivolume work in 1745 with imprints from London, Reading and Dublin. The specific section of concern here is A Description of the East and Some Other Countries, Vol. 2, Pt. 1, with the subtitle ‘Observations on Palestine or the Holy Land, Syria, Mesopotamia, Cyprus and Candia’. The copy I have consulted bears a London imprint; the account of the trip to the Dead Sea is found in chapter 9: ‘On St. Saba and the Dead Sea’ (pp. 34–8). Subsequent quotations from Pococke are from these pages. 18.  The work of R. A. Butlin on another traveller, Edward Wells, forms a good background to Pococke also:  ‘Ideological Contexts and the Reconstruction of Biblical Landscapes in the Seventeenth and Early Eighteenth Centuries:  Dr Edward Wells and the Historical Geography of the Holy Land’, in Ideology and Landscape in Historical Perspective: Essays on the Meanings of Some Places in the Past, ed. A. H. R. Baker and G. Biger (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 31–62.

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took him via Mar Saba. He notes its famous monastic history, mentioning John Damascene among others as being among its monks, and tells us that it is an equal distance of three hours from Jerusalem, Bethlehem and the Dead Sea. He stayed at Mar Saba overnight and set off again, on horseback, the following morning. From the moment he glimpses the Sea we hear the echoes of his reading: it is in a steep valley that is difficult to access and makes ‘a most dreadful appearance’. He describes its boundaries not with reference to the eighteenth century but to the Bible: on the west is the tribe of Judah and with Moab on the east, information based on Josh 13:32 and 15:1–2. Then he seeks to reconcile three literary authorities on the Sea’s size: Pliny has 100 miles in length, 25 in width as its widest point and 6 at its narrowest, Josephus gives it 72.5 miles in length and 18.75 in width, Diodorus has 62.5 and 7.5 miles respectively, while ‘it is commonly held’ to be 60 miles in length and 10 in breath – and Pococke notes that these last figures ‘seems to be nearer the truth’. Observation clears away contradictions and brings new certainties, and there is not a hint of hesitation at challenging such authorities as Pliny and Josephus. However, he does point out that is has two bays such as ‘are mentioned by the ancient authors’. It was the subject of long speculation as to where the waters of the Sea exited, with the favourite theory being some secret underground passage. Pococke tackles this directly: It is very interesting that no outlet of this lake has been discovered; but it is supposed that there must be some subterranean passage into the Mediterranean. And it may be questioned whether so much of the water could evaporate as falls into it, not only from the river Jordan, but from the Arnon to the east, which divided the kingdom of Moab from that of the Ammorrhites, and from that part of the Holy Land from that of the tribe of Reuben. I did not observe any opening where the Arnon might fall into the lake, but suppose it was further to the south.

We take it for granted that this is the lowest point of open land on the earth’s surface  – as we shall see this was a discovery of the nineteenth century  – but this lack of an exit was a real question not only for Pococke but many before and after him. But while we note his empirical spirit, we should also note his acceptance of the Bible’s details as simple ‘facts’. He has not seen the Arnon, but he is happy that it debouches ‘further south’ on the basis of his reading of Josh 12–13 where, with a little sketching of relative positions, one can link the Arnon, Moab and the Amorites; and when these are linked with Joshua 18 one can locate the territory of Reuben. The rest of Pococke’s account is concerned with materials connected with the lake: bitumen, water, salt and its ‘air’. He begins with the accounts of the area originally containing bitumen pits and compares that of Strabo with that of Josephus. Taking the place as originally being the valley of Siddim as his starting point (he gives Gen 14:3 in a footnote), he declares with Josephus that it was the overthrow of Sodom that caused the lake and rejects Strabo’s explanation by earthquakes and eruptions of fire. He apparently accepts all the rest of Strabo: pitch coming

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from stones, burnt stones and ashes and the ruin of ancient habitations. Pococke’s greatest interest by far is, however, the nature of the water: he confirms both Strabo and Pliny as to the ability to keep a body from sinking by entering the lake and remaining in it for a quarter of an hour. ‘I found I could lay on it in any posture without motion, and without sinking; it bore me up in such a manner, that when I struck in swimming, my legs were above the water.’ He makes other observations also. He notes ‘common opinion’ that the Jordan flows through the lake without mixing with it, and he thinks this possible as he saw different colours of water. But while all agree that the lake is salty, he still thinks it necessary to taste it and observes its bitterness with a taste of salt and alum. He tells us he filled a bottle and had the water analysed – the new spirit of natural science in the period – but that this showed ‘but salt, and it may be a very little allum [sic]’. Another common opinion about the water was that it would burn up any body, be that the body of a human or the body of a boat, that went across it; and he sees this belief as the explanation for why there were no boats in use on the lake. This is presented as an Arab legend because its difference from ordinary water is no more than salt left behind after evaporation. In this context, he declares that ‘a corruption has crept [Strabo’s] text’ when he calls it ‘Sirbonis’ and gives it impossible dimensions; but he notes that Strabo mentions the overthrow of Sodom along with other cities. He also knows the story that no fish could live in the lake and while he does not venture an opinion, he offers a potential solution to the question:  fill a vase with its water and see what effect it would have on them. Pococke’s sense of the new ‘scientific method’ is keener than his actual practice. Turning to the question of salt, one of his observations concerns the pillar of salt that was once Lot’s wife – naturally he accepts the story as factual – but adds that ‘the Jews now say [it . . .] is much further south’ than the point of the shore which he reached. Moreover, ‘they say the word Nasib, which we translate as pillar, properly means a heap and that they esteem the salt of this heap unwholesome’ but of this ‘everyone may judge . . . as he thinks fit’. In the space of a paragraph we have textual and linguistic enquiries, combined with geography and consultation of traditional opinions, but certainty, the very object of such quests, seems to elude him and he has the honesty to say so. As to the air, Pococke notes the opinion that it would suffocate any bird which attempted to overfly it, this – and the opinion one could not cross the lake in a boat were part of the lore of it being ‘the sea of death’ – does admit of a certain answer: this certainly is not true at all times, if at any season; and possibly this notion may have its rise, on its having been observed, that at some time birds flying near it might have dropped into the lake. The monks are so strongly possessed of the notion of the bad air, that they told me several persons had been much disordered, and some had even died by going to the Dead Sea.

Pococke sees such fears as but popular falsehoods, and happily employs a rationalist understanding of the belief – generalization of causality from incomplete evidence – that others in the eighteenth century were using as an explanation of the

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origins of biblical miracles. Pococke, by contrast, implicitly invokes a distinction between the statements in sacred writ and the opinions of local monks. His last comment on the Dead Sea is worth quoting: ‘But when I was seized two days after with an extraordinary disorder in my stomach, attended with a very great giddiness of the head, of which I had frequent returns, and did not perfectly recover in less than three weeks, the monks would persuade me, that my indisposition was occasioned by my going into the Dead Sea.’ Pococke sees his sickness with his visit as simply a coincidence; he was not to know that there was a good scientific basis for the fear of its water and that his illness may well have been the result of drinking some of it in order to analyse it by taste and accidentally swallowing some more while floating on it. The folk belief contained a warning that would be lost on the next Irish link with the lake.

5. Christopher Costigan: ‘The Unfortunate’ Pococke’s book can be seen as one of the first of a series of surveys that combined mineralogy with history, while at the same time uncovering the land of the Bible. It became widely cited and provoked more analysis of the Dead Sea water as with the passing of time chemical processes increased in sophistication. But even in essays on its chemistry, there is still, at the time, reference to both the classical authors and the Scriptures.19 Interest grew and each year saw more travellers arriving in Syria, and a more systematic, academic approach gradually began to replace the more quixotic methods of Pococke’s time. But the visit of Christopher Costigan goes directly against this grain.20 Christopher Costigan was born on Thomas Street on 14 April 1810 and baptized in St Catherine’s Church, Meath Street, on 12 May. From those records we know that he was the third son of Sylvester and Catherine Costigan (née Fitzsimons), and from his gravestone we learn that his father (who had a distillery in Thomas St) died while he was a child, but left provision for him to be sent to school with the Jesuits in Clongowes Wood College from 1819 to 1826. Of what Christopher did after leaving Clongowes we have not the slightest idea. Older books mention that he may have gone to St Patrick’s College, Maynooth, but there is no record of this, and the idea seems to have begun with a misreading of his tombstone (now in the Franciscan Museum in Jerusalem) in 1911. The next mention we have of him is as a 25-year-old who had made his way to the Middle East with the intention of exploring the Dead Sea.

19.  See Alexander Marcet, ‘An Analysis of the Waters of the Dead Sea and the River Jordan’, Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London 97 (1807): 296–314. 20. On Costigan, see Thomas O’Loughlin, ‘ “The Unfortunate Costigan”, First Surveyor of the Dead Sea’, History Ireland 19 (2011): 24–6; and Haim Goren, Dead Sea Level: Science, Exploration and Imperial Interests in the Near East (London:  Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 150–7.

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Nineteenth-century references invariably refer to him as ‘the unfortunate Costigan’ as his two-month adventure was beset with difficulties from the outset. In August 1835 he was in Beirut where he bought a boat for the exploration, and hired a Maltese sailor as his sole crew. Already, we see the blunders of the amateur: August is the wrong time of year for the Dead Sea when it is at its hottest. Why buy the boat in Beirut when it would have to be moved by sea to Acre and then a very long way overland? Waiting until he was in the region to decide about the crew – and then hiring just one man – shows how ill-prepared he was, and there is no evidence that he had given any real thought to logistics nor had any training in either seamanship or surveying. However, in the sailor he did hire, he struck lucky for he remained with him in difficulties and then later told Costigan’s story; without him, Costigan would have disappeared without a trace. Costigan then set out, via Arce, for the Dead Sea, and imagined he would be able to row down the Jordan at the time of year when the water is lowest. When that failed the two travellers set out for Jerusalem overland, and were then confronted by bandits. Costigan tried to draw his sword, but it was rusted and the hilt broke off in his hand! At least for once he was fortunate: the bandits cleared off and the two ‘explorers’ continued onwards. Eventually, on 26 August, he was ready with his boat and crewman to start out on the Dead Sea. Although Costigan did not keep a journal, the sailor reported that he began criss-crossing the lake taking soundings, and that night they camped on its eastern shore. The next day they travelled at least 16 km south to the mouth of River Arnon and spent the night anchored offshore north of the El-Lisân peninsula. The next day, 28 August, he landed on the point of land that would later bear his name. On 29 August, they rowed into the southern part of the lake and Costigan examined ruins at En Boqeq.21 This last item is important for understanding Costigan’s motivation. En Boqeq is near where it was thought the biblical city of Zoar was located, and that was the ‘nearby’ city to which Lot fled (Gen 19:20–22). Costigan’s interest in those ruins indicates that he was not only interested in geography, but in the biblical story for he, like other biblically inspired travellers in the area, thought these ruins were those of Sodom or Gomorrah.22 21.  This place-name (located at 31°13’N 35° 22’E) is found with a variety of spellings (e.g. ‘Ein Bokek’); the form adopted here is that of the Gazetteer of Israel (Washington, DC: Defense Mapping Agency, 1983), 41. 22. The belief that there were traces of the divinely destroyed cities at the southern end of the Dead Sea can be found as early as Josephus who wrote: ‘it is said that, owing to the impiety of its inhabitants, [the land of Sodom] was consumed by thunderbolts; and in fact vestiges of the divine fire and faint traces of the five cities are still visible’ (Jewish War 4.8.4 [trans. H. St. J. Thackeray, Loeb Classical Library, p. 299, n. 487]); and so ruins in that area were linked to Sodom and Gomorrah until the later nineteenth century. G. Adam Smith in The Historical Geography of the Holy Land (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1894), 505, was one of the first to state that ‘[t]hough the glare of this catastrophe burns still, the ruins it left have entirely disappeared, and there remains in the valley almost no trace of the names it has torn and scattered to infamy across the world’.

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The following day the Dead Sea lived up to its reputation:  Costigan became ill and could row no further, but somehow they managed to reach the northern shore, and camped there on 1 September. The following day he was brought to Jericho and was growing weaker. Costigan then sent a message to Jerusalem with his sailor begging any European he could find to come and help him. The message reached an Anglican missionary stationed there, the Revd John Nicolayson, who immediately, at 9 pm, set out along the dangerous road to Jericho to help him. Costigan was now dying, but whatever hope he had lay in being brought to Jerusalem and the intrepid Nicolayson got him there by 8 am on 5 September, lodged him in the Franciscan Hospice and got him a physician. However, it was in vain: Costigan developed a fever, received the last rites from the Franciscans, died early on the morning of 7 September and was buried later that day. He was 25 years and 5 months old. John Nicolayson contacted Costigan’s mother in Dublin, and, most importantly, sought out as much information as he could find about his exploration, and published it. Nicolayson’s courage and generosity deeply affected Costigan’s mother  – who was struck by the parallels between the help he offered her son, going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and the gospel parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:30–35) – and she thanked him in her son’s epitaph, referring to him as ‘a certain good Samaritan’. What were Costigan’s motives in his journey? Was he interested in finding Sodom or a strange geographical phenomenon? I  believe that the question is a foolish one because our sharp distinctions between geography and biblical archaeology simply did not exist, and the same combination of interests can be found in the work of Edward Robinson,23 Claude Conder and the survey under the auspices of the Palestine Exploration Fund,24 or in the explicitly exegetical handbook of George Adam Smith.25 For all, there was an implicit belief that the land and the book would, somehow, illuminate one another. Likewise, one can dismiss Costigan as an amateur, but given the beliefs of the time about the dangers of the lake, dangers shared by even by some British naval officers of the period,26 we should note his willingness to proceed. He clearly was not aware of the real

23. Edward Robinson, Physical Geography of the Holy Land (London: J. Murray, 1865). 24. Claude Reignier Conder, Tent Work in Palestine (2 vols; London: Bentley, 1878); and his Palestine, 2nd ed. (London: George Philip, 1891). 25.  George Adam Smith [later G. Adam Smith], The Historical Geography of the Holy Land (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1894); and cf. R. A. Butlin, ‘George Adam Smith and the Historical Geography of the Holy Land: Contents, Contexts and Connections’, Journal of Historical Geography 14 (1988): 381–404. 26. The Royal Navy officers Irby and Mangles went around the Dead Sea in 1816 but did not travel on it (see C. L. Irby and J. Mangles, Travels in Egypt and Nubia, Syria, and the Holy Land Including a Journey around the Dead Sea, and through the Country East of the Jordan [London: T. White & Co., 1844]); and Lieut. Thomas Molyneaux R. N. (1822–47) who did sail on it believed, as he lay dying, that the lake had claimed another victim.

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chemical dangers of the water,27 but the popular reports were not going to deflect him from his investigative task.

6. George Henry Moore: The Level of the Sea Costigan died in September 1835 and thirty years later Robinson judged him harshly when he wrote the ‘Irish traveller’s . . . enterprise was wholly without fruit in respect to both the Jordan and the Dead Sea’.28 It seems most likely that the account of his misfortunes inspired another Irishman to make a detour to the lake which resulted in the most significant geographical observation since classical times: that it was beneath sea level.29 Moore (1810–70), from Co. Mayo, had travelled to Syria in 1836 where, although neither a professional scientist nor a historian, he noted various antiquities, transcribed inscriptions and showed a fascination with the landscape.30 By March of the following year he had journeyed through the Hauran, and, along with a fellow traveller William Beek, arrived on the shores of the Dead Sea. Unlike Costigan they had made careful preparations and brought their boat (also bought in Beirut) over the shorter land route from Jaffa, and their intention was to survey trigonometrically the lake’s coastline, produce a depth chart by taking soundings ‘and to procure collections of all that could be of use to science’.31 Despite their planning and preparations, they were not able to accomplish the task because halfway through the job ‘their guides and guards declaring they would not proceed’. The Dead Sea’s reputation may not have put off Moore and Beek, but its power to frighten the local population was as great as ever. But if they were not completely successful, they did accomplish much:

27. Goren (Dead Sea Level, 154) states that ‘his death was inevitable’. 28. Robinson, Physical Geography, 153–4. 29. For the link to Costigan, see Goren, Dead Sea Level, 157 and 161. Costigan’s tragic story captured the imagination to such an extent that Lynch knew the tale and hence named Point Costigan after him 1848 (this is the most northerly point of El Lisan peninsula, and prior to the drop in the sea’s level in the latter half of the twentieth century was on the water’s edge; its location is 31°21’N 35°29’E [Gazeteer of Jordan,  67], and it still appears on many Survey of Israel maps covering the eastern shore of the sea [e.g. 1:250,000 (1980) ‘Israel: Touring Map’]); see Thomas O’Loughlin, ‘Lynch, William (1806–65)’, in Encyclopedia of Geography, ed. B. L. Warf (Thousand Oaks, CA:  Sage, 2010), 1808–809. 30. See Goran, Dead Sea Level, 158–206 (with a detailed bibliography relating to Moore). The surviving volumes of his diary are in the National Library in Dublin. 31.  Cf. Goren, Dead Sea Level, 159, quoting the original published account of 1837:  [Anon], ‘On the Dead Sea and Some Positions in Syria’, Journal of the Royal Geographical Society of London 7 (1837): 456.

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The width of the sea has been established beyond a doubt; soundings have been taken showing great depth, in some parts upwards of 300 fathoms. The length of the sea is much less than is generally supposed. There appears also to be another remarkable feature in the level of the sea, as from several observations about the temperature of boiling water, it appears to be considerably lower than the ocean.

We see in this short report the old concern about the lake’s dimensions, but it is the final sentence that is of the greatest interest. Using a standard method, known to every traveller in the period  – measuring the boiling point of water with a thermometer, for determining altitude – they had discovered that it was below sea level. All the ancient searches and speculations for an outlet to the ocean, along with all the more recent searches for a canal route that would link the Mediterranean with either the Gulf of Akaba or Mesopotamia, now had their answer: it was a depression, an endorheic lake, and nothing could flow out of it. Here lay the explanation underlying the curiosity that had produced strange tales in relation to it for millennia. Despite the fact that the discovery was announced in the Journal of the Royal Geographical Society, and Moore and Beek were credited by Carl Ritter with the discovery,32 they did not get much credit for their work. In the same year that Moore and Beek sailed on the Dead Sea, so too did a German team led by Gotthilf Heinrich von Schubert, and a debate arose as to who was first33; and many standard reference works cited von Schubert as the discoverer of it being the lowest point on the earth’s surface.34 Moreover, the later surveys of Lynch and the PEF were so precise that earlier work was easily passed over,35 while Moore himself is now best known for other things, such as his interest in horse racing and politics, and from the remarkable literary output of his sons.36

7. Paradigms and Discovery Writing in the middle of the nineteenth century, Carl Ritter mentioned the following regarding the exploration of the Dead Sea: ‘Irishmen, Englishmen, and Americans have brought this interesting geographical field into view, and it is to

32.  Carl Ritter, Comparative Geography of Palestine and the Sinaitic Peninsula (New York: W.L. Gage, 1870), 127, n.1; this work by Ritter is still the best survey (pp. 124–50) of the various attempts to survey and understand the Dead Sea. 33. The debate is recounted in detail in Goren, Dead Sea Level, 223–9. 34. Hull’s article (‘Dead Sea’ in Dictionary of the Bible) stands behind almost all twentiethcentury comments on the Dead Sea in biblical studies and on p. 576 it credits von Schubert. 35. See Bartlett, Mapping Jordan, 117 and 121–3, for a summary. 36.  See Maurice G. Moore, An Irish Gentleman George Henry Moore:  His Travel, His Racing, His Politics (London:  T. Werner Laurie, 1913), and also his valuable sketch of his father: ‘George Henry Moore’, The Irish Monthly 45 (1917): 18–32.

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them that the world owes its thanks.’37 This chapter has looked at three of them,38 and tried to locate their endeavours in relation to valued knowledge of their day with its parallel and undifferentiated confidence in the Bible as a source of history on the one hand, and empirical observation and experiment on the other. While today we can discern a great variety of motives in their travels – geographical, anthropological and imperial as well as religious – they imagined themselves within an epistemologically simpler world, one where they would discover facts, and then assemble such discovered facts into structures which would be both absolute and comprehensive. The result would be an encyclopaedia and it would constitute both knowledge and truth. Our world is a far more complex place, and from within it we can see that there was an ironic and fatal flaw in their paradigm in relation to the study of the Bible. The more they worked to answer historical and geographical problems posed to them from the reading of the Bible, whose authority they believed their researches would vindicate, the more that the sacred text was found to be wanting. By placing all knowledge on a single level, their starting point, the Bible, was exposed as belonging to an earlier ‘age of ignorance’ and its claim to truth appeared to be a demonstrably false claim. What separates modern biblical studies from that of those eighteenth- and nineteenth-century explorers is that we assume as our starting point that such a view of knowledge is faulty:  it is the epistemic base of most positions we label as pre-critical. So while the direct legacy of Pococke, Costigan and Moore lies in what they contributed to geography and geology, their indirect legacy lies in that they were part of the driving force that made readers of the Bible more sensitive to the nature of ancient texts, the difficulties of reading the ‘Bible’ and the complexity of the hermeneutical situation of believers who wish to use inherited writings in cultures where knowledge and empirical science are customarily perceived as identical.

Bibliography Anon. ‘On the Dead Sea and Some Positions in Syria’. Journal of the Royal Geographical Society of London 7 (1837): 456. Astour, M. C. ‘Salt Sea’. Page 907 in volume 5 of Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by David Noel Freedman. New York: Doubleday, 1992. Baigent, Elizabeth. ‘Pococke, Richard (1704–1765)’. Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. Accessed 14 November 2014. Online: http://www.oxforddnb.com/ view/article/22432. Bartlett, J. R. Mapping Jordan through Two Millennia. London: Maney, 2008.

37. Ritter, Comparative Geography, 125. 38. For a survey of Irish contacts with the region, see C. Costello, ‘Nineteenth-Century Irish Explorers in the Levant’, Irish Geography 7 (1974):  88–98. In particular, I  have not mentioned Josias Leslie Porter (1823–89) as his geographical writings do not touch directly on the Dead Sea despite being of significance for the Jordan valley.

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Butlin, R. A. ‘George Adam Smith and the Historical Geography of the Holy Land: Contents, Contexts and Connections’. Journal of Historical Geography 14 (1988): 381–404. Butlin, R. A. ‘Ideological Contexts and the Reconstruction of Biblical Landscapes in the Seventeenth and Early Eighteenth Centuries: Dr Edward Wells and the Historical Geography of the Holy Land’. Pages 31–62 in Ideology and Landscape in Historical Perspective: Essays on the Meanings of Some Places in the Past. Edited by A. H. R. Baker and G. Biger. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992. Conder, C. R. Palestine. 2nd ed. London: George Philip, 1891. Conder, C. R. Tent Work in Palestine. 2 vols. London: Bentley, 1878. Costello, C. ‘Nineteenth-Century Irish Explorers in the Levant’. Irish Geography 7 (1974): 88–98. Goren, H. Dead Sea Level: Science, Exploration and Imperial Interests in the Near East. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011. Hull, E. ‘Dead Sea’. Pages 575–7 in volume 1 of Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by J. Hastings. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1898. Irby, C. L., and J. Mangles. Travels in Egypt and Nubia, Syria, and the Holy Land Including a Journey around the Dead Sea, and through the Country East of the Jordan. London: T. White & Co., 1844. Marcet, A. ‘An Analysis of the Waters of the Dead Sea and the River Jordan’. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London 97 (1807): 296–314. Moore, M. G. ‘George Henry Moore’. The Irish Monthly 45 (1917): 18–32. Moore, M. G. An Irish Gentleman George Henry Moore: His Travel, His Racing, His Politics. London: T. Werner Laurie, 1913. O’Loughlin, T. Adomnán and the Holy Places: The Perceptions of an Insular Monk on the Location of the Biblical Drama. London: T&T Clark, 2007. O’Loughlin, T. ‘Lynch, William (1806–65)’. Pages 1808–809 in Encyclopedia of Geography. Edited by B. L. Warf. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2010. O’Loughlin, T. ‘Map and Text: A Mid Ninth-Century Map for the Book of Joshua’. Imago Mundi 57 (2005): 7–22. O’Loughlin, T. ‘ “The Unfortunate Costigan”, First Surveyor of the Dead Sea’. History Ireland 19 (2011): 24–6. Pliny the Elder. Naturalis historia. Ed. and trans. H. Rackham. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1942. Pococke, R. A Description of the East and Some Other Countries. Vol. 2:1. London: W. Bowyer, 1743. Ritter, C. Comparative Geography of Palestine and the Sinaitic Peninsula. New York: W.L. Gage, 1870. Robinson, E. Physical Geography of the Holy Land. London: J. Murray, 1865. Smith, G. A. The Historical Geography of the Holy Land. London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1894. Strabo. Geographica. Ed. and trans. H. L. Jones. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1954. Taylor, J. E. ‘On Pliny, the Essene Location and Kh. Qumran’. DSD 16 (2009): 1–21.

Chapter 15 T H E C H E ST E R B E AT T Y B I B L IC A L C O L L E C T IO N : A T R E A SU RY O F E A R LY C H R I S T IA N M A N U S C R I P T S I N A N I R I SH L I B R A RY David Hutchinson Edgar

1. Introduction While the collection of biblical manuscripts in the Chester Beatty Library, Dublin, ranks among one of the most important collections of its kind in the world, its presence in Ireland is largely coincidental, as the manuscripts themselves have no intrinsic Irish connection, apart from the vagaries of twentieth-century treasure collecting. Notwithstanding such historical accidence in the location of the manuscripts in Ireland, they now form a highly valued part of Ireland’s cultural heritage. In a unique way, they represent the interface between Ireland and the world beyond, and between the ancient and the modern worlds, both fraught in their own ways with social change, violence, uncertainty, fears and hopes, framing the context in which the manuscripts were copied in Roman Egypt, and in which they were moved to Ireland in the aftermath of World War II.

2. Chester Beatty and His Collection Born in New York in 1875, Chester Beatty became one of the great industrialists, philanthropists and collectors of the twentieth century. He graduated from Columbia University as a mining engineer, and after working for a short time as a mining labourer, established his own consultancy in gold-rich Colorado. He was already a millionaire when he returned to New York at the age of thirty. A collector of various items since his childhood, he developed a strong interest in the prestigious collectables of the time, including illuminated manuscripts.1 The purchase of a residence in London in 1912 facilitated his international business interests, and

1. Charles Horton, Alfred Chester Beatty: From Miner to Bibliophile (Dublin: Townhouse, 2003), 7–16, 33–4, provides an outline of Beatty’s early activities as a collector.

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he first visited Egypt the following year. The dry climate suited his health, and he continued to winter there for many years. Beatty employed a team of experts from a range of museums, libraries and universities to advise him on building a high-quality collection, and worked particularly closely with the British Museum, helping to finance a number of their excavations. He had purchased a number of papyri in Egypt through the 1920s, and in Cairo in 1929 was offered a substantial cache of papyrus codices, which, on advice from his contacts in the British Museum, he acquired.2 The forthcoming publication of the twelve Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri was announced in The Times in November 1931; it is hard to imagine the sensation that this aroused at the time. After playing an active role in the British war effort during 1939–45, Beatty became increasingly disillusioned with life under the post-war Labour government, and in 1950 moved to Ireland, where his son already owned property. He negotiated favourable financial conditions for his residency with the Costello government, and purchased a house on Ailesbury Road in Ballsbridge, a south Dublin suburb, as well as a country residence, Clonmannon House in Co. Wicklow, and a site for his library on Shrewsbury Road, near his home.3 He became Ireland’s first honorary citizen in 1957, and ensured that his collections would remain intact by bequeathing them to the Irish people after his death in 1968.

3. The Chester Beatty Biblical Manuscripts The Greek biblical papyri acquired by Beatty in the late 1920s remain the bestknown and most significant biblical manuscripts in the collection, largely due to the combined impact of their early, pre-Constantinian date and the greater extent of text that survives in these manuscripts compared with most other Greek manuscripts of a similar date.4 Since that initial acquisition, further purchases and the identification of previously unknown fragmentary texts has further increased the number of Beatty Greek biblical manuscripts. The designation ‘biblical’ continues to include early extra-canonical writings, as well as canonical texts, following the precedent established by counting the manuscript5 containing the texts of the Epistle of Enoch and the Paschal Homily of Melito of Sardis as Chester Beatty Biblical Papyrus XII.

2. See Horton, Chester Beatty, 35–8, on the acquisition of the biblical papyri. 3.  On Beatty’s move to Ireland, see Brian P. Kennedy, Alfred Chester Beatty and Ireland 1950–1968: A Study in Cultural Politics (Dún Laoghaire: Glendale, 1988), 41–64. 4.  On the general significance of early papyri (second and third century), see Larry Hurtado, ‘The Early New Testament Papyri: A Survey of Their Significance’, in Papyrologie und Exegese:  Die Auslegung des Neuen Testaments im Licht der Papyri, ed. Jens Herzer (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 1–18. 5. See below, Section 3.3.

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3.1 Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri I–III: New Testament 3.1.1 Chester Beatty Biblical Papyrus I: Gospels and Acts Arguably the most famous of the Beatty manuscripts, this codex (P45) originally extended to approximately 224 pages (56 sheets of papyrus),6 of which portions of 62 pages remain.7 It was dated to the third century (probably the first half of that century) by Frederic Kenyon in his introduction to the manuscript, and thus predated the great vellum codices Vaticanus and Sinaiticus by roughly a century. At the time of publication, the manuscript provided the first tangible evidence that the four canonical gospels had been collected and copied together in one volume as early as the third century, apparently copied in the so-called old Western order, Matthew, John, Luke, Mark – also found in the Freer Gospels (W) and Codex Bezae (D), as well as some Latin manuscripts. The preservation of multiple folios, particularly of Luke, Mark and Acts, in reasonable, albeit fragmentary, condition, yielded a far greater extent of text from this date than was available from previously known papyri, and opened a new chapter in New Testament textual scholarship, in which substantial papyrus texts made an authoritative contribution to the establishment of critical editions. The manuscript was copied in a small, neat and fluent hand,8 clearly the work of a competent professional scribe, and attests a number of idiosyncrasies – such as the occasional transposition or dropping of words – due to what Barbara Aland

6.  T. C. Skeat, ‘A Codicological Analysis of the Chester Beatty Papyrus Codex of the Gospels and Acts (P45)’, Hermathena 155 (1993): 27–43, 41. 7.  See Frederic G. Kenyon, The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri:  Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts on Papyrus of the Greek Bible. Fasciculus II:  The Gospels and Acts (London:  Emery Walker, 1933). Several fragments of the manuscript, containing Matt 25:41–26:39, are housed at the Austrian National Library in Vienna; see H. Gerstinger, ‘Ein Fragment des Chester Beatty-Evangelienkodex in der Papyrussammlung der Nationalbibliothek in Wien’, Aegyptus 13 (1933):  68–9; G. Zuntz, ‘Reconstruction of One Leaf of the Chester Beatty Papyrus of the Gospels and Acts (P45)’, Chronique d’Égypte 26 (1951):  191–211; Thomas Kraus, ‘Ad Fontes:  Gewinn durch die Konsultation von Originalhandschriften am Beispiel von P.Vindob.G 31974’, Biblica 82 (2001):  1–16, translated, with addenda, as ‘Ad Fontes: The Benefit of the Consultation of Original Manuscripts as for instance P.  Vindob.G 31974’, in Thomas J. Kraus, Ad Fontes:  Original Manuscripts and Their significance for Studying Early Christianity. Selected Essays (Leiden:  Brill, 2007), 25–45. Further fragments of the Beatty manuscript, containing parts of John 4:51–5:2, 21–25, were published by T. C. Skeat and B. C. McGing, ‘Notes on Chester Beatty Biblical Papyrus I (Gospels and Acts)’, Hermathena 150 (1991): 21–5. 8.  Hurtado notes that the smallness and careful spacing of the letters may be an inevitable consequence of the attempt to fit a very large amount of text into one volume, suggesting that P45 may have represented the maximum capacity for a codex at the time. Larry W. Hurtado, The Earliest Christian Artifacts:  Manuscripts and Christian Origins (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), 176.

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has called ‘intelligent and liberal’ copying: ‘The nature and method of copying in P45 is both intelligent and liberal: intelligent because the sense of the exemplar is quickly grasped and in essence precisely reproduced; and liberal, because involved expressions and repetitious words are simplified or dropped.’9 In this respect, it is important to recognize the integrity of each manuscript as a coherent version of the text it contains, used meaningfully in worship by early Christians, and not simply the source of variant readings to be fed into a modern critical edition.10 3.1.2 Chester Beatty Biblical Papyrus II:  Epistles This manuscript (P46) contains the text of most of the letters attributed to Paul, as well as the Epistle to the Hebrews (obviously attributed to Paul by the tradents of the texts in P46), arranged in decreasing order of length.11 Out of an original 208 pages (52 sheets of papyrus), portions of 172 pages remain; 56 leaves are in the Beatty collection, while 30 are in the University of Michigan. This manuscript was dated by Kenyon to the beginning of the third century, and is remarkably well preserved, with only about three to four lines missing from many pages. Given its early date and good state of preservation, it is ‘our earliest unambiguous instance of a collection of Pauline epistles’.12

9.  Barbara Aland, ‘The Significance of the Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri in Early Church History’, in The Earliest Gospels:  The Origins and Transmission of the Earliest Christian Gospels – The Contribution of the Chester Beatty Gospel Codex, ed. Charles Horton (London: T&T Clark International, 2004), 108–21. See also J. K. Elliott, ‘Singular Readings in the Gospel Text of P45’, in The Earliest Gospels, 122–31; E. C. Colwell, ‘Method in Evaluating Scribal Habits: A Study of P45, P66 and P75’, in Studies in Methodology in Textual Criticism of the New Testament (Leiden: Brill, 1969), 106–24; James R. Royse, Scribal Habits in the Early Greek New Testament Papyri (Leiden:  Brill, 2008), 103–98; and Larry W. Hurtado, ‘P45 as an Early Christian Artefact: What it Reflects about Early Christianity’, Teologisk Tidsskrift 4 (2016): 291–307. 10. The study of early Christian manuscripts as evidence in relation to issues such as the social location of the communities that used them has been greatly overshadowed by their use as witnesses to the biblical text; on the potential of exploring manuscripts as historical artefacts in themselves, yielding much broader social information than simply their textual testimony, see Hurtado, Artifacts, 1–14. 11.  See Frederic G. Kenyon, The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri: Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts on Papyrus of the Greek Bible; Fasciculus III:  Pauline Epistles and Revelation (London:  Emery Walker, 1934), v–x, 1–15, which published the ten leaves initially acquired by Beatty, and Fasciculus III Supplement: Pauline Epistles (London: Emery Walker, 1936), which provided the annotated text of all the Beatty and Michigan leaves, following Beatty’s acquisition of a further forty-six leaves in 1935. The Michigan folios were originally published by H. A. Sanders, A Third-Century Papyrus Codex of the Epistles of Paul (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1935). 12. Hurtado, Artifacts, 38.

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The beginning of Romans (up to 5:16) and the text of the epistles beyond 1 Thess 5:28 are missing from the manuscript. Whether it originally contained the pastoral epistles (and Philemon) is uncertain; as it is formed from a single, very large quire of papyrus sheets, it is possible to calculate the number missing at the start, and to postulate a matching number missing from the end. The space at the end would have allowed for 2 Thessalonians, but would not have had enough room for the text of the letters to Timothy and Titus, unless further pages were affixed.13 By contrast with the ‘intelligent’ copying style attributed by Aland to the scribe of P45, this manuscript contains a relatively large number of simple errors, most of which are easily identifiable as such, and relatively few suggestions that the scribe actively engaged in interpretation in the course of copying. Nevertheless, despite the errors, it is generally agreed that the overall quality of the text is of a high standard, and it has contributed significantly to critical textual scholarship. The manuscript was copied in a competent professional hand, described by Aland as exceeding other early codices in terms of its calligraphic quality.14 3.1.3 Chester Beatty Biblical Papyrus III:  Revelation The presence of a copy of the book of Revelation (P47) among the early Christian manuscripts acquired by Beatty meant that this corpus contained almost the entire text of what became established as the canonical New Testament.15 Like the manuscripts of the gospels and Pauline epistles, this manuscript was significantly older than any extant text of Revelation at the time of its publication, and had a similar impact: ‘The effect of P47 on our appreciation of the text of Revelation was analogous to that of P45 on the gospels.’16 The fact that Revelation is lacking in Codex Vaticanus makes the availability of a very early textual witness in CBBP III, dated by Kenyon to the third century, all the more significant.

13.  See the summary discussion in D. C. Parker, An Introduction to the New Testament Manuscripts and Their Texts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 252–4. 14.  B. Aland, ‘Sind Schreiber früher neutestamentlicher Handschriften Interpreten des Textes?’ in Transmission and Reception: New Testament Text-Critical and Exegetical Studies, ed. J. W. Childers and D. C. Parker (Piscataway :  Gorgias, 2006), 114–22 (‘dieser Schreiber [ist] offensichtlich mehr auf die kalligraphische Schönheit seiner Abschrift konzentriert – sie ist beträchtlich – als auf die Präzision des Geschriebenen. Was die Kalligraphie anlangt, so überragt P46 alle anderen frühen Codices aus dem Fayyum’ [121]). On the scribal character of the manuscript, see, in particular, Royse, Scribal Habits, 199–358. 15. See Kenyon, Pauline Epistles and Revelation, xi–xiii, 17–35. 16.  D. C. Parker, Manuscripts, Texts, Theology: Collected Papers 1977–2007 (Berlin:  de Gruyter, 2009), 47 (originally published as ‘The Majuscule Manuscripts of the New Testament’, in The Text of the New Testament in Contemporary Research:  Essays on the Status Quaestionis, F. S. Bruce and M. Metzger, ed. B. D. Ehrman and M. H. Holmes [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995], 22–42). See also Josef Schmid, ‘Der Apokalypse-Text des Chester Beatty Papyrus P47’, Byzantinisch-neugriechische Jahrbücher 11 (1934–35): 81–108.

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The beginning and end of the text are lost, with the surviving portion running from Rev 9:10 to 17:2. Ten leaves (twenty pages) out of an estimated original extent of sixty-four pages remain. The handwriting is noticeably less polished than that of either P45 or P46, and there are a number of idiosyncratic spellings,17 but on the whole the quality of the text is good. 3.2 Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri IV–XI: Septuagint The discovery of three substantial third-century manuscripts of New Testament books would have been a find of magnificent proportions, but the fact that Beatty’s acquisition contained a further eight (originally thought to be nine) manuscripts of the Septuagint, the Greek edition of the Hebrew scriptures, made it all the more stunning. At the time, CBBP VI (Numbers and Deuteronomy) was believed to be the oldest surviving biblical text.18 Since these manuscripts contain clearly Christian nomina sacra, including notably ιηϛ or ιϛ for ιησουϛ with reference to Joshua, it seems clear that they were produced in a Christian context. As manuscripts of the Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures which were much older than the previously available textual witnesses, such as the great vellum codices of the fourth and fifth centuries, Sinaiticus, Vaticanus and Alexandrinus, they had the same profound impact on the study of the Septuagint text as CBBP I–III had in relation to the New Testament. Their impact on scholarship in general, and on public consciousness, was probably lessened by the fact that they represented the Greek translation, rather than the original Hebrew, particularly after the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls. 3.2.1 Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri IV–VI: The Law Two manuscripts of Genesis (CBBP IV and V; P961 and P962) represent the only duplicate texts among the biblical papyri, dated by Kenyon to the early fourth century and the second half of the third century respectively.19 CBBP IV contains portions of the text of Gen 9:1–44:22 written on 51 leaves (102 pages). Thirty-one leaves of CBBP V survive,

17. On the scribal character of this manuscript, see Royse, Scribal Habits, 359–98. 18.  Frederic G. Kenyon, The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri:  Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts on Papyrus of the Greek Bible; Fasciculus V: Numbers and Deuteronomy (London: Emery Walker, 1935), ix. 19. A new edition of the Genesis manuscripts was published by Albert Pietersma, Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri IV & V: A New Edition with Text-Critical Analysis (Toronto: Hakkert, 1977), incorporating corrections to Kenyon’s original edition (Frederic G. Kenyon, The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri:  Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts on Papyrus of the Greek Bible; Fasciculus IV:  Genesis [London:  Emery Walker, 1934]) and adding the text of a number of newly identified fragments of CBBP V.  A  further small portion of this manuscript was published in Albert Pietersma, ‘New Greek Fragments of Biblical Manuscripts in the Chester Beatty Library’, Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists 24 (1987): 37–61.

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representing portions of the text from Gen 8:13–46:33. As both manuscripts are damaged, the overlaps in the text they preserve are not as great as might initially have been expected, but the discovery of two new witnesses to the Genesis text was of particular importance as Genesis has largely been lost from the two fourthcentury parchment codices Sinaiticus and Vaticanus.20 Although one is not a copy of the other, their textual variants bear more similarity to each other than to any other ancient manuscript of Genesis, and they clearly stand in a close relationship, possibly even being copies of the same exemplar. Notwithstanding this similarity, the two manuscripts exhibit striking differences. CBBP V (P962) is written using cursive script, typically reserved for mundane documents rather than for literary texts, while CBBP IV (P961) is in a carefully formed uncial script, with two columns per page. Further, CBBP IV shows evidence of being the work of a scribe who was engaging in ‘intelligent’ copying (similar to that of scribe of CBBP I), and who was conscious of the quality of the text under production (e.g. on ten occasions CBBP IV uses the more correct -ον ending in the second aorist, rather than -αν in the equivalent text of CBBP V). Close attention to slight variations in spacing in CBBP IV suggests that the scribe was copying in sense units, rather than by lines or letters. The layout in two neat columns may represent an attempt to produce a quality text, given that most literary works at this time were still copied on scrolls, and therefore in columns. The scribe of CBBP V shows scant awareness of either literary or aesthetic quality. I consider it entirely possible that the later manuscript was copied in a conscious effort to produce a ‘better’ Genesis manuscript for the early Christian community who possessed these texts than that represented by CBBP V. That the two-column layout of CBBP VI (P963), containing Numbers and Deuteronomy, may reflect ‘some concern for aesthetic quality and readability’ has been noted previously.21 This is considered the oldest of the Chester Beatty biblical papyri, dated by Kenyon to the mid-second century.22 Out of a probable extent of 108 leaves, portions of 52 have survived23; while all the pages have some degree of damage, this is relatively small in the case of most of them, and the amount of

20.  Their text-critical importance was elaborated in detail by A. Allgeier, Die Chester Beatty Papyri zum Pentateuch (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1938). 21. Hurtado, Artifacts, 168. 22.  Kenyon, Numbers and Deuteronomy, ix–x. C. H. Roberts, Manuscripts, Society and Belief in Early Christian Egypt (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 1979), 78–81, suggests a slightly later date, possibly early third century. Albert Pietersma, ‘F. G. Kenyon’s Text of Papyrus 963’, Vetus Testamentum 24 (1974):  113–18, contains a list of emendations to the text as published by Kenyon, and Pietersma, ‘New Greek Fragments’, 38–40, provides the text of three further fragments of this manuscript. 23.  Kenyon published fifty leaves in his edition. My own research on this manuscript has identified portions of a further two folios (ff. 83 and 84, as well as more fragments from f. 85, published by Kenyon) among the fragments not identified by Kenyon, containing the text of parts of Deuteronomy 17–19, which I hope to publish shortly.

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surviving text is very substantial for a manuscript of such early date. Portions of Numbers 5–8, 13 and 25–36 remain, as do portions of Deuteronomy 1–7, 9–12, 17–19 and 27–34. On the whole, the manuscript has been copied carefully, although there are several instances where lines have been omitted and re-inserted at the top or bottom of the column, as well as several occasions when sections of text have been duplicated in the copying process. The scribe has a small, fluent, upright hand, and the wide margins as well as the arrangement in columns probably reflect an aesthetic awareness in the production of the manuscript. 3.2.2 Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri VII–XI: Prophets and Writings Portions of 66 pages out of a probable 224 which made up a codex of Isaiah (CBBP VII [P965])24 have survived, but many of these are in a fragmentary state. The quantity of text contained in the surviving papyrus is reduced further by the fact that it is written in a larger hand, with wider spacing, than any of the other Chester Beatty biblical papyri. Parts of Isaiah 8–9, 12–19, 38–45 and 54–60 are preserved, and although fragmentary, these still constitute an important early witness to the text of Isaiah, dated by Kenyon to the third century. A remarkable feature of this manuscript is the presence of almost fifty marginal glosses in the Fayyumic dialect of Coptic. Unfortunately, many are too short or damaged to yield much insight, and their greatest significance is possibly palaeographic, as they represent a very early period in the development of Coptic orthography, before the adoption of the five supplementary letters not contained in the Greek alphabet.25 Another major prophetic text is contained in CBBP VIII (P966), consisting of fragments of two leaves of Jeremiah 4–5, dated by Kenyon to the early third century. Two leaves of CBBP XI (P964), containing part of Ecclesiasticus 36–37 and 46–47, have also survived, in better condition than the Jeremiah pages. This manuscript was dated by Kenyon to the fourth century. The relatively short amount of surviving text in these manuscripts means they are of less value as textual witnesses than most Beatty’s other papyri, though their survival adds to our knowledge of the range of books contained in the cache of early Christian books acquired by Beatty.26 The most fragmentary survivor of all the Beatty biblical texts is CBBP 24.  Frederic G. Kenyon, The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri:  Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts on Papyrus of the Greek Bible; Fasciculus VI:  Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ecclesiasticus (London: Emery Walker, 1936). 25.  See the note on the Coptic glosses by W.  E. Crum in Kenyon, Isaiah, ix–xii. On the significance of the Isaiah glosses in the context of the development of written Coptic, see Jean-Luc Fournet, ‘The Multilingual Environment of Late Antique Egypt: Greek, Latin, Coptic and Persian Documentation’, in The Oxford Handbook of Papyrology, ed. Roger S. Bagnall (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 418–51, 431. 26.  Jeremiah and Ecclesiasticus were both published by Kenyon in the same volume as the Isaiah manuscript; see Kenyon, Isaiah, xii–xiv, 27–32. A  corrected edition of the Ecclesiasticus leaves was published by Albert Pietersma, ‘The Lost Folio of the Chester Beatty Ecclesiasticus’, VT 25 (1975): 497–9.

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XVIII, a single piece of papyrus containing four verses of Job 9.27 This fragment had been framed among unidentified fragments of CBBP V, and presumably was part of the same find as that manuscript, and acquired by Beatty along with the other biblical papyri. Initially identified as two separate codices, CBBP IX and X were quickly recognized as forming part of the same volume (now generally designated as P967, although originally numbered as P967 and P968), containing the texts of Ezekiel, Daniel and Esther.28 Substantial portions of the text were missing from Beatty’s acquisition, most of which later emerged in a number of other institutional libraries29; this manuscript seems to have suffered a particularly harsh fate at the hands of dealers who divided its leaves for separate sale to multiple institutions. The codex originally consisted of unusually long, narrow pages, some of which were not only separated from the whole, but torn in half horizontally.30 As a result, Beatty acquired the upper halves of pages from all three biblical books, while the lower halves of these pages are housed in the Institut für Altertumswissenschaft in Cologne. Two scribes were responsible for the manuscript, and both appear to

27. The discovery of this text was noted in Albert Pietersma, ‘Greek and Coptic Inedita of the Chester Beatty Library’, Bulletin of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies 7 (1974): 10–18, 11. The text was initially published in Pietersma, CBBP IV & V, and republished, with a correction, in Pietersma, ‘New Greek Fragments’, 45–6. 28.  See Frederic G. Kenyon, The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri: Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts on Papyrus of the Greek Bible; Fasciculus VII: Ezekiel, Daniel, Esther (London: Emery Walker, 1937). 29.  A list of the current locations of the various folios is provided by Siegfried Kreuzer, ‘Papyrus 967:  Bemerkungen zu seiner buchtechnischen, textgeschichtlichen und kanongeschichtlichen Bedeutung’, in Die Septuaginta  – Texte, Kontexte, Lebenswelten:  Internationale Fachtagung veranstaltet von Septuaginta Deutsch (LXX.D), Wuppertal 20.–23. Juli 2006, ed. Martin Karrer and Wolfgang Kraus (Tübingen:  Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 64–82. In addition to the Beatty pages, other portions of the codex were published by A. C. Johnson, H. S. Gehman and E. H. Kase, Jr., The John H. Schiede Biblical Papyri: Ezekiel (Princeton:  Princeton University Press, 1938); L. G. Jahn, Der Griechische Text des Buches Ezechiel nach dem Kölner Teil des Papyrus 967 (Bonn:  Habelt, 1972); M. Fernández-Galiano, ‘Nuevas Paginas del codice 967 del AT griego’, Studia Papyrologica 10 (1971):  7–76; A. Geissen, Der Septuaginta-Text des Buches Daniel Kap.  5–12 zusammen mit Susanna, Bel et Draco sowie Esther Kap.  1,1–2,15 (Bonn, Habelt, 1968); W. Hamm, Der Septuaginta-Text des Buches Daniel Kap.  1–2 nach dem Koelner Teil des Papyrus 967 (Bonn:  Habelt, 1969); W. Hamm, Der Septuaginta-Text des Buches Daniel Kap.  3–4 (Bonn:  Habelt, 1977);R. Roca-Puig, ‘Daniele: Due Semifogli del Codice 967, P. Barc. inv. nn. 42 e 43’, Aegyptus 56 (1976): 3–18. 30. The mercenary inclinations of dealers has customarily been blamed for the condition of the manuscript, but Kreuzer, ‘Papyrus 967’, 67–8, raises the possibility that the horizontal damage, dividing some of the pages in half, might have been caused by the book’s vulnerability to wear and tear in light of its unusual shape.

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have been careful copyists, although Ezekiel is written in a much less fluent hand than Daniel and Esther. Kenyon dated the codex to the early third century. Both Esther and Daniel are represented by the expanded versions usual in the Septuagint, including the Additions to Esther and, in Daniel, the stories of Susanna and Bel and the Dragon. The Daniel text has perhaps attracted the greatest attention of any of the Beatty Septuagint papyri, as it contains the Old Greek or ‘Septuagint’ version of Daniel, previously only known in one tenth-century manuscript, rather than the version of Theodotion found in all other surviving copies of Daniel, and which displaced the version represented by CBBP IX/X at an early date.31 The Ezekiel text is also of some interest, including some omissions and the transposition of chapter 37 with chapters 38–39.32 3.3 Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri XII: Extra-canonical Texts It may not be entirely appropriate to refer to the texts contained in CBBP XII as ‘extra-canonical’ as it cannot be judged with certainty what status they held for the early Christians who used this manuscript, particularly if it was in use at a time before the boundaries of the canon were firmly drawn. The papyrus contains the last chapters of the book of Enoch, previously unknown in Greek, a likewise previously unknown homily on the Passover by the second-century bishop Melito of Sardis, and fragments of an apocalypse of Ezekiel.33 The fact that, for the most part, alternate pages were acquired by Beatty and the University of Michigan suggests the codex was rather crudely divided by the dealers who sold it. The Enoch text bears the title ‘Epistle of Enoch’ in the manuscript, and from this the final section of Enoch has generally become known by this name. It seems virtually certain that only this section of Enoch was contained in CBBP XII, attesting the independent circulation of this part of 1 Enoch. The quality of the papyrus is

31.  S. Jellicoe, The Septuagint and Modern Study (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 1968), 232, poses the question as to whether the Beatty text-type ever really enjoyed the status of the ‘Septuagint’ text and asks if the Beatty papyrus and Codex Chisianus might be ‘chance survivors of an aberrant version of limited circulation which was successfully repressed’. 32.  Ingrid E. Lilly, Two Books of Ezekiel: Papyrus 967 and the Masoretic Text as Variant Literary Editions (Leiden: Brill, 2012), argues for the internal coherence of the P967 text in its own right, rather than viewing it as what Barter calls ‘a cornucopia of textual and material errors’ (Penelope Barter, Review of I. Lilly, Two Books of Ezekiel, JHS 13 [2013] [25 November 2014], online: http://www.jhsonline.org/reviews/reviews_new/review639.htm). 33.  The texts were published, in collaboration with the University of Michigan, by Campbell Bonner, The Last Chapters of Enoch in Greek (London: Christophers, 1937); and Campbell Bonner, The Homily on the Passion by Melito Bishop of Sardis and some Fragments of the Apocryphal Ezekiel (London:  Christophers, 1940). Several further fragments were published by J. T. Milik, The Books of Enoch (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 1976), 259, 261, 264, and by Pietersma, ‘New Greek Fragments’, 40–5.

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poorer than the others in this collection; the orthography is crude and there are frequent spelling and grammatical errors, which may, in part, be explained by a weaker knowledge of Greek on the part of the scribe,34 although some of the errors may have been present in the exemplars from which the manuscript was copied, as the Enoch text is noticeably more error-strewn than that of Melito’s Homily. 3.4 The Significance of CBBP I–XII and XVIII as an Early Christian Library Given that these manuscripts were acquired together, and are roughly contemporaneous in terms of antiquity, it seems most likely that they come from a single find and comprised a coherent collection before being lost for some 1,700 years.35 They constitute the earliest surviving collection of Christian literature; as such, it is not inappropriate to consider them the earliest surviving Christian library.36 While clearly of immense text-critical importance, their significance in several other aspects should also be mentioned. These manuscripts are among the earliest extensive evidence for Christian material culture in the pre-Constantinian period, an important consideration which has been largely overlooked in the attention focused on their texts.37 In this respect, the manuscripts also provide important evidence for the emergence of the codex, rather than the scroll, as a literary vehicle, and show fascinating diversity in terms of physical formation at a time when codex production was apparently still experimenting. They also show the emerging use of the codex to copy multiple works.38 Further, as an early Christian library, the contents are striking, as 34.  An indication that the scribe was perhaps more familiar with Coptic orthographic conventions than with Greek can be seen in the erroneous copying of ψ as τι, corresponding phonetically to the Coptic ϯ, which superficially resembles ψ, at En 99.5 on f. 9v. 35.  Carl Schmidt recounted receiving a verbal account on a visit to the area in 1933 of the manuscripts having been found buried in a jar in the vicinity of ancient Aphroditopolis; see C. Schmidt, ‘Die Evangelienhandschrift der Chester-Beatty Sammlung’, ZNW 32 (1933): 225–32 (225–6). 36. See Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1997), 145–54, on early Christian congregational libraries. 37.  See the relevant sections of Hurtado, Artifacts, for manuscripts as testimony to Christian material culture, as well as Larry Hurtado, ‘The ‘Meta-Data’ of Earliest Christian Manuscripts’, in Identity and Interaction in the Ancient Mediterranean: Jews, Christians and Others: Essays in Honour of Stephen G. Wilson, ed. Zeba A. Crook and Philip A. Harland (Sheffield:  Sheffield Phoenix, 2007), 149–63; and Larry Hurtado, ‘Manuscripts and the Sociology of Early Christian Reading’, in The Early Text of the New Testament, ed. C. E. Hill and M. J. Kruger (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 49–62. 38. In addition to the multiple works in the New Testament papyri, Jellicoe, Septuagint, 241, suggests the possible principle of combining like with like in codices with multiple books; hence, Ezekiel, Daniel and Esther are all associated with life in exile. Combining like with like might also explain the copying of the three extra-canonical texts, Enoch, Melito and the Ezekiel Apocalypse, in one book.

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almost all the manuscripts are copies of canonical texts, and represent substantial portions of both Old and New Testaments: three of the books of the Law, the four major prophets, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel and Daniel, and the four Gospels and Acts, the Pauline letters and Revelation.39 Although speculative, it is not inconceivable to see this body of manuscripts as evidence from the ‘Great Persecution’ in the early fourth century, when Christians were required to surrender their texts on threat of punishment or death. Several ancient accounts tell of the requisitioning of Christian books, including the suspicion on the part of the authorities that books might be hidden.40 Three of the Beatty codices have been dated to the fourth century (the others to the third, or even the second), but the margin of error in palaeographic dating does not require that these three need have been written later than the turn of the fourth century. In this case, it is possible that the manuscripts were hidden at the time of the persecution, and, for whatever reason, never retrieved.

4. The Beatty-Bodmer Pachomian Manuscripts In addition to the great biblical codices initially acquired by Beatty, further biblical and early Christian manuscripts were purchased during the 1950s. Among these was a segment of the book of Joshua in Coptic,41 part of which had also been purchased by the Swiss collector Martin Bodmer. Examination of Beatty’s purchases showed fragments of other papyri acquired by Bodmer, including a small fragment of John’s Gospel from P. Bodmer II (P66) and parts of the Acts of Phileas, a fourth-century martyr.42 This suggested that Beatty might have acquired more items from the same find as the Bodmer papyri, and painstaking investigative work by Professor James M. Robinson of Claremont Graduate University on the Library’s accession records and correspondence indicated that a significant number of the Christian texts acquired by Beatty at this time most likely derived from the same provenance.43 39.  Kilpatrick noted the absence of the Psalms in terms of the major books of the Old Testament among the Beatty papyri, in reviewing their overwhelmingly biblical contents; see G. D. Kilpatrick, ‘The Bodmer and Mississippi Collection of Biblical and Christian Texts’, GRBS 4 (1963):  33–47 (37–8). Martin Hengel, The Septuagint as Christian Scripture (London: T&T Clark International, 2004), 42, notes the importance of the Beatty library as evidence of the early Christian appropriation of the Septuagint. 40. See Gamble, Books and Readers, 145–50. 41.  See A. F. Shore, Joshua I–VI and Other Passages in Coptic, Edited from a Fourth Century Sahidic Codex in the Chester Beatty Library, Dublin (Dublin: Hodges Figgis, 1963). 42.  See Albert Pietersma, The Acts of Phileas, Bishop of Thmuis (Including Fragments of the Greek Psalter). P. Chester Beatty XV (With a New Edition of P. Bodmer XX, and Halkin’s Latin Acta) (Geneva: Patrick Cramer, 1984). 43. James M. Robinson, The Story of the Bodmer Papyri: From the First Monastery’s Library in Upper Egypt to Geneva and Dublin (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2011), particularly 54–80.

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Robinson connected sixteen Beatty manuscripts and twenty-seven Bodmer manuscripts with a common find; the fact that six of Beatty’s and one of Bodmer’s texts related to Pachomius, the founder of Egyptian monasticism, or his successors, suggested a connection with the Pachomian order. A dealer’s note attached to the records of these manuscripts in the Beatty archives pointed towards the area of Dishna, in southern Egypt, very close to headquarters of the Pachomian movement at Faw Qibli, as the source of the documents.44 It is noticeable that Bodmer’s papyri were the more prestigious, both in content and physical appearance,45 in keeping with Bodmer’s stated preference for ‘world literature’ in his collection. Beatty’s manuscripts (apart from those shared with Bodmer, already mentioned), however, were more mundane in appearance and, for the most part, content, and possibly had been rejected by Bodmer as not meeting his ‘world literature’ standard. They consisted of the letters of leading Pachomian figures, some in Greek and some in Coptic on a series of small rolls, a codex containing mathematical exercises and part of John’s Gospel (Coptic), a mostly blank codex of tax receipts,46 an Apocalypse of Elijah (Coptic), fragments of the Apocryphon of Jannes and Jambres, some pages of two codices of the Psalms in Greek, and a Greek grammar and Greek-Latin lexicon on Romans, 2 Corinthians, Galatians and Ephesians. Two fourth papyrus codices of the Psalms again provided early witnesses to the text, one containing Psalms 72–88 (CBBP XIII; P2149); the other (CBBP XIV; 2150), containing Psalms 31, 26 and 2, in that order, was apparently not a convenP tional Psalter.47 In keeping with the tradition of considering early extra-biblical literary texts among the library’s biblical papyri, both the Beatty portion of the Acts of Phileas and the Apocryphon of Jannes and Jambres48 received CBBP numbers

44.  Robinson, Story, 108–29, explores the connection with Dishna, while 130–49 elaborates the Pachomian links. As these manuscripts come from only a few kilometres away from Nag Hammadi, Robinson points out the possibility that both sets of manuscripts were originally part of the same library. 45. As well as the New Testament codices P66 (John) and P75 (Luke-John), and a number of Coptic biblical texts, Bodmer’s documents included works by Greek authors Homer and Menander. A full list of both the Bodmer and the related Beatty papyri, together with publication details, is provided by Robinson, Story, 185–96. 46.  On examination, this was found to have been formed from sheets cut from used papyrus rolls stuck back to back with the blank side outermost. These sheets were taken apart, and the original contents (records of official correspondence from Panopolis, not connected to the Pachomian library) were published by T. C. Skeat, Papyri from Panopolis in the Chester Beatty Library, Dublin (Dublin: Hodges Figgis, 1964). 47.  See Albert Pietersma, Two Manuscripts of the Greek Psalter in the Chester Beatty Library, Dublin (Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1978). 48. See Albert Pietersma, The Apocryphon of Jannes & Jambres the Magicians. P. Chester Beatty XVI (With New Editions of Papyrus Vindobonensis Greek inv. 29456 + 29828 verso and British Library Cotton Tiberius B. v f. 87) (Leiden: Brill, 1994).

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(CBBP XV and XVI respectively). Perhaps the most unusual biblical papyrus from this find, however, is CBBP XXI, the early-fifth-century Greek-Latin lexicon of four of Paul’s letters,49 which although not a continuous text of the epistles, reflects a distinctive text version underlying the lexicon, and has been included in the list of papyri consulted in the preparation of critical editions of the Greek New Testament as P99.50 As a collection, the Bodmer-Beatty manuscripts represent a more wide-ranging early Christian library than that represented by CBBP I–XII. This, at least in part, reflects its provenance as part of a monastic library, showing not only the importance of biblical texts, but also of texts associated with the emerging monastic tradition itself. The significant number of Coptic texts in this collection shows the increasing importance of the Egyptian language for early Christianity in the region, and the spread of Christianity beyond the Greek-speaking population. Diversity in the quality of production of the manuscripts is again an interesting reflection of material culture; it is possible that many of the more ‘literary’ (including the Gospel manuscripts), high-quality productions acquired by Bodmer were copied outside the monastery and donated, or brought with them by entrants to the order, while many of Beatty’s texts, such as the Pachomian letters, reflect a lower standard of materials and calligraphy, suggesting limited means within the order itself.

5. The Chester Beatty Biblical Manuscripts in the Twenty-First Century 5.1 Digitization Perhaps the most significant – and exciting – recent development in relation to the biblical manuscripts is the provision of an internet-based image gallery of the biblical papyri, and of a number of later, medieval biblical manuscripts.51 The digitization project was carried out during the summer of 2013 by the Centre for the Study of New Testament Manuscripts, and makes over 5,000 zoomable images available through the CSNTM website. A  condition survey, relabelling and cleaning of the glass plates in preparation for photography, was a further bonus of the project. Interactive images of CBBP I–III are now also available through the Virtual Manuscript Room of the University of Münster’s Institut für neutestamentliche Textforschung. The global availability of high-quality interactive images of biblical manuscripts on the internet represents a huge benefit to scholars and others, as it makes the 49. See Alfons Wouters, The Chester Beatty Codex Ac. 1499: A Graeco-Latin Lexicon on the Pauline Epistles and a Greek Grammar (Leuven: Peeters, 1988). 50. See the comments on its inclusion in the Liste by David C. Parker, Textual Scholarship and the Making of the New Testament (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 37–8. 51. Trustees of the Chester Beatty Library, 2013 Report (Dublin: Chester Beatty Library, 2013), 26–8.

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manuscripts available to anyone at the click of a computer key, a world away from relying on transcripts or yielding to the often time-consuming and expensive necessity of travelling to consult the original. Facilities such as zooming, colour adjustment and contrast heightening on digital images means that more detail may sometimes be accessible than is visible in the original. Indeed, it is to be hoped that the availability of entire manuscripts in digital form will encourage the reading of these manuscripts, alongside or even instead of critical editions, and will stimulate a greater appreciation of the individual manuscript as a coherent text in its own right.52 5.2 The Chester Beatty Biblical Manuscripts in Ireland Original Irish scholarship on the Beatty biblical manuscripts has been sadly sparse, as the works in the footnotes to this essay show.53 This may, in part, be due to the arrival of the papyri in Ireland after the initial twelve papyri had already been edited and published, and may also reflect the relatively small numbers of Irish graduates in academic disciplines such as classics and biblical studies who have the relevant expertise to engage in further study of biblical manuscripts; trends in academia over the past half-century have perhaps meant that more traditional endeavours such as manuscript study are regarded as less ‘cutting-edge’ than they would have been a century previously. Nevertheless, the guardianship of these treasures in Ireland represents a significant privilege: they are easily accessible for public viewing in the modern gallery at Dublin Castle,54 whence the library moved in 2000, and in recent decades the trustees and staff of the library have risen admirably to the challenge of providing a world-class facility for the appropriate preservation and exhibition of collection, now one of Dublin’s top tourist attractions. Thus, the manuscripts continue to provide a fascinating link in Ireland’s multiple connections with the world beyond the island, spanning a spectrum of interest from the academic to the popular. On one side of this spectrum, they have enduring importance in terms of their global scholarly significance as early witnesses to the religious texts and cultural world of early Christians. On the other side, their attraction as tangible, visible artefacts of that same religious and cultural

52. On the potential of digitization, see Parker, Textual Scholarship, particularly 125–42. 53.  An important work by an Irish scholar with relevance to the history of the biblical text is Carmel McCarthy, Saint Ephrem’s Commentary on Tatian’s Diatessaron: An English Translation of Chester Beatty Syriac MS 709 with Introduction and Notes (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 1994). For more on this, see McCarthy’s contribution in this volume. 54.  Even a cursory look at visitor reviews on a source such as the Tripadvisor website indicates both the overwhelmingly positive impression the library makes on its visitors from both Ireland and elsewhere, and the prominence of the biblical manuscripts among the Library’s attractions. Further discussion in the present volume on issues related to tourism and biblical texts can be found in the contributions by E. O’Mahony and A. Dillon.

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world continues to draw thousands of visitors from across the world to view them. It is, perhaps, a rare quality in any historical object to be able to continue to hold the attention, across a global context, of scholars and the general public alike, as the Beatty manuscripts have done for over eighty years. That, in itself, is surely a testimony to their importance, and to Ireland’s privilege in housing, preserving and exhibiting them to the world.

Bibliography Aland, Barbara. ‘The Significance of the Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri in Early Church History’. Pages 108–21 in The Earliest Gospels: The Origins and Transmission of the Earliest Christian Gospels – The Contribution of the Chester Beatty Gospel Codex. Edited by Charles Horton. London: T&T Clark International, 2004. Aland, B. ‘Sind Schreiber früher neutestamentlicher Handschriften Interpreten des Textes?’ Pages 114–22 in Transmission and Reception: New Testament Text-Critical and Exegetical Studies. Edited by J. W. Childers and D. C. Parker. Piscataway : Gorgias, 2006. Allgeier, A. Die Chester Beatty Papyri zum Pentateuch. Paderborn: Schöningh, 1938. Barter, Penelope. Review of I. Lilly, Two Books of Ezekiel. JHS 13 (2013). Cited 25 November 2014. Online: http://www.jhsonline.org/reviews/reviews_new/review639. htm. Bonner, Campbell. The Homily on the Passion by Melito Bishop of Sardis and Some Fragments of the Apocryphal Ezekiel. London: Christophers, 1940. Bonner, Campbell. The Last Chapters of Enoch in Greek. London: Christophers, 1937. Colwell, E. C. ‘Method in Evaluating Scribal Habits: A Study of P45, P66 and P75’. Pages 106–24 in E. C. Colwell, Studies in Methodology in Textual Criticism of the New Testament. Leiden: Brill, 1969. Elliott, J. K. ‘Singular Readings in the Gospel Text of P45’. Pages 122–31 in The Earliest Gospels: The Origins and Transmission of the Earliest Christian Gospels – The Contribution of the Chester Beatty Gospel Codex. Edited by Charles Horton. London: T&T Clark International, 2004. Fernández-Galiano, M. ‘Nuevas Paginas del codice 967 del AT griego’. Studia Papyrologica 10 (1971): 7–76. Fournet, Jean-Luc. ‘The Multilingual Environment of Late Antique Egypt: Greek, Latin, Coptic and Persian Documentation’. Pages 418–51 in The Oxford Handbook of Papyrology. Edited by Roger S. Bagnall. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Gamble, Harry Y. Books and Readers in the Early Church. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997. Geissen, A. Der Septuaginta-Text des Buches Daniel Kap. 5–12 zusammen mit Susanna, Bel et Draco sowie Esther Kap. 1,1–2,15. Bonn: Habelt, 1968. Gerstinger, H. ‘Ein Fragment des Chester Beatty-Evangelienkodex in der Papyrussammlungder Nationalbibliothek in Wien’. Aegyptus 13 (1933): 68–9. Hamm, W. Der Septuaginta-Text des Buches Daniel Kap. 1–2 nach dem Koelner Teil des Papyrus 967. Bonn: Habelt, 1969. Hamm, W. Der Septuaginta-Text des Buches Daniel Kap. 3–4. Bonn: Habelt, 1977. Hengel, Martin. The Septuagint as Christian Scripture. London: T&T Clark International, 2004.

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Horton, Charles. Alfred Chester Beatty: From Miner to Bibliophile. Dublin: Townhouse, 2003. Hurtado, Larry W. The Earliest Christian Artifacts: Manuscripts and Christian Origins. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006. Hurtado, Larry W. ‘The Early New Testament Papyri: A Survey of Their Significance’. Pages 1–18 in Papyrologie und Exegese: Die Auslegung des Neuen Testaments im Licht der Papyri. Edited by Jens Herzer. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012. Hurtado, Larry W. ‘Manuscripts and the Sociology of Early Christian Reading’. Pages 49–62 in The Early Text of the New Testament. Edited by C. E. Hill and M. J. Kruger. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Hurtado, Larry W. ‘The “Meta-Data” of Earliest Christian Manuscripts’. Pages 149– 63 in Identity and Interaction in the Ancient Mediterranean. Jews, Christians and Others: Essays in Honour of Stephen G. Wilson. Edited by Zeba A. Crook and Philip A. Harland. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2007. Hurtado, Larry W. ‘P45 as an Early Christian Artefact: What It Reflects about Early Christianity’. Teologisk Tidsskrift 4 (2016): 291–307. Jahn, L. G. Der Griechische Text des Buches Ezechiel nach dem Kölner Teil des Papyrus 967. Bonn: Habelt, 1972. Jellicoe, S. The Septuagint and Modern Study. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1968. Johnson, A. C., H. S. Gehman and E. H. Kase, Jr. The John H. Schiede Biblical Papyri: Ezekiel. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1938. Kennedy, Brian P. Alfred Chester Beatty and Ireland 1950–1968: A Study in Cultural Politics. Dún Laoghaire: Glendale, 1988. Kenyon, Frederic G. The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri: Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts on Papyrus of the Greek Bible; Fasciculus II: The Gospels and Acts. London: Emery Walker, 1933. Kenyon, Frederic G. The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri: Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts on Papyrus of the Greek Bible. Fasciculus III: Pauline Epistles and Revelation. London: Emery Walker, 1934. Kenyon, Frederic G. The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri: Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts on Papyrus of the Greek Bible. Fasciculus III Supplement: Pauline Epistles. London: Emery Walker, 1936. Kenyon, Frederic G. The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri: Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts on Papyrus of the Greek Bible. Fasciculus IV: Genesis. London: Emery Walker, 1934. Kenyon, Frederic G. The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri: Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts on Papyrus of the Greek Bible. Fasciculus V: Numbers and Deuteronomy. London: Emery Walker, 1935. Kenyon, Frederic G. The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri: Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts on Papyrus of the Greek Bible. Fasciculus VI: Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ecclesiasticus. London: Emery Walker, 1936. Kenyon, Frederic G. The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri: Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts on Papyrus of the Greek Bible. Fasciculus VII: Ezekiel, Daniel, Esther. London: Emery Walker, 1937. Kraus, Thomas. ‘Ad Fontes: Gewinn durch die Konsultation von Originalhandschriften am Beispiel von P.Vindob.G 31974’. Biblica 82 (2001): 1–16. Translated, with addenda, as ‘Ad Fontes: The Benefit of the Consultation of Original Manuscripts as for instance P. Vindob.G 31974’. Pages 25–45 in Thomas J. Kraus, Ad Fontes: Original Manuscripts and their significance for studying Early Christianity. Selected Essays. Leiden: Brill, 2007.

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Kreuzer, Siegfried. ‘Papyrus 967: Bemerkungen zu seiner buchtechnischen, textgeschichtlichen und kanongeschichtlichen Bedeutung’. Pages 64–82 in Die Septuaginta–Texte, Kontexte, Lebenswelten: Internationale Fachtagung veranstaltet von Septuaginta Deutsch (LXX.D), Wuppertal 20.–23. Juli 2006. Edited by Martin Karrer and Wolfgang Kraus. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008. Kilpatrick, G. D. ‘The Bodmer and Mississippi Collection of Biblical and Christian Texts’. GRBS 4 (1963): 33–47. Lilly, Ingrid E. Two Books of Ezekiel: Papyrus 967 and the Masoretic Text as Variant Literary Editions. Leiden: Brill, 2012. McCarthy, Carmel. Saint Ephrem’s Commentary on Tatian’s Diatessaron: An English Translation of Chester Beatty Syriac MS 709 with Introduction and Notes. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994. Milik, J. T. The Books of Enoch. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976. Parker, David C. An Introduction to the New Testament Manuscripts and Their Texts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Parker, David C. ‘The Majuscule Manuscripts of the New Testament’. Pages 22–42 in The Text of the New Testament in Contemporary Research: Essays on the Status Quaestionis. Edited by B. D. Ehrman, M. H. Holmes, F. S. Bruce and M. Metzger. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995. Parker, David C. Manuscripts, Texts, Theology: Collected Papers 1977–2007. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009. Parker, David C. Textual Scholarship and the Making of the New Testament. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Pietersma, Albert. The Acts of Phileas, Bishop of Thmuis (Including Fragments of the Greek Psalter). P. Chester Beatty XV (With a New Edition of P. Bodmer XX, and Halkin’s Latin Acta). Geneva: Patrick Cramer, 1984. Pietersma, Albert. The Apocryphon of Jannes & Jambres the Magicians. P. Chester Beatty XVI (With New Editions of Papyrus Vindobonensis Greek inv. 29456 + 29828 verso and British Library Cotton Tiberius B. v f. 87). Leiden: Brill, 1994. Pietersma, Albert. Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri IV & V: A New Edition with Text-Critical Analysis. Toronto: Hakkert, 1977. Pietersma, Albert. ‘F. G. Kenyon’s Text of Papyrus 963’. VT 24 (1974): 113–18. Pietersma, Albert. ‘Greek and Coptic Inedita of the Chester Beatty Library’. Bulletin of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies 7 (1974): 10–18. Pietersma, Albert. ‘The Lost Folio of the Chester Beatty Ecclesiasticus’. Vetus Testamentum 25 (1975): 497–9. Pietersma, Albert. Two Manuscripts of the Greek Psalter in the Chester Beatty Library, Dublin. Rome: Biblical Institute, 1978. Pietersma, Albert. ‘New Greek Fragments of Biblical Manuscripts in the Chester Beatty Library’. Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists 24 (1987): 37–61. Roberts, C. H. Manuscripts, Society and Belief in Early Christian Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979. Robinson, James M. The Story of the Bodmer Papyri: From the First Monastery’s Library in Upper Egypt to Geneva and Dublin. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2011. Roca-Puig, R. ‘Daniele: Due Semifogli del Codice 967, P. Barc. inv. nn. 42 e 43’. Aegyptus 56 (1976): 3–18. Royse, James R. Scribal Habits in the Early Greek New Testament Papyri. Leiden: Brill, 2008.

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Sanders, H. A. A Third-Century Papyrus Codex of the Epistles of Paul. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1935. Schmid, Josef. ‘Der Apokalypse-Text des Chester Beatty Papyrus P47’. Byzantinischneugriechische Jahrbücher 11 (1934–35): 81–108. Schmidt, C. ‘Die Evangelienhandschrift der Chester-Beatty Sammlung’. ZNW 32 (1933): 225–32. Shore, A. F. Joshua I–VI and Other Passages in Coptic, Edited from a Fourth Century Sahidic Codex in the Chester Beatty Library, Dublin. Dublin: Hodges Figgis, 1963. Skeat, T. C. ‘A Codicological Analysis of the Chester Beatty Papyrus Codex of the Gospels and Acts (P45)’. Hermathena 155 (1993): 27–43. Skeat, T. C. Papyri from Panopolis in the Chester Beatty Library, Dublin. Dublin: Hodges Figgis, 1964. Skeat T. C., and B. C. McGing. ‘Notes on Chester Beatty Biblical Papyrus I (Gospels and Acts)’. Hermathena 150 (1991): 21–5. Trustees of the Chester Beatty Library. 2013 Report. Dublin: Chester Beatty Library, 2013. Wouters, Alfons. The Chester Beatty Codex Ac. 1499: A Graeco-Latin Lexicon on the Pauline Epistles and a Greek Grammar. Leuven: Peeters, 1988. Zuntz, G. ‘Reconstruction of One Leaf of the Chester Beatty Papyrus of the Gospels and Acts (P45)’. Chronique d’Égypte 26 (1951): 191–211.

Chapter 16 ‘ C A ST I N G B R E A D U P O N T H E W AT E R’ : A V OYAG E O F D I S C OV E RY Carmel McCarthy

1. Introduction Over the years various people have asked me how I  came to engage in biblical studies. My answer is simple – blind obedience! One morning in early September 1963 I  was told by my novice mistress (of the Religious Sisters of Mercy) that I would be embarking on a BA course in Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek, in University College Dublin (UCD) the following month. I had some prior notion of Greek, but Hebrew and Aramaic were entirely beyond my horizon. I had never even heard of them, so it really was blind obedience. Almost 2,250 years ago the author of Qoheleth invited any who would listen to ‘[c]ast your bread upon the waters, for you will find it after many days’ (Qoh 11:1). This enigmatic proverb is a word to the wise about risk. In ancient times it was used to encourage enterprising merchants to risk sending their goods over perilous seas to distant ports in the hope of worthwhile gain. Reflecting back on my early days in UCD, in casting my bread upon the waters, it often felt like being buffeted about on stormy seas, unsure of whether my dinghy would ever make landfall, or of what kind of gain could come from pursuing such obscure languages. So I set forth on a journey of discovery without map or compass. Trusting that my mentors could see further than I, and taking one day at a time, I pushed my small boat out into the unknown. Little did I realize that those early years were preparing me for a lifetime journey of reciprocal influence on a much larger scale than I could ever have dreamt of then.

2. Initial Teaching Experience (1966–68) My first ‘bread on the waters’ came back to me in the form of an offer to teach. On the basis of my BA results I was awarded a tutorial scholarship at UCD, requiring that I teach five hours weekly for two years to undergraduates in the department, while undertaking a master’s degree. This first experience of teaching was thoroughly

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enjoyable, as I explored texts in both Hebrew and Syriac with students just two years behind me. A  hidden bonus lay in the fact that teaching these languages was helping me to quietly consolidate my own grasp of them. It was at this stage that I became the first female member of the Catholic Biblical Association, which was founded in 1966 (now called the Irish Biblical Association). In that same year I also began Scripture classes with the novices in my community, a commitment I continued to honour for more than twenty years – until such time as there were no more novices to teach.

3. Theology in Switzerland (1968–72) On completion of my MA degree in 1968, I embarked for Switzerland – again with blind obedience as my rudder, this time to work towards a licence in theology (STL). Studies in theology, I was told, were to be an essential part of my preparation to teach Scripture in Carysfort College of Education, a college founded in the 1870s by the community to which I belong, the Sisters of Mercy. The University of Fribourg in Switzerland had been chosen because of its internationally acclaimed biblical institute, with Prof. Dominique Barthélemy, OP, at its helm in the Frenchspeaking section, and Prof. Adrian Schenker, OP, in the German-speaking section. Since these scholars were giants in the world of international biblical textual criticism, casting my bread on Swiss waters (I was within shouting distance of Lake Geneva) brought new and challenging gains. In Fribourg the study of theology deepened my faith experience, gifted me with lifelong friends, gave me fluency in French and German and provided exhilarating moments in cross-country skiing and trekking through the Alps. In Fribourg, as in UCD, I  tended to be the only female student in my class. These were early post-Vatican II days, so I was fortunate to be immersed in the currents of change at an early stage, and to be able to hold my place on an equal footing with my male classmates. The student body in the Theology Faculty was drawn from the four corners of the globe, as indeed were the professors. This universal aspect of both faculty and students helped reinforce the richness of the Christian heritage, especially in the tutorial sessions where each was invited to contribute. French and German were the usual languages, but sometimes English, Spanish and Italian were used. I had just escaped the era in which lectures were traditionally given in Latin. In my class there was a strong Hispanic element, with a majority of students from Spain and Mexico. For the four years during which I spent Christmas in Fribourg I attended Midnight Mass at a Mexican community. Their tradition of celebration was infectious, and lasted well into the small hours of the morning. All my Christmases were white, since snow would begin to fall in mid-November and gradually melt by early April. I particularly enjoyed the text-critical seminars conducted by Prof. Barthélemy. He was continually exploring new aspects to difficult Hebrew texts, with a special focus on their reception history within the masoretic tradition. In these seminars he shared with us his extraordinary knowledge, insight and attention to detail

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regarding the biblical text. One of these seminars provided me with some key ideas on which I based research for my Mémoire de Licence (1971–72).1 Looking now at the 109 yellowing pages of this typed dissertation, I am reminded yet again of how fortunate I was to have had such a director. There were no computers in those days, no specialized fonts and no computerized biblical search engines. I was very pleased to receive a summa cum laude grade for this work, together with the recommendation that I should either publish it as it stood, or elaborate on it for an eventual doctorate. I chose the latter path, when I obtained a sabbatical year from Carysfort College some seven years later in 1979–80.

4. A Month in Israel (1972) Before returning to Ireland on completion of the STL programme, I spent a full month in Israel with my classmates. With Adrian Schenker as guide, we explored many sites that are now out of bounds. We spent several days in the Negev, visiting Avdat and Elath and the mines of Solomon. At Mitzpeh Ramon I lost my sleeping bag. On our journey from there to the Red Sea we traversed a gorge of rose-red sandstone of amazing and terrifying proportions. I  particularly remember the nights we spent in Beersheba because there was an army barracks beside our youth hostel, where our sleep was punctuated by the noisy comings and goings of the military all night. Armed soldiers were everywhere. This was 1972, when Israel was very much a land on the defensive. It was a year before the Yom Kippur War, which saw the retaking of a significant number of the territories which had been annexed during the 1967 Six-Day War. Lake Galilee and its hinterland were beautiful. I  remember the fun we had in a kibbutz where, under a full moon in Galilee, we slept out of doors in our sleeping bags for two successive nights. Stargazing before sleeping was spectacular. Visiting these key sites of the Holy Land was simply wonderful, and gave me lasting insights into the topography, geography and imagery of both Old and New Testaments. This time in Israel also sowed the seeds for future trips to the lands of the Bible, which I undertook from the late 1970s until 2006.

5. Life in Carysfort College (1972–88) In August 1972 I returned to Ireland, full of energy and looking forward to beginning life in Carysfort College of Education. This was challenging as well as fruitful. The students were very bright and generally interested. In those early years I shared the Scripture section with Rev. William Riley, so in the context of a three-year Bachelor of Education programme we presented units on the Torah,

1.  This was entitled ‘Scribal Corrections:  A Reappraisal of the Eighteen Scribal Corrections of Rabbinical and Masoretic Traditions’.

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the Prophets, the Psalms, the four Gospels and the life and letters of Paul.2 This teaching experience was invaluable, for I was stretched on a daily basis to present the scriptural content in a clear and attractive manner that would hopefully make sense to these intelligent young people. Throughout this period from 1972 to 1988 I also lectured for two to three hours weekly in UCD. This was a pleasant interlude each Wednesday afternoon, and was particularly beneficial in that it kept me in continual contact with the UCD department, both staff and students, as well as with the languages and literature of the Bible. An intensification of this contact with my alma mater took place when I  was seconded on a full-time basis in 1973–74 to fill the vacuum left by the appointment of Dr Dermot Ryan as Roman Catholic archbishop of Dublin, until the appointment in 1974 of his successor, Prof. Kevin Cathcart. During the summers of 1974, 1975 and 1976, in response to Prof. Barthélemy’s request, I returned to Fribourg to edit some of the reports on the Hebrew Old Testament Text Project, a work of the United Bible Societies.3 In 1976 my first publication in the field of textual criticism appeared. This was in the form of an entry in the Supplementary Volume to the Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible.4

6. A Sabbatical Year (1979–80) I spent a sabbatical year in Fribourg in 1979–80, during which I was now free to resume research on the topic I had chosen back in 1972 for my STL thesis. I had already corresponded with Prof. Barthélemy to coordinate my arrival in Switzerland with his return from vacation in France. I  was therefore able to begin research immediately on 1 July 1979 and to pick up from where I had left off in 1972. This time it was no longer blind obedience. I had a very clear view of the general area I was researching and my director was second to none. He ensured that I had a good research booth in the library of the Biblical Institute. I can still conjure up in my mind’s eye the breathtaking view from my window – the snow-covered peaks of the Bernese Oberland in the distance, and a medieval tower in the immediate foreground.

2. During this period we collaborated on a book, which was published in 1986: Carmel McCarthy and William Riley, The Old Testament Short Story: Explorations into Narrative Spirituality (Wilmington: Michael Glazier, 1986). 3.  Dominique Barthélemy, Alexander Reinard Hulst, Norbert Lohfink, William D. McHardy, Hans-Peter Rüger and James A. Sanders, Preliminary and Interim Report on the Hebrew Old Testament Text Project, 5 vols (New York and Stuttgart: United Bible Societies, 1973–80). 4.  Carmel McCarthy, ‘Emendations of the Scribes’, in The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible, Supplementary Volume (Nashville: Abingdon, 1976), 263–5. From this point onwards to the present I continued to write various articles for Scripture journals, and chapters in edited volumes, as well as a number of books.

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With a regularity that equalled or even surpassed at times the notorious punctuality of the average Swiss citizen I worked eight hours each weekday (8–12 and 2–6) and Saturday mornings (8–12). The weekends I  spent out of doors with friends, walking, hiking or cross-country skiing. Thanks to Barthélemy’s generosity I had access to all the necessary primary and secondary sources, as well as to a range of manuscripts on microfilm. As time passed I would draft each section as it took shape and submit this in hand-written format to Barthélemy. He would read it almost immediately, discuss it with me and suggest possible adjustments or new aspects to research. I would then type up a revised draft of each section, using the portable typewriter my parents had given me for my twenty-first birthday in 1964, before beginning work on the next step. Work progressed steadily through the months of July–December. I returned to Ireland for Christmas and was back at my workstation in early January. For this semester I had the company of Steve Pisano, SJ, of the Biblical Institute in Rome. He was also working on his doctorate under Barthélemy’s supervision. His topic concerned the pluses and minuses in the Qumran texts of the books of Samuel. We would meet for a short break each morning, I for coffee, and he for a cigarette. We would share progress on our respective research topics, as well as on the latest detective novels and current affairs. By March I had an almost complete draft of the thesis ready. All that remained was to tie up the loose ends, find a suitable title to indicate its contents, type up the entire manuscript and have it duplicated and bound according to requirements. This took place in April, at the end of which I submitted the thesis. The title I gave it was ‘The Tiqqune Sopherim and Other Theological Corrections in the Masoretic Text of the Old Testament’. It was a rather long title, but it did cover the thrust of the research. I took a short break in early May, and then did some voluntary work in the Biblical Institute, cataloguing microfilms and generating biblical indices for some of the medieval Hebrew texts Barthélemy was working on. The date I was given for the defence of my thesis was 30 June 1980, so some weeks before this I began to plan how I would present it, and plot some strategies for hypothetical questions I might be asked. In Fribourg, as in many continental European universities, doctoral defences are public affairs, which can be attended by anyone. The candidate stands before a jury of five professors, and, in the presence of a varied audience, sets forth a summary of his or her thesis, pinpointing in particular its contribution to science. I had taken for granted that I could do this in English since I had written the thesis in English. Alas, on the Saturday before my Monday defence I discovered that it had to be presented and defended in French! Everything went fine for the defence, and we had a celebration afterwards in the Villa Beata where I had been staying for the year with a community of Swiss lay missionaries. I returned to Ireland in early July quite energized after my twelvemonth sojourn abroad, and very grateful to all concerned that this ‘bread cast upon the water’ had come back to me in basketfuls. I prepared the manuscript for the publishers in the next few months, and it duly appeared the following year.5 5.  Carmel McCarthy, The Tiqqune Sopherim and Other Theological Corrections

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7. From Carysfort to University College Dublin (1980–88) Back on home soil, I picked up the threads of life in Carysfort College and community, and so my life continued with a certain predictability for the next five years. This security was to be abruptly shattered on 4 February 1985, when a tsunami swept over us in the form of a government announcement that Carysfort College was to close at the end of the academic year in June. The reason given for this sudden and unilateral ultimatum was ‘an oversupply of teachers in a time of recession’. We got a reprieve of two years to see second- and third-year students complete their respective degree courses. And then Carysfort closed its doors to a proud tradition of teacher education begun in Baggot Street in the 1870s, while both staff and sisters were redeployed or relocated to begin new lives elsewhere. Casting one’s bread upon the water had now assumed a new and risky dimension, without any guarantee of dividends. However, for me personally a silver lining to this dark cloud soon emerged. Having worked in Carysfort for sixteen years, I was fortunate to be redeployed immediately to UCD to my old department. Here I was to be happily employed for the next twenty years until retirement in 2008, moving through the various stages of college lecturer, senior lecturer, associate professor and head of department. It was during this period also that I was elected to membership of the Royal Irish Academy.

8. Memories of UCD (1988–2008) Memories of these twenty years in UCD are numerous, and almost all of them positive. We were a small department, with pleasant and committed colleagues. Our students were for the most part of the highest calibre – they needed to be in order to sustain the necessary commitment to succeed, particularly from second year onwards. It would be impossible to list all of these students by name. Some pursued further studies abroad and became significant players on an international stage in various universities in Britain, the United States of America and Europe, while others were engaged in scriptural research and teaching in Ireland. It was particularly gratifying to direct postgraduate students in their research fields, and to watch them develop through their studies. The subjects we offered included the languages and associated literatures of Arabic, Hebrew, Syriac, Aramaic and Hellenistic Greek. Students came from a wide variety of backgrounds, about half of them from overseas. Some were clearly Jewish, Muslim or Christian, while others did not indicate any particular religious allegiance. This diversity was a source of considerable enrichment.

in the Masoretic Text of the Old Testament, OBO 36 (Freiburg:  Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1981).

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In the course of these years I was invited to act as external examiner to various universities. These included Cambridge, Oxford, Manchester, Birmingham, Cardiff, Belfast, Maynooth6 and the Mater Dei Institute. I  enjoyed these experiences, and the encounter with colleagues and friends that they provided. Likewise, invitations to address various groups provided opportunities to share research. These included the Irish Biblical Association (of which I was president during 1987–90), the Society for the Study of the Old Testament (SOTS) in the United Kingdom and the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament (IOSOT). This latter association meets triennially in various European venues, so it was delightful to explore historic cities such as Oslo, Ljubljana and Leiden, among others. Perhaps the highlight of all of these requests, and by far the most challenging, was the keynote address I was invited to give to the IOSOT congress in Basel in 2001 to over 500 scholars representing about forty nationalities.7

9. Chester Beatty Syriac Manuscript 709 Since ongoing research was part of my contract in UCD this provided opportunities for engaging in a number of projects. I began working on the unique Chester Beatty Syriac Manuscript 709 in 1990.8 This was a manuscript with an intriguing history. Containing a gospel commentary composed about 370 CE by St Ephrem of Edessa (now Şanlıurfa in present-day eastern Turkey), this fifth-century Syriac manuscript is now on display in the Chester Beatty Library in Dublin Castle, and is unique in being the only extant copy of the Diatessaron commentary itself.9 There are many unresolved questions surrounding the original form and language of the Diatessaron. What seems reasonably certain is that its author was Tatian and that this gospel harmony was popular in the Edessan Church towards the end of the second century. Scholars are agreed that Tatian’s work in composing the Diatessaron was carried out with great care. This was no random collation of texts, but a careful combination of sentences and paragraphs from the four gospels, following a sequence

6.  On one of these occasions I  acted as external examiner to the doctoral thesis of a Syrian Orthodox monk named Ephraim Karim, recently elected patriarch of the Syrian Orthodox Church of Antioch (31 March 2014), taking the name Ignatius Aphrem II Karim. 7.  This paper was entitled:  ‘Moving in from the Margins:  Issues of Text and Context in Deuteronomy’ (XVIIth Congress of the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament, University of Basel, Switzerland, 2 August 2001), subsequently published in Congress Volume Basel 2001, ed. A Lemaire, VTSup 92 (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 109–38. 8. For more on the Chester Beatty collection, its story in Ireland and its significance for biblical studies, see Chapter 15 by Edgar in the present volume. 9.  ‘Diatessaron’ is a Greek word meaning ‘through four’, that is, a harmonization of the four gospels into a single narrative, thereby eliminating apparent repetitions and contradictions.

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based principally on Matthew, which Tatian filled out with non-Matthean material where necessary. In due course, however, the Diatessaron was totally replaced in the Syriac-speaking Church by the separate gospels. This was effected by Rabbula, Bishop of Edessa (411–435 CE), who ordered the priests and deacons to see that every church have a copy of the separate gospels. The successful elimination of the Diatessaron in its Syriac form has meant that access to it over the centuries has been possible only through secondary and indirect sources. Thus, this Chester Beatty manuscript of Ephrem’s Diatessaron Commentary is invaluable on a number of counts. First, it is a wonderful commentary on the gospel narrative in a Semitic-language-speaking environment, giving insight into the mind and personal faith of a giant fourth-century theologian-poet.10 Second, it is priceless because it provides access to the nature and sequence of Tatian’s gospel harmony. Third, this Manuscript 709 is the only extant copy of this particular work of Ephrem in its original language. It would require an Agatha Christie or a Sherlock Holmes to unravel how this fifth-century Syriac manuscript travelled from its place of original production in Egypt to the Chester Beatty Library in Dublin.11 Since there was no complete English translation of this manuscript, and with some recently acquired additional folios added to the manuscript,12 I began translating some of these latter out of interest. As my stack of translation drafts grew, I  was becoming increasingly captivated by the lyrical and poetic mind of this great writer. Eventually this became a real project, and, with advice from Prof. Kevin Cathcart, who had been instrumental in procuring the additional folios for the Chester Beatty Library, I  found a publisher. This was in the person of Prof.

10.  See Carmel McCarthy, ‘Gospel Exegesis from a Semitic Church:  Ephrem’s Commentary on the Sermon on the Mount’, in Tradition of the Text, Studies Offered to Dominique Barthélemy in Celebration of His 70th Birthday, ed. Gerard J. Norton and Stephen Pisano, OBO 109 (Freiburg:  Universitätsverlag; Göttingen:  Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991), 103–23. 11. The manuscript most likely came from Egypt, from the (now) Coptic Monastery of Deir es-Suriani in Wadi Natrun. As its name suggests, the monastery was originally linked with Syrian monks. Founded in the sixth century, it was purchased by a wealthy Syrian merchant for monks from Syria. It was several times devastated in the ninth century by Imazighen (formerly known as Berber) raiders and in the fourteenth century ravaged by a severe plague. In the sixteenth century, the monastery, then almost totally abandoned, was taken over by Coptic monks, who still occupy it. The monastery possessed a number of ancient Syriac manuscripts, the most important of which are now located in the British Library. 12.  It seems that sometime between 1952 and 1957 there was a ‘dismembering’ of the original manuscript, and that what Alfred Chester Beatty purchased in 1958 was a significant but incomplete portion comprising 65 out of an original 134 folios. The discovery of 41 additional folios means that approximately 80 per cent of the original codex has now been reassembled, with probably less than 30 folios still to be tracked down!

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John Healey of Manchester University, whom I had initiated into Syriac when he was a second-year student in UCD back in 1966!13 Further help came from Prof. Sebastian Brock, a world expert in all things Syriac. He generously read through the entire draft and made many helpful suggestions. The annotated translation was launched in 1993 at a reception in UCD hosted by the then Dean of the Faculty of Arts, Dr Fergus D’Arcy.14 While working on this project I  was privileged to spend some days at the Benedictine Abbey in Clervaux, Luxembourg. This was the home of Dom Louis Leloir, OSB, who had edited the Syriac text of Ephrem’s Diatessaron Commentary. I  had some very fruitful sessions with this elderly monk and scholar, who was excited that Ephrem’s Commentary was soon to be published in English. He was very generous in giving me abundant time to confer with him on some obscure passages. What I recall most from this visit however was Dom Louis’s gentle humility and deep faith. Also memorable was his personal account of how the monastery had been taken over by the Nazis in January 1941. Surrounded by troops as though the monastery were a military target, the monks were given an hour to evacuate. With minimum possessions, they were dumped on the main road just beyond the Belgian border in a bleak mid-winter snow and expressly forbidden to return. When they eventually did in the spring of 1945, they found a trail of desolation and destruction left by conflicting armies passing through the monastery no less than four times during their enforced exile.

10. Biblia Hebraica Quinta: 1992 Onwards Just as I was completing this project another one arrived in 1992 in the form of an invitation to join a team of international textual critics involved in producing a new critical edition of the Hebrew Bible (Biblia Hebraica Quinta). The members of this team come from a range of Jewish and Christian traditions, and represent fourteen nations, from Europe, North America and Israel. This edition promises to be an outstanding contribution to the study of the Hebrew text, and will be the basis for all translations and biblical exegetical study for decades to come. The full publication of all eighteen volumes is eagerly awaited by the scholarly international community; the first volume containing the Megilloth (Ruth, Esther, Qoheleth, Song of Songs, Lamentations) was published in 2004, followed by Ezra-Nehemiah

13.  It was my pleasure to collaborate with John many years later as co-editor of the Cathcart Festschrift:  Carmel McCarthy and J. F. Healey, eds, Biblical and Near Eastern Essays:  Studies in Honour of K.J. Cathcart, JSOTSup 375 (London:  Sheffield Academic, 2004). 14.  Carmel McCarthy, St Ephrem’s Commentary on Tatian’s Diatessaron, An English Translation of Chester Beatty Syriac MS 709, with Introduction and Notes, JSS Supplement Series 2 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993).

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in 2006, Deuteronomy in 2007,15 Proverbs in 2008, the Minor Prophets in 2010, Judges in 2011 and Genesis in 2015. A number of volumes are very close to completion, while the remaining ones are still in preparation. Each of the eighteen volumes is based on the most reliable Hebrew, Greek, Aramaic, Syriac and Latin manuscripts, and the secondary research data published in English, French, German, Spanish and Italian. On completion, my database for Deuteronomy contained more than 3,150 entries on the textual ‘story’ of each variant reading in that book.16 Analysis of the more complex of these entries often required months of research per individual entry. This was in order to unravel and understand how and why textual variations came into being in the earliest Hebrew manuscripts, and in the earliest extant translations into Greek, Latin, Syriac and Aramaic. Then came the task of evaluating the relative status and authenticity of these variants in relation to the ‘earliest attested’ form of the biblical text that can be established in light of the textual evidence. Consequently, it was with a sense of light appearing at the end of a very long tunnel that the Deuteronomy volume made its appearance in 2007. Although requiring many hours of research alongside full teaching and administrative duties during the thirteen years working on it, for me it was both a pleasure and a privilege to be involved in a project of this magnitude and focus. The Word of God is indeed alive and active in many generations, cultures and languages, and perhaps no more so than in the wonderful history of the transmission of the biblical text in its earliest and most authentic textual traditions. There was a special ceremony at the 2007 IOSOT congress in Ljubljana to mark the publication of BHQ, Deuteronomy. Looking back now over those days and months and years of working closely on the earliest textual traditions for Deuteronomy, its completion required casting much bread on metaphorical waters. Or perhaps it was more like ‘being led for forty years in the desert’ and finding that ‘my clothes did not fall from me in tatters, nor did my sandals from my feet’ (Deut 29:4), for the Lord was with me at every step of the journey. On finishing Deuteronomy in 2007 the BHQ Editorial Committee asked me to help the book editors of the Minor Prophets and Judges to complete their respective volumes, after which in 2011 they invited me to join the BHQ Committee. This involves annual meetings to review the progress of the individual books awaiting

15.  Carmel McCarthy, Deuteronomium, Biblia Hebraica quinta editione cum apparatu critico novis curis elaborato, Biblia Hebraica Quinta 5 (Stuttgart:  Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2007). 16. This research allowed me to publish a number of essays related to text-critical issues in Deuteronomy, the more important of which included ‘Samaritan Pentateuch Readings in Deuteronomy’, in Biblical and Near Eastern Essays, 118–30, and ‘A Comparative Study of the Masorah Magna and Parva of the Book of Deuteronomy as attested in the Leningrad and Madrid M1 Manuscripts’, in Sôfer Mahîr: Essays in Honour of Adrian Schenker Offered by Editors of Biblia Hebraica Quinta, ed. Yohanan A. P. Goldman, Arie van der Kooij and Richard D. Weis (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 177–91.

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completion, as well as editorial work on the different volumes in their review and proofreading stages. In 2012 I  was also asked to assume responsibility for preparing 2 Kings for publication, an assignment which will ensure that I will not be idle in the foreseeable future. I count it a privilege to be part of this BHQ project at the service of the Word of God on interfaith, ecumenical and international levels, in order to ensure that the most authentic text can be identified, protected and shared in the believing communities for whom it is life-giving, as well as serving the broader academic community.

11. The Antioch Bible, 2011–13 In 2011, I accepted an invitation to join a different team of scholars, this time concerned with the Antioch Bible, a project which aims at making the Syriac Bible available to the modern reader in an easy-to-read idiomatic English translation, with ample footnotes that point out literal expressions in the original Syriac.17 Spearheaded by Dr George Kiraz, a Palestinian Christian living in New Jersey, the edition caters to the non-specialist, but is also a useful tool in the repertoire of a specialist. The translation is the work of an interfaith international team of scholars from North America and Europe. Since I  had worked for many years on the Hebrew text of Deuteronomy, to translate this book from Syriac was not a daunting task. Finished well ahead of the deadline, it was published in 2013.18 While the main focus of my professional life was centred on Carysfort College and UCD, I  have also taught scriptural modules to students in Mater Dei (1985–95), All Hallows (1989–90) and more recently in Maynooth (2006– 11). The Maynooth experience was particularly stimulating and stretching, for it consisted of co-presenting with Prof. Séamus O’Connell a postgraduate seminar entitled ‘The Theologian as Exegete’. Assessing fortnightly essays and student oral presentations, as well as facilitating student debate in the seminars, we explored theological and hermeneutical aspects to the Bible text through first-hand contact with the writings of key figures down through the Christian centuries.

12. A Faith-Development Approach to the Scriptures Alongside a professional life of academic teaching and research, I have consciously made time for a faith-development approach to the Scriptures. Because I believe the Scriptures to be the Word of God, and because I belong to a faith community – as well as to a community of religious sisters – I have responded positively

17. I had already published an entry on the Peshitta in 2010 (‘Peshitta’, in The Eerdmans Dictionary of Early Judaism, ed. John J. Collins and Daniel C. Harlow [Grand Rapids and Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2010], 1057–9). 18. Carmel McCarthy, Deuteronomy: The Antioch Bible (Piscataway : Gorgias, 2013).

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where possible to requests to work with parish groups, lectio divina groups, retreat groups and religious community groups, especially with the community to which I belong. This pastoral outreach also finds expression in writing, the most recent outlets consisting of monthly contributions to the Messenger19 and a small paperback exploring how modern people might pray using the Psalms.20 From 1998 to 2014, I was a part of the Orlagh team, which offered courses in adult religious education and Scripture throughout the year in an inspiring setting at the foothills of the Dublin Mountains.

13. Conclusion As I look back over the years I realize how fortunate I have been to have had such positive influences at work in my life. On my own, I would never have thought to venture into the languages and literatures of the Bible and the ancient Near East. Now, I  would find it strange not to be immersed in this world of culture, faith and scriptural insight. What I  grew to love, I  also grew to share and to be further enriched through the generosity of other scholars and colleagues. Thus, the journey continues, enriched by a reciprocal sharing that knows no bounds. Morris West, in his autobiography, notes that as our lives simplify we need have only three phrases left in our vocabulary: Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Reflecting back over this voyage of discovery, and on the diverse ways I have been called upon ‘to cast my bread upon the waters’, I  cannot but end on a note of profound gratitude. Thank you to my parents who were my earliest teachers, to my religious community who sent me into the unknown and to my third-level teachers in UCD and Fribourg who encouraged and believed in me! Thank you to my classmates for friendship, to my students for their energy and enthusiasm and to my colleagues for their support and enrichment! There are no better words with which to end these reflections than those of Paul, that untiring risk-taker, traveller and witness to the Risen Lord: ‘Thanks be to God for his gift that is beyond all telling!’ (2 Cor 9:15).

Bibliography McCarthy, Carmel. ‘Emendations of the Scribes’. Pages 263–5 in The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible: Supplementary Volume. Edited by Keith Crim, Lloyd R. Bailey, Sr., Victor P. Furnish and Emory S. Bucke. Nashville: Abington, 1976. McCarthy, Carmel. The Tiqqune Sopherim and Other Theological Corrections in the Masoretic Text of the Old Testament. OBO 36. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1981. 19. The Messenger of the Sacred Heart (Dublin: Messenger Publications, 2010 onwards). 20.  Carmel McCarthy, The Psalms:  Human Voices of Prayer and Suffering (Dublin: Dominican Publications, 2012).

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McCarthy, Carmel, and William Riley. The Old Testament Short Story: Explorations into Narrative Spirituality. Wilmington: Michael Glazier, 1986. McCarthy, Carmel. ‘The Treatment of Biblical Anthropomorphisms in Pentateuchal Targums’. Pages 45–66 in Back to the Sources: Biblical and Near Eastern Studies in Honour of Dermot Ryan. Edited by K. J. Cathcart and J. F. Healey. Dublin: Glendale, 1989. McCarthy, Carmel. ‘Gospel Exegesis from a Semitic Church: Ephrem’s Commentary on the Sermon on the Mount’. Pages 103–23 in Tradition of the Text, Studies Offered to Dominique Barthélemy in Celebration of His 70th Birthday. Edited by Gerard J. Norton and Stephen Pisano. OBO 109. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991. McCarthy, Carmel. St Ephrem’s Commentary on Tatian’s Diatessaron: An English Translation of Chester Beatty Syriac MS 709, with Introduction and Notes. JSS Supplement Series 2. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993, 2000. McCarthy, Carmel. ‘Moving in from the Margins: Issues of Text and Context in Deuteronomy’. Pages 109–38 in Congress Volume Basel 2001. Edited by A. Lemaire. VTSup 92. Leiden: Brill, 2002. McCarthy, Carmel. ‘Texts and Versions – the Old Testament’. Pages 207–28 in The Biblical World, Vol. 1. Edited by John Barton. London: Routledge, 2002. McCarthy, Carmel. ‘Samaritan Pentateuch Readings in Deuteronomy’. Pages 118–30 in Biblical and Near Eastern Essays: Studies in Honour of K.J. Cathcart. Edited by Carmel McCarthy and J. F. Healey. JSOTSup 375. London: Sheffield Academic, 2004. McCarthy, Carmel. ‘A Comparative Study of the Masorah Magna and Parva of the Book of Deuteronomy as Attested in the Leningrad and Madrid M1 Manuscripts’. Pages 177–91 in Sôfer Mahîr: Essays in Honour of Adrian Schenker Offered by Editors of Biblia Hebraica Quinta. Edited by Yohanan A. P. Goldman, Arie van der Kooij and Richard D. Weis. Leiden: Brill, 2006. McCarthy, Carmel. Deuteronomium, Biblia Hebraica quinta editione cum apparatu critico novis curis elaborato. Biblia Hebraica Quinta 5. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2007. McCarthy, Carmel. ‘Peshitta’. Pages 1057–9 in The Eerdmans Dictionary of Early Judaism. Edited by John J. Collins and Daniel C. Harlow. Grand Rapids and Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2010. McCarthy, Carmel. The Psalms: Human Voices of Prayer and Suffering. Dublin: Dominican Publications, 2012. McCarthy, Carmel. Deuteronomy: The Antioch Bible. Piscataway : Gorgias, 2013.

Part IV C ULTURAL AND A RTISTIC A PPROPRIATION:  I MAGERY, M USIC AND L ITERATURE

Chapter 17 T H E B O O K O F K E L L S A N D T H E V I SUA L IDENTIT Y OF IRELAND Amanda Dillon

1. Introduction Like whirling dervishes of design, the spinning spirals, triskeles and knots illuminating the Book of Kells have spun off the page into the collective cultural and visual identity of Ireland.1 The unique graphic design of these patterns, illustrations and typography have become the defining visual cultural identity of modern Ireland. The graphic elements of the Book of Kells have been appropriated to create an instantly recognizable and unique ‘brand’ or visual identity for Ireland, removed from the particularity of the text that is a book of the four Gospels. The Book of Kells is ranked among the greatest and best-known art treasures in the world. For Ireland, beyond representing an important part of the cultural heritage, it is elemental to the national imagination and a quintessential visual identifier for Irish culture.2 The Book of Kells is not just a work of art but also a symbol of cultural identity for people of Irish origin both at home and all over the world, as Peter Fox has noted.3 For many tourists travelling to Ireland, the visual elements of the Book of Kells are often already familiar as inherently Irish, but the content of the book may as well be Irish mythology as be the ‘Gospel of Jesus 1.  The Book of Kells’ exact time and place of origin remains a mystery, although an ‘uneasy scholarly consensus’ holds, at present, that it was created around 800 CE. Bernard Meehan, the Keeper of Manuscripts at Trinity College, Dublin, suggests that ‘[t]he book might have been produced on Iona before the Norse raid of 795, or at Kells during a period of calm enjoyed after the building of the church in 814, or partly made in both monasteries. That areas of decoration are unfinished on several pages might seem to support the view . . . that it was rescued from Iona and brought to Kells in the face of a Norse attack’. Bernard Meehan, The Book of Kells (London: Thames & Hudson, 2012), 21. 2.  W. A. Watts, preface to The Book of Kells, MS 58, Trinity College Library, Dublin: Commentary, ed. Peter Fox (Lucern: Faksimile Verlag, 1990), 9. 3.  Peter Fox, ed., introduction to The Book of Kells:  Commentary (Lucern:  Faksimile Verlag, 1990), 21.

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Christ’ according to Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, such is the separation of form and content. Section 2 of this chapter shall briefly examine the distinctiveness of the Book of Kells as groundbreaking in its time as a work of graphic design, including the visual integration of word and image. Section 3 shall consider the enduring reception and appropriation of the aesthetics of the Book of Kells as a primary, foundational signifier of ‘Irishness’.4 Section 4 briefly explores the role the Book of Kells plays in Irish tourism beyond being a tourist attraction.

2. The Graphic Design of the Book of Kells Observers recognize that the Book of Kells is ‘distinguished by extraordinarily rich artistic imagination and skill, allied with vivid colouring and expert calligraphy’.5 For all that Bernard Meehan has described it as ‘a sprawling and uneven piece, assembled by scribes and artists of varying abilities’,6 the Book of Kells marks a significant moment in the global history of the graphic design of page layout and the integration of text and illustration. We know that the pages were cropped by an overzealous librarian of the nineteenth century, in an attempt to create clean, crisp edges, sadly losing some illumination in the process. Nonetheless, the pages maintain generous margins, allowing the page space to breathe and offering visual balance to the complex designs and galleys of text. The predominantly text pages are characterized by the gracious uncial script and glowing illuminations that, quite literally, animate the text. 2.1 Artistic Inspiration The Book of Kells draws on a diverse decorative inheritance of abstract patterns and animal representations, in use in earlier manuscripts and other media.7 The Book of Durrow (ca. 680)  is the earliest fully designed and ornamented Celtic book. The Lindisfarne Gospels (ca. 695) is thought to represent the full flowering of the Celtic Style, into which different ingredients were skilfully blended in a new form of insular art.8 ‘Influences from the Mediterranean, assimilated and adapted 4. There are other contemporaneous artefacts – such as the Ardagh Chalice, the Cross of Cong, the ‘Tara’ Brooch – that are also exquisite examples of the material culture that often bear identical design elements in their own distinct form. 5. Meehan, Book of Kells, 15. 6. Meehan, Book of Kells, 13. 7. Meehan, Book of Kells, 103. 8.  Michelle P. Brown, The Lindisfarne Gospels and the Early Medieval World (London:  British Library, 2011), 107. The Lindisfarne Gospels were written by Eadfrith, bishop of Lindisfarne, before 698 CE and represent the ‘epitome of the “Insular” or “Hiberno-Saxon” style . . . blending influences from Celtic, Pictish, Germanic, Anglo-Saxon and Mediterranean art’ (107).

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by artists, can be seen both on major pages and in details of decoration.’9 The scale and range of its decoration have led commentators on the Book of Kells to find similarities in Anglo Saxon, Pictish, Byzantine, Armenian and Carolingian art. Heather Pulliam notes, ‘The variety and quantity of its decorated initials are unique in insular manuscripts, but a Merovingian sacramentary and an early Carolingian psalter have comparable decoration.’10 There is a natural transfer, appropriation and adaptation of motifs from one medium and place to another that occurs as a consequence of the type of travel and pilgrimage known to have been undertaken by monks of the period. Francis John Byrne has drawn the connection with the iconographic style of the Byzantine churches. ‘The artist responsible for the portraits, including St John (f. 291v), St Matthew (f.28v) and the majestic figure of Christ teaching (f. 32v), had most likely seen examples of Byzantine figure painting for his portraits possess that same distant formal dignity associated with icons and mosaics.’11 Michele P. Brown maintains that the decoration of the Book of Kells is indebted to the style and zoomorphic ornament of the Lindisfarne Gospels which it elevates in complexity in its interlace.12 The Book of Kells carries far more fullpage illustrations than any other Celtic manuscript. Over 2,100 ornate capitals engage the reader.13 At significant intervals through the course of its 339 leaves, a sentence blooms into a full-page illumination, shimmering with colour and intricate convoluted forms, blossoming over a whole page.14 The sheer number and quality of minor initials sets it apart from related manuscripts. It is rare to find a page within the Gospel text that lacks a zoomorphic or anthropomorphic initial.15 2.3 Typography The Irish script, common in manuscripts such as this, was a deliberate creation by the scribes, drawing on elements of several scripts inherited from antiquity which the earliest missionaries had brought with them. Byrne writes: Use of the Latin alphabet proper, at first for Latin, and later for Irish too, came in the course of the fifth century conversion with its necessary complement of scripture, liturgical books, and the written records of the Christian communities . . . As the earliest missionaries came from Roman Britain and Gaul

9. Meehan, Book of Kells, 103. 10.  Heather Pulliam, Word and Image in the Book of Kells (Dublin:  Four Courts Press, 2006), 16. 11.  Francis John Byrne, introduction to The Irish Hand: Scribes and Their Manuscripts from the Earliest Times to the Seventeenth Century, with an Exemplar of Scripts, by Timothy O’Neill (Portlaoise: Dolmen Press, 1984), ix–xxxii. 12. Brown, Lindisfarne Gospels, 111. 13. Philip B. Meggs, A History of Graphic Design (London: Viking, 1983), 55. 14. Meggs, History of Graphic Design, 55. 15. Pulliam, Word and Image, 40.

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they must have brought with them the scripts there current. But the Irish were always eclectic in their borrowings, and the palaeographers have detected elements of Italian, Spanish, and North African scripts in the Irish or insular script which had fully evolved by the beginning of the seventh century. The main book hands of Christian antiquity were the massive uncial with its handsome well-rounded forms, and the half-uncial with its ascenders and descenders.16

Two important writing styles came into prominence during the course of the late antique and early Christian period. Both were primarily used within the Christian church from the fourth until the ninth century CE and have retained this association. The uncials, so named because they are written between two guidelines that are one uncial (the Roman inch) apart, were invented by the Greeks as early as the third century CE. Uncials are rounded, freely drawn majuscule letters more suited to rapid writing than either square capitals or rustic capitals.17 A step towards the development of minuscules (‘lower case’ letterforms) was the half-uncial when strokes were allowed to soar above and sink below the two principal lines, creating true ‘ascenders’ and ‘descenders’. The pen was held flatly horizontal to the baseline, which gave the letterforms a strong vertical axis.18 In the Celtic manuscript tradition, a radical design innovation is the practice of leaving a space between words to enable the reader to separate the string of letters into words more quickly. The half-uncial script of late antique codices journeyed to Ireland with the early missionaries and was transformed into the scriptura scottica, or insular script, as it is now called. These half-uncials became the national letterform style in Ireland and are still used for special writings and a type style. Starting with the half-uncial, the Celts subtly redesigned the alphabet to suit their visual traditions. Written with a slightly angled pen, the full rounded characters have a strong bow with ascenders bending to the right. A distinctive feature is the heavy triangle, or wedge-shaped serif, that perches at the top of the ascenders. The horizontal stroke of the last letter of the word, particularly an e or t, zips out into the space between words. A text page from the Book of Kells shows how carefully the insular script was lettered. Characters are frequently joined at the waistline or the baseline.19 The importance of this script can be seen in the fact that it was in use from the sixth century to the nineteenth century. There now exists a plethora of so-called Celtic fonts, derivative and imitative of this early Irish uncial and now available for (often free) download and used with vary degrees of artistic skill to carry an instantly recognizable and consistently reinforced message of ‘Irishness’.

16. Byrne, Irish Hand, xi, xii. 17. Meggs, History of Graphic Design, 52. 18. Meggs, History of Graphic Design, 52. 19. Meggs, History of Graphic Design, 54–5.

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2.4 The Reception of the Biblical Text in the Image As Pulliam notes, more scholarly attention has been paid of late to the insular imagery and its exegetical function.20 In the popular cultural reception of the artwork, most especially the figurative and zoomorphic ornament, the impression is sometimes given that these were humorous details drawn by mischievous scribes, perhaps slightly bored with the rigours of endlessly copying out Latin text, who had indulged their imaginations and produced these whimsical creatures. Clearly, there are such instances in the book, as seen, for example, with the mouse running off with the Eucharistic host (folio 48r). That such humour creeps into the illuminations offers an insight into the monastic atmosphere of the time and implies a freedom experienced by the scribes in their creative task. This perception has, however, also fed into the separation of text and image. A closer study of these details reveals that actually these illustrations were often performing an exegetical role. An example would be the use of the hare as a symbol for cowardice in the passage describing Peter’s denial of Christ (Figure 17.1). On folio 180r lines 15–16, a hare, recognised as such by its long ears and strong hind legs, helps to form the shape of the letters Et in the phrase Et exiit foras ante atrium et gallus cantauit rursus (‘And he [Peter] went forth before the court; and the cock crew’; MK 14.68): the timid hare in this context was a comment on Peter’s behaviour in denying Christ.21

3. The Visual Reception of the Book of Kells 3.1 The Book of Kells and Irish Design The period roughly marked out as the century between 1830 and 1930 is often referred to as the ‘Celtic Revival’. Paul Caffrey outlines how during this era a policy of de-Anglicization and the promotion of what was called ‘Irish Ireland’ was advocated. This meant, in practical terms, the promotion of the Gaelic language, use of Gaelic names and place-names, the use of the Gaelic alphabet and typography, traditional music and games, preserving customs and habits of dress, and reading

20. Pulliam, Word and Image, 18. 21.  Meehan, Book of Kells, 22. ‘An early reference to the hare as a symbol of timidity occurs in the early seventh century Etymologies of Isidore of Seville’, writes Meehan. The hare is also an indigenous and common animal found in the Irish countryside and popular in fables and folklore. Niall Mac Coitir notes that ‘Julius Caesar in his work De Bello Gallico stated that the ancient Britons [Celtic Britain] regarded the hare as sacred, and taboo as food’ (155). He also relates accounts of a widespread belief among country people that witches could ‘shape-shift’ and disguise themselves as hares (153). Hares were often perceived as ‘tricksters’ and potentially devious. Niall Mac Coitir, Ireland’s Animals:  Myths, Legends and Folklore (Cork: Collins Press, 2015 [2010]), 153–8.

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Figure 17.1 Book of Kells, Folio 180r, with inset detail of a hare illumination. With permission of the Board of Trinity College Dublin.

Irish literature.22 The most common forms of decoration used to express national feeling were Celtic ornament and interlace patterns. ‘Although not specific to 22.  Irish literature that emerged during this period included the Gaelic Journal (Irisleabhar na Gaedhilge) in which such items as Ulick Bourke’s Beatha Sheághain Mhic Éil (The Life of John MacHale) and the serialized publication of Peadar Ó Laoghaire’s Séadna appeared. Other popular writers in Irish, of the period, included Liam P. Ó Riain, Séamas Ó Grianna, Pádraig Mac Piarais (Patrick Pearse), Pádraic Ó Conaire, Aodh Mac Domhnaill, Art Mac Bionaid and Áine Ní Fhoghlú. See:  William J. Mahon, ‘Irish Literature [5] 19th century (c. 1845  – c.  1922)’, in Celtic Culture:  A Historical Encyclopedia, ed. John Koch (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2006), 1011–13.

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Ireland, these were associated with the apex of Irish culture in early manuscript illumination such as the Book of Kells.’23 The most obvious way in which nationality could be expressed was by the use of emblems. These were numerous, but the most commonly employed were the shamrock, the harp, the Irish wolfhound and the round tower.24 The use of Celtic interlace ornament became common on book covers later in the nineteenth century.25 Jeanne Sheehy explains: Art was not strong enough in any of its branches for a common style to emerge which could be recognised as an expression of nationality, on whatever level. If it wished to proclaim its Irishness it was forced back upon recognisably Irish symbols, upon ‘Irish’ subject matter, and upon imitation of models from what was seen as the golden age, the period which produced the Book of Kells, the ‘Tara’ Brooch, and Cormac’s Chapel. Preoccupation with these elements was the factor that bound Irish art together in the nineteenth century.26

Caffrey has pointed out that public perception of design has changed throughout the Western world. In Ireland, the economic prosperity and general confidence of those decades prior to the recent recession bred an environment where critical design awareness could thrive. General design consciousness has been developed and raised by specialist design shops alongside public exhibitions of design, high-profile design awards and media attention to the reception of Irish designers’ work abroad. The establishment of professional bodies such as the Institute of Designers in Ireland and government agencies like the Crafts Council of Ireland and Enterprise Ireland has served to highlight the importance of design and designing.27 Irish design is dominated by the crafts; indeed, Ireland is associated internationally with the handcrafted aesthetic.28 Luke Gibbons marks the government-led establishment of the Kilkenny Design Workshop in 1963 as the beginning of a new surge in Irish design. This became a trailblazer in vernacular modernism as traditional motifs or ‘Celtic’ forms were filtered through the linear abstractions of the International

23.  Paul Caffrey, ‘The Coinage Design Committee (1926–1928) and the Formation of a Design Identity in the Irish Free State’, in Ireland, Design and Visual Culture: Negotiating Modernity. 1922–1992, ed., Linda King and Elaine Sisson (Cork:  Cork University Press, 2011), 75–89. 24.  Jeanne Sheehy, The Rediscovery of Ireland’s Past:  The Celtic Revival, 1830–1930 (London: Thames & Hudson, 1980), 9. 25. Sheehy, Rediscovery, 24. 26. Sheehy, Rediscovery, 9. 27. Paul Caffrey, ‘Irish Design 1984–2004’, Irish Arts Review 21.3 (2004): 86–9. 28. Caffrey, ‘Irish Design’, 87.

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Style in an attempt to forge a distinctive Irish visual identity. The emphasis on tradition, authenticity and the handmade look in ceramics, glass, furniture and fabrics allowed for high profile promotions at the upper end of the American market in leading stores such as Bloomingdales and Neiman-Marcus, but did not make inroads on the mass market.29

A wander through any high-end design or gift-shop countrywide confirms Caffrey’s assertion. ‘Commercial potteries producing batch or small-scale production of hand-crafted ceramics and glass have been enormously successful. Stephen Pearce pottery, Nicholas Mosse’s spongeware, and Jerpoint Glass, established by Keith Ledbetter have all become identified with Irish design. Their domestic wares are both functional and decorative and have become ubiquitous.’30 Within the broader selection, ‘Celtic motifs’ have been appropriated and applied to various products, to lasting popular appeal, borne out by their commercial longevity. 3.2 The Book of Kells and Irish Art in the Late Twentieth Century In the later decades of the twentieth century, other artists also made allusions to the Book of Kells. Catherine Marshall writes, ‘Gerard Dillon, Robert Ballagh and Michael Farrell mocked the grand tradition by appropriating its imagery and bending it to the cause of subversion rather than passive acceptance.’31 Farrell reacted so strongly to political events in the north of Ireland that he placed himself in a self-imposed exile in France. Of the influence of the Book of Kells, Farrell maintained, Having no Celtic tradition in painting for over 1000 years one has to go back to when Celtic art was at its greatest and most important, for it is true that no pictures of any value concerned with the real problems of picture-making have been made in Ireland since the book of Kells, a masterpiece devoid of all mist, wind and whimsy – perfect in harmony and uncompromisingly direct.32

In ‘A Shorter History’ he implies an interlace pattern or a carpet page of roundels, forming from these curved shapes full of text, but then disrupts it, allowing the shapes

29.  Luke Gibbons, ‘Modalities of the Visible’, in Ireland, Design and Visual Culture: Negotiating Modernity, 1922–1992, ed. Linda King and Elaine Sisson (Cork:  Cork University Press, 2011), 19–25. 30. Caffrey, ‘Irish Design’, 88. 31.  Catherine Marshall, ‘History and Narrative Painting’, in Art and Architecture in Ireland. Volume V:  Twentieth Century, ed. Catherine Marshall and Peter Murray (Dublin: Yale University Press, 2014), 212–15. 32.  Michael Farrell, ‘Artist’s Statement’ [1965], in Cyril Barrett, Michael Farrell (Dublin: Douglas Hyde Gallery, 1979), 19–21.

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Figure  17.2 Michael Farrell, ‘A Shorter History’. With permission of The Irish Visual Artists Rights Organisation.

to explode in the middle of the canvas, thereby denying any coherence. Beneath this is a panel with a photograph of carnage (Figure 17.2). Richard Hamilton’s diptych, The Citizen, also relates to ‘the Troubles’ in Northern Ireland (Figure 17.3).33 This painting depicts a ‘blanketman’, Republican detainee Hugh Rooney, at the Maze Prison.34 The impetus for the work came 33.  Terry Riggs, ‘Summary’, http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/hamilton-the-citizent03980/text-summary. The painting was made between 1981 and 1983 and purchased by the British Tate Gallery in 1985. It is interesting in itself that the Tate acquired a work of this political nature during this period. The website outlines the background to the work thus: ‘The initial source for this painting was a Granada Television episode of the World in Action programme, titled “The H-block Fuse”, transmitted on 24 November 1980.’ This along with other footage showed prisoners escalating their protest. They refused to obey prison regulations and would not wear prison clothes, choosing instead to wrap themselves ‘only in the blankets they were provided as bedding, and lived in their own squalor, surrounded by excrement-smeared walls’. 34.  Tate Gallery, ‘The Citizen–Catalogue Entry’, http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/ hamilton-the citizen-t03980/text-catalogue-entry. In one of his own letters Hamilton identified Hugh Rooney as the subject of the painting: ‘A TV programme was the source of the idea and also provided the material I used to construct the image. The subject is a detainee in the H blocks named Hugh Rooney.’ A number of journalists, among them Jonathan James

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Figure  17.3 ‘The Citizen’, 1981–83, Richard Hamilton (1922–2011). Purchased 1985. © Estate of Richard Hamilton, DACS London/IVARO Dublin, 2017. Photo credit: ©Tate, London, 2017.

from a television documentary, scenes from which made a profound impact on Hamilton and which he later described as ‘a strange image of human dignity in the midst of self-created squalor . . . endowed with a mythic power often associated with art’.35 A Fenian character in Joyce’s Ulysses provided the title for the work.36 and Fisun Güner, incorrectly describe the work as a ‘portrait of the IRA hunger-striker Bobby Sands’. Jonathan James, ‘Jesus in Jail’,’ The Guardian, 20 August 2008, http://www. theguardian.com/artanddesign/2008/aug/20/art. politicsandthearts; and Fisun Güner, ‘Richard Hamilton: Modern Moral Matters, Serpentine Gallery’, 18 March 2010, http://www. theartsdesk.com/visual-arts/richard-hamilton-modern-moral-matters-serpentine-gallery. 35. Fionna Barber, Art in Ireland since 1910 (London: Reaction Books, 2013), 220. 36.  Barber, Art in Ireland, 220: ‘The painting’s title is taken from the “Cyclops” episode of James Joyce’s Ulysses, in which the hero Leopold Bloom comes into conflict with a Fenian bar-fly known to all as “citizen” ’.

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The right-hand panel portrays Rooney standing in his prison cell clad only in a blanket. The left-hand panel is vaguely abstract, and represents the excrementdaubed walls of the prisoner’s cell. Hamilton felt the calligraphic, abstract qualities of the H-Block prisoner’s own mark-making could be seen to have stylistic links back to the earliest phases of Irish art: ‘Each cell is marked with the graphic personality of its inhabitants; the walls look different because the pigment, of their own creation, is deployed in varying ways. It isn’t difficult to discern the megalithic spirals of New Grange inscribed there, nor are the Gaelic convolutions of the book of Kells remote from the wall paintings of Long Kesh.’37 The use of both the terms ‘mythic’ and ‘Gaelic convolutions’ in the artist’s own articulation of what he is trying to convey reinforce the idea that the Book of Kells is an exemplar of ‘early Christian art which in its linear intricacies is purported to image the Irish mind’.38 For all its visceral crudity and the repulsion we may feel, this ‘mark-making’ is immensely powerful precisely because of the immediate allusions it makes to other primordial forms of human ‘mark-making’ like the cave-paintings at Lascaux. 3.3 The Art of Jim Fitzpatrick Jim Fitzpatrick is another artist who has appropriated the Celtic motifs, most especially the interlace patterns and roundels, into his designs. He has forged an idiosyncratic graphic style that draws heavily on Celtic mythology and advances the romance of an otherworldly ‘Celtia’,39 populated with an alluring, syncretic mix of Irish superheroes and heroines; saints and goddesses, warriors and giants, queens and faeries (Figure 17.4). His hugely popular artwork, published in the form of greeting cards, posters and calendars, is ubiquitous in tourist venues. He received a nomination for an award, from the Allianz Business to Arts organization in 2008, having been commissioned by CityJet ‘to produce six paintings of the islands of Ireland for their Boardroom. In 2007, these paintings were exhibited for three months in the Centre Culturel Irlandais in Paris. The exhibition served to showcase Fitzpatrick’s work to a new audience, highlight the islands of Ireland as a tourist attraction and promote the CityJet brand’.40 Despite being dismissed in many Irish art-critical circles and labelled as kitsch,41 his work was deemed by a large French

37. Richard Hamilton, A Cellular Maze: Rita Donagh, Richard Hamilton (Londonderry : Orchard Gallery, 1983), 7–8. 38.  Brian O’Doherty, in The Irish Imagination, 1959–1971 (Dublin:  Municipal Gallery of Modern Art, 1971), cited in Fintan Cullen, Sources in Irish Art: A Reader (Cork:  Cork University Press, 2000), 272. 39. Celtia is the title of a book by Fitzpatrick featuring his artwork, and as such may be understood as a personal description of his work. 40.  ‘Winners 2008: Allianz Business to Arts Awards 2008’, 45 (cited 16 January 2015), online: http://www.businesstoarts.ie/pdfs/Winners_Brochure_2008.pdf. 41.  Maeve Connolly, ‘Celtic Revivals: Jim Fitzpatrick and the Celtic Imaginary in Irish and International Popular Culture’, in Ireland, Design and Visual Culture:  Negotiating

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Figure 17.4 Jim Fitzpatrick, ‘Skellig Michael’. With kind permission of the artist.

airline brand to resonate with their target audience and communicate effectively a perceived attraction of Ireland as a tourist destination. 3.4 The Secret of Kells The most well-known feature-length animated movie to be produced in Ireland is The Secret of Kells (Figure 17.5).42 In time it will no doubt become a focus of academic work across many disciplines in its own right, not least as a creative reception of the Book of Kells.43 In a well-conceived storyline that incorporates Modernity, 1922–1992, ed. Linda King and Elaine Sisson (Cork:  Cork University Press, 2011), 255. 42.  The film was released in 2009 and nominated for Best Animated Feature Film at the 82nd Academy Awards in 2010. It has received numerous other prestigious industry awards and is described as having achieved ‘cult status . . . within the animation industry and among film critics everywhere’. Don Hahn cited in Tomm Moore and Ross Stewart, Designing the Secret of Kells (Chicago: Trinquétte, 2014), 228. 43.  When Bernard Meehan (Keeper of Manuscripts) learned that the drawings from The Secret of Kells were to be destroyed, the archivist offered to house them in Trinity College where they will be preserved. ‘In a few years, or a few centuries, the twenty-first century drawings and the eighth century manuscript that inspired them may inspire future practitioners of the art of animation and draftsmanship.’ Charles Solomon, foreword to Designing the Secret of Kells, 11.

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historical narrative of life at the beginning of the ninth-century in Ireland in a monastery setting under the threat of marauding Norse invaders, the film also includes some pre-Christian aspects of the spirituality of the period. Most significant, however, is its extraordinary integration of the aesthetic of the Book of Kells in a way that is simultaneously true to the original and yet also startlingly fresh. The aesthetic of the Book of Kells exquisitely informs the aesthetic of the world of the film and is neither contrived nor overly demanding of the viewer. Down through the centuries, generations have been enraptured by the Book of Kells and wondered what ‘world’ it illuminated and how they might access it. People have bent down as close as possible to the page, squinting their eyes, hoping to peer through the lacertine and glimpse the scribes in the scriptorium. The Book of Kells has the quality of a sacred portal, of being capable of transporting the viewer to another time and space and consciousness. The Secret of Kells has recognized that quality and creatively conceived the ‘world’ on the other side. This is where you land if you fall through the knot-work. The Secret of Kells opens up the ‘Narnia’ hidden behind the spinning spirals of the Book of Kells and lets us be there for a while. The Secret of Kells is a film which, by its commitment and its subject, is a celebration of the work accomplished by the illuminators of the Book of Kells. Tomm Moore’s script and directing are directly inspired by this Bible, written and illustrated with great virtuoso in quill and ink during the eighth century. The graphic world of the film isn’t the work of a copyist, or a mere academic reproduction of the calligraphies and drawings of the illuminator monks. No, it is an original recreation, which incorporates the spirit and style of the classic illuminations and transforms them into a more expressive rendering; an expressionist stylisation imagined and conceived especially for the grand unfolding of strokes and colours on the big screen.44

Not unlike the monks of Kells, these contemporary graphic artists of Kilkenny have ‘imagined a new form of illuminating, a modern calligraphic treatment designed for a movie’.45 Art director Ross Stewart adapted the intricate patterns in the Book of Kells for the film’s backgrounds, ‘within the 2D, stylised world of the old illuminated manuscript’.46 Producer Tomm Moore describes how he ‘was mainly concerned with bringing the character designs closer to the Book of Kells influences seen in the background art while keeping them animatable’. He goes on to note, ‘I tried to integrate the geometry of the Book of Kells with the character design.’47 The considerable care taken in the translation of the graphic quality of

44. Didier Brunner, cited in Designing the Secret of Kells, 13. 45. Brunner, cited in Designing the Secret of Kells, 13. 46. Solomon, Designing the Secret of Kells, 11. 47. Moore, Designing the Secret of Kells, 22.

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Figure  17.5 Image from Tomm Moore and Ross Stewart, Designing the Secret of Kells (Chicago: Trinquétte, 2014). With kind permission from Cartoon Saloon.

the Book of Kells into this new articulation in animation is evident and thrilling. Meehan writes: In much of its artwork it mirrors the extraordinary qualities of the Book of Kells with an attention to detail which stays long in the memory. In my favourite scene, snow falls on the monastery in a relentless storm, each flake a differently formed cross. It is in scenes like this that The Secret of Kells displays its deep empathy with the detail as well as the spirit of the manuscript.48

4. The Defining Visual Cultural Identity of Modern Ireland ‘Exit Through the Gift Shop’, referring to the ubiquitous gift shop in every gallery and museum, is the witty, if somewhat sardonic, title of a documentary by the artist Banksy critiquing the commodification of art and cultural artefacts. These

48. Meehan, Designing the Secret of Kells, 222.

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five pithy words capture the marketing machinery that perceives no sacred cows (not even if it is ‘the Bible’) but only opportunities to leverage each and every artefact to sell yet more product. The reception of the art of the Book of Kells in and since the Celtic Tiger period has seen much application of its graphic motifs to what is commonly referred to as ‘tourist tat’. ‘During the Celtic Revival in the late nineteenth century, the Book of Kells came to be revered as a symbol of Irish nationalism, a status that it emphatically retains’, insists art-historian Stalley.49 Annually, well over half a million visitors enter the Library at Trinity College to view it on display. ‘No other book attracts the same level of public interest.’50 Fáilte Ireland consistently places the Book of Kells around fifth position in the top-ten of ‘paid-in’ tourist attractions in the country.51 Sociologist Dean MacCannell writes that once a sight is ‘sacrilized’ (identified as significant) and mechanically reproduced through ‘off-sight markers’ (information about or representations of the sight which are physically separated from the original source), these markers, including posters and brochures, feed a tourist industry in which the tourist is motivated to travel as a way of locating an authentic experience.52 ‘For moderns, reality and authenticity are thought to be elsewhere: in other historical periods and in other cultures, in purer, simpler lifestyles . . . [T]he concern of moderns for “naturalness”, their nostalgia and their search for authenticity are not merely casual and somewhat decadent, though harmless, attachments to the souvenirs of destroyed cultures and dead epochs.’53 Tapping into this ‘search for authenticity’ is evident in much of the marketing both of Ireland as a destination and the Book of Kells as a highlight for tourists to Ireland. In many ways, echoes of the ‘Celtic Revival’ are ever-present and diversely pervasive and look set to remain so. Alluding to the ‘world behind the text’ that seems to whisper constantly to the viewer, Umberto Eco, in his poetic reflection on the Book of Kells, wrote: ‘For my part, I have always endeavoured to divine the portions of the manuscript that were unknown to me by listening to the murmur of those other voices that preceded it. A marvel such as the Book of Kells is not conceived from nothingness. It is born surrounded and preceded by a deep and pervasive murmur.’54 Woven deeply into the complex interlace patterns that frame, decorate and illuminate not only the gift-shop merchandise, but also the Kilkenny Design Shop

49. Roger Stalley, ‘Book of Kells’, Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, Oxford University Press, http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T046203. 50. Meehan, Book of Kells, 13. 51.  Tourism statistics from 2013 placed the Book of Kells at number 5 with 588,723 visitors. See more online at:  http://www.failteireland.ie/Utility/Media-Centre/FailteIreland-reveals-nation%E2%80%99s-Top-Tourist-Attrac.aspx#sthash.8rE5x3LQ.dpuf. 52.  Dean MacCannell, The Tourist:  A New Theory of the Leisure Class, 2nd ed. (Berkley : University of California, 1999), 3. 53. MacCannell, The Tourist, 3. 54. Umberto Eco, foreword to The Book of Kells: Commentary, 11.

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pottery, the fine-art of Farrell and Hamilton, the popular art of Fitzpatrick, the animated Secret of Kells is that ‘pervasive murmur’, an ethereal promise of yearned-for authenticity. Because the visual dimension of the Book of Kells is so strong and the text, being Latin, largely inaccessible to many viewers, the aesthetics of the book dominate the collective imagination as they reach back to the early Irish-Christian monastic era. Pulliam notes perceptively that ‘perhaps the most unique feature of the Book of Kells is the manner in which imagery repeatedly invades the territorial domain of text’.55 This has happened in both the cultural and religious reception of the book. The aesthetics of the Book of Kells have become – through both genuine, popular-cultural evolution and marketing manipulation  – a portal which promises entry to the timeless compounds of ancient Celtic consciousness. The new Irish passport design, unveiled on 30 September 2014, is unexpected and even startling, as an example of present-day ‘Celtic Revival’, in its bold appropriation of so many familiar ‘Celtic’ tropes thought by some to have been banished to Irish design history. Illustrations of Irish landmarks such as the Cliffs of Moher as well as Gaelic games are framed by a wildly lyrical and loose interlace on the left-hand page and are stamped over with a Celtic brooch on the right. Short bits of verse from the Irish national anthem and Irish poetry feature in a contemporary Celtic font. It is profoundly telling that such a design should be produced during a period of high ‘forced emigration’, as some perceive it, due to the severe economic recession. Here the romantic evocation of mystical Ireland, seamlessly blended with the real and contemporary, is not about marketing a tourist destination but reaches deep into the collective imaginary, reinforcing the belief in Ireland as ancient, eternal home.

5. Conclusion High resolution digital images of every page of the Book of Kells are now available to view online through the Trinity College Dublin website.56 In a way inconceivable to the mind of the most imaginative ninth-century monk, the viewer may now scroll through the pages and enlarge and examine the very finest details of the illuminations. It is certainly a scholar’s and devotee’s delight and a very welcome addition to the many resources on the Book. And yet, it still does not address that conundrum about the relationship between the image and the text – the Latin text of the book remains beyond the reach of many contemporary readers, while the aesthetics continue to enthral. For example, exiting through the gift-shop at the end of the Book of Kells display one finds, jostling side by side, vying to capture the tourist’s eye, expensive jewellery and plastic knick-knacks 55. Pulliam, Word and Image, 37. 56.  See http://digitalcollections.tcd.ie. An Apple iPad app is also available with similar functionality.

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in gaudy colours drawing from the imagery of the book; there is something for every taste and every budget. There is barely a product of which one can conceive – an item of clothing, a room in the house – that has not had a Book of Kells motif applied to it. What is much harder to find, however, is a Bible. On a recent visit I did eventually find one, down on the second shelf from the floor, around the corner at the back of the shop. One, lonely, soft-cover NRSV edition, going for half-price, ‘reduced to clear’. It is somewhat ironic, in the midst of all this carefully orchestrated merchandising, that the one thing that has not been ‘Kells-ified’ is the Bible – or more precisely, the Gospels of the New Testament. There is no Your Own Book of Kells Gospels in English with Illuminations or ‘Illuminated with the Book of Kells’ illustrated study Bible with daily reflections. It is hard to imagine that such a book would not sell. The new manifestations of the Book of Kells in the digital realm, the iPad app and online, parallel its cultural appropriation in contemporary media like animation. Digital technology opens up the possibility of a digital interlinear version, with translations in many modern languages. This would go some way to breaking down the word/image dichotomy that persists for many viewers in their reception of the Book of Kells and open up the text for many more readers. Nevertheless, the polyvalent aesthetic legacy of the art of the Book of Kells looks set to prevail into the future. From handmade craft work, to kitsch and political art, to an Oscar nominated, feature-length animated film, the ability of the Book of Kells to inspire artists of every ilk and medium endures undimmed. Perhaps a task for biblical scholars is to help highlight the integration of image and word and thus revive (and even animate) its textual legacy in the popular reception of the book.

Bibliography Barber, Fionna. Art in Ireland since 1910. London: Reaction Books, 2013. Barrett, Cyril. Michael Farrell. Dublin: Douglas Hyde Gallery, 1979. Brown, Michelle P. The Lindisfarne Gospels and the Early Medieval World. London: The British Library, 2011. Business to Arts. http://www.businesstoarts.ie/pdfs/Winners_Brochure_2008.pdf. Byrne, Francis John. Introduction to The Irish Hand: Scribes and Their Manuscripts from the Earliest Times to the Seventeenth Century, with an Exemplar of Scripts, by Timothy O’Neill. Portlaoise: Dolmen Press, 1984. Caffrey, Paul. ‘The Coinage Design Committee (1926–1928) and the Formation of a Design Identity in the Irish Free State’. Pages 75–89 in Ireland, Design and Visual Culture: Negotiating Modernity: 1922–1992. Edited by Linda King and Elaine Sisson. Cork: Cork University Press, 2011. Caffrey, Paul. ‘Irish Design 1984–2004’. Irish Arts Review 21.3 (2004): 86–9. Connolly, Maeve. ‘Celtic Revivals: Jim Fitzpatrick and the Celtic Imaginary in Irish and International Popular Culture’. Pages 250–65 in Ireland, Design and Visual Culture: Negotiating Modernity, 1922–1992. Edited by Linda King and Elaine Sisson. Cork: Cork University Press, 2011. Cullen, Fintan. Sources in Irish Art: A Reader. Cork: Cork University Press, 2000.

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Eco, Umberto. Foreword to The Book of Kells, MS 58, Trinity College Library, Dublin: Commentary. Edited by Peter Fox. Lucern: Faksimile Verlag, 1990. Failte Ireland. http://www.failteireland.ie/Utility/Media-Centre/Failte-Ireland-revealsnation%E2%80%99s-Top-Tourist-Attrac.aspx#sthash.8rE5x3LQ.dpuf. Fitzpatrick, Jim. https://www.facebook.com/jimfitzpatrickgallery?fref=ts. Fox, Peter, ed. The Book of Kells, MS 58, Trinity College Library, Dublin: Commentary. Lucern: Faksimile Verlag, 1990. Gibbons, Luke. ‘Modalities of the Visible’. Pages 19–25 in Ireland, Design and Visual Culture: Negotiating Modernity: 1922–1992. Edited by Linda King and Elaine Sisson. Cork: Cork University Press, 2011. Güner, Fisun. ‘Richard Hamilton: Modern Moral Matters, Serpentine Gallery.’ 18 March 2010. http://www.theartsdesk.com/visual-arts/richard-hamiltonmodern-moral-matters-serpentine-gallery. Hamilton, Richard. A Cellular Maze: Rita Donagh, Richard Hamilton. Londonderry : Orchard Gallery, 1983. James, Jonathan. ‘Jesus in Jail’. The Guardian. 20 August 2008. http://www.theguardian. com/artanddesign/2008/aug/20/art.politicsandthearts. Mac Coitir, Niall. Ireland’s Animals: Myths, Legends and Folklore. Cork: Collins Press, 2015 [2010]. MacCannell, Dean. The Tourist: A New Theory of the Leisure Class. 2d ed. Berkeley : University of California, 1999. Mahon, William J. ‘Irish Literature [5] 19th century (c. 1845 – c. 1922)’. In Celtic Culture: A Historical Encyclopedia. Edited by John Koch. Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 2006. Marshall, Catherine. ‘History and Narrative Painting’. Pages 212–15 in Art and Architecture in Ireland. Volume V: Twentieth Century. Edited by Catherine Marshall and Peter Murray. Dublin: Yale University Press, 2014. Meehan, Bernard. The Book of Kells. London: Thames & Hudson, 2012. Meggs, Philip B. A History of Graphic Design. Middlesex: Viking, 1983. Moore, Tomm, and Ross Stewart. Designing the Secret of Kells. Chicago: Trinquétte Publishing, 2014. Pulliam, Heather. Word and Image in the Book of Kells. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2006. Riggs, Terry. ‘Summary’. http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/hamilton-the-citizent03980/text-summary. Sheehy, Jeanne. The Rediscovery of Ireland’s Past: The Celtic Revival, 1830–1930. London: Thames & Hudson, 1980. Solomon, Charles. Foreword to Designing the Secret of Kells, by Tomm Moore and Ross Stewart. Chicago: Trinquétte Publishing, 2014. Stalley, Roger. ‘Book of Kells’. Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online. Oxford University Press. http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T046203. Tate Gallery. ‘Catalogue Entry’. http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/hamilton-the-citizent03980/text-catalogue-entry. Watts, W. A. Preface to The Book of Kells, MS 58, Trinity College Library, Dublin: Commentary. Edited by Peter Fox. Lucern: Faksimile Verlag, 1990.

Chapter 18 I M AG I N G T H E B I B L E I N S TA I N E D G L A S S :   F I V E S TA I N E D G L A S S W I N D OWS B Y M IC HA E L H E A LY I N S T B R E N DA N ’ S C AT H E D R A L , L O U G H R E A Myra Hayes

1. Introduction One of the most effective means of evaluating the reception of the Bible is through analysis of its visual representation. The use of stained glass as a valuable pedagogical resource has been a continuous feature of Christian cathedrals and churches since the Middle Ages. Often referred to as ‘the poor man’s Bible’, they were specifically designed to aid understanding of the grand narratives of the Old and New Testaments. For scholars they acted as a guide to the deeper symbolic meaning within the biblical text. They were also a unique source of beauty, reflecting the changing light and creating an atmosphere of profound mystery. As testimony to the reception of the Bible throughout the ages, they also reflect the theology of worshipping communities. The study of how biblical narratives are portrayed in stained glass windows in various contexts can therefore assist in revealing how these narratives were received and interpreted by their communities. This remained a relatively unexplored area until recently, however, particularly within an Irish context. Ireland’s outstanding contribution to world literature has tended to overshadow its contribution to the visual arts. It is also worth noting that because of the particular circumstances of Irish religious and political history, there is a gap of over seven centuries during which time visual representation was practically non-existent. The Irish High Crosses of the ninth to twelfth centuries were rich in visualization of the biblical narratives, representing both Old and New Testaments, and remain a valuable material source on the interpretation of the Bible in early Medieval Ireland.1 Following 1.  See Peter Harbison, Irish High Crosses:  With the Figure Sculptures Explained (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1995).

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the Reformation in mainland Europe and England, the visual representation of biblical themes was actively discouraged, and the value of the written word became paramount. The art of stained glass, which had been a powerful visual means of portraying biblical narrative for a largely illiterate premodern society, fell into disuse in England, and consequently, in Ireland. The Church of Ireland, the established church, did not encourage visual representation and the Roman Catholic Church became essentially an underground church, with many of its activities ultimately lost to history. It was not until the middle of the nineteenth century that a revival of the art of stained glass, led by A. W. N. Pugin in England, initiated a renewal of visual representation of the Bible. With the coming of Catholic Emancipation in 1829, a wave of church building was undertaken in Ireland. This provided the environment for the inauguration in 1903 of the first indigenous stained glass company, An Túr Gloine (The Tower of Glass), established by Edward Martyn and Sarah Purser. With the help of T. P. Gill, secretary of the Department of Agriculture and Technical Instruction, Martyn invited Christopher Whall, the leading exponent of stained glass production in England, to send Alfred Child to Ireland to lead classes in the art of stained glass in the Metropolitan School of Art. The works of the artists of this studio are a lasting testimony to the enduring power of iconography to convey the biblical narrative to a worshipping community. They provide material evidence of how the Bible was interpreted at this period of re-emerging Roman Catholicism as an influential force in Ireland, as well as an important reflection of Irish Catholic identity. As O’Kane remarks, ‘Art, like a text, reveals the world, experience and vision of the artist and thus can broaden the viewer’s knowledge and transform or intensify his or her vision of the subject.’2 Examination of the iconography from this perspective helps to provide interesting new insights into the formation and consolidation of Catholic identity which took place during this period. The artists of An Túr Gloine produced outstanding work for both Irish and international churches from 1903 to 1963, when their operations ceased. The focus of this essay will be on five windows designed and executed for St Brendan’s Cathedral, Loughrea, County Galway, by Michael Healy, who executed ten windows for the cathedral over a thirty-six-year period. Healy’s entire career as a stained glass artist is represented in Loughrea, from its early beginning in 1903 to the final masterpieces executed before his death in 1941. As the five windows to be examined have particular relevance to the reception of the Bible at this period in Irish history, they will be examined in considerable detail in order to identify and evaluate how the biblical narratives were visually conveyed in the context of re-emerging Roman Catholicism.3 2. Martin O’Kane, Painting the Text: The Artist as Biblical Interpreter (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2009), 41. 3. All biblical quotations drawn from the Revised Standard Version (RSV).

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2. St Brendan’s Cathedral, Loughrea Loughrea Cathedral was the first cathedral to be decorated under the influence of the new ideal where Irish artists undertook the decoration of Irish churches. Michael Healy was one of the first artists to be involved in the decoration, along with A. E. Child and the other artists of An Túr Gloine. Several factors provided the backdrop to the building and decoration, not least of which is the enthusiastic involvement of a group of individuals dedicated to ensuring that the work was of high quality and craftsmanship. In Loughrea, besides Edward Martyn and Purser, the role of the Bishop of Clonfert, Dr John Healy, and Fr Jeremiah O’Donovan, the curate, cannot be underestimated. Bishop Healy and Fr O’Donovan were very much advanced in their belief in the importance of commissioning Irish craft workers in the decoration. Healy had written a book on Irish Romanesque architecture and round towers, and O’Donovan’s interest in the Irish language, culture and the importance of Irish national identity had a significant bearing on many of his undertakings. All of these people contributed significantly to the design of the church which was to become a treasure house of the Celtic Revival. Because of a delay in starting the building of the Cathedral until the final years of the nineteenth century, by the time the building was completed in 1902, the ideals of the Arts and Crafts movement, which had begun with Ruskin, the Pre-Raphaelites and William Morris, had taken hold among the artistic community involved in the newly formed stained glass company. This delay was to prove fortuitous in providing a major contribution to the ecclesiastical buildings of Ireland. Michael Healy’s first foray into stained glass work was an angel for the Annunciation window in the apse of the cathedral in 1903. His final two windows for the cathedral, The Ascension in 1936, and The Last Judgment, completed in 1940, are considered to be the crowning masterpieces of the Irish stained glass revival. 2.1 Side Altar Rose Window: The Holy Family In 1907, Healy executed two rose windows over the side altars, one of the Virgin and Child featuring Saints Patrick, Brendan, Brigid, Colman, Jarlath and Columcille, along with the Holy Family and six angels (Figure 18.1). Each of these windows consists of a single light, surrounded by six smaller lights. The window that concerns us portrays Mary as the human mother, engaged in needlework with the elderly Joseph and the Christ Child watching intently. An interesting interpretation of this domestic scene suggests that there are mystical undertones in relation to the piece of cloth that Mary is sewing, and that it is a ‘tenderly loving reference to the seamless robe which in Christian lore is frequently regarded as symbolical of the Hypostatic Union’.4 The portrayal of Mary sewing has precedence in Chartres Cathedral which contains a stone sculpture of the Virgin sewing, and the image 4. See Thomas MacGreevy, ‘St. Brendan’s Cathedral, Loughrea 1897–1947’, The Capuchin Annual (1946–47), 353–73, http://www.macgreevy.org/style?style=text&source=art. cpa.009.xml&action=show.

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also appears in several illuminated manuscripts.5 While this may initially appear to be without any biblical basis, it is in fact a symbolic reference to the seamless garment referred to in John 19:23, as demonstrated by McMurray Gibson: In several legendary lives of Mary and Christ (among them the Vita Beatae Mariae Rhythmica of the thirteenth century and the influential Vita Christi by Ludolf of Saxony who died in the year 1378) we hear of the mysterious ‘tunica inconsutilis’. This is the tunic without seams for which the Roman soldiers at Calvary cast lots. In the words of the Gospel (Jn 19:23): ‘Erat autem tunica inconsutilis, desuper context per totum’ – ‘Now the coat was without a seam, woven from the top throughout.’ The medieval legend tells that Mary herself made the seamless tunic for Jesus when he was a child . . . This legend of the seamless garment is illustrated in a panel of the Buxtehude altarpiece of about 1480 which originated in the workshop of Master Bertram. The Virgin is shown knitting a coat for the Christ child who sits at her feet, reading prophecies of his passion, while two angels appear bearing the arma Christi of cross, lance and crown of thorns.6

The symbolism depicted of the Virgin sewing the garment which was worn during Christ’s passion suggests that the Virgin is both literally and figuratively the clother of the Messiah, and is essentially a metaphor for the incarnation. As pointed out by McMurray Gibson, theologians did in fact refer to the incarnation as ‘a clothing in flesh’. The imagery thus provides an intimate link between the three phases of Christ’s life: his incarnation and nativity; his public life; and his passion.7 Recent scholarship suggests a link between the author of John’s reference to the seamless tunic worn by Jesus and ‘the profound unity which his crucifixion as the true Jewish king and unique high priest preserves for all who believe in him’.8 It appears, therefore, that a seemingly unbiblical image has roots in a traditionally theological understanding of the biblical text.

5.  Cf. The Holy Family, illumination from a Spanish Book of Hours (after 1461), Add. 18193, f.48v., The British Library, London. 6.  Gail McMurray Gibson, ‘The Thread of Life in the Hand of the Virgin’, in Equally in God’s Image: Women in the Middle Ages, ed. Julia Bolton Holloway, Constance S. Wright and Joan Bechtold (New York:  Peter Lang, 1990), 50. For further discussion on the Buxtehude Altarpiece and the symbolism inherent in these depictions of the Virgin, see Mary Dzon, ‘Birgitta of Sweden and Christ’s Clothing’, in The Christ Child in Medieval Culture: Alpha es et O!, ed. Mary Dzon and Theresa M. Kenney (Toronto:  University of Toronto Press, 2012), 134. 7.  The use of clothing as metaphor is also common in Syriac Christian literature; see Ephrem the Syrian:  Hymns, trans. K. McVey, Classics of Western Spirituality (New York: Paulist Press, 1989), 84. 8.  John Paul Heil, ‘Jesus as the Unique High Priest in the Gospel of John’, CBQ 57 (1995): 741.

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Figure 18.1 Michael Healy, The Holy Family stained glass window. With kind permission of Bryan Hayes and St Brendan’s Cathedral, Loughrea, Co. Galway.

Edward Martyn’s library at his home in Tulira was extensive, consisting of classical authors, and included the works of St Augustine, St John Chrysostom and the Greek fathers. Martyn read and studied these books, and his own writings demonstrate significant scholarship. His reading is relevant to how it informed the iconography of the windows, and it is worth noting that W. B. Yeats, who was a guest at Tulira in 1896, recorded in his memoirs, following a confrontation with Martyn: ‘I was sorry, for I know I must have much in common with Martyn who spent hours after we had all gone to bed reading St. Chrysostom.’9 As one of the church fathers of the Antiochian school, John Chrysostom was renowned for biblical exegesis based on hermeneutical principles that steered a course midway 9.  J. C. M. Nolan, ‘Edward Martyn and Guests at Tulira’, Irish Arts Review Yearbook 10 (1994): 168.

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between the allegorical excesses of the Alexandrian school and the literal interpretation of Theodore of Mopsuestia. Stressing the primacy of historical exegesis starting ‘not with an abstract Godhead but with the real historical Jesus, God and man’, the Antiochians took his humanity seriously.10 Martyn’s reading of John Chrysostom’s incarnational interpretation of the Gospels is reflected in the type of iconography chosen for the windows in Loughrea, and it is worth noting that Chrysostom referred to the seamless tunic as follows: ‘And the “woven from the top” (John 19:23) is not put without a purpose; but some say that a figurative assertion is declared by it, that the crucified was not simply man, but had also the Divinity from above.’11 This window demonstrates how a close reading of iconography can reveal a deeper engagement with the biblical text than would initially be assumed, and draws attention to details of what Alter describes as ‘the multifaceted artistry of the biblical narratives’ that can often be overlooked.12 The years between 1912 and 1925 were marked by monumental historical and political events both in Ireland and abroad, and consequently there were no windows executed during this period. Loughrea Cathedral continued to play a significant role in the affairs of the nation during this period, however.13 The Irish Free State was declared in December 1922, ushering in a period of relative stability and the decoration of the cathedral in Loughrea resumed in 1925. The four windows which will now be examined form a series of windows which Healy produced between 1930 and 1940, and which rank as some of the finest stained glass ever produced in Ireland. 2.2 Christ the King and Our Lady Queen of Heaven The Christ the King (1930) and Our Lady Queen of Heaven (1934) windows in the west aisle are exquisitely executed (Figure 18.2). The figure of Christ, dressed in regal red and gazing serenely on the observer, has a transcendent quality that compellingly indicates his divinity as the second person of the Trinity over his humanity as Jesus of Nazareth. Wearing a crown and holding a sceptre in his left hand with the Chi-Rho monogram in evidence, he appears as a majestic king. It is probable that this window was commissioned in response to the institution of the Feast of Christ the King by Pope Pius XI in 1925 (a feast also observed by many mainline Protestant churches on the last Sunday of the liturgical year). There is a

10.  See Anthony Maas, ‘Biblical Exegesis’, New Advent Catholic Encyclopedia, http:// www.newadvent.org/cathen/05692b.htm. 11.  St. John Chrysostom, ‘Homily 85 on the Gospel of John’, New Advent Catholic Encyclopedia, http://www.newadvent.org/fathers/240185.htm. 12.  Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative, 2nd ed. (New  York:  Basic Books, 2011), 222. 13.  See ‘Mr. De Valera in the West:  Big Meeting in Loughrea, Pronouncement by Dr. Gilmartin: The Question of Armed Resistance to Authority’, Irish Times (7 November 1917): 3.

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strong biblical basis to the notion of the kingship of Christ, but it is not represented by any human monarchy, as evidenced by the words of Jesus before Pilate in John’s Gospel – ‘My Kingdom is not of this world’ (John 18:36). The enthronement of Christ took place at the moment of his resurrection, as it is then that he sits on the same throne with his Father (Rev 3:21) and is exalted at the right hand of God (Acts 2:30–35); thus the Father has established his Son as ‘King of kings and Lord of lords’ (Rev 17:14; 19:16). The image of Christ the King has a strong eschatological basis, therefore, and is rooted in the anticipation of the Second Coming of Christ. In his encyclical Quas Primas Pope Pius XI referred to 1925 as a jubilee year and the sixteenth centenary of the Council of Nicaea, which added to the creed the words ‘of whose kingdom there shall be no end’, thereby acknowledging the kingship of Christ. Stating that Christ’s kingship is not obtained by violence nor usurped but ‘by his essence and by nature’, he subtly alludes to Benito Mussolini’s rise to power in Italy, which forms the historical background.14 Thomas MacGreevy, a contemporary of Healy, makes the following interesting remark about the latter’s depictions of Christ and Mary: Looking at these impassively majestic figures the idea inevitably suggests itself that national events in the preceding years, events in which Healy took a passionate interest established for him a clear conception of an ultimate, uncompromising righteousness, an absolute righteousness, that could not, of course, be associated with erring human nature but that could and should be attributed to divinity.15

MacGreevy’s comment draws attention to Healy’s engagement with the political situation in Ireland, and suggests that his work at this period reflects an increasing sense of the inability of political forces to provide lasting peace and stability. The turmoil of the revolutionary years had been followed by a bitter Civil War that had left a scar on the national psyche, and the political situation in Europe following World War I was volatile. The Wall Street Crash of 1929 plunged the world into a Great Depression, which would last throughout the 1930s, and would be a major contribution to the rise of Fascism, eventually leading to the Second World War. Reading Quas Primas with the benefit of hindsight provides a poignant reminder of the perceived threat to world peace underlying this papal encyclical, and its attempt to alert the world to the primacy of Christ’s kingship as the only means of attaining justice and peace lends a particular gravitas to Healy’s Christ the King window. Healy’s inspiration for the Queen of Heaven window is the Kilcorban Madonna, produced in the thirteenth century. This statue, the oldest wooden statue of Mary

14.  Pope Pius XI, Quas Primas (1925) §24, www.vatican.va/holy_father/pius_xi/encly_ 11121925_quas-primas_en.html. The so-called March on Rome had taken place in October 1922, which facilitated the rise to power of Mussolini and his Fascist party. 15. MacGreevy, ‘St. Brendan’s Cathedral, Loughrea’, 362.

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Figure 18.2 Michael Healy, Christus Rex stained glass window. With kind permission of Bryan Hayes and St Brendan’s Cathedral, Loughrea, Co. Galway.

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in the country, is housed in the museum on the site of St Brendan’s Cathedral. The title Queen of Heaven is derived from the declaration of Mary as Theotokos (Greek: ‘God-bearer’) at the First Council of Ephesus in the fifth century and it has long been part of Roman Catholic tradition to honour Mary for her role in the salvation of humanity. The biblical background to this title is found in the Roman Catholic interpretation of Revelation 12, where the woman ‘clothed with the sun and the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars’ (Rev 12:1) is identified with Mary. The earliest Roman depiction of Santa Maria Regina in art, depicting the Virgin Mary as Queen, dates to the sixth century, and is found in the Church of Santa Maria Antiqua built in the fifth century in the Forum Romanum. Webb describes the scene in the Triumphal Arch:  ‘The earliest layer bears the Maria Regina, mid-6th century. Still visible is the Virgin Mary wearing jewelled robes and crown, seated on a jewelled throne with the Child on her lap, attended by an angel.’16 Healy’s Queen of Heaven window can therefore be seen as an iconographical representation which can be traced back to the early centuries of Christianity. 2.3 The Ascension Window Healy’s final two three-light windows for St Brendan’s Cathedral are The Ascension (1936) and The Last Judgment (1940), both deservedly described by MacGreevy as ‘the crowning masterpieces of the Irish stained glass revival’17 in both technique and theme. Both windows are located in the west transept and together they produce a powerful impact on the viewer. The Ascension window is taken from the gospel-acts narratives as they appear in Mark 16:19, Luke 24:51 and Acts 1:2, where Jesus was ‘taken up to heaven’. Luke-Acts provides the most detailed account of the Ascension, and verse 19 of the longer ending of Mark is possibly dependent on Luke’s account. Mark provides the minimum of information: ‘And the Lord Jesus, after he had spoken to them, was taken up into heaven, and sat down at the right hand of God’ (Mark 16:19). Luke’s account provides a benediction and refers to the adoration of the disciples, while Acts refers to a cloud and two men dressed in white who remark, ‘Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up to heaven; This Jesus who was taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven’ (Acts 1:11).18 In the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus the disciples prostrate themselves on the ground following the Ascension. The Feast of the Ascension was not celebrated independently in the early centuries, but was celebrated in conjunction with the feast of Pentecost, and according to Dewald, the end of the fourth century or the beginning of the fifth may be

16. Matilda Webb, The Churches and Catacombs of Early Christian Rome: A Comprehensive Guide (Brighton: Sussex Academic Press, 2001), 117. 17. MacGreevy, ‘St. Brendan’s Cathedral, Loughrea’, 363. 18. For detailed analysis of the challenges posed by the Ascension narrative in Luke-Acts, see Arie W. Zwiep, The Ascension of the Messiah in Lukan Christology (Leiden: Brill, 1997).

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regarded as the time when the Ascension gained independent significance.19 Drawing on these accounts in the Synoptic Gospels and Acts, the portrayal of the Ascension gradually developed and evolved in Western art and, from Dewald’s comprehensive account of this development, it is possible to trace the original iconography to two types:  the Hellenistic and the Oriental, also referred to as the Western and Eastern forms. For our purposes it is sufficient to note that the Western type portrayed Christ as beardless, stepping from a mountain into heaven assisted by the hand of God which emerges from heaven to draw him up. Some of the disciples are represented beneath the figure of Christ, either gazing upwards, or prostrate on the ground in an attitude of fear or prayer. The Eastern type, which was mainly represented in Syrian art, portrays a bearded Christ surrounded by a mandorla supported by two angels with an additional angel offering a crown to the Redeemer with veiled hands. It featured the symbols of the four evangelists (an angel, an ox, an eagle and a lion) and also Mary in the centre, with six disciples at each side, the group on the right headed by Peter, and those on the left headed by Paul. Mary and Paul are also included in early Palestinian representations, exemplified in several phials housed in the treasury of Monza Cathedral. Made in Palestine at the close of the sixth century as souvenirs for pilgrims, these Eastern representations did not comply with canonical descriptions, which do not mention Mary’s presence and make Paul’s impossible. Their inclusion has been attributed to the fact that these depictions do not only represent those who were believed to have been present at the Ascension, but the entire church.20 The imagery of the four creatures and the presence of a wheel and the sun and moon owe more to the visions of Ezekiel and Revelation than to the narrative accounts of the Gospels and Acts. Dewald suggests that this points to an extra-canonical source for the Eastern representations that combined the visions of Ezekiel and the Apocalypse with the canonical accounts of the Ascension.21 Whatever the sources for the Eastern representations of the Ascension, the implications for Western art lie in the fact that the Syro-Palestinian type was introduced to Italian Christian art as a consequence of the foundation of Constantinople, which created strong links between Italy and the East. Dewald points to strong evidence of the employment of Eastern artists in Italy in the fifth and sixth centuries. We therefore find a transition from the older Western representation of the Ascension to the new Eastern forms which can be found in Italian art of this period, and it is to this transition that we can trace the type of representation that is found in Healy’s window. The inclusion of Paul was subsequently abandoned, an indicator of the increasing importance of the role of Mary in fifth- and sixth-century art following the formal affirmation of her status as Theotokos (God-bearer) at the Council of

19.  Ernest T. Dewald, ‘The Iconography of the Ascension’, American Journal of Archaeology 19.3 (1915): 277–319. 20. See Michel Quenot, The Icon: Window on the Kingdom (London: Mowbray, 1992), 61. 21. Dewald, ‘The Iconography of the Ascension’, 284.

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Ephesus in 431. The image of Mary flanked on each side by the apostles remains the most familiar representation to contemporary Western viewers. Healy’s representation conforms to this type, to some degree, positioning Mary and John in the centre with five of the apostles on the right and five on the left, gazing upwards in apparent wonder. Some have their hands joined in prayer, as have Mary and John. Christ is shown ascending above a cloud, with his hands raised in blessing, surrounded by six angels on each side, with what appears to be an angel in the top panel holding a crown over his head. On the top panel on the left is a tiny medallion portraying a dove, representing the Holy Spirit, and on the right a similar medallion bears the image of a flame – probably representing the tongues of fire of Pentecost. The link between the Ascension and Pentecost finds a biblical basis in the ‘Farewell discourse’ in chapter 16 of John’s Gospel. Having told the disciples that he is ‘going to Him who sent me’ (v. 5), he discerns their sorrow, and consoles them by saying: ‘Nevertheless, I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Counsellor will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you’ (v. 7). John’s Gospel therefore provides the link between the return of Jesus to the Father, and the sending of the Holy Spirit, the Counsellor. This is the reason that the final two verses in Luke’s Gospel describe the disciples returning to Jerusalem following the Ascension ‘with great joy, and [they] were continually in the temple blessing God’ (Luke 24:52–53). An interesting feature in Healy’s portrayal is the presence of a red boundary between the earthbound characters and Christ’s heavenly space, a feature which originated in the earlier representations, intended to indicate the separation of the two realms. 2.4 The Last Judgment Window This was the final window executed by Healy for St Brendan’s Cathedral, and it is undoubtedly the masterpiece of his mature style (Figure 18.3). It is a three-light window which Healy commenced in 1936, and did not complete until 1940. The Last Judgment is traditionally the subject matter for the west transept, where it has been a popular theme from the Middle Ages in many ecclesiastical contexts. The biblical foundation for the subject is found mainly in the Olivet discourse in Matthew’s gospel, where there is a vivid description of Christ’s judgment at the end of time in 24:29–31 and 25:31–46. The description of the final judgment in Rev 20:12 also provides ample biblical basis for the iconography formed around this theme. Some of the earliest surviving examples are to be found in the twelfthcentury representations in York Minster, and the famous example from St. Mary’s in Fairford, which contains the most complete set of medieval church windows in England. During the fifteenth century the Last Judgment filled many windows, with imagery becoming increasingly complex and elaborate. Between the ninth and sixteenth centuries, representations of the Last Judgment fell into two categories. The first category indicated the completion of the judgment by the separation of the just from the damned, while the second category, the Psychostasis or ‘Weighing of Souls’ by St Michael, was often represented in imagery which has

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precedent in pre-Christian Egyptian cults. It is represented in ‘The Book of the Dead’ circa 1400 BCE and at a much later date, in the first and second centuries CE, it is mentioned among the Hermetic writings in Egyptian theology. In the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible, references to the idea of the weighing of souls are found in the books of Job and Daniel (Job 31:6; Dan 5: 27).22 The imagery in Healy’s Last Judgment window conforms to the first category where Christ is portrayed in the central light, seated in great majesty and power with three angels underneath. Caron notes that there is a more obvious Byzantine influence in this window than in the Christ the King window, and refers to the golden mandorla surrounding Christ, with tiny sparkling tesserae which evoke Byzantine mosaics.23 The angel on the left holds a trumpet which is probably a reference to the description of the last days in 1 Cor 15:52 where the dead will be raised at the trumpet’s sound. The angel in the centre holds a large book, which is reminiscent of the description in Rev 20:12: ‘Also another book was opened, which is the book of life. And the dead were judged by what was written in the books, by what they had done’. The third angel appears to be holding an orb. The upper panel of the left light contains the figure of Mary interceding on behalf of those who are to be judged surrounded by four of the apostles with Peter at the front holding the keys to heaven with which he is traditionally associated. Referred to as the traditio clavis, this handing over of the keys is symbolic of the primacy of Peter, and had traditionally been associated with Last Judgment iconography, seen in examples such as Orcagna’s Strozzi Altarpiece of 1357, found in the north transept chapel of Santa Maria Novella in Florence. The biblical basis for the traditio clavis is found in Matthew’s gospel where Jesus states, ‘I will give you the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven. Whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven’ (16:19), in response to Peter’s declaration, ‘You are the Messiah, the son of the living God’ (16:16). It is highly probable that Healy would have seen this iconography while living in Florence from 1899 to 1901. The upper right panel contains the figure of John the Baptist, also flanked by four apostles, and who was traditionally represented with Mary in Byzantine and medieval portrayals of this scene. This configuration was known as the Deësis, a motif imported to the West from Byzantium, and signifies the prayer and intercession of Mary and John the Baptist on behalf of all humanity. Their placement at Christ’s right and left is typical of Last Judgment imagery.24

22.  For further examination of the idea of Psychostasis, see Mary Phillips Perry, ‘On Psychostasis in Christian Art–1’, The Burlington Magazine for Connoisseurs 22.116 (November 1912): 94–7. 23.  Thomas David Caron, ‘An Túr Gloine and Michael Healy, (1873–1941)’ (PhD diss., University of Dublin, Trinity College, 1991), 1:198. 24.  See Anne Leader, ‘Michelangelo’s Last Judgement:  The Culmination of Papal Propaganda in the Sistine Chapel’, Studies in Iconography 27 (2006): 114.

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Figure 18.3 Michael Healy, Last Judgment stained glass window. With kind permission of Bryan Hayes and St Brendan’s Cathedral, Loughrea, Co. Galway.

According to Denny,25 the artistic canon was well defined during the Byzantine period and the Middle Ages, and it is interesting to note that Healy 25.  Don Denny, ‘The Last Judgement Tympanum at Autun: Its Sources and Meaning’, Speculum 57.3 (1982): 532.

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appears to be following in the footsteps of the artists of this period in the choice of iconographical motifs employed in his window. The presence of the apostles is a reference to Matt 19:28, where Jesus declares that ‘you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel’. The central panels at the right and left hand side beneath the figures of Mary and John the Baptist are dominated by two groups of angels. The first angel on the right (Christ’s left) is holding a flaming sword, which is probably a reference to the cherubim placed to guard the way to the tree of life in Gen 3:24, as this group of angels is placed overhead the vast sea of contorted faces representing those condemned. The angels on the viewer’s left (Christ’s right) are led by one angel holding a palm branch, and are placed over the tranquil faces of the just who appear as if they are floating on a calm sea of clear water. The two groups appear to be separated by what Caron refers to as a ‘powerful thrusting column of energy’.26 The effect of the Last Judgment window is breathtaking, and there is little doubt that it was an ambitious task to which Healy rose admirably. As the last window executed by Healy for the Cathedral in Loughrea it can be considered a fitting legacy for this consummate artist. Commenting in 1946 on Healy’s contribution to stained glass work in Ireland, and on the Ascension and Last Judgment windows in particular, MacGreevy made the following remark: The final result in both these windows is such that it may be years before anything approximating to their full significance is grasped by even a succession of sensitive observers. For myself I can only record that after visiting them repeatedly over a few days I feel no doubts about their importance as major masterpieces of art . . . for I have no doubt that as the years go on whole books will be written by men of many nations about Michael Healy and his work.27

Nevertheless, since then no major retrospective has been undertaken to evaluate the significance of his work, which was appreciated by only a handful of his contemporaries. MacGreevy – who was the chief art critic for The Studio, served as director of the National Gallery of Ireland from 1950 to 1963, and also served on the first Irish Arts Council – was well placed to appreciate his work, but few others in Ireland of that period had the required training in art appreciation to evaluate it. The following account by Curran gives some idea of how highly regarded Healy’s work was internationally: He was invited in 1910 to join a Pittsburgh firm of glass-makers, and in 1913 the Union Internationale des Beaux Arts et des Lettres directed by Paul Adam, Rodin and Vincent d’Indy invited him to join their society with the courteous formula: ‘L’intérêt de vos dernières oeuvres vous ayant designé á notre attention,

26. Caron, ‘An Túr Gloine and Michael Healy, (1873–1941)’, 198. 27. MacGreevy, ‘St. Brendan’s Cathedral, Loughrea’, 366.

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nous avons l’honneur de solliciter votre presence parmi nous.’ Such attentions can never be wholly unpleasing even to a man of Healy’s singular modesty.28

The theme of the Last Judgment was a particularly medieval and Byzantine preoccupation, which gradually became associated with the judicial practice of trial by ordeal in German church court trials. Denny points out that ‘it is probable that in this area of association, so little documented, lie the origins of a tradition that comes to be more easily apparent in art from the end of the Middle Ages, when it was a common practice to represent the Last Judgment in civic court rooms’.29 Following the Reformation in Europe, new themes and subjects relevant to the idea of personal and unmediated appropriation of justification emphasized in the Protestant territories began to replace many of the earlier iconic representations of Mary and the saints. According to Miles, scenes of the Last Judgment also lost the fascination they had held for late-medieval people. She quotes one of Luther’s sermons, preached on 7 September 1538, as follows: ‘The Last Judgment is abolished, it concerns the believer as little as it does the angels . . . All believers pass from this life into heaven without any judgment.’30 While it is easy to see how the Last Judgment iconography conflicted with Luther’s doctrine of justification by faith alone, closer examination suggests that it may in fact be the Deësis motif that Luther found objectionable on theological grounds. According to Posset, Luther objected to depictions of the Last Judgment which represent Mary and John as intermediaries between God and humanity, and he specifically criticized the Deësis in 1531 in the context of a commentary on Bernard of Clairvaux.31 This iconography would have been abhorrent to Lutheran and other Reformed theologians on many levels, however, not least the inclusion of the handing over of the keys, representing the primacy of Peter.32 Miles demonstrates how the advent of Protestantism led to the emergence of a language-oriented religion and culture, and to the decline of the type of dramatic imagery portrayed in Last Judgment iconography. Although Michelangelo’s Last Judgment fresco in the Sistine Chapel was unveiled on 31 October 1541, the visual portrayal of this type of imagery gradually declined in Roman Catholic iconography and remained an almost uniquely medieval phenomenon. Healy’s choice of this subject, suggested no doubt by those who

28.  C. P. Curran, ‘Michael Healy: Stained Glass Worker 1873–1941)’, Studies: An Irish Quarterly Review 31.121 (1942), 81. 29. Denny, ‘The Last Judgment Tympanum at Autun’, 545. 30.  Margaret R. Miles, Image as Insight: Visual Understanding in Western Christianity and Secular Culture (Boston: Beacon, 1985), 117. 31. Franz Posset, ‘Martin Luther on “Deësis”: His Rejection of the Artistic Representation of “Jesus, John, and Mary” ’, Renaissance and Reformation/Renaissance et Réforme, NS, 20.3 (1996): 57–76. 32.  For a comprehensive treatment of this imagery, see Leader, ‘Michelangelo’s Last Judgment:  The Culmination of Papal Propaganda in the Sistine Chapel’, Studies in Iconography 27 (2006): 114.

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commissioned these windows, represents an interesting engagement with what had been vivid visual reminders of inevitable judgment, eliciting a high degree of religious anxiety in medieval society. It represents a specifically Roman Catholic preoccupation which fired the imagination of this twentieth-century artist who did not flinch from portraying this challenging subject for contemporary viewers. In an ironic twist, Healy died within a year of completing the window in 1940. C. P. Curran, who knew him personally, described his life and work as follows: ‘His life was almost that of a recluse, passed among a very limited, rarely extended circle of friends, he exhibited seldom, belonged to no academy, and dropped silently out of life.’33 It is worth noting that all the windows examined above portray images from the New Testament. This is consistent with most Roman Catholic churches built since Catholic Emancipation, and reflects greater Roman Catholic emphasis on the New Testament. Interestingly, this emphasis was not as obvious in the choice of iconography in the Irish High Crosses of the medieval period, which portrayed typological juxtapositions of Old and New Testament narratives. Miriam Moffitt has shown how many Irish Catholics of the nineteenth century eschewed reading the Bible due to its association with Protestantism, and by extension, pro-British sentiment.34 This would particularly apply to the Old Testament which was strongly associated with Protestantism. The King James Version (KJV) of the Old Testament was perceived by many Irish Catholics as having an anti-Catholic bias as well as giving tacit justification to British colonialism – a perception that traversed the Atlantic with Irish immigration to the United States following the Famine.35 The fact that all of the windows in St Brendan’s Cathedral, with the exception of Evie Hone’s Creation Rose window, portray scenes from either the New Testament or the lives of the saints is possibly a consequence of this perception. The five windows by Healy that we examined portray New Testament themes in an unambiguously Roman Catholic context. The portrayal of Mary and the saints, and the endorsement of the primacy of Peter in the Last Judgment window signify an interpretation of the Bible seen through a Roman Catholic lens. It is a reflection of the consolidation of Irish Catholic identity which was taking place at this period of Irish history, and which was to have implications for the new century that could not have been foreseen in 1902 when St Brendan’s Cathedral was being built.

33.  See Theo Snoddy, Dictionary of Irish Artists:  Twentieth Century (Dublin:  Merlin, 2002), 240. 34.  Miriam Moffitt, ‘Scripture Reading among Irish Catholics in the Nineteenth Century’, in Treasures of Irish Christianity, vol. II, ed. S. Ryan and B. Leahy (Dublin: Veritas, 2013), 181. 35. For further information on the ‘Bible Wars’ in Philadelphia among the Nativist population and Irish Catholic immigrants, see Ellie Gebarowski-Shafer, ‘The Transatlantic Reach of the Catholic “False Translation” Argument in the School “Bible Wars”’. U.S. Catholic Historian 31.3 (2013): 47–76.

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As well as representing Healy’s entire career as a stained glass artist, from his earliest creation in 1903 to his final masterpiece in 1940, the entire history of An Túr Gloine can be traced there. Even more significant perhaps is the fact that close examination of these windows gives the viewer an important insight into how the biblical narratives were received and interpreted at this important period in Irish religious and political history. Examined within their historical context, they provide a valuable key to how the recently emancipated Roman Catholic community interpreted the Bible.

Bibliography Alter, Robert. The Art of Biblical Narrative. 2nd ed. New York: Basic Books, 2011. Caron, Thomas D. ‘An Túr Gloine and Michael Healy, (1873–1941)’. PhD diss., University of Dublin, Trinity College, 1991. Curran, C. P. ‘Michael Healy: Stained Glass Worker (1873–1941)’. Studies: An Irish Quarterly Review 31.121 (March 1942): 65–82. Denny, Don. ‘The Last Judgement Tympanum at Autun: Its Sources and Meaning’. Speculum 57 (1982): 532–47. Dewald, Ernest T. ‘The Iconography of the Ascension’. American Journal of Archaeology 19 (1915): 277–319. Dzon, Mary. ‘Birgitta of Sweden and Christ’s Clothing’. Pages 117–44 in The Christ Child in Medieval Culture: Alpha es et O! Edited by Mary Dzon and Theresa M. Kenney. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2012. Ephrem the Syrian: Hymns. Translated by Kathleen McVey. Classics of Western Spirituality. New York: Paulist Press, 1989. Gebarowski-Shafer, Ellie, ‘The Transatlantic Reach of the Catholic “False Translation” Argument in the School “Bible Wars” ’. U.S. Catholic Historian 31.3 (2013): 47–76. Harbison, Peter. Irish High Crosses: With the Figure Sculptures Explained. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1995. Heil, John Paul. ‘Jesus as the Unique High Priest in the Gospel of John’. CBQ 57 (1995): 729–45. John Chrysostom. ‘Homily 85 on the Gospel of John’. New Advent Catholic Encyclopedia. http://www.newadvent.org/fathers/240185.htm. Leader, Anne. ‘Michelangelo’s Last Judgement: The Culmination of Papal Propaganda in the Sistine Chapel’. Studies in Iconography 27 (2006): 103–56. Maas, Anthony. ‘Biblical Exegesis’. New Advent Catholic Encyclopedia. http://www. newadvent.org/cathen/05692b.htm. MacGreevy, Thomas. ‘St. Brendan’s Cathedral, Loughrea 1897–1947’. The Capuchin Annual (1946–47): 353–73. McMurray Gibson, Gail. ‘The Thread of Life in the Hand of the Virgin’. Pages 46–54 in Equally in God’s Image: Women in the Middle Ages. Edited by Julia Bolton Holloway, Constance S. Wright and Joan Bechtold. New York: Peter Lang, 1990. Miles, Margaret R. Image as Insight: Visual Understanding in Western Christianity and Secular Culture. Boston: Beacon, 1985. Moffitt, Miriam. ‘Scripture Reading among Irish Catholics in the Nineteenth Century’. Pages 181–3 in Treasures of Irish Christianity. Vol. II. Edited by Salvador Ryan and Brendan Leahy. Dublin: Veritas, 2013.

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Nolan, J. C. M. ‘Edward Martyn and Guests at Tulira’. Irish Arts Review Yearbook 10 (1994): 167–73. O’Kane, Martin. Painting the Text: The Artist as Biblical Interpreter. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2009. Perry, Mary P. ‘On Psychostasis in Christian Art–1’. The Burlington Magazine for Connoisseurs 22.116 (November 1912): 94–7. Pope Pius XI. Quas Primas (1925). www.vatican.va/holy_father/pius_xi/encly_11121925_ quas-primas_en.html. Posset, Franz. ‘Martin Luther on “Deësis”: His Rejection of the Artistic Representation of “Jesus, John, and Mary”’. Renaissance and Reformation/Renaissance Et Réforme NS. 20.3 (1996): 57–76. Quenot, Michel. The Icon: Window on the Kingdom. London: Mowbray, 1992. Snoddy, Theo. Dictionary of Irish Artists: Twentieth Century. Dublin: Merlin, 2002. Webb, M. The Churches and Catacombs of Early Christian Rome: A Comprehensive Guide. Brighton: Sussex Academic Press, 2001. Zwiep, Arie W. The Ascension of the Messiah in Lukan Christology. Leiden: Brill, 1997.

Chapter 19 T H E B I B L E I N M U SIC DU R I N G D U B L I N ’ S GOLDEN AGE Siobhán Dowling Long

1. Introduction The eighteenth century in Dublin, also known as Dublin’s Golden Age, witnessed a great flourishing of biblical music in non-liturgical settings for charitable purposes. The benefit concerts were organized and attended by the affluent Protestant Ascendancy who lived in Dublin before the dissolution of the Irish Parliament under the Act of Union (1800). Characterized chiefly by performances of George Frideric Handel’s biblical music, this period also featured other well-known biblical and non-biblical works by established composers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. This chapter examines the Bible in music during Dublin’s Golden Age, first, by setting the context with a brief discussion of the reception of the Bible in early Irish Traditional Music and Irish monasticism; and second, by examining the effects of the Protestant Reformation on the Dublin performances of Handel’s sacred music.

2. The Bible in Irish Traditional Music While there is a dearth of musical settings based on Old Testament narratives by native Irish song- and hymn-writers down through the centuries, up to and including the eighteenth century, there is an abundance of ancient religious songs (amhráin bheannaithne) in the traditional sean nós style based on Christ’s Passion. Sung primarily in the setting of the rural Irish household, they include ‘The Lament of the Three Marys’ (Caoineadh na dtrí Muire1and Gol na dtrí Muire), ‘The Virgin’s Lament’ (Caoineadh na Maighdine), the ‘Seven Sorrows of the Virgin Mary’ (Seacht nDólás Na Maighdine Muire) and ‘The Friday Lament’ (Caoineadh 1. Recordings and live performances of this and many of the subsequent musical pieces referred to in this chapter are available online. See, for example, Iarla Ó Lionáird, ‘Caoineadh na dtrí Mhuire’, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mY7edACmuuA.

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na hAoine). Of note, Caoineadh na dtrí Muire was traditionally sung every Friday of Lent, including Good Friday. The refrain ‘Ochón agus ochón ó!’ (‘Alas and woe to me!’), sung by the Virgin, is typical of the vocables of lament used by keening women. Another well-known traditional song, Amhrán na Páise (‘Passion Song’), also called An t-Aiséiri (‘The Resurrection’), was passed down from generation to generation in the west of Ireland. It tells of Christ’s Passion in his own words, beginning with a reference to the bread and wine at the Last Supper, Christ’s great loneliness in the Garden of Gethsemane (Tá uaigneas mór ar mo chroise/ ‘There is a great loneliness on my heart’), the denial by Peter and the account of the resurrection by the three Marys. The verses telling of Christ’s passion in the Garden of Gethsemane were traditionally sung on Holy Thursday and the entire song, including the final two verses telling of the resurrection, was sung on Easter Sunday. Interestingly, this ancient song bears striking similarities with the traditional English ballad carol ‘King Herod and the Cock’ based on the legend of St. Stephen, in which a roasted chicken rises up out of a pie and proclaims Christ’s birth to Herod, Christus natus est (‘Christ is born’). In the traditional Irish song the chicken rises out of a boiling pot, and crews not at the birth but just before the death of Christ on the Cross (Leis an magadh a fuair Íosa, Gur éirigh an coileach a bhí ag fiuchadh sa bpota, chuaigh ar an mbord is lig glao as). Other New Testament settings include songs and carols based on the nativity, such as the plaintive carol Don Oíche Úd I mBeithil (Luke 2:14) (‘That Night in Bethlehem’), Seacht Sualicí na Maighdine Muire (‘The Seven Joys of the Virgin Mary’), Rug Muire Mac do Dhia (‘Mary bore the Son of God’) and the twelfthcentury Carul Loch Garman more popularly known as ‘The Wexford Carol’. The latter is one of the oldest extant carols in European tradition, and was previously published in two collections, Pious Garlands (Ghent, 1684; reprinted London, 1728, 1731)  by Bishop Luke Wadding of Ferns (1631–87), and A New Garland Containing Songs for Christmas (1728) by Rev. William Deveraux of Drinagh, County Wexford (1696–1771). Its haunting melody in the Dorian mode, wide leaps and flattened sevenths evoke the sound of a poignant lament that points musically to the passion and death of Christ. Another well-known carol, Codail a Linbh2 (‘Sleep My Child’), also called Suantraí na Maighdine (‘The Virgin’s Lullaby’), is a tender lullaby sung by the Virgin to the Christ-child with sorrowful references to Christ’s crucifixion at the end. Similarly, the ancient carol An Oíche Nollaig, which was traditionally sung in rural households, tells of the birth of the Christ-child between a bullock and some donkeys (‘agus rugadh an leanbh naofa idir bullán agus asail’), the arrival of three kings, with an account of the passion in the final verse. In first-person narration, and in answer to a question posed by his mother, Christ foretells his Passion saying he will be sold on Wednesday for a half-crown of silver (‘Díolfar mé Dé Céadaoin ar leath-choróin den airgead bán’), hunted by his enemies on Thursday (‘Agus beidh mé Déardaoin do mo ruaigeadh ag me námhaid’)

2. For translation, see Codail a Linbh, http://songsinirish.com/christmas/codail-a-linbh. html.

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and beaten with five thousand blows on Friday (‘Tiocfar anuas orm le chúig mhíle buille’). Each of three verses is punctuated by a chorus of plaintive Alleluias (cf. Rev 19:1, 3–6) (‘Aililiú-leá, is aililiú-leá. A  bhó-bhó is a chó-chó is aililiú-leá’). References to the teaching of Christ focuses on the miracles, namely, the miracle at the Wedding at Cana (Jn 2:1–11) in two hymns: An Bhainis Phósta a bhí i gCana (‘The Wedding Feast at Cana’) and Pósadh Naofa Cana (‘The Holy Wedding at Cana’). Some general references to Christ’s healing miracles are also included in the above named carol Seacht Sualicí na Maighdine Muire (‘The Seven Joys of the Virgin Mary’). The emphasis on the New Testament over the Old in Irish traditional religious music reflects most likely the influence of the New Testament over the Old in Irish monastic missionary work from the fifth century.3

3. Biblical Music in the Monastic Tradition A rich tradition of the choral recitation of biblical texts flourished in the Irish monastic tradition from the sixth to the ninth centuries. Reflecting its origins from Gaul and Britain, the liturgy and language of Irish monasticism was Latin, and focused on the communal singing of the Liturgy of the Hours, which was also a salient feature of Egyptian monasticism. Columbanus (543–615 CE), who was a monk at the monastery of Bangor, in contemporary County Down in what is now Northern Ireland, and a founder of monasteries at Annagray and Luxeuil in France, Bregenz in Austria and Bobbio in Italy (614 CE), instituted the laus perennis, a perpetual service of psalmody, which was performed both day and night by alternating choirs of monks. Despite the notable absence of any extant musical notation, the seventh chapter of the Monastic Rule of Columbanus (sixth century CE) clearly illustrates the importance of psalmody in the Celtic Rite.4 The reform of the Irish church in the twelfth century, combined with the AngloNorman invasion of 1169–71, saw the introduction of English liturgical practice in Ireland and a decline in the use of the Celtic rite. In 1172 the liturgical chant of the Sarum Use, as used at Salisbury Cathedral, was officially established in Ireland at a synod of Cashel called by Henry II (1133–89).5 It was also adopted by a synod

3. See especially Chapter 2, ‘The Mission the Barbarians’, Part 3 ‘The Mission of the Celtic Church’, pp. 109–18 in Hughes Olphant Old, The Reading and Preaching of the Christian Scriptures in the Worship of the Christian Church, vol. 3 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999). In this section, Old characterizes the monasticism of the early Celtic Church as ‘evangelistic monasticism’ (111). While it is open to speculation, I am of the opinion that this type of monasticism, which emphasized preaching of the Gospel, was most likely responsible for the emphasis on the New Testament found in traditional Irish hymns handed down from one generation to the next. 4.  For a translation of the Rite, see Columbanus Hibernus, Monks’ Rules, Corpus of Electronic Texts Edition, http://www.ucc.ie/celt/online/T201052.html. 5. Barra Boydell, A History of Music at Christ Church (Dublin: Boydell Press, 2004), 11.

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in Holy Trinity Cathedral Dublin fourteen years later in 1186, and followed by the Regular Order of Arrosian Canons (Canons Regular from the diocese of Arrosian in Flanders) who were introduced by Archbishop Lawrence O’Toole in 1163 when the building was converted to an Augustinian cathedral-priory. This order of priests celebrated the daily mass sung to plainchant corresponding to Sarum Use, and the Divine Office which comprised psalms, hymns and canticles, including ‘the Te Deum at Matins, the Benedictus at Lauds, the Magnificat at Vespers and the Nunc Dimittis at Compline’.6 Boydell notes that the wider population of Dublin city would have come to Holy Trinity Cathedral only on important feast days, special occasions and as pilgrims to the various relics, such as the Staff of Jesus, which made Christ Church a major centre of pilgrimage in mediaeval times.7 The twelfth and thirteenth centuries also witnessed the arrival of European monastic orders to Ireland: the Cistercians (Mellifont Abbey, 1142); followed by the mendicant orders of the Dominicans (Dublin and Drogheda, 1224); the Franciscans (Youghal, County Cork, 1234); the Carmelites (Leighlinbridge, 1272); and the Augustinians (Dublin, ca. 1275). Each order would have recited the Divine Office according to the particular rite of its community.

4. The Reformation in Ireland While the closure of monasteries and religious houses under the Dissolution of the Monasteries Act (1535–39) by King Henry VIII were enforced inside the Pale, the Act had a gradual impact elsewhere, with some closures taking place in the reigns of Elizabeth I and James I of England (and VI of Scotland). Given that religious houses, priories and monasteries offered physical as well as spiritual care to the Irish, the suppression of religious houses marked the beginning of the end of hospital care in Ireland for the next two centuries. Elizabeth Malcolm estimates that there were some 211 hospitals in late mediaeval Ireland run by religious orders.8 Irish hospitals such as St Steven’s hospital in Clarendon Street, an important leper hospital in the twelfth century, and St John the Baptist with the New Gate in Thomas Street, operated by the Fratres Cruciferi (the Crutched Friars) as one of the largest hospitals in Dublin, eventually closed down so that by the beginning of the eighteenth century there were no medical hospitals for the sick poor in Dublin. Holy Trinity Priory was also dissolved in 1541 and established as Christ Church Cathedral with secular canons under a new charter as a Cathedral of the New Foundation. Notable changes included the use of English in place of Latin, beginning with a celebration of the liturgy in English on Easter day 1551,9 followed eight

6. Boydell, A History of Music at Christ Church, 12. 7. Boydell, A History of Music at Christ Church, 12. 8. Elizabeth Malcolm, ‘Medicine’, in Medieval Ireland: An Encyclopedia, ed. Seán Duffy, Routledge Encyclopedias of the Middle Ages Series (Oxford: Routledge, 2005), 537. 9. Edward Seymour, Christ Church Cathedral (Dublin: Hodges, Foster & Co., 1878), 36.

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years later by a sung Litany in English on 30 August 1559, as the Earl of Sussex was sworn into office as Lord Lieutenant. From the time of Queen Elizabeth I  (ruled 17 November 1558–24 March 1603)  to George III (ruled 25 October 1760–29 January 1820), the enactment of the Penal Laws in Ireland provided the reigning monarch with a legal framework for persecuting Roman Catholics. The Cromwellian Conquest (1643–53) and subsequent Settlement (1654) also had devastating effects on Ireland with the confiscation of land from Catholic owners, deforestation, mass executions and slaughter. Irish music came under constant threat in both periods, first with Elizabeth’s proclamation to Lord Barrymore ‘to hang the harpers wherever found and to destroy their instruments’ and then in 1650–60 with Cromwell’s order for the mass destruction of all the harps and organs in Ireland.10 While all performances of music in churches and in theatres were banned, including the cessation of religious services from 1643, the singing of metrical psalms was permitted. The Glorious Revolution of 1688 and the victory at the Battle of the Boyne (1 July [OS] 1690) by William III of Orange cemented Protestant rule in Ireland for the next two centuries, paving the way for the Protestant Ascendancy, a Protestant caste of landowners who would rule the Irish Parliament. In violation of the Treaty of Limerick (3 October 1691), the new Lord Lieutenant, Lord Capel (later Duke of Ormond) extended the harsh Penal Laws (1695, 1697) to include the following bans for Irish Catholics:  exercising their religion; owning, leasing or inheriting land from Protestants; gaining an education in a Catholic school in Ireland or abroad; becoming a member of Parliament; holding public office; working as a schoolteacher or as an under-master in a Protestant school; owning a horse of greater value than £5; engaging in trade and commerce; and owning arms, among other restrictions. The events from the fifteenth to the eighteenth centuries had a detrimental effect on religious music into the future, as noted by musicologist Harry White: ‘The impoverished condition of Roman Catholics in Ireland between 1500 and 1800 excluded the possibility of a high culture of sacred music. The consequences of this exclusion for the development of church music after emancipation were ruinous: a vast population without any cultural base consonant with the prevailing aesthetic of church music as high art.’11

5. The Restoration The Established Church enjoyed elaborate performances of biblical music in Dublin’s two cathedrals, especially in the wake of the Restoration of the English

10.  Grattan Flood, A History of Irish Music (Dublin:  Browne & Nolan, 1905; repr., Shannon: Irish University Press, 1970), 200, 213. 11.  Harry White, ‘Church Music and Musicology in Ireland:  An Afterword’, in Irish Musical Studies II: Music and the Church, ed. Gerard Gillen and Harry White (Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 1993), 333.

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Monarchy, when services with music resumed and included the chanting of psalms and polyphonic settings of verse-anthems by Tomkins, Byrd, Giles, Bull and Gibbons, among others.12 Boydell notes that an elaborate ceremony in Christ Church Cathedral occurred on 27 January 1661 marking the period of the rebirth of the Established Church in Ireland.13 The liturgy in the parish churches of the Established Church however was mainly spoken and interspersed with unaccompanied congregational chanting of the metrical psalms. In 1696, the Dublin poet and Puritan Nahum Tate, in collaboration with Nicholas Brady, composed a metrical version of the psalms titled A New Version of the Psalms of David, which includes many well-known compositions, among them ‘As pants the hart’ (Psalm 42). Handel’s Chandos anthems, ‘In the Lord Put I My Trust’ (No. 2 in D minor, HWV 247) and ‘O Praise the Lord with One Consent’ (No. 9 in E Flat major, HWV 254), are settings of verses from this collection. A  supplement to the collection (1700) includes the well-known Christmas carol ‘While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks’ (Luke 2:8–14), sung to the tune ‘Winchester Old’ by Christopher Tye, and in the United States the carol is sung to the tune ‘Jackson’ from Handel’s opera Siroe, King of Persia (1728). Ireland’s wars with England in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries resulted in an outpouring of secular songs in the native Irish language, lamenting the fate of the Irish people in genres such as the Aisling, a seventeenth-century ‘visionary song’ (e.g. Cait Ní Dhubhir and Róisín Dubh), the folk ballad (Seán Ó Duibhir a’ Ghleanna and Carraigdhoun) and rebel song (Óró, sé do bheatha abhaile, also known by the title Séarlas Óg/‘Young Charles’). Interestingly, we have no evidence of compositions of any traditional songs based on or inspired by the Bible at this time that were composed by Irish Catholics. In the absence of any concrete evidence, one might speculate that the native Irish may have associated the Bible, most notably the Old Testament, as the ‘Holy Book’ of the British Empire. For this reason, the lack of compositions inspired by or based on the Bible could point to the rejection of the Bible, most notably the Old Testament, by Irish Catholic composers and songwriters. Alternatively, the harsh Penal Laws against Roman Catholics during this time may have been responsible for suppressing the composition of sacred music based on the Bible, and by implication, any tradition of sacred music by Irish Catholic composers. Or, as noted already, the impoverished condition of Roman Catholics in Ireland between 1500 and 1800 is another factor that could account for the absence of compositions based on the Bible (see Section 4 of this chapter). Whatever the reason, it is clear that the political situation in Ireland during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries had a detrimental effect on the composition of sacred music by Irish Catholics, especially on music based on or inspired by the Bible.

12. Kerry Houston, ‘Music Fit for a King: The Restoration of Charles II and the Dublin Cathedral Repertoire’, in Music, Ireland and the Seventeenth Century, ed. Barra Boydell and Kerry Houston (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2009), 151. 13. See Boydell, A History of Music in at Christ Church, 64.

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6. Eighteenth-Century Georgian Dublin Dublin in the early eighteenth century was a fashionable city for the Irish Protestant Ascendancy who enjoyed attending concerts of Italian opera; balls in Dublin Castle; and charity fundraising events for the poor and destitute of Dublin, including trips to fashionable coffee houses in ornate sedan chairs. By now, Dublin (which was the second-largest city in the British Empire after London) had transformed from a medieval city into a cultural capital comprising elegant Georgian townhouses, Palladian-style mansions, wide streets, the construction of five Georgian squares, as well as the establishment of pleasure parks (including several bowling greens) for the purpose of garden parties and charitable events such as open-air concerts of music. In addition to the Theatre Royal in Smock Alley (1662), this period saw the advent of music theatres, such as Mr Johnson’s Great Room in Crow Street for the practice of Italian Musick [sic] (1731) and Neale’s Great Hall in Fishamble Street (1741), renowned for staging the first performance of Handel’s Messiah in 1742. Eighteenth-century Dublin was also a city of great poverty for the Irish working classes. Severe weather conditions known as ‘The Great Frost’ (December 1739– September 1741)  resulted in a poor yield of potatoes, leading to a devastating potato famine (1740–41). Known as Bliain an Áir, ‘The Year of Slaughter’, the loss of life exceeded that of the Great Famine of 1845. This event brought an influx of rural inhabitants to the streets of Dublin, who, along with their city counterparts, lived alongside open sewers or in filthy, overcrowded rooms in damp houses, rife with sickness, disease and death. Many ended their days in the Dublin Workhouse located in Mount Brown, which had opened in 1705 to cater to the increasing numbers of Dublin’s poor. Despite the perennial lack of funds, this institution became a Foundling Hospital (1730–1860) renowned for its soaring mortality rates, which were often the subject of ‘anxious inquiries and investigations’.14 Charity concerts organized by the Protestant Ascendancy, however, were intended to support Dublin’s native poor.

7. Italian Oratorio While Handel’s new genre of oratorio gained popularity in eighteenth-century Ireland and England, the genre of the Italian oratorio had originated two centuries earlier in Rome in the oratory of St Philip Neri (1515–95). It began as the oratorio Latino, a one-part work in Latin based on a biblical theme and performed without costumes, scenery and staging. A second type of oratorio – the oratorio volgare – developed as a much larger work in two parts. Written in the vernacular, it was based on either a biblical or hagiographical story. Staged versions of this type,

14.  William D. Wodsworth, ed., A Brief History of the Ancient Foundling Hospital in Dublin, from the Year 1702 (Dublin:  Alexander Thom, 1876), 2, online:  http://digital.ucd. ie/get/ivrla:3137/content.

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known as opera serie, were not uncommon and enjoyed numerous performances with costumes, scenery and staging in palaces and aristocratic households both in Vienna and in Rome. Within the Holy Roman Empire, the Habsburg court poet Pietro Metastasio had written many well-known oratorio libretti (‘texts’), which were set to music by seminal Catholic composers to ensure widespread circulation across the Holy Roman Empire and beyond.15 During the Counter Reformation, the Italian oratorio was used by the Catholic Church as a weapon of propaganda in its polemic against Protestantism. Interestingly, one such oratorio, Metastasio’s Isacco figura del Redentore (‘Isaac, A Type of the Messiah’), based on the story of the near-sacrifice of Isaac from Genesis 22, was performed in Dublin in English translation to a musical setting by Tomasso Giordani (1738–1806) for which there is no extant music. Dedicated to the Hibernian Catch Club, it was performed as a charity concert for the relief of the ‘Industrious poor of the City’ during Holy Week (14 and 16 April 1767).16 Giordani’s word book was meticulously copied by the Irish composer Kane O’Hara (1711/12–82) in 1767, and is now held in the National Library of Ireland (MS 9251). Unfortunately, there is no evidence to suggest that any new music was composed to the Metastasian libretto in Dublin at this time. Other popular works performed included Pasquali’s three-part oratorio, Noah (1750) (Gen 6–9); Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater (1736) (Luke 2:35); Bononcini’s anthem, When Saul Was King Over Us: A Funeral Ode for the Duke of Marlborough (1722) (1 Sam 31:1–6; Lam 1:2; Zech 11:2); and Boyce’s Serenata, Solomon (ca. 1741) inspired by the Song of Songs. The latter comprises recitatives and airs titled ‘He’ and ‘She’, which abound in sexual allusions. It was extremely popular in Dublin and London, and the earliest extant word book of Boyce’s Solomon was published by George Faulkner for the annual benefit concert in Mercers’ Hospital, Dublin (1741). Other popular works at this time included Handel’s Utrecht Jubilate Deo (HWV 279)  (Psalm 100), the Coronation Anthems and Handel’s English Oratorios.

8. Handel’s English Oratorio The English Oratorio was a new genre of oratorio by Handel, initially formulated for English-speaking Protestants. Scored in three parts for a much larger and more active chorus than the Italian oratorio (mentioned in Section 7 above), it was performed, without costumes, stage action or scenery. By far the most popular oratorios performed in Dublin in the eighteenth century were those composed by Handel, and by the mid-century they included Alexander’s Feast (a non-biblical work), Esther (HWV 50a, 1718; HWV 50b, 1732; rev. 1820), Messiah (HWV

15. See Siobhán Dowling Long, ‘Metastasio’s Old Testament Dramas: Biblical Stories in Eighteenth-Century Oratorio’, Relegere: Studies in Religion and Reception 3.1 (2013): 57–78. 16.  John C. Greene, Theatre in Dublin 1745–1820: A Celebration of Performance, vol. 2 (Lanham: Lehigh University Press, 2011), 1104–105.

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56, 1741), Deborah (HWV 51, 1733), Samson (HWV 57, 1741, rev. 1742), Judas Maccabaeus (HWV 63, 1746) and Joshua (HWV 64, 1746).17 With the exception of Messiah, one cannot help but notice the way Handel’s music was appropriated in performance at this time, and how it was used to reinforce Ireland’s subjugation and colonization by the British Empire. Indeed, this claim is endorsed by the findings of Handelian scholar and musicologist Ruth Smith, who has examined the influence of eighteenth-century ‘sermon literature’ on Handel’s oratorio libretti.18 Laden with political symbolism, these sermons identified ‘modern Britain’ with ‘ancient Israel’, and various biblical characters with political figures of the day. For example, Smith illustrates how the preachers of such sermons, as well as the librettists of Handel’s oratorios, drew parallels between the Philistines and Catholic Europe, David or Solomon with George II, and Saul and his descendants with the Stuart family and so forth.19 Smith also notes that ‘the heathens’, who are also mentioned in a number of Handel’s biblical works, represented the ‘foreign aggressor in time of war, or the rebels in 1745, or freethinkers, or depraved members of the community enticing others to vice’.20 Given this background, and situating Smith’s analysis within an Irish context, one might assume then that the common personages in Handel’s oratorios such as the Philistines, the heathens, the Priests of Baal and other characters, most notably the evil henchman Haman were understood to represent the native Catholic Irish, while references to the King or hero and the People of Israel pointed to the King of England and his British Protestant subjects. Given the political situation in Ireland at this time, the retelling of certain biblical stories in performances of Handel’s oratorios in eighteenth-century Dublin would have been in keeping with notable sermons by English preachers, which would have appeared to provide moral justification for the British conquest (i.e. the Israelite conquest) of Ireland (the Land of Canaan). 8.1 Esther Handel’s first English oratorio, Esther, was based on the biblical story of Esther after a play by Racine (1689), translated by Thomas Brereton to a libretto by John Arbuthnot with revisions by Alexander Pope (1718) and later additions by Samuel Humphrey (1732). The earlier version was a masque for chamber orchestra in one continuous movement divided into six scenes, while the later version (1732) was heavily revised and divided into three parts with larger orchestral forces and soloists. Handel borrowed some of the material in his Coronation anthem ‘My

17.  Brian Boydell, ‘Music before 1700’, in A New History of Ireland, vol. 4, ed. William Edward Vaughan and Theodore William Moody (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), 622. 18.  Ruth Smith, Handel’s Oratorios and Eighteenth-Century Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 220. 19. Smith, Handel’s Oratorios, 220, 221 20. Smith, Handel’s Oratorios, 217, 302.

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Heart Is Inditing’ (Psalm 45; Isaiah 49) from ‘Zadok the Priest’, and ‘The King shall Rejoice’ (Psalm 21) from ‘Ode for the Birthday of Queen Anne’. The Overture to the oratorio was also popularly performed in Dublin as a concert piece in its own right at the annual and biannual concerts for Mercer’s hospital (from 1736), as well as Handel’s two six-concert subscriptions, which were performed while he was in Dublin. Scored for the principal characters of Esther (Soprano), Ahasuerus, king of Persia (Tenor), Mordecai (Tenor), Haman, the evil henchman (Bass) and other supporting characters including a chorus of Israelites and Persian soldiers, it includes many beautiful arias and duets including ‘Tune Your Harps’ sung by an Israelite man from Act 1, Scene 1 to the accompaniment of pizzicato strings and harp; the love duet ‘Awake My Soul, My Life, My Breath’ sung by Ahasuerus and Esther in Act 2; and the arias ‘Pluck Root and Branch from Out the Land’ and ‘How Art Thou Fall’n from Thy Height’, both sung by the villainous Haman. The oratorio concludes with a jubilant chorus recounting Haman’s slaughter, ‘The Lord our Enemy has Slain’. 8.2 Deborah Deborah was Handel’s second oratorio. Based on a libretto by Samuel Humphreys on the story of Deborah, it was premiered at the King’s Theatre in London on 17 March 1733. Described as a pasticcio, based on the biblical story (Judges 4–5), it incorporates extracts from ‘Brockes Passion’, two Coronation Anthems and three Chandos Anthems, and the Vespers psalm setting ‘Dixit Dominus’ (Psalm 110), among other works. The most dramatic use of the chorus is found in Act 2, ‘All your boast will end in woe’, where, in an ensemble of soloists, Deborah (Soprano) and Barak (Alto) are in conflict with Sisera (Alto) and Baal’s Priest (Bass), and which reaches a climax in the entrance of a double chorus (SSAATTBB) representing the Priests of the Israelites and the Priests of Baal. 8.3 Messiah Handel’s best-known work, the oratorio Messiah (HWV 56, 1741) (Figure 19.1), is thought to have been commissioned by the lord lieutenant of Dublin to raise money for three of the city’s charities: ‘For the relief of the prisoners in Various Gaols and for the Support of Mercer’s Hospital in Stephen’s Street, and of the Charitable Infirmary on the Inn’s Quay.’ It was premiered in Dublin at midday on 13 April 1742, and again on 3 June 1742 at the New Musick Hall in Fishamble Street, which had opened on 2 October 1741 under the management of Mr John Neale. Handel was joined in Dublin by the soprano Signora Christina Maria Avolio and contralto Mrs Susanna Maria Cibber, the sister of composer Thomas Arne, who both travelled from London for the performances, and by the soprano Mrs MacLaine who travelled with Handel from Chester. The chorus of Gentlemen was drawn from the two cathedral choirs. Handel’s conducting score shows that soloists on this occasion were also taken from the cathedral choir, with the bass

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solos divided between John Hill and John Mason, the alto/counter-tenor solos divided between William Lamb and Joseph Ward, and the tenor solo assigned to either James Bailey or John Church.21 The audience, as noted by Handel in a letter to his librettist Charles Jennens, comprised ‘Ladyes of Distinction and other People of the greatest quality, Bishops, Deans, Heads of the Colledge, the most eminent People in the Law as the Chancellor, Auditor General, &etc. all which are very much taken with the Poetry’.22 The libretto by Charles Jennens (1700–73) makes use of biblical references selected directly from the Anglican Book of Common Prayer to prove the truth of the Gospel against eighteenth-century rationalists. After an orchestral overture, Part 1 announces the coming of the Messiah in words taken from Isaiah (40:1–5, 11; 7:14; 60:1–3; 9:2, 6; 35:5–6), Haggai (2:6–7), Malachi (3:2–3), Zechariah (9:9– 10), Matthew (1:23; 3:16; 21:5; 11:30) and Luke (2:8–14). Part  2 considers the suffering, death and resurrection of Christ in words from Isaiah (53:3–6, 8; 50:6), the Psalms (22:7–8; 69:20; 16:10; 68:18, 11; 24:7–10; 2:1–4, 9), Lamentations (1:12), John (1:29), Hebrews (1:5–6) and Romans (10:15,18) ending with the ‘Hallelujah chorus’ from Revelation (19:6, 16; 11:15). Part 3 is a hymn of thanksgiving based on passages from the Burial Service (Job 19:25–26; 1 Cor 15:20– 22, 51–57) and Romans (8:31, 33, 34) with a closing doxology from Revelation (5:12–14). 8.4 Samson Handel’s oratorio Samson (HWV 57, 1741; revised 1742) was composed with a libretto by Newburgh Hamilton (1712–59), adapted from John Milton’s Samson Agonistes (1671) based on the biblical story in Judges 13–16. Milton’s threeverse dramatic poem was divided into three acts and interpolated with other poems by Milton, including ‘On Time’, ‘The Nativity Ode’ and ‘At a Solemn Music’, along with paraphrases of Milton’s metrical psalms. The oratorio tells of the final hours of Samson before his destruction of the Temple of Dagon, beginning just before his imprisonment in Gaza, where he has already been blinded and bound in chains by the Philistines, following the revelation of the secret of his strength to his wife Delilah. Samson’s exquisite air, ‘Total Eclipse! No Sun! No Moon!’ for tenor soloist, is at times sung a cappella as a poignant lament by Samson. Such was its popularity in Dublin this air was performed in concerts up until the nineteenth century. As part of his revision of the oratorio (1742), Handel included at the end the joyful air ‘Let the bright Seraphim’ for soprano and solo trumpet to depict musically the joyful singing and trumpet playing of the angels in praise of God, and the final exuberant chorus ‘Let their celestial concerts.’

21.  Donald Burrows, Handel:  Messiah, Cambridge Music Handbooks (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 19. 22. Burrows, Handel: Messiah, 15–16.

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Figure 19.1 George Frideric Handel: Messiah Word Book (Dublin: George Faulkner, 1742). OLS L-6–605 no. 8. © The Board of Trinity College Dublin.

8.5 Judas Maccabaeus The oratorio Judas Maccabaeus (HWV 63, 1746) was one of the most popular oratorios during Handel’s own lifetime, with a libretto by Thomas Morell based on I  Maccabees and Josephus’s Antiquities of the Jews (Figure  19.2). Written against the backdrop of the Jacobite rebellion (1745–46) and first performed at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden, London, in 1747, it was intended as a compliment to Prince William, Duke of Cumberland, on his victory at Culloden on 16 April 1746,

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Figure 19.2 George Frideric Handel: Judas Maccabaeus Word Book (Dublin: James Hoey, 1748). © Courtesy of Dublin City Public Libraries.

comparing the victory of Judas Maccabaeus over the Seleucids to Prince William’s victory over the Jacobites. Part 3 includes the well-known chorus ‘See, the conqu’ring hero comes’ sung by the Israelites in praise of their hero Judas Maccabaeus. Originally composed for Joshua (1748), this chorus was inserted into a 1757 revision of Judas Maccabaeus. Premièred in London in 1746, it was first performed in Dublin on 9 February 1748 to raise funds for the new Lying-In Hospital at the Rotunda. A note at the back of the word book testifies to the success of the new maternity hospital since its foundation: ‘It is justly Remarke’d that since the foundation of this Charity, there has not been a Child found Murthered in the City or Suburbs of Dublin.’ 8.6 Joshua The oratorio Joshua (HWV 64, 1747; revised 1752)  was composed to a libretto by Thomas Morell based on the book of Joshua, and was also written against the backdrop of the Jacobite rising of 1745. It retells the story of Israel’s conquest of the Land of Canaan under Joshua’s leadership, and highlights the love story between Caleb’s daughter Achsah and Othniel (Josh 15:16–19). The soprano aria ‘Oh Had I Jubal’s Lyre/Miriam’s Tuneful Voice’, sung by Achsah in Act 3, is also performed in its own right today.

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9. The Voluntary Hospital Movement While the sixteenth century witnessed suppression of the monasteries and hospital care for over two centuries, the eighteenth century witnessed its revival, beginning with the Voluntary Hospital Care movement for Dublin’s Catholic sick poor through charity concerts of biblical and non-biblical music. Given the historical context of the suppression of the hospitals by Henry VIII, it is significant then that Handel who was a German-born English Protestant donated two-thirds of the funds raised from the Messiah performances in support of the Voluntary Hospital Movement, with the other third allocated for the release of those confined to a debtor’s prison. Expressions of compassion for the poor are evident in Messiah, most notably in the accompagnato ‘Comfort Ye My People’ (Isa 40:1–3), the airs ‘He Shall Feed His Flock’ (Isa 40:11) and ‘The People That Walked in Darkness Have Seen a Great Light’ (Isa 9:2), and the chorus ‘Surely he hath borne our griefs’ (Isa 53:4–5). 9.1 Charitable Infirmary The Charitable Infirmary (1718–1987), later known as Jervis Street (from 1792), was one of the three charities supported by Handel. Renowned as the first voluntary hospital founded in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, it opened in Cook Street in August 1728 at the expense of six surgeons who were appalled by the miserable plight of the poor (Figure 19.3). The small house initially catered for the accommodation of four intern patients, and in time, larger accommodation was sought on King’s Inn Quay for a further fifty patients, before further expansion necessitated a move to Jervis Street. The eighteenth century witnessed the establishment of other notable hospitals including Dr Steeven’s (1733), Mercer’s (1734), the Rotunda Lying-In Hospital (1745), the Meath (1753) and St Patrick’s (1757), many of which received funding from charity concerts. Mercer’s Hospital also received a portion of the proceeds from Handel’s Messiah. 9.2 Mercer’s Hospital Founded in 1734 as a charitable institution for the care of Dublin’s poor and destitute through a benefaction from Mary Mercer, the hospital raised funds from its annual and biannual charity concerts, which began on 8 April 1736 and lasted until at least 1777. The first concert in 1736 marked the first performance of Handel’s sacred music in Ireland. The concert program changed very little over the next forty years, and included Handel’s well-known Utrecht Te Deum and Jubilate (HWV 278–279), the Coronation Anthems (HWV 258–261), two Chapel Royal Anthems (HWV 250b and 256b) and the Overture to Esther (HWV 50). Other works not composed by Handel included ‘Sing Ye Merrily’ (Pss 81:1; 93:1–2a; 112:1, 2b; 90:1; 27:9; 79:14) by Maurice Greene, a ‘Te Deum in D’ by Henry Purcell and a wordless chant by Pelam Humphreys. The program also featured an anthem by William Boyce, Blessed is he

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Figure  19.3 The Charitable Infirmary. © Courtesy of the Royal College of Surgeons in Ireland.

that considereth the sick, based on Ps 41:1–3, which was newly commissioned by Mercer’s and performed on the occasion of Handel’s attendance at the benefit concert on 10 December 1741 (Figure 19.4). The anthem by Boyce is included with the other aforementioned works in an almost complete set of forty-four vocal and instrumental part-books from 1765–68 in the Manuscripts Library, Trinity College Dublin. 9.3 Utrecht Te Deum and Jubilate The Utrecht Te Deum and Jubilate (HWV 278–279), mentioned above, featured as Handel’s first major sacred work. This two-part work was first performed at a thanksgiving service on 7 July 1713 in St Paul’s Cathedral, London, to celebrate the Peace of Utrecht, a series of several treaties between Britain, France and Spain, which brought an end of the War of the Spanish Succession. Interestingly, Brian Boydell points out that the Treaty of Utrecht was also celebrated at Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin, at which a Te Deum by J. S. Cousser and an anthem by Daniel

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Figure  19.4 William Boyce:  Blessed is he that considereth the sick. TCD Mercer’s MS 2 © The Board of Trinity College Dublin.

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Rosingrave were performed.23 The Te Deum Laudamus is a hymn of praise sung at the end of matins. While traditionally attributed to St Ambrose it is almost certainly earlier, perhaps the work of Niceta of Remesiana (fourth century).24 Drawing on Isaiah’s vision (Isaiah 6) and some of the Psalms such as Psalm 145 the Te Deum follows the pattern of the Apostles’ Creed. Handel’s Te Deum reflects the joyful nature of the text with its scoring in the triumphant key of D Major, a key most notably associated with victory, Hallelujahs and rejoicing. The Jubilate (HWV 279) based on Psalm 100 (‘O Be Joyful in the Lord’) is also scored in the triumphant key of D major. Performed on numerous occasions in Ireland, it emphasized the peace which now existed between France, Spain  – Ireland’s old allies  – and Great Britain. However, by the end of the century, France would support Ireland again in the United Irishmen’s Rebellion of 1798, and the political consequences would strike a devastating blow to biblical music in Ireland. 9.4 Coronation Anthems Handel composed four anthems for the Coronation of his patron, George II, held in Westminster Abbey on 11 October 1727. By far the most popular is No.4, Zadok the Priest, based on the account of the anointing of Solomon (1 Kgs 1:38–40). It was sung before the Anointing ceremony when the king, having taken ‘The Oath’, returned to his chair. Scored for SSAATBB chorus and orchestra in D major, it opens with a stately orchestral prelude in 4/4 metre, which builds in anticipation and excitement, through a trommelbass accompaniment and rising arpeggios in the strings, to the majestic homophonic entry of the choir. Section two opens in a dancelike metre of 3/4, with dotted rhythms in the accompaniment to represent the people rejoicing, and in the last section, chorus and orchestra in homophony proclaim Solomon as King, ‘God Save the King, Long Live the King, May the King Live Forever’, followed by a series of jubilant ‘Amens’ and ‘Alleluias’. The other three Coronation Anthems include ‘My Heart Is Inditing’ (Psalm 45; Isaiah 49), ‘Let Thy Hand be Strengthened’ (Ps 89:13–14) and ‘The King Shall Rejoice’ (Psalm 21). As well as performances in Mercer’s annual and biannual concerts, these anthems were popularly performed in other charity concerts in Dublin. The popularity of their performance emphasized in no uncertain terms the power of British colonialism and the subjugation of the native Irish people.25 9.5 Chapel Royal Anthems Given the political situation in Ireland in the eighteenth century, the texts of anthems ‘I Will Magnify Thee’ (HWV 250b), based on Psalm 145, and ‘Let 23.  Brian Boydell, ‘Venues for Music in 18th Century Dublin’, Dublin Historical Record 29.1 (1975): 28–34 (28). 24.  Siobhán Dowling Long and John F. A. Sawyer, The Bible in Music: A Dictionary of Songs, Works and More (Lanham, Toronto, and Plymouth: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015), 233. 25. See Section 8 of this chapter, and also Smith, Handel’s Oratorios, 220.

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God Arise’ (HWV 256b), based on Psalm 68, would have resonated with the Ascendancy. The duet between the Alto and Bass in movement 3 of the first anthem (‘Tell it out among the heathen that the Lord is King and that he made the world so fast that it cannot be moved’) might well have been interpreted to refer to the Irish (‘the heathen’), King George (‘King’) and the steadfastness of the British crown in Ireland (‘that he made the world so fast that it cannot be moved’).26 The opening movement of the second anthem sung by the chorus ‘Let God arise and let his enemies be scattered: let them also that hate him fly before him’ (Ps 68:1) might also have been interpreted to refer to the native Irish who were scattered and driven away from their land, and who would suffer the same fate as those spoken by the psalmist in movement two, ‘Like as the smoke vanisheth so shalt thou drive them away: like as wax melteth at the fire, so let the ungodly perish at the presence of God’ (Ps 68:2).

10. Conclusion Following the 1798 Rebellion, the dissolution of the Irish Parliament by the Act of Union (1800) led to a mass exodus of the Protestant Ascendancy from Dublin to London. Consequently, the north side of Dublin city fell into a rapid economic decline with many of its great houses falling into dilapidation. Similarly, a decline in the performances of biblical music in Dublin marked the end of the Golden Age of the Bible in music. While there were some notable compositions based on the Bible by nineteenth-century Irish Protestant composers – Charles Villiers Stanford (1852–1924) and Cecil Frances Humphreys Alexander (1818–95) to name but two – one cannot help but notice the dearth of non-liturgical compositions based on the Bible during this time. Indeed, the present century is no different with the composition of very few popular songs or classical works inspired by the Bible. While there have been some popular songs based on biblical texts – most notably by Dublin-born rock singers Bono and Sinéad O’Connor – they are more the exception rather than the norm.27 One might conclude that the neglect shown by Irish composers and songwriters in relation to biblical music composed for the concert hall, especially music based on the Old Testament, is a terrible consequence of Ireland’s sorrowful history.28

Bibliography Boydell, Brian. A Dublin Musical Calendar: 1700–60. Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 1988. Boydell, Barra. A History of Music at Christ Church. Dublin: Boydell Press, 2004.

26. See Section 8 of this chapter, and also Smith, Handel’s Oratorios, 217, 302. 27. See Dowling Long and Sawyer, The Bible in Music, 1, 8, 56, 108, 181, 248, 262, 270. 28. See also the chapters in this volume by McConvery and Mitchel.

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Boydell, Brian. Rotunda Music in Eighteenth-Century Dublin. Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 1992. Boydell, Brian. ‘Venues for Music in 18th Century Dublin’. Dublin Historical Record 29.1 (1975): 28–34. Burrows, Donald. Handel: Messiah. Cambridge Music Handbooks. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990. Burrows, Donald. ‘Handel’s Oratorio Performances’. Pages 262–85 in The Cambridge Companion to Handel. Edited by Donald Burrows. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Costello, Vandra. ‘Public Space for Display and Promenade’. Pages 45–54 in Georgian Dublin. Edited by Gillian O’Brien and Finola O’Kane. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2008. Dowling Long, Siobhán. ‘Metastasio’s Old Testament Dramas: Biblical Stories in EighteenthCentury Oratorio’. Relegere: Studies in Religion and Reception 3.1 (2013): 57–78. Dowling Long, Siobhán, and John F. A. Sawyer. The Bible in Music: A Dictionary of Songs, Works and More. Lanham, Toronto, and Plymouth: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015. Duffy, Seán, ed. Medieval Ireland: An Encyclopedia. Routledge Encyclopedias of the Middle Ages. Oxford and New York: Routledge, 2005. Fagan, Patrick. Catholics in a Protestant Country: The Papist Constituency in EighteenthCentury Dublin. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1998. Flood, Grattan. A History of Irish Music. Dublin: Browne & Nolan, 1905. Repr., Shannon: Irish University Press, 1970. Greene, John C. Theatre in Dublin 1745–1820: A Celebration of Performance. Vol. 2. Lanham: Lehigh University Press, 2011. Houston, Kerry. ‘Music Fit for a King: The Restoration of Charles II and the Dublin Cathedral Repertoire’. Pages 148–67 in Music, Ireland and the Seventeenth Century. Edited by Barra Boydell and Kerry Houston. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2009. Lyons, J. B. The Quality of Mercer’s: The Story of Mercer’s Hospital, 1734–1991. Dublin: Glendale Publishing, 1991. O’Brien, Gerard, ed. Catholic Ireland in the Eighteenth Century: Collected Essays of Maureen Wall. Dublin: Geography Publication, 1989. O’Connor, John. The Workhouses of Ireland: The Fate of Ireland’s Poor. Dublin: Anvil Books, 1995. Old, Hughes Olphant. The Reading and Preaching of the Christian Scriptures in the Worship of the Christian Church. Vol. 3. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999. Seymour, Edward. Christ Church Cathedral. Dublin: Hodges, Foster & Co., 1878. Smith, Ruth. ‘Handel’s English Librettists’. Pages 92–110 in The Cambridge Companion to Handel. Edited by Donald Burrows. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Smith, Ruth. Handel’s Oratorios and Eighteenth-Century Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Vaughan, William Edward, and Theodore William Moody, eds. A New History of Ireland. Vol. 4. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996. Walsh, T. J. Opera in Dublin 1705–1797. Dublin: Allen Figgis, 1973. White, Harry. ‘Church Music and Musicology in Ireland: An Afterword’. Pages 333–8 in Irish Musical Studies II: Music and the Church. Edited by Gerard Gillen and Harry White. Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 1993. White, Harry. The Keeper’s Recital: Music and Cultural History in Ireland, 1770–1970. Cork: Cork University Press, 1998. Wodsworth, W. D., ed. A History of the Ancient Foundling Hospital of Dublin from the Year 1702. Dublin: Alexander Thom, 1876.

Chapter 20 S C R I P T U R E , M U SIC A N D T H E S HA P I N G O F I R I SH C U LT U R A L I D E N T I T I E S Róisín Blunnie

1. Introduction The music of Ireland is innately intertwined with the country’s political and cultural history, and its development is bound up with questions of identity and Irishness. The complexities of Irish musical identity are manifold: there is music composed in Ireland, by Irish composers or otherwise, and performed at home or abroad; music with no ostensible connection to the country embraced and performed by Irish musicians for Irish audiences; and music composed or performed within Ireland but under a determining non-native stylistic influence. Music in and of Ireland is a vast and vibrant subject that, one way or the other, is always embedded in the social, which, in the Irish context, inevitably incorporates a variety of religious dimensions. This consideration of the interaction of Scripture and music in Ireland focuses principally on choral music, on the communal experience of music and text for a range of purposes in liturgical, professional, social and other environments.

2. Scripture and Music in Liturgy The extent to which musical settings of Scripture have stood apart from sacred music more generally (i.e. music that uses sacred text from sources including but not confined to the Bible) varies across the Christian denominations of Ireland. For Presbyterians, the historical centrality of psalms is reflected in musical practice; for Methodists, musical components of worship, though varied, continue to acknowledge the Wesley brothers’ devotion to hymn-singing1; and in the Catholic Church, landmark shifts of approach such as those arising out of the Second 1.  Martin Adams, ‘Methodist Church Music’, in The Encyclopaedia of Music in Ireland, ed. Harry White and Barra Boydell (Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 2013), 2:666. Hereafter EMIR.

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Vatican Council apply to Scripture-based music in the same way as they affect the sacred music genre more broadly. Martin Adams points to the musical consequence for Presbyterians in Ireland of the significance of psalms as outlined in the Book of Common Order (John Knox’s Liturgy) and its successor The Directory for the Publick Worship of God: ‘The Directory’s emphasis on the psalms – “It is the duty of Christians to praise God publickly, by singing of psalms together in the congregation, and also privately in the family” – has often been taken by most Irish Presbyterians to mean that the psalms alone should be sung in worship.’2 Adams further suggests a link between this exclusive focus on psalm-singing and the very identity of Irish Presbyterians throughout the country’s turbulent political history, with this distinctive musical tradition thus serving as something of a cultural indicator: Reluctance to sing anything other than the psalms, or to use instruments, has been characteristic of Presbyterians worldwide, but in Ireland this has been reinforced by a tenacious awareness of historical identity, which in turn derives partly from the fact that well into the nineteenth century Irish nonconformists (i.e. non-Anglicans) were subject to many of the penal laws that were directed primarily against Ireland’s Catholic majority. Although some churches in Dublin used instruments, psalm-singing was a practice that distinguished Presbyterians from the hymn-singing of the Established (Anglican) Church, as well as from the Roman Catholic styles of worship to which Presbyterianism has always been particularly opposed.3

In an article entitled ‘Irish Presbyterian Psalmody a Hundred and Fifty Years Ago’, written in 1920, the prolific – if idiosyncratic – writer W. H. Grattan Flood remarked on another, perhaps unexpected, musical outcome of dedication to the purity of psalm-singing: ‘Presbyterians would not tolerate the sacred words of the Psalms being sung otherwise than in Church or for God’s worship, and hence secular – very often doggerel – verses were invented by the precentors or the leaders of psalmody for use at choir practices, until the tune was well memorised.’4 While practice has broadened immensely in recent decades,5 the content of song in and

2. Adams, ‘Presbyterian Church Music’, EMIR 2:862. 3. Adams, ‘Presbyterian Church Music’, 862. 4.  W. H. Grattan Flood, ‘Irish Presbyterian Psalmody a Hundred and Fifty Years Ago’, Musical Times 61.930 (1920): 561. Though note that Barra Boydell casts doubt on the credibility of Flood as a historian: ‘He holds a problematic position with regard to Irish musicology: his information is frequently suspect, and he repeatedly frustrates with his lack of all but the most occasional source references; he renders himself untrustworthy by the fact that, where his sources can be checked, he sometimes misquotes or misinterprets them; and he is too ready to jump to conclusions which are presented as if they were facts.’ See Boydell, ‘Flood, W[illiam] H[enry] Grattan’, EMIR 1:395. 5. See Adams, ‘Presbyterian Church Music’, 862.

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for Presbyterian worship remained a contested topic well into the twentieth century, with some favouring continued adherence to psalm-singing, while others, in time, advocated a judicious form of freedom in relation to musical choice. This difference of opinion is crystallized in a report presented to the General Assembly of the Orthodox Presbyterian Church in 1947 as to whether song should be strictly ‘inspired’ (scriptural) or whether some ‘uninspired’ (not directly scriptural) music might be permitted, and largely concerns the question of whether prayer and song should be regarded as one and the same activity, or as two distinct practices governed by distinct rules. On that occasion the majority report of the Committee on Song in Worship put forward the view that some flexibility ought to apply in the area of music, as it did in spoken prayer: We may worship only in ways prescribed by the Word of God. But God’s Word warrants the exercise of liberty in the content of prayer. Both by implication and by the approved examples of the New Testament saints it also warrants the exercise of liberty with regard to the content of song. The content of song, then, like the content of our prayer, need not be restricted to the very words of Scripture, although it must be assuredly Scriptural in teaching.6

By contrast, a minority report held that such a view did not have scriptural authority and so should not prevail: ‘the minority contends that the argument used in the report of the committee, to wit, that, since we are not limited in our prayers to the words of Scripture or to the “prayers” given us in Scripture, therefore the same freedom is granted in song, is invalid.’7 In short, according to the minority report, ‘there is no evidence from Scripture that can be adduced to warrant the singing of uninspired human compositions in the public worship of God’.8

3. Questions of Musical Identity in the Church of Ireland and the Catholic Church Any effort to examine the development of music in the Irish churches is affected by a certain fluidity of identity with other musical cultures. Gillen and Johnstone explain, for example, the difficulty of claiming any distinctive Irish dimensions to

6. Robert S. Marsden, chairman, ‘Report of the Committee on Song in Worship Presented to the Thirteenth General Assembly, on the Teaching of Our Standards Respecting the Songs That May Be Sung in the Public Worship of God’ (1947), http://www.opc.org/GA/ song.html. 7. John Murray and William Young, ‘Minority Report of the Committee on Song in the Public Worship of God Submitted to the Fourteenth General Assembly of the Orthodox Presbyterian Church’ (1947), http://www.opc.org/GA/song.html. 8. Murray and Young, ‘Minority Report’.

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the performance and practice of Anglican cathedral music in Ireland: ‘Up to the nineteenth century the history of cathedral music in Ireland is populated largely by English singers, organists and composers. The Irish church, especially in the Pale, was strongly Anglicized from medieval times onwards, and a statute passed by a parliament at Kilkenny in 1366 prohibited all native Irish from holding ecclesiastical office.’9 Moreover, there were certain incentives for English singers and organists to capitalize on strong relationships between the islands and to take up positions in the Dublin cathedrals, thus deepening the cultural crossover of the Church of Ireland: ‘A lack of popular support for the Reformation in Ireland prompted cathedral staff to identify more doggedly with their colleagues in England. Generous salaries resulting from the prodigally endowed foundations at Christ Church and St Patrick’s, together with the opportunity of holding appointments in both choirs, attracted English musicians of calibre.’10 Gillen and Johnstone draw attention to some of the many interactions of music and the British-Irish historical context evident in surviving sources of cathedral music in Dublin:  ‘It is not known exactly what music was performed at Christ Church up to the mid-seventeenth century, but a collection of anthem texts printed for the cathedral in 1662 gives details of fifty-one works.’11 This collection, Anthems to be Sung at the Celebration of Divine Service, is ‘the oldest known music manuscript to have originated in post-medieval Ireland’.12 While it consists principally of Scripture-based pieces, two exceptions are revealing: settings of ‘political texts of thanksgiving for the Restoration’ entitled Now That the Lord Hath Readvanc’d the Crown, by Richard Hosier; and O God That Art the Well-Spring of All Peace, by John Holmes.13 The most recent piece presented by Gillen and Johnstone in their anthology of church music from the seventeenth to the twentieth century is Surge, amica mea, a setting of Song of Songs 2:10–13 composed by Andrew Synnott for the choir of Christ Church Cathedral in 1994,14 retained in the choir’s repertoire and later performed on a tour to Chartres Cathedral in 1997. The editors point out ‘the paradox of a young Roman Catholic-trained composer setting a Latin text to a commission by a Dublin Anglican cathedral choir’ but conclude that ‘this fluidity of repertoire between different Christian traditions is one of the most exciting portents for the future development of church music in Ireland, and emphasizes

9.  Gerard Gillen and Andrew Johnstone (with Kerry Houston), introduction to Irish Musical Studies. Volume 6: A Historical Anthology of Irish Church Music, ed. Gerard Gillen and Andrew Johnstone (Dublin:  Four Courts, 2001), 13–38 (13). See also Paul Brand, ‘Kilkenny, Statute of ’, in The Oxford Companion to Irish History, ed. S. J. Connolly, 2nd ed. (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 300–301 (301). 10. Gillen and Johnstone, introduction, 13–14. 11. Gillen and Johnstone, introduction, 15. 12. Andrew Johnstone, ‘Anglican Liturgical Music and Anthems’, EMIR 1:24. 13. Gillen and Johnstone, introduction, 16–17. 14. The score is given in Gillen and Johnstone, Historical Anthology, 311–19.

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the commonality of belief and worship patterns between traditions divided in theology for some 400 years’.15 Music is thus regarded as having the capacity to blur the boundaries of denominational identity, with both composers and works free to venture across long-standing theological lines. Synnott is represented by the Contemporary Music Centre,16 as is his fellow composer Caitríona Ní Dhubhghaill, whose significance in the history of music (and of language) in the Church of Ireland is set forth by Andrew Johnstone: ‘Though the first Irish translation of The Book of Common Prayer appeared as early as 1608, no through-composed settings of the Anglican liturgy in Irish would appear until the canticles (2000) and responses (2006) for Urnaí na nóna (Irish-language evensong) by the Dublin-born composer and literary critic Caitríona Ní Dhubhghaill.’17 Ní Dhubhghaill’s Cainticí Mhuire agus Shimeoin (Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis) received an award for best Irish-language entry in the RTÉ Church Music competition in 2001, and has featured in performances in Ireland and abroad by the Christ Church Cathedral Choir and the Mornington Singers, the latter of whom won the Pilib Ó Laoghaire trophy at the 2004 Cork Choral Festival for their performance of Caintic Mhuire, while the evensong responses were later presented by Christ Church Cathedral Choir during a tour to the Aran Islands.18 An experienced choral singer, Ní Dhubhghaill’s challenging chromatic writing, seen, for example, in her Sub umbra illius (Song of Songs 2:3, 5), demands theoretical certainty, harmonic awareness and melodic dexterity. Whereas the musical history of the Church of Ireland is intertwined with its English counterpart, Catholic music in Ireland was strongly affected by continental influences such as the Cecilian movement,19 which promoted the composition and performance of liturgical music in the ‘Palestrina’ style20; the formidable Chair of church chant and organ at St. Patrick’s College, Maynooth, Heinrich Bewerunge21; as well as the many organists from mainland Europe who came to live and work in various parts of the country during the twentieth century.22 Indeed, developments in Catholic church music in Ireland in the past hundred years or so may largely

15. Gillen and Johnstone, introduction, 34. 16.  A resource and archive service for supporting Irish composers. See Áine Sheil, ‘Contemporary Music Centre’, EMIR 1:237. 17. Johnstone, ‘Anglican Liturgical Music and Anthems’, 25. 18.  ‘Contemporary Music Centre:  Composers:  Caitríona Ní Dhubhghaill (b. 1975)’, http://www.cmc.ie/composers/composer.cfm?composerID=172. 19. See Kieran A. Daly, Catholic Church Music in Ireland, 1878–1903: The Cecilian Reform Movement (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1995); Harry White, The Keeper’s Recital: Music and Cultural History in Ireland, 1770–1970 (Cork:  Cork University Press, 1998); Ian Curran, ‘Cecilian Reform Movement in Ireland’, EMIR 1:178–80. 20.  That is, music that sought to emulate the purity of polyphony typified by the Renaissance composer Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina (d. 1594). 21. See Frank Lawrence, ‘Bewerunge, Heinrich [Wilhelm Joseph]’, EMIR 1:88–91. 22. See Kieran Daly, ‘Catholic Church/Liturgical Music’, EMIR 1:173–5.

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be interpreted as efforts either to align with or react to the Cecilian movement. Gerard Gillen is critical of the constraints imposed on creativity and repertoire by those who promulgated Cecilian ideals: ‘The compositional result of their philosophic position was that a view became entrenched in the Church that promoted second and third-rate imitations of Palestrina for liturgical use on the grounds of sacrality, with Haydn, Mozart, and Bruckner rejected on ideological grounds.’23 Thus musical style, rather than quality, was prioritized. The complexities unleashed by Vatican II had many implications not just for musical style itself, but also for the creative identity of the composer in the formulation of whatever that style might be, as Gillen and Johnstone explain: A general invitation was issued to composers to write for the new liturgy. It was the question of style that was to cause the greatest difficulty and to be a recurring cause of tension between composers, liturgists and practising musicians as they struggled to deal with the conflicting demands of congregational accessibility, choral satisfaction, duration of components appropriate to the liturgical importance of the text set, and respect for the artistic integrity of individual composers.24

Scripture-based liturgical music took its place as part of this new drive for accessibility, and was thus subject to the unprecedented consequences of ‘an open invitation to composers to create without the restrictions of a tightly prescribed stylistic and linguistic straitjacket’, while also fulfilling ‘a requirement for music to be avowedly populist and immediately amenable to congregational involvement’.25 With respect to the musical setting of psalms in line with the new requirements, Fintan O’Carroll and Margaret Daly-Denton are central figures in post-Vatican II composition. Helen Phelan stresses O’Carroll’s importance ‘both for his own prolific output as well as his passion for disseminating the works of others through his position as editor of [the liturgical music periodical] Hosanna’, with his own compositions including ‘settings of the responsorial psalms for Sundays and major feast days for the three-year lectionary cycle’.26

23.  Gerard Gillen, ‘Towards a Definition of “Good” Liturgical Music’, in Anáil Dé: The Breath of God: Music, Ritual and Spirituality, ed. Helen Phelan (Dublin: Veritas, 2001), 192. 24.  Gillen and Johnstone, Introduction, 34. Elsewhere, Gillen refers to the long history of tensions surrounding the appropriateness or otherwise of musical settings for liturgy: ‘It is an age-old dilemma:  we think of St Jerome’s outbursts against the vanity of artists, St Augustine’s scruples in taking pleasure from the music of the psalms, the archbishop of Salzburg’s strong reining in of Mozart’s natural compositional effervescence in his liturgical strictures on the composer, and so on right down to the pastor who forbids his choir from singing the motet they most want to sing on the grounds that it is too long or inappropriate or both.’ See Gillen, ‘Towards a Definition of “Good” Liturgical Music’, 189. 25. Gillen and Johnstone, preface to A Historical Anthology of Church Music, 7. 26. Helen Phelan, ‘Music and Vatican II’, EMIR 2:705.

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Stylistically, his music typifies the efforts of many twentieth-century Irish composers in finding a blend of the native tradition and the classical language of their own musical education, as Gillen and Johnstone note in relation to O’ Carroll’s Irish-language setting of Psalm 23, which they include in their aforementioned church music anthology: ‘ “Sé an Tiarna m’aoire” (“The Lord is my shepherd”), is an excellent example of a modally inflected melody, clearly indigenous in inspiration, whose harmonization nonetheless points to an accomplished and tasteful assimilation of classical chromatic harmony. This is not mere pastiche, but music that bears the impression of a fully developed and sensitive musical personality.’27 Like O’Carroll, the New Zealand-born musician and biblical scholar Margaret Daly-Denton contributed to the genre both through her own creative output and her facilitation and promotion of the works of others (e.g. in her role as director of music for the Irish Institute of Pastoral Liturgy). In her capacity as editor of Alleluia! Amen! Music for the Liturgy (Veritas, 1978) she oversaw the publication of three settings of music for the Eucharist, thirty-one psalms and canticles, and fifty-four hymns and biblical songs,28 and Paul Collins asserts that in so doing she ‘introduced Irish Roman Catholics to a more biblical and responsorial style of liturgical music’.29 Stylistically, her settings respond to the recommendations of Vatican II: ‘All her published church music is characterized by a melodically accessible style which facilitates congregational participation.’30 As Gillen and Johnstone explain, this necessity to cater for congregational involvement determines to an extensive degree the level of complexity and indeed the compositional nature of her settings: Her approach places her in the category of ritual musicians whose musical inspiration is essentially subordinated to liturgical usage. Thus, she favours the responsorial idiom, in which a dialogue is established between congregation and cantor or choir. This naturally imposes restrictions of style, and so we find in Daly-Denton’s music an essentially diatonic vocabulary, with occasional chromatic inflections and asymmetrical rhythmic patterns, that is redolent of early twentieth-century modernism.31

A stylistically accessible melody is of course crucial to the achievement of congregational participation in the performance of her works, but Daly-Denton manages to couch this in a nuanced texture, an aspect of her approach to which Gillen and Johnstone draw attention as a highlight: ‘The musical interest lies primarily in her colourful accompaniments, which exhibit a degree of independence from

27. Gillen and Johnstone, Anthology, 267. 28. Phelan, ‘Music and Vatican II’, 705. 29. Paul Collins, ‘Daly-Denton, Margaret’, EMIR 1:277. 30. Gillen and Johnstone, Anthology, 294. 31. Gillen and Johnstone, Anthology, 294.

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the all-important melody, and where the craftsmanship reveals something of her background as a skilled organist.’32 Ronan McDonagh similarly brings his training as an organist to bear on his largely Scripture-based liturgical compositions, in which his affinity with Irish traditional music is also evident as a strong stylistic influence.33 McDonagh’s aim is to set scriptural texts in ‘various forms and in a musical style that is fluent, natural, melodic and faithful to our [Irish] heritage’, incorporating ‘elements of sean-nós singing, plainsong, sacred polyphonic choral music and traditional Irish instrumental music’.34 His work with his choir Fuaimlaoi, based at St Teresa’s Church in Clarendon St in Dublin and largely focused on McDonagh’s own compositions, brings to life his distinctive blend of Irish and classical characteristics through performances not only in liturgical contexts, but also in the culturally significant environment of the concert setting.

4. Messiah in Dublin A key moment in the interaction of biblical text and cultural identity in Ireland is of course the first performance of Handel’s Messiah, at Neale’s Music Hall, Fishamble St, in April 1742; an occasion significant not only because of the work’s subsequent prominence in Irish musical life, but also because of the deliberations it has provoked regarding the relationship of text and wider social meaning. The Handel scholar Ruth Smith argues that the texts of Handel’s oratorios were perceived by their audiences as ‘unprecedented, unequalled expressions of the religious sublime’.35 Messiah is unusual in Handel’s oeuvre in that it is not a ‘dramatic’ setting of Scripture; it does not feature dramatis personae: the performers do not represent particular characters. Anthony Hicks outlines the function and narrative method of the libretto, written by Charles Jennens and presented to Handel for musical setting: Jennens’s highly original conception has a didactic purpose, namely to justify the doctrine that Jesus Christ was truly the Messiah promised by the Hebrew prophets, but the message is conveyed subtly by telling the story of Jesus’s mission through the Old Testament texts that were held to predict it; the story itself is therefore the foreground, yet is neither directly narrated (except in the description of the Nativity) nor dramatised.36 32. Gillen and Johnstone, Anthology, 294–5. 33. John O’Keeffe, ‘McDonagh, Ronan’, EMIR 2:648. 34. Ronan McDonagh, ‘Fuaimlaoi’, www.fuaimlaoi.com. 35. Ruth Smith, Handel’s Oratorios and Eighteenth-Century Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 168. 36. Anthony Hicks, ‘Handel, George Frideric’, Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.remote.library.dcu.ie/subscriber/article/grove/music/ 40060pg10.

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With an entirely scriptural text selected and assembled by Jennens from fourteen different books of the Old and New Testaments, Messiah lay open to accusations of profanity as a public entertainment involving the most sacred of subjects. Such a charge was levelled, for example, in the Universal Spectator prior to the first London performance, in a letter written by a correspondent to whom Harry White refers as ‘an avowed admirer of Handel’s music’: But it seems the Old Testament is not to be prophan’d alone . . . but the New must be joined with it, and God by the most sacred, the most merciful name of Messiah . . . for I’m informed that an oratorio call’d by that name has already been perform’d in Ireland, and is soon to be perform’d here . . . How will it appear to after-Ages, when it shall be read in History, that in such an age the People of England were arriv’d to such a height of impiety and Prophaneness that most sacred things were suffer’d to be us’d as publick diversions.37

The pragmatism and shrewdness of Handel in adapting to the vicissitudes of musical life in Dublin were essential to the early success of Messiah. The donation of proceeds from the Dublin premiere to three city charities, thus attaching a moral dimension to the event, seems to have offset any misgivings in relation to the concert performance of scriptural text. White quotes an excerpt from Faulkner’s Dublin Journal of 17 April 1742 that illustrates the significance of the financial benefit from the premiere: ‘It is but justice to Mr. Handel, that the world should know, he generously gave the Money arising from this Grand Performance to be equally shared by the Society for relieving Prisoners, the Charitable Infirmary, and Mercer’s Hospital, for which they will ever gratefully remember his name.’38 White draws a useful comparison between the reception of the work in Dublin and London: he shows that the promotion of moral purpose through charity donation was central to the popularity of Messiah in Ireland, and that the work did not meet with similar success in London until Handel followed a similar course there some eight years later. He notes too that the decision to hold Messiah in a concert hall, rather than a theatre (as in London, where the King’s Theatre in the Haymarket and Covent Garden were the composer’s principal outlets) meant that ‘the Dublin performances were thus contextually isolated from the puritanical suspicions and associations which dogged Handel’s biblical dramatisations in England’.39 Messiah in Dublin, as a ‘celebration of moral and religious certainties’,40 involving various charities, church authorities and choirs from the city’s cathedrals, crossed a range of social boundaries. It set a benchmark for grand public entertainments sufficiently respectable and inclusive to achieve widespread approval, and resulted in

37. Universal Spectator, 19 March 1743; repr. in Harry White, ‘Handel in Dublin: A Note’, Eighteenth-Century Ireland 2 (1987): 183–4; emphases in the original. 38. White, ‘Handel in Dublin’, 183. 39. White, ‘Handel in Dublin’, 184. 40. White, ‘Handel in Dublin’, 185.

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the most famous work of this German-born, London-based pragmatist becoming a staple of Dublin’s – and Ireland’s – musical life. Such was the work’s combined musical and social impact, Lisa Parker states, that ‘within two years of the first performance . . . the tradition was established in Dublin of annual performances of the oratorio for charity’.41 The idea of the massed choir has become a feature of Messiah presentations; five choral societies came together for a performance at the Gaiety Theatre in 1942 on the occasion of the bicentenary, while the more recent tradition of an outdoor public performance of excerpts from the work on 13 April each year was initiated by Our Lady’s Choral Society and conductor Proinnsías Ó Duinn in 1989.42 As Parker outlines, ‘[P]erformances in December, often at a local level with organ rather than orchestral accompaniment, are considered an indispensable part of the celebration of Christmas. Since the 1990s as many as 20 different performances are given in Ireland during the festive season.’43 These involve choirs of almost every kind and size, from community choirs to choral societies, to professional and periodperformance specialists such as Resurgam and the Irish Baroque Orchestra, and take place in many concert settings, both religious and secular.

5. Irish Choral Culture and the Concert Choir Twenty-first-century Ireland has a vibrant choral culture, particularly in its urban centres. A broad range of choir-types exists: aside from cathedral, church and a small number of professional choirs, there are community choirs of many shapes and sizes, workplace choirs, college choirs, oratorio-based choral societies, school, youth and children’s choirs, alumni choirs, project-based choirs, massed choirs assembled for specific events, Welsh-style male voice choirs, female choirs, mixed choirs, choirs that specialize in one genre or one composer only, choirs representing various ethnic identities, musical society choirs, sports/ club-associated choirs and others. A notable cohort within the spectrum of the Irish choral scene consists of what might be termed ‘concert choirs’, groups normally independent of any church or institution, that present concerts at intervals throughout the year, featuring programmes of purposively (usually thematically) chosen sacred and secular music by composers from the medieval and Renaissance periods through to the present day. Settings of Scripture feature quite prominently in the repertoires of most of these groups (depending on the nature, timing and function of a particular performance). Indeed, it could be argued that many of the most significant developments with regard to contemporary Scripture-based composition are experienced through performances by concert choirs.

41. Lisa Parker, ‘Messiah’, EMIR 2:665. 42. Parker, ‘Messiah’, 665. 43. Parker, ‘Messiah’, 665.

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The history of Ireland’s concert choirs largely remains to be written, and with programmes in many cases performed only once and often not reviewed, such events live on primarily in the remembered experience of performers and audience. Nevertheless, they have the capacity to create lasting impressions of biblical scenes, moments or ideas. Such an effect is evident, for example, in the response of the Irish Times music critic Michael Dervan to a performance of Rachmaninov’s Vespers, also known as the ‘All-Night Vigil’, at Dublin’s City Hall in May 2013: The resonant acoustic of City Hall’s rotunda, so problematic in so much repertoire, seemed ideal, and Resurgam’s singing, with the important solos taken by an imposing Victoria Massey and a noble Jacek Wislocki, offered an impressive, immersive experience. I was reminded of a quote by John Cage, who, at a time of creative crisis, found a reason to compose from the Indian musician Gira Sarabhai, who told him, ‘The purpose of music is to sober and quiet the mind, thus making it susceptible to divine influences.’44

Rachmaninov’s landmark choral work, with text drawn from Psalms 1, 103 (104), 135 (136), 140 (141) and Luke 1 and 2, caused some tension between the composer and the church for which he composed, again highlighting the interrelationship of musical style, function and cultural context in choral composition, as Dervan explains: For a composer of Rachmaninov’s standing, writing music for the Orthodox Church was in one sense a thankless task, as it had been for Tchaikovsky before him. The church wants the words to be paramount, so official disapproval was almost to be taken for granted. And yet his All-Night Vigil has become the work which, in the West, has come to represent the Orthodox musical tradition’s strength.45

This example demonstrates the multilayered interaction of music and culture on the journey from creation to performance, involving in this case the original relationship of the composer and his context (the Russian Orthodox tradition), and later that of performers, the piece and their context (in Ireland). Resurgam, conducted by the Galway-based New Zealander Mark Duley, is a chamber choir that specializes in sacred, often Scripture-based repertoire, and tours beyond the expected urban centres to venues that are acoustically and aesthetically suited to each programme (such as Ballintubber Abbey in Co. Mayo, where a concert entitled Magnificat was presented in 2010). Handel’s Messiah, Bach’s St Matthew Passion and various settings of the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis by Renaissance, Romantic and Contemporary composers have featured in recent

44.  Michael Dervan, ‘Rachmaninov’s Vigil Worth Staying Up For’, Irish Times, 28 May 2013. 45. Dervan, ‘Rachmaninov’s Vigil’.

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projects, giving audiences and singers the opportunity to experience Scripture at a high level of musical performance. Like other choral conductors such as Blánaid Murphy of the Dublin Bach Singers, Orla Flanagan of the Mornington Singers (Dublin) and James Taylor of Madrigal 75 (Cork), Duley, formerly Director of Music at Christ Church Cathedral in Dublin and currently of St. Nicholas’s Collegiate Church in Galway, brings extensive liturgical music experience and expertise to his concert choir work (and vice versa), resulting in an interesting and artistically productive cross-fertilization of choral contexts. For concert choirs of a certain ability, participation in choral competitions at home and abroad forms a significant part of their calendar and functions as a means of raising performance standards and of experiencing new repertoire (through both performing and listening). Cork Choral Festival’s Fleischmann International Trophy Competition, with its stipulation that each choir must perform a work from before 1750, a work by a living composer and a work from the choir’s native country, tends to feature a mixture of secular and sacred – often scriptural – pieces presented by advanced amateur choirs from Ireland, Europe, Asia and North America to an international jury and a festival audience at Cork’s City Hall. Furthermore, a prize for the best performance of a work by the seventeenthcentury German composer Heinrich Schütz attracts entries such as the biblical settings Die mit Tränen säen (They that sow in tears reap in joy) and Selig sind die Toten (Blessed are the dead, who die in the Lord). In recent years, contemporary music in Cork and other festivals has been represented by dramatic settings of biblical scenes, a popular example being The Conversion of Saul by the American composer Z. Randall Stroope (b. 1953). This piece was central to the victory of the APZ Tone Tomčiš University of Ljubljana choir at the Cork Choral Festival in 2011, and was subsequently taken up by a number of Irish choirs, including New Dublin Voices, conducted by Bernie Sherlock, who included it in their victorious performance at the Dublin Feis Ceoil in 2012. This piece has also been performed by the Mornington Singers, also from Dublin, who sang it as they won at the Navan Choral Festival in 2013, and later presented it in concerts in Dublin and Galway as part of a programme entitled De Profundis, alongside other Scripturebased works such as Josef Rheinberger’s Abendlied (evoking the story of the Road to Emmaus), Zoltán Kodály’s Jézus és a kufárok (a setting in Hungarian of the story of Jesus and the traders in the temple), Vide homo by the Italian Renaissance composer Orlando di Lasso, representing Peter’s recollection of Christ’s reprimand as outlined in Matthew 26, the American Eric Whitacre’s emotive setting of When David Heard, the Belgian composer Vic Nees’s De Profundis Clamavi and excerpts from the Estonian Cyrillus Kreek’s Taaveti Laulud (Psalms of David). Such pieces not only facilitate audience experience of scriptural scenes, but also require choral conductors and singers to engage with the textual significance and the expressive demands of the repertoire in order to present an emotionally convincing and stylistically appropriate performance. Encounters with biblical texts in this ‘concert’ context are influenced less by denominational or national cultural identity (choir members and conductors coming usually from a wide range of backgrounds) than

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by a more contained ‘choral’ culture, within which a shared love of singing forms a large part of the performing group’s raison d’être.

6. Conclusion The manifold and diverse interactions of Scripture and music throughout Irish history offer us an insight into the continuously evolving relationship of composition and performance with the wider cultural environments in which they occur. Whether in a liturgical, a broader sacred, or a quasi-secular performance context, Scripture-based music in and of Ireland represents a significant part of the country’s musical and choral landscape, and is inextricably interwoven with the complexities of the nation’s multifarious and ever-shifting cultural identities.

Bibliography Adams, Martin. ‘Methodist Church Music’. Pages 666–7 in vol. 2 of The Encyclopaedia of Music in Ireland. Edited by H. White and B. Boydell. 2 vols. Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 2013. Adams, Martin. ‘Presbyterian Church Music’. Pages 861–2 in vol. 2 of The Encyclopaedia of Music in Ireland. Edited by H. White and B. Boydell. 2 vols. Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 2013. Brand, Paul, ‘Kilkenny, Statute Of ’. Pages 300–301 of The Oxford Companion to Irish History. Edited by S. J. Connolly. 2nd ed. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2002. Collins, Paul. ‘Daly-Denton, Margaret’. Page 277 in vol. 1 of The Encyclopaedia of Music in Ireland. Edited by H. White and B. Boydell. 2 vols. Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 2013. ‘Contemporary Music Centre: Composers: Caitríona Ní Dhubhghaill (b. 1975)’. No pages. http://www.cmc.ie/composers/composer.cfm?composerID=172. Dervan, Michael. ‘Rachmaninov’s Vigil Worth Staying Up For’. Irish Times, 28 May 2013. Flood, W. H. Grattan. ‘Irish Presbyterian Psalmody a Hundred and Fifty Years Ago’. Musical Times 61.930 (1920): 561. Gillen, Gerard. ‘Towards a Definition of ‘Good’ Liturgical Music’. Pages 189–200 in Anáil Dé: The Breath of God: Music, Ritual and Spirituality. Edited by H. Phelan. Dublin: Veritas, 2001. Gillen, Gerard, and Andrew Johnstone. Irish Musical Studies. Volume 6: A Historical Anthology of Irish Church Music. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2001. Hicks, Anthony. ‘Handel, George Frideric’. Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online. http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com. Johnstone, Andrew. ‘Anglican Liturgical Music and Anthems’. Pages 23–5 in vol. 1 of The Encyclopaedia of Music in Ireland. Edited by H. White and B. Boydell. Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 2013. Marsden, Robert S. ‘Report of the Committee on Song in Worship Presented to the Thirteenth General Assembly, on the Teaching of Our Standards Respecting the Songs

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That May Be Sung in the Public Worship of God’ (1947). http://www.opc.org/GA/song. html. McDonagh, Ronan. ‘Fuaimlaoi’. No pages. www.fuaimlaoi.com. Murray, John, and William Young. ‘Minority Report of the Committee on Song in the Public Worship of God Submitted to the Fourteenth General Assembly of the Orthodox Presbyterian Church’ (1947). No pages. http://www.opc.org/GA/song.html. Parker, Lisa. ‘Messiah’. Page 665 in vol. 1 of The Encyclopaedia of Music in Ireland. Edited by H. White and B. Boydell. Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 2013. Phelan, Helen, ‘Music and Vatican II’. Pages 705–706 in vol. 2 of The Encyclopaedia of Music in Ireland. Edited by H. White and B. Boydell. Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 2013. Smith, Ruth. Handel’s Oratorios and Eighteenth-Century Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. White, Harry. ‘Handel in Dublin: A Note’. Eighteenth-Century Ireland 2 (1987): 182–6.

Chapter 21 J A M E S J OYC E A N D T H E S T U DY O F T H E   B I B L E Geert Lernout

1. Introduction For the past half millennium, the relationship of the Catholic Church with the Bible has been ‘complicated’, especially compared to the Protestant doctrine of sola scriptura.1 But while Luther and the other Reformers discovered the hard way that a serious study of the Bible did not necessarily lead to a single doctrine, it was Baruch Spinoza who identified this as politically problematic. Because Protestants claimed to rely on the Bible and not on church tradition, they had to show that Holy Scripture not only had been transmitted without changes, but that the texts contained a single theological message. Catholics could comfortably criticize the text’s integrity, for example, by claiming that the vowel signs in the Hebrew texts were late additions, or they could point to difficulties in interpretation in the increasingly alien text of the Tanakh that could not be made sense of except through the guidance of an unbroken apostolic tradition.2 In a country where only two options seem available, James Joyce is usually seen as a Catholic or at least a post-Catholic writer. In his book about the political role of the Bible in seventeenth-century England, Christopher Hill has shown how in that period the English Bible became a marker for Protestantism and in his contribution to the present book, Bradford A. Anderson demonstrates that this was also the case in Ireland (see Chapter 7). Hill controversially claimed that the critical reading of the Bible by the radicals of the 1640s led to the deist and freethinking debunking of Scripture in the next century. In a more recent assessment of the role of philological scholarship on the Bible in that period, Nicholas McDowell comes 1. For more on this complex relationship, see in particular the essays in Part I and II in the present volume. In this essay I incorporate findings that I have documented in more detail elsewhere, most prominently in the Brepols edition of the Finnegans Wake Notebooks and in my books and essays documented in the bibliography. 2.  The survey of biblical criticism in the first part of this essay is based on a longer unpublished manuscript, parts of which were also used in my book Cain: But Are You Abel? The Bible, Byron and Joyce (Roma: Bulzoni, 2015).

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to the conclusion that such studies ‘could be used to argue against both Roman Catholic claims for the incoherence and uncertainty of scripture and Calvinists’ claims for its sufficiency and transparency’. He then adds that in this debate a third party was involved:  ‘antiscripturists, Quakers, and deists could appropriate this same scholarship to assert the supremacy of natural reason or the “inner light” over any mere textual object’.3 The Enlightenment disputes between Catholics and Calvinists, and between Protestants and antiscripturists (in his Dictionary Samuel Johnson defined the term as ‘One who denies revelation, one who opposes the truth of the Scriptures’) had little impact in Ireland, but later, in the first half of the nineteenth century, the Scriptures did become the object of what Irene Whelan described as an Irish ‘Bible war’.4 These traditional attitudes towards the Bible were still very much in place in Joyce’s youth, but in this essay I will try to demonstrate that beneath that dichotomy, Joyce’s work shows an affinity with a third position that can be called ‘antiscripturist’. ‘The Sisters’, the opening story in Dubliners, contains a boy’s memories of a priest, but it is noteworthy, given the subject matter, that the Bible plays no role at all in the boy’s interest in the older man and in the institution he represents. The narrator is fascinated by the Catechism, the ceremonies of the mass, the vestments, prayers and sacraments: all the trappings of the rituals that post-Reformation Catholicism pitted against the Protestant authority of the Bible. Something quite similar can be seen in the first chapter of the autobiographical novel A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, where again we find a boy being introduced to the political and religious reality in Ireland. At his Jesuit boarding school, he becomes a participant in the life of prayers and devotions, and at the Christmas dinner back home the political role of the Catholic Church is very much a topic of discussion. It is here that we do find two references to the Bible, in both cases spoken by the pious Dante who defends the Irish Catholic clergy against Stephen’s anticlerical father. – Woe be to the man by whom the scandal cometh! said Mrs Riordan. It would be better for him that a millstone were tied about his neck and that he were cast into the depth of the sea rather than that he should scandalise one of these, my least little ones. That is the language of the Holy Ghost. – And very bad language if you ask me, said Mr Dedalus coolly (P 32).5

3.  Nicholas McDowell, ‘Self-Defeating Scholarship? Antiscripturism and Anglican Apologetics from Hooker to the Latitudinarians’, in The Oxford Handbook of the Bible in Early Modern England, c.  1530–1700, ed. Kevin Killeen, Helen Smith and Rachel Willie (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 253. 4. Irene Whelan, The Bible War in Ireland: The ‘Second Reformation’ and the Polarization of Protestant-Catholic Relations, 1800–1840 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2005). 5.  All quotations from Joyce’s works will follow the form that has been traditional in Joyce studies: the initial(s) of the volume title are followed by page number; in the case of

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First she quotes a rather old-fashioned version of the opening verses of Luke 18 (or of the version in Matthew): in any case the use of the word ‘Woe’ and the verb form ‘cometh’ gives the text a gravitas appropriate for the Holy Ghost. The verses are not in the form they have in the Catholic Douay-Rheims version, which tends to be the case for most of Joyce’s Bible quotations. What is important is that Dante implicitly compares the Irish people to children who need to be protected from scandal. And when Simon Dedalus twice claims that the Irish are a priestridden race, Dante interrupts: ‘– If we are a priestridden race we ought to be proud of it! They are the apple of God’s eye. Touch them not, says Christ, for they are the apple of My eye.’ Again the language of the quotation looks more like that of a Protestant Bible and of course these are not Jesus’s words: the quotation is from the Hebrew prophet Zechariah who is speaking of the people of Israel. But the connection between this verse and the Catholic clergy had been and was still being made in Catholic publications of the time.6 The same application of Bible verses to the situation of the Catholic Church is clear when later in school Stephen is asked to mimic his teacher’s accent in a direct quotation from the gospel of Matthew: ‘– Go on, Dedalus, he urged, you can take him off rippingly. He that will not hear the churcha let him be to theea as the heathena and the publicana’ (P 76). Why did Joyce choose this particular verse? Matthew 18:17 is one of the few passages in the Bible that contain the word ‘church’, so it was used often by Catholics in disputes against Protestants. In a polemical sermon, Bishop Peter Augustine Baines noted that Protestants insist on the value of ‘the private interpretation of Scripture’ and so he quotes a series of

Ulysses by chapter and line, and for Finnegans Wake by page and line reference in these standard editions: FW

James Joyce, Finnegans Wake (London:  Faber and Faber, 1964). The page number is followed by the line number. JJ Richard Ellmann. James Joyce (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982). Letters I, II, III. James Joyce, Letters of James Joyce. Vol. I. Stuart Gilbert, ed. (New York: Viking, 1957, reissued with corrections 1966). P James Joyce, ‘A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man’:  Text, Criticism, and Notes. Chester Anderson, ed. (New York: Viking, 1968). SH James Joyce, Stephen Hero. John J. Slocum and Herbert Cahoon, eds (New York: New Directions, 1963). U James Joyce, Ulysses: The Corrected Text. Hans Walter Gabler with Wolfhard Steppe and Claus Melchior, eds (London: The Bodley Head, 1986).

6. A nearly contemporary example is the last sentence of the introduction by the bishop of Clifton to a book on the religious houses in Ireland and Britain: ‘Spoliation and oppression of them has but spelt the same of the secular clergy, of the episcopate, and of the Holy See. “He that toucheth you, toucheth the apple of my eye” ’. In Francesca M. Steele, Monasteries and Religious Houses of Great Britain and Ireland (London: Washbourne, 1903), ix.

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four Bible passages, with this verse as his first proof text. And he continues with a rephrasing of the central difference between Catholic submission to the church and the Protestant doctrine of sola scriptura: ‘These and many other similar texts are sincerely understood by every Catholic to require submission to the church in matters of faith and morality, and consequently, to forbid all opposite interpretation of Scripture.’7 At the turn of the twentieth century, strained Catholic-Protestant relations were general all over Ireland and they are also prominently present in Joyce’s portrayal of that reality: when in A Portrait, the young artist loses his faith, his friend asks him if he intends to become a Protestant. ‘I said that I had lost the faith, Stephen answered, but not that I had lost selfrespect. What kind of liberation would that be to forsake an absurdity which is logical and coherent and to embrace one which is illogical and incoherent?’ (P 210). Even in the moment that he clearly opts for a third way, Stephen seems to be unable not to insult what intellectually he no longer considers as the ‘other side’. But Stephen’s escape from the dilemma is clear enough. When we take into account both the biographical materials and the wider cultural context of the writer’s young adulthood, it is impossible not to notice that Joyce, like his autobiographical characters, did choose a third way, an option that in the last quarter of the nineteenth century was very much part of European and American intellectual culture, in France, in Italy, in England. Like his equally unbelieving brother Stanislaus, James Joyce was well read in the literature of freethought and most intensely in the period before the First World War, the two brothers closely followed the lively political and ideological discussions in these countries about the separation of church and state. We know from Stanislaus’s diary that in the early years of the twentieth century the three elder male members of the Joyce family were unbelievers. Joyce père may have forced his children to attend mass, but in these years he was a freethinker, much like his elder sons, who remained unbelievers all of their lives. In that context Stanislaus also makes the point that in a Catholic context, the Bible was a powerful anti-religious weapon: In Catholic homes and in Catholic schools the Bible is never read. In all the years from the time when I was at a nuns’ school at Blackrock to the time when I left Belvedere, never once was the English Bible, or Douay version, or Latin Vulgate opened or read or discussed in or out of class … The Catholic Church has its own shrewd reasons for preferring to keep the Bible a sealed book in a dead language. Religions thrive on the ignorance of religion.8 7.  Peter Augustine Baines, The Substance of a Sermon Preached at the Dedication of the Catholic Chapel at Bradford (London: William Eusebius Andrews, 1826), 13. 8.  Stanislaus Joyce, The Dublin Diary of Stanislaus Joyce, ed. George Harris Healey (London: Faber and Faber, 1962), 114. In his Catechism, Pope Pius X (1835–1914) has this piece of advice: ‘A Christian to whom a Bible has been offered by a Protestant or an agent of the Protestants should reject it with disgust, because it is forbidden by the Church. If it was

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Joyce’s brother expresses an antiscripturist meme that has been ascribed to different freethinkers, among them Mark Twain, who is supposed to have claimed that the best cure for Christianity is reading the Bible. It cannot be a surprise that when in the first chapter of Ulysses Joyce’s alter ego is asked about his religious beliefs, Stephen replies: ‘You behold in me a horrible example of freethought’ (U 1:625f). In fact, this is how Joyce described himself to Stannie after he had witnessed a demonstration of freethinkers in Rome (Letters I: 218). Indeed freethinking was central to cultural and political discussions in precisely the period that is described in Dubliners, A Portrait and Ulysses, not only in Italy but also in France. But not in Ireland and in this sense, too, James Joyce felt himself more European than Irish.

2. Ireland, Freethought and Modernism Freethought, libre pensée, libero pensiero and Freidenkerei were explicitly antitheistic and secular movements that fought for the disestablishment of the state church, Protestant or Catholic. They did so, first in the context of Whig parties (as in the United Kingdom), later in left-liberal and socialist movements. As we saw, the roots of this kind of freethought lie in the early Enlightenment critique of political religion and in the hermeneutic revolution pioneered by Baruch Spinoza.9 In many ways this was a reaction to the wars between Catholics and Protestants on the one hand and among the different kinds of Protestantism on the other. Because of the various ways that Catholics and Protestants interpreted the Bible, the serious study of that book was never without an agenda. Even before the Reformation, Erasmus of Rotterdam had discovered that a philological study of the Greek text of the New Testament could run into all kinds of trouble and during the early years of the Reformation the study of the Bible was inevitably part of the disputes between Catholics and Protestants. While Calvin, Luther and other Reformers advocated translations of the Bible, on the basis of a reliable Hebrew and Greek text of the relevant books, Catholic Bible scholars such as Cornelius a Lapide excelled in gathering annotations and commentaries from the church fathers. By the end of the seventeenth century a new scientific scepticism (the Royal Society’s motto was nullius in verba) was strengthened by efforts of members of the international Republic of Letters to seriously study the Scriptures. A probably unwanted result of that work was that the Bible seemed to become more problematic, and a most radical example of this Enlightenment critique was the republican John Toland’s Christianity Not Mysterious, published in 1695 and publicly burned in

accepted by inadvertence, it must be burnt as soon as possible or handed in to the Parish Priest’ (Question 32 of the section on ‘Theological Virtues’). 9. See the contribution by Leask in the present volume.

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Dublin.10 Jonathan Sheehan begins Part I of his book on The Enlightenment Bible with the statement: ‘Around the year 1700 Protestants in England and Germany discovered that their canonical texts had become or were threatening to become, as one observer sadly wrote, “strange, awkward, and new”.’11 It was also in the relatively liberal England of 1713 that the deist Anthony Collins published his Discourse of Free-Thinking in which he identified The Rise and Growth of a Sect call’d Free-Thinkers. Earlier Collins had argued against what the Enlightenment called priestcraft, the meddling of the established church in politics; he now made a strong case for a radical form of freedom of thought with roots in Greek philosophy. In one section of the book he cleverly quoted members of the clergy to cast doubt on the veracity of the Bible: he referenced work of those scholars who had written about the relatively late establishment of the canon of Scripture, about the late dating of these writings and about the 30,000 variants in the manuscripts. When Richard Bentley, the greatest philological scholar of his age, reassured Anglicans with his claim that the text of the New Testament was solid enough, radical Enlightenment thinkers, most prominently Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Thomas Paine, began to criticize the Bible for moral reasons. And in the context of English literature, Byron’s Cain plays an interesting role in that process of biblical critique by turning Lucifer into a Promethean hero whose relevance for Joyce I have explored elsewhere.12 The American and French Revolutions, the scientific and historical developments, and the political radicalism of the mid-nineteenth century had created the basis for the freethought movements that in most European countries (and in the United States of America) became prominent in the final quarter of the century. Much like the pioneering Collins, anti-Christian opinion makers would continue to exploit the findings of the historical study of Christianity that was becoming increasingly non-denominational and scientific. Controversial academics like Ernest Renan and Friedrich Strauss wrote from a perspective that transcended or at least avoided the traditional Protestant-Catholic divide. In most European countries, the anti-Christian polemic of freethinkers and radicals also led to nonacademic interpretations of the Bible that were at least disrespectful and sometimes outright blasphemous. In the second half of the nineteenth century, the Church of England went through a number of controversies about the Bible, with the most important being the one involving Bishop Colenso, the bishop of Natal in South Africa, who in October 1862 published the first part of a voluminous study of the biblical books Genesis and Joshua ‘Critically Examined’. The heretical bishop was locally deposed, but he appealed to the Privy Council in London. Colenso had discovered

10.  See Henning Graf Reventlow, History of Biblical Interpretation. Volume 4. From the Enlightenment to the Twentieth Century (Atlanta: Society for Biblical Literature, 2009–10). 11.  Jonathan Sheehan, The Enlightenment Bible (Princeton:  Princeton University Press, 2005), 27. The quoted phrase is from the English divine Conyers Middleton. 12. Lernout, Cain: But Are You Abel?

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that the Bible contained scientific and historical absurdities, even inconsistencies. The findings of geology contradicted the claims of a universal flood and most of the facts narrated in Genesis and Exodus were historically unlikely and even impossible.13 While these new ideas did have a serious impact on the established church in the United Kingdom, there was an even more radical form of biblical criticism, both in England and on the continent. In 1882 the radical freethinker G. W. Foote of The Freethinker was sentenced to twelve months’ imprisonment for publishing irreverent ‘Comic Bible Sketches’ and for ‘wickedly and profanely devising and intending to asperse and vilify Almighty God’.14 Foote claimed that he had been inspired by similar publications in France; one of these may well have been Léo Taxil’s La Bible Amusante (1882). The controversial French author’s La Vie de Jésus (1890) was a biography that made fun of the gospels and Taxil (who plays a prominent role in Umberto Eco’s The Cemetery in Prague) was a member of an organization of freethinkers that called itself ‘Garibaldi’ after the Italian revolutionary. The new Italian state had been built on the ruins of the Papal States: as a result the nation was openly anticlerical, while the Vatican continued its opposition to the new democratic realities. In 1889 Italian freethinkers even inaugurated a statue on Rome’s Campo di Fiori of Giordano Bruno, looking defiantly in the direction of the Vatican. In 1901, the socialist satirical periodical L’Asino became openly anticlerical. While he lived in Rome, Joyce recommended L’Asino to his brother, he may have read Léo Taxil during his first stay in Paris (Stephen quotes from the book in the ‘Proteus’ chapter of Ulysses) and we will see that he was still reading Foote’s work on the Bible while he was writing Finnegans Wake. But Joyce’s interest in the Bible went beyond blasphemy. Around the same time, English, American, German and French Protestant theologians were developing a liberal form of Christianity focusing on Jesus as a moral example and in which the historical study of biblical and early Christian history played an important part. Not all churches went through this development with the same ease and some denominations split between a liberal faction and what in 1911 became known as ‘fundamentalism’. By the second half of the nineteenth century, the historical and non-denominational study of early Christianity had accelerated. There had been significant new archaeological and linguistic findings and universities and theological institutes became ever more professional, but this development was restricted to Protestant institutions: by the beginning of the new century most of the Catholic Church had been left behind on these matters, especially during what became known as its ‘modernist’ crisis. Protestant historians like Adolf von Harnack were reinterpreting the foundational documents of Christianity, while the ‘higher critics’ studied the Hebrew and

13.  See Jonathan A. Draper, ed., Bishop John William Colenso and the Crisis of Biblical Inspiration (London: T & T Clark International, 2003). 14. Quoted in Jennifer Stevens, The Historical Jesus and the Literary Imagination (1860– 1920) (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2010), 82.

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the Greek Bible texts in sophisticated new ways. There was even a brief moment when a number of Catholic scholars, among them the Frenchman Albert Loisy and the Dublin-born Jesuit George Tyrrell, joined this endeavour, but in 1907 the new pope, Pius X, issued a decree against this heresy, which he called ‘modernism’. This marked the start of what the church historian Alec Vindler called an ‘ecclesiastical reign of terror’15 that officially ended only at the Second Vatican Council. The modernist crisis was most visibly played out in England, France and Italy while, again, it largely by-passed Ireland. But not altogether: Joyce must have been aware of what was going on. As a student he had read a novel by the Italian writer Antonio Fogazarro, an author who by 1905 had been condemned as a modernist; his novel Il Santo was even put on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum. We will see evidence that Joyce must have read Fogazarro’s lectures too. But freethought, as an option beyond the Catholic-Protestant divide, had very little influence in Ireland, and when in 1889 the Pope asked the Irish bishops to condemn Giordano Bruno (European freethinkers had been asked to help fund the Campo di Fiori statue), Archbishop Thomas Croke told Rome that the Irish people knew nothing about ‘the apostate Bruno’ and he did not think it was opportune to tell them.16 Over a decade later there was at least one Irishman who had heard of Bruno of Nola: in the opening sentence of his essay ‘A Portrait of the Artist’ Joyce cryptically called him ‘the Nolan’. The programmatic essay was destined for a new Irish journal that the older writer George Moore described to a French friend as ‘somewhat on the lines of Revue des Idées, that is, it has an anti-clerical bias’.17 If Ireland had the equivalent of freethinkers at the turn of the twentieth century, it must have been in the context of Moore and his close friends. Like Joyce, Moore lost his faith as a young man and remained an outspoken freethinker all his life. His autobiographical trilogy Hail and Farewell reveals the depth of his anticlericalism in the years that he spent in Dublin to help the cause of the Irish Revival, and that attitude is also very much part of his collection of anticlerical short stories The Untilled Field (1904) and of his Irish novel The Lake (1905), about a ‘fallen’ priest. The new magazine was called Dana: An Irish Magazine of Independent Thought and Joyce’s essay did not make the cut (the editor felt that he could not publish what he did not understand). George Moore not only supported Dana financially, but the first issue, published a month before the very first Bloomsday, contained his translation of an essay by his French friend under the title: ‘The Abbé Loisy’. The author was one Edouard Dujardin, a friend of Zola; a Wagnerian; Symbolist; and, by the turn of the century, extremely interested in the historical study of religion. His book on early Christianity, Les Sources du fleuve chrétien, was only published

15.  Quoted in Warren Sylvester Smith, The London Heretics 1870–1914 (London: Constable, 1967), 231. 16. Emmet Larkin, The Roman Catholic Church in Ireland and the Fall of Parnell: 1888– 1891 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1979), 80. 17.  George Moore, Letters from George Moore to Ed. Dujardin (1886–1922) (New York: Crosby Gaige, 1929), 49.

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in 1906, but Moore must have read it in manuscript because he dedicated his 1905 novel The Lake to his friend and made one of his characters the author of a book with the same title. In the Dana article, Dujardin described the importance of Alfred Loisy’s work on the early history of Christianity and he explained why the Catholic Church was unwilling to accept Loisy’s findings:  ‘One readily understands that the Catholic Church does not recognise the existence of doctrinal development through which she has passed; the truth is, says M. Loisy, that she has not taken cognizance of it, and that she has no official theory regarding the philosophy of her own history.’18 His conclusion was clear: ‘For this, the Catholic Church has now solemnly condemned him. It is, probably, the beginning of a great misfortune for the Catholic Church.’19

3. The Joyce of Freethought Famously, Joyce bought a copy of Dujardin’s early novel Les Lauriers sont coupés because of the dedication in The Lake and he later claimed that this is where he discovered the technique of the interior monologue; so Dujardin’s importance for Ulysses has been widely known, but the relevance of the French author’s biblical studies is less clear. Inspired by Dujardin’s work on early Christian history, Moore would go on to use biblical material in his own irreverent Jesus novel The Brook Kerith and we have evidence that Joyce remained interested in these historical studies of Christianity. In 1931 Joyce was reading a book by another French modernist, the Abbé Joseph Turmel, who for decades had been publishing ‘modernist’ writings under a series of different pseudonyms. The Abbé had been protected by sympathizers in the church, but he was exposed by his anti-modernist enemies. In November 1930 Rome put all his works on the Index (under fourteen pseudonyms) and the author was excommunicated vitandum, to be shunned. Less than half a year later, Joyce took notes from Turmel’s Histoire du diable and he used some of the material in Finnegans Wake. We know from his correspondence and from his notebooks that Joyce read and annotated secular, rationalist literature for most of his writing life and this is relevant if we want to understand his critique of religion, even in his early fiction. Less explicitly anticlerical than Moore’s The Untilled Field, Joyce’s Dubliners does describe a society under the stifling influence of Roman Catholicism, which is also more prominently present in the surviving chapters of Stephen Hero than in the revised novel A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. The very much mediated presence of the Bible in Dubliners has already been demonstrated above and there is not a lot of scripture in Stephen Hero, with the exception of the discussion with

18.  Edouard Dujardin, ‘The Abbé Loisy’, trans. George Moore, Dana:  A Magazine of Independent Thought I.1 (1904): 19. 19. Dujardin, ‘The Abbé Loisy’ 21.

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his fellow student Temple on the nature of Jesus’s character. In the first version of Joyce’s novel, Temple is already an outspoken freethinker and he wants to discuss the nature of Jesus with Stephen, who later reflects on the relative literary merits of Ernest Renan’s biography as opposed to the evangelists’ official version of that life. The influence of Joyce’s wide reading in biblical studies and freethought is more clearly present in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. One of the central themes in Joyce’s first novel is the young artist’s non serviam, his proud refusal to serve that in which he no longer believes, ‘whether it calls itself my home, my fatherland or my church’ (246–7). The original version of the Latin phrase occurs in the hell-fire sermon by Father Arnall, which has been shown to be based on an English translation of a pamphlet by the Italian Jesuit Giovanni Pietro Pinamonti, Hell Opened to Christians.20 When we compare the text of that pamphlet to the sermon in Joyce’s novel, a number of new points can be made that are relevant to his use of this Latin Bible quotation. One is that Joyce may have heard about the Italian Jesuit’s booklet in an essay by the same G. W. Foote, which was collected in the first series of his Flowers of Freethought, where Pinamonti is credited with giving the exact dimensions of hell. In the context of Protestant-Catholic debate, Hell Opened to Christians was a controversial publication and Foote approvingly quotes the liberal Anglican Dean Farrar who had claimed that Hell was not a place at all. Dean Farrar’s twovolume study on Saint Paul was in Joyce’s Trieste library, with evidence of Joyce’s reading. Another point is that Father Arnall, who gives the retreat, makes very naïve use of the Hebrew Bible. He twice claims that his opening quotation comes from Ecclesiastes, but we know that there is no such verse in the Hebrew book Qohelet or in its Greek and Latin equivalent. The verse does occur in the apocryphal book of Ecclesiasticus that is at least a century younger: it is canonical in the Catholic and most Orthodox churches and was also a place of importance for medieval Egyptian Jews. Another point is that the original verse does not even refer to Lucifer or to his pride: it is Israel that rebels against God’s yoke. Both the preacher and Joyce seem intent to place the origin of evil as early as possible, even before Adam and Eve. Joyce and Father Arnall frame this first rebellion against God in the context of the romantic Lucifer, as he appears in Byron’s drama Cain or in Blake’s Promethean reading of Paradise Lost. But note that in the case of the non serviam, neither the Bible nor Pinamonti speak of Lucifer but in the one case of Israel disobeying YHWH and of every sinful soul who refuses to obey God. The link between the biblical non serviam and Lucifer may have come to Joyce when he was a student at University College Dublin and read this article on Dante in the same ‘diamond anniversary’ issue of the Dublin Review in which a long article had appeared on the new biblical science:

20.  Most thoroughly by James Doherty, ‘ “Joyce” and “Hell Opened to Christian”: The Edition He Used for His ‘Hell Sermons’, Modern Philology 61.2 (November 1963): 110–19.

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Milton beautifully conveys the immeasurable distance and speed of Lucifer’s fall. In Dante the weight of guilt, rather than the force of distance and speed, rivet Satan in the chasm of the bottommost abyss of hell. Milton’s Lucifer is of inflexible will, of indomitable intellectual force, of unconquerable pride, of undaunted might, eminently an exile seraph: a god at enmity with God. But Dante, so aghast at the awful crime in the revolt, so seized of the dishonour, the foulness, the repulsive ingratitude of that Non Serviam, with the so terrible effects thence ensuing, made his Satan a brutal outcast, a hideous devil. Whatever he thus lose, if he do lose, in power and splendour of poetic conception, he gains in truth, in beauty, in profoundness of meaning. As in God supreme good, in Satan fellest evil; in God sweetest love, in Satan bitterest hate; in God highest wisdom, in Satan profoundest ignorance; in God most radiant light, in Satan grossest darkness; in God infinite beauty, in Satan unspeakable repulsion; in God glow of eternal life, in Satan the cold of everlasting death.21

We cannot be sure if Joyce read this article, but the ‘Non serviam’ as a formula for the intellectual sin of pride was an important Catholic meme at the time; in 1904 a pamphlet was published with that title: ‘A Lenten Course of Seven Sermons on the Subject of Mortal Sin.’ On the basis of his documented reading, Joyce knew more about the Bible than Father Arnall and most Catholics, so the misattribution of the phrase is intentional and it serves to highlight certain quarters of Catholicism’s lack of interest in the biblical text. Stephen’s interest in the study of the Bible is made clear in a roundabout way when the young student walks through Dublin and kills a louse in his collar: ‘There came to his mind a curious phrase from Cornelius a Lapide which said that the lice born of human sweat were not created by God with the other animals on the sixth day’ (P 233). This particular phrase could not possibly have come to Stephen’s mind, it does not occur in a Lapide’s Bible commentary in this form. Cornelis Cornelissen van den Steen, as his real name was, does talk about the creation of animals in his discussion of the sixth day of creation (‘de opera sextae diei’). On page 53 of his commentary on ‘Genesis’ he offers three answers to the question ‘Did God create all the earthly animals on the sixth day?’ This is the third answer, in my translation: I claim, thirdly, that those small animals that are born of sweat, exhaled breath or decomposition, like lice, mice and other worms, were not created on the sixth day according to the form (formaliter) but potentially (potentialiter) and almost as a sort of seed: because in this way these animals are created on the sixth day, which by nature elicit some sort of affection, see Saint Augustine’s commentary on Genesis; Saint Basil seems to teach the opposite. But it would be against the

21. Moncrieff O’Connor, ‘The Place of the Holy Trinity in the Divina Commedia’, Dublin Review 118 (April 1896): 378.

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happiest state of innocence that lice and similar worms, which already live in humans, were created on that day.22

The chance that Joyce himself found this phrase by reading through or even browsing in Cornelius a Lapide’s magnum opus is non-existent, but Joyce did find it elsewhere. Joyce knew Antonio Fogazzaro as a novelist:  in 1901 he had read the novel Il piccolo mondo antico and he may have first encountered the name as one of the Catholic rivals of the decadent and naturalist writer Gabriele d’Annunzio who was later condemned as a modernist. Central in Fogazzaro’s thinking was his attempt to demonstrate that Catholic doctrine need not conflict with science and, more specifically, with Darwin’s theory of evolution. In the opening lecture of his Ascenzioni umane, Fogazzaro argues against theologians who claimed Darwin was incompatible with Catholicism with the claim that at least some church fathers, among them Jerome and Chrysostom, believed in the possibility of the development of new life, as in human bodies before they acquire an immortal soul, or in the form of a life-force in water. These are not what Darwin believes were responsible for the emergence of animal and human life; but, Cornelius a Lapide and Suarez, contra Saint Augustine, did admit a ‘potential’ creation of species, and then Fogazzaro gives the quotation from Lapide in Latin, with an Italian translation in a footnote.23 It seems likely that this is where Joyce found the quotation that so felicitously came to Stephen’s mind. Joyce did not read voluminous Bible commentaries – he found these little nuggets in suitably modernist literature. That at least some of the inhabitants of Joyce’s fictive Dublin were aware of the literature of freethought is clear in the comment by one of Stephen’s fellow students in A Portrait. The gipsy student responded to the close of the period by crying: – Three cheers for universal brotherhood! – Go on, Temple, said a stout ruddy student near him. I’ll stand you a pint after. – I’m a believer in universal brotherhood, said Temple, glancing about him out of his dark, oval eyes. Marx is only a bloody cod. Cranly gripped his arm tightly to check his tongue, smiling uneasily, and repeated: – Easy, easy, easy! Temple struggled to free his arm but continued, his mouth flecked by a thin foam: – Socialism was founded by an Irishman and the first man in Europe who preached the freedom of thought was Collins. Two hundred years ago. He

22.  Cornelius a Lapide, Commentaria in Pentateuchum Mosis (Antverpiae:  Apud Martinum Nutium, 1630), 53. 23. Antonio Fogazzaro, Ascenzioni umane (Milano: Baldini, 1899), 29–30.

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denounced priestcraft, the philosopher of Middlesex. Three cheers for John Anthony Collins! (P 197)

Temple plays an interesting role in chapter V of A Portrait: like in Stephen Hero, he functions as the university’s resident radical. Later on in the same scene he expresses his admiration for Stephen as ‘a man independent of all religions’ and he asks him if he believes that Jesus too was independent of all religion. In another discussion with students, Temple attacks the notion of God condemning unbaptized children to hell, using scripture in a way that reminds us of rationalist Bible criticism or other forms of antiscripturism. But most importantly, among the future intelligentsia of Ireland, at least one person openly expresses a secular mindset; the young artist’s non serviam is no exception.

4. Ulysses and Finnegans Wake At the same time, Temple does not seem to be taken seriously by Stephen’s closest companions and it is strange that in Ulysses too, the most critical views of religion are expressed not by Stephen but by individuals whose relationship with Stephen is not uncomplicated. From the very first chapter of Ulysses, it is Buck Mulligan who blasphemes in various ways, from the parody of the Mass, to his wildly scurrilous Ballad of Joking Jesus, which is, of course, a rhyming version of what theologians call ‘the Christ event’ as depicted in the gospels.24 In the rest of Ulysses, too, it is Mulligan, and not Stephen, who is consistently critical of the Christian religion in a manner that is close to the literary tradition of aesthetic scepticism and atheism that runs from Byron and Shelley to Ibsen, Hardy and Swinburne. If there is criticism of religion in Ulysses from one of the three main characters, we must turn to Leopold Bloom, who is critical of all religions, Catholicism foremost. As a supposed Jew, Bloom is the ultimate outsider and despite having been baptized into the church, his knowledge of Catholic ritual is limited. But at the same time, he is an outspoken freethinker, as confirmed in his conversation with Stephen in the later chapters and in Molly’s monologue in ‘Penelope’. Bloom’s critique of religion has little to do with the Bible, but it is interesting that throughout Ulysses there are many references to the gospel accounts:  Joyce seems to have wanted to have both Bloom and Stephen resemble Jesus. As has been pointed out by different Joyce critics, the identification of Stephen with Jesus was already there in Stephen Hero, but Peter Dorsey usefully showed that A Portrait reveals a purposeful ‘de-Christification’ of Stephen.25

24.  The poem was even included in an anthology of verse inspired by the Bible. See Robert Atwan and Laurance Wieder, eds, Chapters into Verse: Poetry in English Inspired by the Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993). 25.  Peter Dorsey, ‘From Hero to Portrait: The De-Christification of Stephen Dedalus’, James Joyce Quarterly 26 (Summer 1989): 505–31.

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In Ulysses Stephen is even less Christ-like and Bloom (who is at least a bit more Jewish with his messianic delusions) is not much of a Jesus. But in the chapter when the Irish Odysseus and Telemachus finally reach Ithaca, Stephen recognizes in Bloom not so much Odysseus as the figure of Jesus Christ. Stephen sees Bloom’s appearance as the ‘traditional figure of hypostasis, depicted by Johannes Damascenus, Lentulus Romanus and Epiphanius Monachus as leucodermic, sesquipedalian with winedark hair’ (U 17.783–5). Needless to say, the traditional figure of hypostasis is Jesus Christ and these three writers have given descriptions of what the Son of God looked like. All three authorities on the outward form of the Son of God appear on the same page of The Evolution of God when Grant Allen argues that Jesus is a fertility god who was even supposed to look like wine and bread: The earliest description we possess of Christ, that of John of Damascus, states that his complexion was ‘of the colour of wheat’; while in the apocryphal letter of Lentulus to the Roman Senate we read in the same spirit that his hair was ‘winecoloured’. The Greek description by Epiphanius Monachus says that Christ was six feet high; his hair long and golden-coloured; and in countenance he was ruddy like his father David. All these descriptions are obviously influenced by the identification of the bread and wine of the eucharist with the personal Jesus.26

Joyce has changed the concrete descriptions to make them look more scientific (the style of this chapter), with the exception of Christ’s hair that has become Homerically wine-dark. Joyce must have read Allen’s book much earlier, because Stephen Daedalus mentions Christ’s hair colour and height to his mother (SH 134). And needless to say, Allen’s mythological explanation of the rise of Christianity typically takes a very sceptical view of the Bible as a historical account. Another item worth noting is that in his notebooks for Ulysses, Joyce collected materials from all kinds of sources that could then be inserted in the drafts. Ronan Crowley discovered one such source in Joseph McCabe’s The Religion of Woman. McCabe was a Franciscan from an Irish family who lost his faith in 1895 and who then began a career as an anti-religious campaigner, writing more than fifty books such as this one, finishing a book or a translation every ten weeks or so. Joyce copied notes from this source that made it into the final text on just a very few occasions, interestingly both in Bloom and in Stephen sections. In the novel’s first chapter, Joyce referred to the third chapter of The Religion of Woman in which McCabe exposed the inherent misogyny in the church fathers’ reading of the creation of Eve. – Are you a medical student, sir? the old woman asked. – I am, ma’am, Buck Mulligan answered. – Look at that now, she said.

26. Grant Allen, The Evolution of the Idea of God (London: Grant Richards, 1897), 382.

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Stephen listened in scornful silence. She bows her old head to a voice that speaks to her loudly, her bonesetter, her medicineman: me she slights. To the voice that will shrive and oil for the grave all there is of her but her woman’s unclean loins, of man’s flesh made not in God’s likeness, the serpent’s prey. And to the loud voice that now bids her be silent with wondering unsteady eyes. (U 1:415–23)

The phrases in bold are taken from McCabe’s discussion of the misogyny in the description of Eve in Saint Augustine and Saint Ambrose. Joyce continued to read this kind of literature. In the seventeen years that it took Joyce to write Finnegans Wake, more than sixty notebooks were filled with materials out of a wide variety of sources, from newspapers and pamphlets to encyclopaedias and scholarly studies. We can confidently assert that Joyce did not stop reading about the Bible after finishing Ulysses. A good example of Joyce’s continued interest in unorthodox Bible studies can be found in the early Finnegans Wake notebook VI.B.2, which contains traces of his reading of at least two unorthodox books on the Bible: G. W. Foote’s Bible Romances and the unlikely biography of Jesus which claimed, with the Hellenistic philosopher Celsus and some opinions recorded in the Talmud, that Jesus of Nazareth was the son of a Roman soldier and a prostitute.27 The first of these books was a collection of short essays on biblical topics ranging from ‘The Creation’ to ‘The Resurrection’ and the result is a lot more scholarly than the blasphemous Bible Sketches for which Foote had been jailed:  there is not much in these pages that could not be said in contemporary university classes on the Bible. In his discussion of the different themes, Foote quotes the standard Christian authorities on the Bible and he juxtaposes their findings with those of critical scientists such as Darwin’s bulldog T.  H. Huxley or G. B. Airy, the Astronomer Royal, and with the evidence from Near Eastern writings or African and Asian mythologies. He dismisses the attempts by devout readers of the Bible, such as those by the evangelical Liberal-Party Prime Minister Gladstone, to reconcile science and religion, or to find rational explanations for the absurdities in the Hebrew myths and stories. When relevant, he also makes use of the findings of the historical study of the Bible: he dismisses the idea that the plural in Genesis 1:26 refers to the Trinity and instead refers to the documentary hypothesis, with the Elohim parts as evidence of an early Jewish polytheism. The editors of the relevant edition of the Jewish biography of Jesus were G. W. Foote, the president of the British National Secular Union discussed above, and Joseph Mazzini Wheeler, who also published such books as Fraud and Follies of the Fathers:  A Review of Their Testimony to the Four Gospels (1882), and Bible

27.  See the discussion in Peter Schäfer, Jesus in the Talmud (Princeton:  Princeton University Press, 2007).

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Studies: Essays on Phallic Worship and Other Curious Rites and Customs (1892). In their introduction the two editors of Toldot Yeshu: The Jewish Life of Christ28 write that this book had earlier been published in a journal:  The Truth Seeker, a New  York periodical founded in 1873 by the freethinker D.  M. Bennett, who agitated, as he explained in the masthead, against ‘Priestcraft, Ecclesiasticism, Dogmas, Creeds, False Theology, Superstition, Bigotry, Ignorance, Monopolies, Aristocracies, Privileged Classes, Tyranny, Oppression, and Everything that Degrades or Burdens Mankind Mentally or Physically’.29 The British editors then proceed to discuss the history of this text on the basis of a straight study under the title The Lost and Hostile Gospels: An Essay on the Toledoth Jeschu, and the Petrine and Pauline Gospels of the First Three Centuries of which Fragments Remain by Sabine Baring-Gould, an antiquarian and Anglican priest. And they come to this conclusion: We would not dogmatise, but we venture to think that the Christian legend of Jesus may have originated in the Jewish story of Jeshu. This theory at any rate accounts for the hero’s introduction to the world. The two Hebrew versions of a career similar to that of Jesus, as well as the Talmud, agree in making Jeshu the illegitimate son of Pandera and a Jewish maiden; and Celsus flung the same charge at the Christians before our present Gospels can be proved to have existed. That both the Jewish and the Christian story are largely fabulous, we cheerfully concede, but no advantage can be derived to either from that fact. We now leave the question with the reader. It is for him to decide whether it is more probable that the father of Jesus was a human being or the intangible third person of a hypothetical Trinity.

Joyce was taking his antiscripturist stance very seriously by opting to harvest materials from a non-biblical and anti-Christian biography of Jesus that he had earlier referenced in Ulysses. In Ulysses Stephen and Bloom to some extent had been types of Jesus, but Finnegans Wake was a conscious attempt to rival the Creator of the Universe; as a result the Bible is one of the novel’s structural books, with biblical references on nearly every page. But when he needed materials on the rivalry between Cain and Abel (for the portrayal of the Wake’s own warring brothers Shem and Shaun), he used an extremely piously Catholic source, which survives in the part of his library

28.  G. W.  Foote and J. M. Wheeler, Toldot Yeshu:  The Jewish Life of Christ, Being the Sepher Toldoth Jeshu, or Book of the Generation of Jesus, translated from the Hebrew, edited (with an Historical Preface and Voluminous Notes) by G. W. Foote and J. M. Wheeler (London: Progressive Publishing Company, 1885), http://www.ftarchives.net/foote/toldoth/ tjtitle.htm. 29.  Quoted in R. Bradford, D. M.  Bennet:  The Truth Seeker (Amherst:  Prometheus, 2006), 90.

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that is now kept at Buffalo: Ingeborg Landuyt has identified the scholarly compilation of interpretations of the first chapters of the book of Genesis, Commentarium ad librum Geneseos. Joseph Lamy was no modernist; in fact he was so extremely orthodox that the author of the article on him in the Catholic Encyclopedia wrote that in his introduction and in the commentaries he never grappled ‘with the difficulties of the day’.30 It is important to realize that at a very early point in the genesis of Finnegans Wake, Joyce decided to base his writer figure, Shem the Penman, on the biblical Cain, with Abel-Shaun as his self-righteous and religious brother. Joyce later used materials from very traditional Catholic Bible commentaries such as Lamy’s to complement the antiscripturist and freethought publications that were available to him. In Ulysses the main characters transcend the typical Irish Protestant-Catholic dichotomy: Bloom is a Jew, on some levels, and Stephen is a ‘horrible example of freethought’ (despite the fact that his unconscious is still Catholic, as shown in the nightmare meeting with his dead mother). Finnegans Wake was meant as a giant challenge to rival the Creator’s Holy Scriptures. The main reason for the variety of forms of the biblical text (Latin and English, Protestant and Catholic) in Joyce’s works is simply that in most of these cases, they are not so much quotes from the Bible based on a reading of the Scriptures, but references that were found in other sources and then put to literary use. The relevant books and pamphlets Joyce continued to read were mostly anticlerical and antiscripturist works on the Bible, but on occasion he also had recourse to orthodox materials, such as the Latin commentary by Lamy or the strange sermons by Pinamonti. In 1923 Joyce wrote to his father that Ulysses, like the Bible, should not be read by Catholics (quoted in JJ 540), but it would have been impossible for him to write his major works if he had not carefully studied orthodox and sometimes extremely unorthodox studies of the Bible.

Bibliography Allen, Grant. The Evolution of the Idea of God. London: Grant Richards, 1897. Atwan, Robert, and Laurance Wieder, eds. Chapters into Verse: Poetry in English Inspired by the Bible. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993. Baines, Peter Augustine. The Substance of a Sermon Preached at the Dedication of the Catholic Chapel at Bradford. London: William Eusebius Andrews, 1826. Bradford, Roderick. D.M. Bennet: The Truth Seeker. Amherst: Prometheus, 2006. Crowley, Ronan, and Geert Lernout. ‘Joseph MacCabe in Ulysses’. Genetic Joyce Studies 12 (Spring 2013), http://www.geneticjoycestudies.org/GJS12/GJS12_Crowley.htm.

30. John Francis Fenlon, ‘Thomas Joseph Lamy’, Catholic Encyclopedia (London: Caxton Publishing: London, 1911), http://www.222.newadvent.org/cathen/08772b.htm.

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Doherty, James. ‘Joyce and “Hell Opened to Christian”: The Edition He Used for His “Hell Sermons”’. Modern Philology 61.2 (November 1963): 110–19. Dorsey, Peter. ‘From Hero to Portrait: The De-Christification of Stephen Dedalus’. James Joyce Quarterly 26.4 (Summer 1989): 505–31. Draper, Jonathan A., ed, Bishop John William Colenso and the Crisis of Biblical Inspiration. London: T & T Clark International, 2003. Dujardin, Edouard. ‘The Abbé Loisy’. Translated by George Moore. Dana: A Magazine of Independent Thought I.1 (1904): 18–21. Fenlon, John Francis. ‘Thomas Joseph Lamy’. Catholic Encyclopedia. London: Caxton Publishing, 1911, http://www.222.newadvent.org/cathen/08772b.htm. Fogazzaro, Antonio. Ascenzioni umane. Milano: Baldini, 1899. Foote, G. W. Flowers of Freethought. London: Forder, 1894. Graham, W. Non Serviam: A Lenten Course of Seven Sermons on the Subject of Mortal Sin. New York: Joseph F. Wagner, 1904. Hill, Christopher. The English Bible and the Seventeenth-Century Revolution. London: Penguin, 1993. Joyce, James. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man: Text, Criticism, and Notes. Edited by Chester Anderson. New York: Viking, 1968. Joyce, James. Ulysses: The Corrected Text. Edited by Hans Walter Gabler with Wolfhard Steppe and Claus Melchior. London: The Bodley Head, 1986. Joyce, Stanislaus. The Dublin Diary of Stanislaus Joyce. Edited by George Harris Healey. London: Faber & Faber, 1962. Lapide, Cornelius à. Commentaria in Pentateuchum Mosis. Antverpiae: Apud Martinum Nutium, 1630. Larkin, Emmet. The Roman Catholic Church in Ireland and the Fall of Parnell: 1888–1891. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Lernout, Geert. ‘Apocrypha in James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake’. Pages 745–65 in Felici Curiositate: Studies in Latin Literature and Textual Criticism from Antiquity to the Twentieth Century in Honour of Rita Beyers. IPM 72. Edited by G. Guldentops, C. Laes and G. Partoens. Turnhout: Brepols, 2017. Lernout, Geert. Cain: But Are You Abel? The Bible, Byron and Joyce. Rome: Bulzoni, 2015. Lernout, Geert. Help My Unbelief: James Joyce and Religion. London: Continuum, 2010. McCabe, Joseph. The Religion of Woman: An Historical Study. London: Watts & Co, 1905. McDowell, Nicholas. ‘Self-Defeating Scholarship? Antiscripturism and Anglican Apologetics from Hooker to the Latitudinarians’. Pages 237–54 in The Oxford Handbook of the Bible in Early Modern England, c. 1530–1700. Edited by K. Killeen, H. Smith and R. Willie. Oxford: 2015. Moore, George. Letters from George Moore to Ed. Dujardin (1886–1922). New York: Crosby Gaige, 1929. O’Connor, Moncrieff. ‘The Place of the Holy Trinity in the Divina Commedia’. Dublin Review 118 (April 1896): 370–8. Reventlow, Henning Graf von. History of Biblical Interpretation. Volume 4. From the Enlightenment to the Twentieth Century. Atlanta: Society for Biblical Literature, 2009–2010. Schäfer, Peter. Jesus in the Talmud. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007. Sheehan, Jonathan. The Enlightenment Bible. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005. Smith, Warren Sylvester. The London Heretics 1870–1914. London: Constable, 1967.

James Joyce and the Study of the Bible Steele, Francesca M. Monasteries and Religious Houses of Great Britain and Ireland. London: Washbourne, 1903. Stevens, Jennifer. The Historical Jesus and the Literary Imagination (1860–1920). Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2010. Whelan, Irene. The Bible War in Ireland: The ‘Second Reformation’ and the Polarization of Protestant-Catholic Relations, 1800–1840. Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press. 2005.

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SUBJECT AND AUTHOR INDEX 1641 Depositions 123–33 1916 Rising 6 Abel 380, 381 Abraham 44, 46, 144, 244 Act of Union 5, 142, 331, 348 Adam 29, 30, 32–3, 48–50, 151, 374 Adamo, D. T. 175, 184, 190 Adams, M. 351–3 African Church 174–5 African Pentecostals 16, 174, 182 Allen, G. 378 Ancient Near East 16, 290, 375 Anderson, B. A. 1–20, 123–33 Anderson, C. 63, 74 Anglo Irish Treaty 6–7 Anglo Norman 4, 333 Antioch 34, 35, 285, 289–90, 317–18 Antiquarianism 137, 138–48, 151, 246, 248, 254, 269, 297–8, 321, 380 Apocalypse 31–8, 268, 271, 322 Apocalypse of Elijah 271 Apocalypse of John 31 Apocalypse of the Apostle Philip 32 Apocalypse of Thomas 33 Apocryphal 25, 30, 32–3, 63–9, 82, 271–2, 321, 374, 378 Apocryphon 33, 271–2 Asad, T. 213 Authorised Version 94, 96, 102 Babe, H. 80 Babel 29, 137 Baptism 54–5, 107, 238 Bard 44–5, 48–52, 56, 140, 143, 146, 148 Bede 38 Bedell, W. 64–6, 68–9, 73, 94 Biblia Hebraica Quinta 18, 287–9 Biblical Motifs 16, 19, 297–311, 324–7 Biblical Music 19, 331, 333–4, 335–6, 344, 347–8

Binchy, D. A. 26–7 Bischoff, B. 34–7 Blunnie, R. 11–12, 19, 351–63 Book of Common Prayer 60–4, 117, 341, 355 Book of Durrow 39, 55, 296 Book of Kells 17, 18, 39, 211–23, 296–311 Bourke, U. 81, 144, 145, 300 Boyle, R. 67–70 Brantlinger, P. 145 Breathnach, P. 80 Breatnach, L. 27–8 British Museum 260 Brown, M. P. 297 Butler, A. 99–100 Byrne, E. 96–7 Byrne, F. J. 297–8 Byrne, J. 80–1 Byron, G. G. 370, 374, 377 Caffrey, P. 299–302 Cahill, M. 37 Cain 370, 374, 380–1 Calvin 143–4, 336–9 Camden, W. 54 Canon law 27–9, 95–6 Carlyle, T. 145–8 Carols 332–6 Carthaginians 137, 140, 150 Catechism 38, 44, 52–4, 56, 59–60, 80, 84, 90, 94, 109–12, 117, 212, 220, 366–8 Cathcart, K. 282, 286 Catholic Emancipation 6, 97, 102–3, 143–4, 151, 195, 314, 328–9, 335 Cecilian Movement 355–6 Celtic Christianity 147, 236, 296, 305 Celtic Language 3–4, 38, 140 Celtic Myths 149–51 Celtic People 25, 137–40, 301–2 Celtic Revival 148, 299–301, 309–10, 315 Celtic Tiger 8, 309

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Census 4, 8–10, 174–5 Challoner, R. 98–9 Charity 47, 107, 337–8, 343, 344–7, 359–60 Chester Beatty Library 18, 260–4, 285–7 Choir 177–8, 333, 340, 347, 352, 354–63 Church of England 5, 102, 370 Church of Ireland 10, 103, 150, 157, 228, 248, 314, 353–8 Codex Vaticanus 263 Codex Vienna 37 Collectio Canonum Hibernensis 27–8, 34 Colonialism 29, 66, 124, 137–50, 211, 220, 328, 339, 347 Columbanus 221–2, 333 Commandments 48–9, 237–8 Coronation 338–47 Costigan, C. 17, 251–4, 256 Council of Trent 83 Crowley, R. 378 Cunningham, B. 84 D’Arcy, F. 287 D’Arcy, T. 146 Daniel, W. (Uilliam Ó Domhnaill) 60, 93–4 David 33, 35, 38, 44, 50, 87, 173–90, 336, 339, 362, 378 Davis, T. 146–7 Dead Sea 244–56, 264 Democratic Unionist Party (DUP) 158–63 Dervan, M. 361 Desecration, of Bibles 126–8, 129, 131–3 Devil 47–8, 89, 129, 156, 161–5, 180, 370, 374–5 Dillon, A. 11, 14, 18, 295–310 Doctrine 49, 53, 56, 80, 84, 103, 113, 155–7, 197, 234, 327, 358, 365, 368, 376 Donleavy, A. 80 Douai (Douay) Rheims Bible 63, 94–8, 100, 108, 367–8 Easter 53, 69, 109–13, 221, 332–4 Eden 48–9 Edgar, D. H. 14, 18, 259–74 Eglinton, J. 150 Elijah 33, 271 Elizabeth I 60–1, 74, 335 Emigration (Ireland) 6–8, 145, 310 Enlightenment 148, 227–40, 366, 369–71

Enoch 260, 268–9 Episcopal 60, 66, 97, 101, 198, 248 Erasmus 62, 369 Ethics 155, 157, 199–200, 227–30, 235–40 Eucharist 53–4, 89, 118, 299, 357, 378 Evangelical 94, 100, 104, 118, 131, 155–69, 194–6, 201, 202–5, 212, 223, 379 Eve 33, 48–52, 151, 374 Exile 51, 70, 94, 141, 222, 287, 302, 375 Eyre, W. 63–4 Famine 6, 15, 44, 93–104, 145, 196, 328, 337 Fearghal Óg Mac an Bhaird 51–2 Feast of the Ascension 321 Feminist Interpretation 119 Festival 355, 362 Finnegan’s Wake 371, 373, 377–81 Fitzpatrick, J. 305–8, 310 Folk (Music) 336 Folklore 32, 151, 246, 251 Fox, P. 295 Franciscans 47, 49–52, 63, 67, 94, 251, 253, 334, 378 Freer Gospels 261 Friar Malone 129 Fribourg 280, 282–3, 290 Fundamentalism 54, 84, 158–68, 371 Gaelic 3–5, 25–8, 44–6, 54, 59–60, 67, 70–2, 74, 103, 132, 138, 140, 142, 145–51, 299–300, 305, 310 Garda Síochána 187 Garrigan-Mattar, S. 148 Genealogy 15, 25–30, 139, 143, 146, 148, 151 Good Friday Agreement 2, 7, 165, 169, 332 Good Samaritan 46, 168, 199, 253 Gorman, M. 36 Gospel of Máel Brigte 36 Gospel of Nicodemus 321 Gospel of Thomas 50 Greek (Language) 33–4, 62, 72, 96–9, 149, 244, 260–74, 284, 288, 321, 369, 374 Gregory, A. 149–51 Hamilton, R. 303–5 Handel 331, 336–47, 358–61

Subject and Author Index Hayes, M. 5, 11, 18–19, 313–29 Healy, M. 313–29 Hebrew (Language) 60–6, 150, 264, 280, 282–3, 287–9, 324, 366, 380 Hellenistic 115, 138, 284, 322, 379 Henry VIII 4–5, 334, 344 Heresy 52–3, 83, 97, 163–4, 231, 240, 370, 372 Hermeneutics 14, 16–17, 155–69, 197, 256, 289, 317, 369 Hiberno Latin 34, 36–8 Hill, C. 132 Historia Brittonum 26, 28–9, 150 Historia Scholatica 30 Holy family 315–18 Homily 38, 116, 260, 268–9 Huntington, R. 70 Hymn 331–4, 347–8 Iconicity 123–33 Iona 31, 45, 218, 220–2 Irish (Language) 3–4, 15, 26, 31, 34, 52, 59, 80–4, 90, 141, 144–5, 149, 315, 336, 355–7 Irish Bible of 1690 60, 67, 70–4, 98–9 Irish Biblical Association 280, 285 Irish Book of Invasions 117, 137–8 Irish Civil War 6–7, 319 Irish Free State 6, 318 Irish High Cross 313–14, 328 Irish Independent 218–19 Irish Music 19, 335, 351–63 Irish Mythology 151, 295, 305 Irish Republicanism 7, 161–2, 303, 369–70 Irish Times 361 Irish Translation, of Bible 30, 60–74, 94, 355 Israel 33, 138–42, 184–5, 229, 245, 281, 326, 339, 340, 343–4, 367, 374 Jerusalem 98, 167, 177, 244, 246, 248–9, 251–3, 323 Jesus 47–55, 81, 107, 112–16, 164, 166–7, 182, 185–6, 202–5, 235–9, 245, 295–6, 316–29, 334, 358, 367, 371, 373–4, 377–81 Jewish (Culture) 30, 38, 81, 110, 115, 137– 9, 150, 228, 237, 246, 250, 287–9, 316, 342, 374, 377–81

387

Job 51–2 John the Baptist 33, 46, 85, 324, 326, 334 John the Evangelist 53 Jones, H. 66, 68, 125 Josephus 246, 249–50, 342–3 Joyce, J. 304–5, 365–81 Judas 50, 89 Judas Maccabaeus 339, 342–3 Kearney, B. 84 Kearney, J. 1–20 Kearney, J. 60–2 Kearney, W. 60–2 Keating, G. 63, 74, 84, 90, 139 Kelly, J. 36 Kenyon, F. 261–7 King James Version 62–75, 98, 108, 328 King, M. 64 Kirk, R. 70–4 Knox, R. 98 Kong, L. 215–17 Kuyebi, A. 173, 181–3, 185–9 Lamy, J. 381 Last Supper 33, 332 Latin (Language) 4, 26–39, 46, 49, 55, 60, 62–3, 65, 84, 94, 96, 98, 100, 132, 139, 150, 261, 271–2, 280, 288, 297, 299, 310, 333–4, 354, 368, 374, 376, 381 Lazarus 50–1 Le Clerc, J. 228 Leask, I. 9, 11–12, 14, 17, 227–40 Lectionary 107–19, 356–7 Ledwich, E. 141–2 Legg, M. 144 Lennon, J. 137–8, 143 Lernout, G. 9, 11, 14, 19, 365–81 Lindisfarne Gospels 296–7 Liturgy 55, 110–19, 333–6, 351–2, 356–7 Locke, J. 228–30, 240 Long, S. D. 11, 14, 19, 331–48 Louvain 51–3, 63, 67, 94 Loyalist 7, 158, 162 Luther 62, 327, 365, 369 Mac Aingil, A. 63, 74, 83, 90 Mac Murchaidh, C. 7, 11, 14–15, 79–90 Macalister, R. A. S. 151 MacGreevy, T. 319–21, 26–7

388

Subject and Author Index

Manuscript 18, 27–39, 49, 55, 59–75, 139– 42, 149–51, 212, 219–20, 259–74, 283– 9, 296–311, 316, 345, 354, 370, 373 Manx 3, 67 Marcionism 110 Marshall, C. 302 Martyn, E. 314–18 Martyr 46, 50, 164–5, 270 Mary, Mother of God 51–3, 87, 315–17, 321, 322, 331–3 Masada 245–6 McCarthy, C. 279–90 McCone, K. 29 McConvery, B. 4, 9, 11, 14–15, 93–104 McFague, S. 44 McMahon, B. 93, 99–101 McMurray Gibson, G. 316 McNamara, J. A. 100–1 McNamara, M. 4, 11, 14–15, 25–39, 137 McQuige, J. 71–4 Messiah (Handel) 337–48, 358–63 Messiah 316, 324 Methodist 10, 71, 103, 157, 351 Milan Commentary 35 Milesians 16, 28, 137–51 Missionary 4, 14, 39, 81, 93, 103–4, 175, 184, 194–207, 253, 283, 297–8, 333, 358 Mitchel, P. 10–11, 17, 20, 163, 193–207 Modernism 301, 357, 369, 372 Moffitt, M. 196–7, 206, 328 Moore, G. H. 17, 254–5, 372–4 Moore, T. 140–4 Morris, W. 315 Moses 44, 46, 137, 142, 149, 238 Mullan, J. (Sean Ó Maoláin) 68–9 Murray, B. H. 11, 14, 16, 137–51 Nagle, N. 102 Nangle, J. 64–5 Nary, C. 93, 95–7 Nationalism 5, 7, 124–5, 132, 143–51, 166, 309 Nativity 33, 316, 332, 341, 358 Neologism 62, 74 Ní Mháille, M. 49, 55 Nicolayson, J. 253 Noah 29, 50, 139, 141, 144–5, 338 Northern Ireland 2–9, 16, 155–69, 303, 333

Ó Casaide, S. 80 Ó Corráin, D. 29 Ó Fearghail, F. 4, 11, 14–15, 59–75, 132 Ó hUiginn, P. (Paul Higgins) 68–9 Ó hUiginn, P. B. 49 O’Brennan, M. A. 144 O’Connell, S. 289 O’Conor, C. 140 O’Donnell, M. 46–7 O’Flaherty, R. 139 O’Grady, S. 148–9 O’Halloran, C. 139–40 O’Loughlin, T. 11, 14, 17, 243–56 O’Mahony, E. 9–10, 12, 17, 211–23 O’Mahony, K. J. 9, 11, 16, 107–19 O’Morven, C. 142 O’Reilly, E. 72–4 O’Toole, L. 334 Oaths 27, 126–9, 131–2, 347 Old Irish 27, 32, 34–8, 59–60, 150 Old Irish Law 26–8, 34 Oratorio 337–48, 358–63 Orientalism 16, 137–51, 147, 150, 322 Pagan 28–30, 45, 147–51, 238–9, 245–6 Paine, T. 370 Paisley, I. 158, 161–8 Parker, L. 360 Parnell, C. S. 149–50 Passion 33, 51, 149, 316, 331–3, 340, 361 Passover 268 Pearse, P. 149–50, 300 Penal laws 6, 79–80, 84, 90, 94–6, 102, 335–6, 352 Pentateuch 35, 144–5, 160, 237 Pentecost 16–17, 110, 157;, 173–90, 321, 323 Pepper, G. 143–4 Phoenicians 140–4, 161 Pilgrim 43, 212–13, 220–2, 246–8, 297, 322, 334 Plainchant 110, 334–6, 344, 355 Plantation 5, 31, 124–6 Pliny the Elder 245–6, 249–50 Pocket Gospels 39, 107 Pococke, R. 248–51, 256 Poetry 29–38, 45, 48–56, 341 Pope Alexander III 4

Subject and Author Index Pope Benedict XVI 165 Pope Clement V 55 Pope Francis 108, 117 Pope Pius VI 100 Pope Pius X 372 Pope Pius XI 318–19 Posidonius 245 Preacher 44, 49, 51–2, 61, 71, 82–90, 109, 111, 115–18, 161, 196, 339, 374 Presbyterian 5, 10, 59, 71, 142, 157–8, 163–4, 168, 351–4 Printing 53, 59–74, 80–3, 94–8, 100, 101–4, 139, 143, 150, 354 Prophet 33, 65, 81, 159–68, 174, 233–6, 240, 266–70, 282, 288, 358, 367 Protestant 52–6, 63, 93–104, 108, 111, 124–33, 137, 140, 142, 147–8, 158–69, 193–6, 206–7, 228, 231, 247, 318, 327–8, 331, 335, 337–9, 344, 365–81 Pugin, A. W. N. 314 Pulliam, H. 297–9, 310 Rebellion, 66, 126–8, 132, 142, 195, 336, 339, 342, 347, 348, 374 Reformation 5, 52–6, 59–61, 83, 90, 94, 102–3, 193–6, 204, 314, 327, 331, 334–8, 354, 366, 369 Reformed churches 15, 112, 115, 118, 132–3, 327 Reilly, H. 67, 72, 74–9 Resurrection 32–3, 115, 139, 202, 207, 319, 332, 341, 379 Revelation 32, 166, 185, 233, 235 Revivalists 149–51 Robinson, J. M. 270–1 Roman Empire 4, 338 Rousseau, J. 370 Royal Irish Academy 140, 150, 284 Ruben of Dairinis 28 Ryan, S. 43–55 Sacrament 44, 49, 53–5, 82, 89, 100, 118, 297, 366 Sacred/Religious Space 212–23, 323 Salesbury, W. 60 Sall, A. 67–9 Saul 189, 338–9, 362 Searle, J. T. 7, 11, 16, 155–69 Second Coming 157, 164, 319

389

Second Vatican council 93, 104, 108, 111–18, 198, 280, 351–2, 356–7, 372 Secular Ireland 17, 20, 45, 48, 101, 131, 138, 200, 212–17, 220–3, 336, 352, 362–3, 369, 373, 377 Secular Songs 336, 360 Septuagint (LXX) 63–5, 264–8 Sermon 11, 15, 38–9, 49, 52, 79–90, 103, 128, 143, 184, 327, 339, 367, 374–5, 381 Sheehy, J. 301 Smith, A. D. 139 Smith, G. A. 253 Smith, R. 339, 358 Smith, T. 174–5 Social Justice 157, 193–207 Sodom 245–6, 249, 253 Solomon 30–3, 46, 50, 281, 338–9, 347 Spinoza 227–40 St. Brendan’s Cathedral 313–29 St. Colm Cille (Columba) 30–1, 221 St. Patrick 4, 59–60, 80, 315, 344, 354 Stained Glass 18–19, 44, 313–29 Stephen the Martyr 46, 50, 188–9 Strabo 245, 249–50 Stuart Restoration 139, 339, 335–6, 354 Syriac 280, 284, 285–9 Talmud 379–80 Tatian 285–7 Tearfund 194, 201–6 Thomas Aquinas 49 Todd, J. H. 150 Toland, J. 228–40 Translation, of Bible 27–31, 34–5, 37, 39, 49, 59–75, 80–1, 84–7, 90, 93–104, 132, 139–40, 144, 149–51, 250, 264, 286–9, 311, 338–9, 355, 369, 372–8 Translation, of Bible into Irish 59–75 Trinity College Dublin 49, 60–4, 68, 70, 125, 150, 211, 214–15, 218–23, 300, 309–10, 342, 346 Trócaire 73, 87, 194, 197–207 Troubles 82, 155–69, 303 Túr Gloine 314 Typography 73, 295, 297–9 Uberoi, R. 8, 11–12, 16–17, 20, 173–90 Ugba, A. 174, 177 Ulysses 141, 304, 367–9, 371, 373, 377–81

390

Subject and Author Index

Vallancey, C. 141, 147 Vance, N. 141–3 Vikings 4, 222 Vulgate 31, 62–3, 67, 94–100, 144, 368

Watts, R. 72 White, H. 335, 359 Witham, R. 97–8 Wright, C. 203–4

Watts, J. W. 13, 129–33

Yoruba Culture 17, 173–90

INDEX OF BIBLICAL TEXTS Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Genesis 1 2  3 1–11 1.26 1.42 3.24 6–9 8.13 13.1c 13.10–13 14.3 14.8–10 19.20–22 19.24–25 19.25 19.26 22 Exodus 17.6 20.1–17 22.28 35.11 Leviticus 26.6–7 Numbers 5–8 6.24 7–10 12 13 14.33–34 20.11 25–36 34.3

32, 73 73 86 29–30 379 32 326 338 265 70, 72 244 244, 249 244 252 244 244 53, 244 338

46 60 60 70

Deuteronomy 1–7 3.17 9–12 17–19 18.21–22 27–34 29.4 29.22–24

266 244 266 266 234 266 288 245

Joshua 3.16 7 12.3 12–13 13.32 15.2 15.16–19 18 18.19

244 185–6 244 249 249 244, 249 343 249 244

Judges 4–5

340

1 Samuel 31.1–6

338

2 Samuel 6

177–180

1 Kings 1.38–40

347

1 Chronicles 1–8

29

186

266 60 73 244 266 245 46 266 244

2 Chronicles Ezra 10.4

70

392

Index of Biblical Texts

Job 7 9 17.9 17.14 19.25–26 31.6

86 267 70, 73 85 341 324

Psalms 1 1.1–16.11 1.1–17.11 2 2.1–4 2.9 8 11 16.10 19 21 22.4 22.7–8 23 24.7–10 26 27.9 31 41.1–3 44 45 63.8 68 68.1 68.2 68.18 69.20 72–88 79.14 81.1 89.13–14 93.1–2 100 103 109 110 112.1 114 116.1–9

64, 361 32 32 32, 271 341 341 32 341 341 118 340, 347 87 341 357 341 271 344 271 345 32, 60 340, 347 70, 73 348 348 348 341 341 271 344 344 347 344 338 361 32 340 344 118 118

135 140 145

361 361 347

Proverbs 1.20–33 8.2c–3 10.10 20.2 22.6 31.8–9

118 70 73 60 70 199

Ecclesiastes 36.1 36–37

60 266

Song of Songs 2.3 2.5 2.10–13

355 355 354

Isaiah 7.14 8–9 9.2 9.6 12–19 30.33 35.5–6 38–45 40.1–5 40.11 49 50.4–9a 50.5–9 50.6 53.3–6 53.4–5  53.8 54–60 58.6 58.10 60.1–3 65.17

341 266 341, 344 341 266 245 341 266 341, 344 341, 344 340, 347 118 118 341 341 344 341 266 199 199 341 167

Jeremiah 4–5 32.8

266 234

Index of Biblical Texts Lamentations 1.2 1.12 4.4

338 341 81

Ezekiel 2.6–3.5 3.8–15 16.3–25 16.26–43 37.4–5 38.22

32 32 32 32 174 245

Daniel 5.27

324

Micah 6.8

199

Zephaniah  1.14

157

Haggai 2.6–7

341

Zechariah 9.9–10 11.2 

341 338

Malachi 3.2–3

341

New Testament  Matthew 1.23 2.11 3.14 3.16 4.25 5 5.18 6.5 6.9–13 10.15 11.23–24 11.30 13.10–11

72, 341 72 72 341 72 87 55 73 60 245 245 341 233

393

13.24–30 16.4 16.12 16.16 16.19 17.4 17.27 18.7 18.8 19.28 21.5 23.27 24.12 24.21 24.29–31 25.31 25.40 26.41 27.7 28.19 28.20 24.31

161 159 70 324 324 45 62 367 72 326 341 72 164 156 323 162, 323 47 86 72 81 164 164

Mark  1.13 4.11 8.27–38 9.17–29 9.44 9.46 9.48 10.9  10.45 16.19 19 19.24

245 234 118 55 159 159 159 27 68 321 321 54

Luke 1–2 1.3 1.28a 1.42 2.8–14 2.14 2.35 4.18–19 6.1 7.11–15

361 72 62 85 336, 341 332 338 199 72 45

394

Index of Biblical Texts

8.10 8.25 9.12b 10.12 10.25–37 10.30–35 11.23 11.27 14.15–24 14.16 17.29 18 18.8 20.25 21.25 21.26 23.43 24.51 24.52–53

234 72 72 245 199 253 161 87 45 88 245 367 164 60 88 164 45 321 323

John 1.1 1.14 1.29 2.1–11 2.22 4.13–14 4.14 16.5 16.7 18.36 19.23

54 54 341 333 72 70 46 323 323 319 316, 318

Acts 1.2 1.11 1.26 2.30–35 4.34 7.54–60 13.17 13.34

321 321 62 319 72 188 73 72

Romans 3.8 5.16 8.31 8.33–34

73 263 341 341

9.29 10.14 10.15 10.18 1.25 16.25–26 22

245 81 341 341 233 233 73

1 Corinthians 2.7 4.1 9.16 15.20–22 15.22–27 15.51–52 16.22

233 233 81 341 341 233, 324 72

2 Corinthians 3.14 9.15 13.13

234 290 60

Ephesians 1.9–10 1.10 1.11 3.1 5.31–32 6.9 6.12 6.21

233 70 72 233 233 73, 233 162 70

Colossians 1.25–27 2.2 4.3–4

233 233 233

1 Thessalonians 5.28

263

2 Thessalonians 2.7 2.8

162 233

1 Timothy 3.8–9 3.16 4.1

233 233 156

Index of Biblical Texts 2 Timothy 3.1–5 3.16

164 160

Titus 1.5

72

Philemon 2.9– 10

31

Hebrews 1.5–6 4.11 9.17

341 62 27

James 2.14–18 3.1–12

118 118

1 Peter 2.13a

62

2 Peter 2.1 2.1–3 2.6 2.9–22 3.13

156 164 245 164 167

Jude 7 8–16

245 164

Revelation 2.7

31

2.22 3.16 3.21 4.4  5.1 5.3–5 5.12–14 5.13 6.5–15 7.9 7.14 9.1 9.10 11.8 11.15 12 12.1 12.3–4 13 14.17–18 16.18 17 17.2 17.4–6 17.14 19.1 19.3–6 19.6 19.16 19.20 20.12 21 21.1 22.2

395 31, 156 161 319 32 31 31 341 31 31 167 156 31 264 245 341 321 321 31 165 70 31 165 264 164 319 333 333 341 319, 341 165 323, 324 167 167 167