In this Webpage we need to do three things.
First of all we need to say something about our understanding of The
Sociological Imagination as
well as what it means in Irish terms. A first and second year
undergraduate’s acquaintance with writers like C. Wright Mills, Karl
Marx, Max Weber and Emile Durkheim and others is presumed.
We then give an example by way of an Extract from A
Description Of The Criminal Justice System, 1950-80
And while bibliographies of every hue and description are readily
available on the website these days, we nevertheless direct interested
persons to a select Bibliography
The Sociological Imagination
Sean : But where to begin –
that’s the question. Maybe we can reserve the obvious questions and go
by way of Spinoza and try and establish what Sociology is not? But
let’s stick to The Sociological Imagination. How would you
characterise it?
Seamus: In a nutshell I suspect it means making an effort to think
in ‘cobwebs’ rather than thinking‘ linearly’ -- and allowing that
cobwebbed thought-process to sink into the social landscape,
particularly into the native Irish social landscape. Our present
concern, therefore, is by way of invitation to think in cobwebs. A
detective thinks in cobwebs but a lawyer by and large doesn’t. By this
is meant that when one thinks about‘ law’ or any aspect of it, one
does not think causally as a lawyer does, or proceed to prove this
point or that point within a legal context, which goes to the veracity
of what the lawyers in criminal matters call the ‘ actus reus’ and the ‘ mens rea’. And in fairness to the lawyers, they are
often induced when introducing a persuasive text to lead on with more
than one example. In other words, when proving a point by reference to
case law; they ought to do so by referring to more than one solitary
case. And of course they invariably refer to reams and reams of them,
depending upon the nature of the argument and the importance of the
matter in hand. In this way one’s arguments are shored up by reference
to more than one authority, but by a nexus or a ‘cobweb’ of such
authorities. Thinking in cobwebs about social matters signifies
contemplating several social lines of enquiry at the same time
concerning the topic in question. Being interested in ‘’this point’
and ‘’that point’, lawyers are, as we all know, generally concerned to
think in terms of linear causation, or what used to be called‘
billiard ball causality’. And whether the matter be one of precedent, factual argument, testamentary rules or credibility,
the causal line of authority goes by way of consensus, first to the
Judge of trial, then by way of appeal to a similar but higher
authority, and, in our time, to a similar and higher authority in
Europe.
Sean: Before proceeding further, what do you mean by what you call
‘cob-web’-like thinking? Can you demonstrate its particular
significance to me?
Seamus: Certainly. But I should say that despite the many inferior
works that claim a ‘sociological’ perspective and the like, there is
no real mystery about thinking sociologically. In many ways it is the
same as thinking like a detective, rather than like a priest, a
lawyer, an economist or a psychologist. Much can be made both of the
subject matter about which a sociologist thinks as well as the manner
in which he thinks about it. The real difference, if you accept the
difference in how a detective thinks from others, lies in the
sociologist’s social concerns. Accordingly, being concerned with
social issues, and because he works on the notion, whether by
induction or conviction, that all such phenomena have a social cause
or origin, he becomes habituated to a practice that we identify as
sociology – and that is why we call him a sociologist. Now, how he
thinks thereafter is best served by thinking like a detective and by
making constant comparisons as well as historical reviews of his
material. In this sense you can see the relevance of the reference to
‘cobwebs’ and to detectives. Moreover, whatever science one embarks
upon in a systematic way, it will become apparent – to most people at
any rate – that value judgements have to rest upon something prior to
themselves, not just in time, but in scope, in depth and above all
else in historical integrity. So, whoever you are, if you want to
appraise something, or, indeed, comment on it, or, indeed, open your
mouth, without a philosophic base, your underwear is bound to show.
Let ten men speak for five minutes in the Dail – thereafter they may
as well sit down, for their interests – nay, their character – is
perfectly apparent. And if you got them to admit their Bank Balance,
their Date of Birth, and the number of people in their immediate
family, coupled with the accent, you might come to believe that you
know everything about them. As to examples, the best think to do is to
read Weber’s work, especially The Protestant Ethic for his
particular use of the Ideal Typical Construct. You could equally read
Marx’s Work or Durkheim`s work, or, indeed, have a gander at Michael
gnatieff’s treatment of John Howard in A Just Measure Of Pain.
We will have recourse to Ignatieff again ( See WebPages 14 and 15),
but for another purpose. Here you will find a very skilful analysis of
Howard’s personality, the approach to which you will observe examines
his times, his psychological makeup, as well as the social environment
and attachments he makes, the significance of religious
(Quaker)-cum-penal notions, and all with a critical eye to the
contemporaneity of such a confluence of values. Here you have a rather
neat and compelling nexus (‘cobweb’) of social relations examined in a
sociological manner and an expert assessment made of the man and the
reformer.
Sean: But surely a Sociological Imagination means more than
one thing? C. Wright Mills thought of it as essential.
Seamus: Of course, but as conceived by Mills and other
sociologists it can be conceived in several ways. As I said it
practice it means conceiving of things in cobweb-fashion. Of itself it
is best understood as an appeal to philosophy -- a philosophy that
necessarily includes a view of the philosophy of history. Why
is this? All sociologists – Mills no less -- know only too well that
one cannot understand the parts unless one can configure the whole.
The great contributions made to economics and the manner in which
Western democratic States are run is grounded to a great extent on a
consensus derived from a macro (or total) view of economic phenomena.
In other areas, a similar notion of the ‘whole’ makes partial policies
meaningful and invariably makes it necessary for the sociologist to
trace its way back to some view of history. So, even in works like A Description Of The Criminal
Justice System, 1950-1970,
a local matter seeking comprehension, or The Last Of The Betagii,
the last execution of a woman in Ireland, the phenomena attaching to
both items are, on the one hand traceable to a work-a-day totality,
but their further significance must be seen in their respective
histories. This, I think, is one way in which C. Wright Mills
understood the Sociological Imagination. In this respect he
makes it plain that human beings cannot be understood apart from the
social and historical structures in which they are formed and in which
they interact. This led him to great types of analyses. In The Power Elite (1957), for example, (with some whiffs of
Thorsten Veblen’s The Vested
Interests and the Common Man some forty years earlier) he talks about the levels of power in
American society. Under the power elite, two others prevail. At the
bottom are the masses: these are unorganized, ill informed, and
powerless; they are controlled and manipulated by the power group.
Mills depicts how the disorganized masses (in America) are not only
economically dependent and exploited but are quite removed from the
very organizations, which hold the key to power.
Sean: And his sociology?
Seamus: He placed great emphasis on sociology as a discipline,
particularly on what I might be permitted to call the societ - isation
of personal problems. I think what he meant by this came from an
understanding that when we speak of nature, we tend to forget that we
are – qua humans – part and parcel of nature, human nature; and
that, therefore, what befalls us personally -- and our personal
reaction to adversity -- is the legitimate subject-matter of social
enquiry. This disciplinary viewpoint – although obviously different
from other disciplinary viewpoints -- is every bit as valid as the
study of law, economics, theology, mathematics, etc. The great
difference is that when one considers what befalls oneself as the
subject- matter of social inquiry, one is quite likely to fall into
the quagmire of egoism and -- even worse – boredom.
Sean: But surely there is as much sociology as there are
sociologists!
Seamus: Were it not for philosophy, Sociology would – it is true
-- be the most fractured of the social sciences. As such, it is not
easy to advance well-established truths on its behalf without
controversy. Having said that, however, there are Dictionaries,
Handbooks and Websites dedicated to sociology as a discipline, as well
as websites dedicated to separate and individual sociologists. Suffice
it for our purposes in criminology, if we say something about its
three most popular advocates, Durkheim, Marx and Weber. Why we have
specified these three may well pose its own problems, to avoid the
worst of which might I recommend the following Socio Site (Www2.fmg.uva.nl/sociosite),
not just because philosophs like Habermas and Adorno, Horkheimer, and
Popper, anthropologists like Malinowski and Levi-Strauss, and social
historians like de Tocqueville and Foucault, and a host of others
refreshingly find themselves thrown into the common sociological heap,
but an interesting and convenient bibliography and online reference
that attends them all. There is also a useful sociological timeline
since 1600, not to mention a rather unexpected introduction to the
extensive and lamentably overlooked sociology of crime by Ferdinand
Toennies. Toennies. According to Mathieu Deflem at (Deflem@gwm.sc.edu; www.mathieudeflem.net, and
at http://www.cas.sc. edu/socy/faculty/deflem/ztoen.htm) Toennies published no less than 34 works
on crime (22 papers, three books, and nine review articles) and 17
related methodological papers on criminal statistics.
Moreover, Toennies had worked on his criminology for some four decades
– which gives him a prominence that is all too often forgotten with
his theory of Gemeinschaft and Gesselschaft. Although
isolated in the 20s Toennies became a respected criminologist. ‘With
Georg Simmel and Max Weber’ says Deflem, ‘he founded the German
Society for Sociology in 1909, serving as its president from 1922
until 1933 when he disbanded the association in protest against the
rise of National-Socialism. For these reasons alone, this site is well
worth visiting and is highly recommended for its online references as
an addendum to any shorter bibliographies compiled.
Sean: Is there any simple way
to begin to understand sociology as a discipline?
Seamus: Maybe we should just begin with a sense of time, or,
better still, a sense of history – or, better still, a sense of
anthropology or a sense of evolution. Since we have said so much about
the need for a sense of history, maybe we can drive the point home by
pointing out the colossal mistake of discarding it. In is extension of
Durkheim`s theory of Anomie, Robert K. Merton devised a very famous
and attractive typology of criminals in America. Accordingly, when the
methods available to Americans to achieve social mobility conflicts
with the desired social goal, the participants understandably react in
various ways. Merton characterised these reactions into five typical
adaptations, namely, conformity, innovation, ritualism, retreatism,
and rebellion. Laurie Taylor, however, in reviewing this elaborate and
– as I have said – quite attractive typology, draws the reader’s
attention to the whole schema’s lack of any sense of historical
perspective. (See WebPages 14 and 15) – upon which lack, let me add,
the whole schema as criminology collapses into intelligent journalism
or, at best, narrative and monograph. As to the historical sense, if
we listen to Comte or even Aristotle we begin to grasp it by way of
pondering on what Aristotle conceived as life’s struggle to reach
higher forms. In other words all life can arguably be seen -- not just
as an effort to rise, but arguably, as a progress of sorts. In
good Whig-historical and Christian fashion, we say, then, that we all
struggle to do the best we can for our families, our football and
hurling teams, our villages, towns, countries, our country, and
ourselves. It is interesting to know that when I was young, no one
would have said what President Kennedy said, when he exhorted people
to ask not what their country could do for them, but what they could
do for their country. It is true, the sentiment was widespread, but
people more practically thought that one should play for one’s club
before one’s county. Certainly, if you played for any of the country
clubs, the rule was ‘ your club before your county.’ By extension of
this logic, what was at hand came – and should come – first; what was
removed in space and time or abstraction came – and should come –
later. Nevertheless, as persons and societies, we all struggle, as
persons and societies, to move in Aristotelian fashion from formless
matter-tomatter less form. Whatever we did, however bad it became, it
could still be classed sub specie boni as trying to reach the
ideal of formless matter, to shuffle off the increasingly unwanted
coil of yesterday’s superstitions and advance to the scientific
utility of greater and higher wants and needs. This ascent is both
logical and constant in everything we do: it contains an obvious
evolution into which many histories can be fitted. In formless matter,
we have earth, clay, of which we are all made. Memento homo quia
pulves es, et in pulverim reverteris. This church-Latin you will
hear from any priest who, at the graveside of your friends and
neighbours or some other poor Yorick, will recite the same obvious
truth – the recycle of clay to clay. In Shakespeare we find it in the
man that ate of the fish that ate of the worms that ate of the
magnetic, etc. What Joyce called metampikeosis. At least this
is a little more exciting than the obvious growth of the organism, the
plant, the animal, etc. And at the other end of the Aristotelian
spectrum, we have matterless form. This is not just a woman slimming,
or an artist trying to catch a concept, or the rest of us reaching all
the time for a higher form (in the Durkheimian sense). It is the
triumph of spirit. The philosophers conceive of it as the thought of
thought, or, if like Aquinas, you wish to regard it as God, then here
it has its place, above and well removed from clay. In any event we
have an evolution with which to begin.
Sean : But this is just a beginning – right?
Seamus: One has to start somewhere – and sentient beings prefer to
begin with themselves and reach out to understand where they are, who
they are, why they are whom they are. To do this we must sooner or
later come to realise that light and life pass through us, that we are
not the alpha or the omega, neither the beginning nor the end of
anything, not even ourselves. We receive and we transmit energy, life,
and genes, whatever the point is that we are in society and in
history. Moreover, as we have been at pains to demonstrate this
process in Webpage 2.b The Criminological History of Ireland, our view
of ourselves must be modified by the fact of our historical
consciousness. And whether we look at history as consciousness
(Collingwood), or as reflection upon past events (Philosophy, Freud)
or as independent critical though (Voltaire) or as universal spirit
(Hegel) – or howsoever – we still must begin to come to terms with an
historical view of society and science in order to appreciate The
Sociological Imagination.
Sean : You have already referred (in Webpage 2
History/Anthropology) to the importance of Comte and his concern
to document the hierarchy of consciousness through the history of
the sciences. And I do not want to go back over old ground. But it
is significant that it was also Comte who in this very historical
light coined the word Sociology.
Seamus: Comte wanted to discover the series through which the
human race was necessarily transformed. Now Darwin would never use
that language, but he was doing something similar in another way. Both
men were concerned to understand how civilised Europe evolved –
particularly from a family of apes. Darwin’s work resulted in the Ascent of Man and we are widely aware of his findings,
which (except for Catholic Ireland and the fearful side of America)
are accepted by the scientific community one way or another. Comte’s
widespread work, on the other hand, is neither so well known nor so
acceptable. Comte’s answer came in the form of what he called The Law of Human Progress,
according to which each branch of the known sciences purportedly
passes through three stages, hence The Law of Three Stages. These stages not only parallel
individual human development, but just as we are passionately devout
in childhood, critical and unaccepting in adolescence and positively
philosophic in manhood, so, too, do all our sciences pass through
three definite and separate epistemological phases. The first is the
Theological or fictitious state, which gives way to the Metaphysical
or abstract way of knowing, which in turn gives way to the Scientific
or positive way of knowing. Now these conditions of consciousness or
ways of knowing are cumulative in that each stage is reached only
after a period of entering, realising and destroying the stage prior
to it (not unlike the Hegelian dialectic, perhaps). In the first or
theological degree, men seek and are content with supernatural causes
for phenomena that they cannot explain. First and final causes are
ascribed to all kinds of things and anyone brought up in religious
belief will appreciate the firm adherence to the supernatural cause, a
cause without sensual extension, human understanding or philosophical
discourse. The supernatural belief is invariably dogmatic. Religion
resists the limits as well as the onset of further human
understanding. In the second phase, the metaphysical state, abstract
and personified forces are posited as the driving and creative forces
of the universe and its phenomena. And, eventually, in the final or
third phase, absolute answers are abandoned as vain and, indeed,
unnecessary, and are replaced more realistically with their laws, that
is, the invariable relations of succession and resemblance.
Sean: In some ways it is
helpful to regard Comte (with Saint Simon) as a founding father –
if sociologist’s belief in such things as ‘fathers’. But to
ransack a man’s imagination one must study him in his time, in his
ambitions, efforts, and successes as well as in his limitations
and failures. For this a critical faculty is required as well as a
comparative facility. Otherwise we cannot know how others like
Marx, Weber and Durkheim, who had an even greater influence on the
discipline, differ from each other – which is really why I asked
if you regarded the discipline as one sociology or a collection of
sociologists’ writings?
Seamus: I think sociology is better regarded as both. There is
what such writers have in common as well as how they differ from each
other. Sean: What, if anything does Marx, Weber and Durkheim
have in common?
Seamus : Well, for one thing it seems to me that they all owe
an extraordinary debt to Hegel. Durkheim and Marx took from his
ability to align logic with world events and, indeed, an objective
world dialectic that carried things historically and necessarily
forward. Further, his treatment of logic, for example, was
brilliant and his explanation of explanation. Also extraordinary
was the manner in which former philosophers were (according to
himself) encapsulated in his own ingenious schema. Others did not
overtly make such a boast, but it lies implicit in Marxism. Then
there is the theory of universals. Hegel managed to extend and re-categorise
the Kantian modules or categories through which, like rose tinted
glass, Kant claimed we invariably reason. Categories such as
quantity, quality, modality, etc. Hegel, supporting a special
allocation and significance to what he calls the more ‘sensuous
universals’, reads the philosophy of history as a logical process,
that is, a process of development that is historical and
dialectically necessary given its ontology to date. In some ways
the logical necessity in history is a quality of all sociological
writers, at least of the grand theorists. Moreover, Weber, like
Hegel, cannot be easily pigeonholed into either the "materialist"
camp of the Marxists or the "idealist" camp of the
traditionalists. When you pit Weber alongside Marx and Durkheim,
it seems that Weber in some ways is not a sociologist, but rather
a social psychologist.
Sean: And what about their differences?
Seamus: Sometimes differences are more a matter of focus than
anything else. In Durkheim and Marx the overriding interest is on the
mediation of society downwards, whether the mediation be through
hierarchical norms, which makes him so attractive to the Americans and
the Irish and any other Western religion you can find, or through
class, which made Marx more attractive to those developed countries in
which the class formation was well delineated or, as the case may be,
was threatening to become so, Weber stayed with the subjective
ordering of everyday reality and announced differentia rather than
similarity as the goal of sociology. You must remember that Max
Weber’s sociology conceives of social action -- the science of social
action. As such it serves as a refreshing counterpoint to the
sociologists of structural-functionalism, and in some ways hearkens
back to some of the ambivalence in Hegelian philosophy. Where Hegel
saw ‘Napoleon on horseback’ as a symbol of the Universal Spirit, Weber
is interested more on Napoleon’s rational behaviour and less on the
Universal Spirit. The universal spirit, by the way is the universal
version of history, and it is most interesting that ‘spirit’ and
‘history’ sometimes coalesce, such that when one thinks about it,
there is little or nothing between them. Similarly, where Marx focuses
on the ‘material’ mode of production, and historicises it accordingly,
Weber focuses on the ‘ideal’ or the ‘ideal typical’ type of production
and examines the rational possibilities humanly sprung within an
historical ensemble. Durkheim, on the other hand, focuses on what he
specifically defined as ‘the social fact’, the collective or the
‘social norm’ and, as we have demonstrated in his theory of Crime and
Punishment, he sees human history developing as a tree grows.
Notwithstanding this conspectus, he is apt, at the same time, to
depict moral history as between two (unsatisfactory) polarities, the
primitive and the modern. These respective notions are easily
separated when we think of the overall focus of each thinker. One of
Durkheim`s main concerns, following Comte, concerned Social
Cohesion and how it is preconditioned in antiquity and more
importantly concurrent with the industrial revolution. Marx’s concerns
are focused on the creation, structure and trajectory of conflicts
surrounding the phenomenon of social class. No one appreciated the
preconditions of capitalism or the release of power concurrent with it
more than Marx, and yet sometimes in his analysis of Ireland one
wonders if the was fully aware of its merely stratified. Of course,
Ireland was part of Britain then and the real social and religious
makeup of Ireland was to change utterly with the emigration of some
50,000 Protestants from the Southern State. Nor was he wrong in
predicting an early ‘revolution’, but he could never conceive that
that ‘revolution’ was one towards the far right. In speaking of these
men one could well feel guilty about not mentioning Proudhon, who,
more than any other, comprehended the weaknesses in Marxology, and I
am still uneasy about treating Marx as a sociologist simpliciter.
But putting aside these considerations and shortcomings we can agree
with Weber when he predicted that "socialism would in fact require a
greater degree of formal bureaucratization than capitalism” – a
statement, which still remains, uncontradicted. At this juncture I
would like to pose some concerns of my own. These are as much by way
of hypothesis as they are of affirmation. I can’t imagine what Marx
would say to this kind of observation of Weber’s were he still alive,
but I feel that the focus on bureaucratisation takes us somewhat from
the dynamism of action which was so trumpeted by Weber. But he wasn’t
the only sociologist of action – Marx (if we admit his as sociologist)
was also a sociologist par
excellence. Indeed, some
contemporary nations hailed him with forgivable predictability as one
who relished in the notion of arma virumque cano. That said,
however, the end of revolution does not turn simpliciter into
bureaucratisation but also into a bifurcations of internal and
external forces. What was implicit has and becomes more explicit in
the forms of crime ordinary and crime political. Just because the
revolutionary forces have left the paddocks of the Nation State – this
does not mean that the world has emptied itself out of its historical
forces, such that all we will be concerned with hereafter is the
inordinate number of pins we annex to the infinite pagination of human
applications, or the digitised storage of them. This trite description
of Weber’s bureaucratisation may help to imagine its savage otherness
in the relationship of citizens of the world to the world. Already we
see crime ordinary and crime political poised apart as if reflecting
each other in a Bush/Blair/Bertie Ahern coalition. Already, too, crime
ordinary has let slip its leash into the streets, domestic violence
rages, soccer hooliganism leaves off where personal vendettas and
impartial riots begin, and mental aberrations enough to kindle a more
expanding profession of psychologists than that of the medieval
priesthood. On the political front Anglo-America has created in a few
unwise yet pushy decisions a totally unstable and crime-prone world,
as if crime, to meet the new configuration of political aggression,
now assumes an international character and resonates the same
arguments even when locally defined. Far from the dead hand of
bureaucratisation, we see the very pro-activity of corporate
corruption and personal alienation as never before. It isn’t a matter
any more whether our governments are corrupt or not; it’s only a
matter of when and how we find out about their corruption. The
Americanisation of world politics carries a new aggression to areas
that no one could hitherto comprehend. Moreover, the oft quoted soft
words like ‘democratisation’, ‘freedom’, ‘women’s liberties’ pale into
their opposite when we consider that for all the blather about
democracy, one man in the guise of Clinton and Bush, can suddenly,
unimaginatively and unpredictably, rearrange the world In this
personal characterisation of American and world change, what we see is
the materialism since the Spanish Civil war revisit the world as a
whole. And how we see it is in the silent and stealthy manner that
most European and other countries have taken on the role of Governor
for the US. We watched Tony Blair drop everything domestic and run
around the world for Mr Bush and even after waging an unjustified war,
still persisted in defending the world’s new Caesar. And we are
grateful for Bush as well for indicating like never before where Irish
charm left off and Bertie Ahern’s governorship of Ireland began. Other
countries, of course, have followed suit. And the eventual and
messianic role of the Christian Church in returning Caesar was most
instructive. The American Bishops, notwithstanding the fact that the
Pope ‘came out’ (not too loudly) against the war on Iraq, punished
Massachusetts (no doubt for their enlightened policies on clerical
paedophiles) and others by returning the enfant terrible to office yet
again. From without, from political and international attitudes, we
find the new power-materialism resonating in the streets, as if an old
fascism, the terrible offspring of the Christian conquest, was making
a comeback.
Sean: That analysis is rather messianic in itself. No one doubts
but that the constant conversation between what is within and what is
without confirms itself anew with each generation. We might more
appropriately take up this question again when we come to talk about
Sinn Fein/IRA in this context in 13.b. Crime And Irish Politics Might
I hearken back to what you said about Weber’s use of the Ideal Typical
construct? How useful do you think it is to Weberian sociology?
Seamus: The ideal typical construct is a brilliantly
contrived simplicity and it represents an intensification of logical
integration at the centre of many of Weber’s demonstrative arguments.
It is the inference made syllogistic or, in other words, the logical
representation taken to an approved logical completion, from which it
is easier to retreat somewhat to demonstrate the probability of
several hypotheses. But this does not mean that it is more real – on
the contrary, it is meant to be abstract and in some ways unread; for
in this way it allows Weberian analysis to focus upon and articulate a
spectrum of social reality, to allocate categories to it, to formulate
hypotheses about it and generally to know it by comparison with other
competing formulae. It proceeds on the lines we have mentioned, not as
to their truth but as to their plausibility. It is enlisted in aid of
our understanding of sociology and the thought- ordering process of
empirical reality In some ways I think Marx uses it to delineate the
modes of production in history: only with Marx they are never
represented as ‘ideal typical’ but as time and
modes-of-specific-production.
Sean: Give us an example, an Irish example, of what you mean?
Seamus: All Irish Catholic marriages are the marriage of the
Priest and the Nun. This statement could be developed into a good
example. The ideal typicality of the marriage between a Priest and a
Nun specifies their shared beliefs and conventions over any other
historical input into such a relationship. It assumed a relationship
existing despite traditional fears and the sacral hierarchical
allocation of counter-values to the notion of sex and reproductively.
These exaggerated notions in the Priest and in the Nun have at once to
be negotiated by a non-secular institution and sacra mentally fixed
not so much by the State as by the RC church. And in our ideal
typicality of the union we have gone the full 100% to promote our
examination of the difficulties involved for the parties. How do they
negotiate sex, for example? More particularly, how do they negotiate
enjoyable or pleasurable sex, when they are traditionally against it
entirely? When it is anathema to them? How do they view and educate
their children? How many children with the couple have? Who decides on
this matter? Must the traditional wife submit to the traditional
husband and accommodate his wishes? Are these things meant to be
pleasurable or dutiful? Must the priest be consulted? And why is the
Nun not consulted at all? And so on, and so on….
Sean: But we never know how people behave, do we? So, how can we
talk about these matters?
Seamus: Because, contrary to what you say, we know precisely how
people behave or ought to behave -- people in authority and people who
forever declare their intentions by way of ritual and sacred
declaration. I don’t just mean the priest who takes vows of poverty
and obedience and remains blind to the wealth of the institution he
belongs, or the Judge who swears to uphold the Constitution, but has
already made his more devotional vows to Opus Dei, or the
Banker who declares for accountability and transparency but has
entered a secret cabal to exploit his customers, or the Policeman who
swears to act without fear or favour and has put his name down in the
party and clerical register, looking to give favours to those who will
favour him, or the teacher who claims to be one with the sisterhood ,
but has run down to the Labour Court to squeeze some advantage out of
it behind all their backs. I mean taking people at their best, at
their ideal typical. And from this we know approximately what matters
would bother such persons. Surely, every wife would like to know that
she is going to have children, how many she is expected to have, how
they are to be educated, fed, etc.? Of course she would, but we also
know in the ideal typical type who makes these decisions and how they
can affect the typical believing Hausfru. The use of the ideal
typical concept as a sociological tool is probably best seen in
Weber’s use of it in The Protestant Ethic and the
Spirit of Capitalism. In many
ways it’s use presupposes a cultural and/or a philosophical underlay.
It also presupposes a critical faculty, which, with its philosophic
remigrations, is negatived because answered in religion.
Sean: Are you saying that the methodology surrounding the ideal
typical concept affords one the opportunity of either a philosophic or
a religious background?
Seamus: No. You must understand that philosophy only becomes
possible in a culture where religion is no longer accepted as a
holdall dogmatic answer to contemporary problems. The ‘choice’ as you
call it calls to mind the chalice that one has to consume either pears
or apples; but philosophy only becomes objectively possible in that
society which has reached the stage of religious questioning, the one
following the other objectively.
Sean: Could I go back to what you said about Weber being a social
psychologist rather than a sociologist? Admittedly, he is different in
his approach and in his methodology to both Marx and Durkheim --who
are each different to the other also. But I still don’t see where that
leads us in the longer term or in the Irish context?
Seamus: With C Wright Mills we have the socialising of individual
phenomena. According to him most -- if not all -- of one’s personal
problems are social problems. This position is so because you are part
and parcel of a particular type of society at a particular time. So
the conjunction of social and individual are devoutly to be explained
in any policy-orientated explanation of social phenomena, whether it
is the divorce rate, the murder rate, or whatever. Since the need with
Durkheim and Marx is to explain the outer (social) causes of inner
(personal, individual) phenomena, there remained an ancillary need to
connect society with the individual denkende man – a lacuna
that is resolved respectively through the use of the psycho-social
concepts of Anomie and Alienation. Anomie, you will
recall, was advanced by Durkheim to explain the onset of behavioural
normlessness in society when it was both high in boom as well as low
in gloom, both socially determined conditions coinciding generally and
effectuated by the business cycle. On the other hand Marx uses the
psychosocial concept of Alienation as something that is propelled
within the cumulatively developing division of labour within
structural capitalism. Weber, by contrast, has no recourse to any
other psychosocial concept that he might enlist to brook the gap
between the social and the individual. To the contrary, Weber ab
initio has no such gap apparent in his logic; for his, as I have
said before, is not a sociology, but rather a social psychology of
action, engendered by thought ordering individuals who think the
empirical world through the mediation of their own subjective values.
Sean: What about its relevance to Ireland? Is the Protestant Ethic
the antithesis of the Catholicism?
Seamus: I notice that you didn’t ask: Is the ‘Protestant Ethic’
the antitithesis of the ‘Catholic Ethic’? Is that because you believe
the Catholic Ethic – whatever it is, -- is not action or
work-oriented? One might do well to remember that the antithesis in
Weber’s Protestant Ethic is not polarised between Protestantism
and Catholicism or a society so persuaded, but between Puritanism and
a traditional type of society, that is (by comparison only) a
society that is guided and swayed by customary habits of thought.
Such a society – as in the Irish instance – may well become weighed
down with such customary habits of thought and suffer from it by way
of a particular form of paralysis about time and consciousness.
Indeed, Joyce’s description of Dubliners is a perfect example of such
a society -- one that is almost un-rescue-able! But that does not say
that a colonial Protestant society is not also by deviation from the
parent culture, given more or less to rely upon customary habits of
thought. And in this connection one might well recall the practice
of Maria Edgeworth’s father, who, as Landlord, was more apt to reward
those who had ideas of improving upon their responsibilities rather
than submitting to the needs of long-rerm tenants or to the more
sentimental or traditional norms or attachments. (I have to say that
notwithstanding this ever so interesting analysis, I am still a
hopeless traditional sentimentalist in all these personal respects!
And I understand the communists – at least the ones I knew in
post-protestant Denmark – to be of a similar mind. The Protestant
Ethic to work or the communist influence to over humanise the work
place did not, in other words, either impress them. In defence all I
can say is that in some respects I differ with C.Wright Mills in that,
as I have said before, what is personal is not always social, and what
is social is not always personal – at least as far as validation is
concerned. And even to the present day I am still drop-dead grateful
to my parents never to have contemplated sending me to a public
school.) As it happened, and in fairness to Whitaker and Lemass, there
had been some prodding of that paralysis since the mid sixties (when,
incidentally, the incidence of crime takes off and Irish individualism
is in the ascendant), so that the grants from Europe made an enormous
stir in Irish paralysis. As one might imagine, the initial social
costs of these injections were – and are -- violent and unprecedented.
Look at the number of ‘corrupt ‘ and ‘corrupting’ institutions we
have. There are far too many of them for them not to have a social
cause or a fundamental rearrangement of the values at the base of our
social consciousness.
Sean: Surely sociology must have more bearing on Irish society
than with respect to disciplinary possibilities in the universities?
Seamus: Maybe. But the universities are of primary importance.
What, indeed, do you think universities are for, if it isn’t to
mediate knowledge, opinion, science and understanding to an otherwise
witless people. In the case of Ireland and sociology, the reverse
happens. The universities are here to stop enlightenment being
mediated. They are – and have been ab initio the Free State --
owned and managed by the RC church and, through the Congregation for the Propagation
of the Faith and other
similar bodies, they repress enlightenment in order to propagate the faith, their faith. There is no Harriet Martineau in Ireland
who wants to make sociology an established academic discipline, but
there are innumerable Buttiglione-types infesting the universities
with the knowledge of the gospel. Against this medieval knowledge
there is nobody I know who wants to marshal Comte’s ideas of the
historical and social sciences into some order to which the
intellectual repository of Irish life can relate. From my own certain
knowledge the largest college in Dublin, DIT (The Dublin Institute of
Criminology), with ambitions to become a university, never quite rose
to distinguishing the social from the natural sciences, without which
guiding light there can only be the administration of the asylum. The
U.S., with an even worse grasp of history than the Irish, has come to
appreciate something of the discipline of sociology. So, the
application of this or that sociology to Irish concerns is already
prefigured by the bigger concern of Ireland concern with the
discipline as a whole… Ireland’s (The RC church’s) attitude to
sociology is the same as it was to the Jews. “Don’t let it in, then
you don’t have to deal with the consequences.”
Sean: Well, what about Marx?
Marx and Engels had much to say about the Irish.
Seamus: Marx never had a bearing on Irish society. He was a
talking shop for the Irish (and not so Irish), who had never seriously
analysed either Irish society or Irish history (See WebPages 13 and
14). Words and borrowed notions about socialism made the Catholic
Irish appear to have European and International correlates that they
never really had. Marxist talk allowed us to think that we had
class-monsters to hate, whereas all we could hate were English people,
the Anglo- Irish, who were sick to death of the place (Beckett
preferred to fight in France rather than vegetate in Ireland, and
Joyce couldn’t run out of it fast enough), and an aristocratic church
that everyone was—and is – afraid to think of in any light other than
serene beauty. There was no way that the Irish ‘left’ could see its
navel, much less question or comprehend a Marxian revolution. (By the
way, do you know who represented Arthur Scargill in Ireland, when
Margaret Thatcher sought to seize his funds internationally? Michael
McDowell!) Arthur might as well have surrendered himself up to Opus
Dei. But do you think such insights have any meaning or
consequence for the Irish – not a jot of it!
Sean: Well, surely Durkheimian sociology resonates in Ireland.
Haven’t you yourself written an exegesis on his work on crime and
punishment?
Seamus: It is true that Durkheim, coupled with the American Talcot
Parsons, became the most loved by Maynooth and the Irish. Why? Because
on the face of it, America rather than Europe was chosen by the Church
to learn something of the social sciences. One couldn’t surrender to
the Protestant ethic, could one? Or the brilliant Scottish social
scientists? The RC church despised Marx more than they despised Darwin
and Freud. So, what were they to do? At least Durkheim was safe and
their infant Republican State would be protected from the ravishing
questions of a Marxist type of sociology. And if such an animal as an
Irish-type-sociologist appeared on the scene – and several to my
personal knowledge did – they hadn’t a hope in hell of passing through
the Jesuit filters in the universities. So, they emigrated, never to
return to the chim -emerald oil of Saints and Saints. Moreover, and quite significantly, once you ignore Durkheim`s atheism,
you almost have an Aristotelian holdall for Catholicism, at least not
as anyone without a keen sense of criticism and history would notice.
And who in Ireland had either! Durkheim, remember, was a Jew --- and
compare in terms of belief what the Jews borrowed from Zoroastrianism
with what the Christians borrowed from the Jews, and you will see the
continuation of the Judaic-Christian way of being in Durkheim. You
might well argue that Marx was also a Jew. True, but Marx was not a
repository of Judaism as was Durkheim. On the contrary, Marx – as the
Americans say – was something else. Both Durkheim and Marx were, of
course, devout atheists. But once the Sociologists SJ debunked
Durkheim`s atheism, they could and did quite easily adopt the rest of
Durkheim`s thesis, and harnessed it in toto to the Christian weal. It
then became a kind of improved version of Thomas Aquinas – a cheap if
clever way of moving the RC church into modern times, especially when
the move came from America through Parsons and others! Much of
Durkheim is quasi mediaeval in outline, especially his conscience collective – and that’s why all the Jesuits were
instant Sociologists, and every Irish university is weighed down with
departments of holy roman spies. That, in effect, is what an Irish
university is – they are planning on another New Golden Age,
when the Irish will yet again deliver to Europe everything that Europe
has long discarded. And these days even TCD is in on the act and
operates the same as UCD, UCC and UCG – all unfortunate replicas of
Maynooth and all green in thump and craw.
Sean: Is Weber, therefore,
the real challenge in our time?
Seamus: I’m not convinced of it. We know that the ‘individual’ is
on the march in Ireland. For the first time since the sale of Ireland
by way of Laudabiliter, the Irishman is going to be
individuated by the process called capitalism. But the Irishman comes
to high capitalism in the same practically as the Australian aborigine
or the American Indian. The jump is from third world to Anglo-America
in one television/EU/generation. An Irish bourgeoisie is about to be
born under the aegis of the RC church – keep an eye out for Labour’s
front bench and other Opus Dei operatives – where all the
parties actually discover that they are really – and always have been
– set it to music – members of the same political party in the
mystical body of Christ! The One True Holy Roman Catholic and
Apostolic Brotherhood of Bourgeois Irishmen ever made anywhere!
Sharing in the new privatisation of everything Irish. The RC church
owns Southern Ireland: that’s why there had to be a partition –
otherwise the RC church would own the whole island and everyone and
everything in and on and out of it, including the Protestants. At
least that was the crises scenario once portrayed by Connor Cruise O’
Brien. In the south the RC church has held total control of the
Constitution and the Rules of the game. Many things have been farmed
out, like the land, the air, the sea and those areas that cannot be
totally controlled without the assistance of those who own or
inherited the materials of the natural sciences. Otherwise the RC
church has filtered out Irish law and justice through Opus Dei to its most obedient servants, the boys from the Catholic colleges
with a couple of Civil Servants and the Opus boys – ex-priests and the
like – to keep an eye on them. The RC church’s most docile sisters
privatised childcare long ago. Irish universities by the same token
were licensed out by the Jesuits to Opus Dei, who filter the
recruitment of ex-priests, ex-nuns and other seconds, thirds and
fourths, down the line of the hierarchy. Entry to an Irish university
should read: ‘Abandon hope all ye who enter here.’
Sean: Aside from these more superficial differences in respect of
the application of sociology – or any particular brand of it to Irish
life – is there not a much more fundamental difference to be perceived
in its resistance in Ireland? Isn’t it more important to highlight its
absence in the warp and weft of Irish life than to try and delineate
how this and that sociologist’s thought effects Irish development?
Seamus: This is true – but absences are hard to point to. It’s
like trying to recall an experience that you are not conscious of. The
modern developments of the industrial revolution, which Durkheim and
Marx addressed, do not appear to be part of Irish society in such
measure that any of their concepts or analyses are directly
applicable. And, while one could compare Northern and Southern Ireland
for a resonance of the Weberian Protestant Ethic, one feels any
such analysis would get bogged down in tribal antagonisms before it
could be developed. This is not a simple way out of the necessity of
such comparisons, but if you remember what it was like before the
Republic got its ‘tiger’ from Europe, most mention of the Protestant Ethic was designed to make a tribal statement that
rarely countenanced the debilitating or class consequences of
progressive Northern industry.
Sean: Let us try to be more specific then -- How is the
Sociologist epistemologically different to that of the other
social scientists? Does the real difference between the
sociologist and others rest in the method or in the subject matter
employed by the Sociologist? And is it not these differences that
highlight the influence the discipline has – or ought to have – on
Irish society?
Seamus: How one thinks (as between lawyer, economist, philosopher
or sociologist) is every bit as defining as the nature of the concerns
of these respective disciplines. Between the traditional manner of
thinking of the lawyer and the sociologist there is hardly a meeting
point, especially if we remain with practical matters. The sociologist
doesn’t particularly want to know about this case or that – unless, of
course, it is such a one that stands so central to so many social
concerns that it cannot be denied as an object of great sociological
merit from the outset.
Sean: Like the trial of Socrates?
Seamus: Exactly, or the trial of Oscar Wilde, the Piggott
Forgeries in the Parnell case, the case of Roger Casement, etc., etc.
Or, today, for the younger folk, the trial of Michael Jackson, their
idol. His trial for them is one of enormous import. It has to do with
the nature of trust and betrayal – not in the ordinary or Treasonous
way, but -- by way of affection. Perhaps a bit likes the trial of
Socrates also. I know there is no comparison between Socrates and
Michael Jackson, but I only know it in the Biblical way of academia. I
do not know it otherwise. As a matter of fact the control or
responsibility over the ‘beloved following’, the ‘adoring flock’, is
not just Socratic, but resonates in the contempt for parents in the
‘60s, the establishment’s fear of Elvis and the Beatles, especially
John Lennon, and the special position of the RC church world wide, not
just in the confessional but in education and amongst children
generally. These other trials, easily distinguishable from the trial
of Socrates, are nevertheless cases in point: and to some extent they
have more than a tinge of Victoriana about them which keeps them in a
kind of category of their own, and not just because they have to do
with Ireland. At a later date we have Tropic of Cancer, Tropic of Capricorn, and a host of criminal as well as civil
cases, which mark out this or that domain as typical. It isn’t just
these cases, which, because of their public hype, cannot fail to
become causes celebre. I was thinking of the historical meaning of the fourteenth century case of Alice Kyteler (See
Webpage 2.c. Alice, the Irish Witch), the social and sociological
implications of which to my mind have never been examined. Or a ton of
nineteenth century – or any-century cases. Or, indeed, the case of the
last hanging of a woman in Ireland, that of Mary Daly, of Doonane in
1903. Here we have the Holy Family on trial (See Webpage 10.1 Last of
the Betagii). While the criminologist has a more particular concern
for these matters – most of which are better left to a crime reporter
– the sociologist of law is more at home if he has wider and deeper
fish to fry. It is just that having referred to these matters, we need
to retract from the diversion you have created by the mention of ‘the
trial of Socrates’. The sociologist is more concerned to know how
criminal and civil law originated, how is the law administered. Much
of Rawls’ concerns with ‘distributive justice’ would be of
sociological concern. How do the incidences of criminal and civil law
compare and contrast with each other over Irish time? How do they
compare internationally? And what is a civilising function? In other
words, what is the meaning of the criminal/civil ratio? The
criminologist is, of course, a sociologist with an interest in
criminal matters – what is made criminal and what is not? Who is
punished, and who is not? And what does it mean that if you are a
Northern Terrorist you can sign up to an agreement (the NI Agreement)
and walk away from murder? What kind of a society condones such things
while, at the same time, punishing people for making love in public?
What kind of a society is it that pays compensation for paedophiles
that are amongst the richest and most privileged and the most powerful
people in the world? What kind of a Criminal Justice System do they
think they have? If I say to you that you can get off with murder in
Ireland – all you need is to be a member of a political party. How
would you feel? Maybe we should stop asking what kind of a society
Ireland North and south is – or is – and asks more pertinently, at
what stage of civilisation
Sean: Two things. Your concern with linear thinking is not just
confined to the lawyer, or even the psychologist or the priest, but to
anyone who does not think sociologically. Secondly, for the most part
you consider history, sociology and culture in terms of an Irish
historical personality, don’t you?
Seamus: Taking the second point first, when we speak of the
creation of an Irish historical personality; I feel it must be in
terms of Anglo- America that we think. And when we speak of Sociology
and Irish law, they as disciplines must be in terms of that
personality. In this respect, then, our first concern should be with
what C. Wright Mills has called the Sociological Imagination.
We might bear it in mind that a Sociological Imagination is not
simply God’s gift to sociologists. Far from it: philosophers,
economists, psychologists, novelists and house painters may also be
blessed with it. But in general it is best understood as a discipline
and distinct from those other disciplines whose domains differ from
the domain of sociology.
Sean: Even the philosopher?
Seamus: It is true that the philosopher, who perhaps because of
the richness and historical content of philosophy, is more apt to
embrace sociological concerns than those who think linearly. But this
does not necessarily mean that he thinks sociologically. Having said
that, however, it is quite apparent that had sociology not solved some
outstanding matters of a philosophic nature, the discipline would be
much less attractive or convincing. Again, it is up to the philosopher
to speak for himself. Remember, most clergymen study philosophy for
considerable periods, but this does not make them either philosophers
or creative thinkers. It makes them priests and sometimes theologians.
In some respects Aquinas (and, to a lesser extent, Aristotle) have
nothing of a sociological dimension about them? The problem with
thinkers in the biblical tradition is that they deny any primacy to
history. They prefer biblically fixed reflective man to that of the
historically reflective man. As you can see, Aquinas and even Dante --
a faithful recorder of the scientific notions of his day -- are both a
long way removed from Darwin, from Marx and from sociology. Nor am I
saying that either Darwin or Marx is a sociologist. Both to my mind,
being special, stand outside the sociological conspectus.
Sean: Can a theologian think sociologically?
Seamus: Of course he can – in the same way as you or I can think
mathematically as we walk down the street, wondering how to measure
the height of this house, that gable end or that church, from facts
and angles measured and calculable by us without the use of a ladder.
And if we have accustomed our minds to thinking in this mathematical
way, then, with some training and industry, we will over time become
mathematicians. Bearing the Kantian distinction (between synthetic and analytic knowledge) in mind, sociologists become
sociologists in much the same way: and it is unquestionably preferable
if the apprentice has a natural proclivity in the direction of his
chosen avocation, or – what is much the same thing – if he is
convinced that he has. It is on this point that C. Wright Mills speaks
of the 24-hour sociologist as contrasted with part-time or
professional others. One has to admit that there are such persons,
people like Socrates, Bernard Shaw and Beethoven, who, where the
pursuit of knowledge is concerned, are not perturbed in the slightest
by the downpour of the Athenian rain, or the late hour in which a book must be read, or the unperturbed fascination and formulation of
musical shapes and sounds, keys and cadences, eve before one note is
committed to paper. These are all 24-hour-a-day men.
Sean: Convincing as this argument is, isn’t there something
missing? Isn’t it somewhat absurd to think that while most
sociologists are atheists – the founding fathers at any rate -- our
sociological departments are all in the hands of orthodox theologians,
Jesuits in fact, who are hardly in the habit of thinking
sociologically, are they -- whether they do so 24 hours a day or not?
Seamus: Well, I’m already on record for calling them Holy Roman
spies, so you’re question is somewhat misguided, except for this.
Obviously there are people in this country who think that theologians
are sociologists or can be competent ones. I do not. There was a time
when they even convinced themselves (or the public, more like) that
they were Marxists – and not just in Cuba! If we consider the end of
theological thinking and the end of sociological thinking, we can see
the error in such thinking. Remember it wasn’t until quite recently
that men discovered “ that the best study of mankind is man”. In the
sociologist’s case, it is social man, or society. In the hands of the
theologians, the best study of mankind is and ever will be God. These
two quite separate and different orientations create a great social
gap – a gap that has been remedied elsewhere by civil and secular
society at large, but which has been crippled in its development here
by the religious. (Most of this argument is apparent from webpage 2.
History/Anthropology) In antiquity the Greeks were concerned largely
with Mathematics, in the middle Ages the focus turned to Theology, and
in our time it looks to Sociology and the related social sciences. The
RC church had its heyday in the middle ages, but unfortunately
continues where it can get a foothold and, indeed, impairs development
wherever it can. In Ireland it is – and has been for far too long --
firmly in areas in which it is totally incompetent and has remained in
usurpation with impunity and without any resistance – childcare is but
one of such areas. The Bible was the blueprint for Christian
knowledge, and you know how scientific (and productive of material
things) that made the Irish! In effect we couldn’t scratch to keep
ourselves warm. But prayer? Did we pray! We must have prayed for
upwards of fifteen hundred years without changing either our minds or
the tune we prayed in. And to what avail? Just to make some barren
Roman celibates monstrously wealthy in the world at large! Generations
of old, young and gaunt, have long since gang-aft-agley into the
earth… for what? On one level, and even to the present day, the
Catholic mind cannot come to terms with science; it finds science
(apart from a Timony Tank) anathema; and: getting Opus Dei into
all the Technological Colleges is as near to science as the faltering
if grasping medieval mind can come. Fetishistically owning the
technological colleges for the Opus and CORI is at one
level as near to science as the Holy Roman mind can come. By stuffing
the place with ex-priests and ex-nuns into the most responsible
academic lacunae, frustrates any sense of secular society, but it also
frustrates any hope of progress. And remember, in the Irish case,
apart from the imports (Jackie Charleton again), we are talking about
mere technology – never science. At another level, our distance from
Sellafield is as near as we physically get to what science can do for
good and ill: and, by the same token, we are fetishistically not one
bit apprehensive of it. Why? Because, in our holiness (and infernal
simplicity), we do not understand science. I do not want to go back to
the example of Galileo to fix the Irish quandary with religion and
science. Suffice it to say what is known to any Irish sociologist who
is in the least speculative and in the least honest and in the least
concerned is that the Catholic mind’s reaction to science is totally
reactionary and since the time of Galileo has remained that way in
Ireland ever since.
Sean: Maybe we’re not that great at science, but how is it
possible that a theologian cannot think sociologically. For years the
Jesuits have been calling themselves sociologists. Indeed, there is –
or was – hardly a college in the country where they did not set up
camp and control the social sciences through all those Sociologists
SJ.
Seamus: Precisely!
Sean: Precisely what? Are they not as qualified as anyone else to
know and impart sociological insights?
Seamus: No.
Sean: Why not? Is it because they are celibate -- because they
have no experience of woman, or the world of family life through
woman? Is that the reason?
Seamus: I don’t think you should set the intimate experience of
woman at nought; it is not to be underestimated, even as an
epistemological means of communication. And when compared with
celibacy, it is to be positively asserted --- for the first time, let
me add, since the burning of Adam Dubh O Tuathaill by the gangs of
Holy Romans, which is a thousand years ago. Did you ever hear anyone
in Irish life actually exhort the wonders of sex? Ever? I’m over sixty
and I never heard anyone in public life actually say ‘I love sex with
a woman’. It’s beyond the Catholic lexicon. So, can I join my most
pagan forebears and reiterate the glory of simple sex and the horror
of celibates and other self-castrati.
Sean: I’m sure these are important original observations you make,
and that you suitably delight in them; but could we get back to the
business at hand? Why do you say Theologians are unqualified to be
Sociologists and own a private department of their own in all our
would-be universities?
Seamus: No; but in itself it is a very good reason for claiming
that they are inadequate and possibly unhealthy as well. And if not
unhealthy, at least they are biased – and must be so in their
judgements. Moreover, they make very bad role models for young healthy
Irish men. They are secretive, mischievous, celibate, un-forthcoming,
political, manipulative, solitary and misogynist. Imagine being
celibate, as a young man in your twenties? Then celibate again as a
young man throughout your thirties. Year after year you forego the
natural bent of your mind and body. It’s absolutely vile. And then
throughout every year of your forties, you remain celibate, probably
sporting a cilice or flagellating yourself and others to keep
away the desire to consummate the common clay out of which we are all
made. And there you stand, defiant to the end, with your prick in your
hand, whistling at the wind and making your mind take turns it never
dreamed of … And then, more of the same throughout your fifties, your
sixties and until life’s fearful fret is finished…. Don’t tell me such
a man is healthy. Don’t tell me such a man is the captain of your
ship, the light of your universities, the father of your nation.
Please don’t try to inspire me with the utter nonsense of the Holy
Roman Imperial project. Like Ossian, Adam Dubh O Tuathail, Joyce, Edna
O’Brien, Dermot Morgan, I cannot abide the bullshit! I am much too
pagan to embroider these endless nonsensical snares of the
Mediterranean myth. It is unfortunate that they have been introduced
so universally into Irish life, such that the social sciences cannot
breathe. No wonder the suicide rate is so high among young men, if
these are their role models!
Sean: Ok, Ok. I am just trying to figure out why you say that a
Theologian who masquerades as a Sociologist is a fraud –
Seamus: Not only that, but he must needs convert everything he
touches into a shelter, a hiding place for himself, wherein he can
practise his mental gymnastics on an unsuspecting and uncritical
subject. However shameful it may be to exclude what I would consider
as a ‘proper regard’, either spiritually or sexually, for the other
half of the human race – and claim to have universal truths – it is
not the main trust of my argument. As I have said the theologian has
no questions to ask of the world the answers to which he does not
already know. He knows all about how it is made. His job is
essentially one of propaganda, that is, of spreading the truth about the Gospels and the Bible. His greatest enemy is the philosopher
(Kant, Nietzsche, Voltaire, and the Sociologists) as well as the
scientists (like Darwin and Marx). These are his enemies for the basic
reason that they question what the theologian believes he and the
Bible has already answered with certainty. For the theologian God and
God alone made the world. Moreover, God is the sovereign Lord of
Heaven and Earth and of all things, including the holocaust, the
Tsunami disaster, and the aids epidemic. Moslems have a God as well,
but they have the wrong God, so those who know true truth about God,
the real God, the Christian God, must penetrate East Timor and
elsewhere. Moreover, only the communities with the Christian God are
allowed to have and to use weapons of mass destruction. Their job
then, even as defined by their Church, is one of propaganda, and when
– as with the Jesuits, for example – they happen to think for
themselves and disagree with the Order, then they are expelled. In
this very real sense individual men who are Jesuits (Sociologists SJ)
are not free to hold this or that conviction; they are essentially
members of a body which already believes in a set store of knowledge
and their receipt and agreement with such knowledge, coupled with
their oath of obedience, is a sine qua non of their membership
of that Order And when they disagree, then they have to leave. It’s as
simple and as savage as that. They are, rather, repulsed from the body
of the Order, as heretics or other forms of banished rejects.
These days, due more or less to the laws provided by secular
humanists, more conciliatory pursuits are provided and ex-religious
are fixed up in reasonably respectable but not too noticeably central
jobs – maybe as Teachers in colleges like DIT, UCD, UCC and even TCD.
It is here that the Opus and CORI spring into action. These days they
are all over the place in Ireland, especially within the Civil
Servants, the Dail and Seanad, the Bar Library, and other
places close to and oscillating under the long shadow that is cast
between the poles of power enjoyed by Pope and Prince, by Bishop and
Minister, by Episcopal and Parliamentary secretaries. Rarely do they
leave to become sociologists, simply because such prominent (and in
the eyes of both the hierarchy and, ipso facto, the Minister for
Education, dangerous) pedagogic positions are reserved for the
orthodox theologians, such as the Jesuits and the like. The free
confederacy of open minds is, therefore, anathema to the Irish mind
and is nowhere present in any Irish ‘university’. But if, for
argument’s sake an ex-religious did become a sociologist, a necessary
adjustment in his thinking would be required. Now they would have to
accept --a bit like Galileo – that God is not the centre of the
universe -- but rather that society is. In other words, the
sociologist is concerned to enquire into a domain of knowledge, which
asserts that reality is primarily sociocentric, whereas the theologian
is dogmatically concerned with spreading his received knowledge about
the certainty of a Theo-centric world. The one is quite contrary and
for most upright purposes irreconcilable and mutually exclusive.
Sean: I see the distinctions you are making -- a socio-centred
world is quite apposite a God-centred world in ways that cannot be
denied by mere words or descriptions. If I believe in a supernatural
force – much less a supernatural personal God – I cannot explain
phenomena, social or personal, in terms of such a supernatural force
as well as in social terms, for both not only contradict each other,
but conflict with each other with respect to the manner one ought to
proceed in one’s enquires as well as the type of solution one seeks to
arrive at. I know what you are saying and I cannot fault it. I just
think it needs enormous embroidery to sell to the ordinary man.
Remember the common man has had the pulpit in his ears time out of
mind. He cannot hear new things and he certainly hasn’t the time to
think for himself. The most one can say about Ireland is that because
class has never been realised, the common man is equidistant from the
pulpit as are the more privileged stratified groups. And while this
has a false equality about it, in that being equidistant means simply
that – it does not mean that the message is elevated to the higher
order of class-consciousness or those materialist concerns that define
class-content. On the contrary, the message is pre-capitalist and, by
definition, more primitive. When class dawns and class-consciousness
follows, the equi-distances of the church gives way to further aisles
and absences, to hardening interests, secret societies gathered
outside the church and removed to the sacristy and other venues set by
the Bishops, the Army and the King, if there is one. But while the
distances between the classes grows, the subject matter of their
concerns becomes more materialistic and more real, such that the equi-distance
of a former religious age – as the Irish still experience in their
parishes – is seen and known and acknowledge in a body of thought and
consciousness that knows it to be more simple and primitive – a state
in which they, the unprivileged groups, see themselves as exploited,
as against the privileged groups gathered around the polarities of
power who enjoy the spoils , sacred spoils, of their exploitations.
Which makes one think, sometimes, that established truth is not more
than the beefed up repetition of eternal lies by those who have the
wherewithal to repeat and repeat and repeat the same old dead Biblical
arguments. By the way, what do you mean by ‘upright purposes’?
Seamus: Like any good common-law or cannon-law lawyer, one knows
one can twist and turn anything into its Protean opposite very easily,
and the clergy are gifted in this cannon-law tradition of twisting
things as they please. They are so adept, indeed, that I am sure there
will be a body that will convince themselves that God and Society are
-- and always have been -- one and the same thing, and that the Bible
actually confirms it. Certainly the Irish clergy can say and get away
with anything – and I think I know how and why they can do it. Some of
them, despite the defectors at Uxbridge, even claimed Marx for the
Christian cause, and they have bandied Joyce about as well. To my mind
none of it is upright or authentic.
Sean: I don’t like being sidetracked but I have to hear why it is
that you think you know why people – especially the clergy – can say
anything in Ireland and get away with it?
Seamus: It’s a question of time?
Sean: This should be good! What on earth has time got to do with
it?
Seamus: Interesting that you should say ‘what on earth?’ The words
themselves have a time dimension to them and while the original
meaning of the expression I can’t immediately fathom, I bet it has
something to do with ‘What on Earth – and not in Heaven’ or ‘What on
Earth –and not in Hell, in Space, in Other Time’ or something to that
effect.
Sean: This gets better! You’re pulling my other leg now, aren’t
you?
Seamus: No. Heidegger (and Wittgenstein) had this idea about the
absolute origin of words and the irreplaceable notions that then
attach to them. From this we know the obvious fact that time enters
our behaviour as judgment, in that whether we are totally conscious of
it or not, we know mortality in the various degrees to which age
affects us. The child doesn’t really care about his parents. If you
take a two- or a ten-year-old, give him plenty of ice cream and make
their lives as comfortable as they were, they are apt to assume you as
their parents and not so gradually accept you as such. The life force
in the young is really strong and focuses forth, as if there is no
death or mortality in sight. Children in this sense also move between
rooms; they never quite move between countries. So, you see, one has
to be adult, educated and refined to suffer the real sense of loss
when someone close to us dies. A child is immune from this. It is only
the more humanised adults – those who feel what has gone behind and
what is in store -- who feel the full brunt of mortality. So, too, to
confront another culture can be a trial and an ordeal for cultured
adults. Children just move their toys and their dollies into the next
room and are really enamoured at their new environment – not totally
or forever, but in general!
Sean: What on earth has that to do with an explanation of why
people in Ireland can say the most outlandish things with impunity?
Seamus: Because the Christian religion is the dominant mode of
thought in the Republic of Ireland (and Northern Ireland as well),
there is a this-world/next-world polarity always at work. And since
the next world is valued sometimes moreso than this world, those who
share the same or a similar this-world/next-world syndrome can
understand irrational things said about this world with this polarity
of worlds in mind. In this inexplicit way they understand them to be
rational.
Sean: Examples! Examples!
Seamus: During the Great Famine when Irish people were eating
grass to survive, do you know what John O Donnell -- the brother of
the broth-of-a-boy himself -- said ?
Sean: No, what did the brother of the broth-of-a-boy say?
Seamus: He said: “ I am proud to belong to a nation of people who
would rather starve than steal” And not too long ago didn’t our own
wee President say something unusual about Protestants and Nazis, at a
commemoration ceremony of the Nazi Holocaust victims no less. The
difference between both statements is that the first was false
poppycock arising out of religious poppycock, while the other was true
poppycock arising out of being momentarily and not intellectually
moved.
Sean: Elaborate, please. I thought there might be some
truth in her statement, but it was otiose to compare Northern
Protestants with Nazis.
Seamus: Well, which is the more otiose, her comparison of Northern
Protestants with the Nazis, or her ignorance of the part played by the
Catholic church in the Holocaust and after – despite the number of
Catholics who were also sacrificed, as in Dachau! She seems to be
unaware of the fascist origins in Franco’s Spain and the treacherous
role of the Spanish Catholic Church in bringing back their pit-bull
general to sort out the anarchists. Trust the RC church to betray the
people! Moreover, President McAleese seems singularly unaware of the
measures taken by the RC church to repatriate the Third Reichers.
Something else: it is curious that no one so far as I am aware has
mentioned anything about the Catholic church in Austria. Under some
misleading sense of sanitation, a crowd called ‘Juventum’ – or some
such name – went out during the 30s and 40s and took the children off
the gypsies on ‘moral’ grounds – in very much the same way as the
Nazis – and refused into the seventies to allow the children to know
or contact their parents. And if it hadn’t been for the revelations
made by Stern, who eventually took up the case of the Austrian
gypsies, we would never have known of this. I remember a full
television programme about it and the shocking similarity in Catholic
attitudes at the time to those of Nazi Germany. It was only after a
great struggle with the Catholic authorities that Stern Magazine broke
the obdurate back of Catholic resistance to releasing any identifying
papers for these children – then adults. What business the Catholic
Church had in treating people so callously is only part of the picture
of its imperialist and immoral mission. It’s a pity Mrs McAleese had
not seen this account of the Catholic church in Austria before she
condemned our -- and her --Northern Protestant liberators!
Sean: I expect that it must have been quite painful for the
Protestant Northerner, to have to hear that from a Roman Catholic
(from the North, but come South to seek her Buttiglione fortune)
– the black Protestants who opened their veins and let their blood
like run like water -- to keep us speaking Latin rather than German!
Seamus: The Holy Roman mind is something else! Personally I think
she was just moved, made a mess of what she wanted to say, and then
compounded it by standing firm, then capitulating like a
deck-of-cards. But none of this was as bad as her ignorance of the
role of the Christian conquest in the Holocaust. There used to be a
running argument in the New Statesman concerning the Christian nature
of the Holocaust. I don’t think anyone in the end had any doubts of it
s Christian – almost Witchcraft and heretic origins. And that’s what
makes Mary McAleese’s statements so hurtful. You see, being Irish she
has no history; they did the same thing to her own race, but she
couldn’t possibly conceive of that…. Buttiglione, Buttiglione,
Buttiglione… It is the Southern Catholic that should be more offended
by Mary McAleese than the Northern Protestant….
Sean: I want to go back to our argument. On the one hand you say
that sociology is no more than the work of a good detective with a
historical nose and a modern sense of social morals. But you exclude
Theologians from the sociological imagination; you also dismiss
lawyers, economists and psychologists. How can you do that?
Seamus: Caution. I do not dismiss them entirely. It really depends
upon how they approach their discipline. Put simply, a group of
children come into the room and each has the same toy tractor under
his armpit. You ask the first one: ‘What is it you have there?’ Child
1 replies. “ It is a Christmas toy made of 2 part tin, three parts
clay, one part copper, etc., etc.” Child 2 replied to the same
question: ‘It is a toy gift which my father purchased for money or for
money’s worth, the same he alienated to me by way of gift on the
occasion of my birthday.’ Child 3 replied: ‘it is the gift I have
always wanted; because when I grow up I am going to be a farmer, like
my grandfather. And I have stopped bed-wetting since I received the
tractor.’ Child 4 replied: ‘it is a toy tractor that my parents gave
me for my birthday. They gave it to me to encourage the circulation of
money in our little economy’ Child 5 replied: ‘ It is a gift from
God’. Child 6 replied: ‘It is the gift that made me and my parents so
happy that now I am going to have a sister.’ Child 7 replied: ‘ It is
an imaginary toy representing a gift that is used to frame a fictional
question in order to demonstrate some moral or other for your friend,
Sean.’ Now, which of these 7 children, do you think, answered the
question?
Sean: Obviously, they all answered.
Seamus: But which of them answered exhaustively, such that when he
answered there were no further questions that one could ask him
regarding his tractor?
Sean: None answered exhaustively, if, indeed, there is such a
thing, except in Hegelian logic. Children 1 to 5 respectively answered
as one might expect a natural scientist, a lawyer, a psychologist, an
economist, and a theologian to answer. Child 6 is remarkably
precocious and must be the sociologist.
Seamus: Why?
Sean: Because he answers in terms of his society. Being a child,
his society is predominantly Mom, Dad, him and his new sister. But the
last child, child 7 has me stumped. Who or what is he meant to
represent?
Seamus: Child 7 is unusually precocious. He gave us an answer
that was not so much the truest answer – for they all answered
truthfullybut he did answer more circumspectly, more conscious of what
he was being asked as well as who and why he was being questioned. He
was in a word more philosophic because he not only thought like the
others about giving an answer to the question but, unlike the others,
he was reflective of what it was he was doing when he was answering.
It wasn’t enough for him to answer the question in the ordinary way,
but he was reflective of the activity that surrounded it. Child 7 is a
philosopher.
Sean: I see what you mean. At least when compared with the
other answers, we can distinguish quite clearly between them. And
as, I am sure, you intended, each child answers in terms of a
scientific discipline.
Seamus: Precisely. But none of them answer for sociology, except
child 6 and he did so with reference to a child’s society, that is,
his family. We could also have child 8 answering in terms of all the
foregoing answers, with one exception. Child 8 could add all the other
answers together in an all inclusive way and to some extent this is
open to children 6 and 7 to do likewise, but children 6 and 7 cannot
at a real level incorporate the answer of child 5. It will also be
observed that Child 5, the theologian, can, of course, incorporate all
the other answers, but as we demonstrate hereafter, he cannot
conceptually or really acknowledge the supremacy both of society and
God at the same time. He must chose to be either a sociologist or a
theologian, but not both at the same time – as most Irish theologians
do. And they do it because the can do it. They have made sure that
there is no Pulpit, academy, school, or social space, left for anybody
else to contradict them. Two further points arise: 1. If we rank
ordered these disciplines not so much in terms of their excluding
logics as their widening and more inclusive capacity of
conceptualisation, we would find that Child 5, the theologian had the
widest concept -- not the most sensuous concept, as in some Hegelian
logic, but the widest or most inclusive. This is so because, if we do
not organise ‘God’ into an organised religious way, we have a holdall
for ‘everything-and-nothing.’ Every organisation of this concept ‘
God’ is a lie and an appropriation, not least because we all know, do
we not, that there can be no ‘God’ separable from the concept of
‘God’? For sociology, then, there is no ‘God’, only the concept of
‘God’. 2. Sociology is not an organisation of God, but an explanation
of Him in philosophic, historical and social terms. Finally, Sean, let
me ask you a question.
Sean: Certainly.
Seamus: What should we call Child 9 who replies: ‘This tractor is
a toy given to me by Santa Claus.
Sean: You are, of course, talking for every child in
Christendom. Indeed, you might be talking about Christendom.
Seamus: What’s your answer?
Sean: There is only one answer: he’s a liar!
Seamus: There is an alternative.
Sean: What?
Seamus: He is a child.
Sean: Meaning?
Seamus: He is a child. He is the receptive vessel of received
wisdoms – as in education --, some of which are simply downright lies.
Sean: Now that I know what you mean by the sociological
imagination, could we get back to the application of sociology to
Irish crime. Although what you say has great reason to it, I still
need to know in what measure a lawyer or a priest or a psychologist is
wrong in their habitual accounts of crime?
Seamus: If we talk about this crime, this murder, this rape,
everyone can have a justified opinion, the lawyer as to the legalities
involved and the requirements of a State prosecution, etc; the priest
as to the immorality of the act and consequences; the psychologist as
to the psychic trauma and, indeed, as to the makeup of the perpetrator
as well as the effects upon the victim. We can see this kind of
rationale quite clearly. Mind you, even at this discrete level of
crime, the respective foci can be accommodated, but they still remain
within their own domains. So whatever explanation of crime is
anticipated from such discrete disciplinary accounts, they still
remain somewhat impoverished. That’s why over the past thirty years
there has been a cry for multiple-disciplinarity in criminology. Put
another way, none of these disciplines can individually explain this
crime or that, and if they could they certainly cannot explain an
infinitely more complex phenomena dealing with crime rates, mortality rates, marriage rates, etc. in terms of either
religion, psychology, law or economics (although economics or
political economy would be closest). A rate is something quite
different from the incidents of which they are made, and if these
disciplines could explain them, then there would be no need for
sociology, or an explanation in terms of all of these things
synchronised intelligently. A crime rate is not amenable to personal
or an individual explanation. And where it is, you can rest assured
that you are not seriously coming to terms with the subject matter.
Moreover, where, as in Ireland, the religious influence is
overwhelming, one can appreciate the overall antagonism against any
form of social science. Organised religion is a narcissistic flower
and will, ever and always, protect itself by attracting only itself or
similar types to its court. Moreover, organised religion or its allies
shall never explain social phenomena – poverty, suicide, violence,
Northern Ireland, marriage, divorce, etc –in terms of social phenomena
and, therefore, are themselves more at one with the problem than with
any possible solution. Why economics is less inimical to criminology
than the other social sciences is because of its dexterity in dealing
otherwise with social phenomena. Moreover, economists, unlike the
general run of lawyers and priests, are numerate and anticipate a
quantitative and action-orientated reality. There is also the fact
that economics -- especially macroeconomics -- is for all intents and
purposes sociological in character. As a matter of fact, it is a poor
sociologist who has not studied economics, although the reverse is not
invariably true.
Sean: Yes, I can see where we are going a little clearer now. But
the differences need to be lead out, don’t they?
Seamus: Yes, and even then they are not total or complete. It is
sufficient to understand, I think, that the psychoanalyst, is
primarily concerned to restore the patient’s psyche back to health,
or, in any event, to have him liberate himself from the infantile or
experiential blockages that cause the instant pathology. He is not
concerned with rates of psychological pathology – at least not
generally or professionally. And if you are a lawyer, you are equally
involved with the proof of guilt against this defendant. Of
course you may have much more to say, but you will not ordinarily be
able to explain a crime rate or a suicide rate by
reference to either some defendant’s guilt or some patient’s
pathology. Another dimension is required, and that all depends upon
the person involved. So with all social phenomena, as distinct from
personal phenomena or personal thoughts of social phenomena – like the
suicide rate, crime rates, and the like – they can’t be explained with
reference merely to my psychological concerns. The discipline of
examining social phenomena arises, as you have said, out of the
customary and habitual practices of the discipline of sociology.
Neither would it be necessary or sufficient if the theologian
explained soccer mania with reference to the Bible or to God. Such an
explanation would, of course, be necessary and sufficient for him as
theologian, he being a believer.
Sean: I see where you are going. You are back again where you
were: social phenomena, or sociological phenomena, ought to be
explained in terms of social phenomena?
Seamus: Yes.
Sean: And that’s why sociologists are required in the
universities. It is your concern also to affirm the poverty of Irish
colleges because of the inordinate control religious groups has on
curricula, appointments, and on successive Ministers for Justice,
Education, etc?
Seamus: Yes. Far too often the RC church exhibits a terrible
ignorance – sometimes an insufferable if strategic obscurantism -- in
the main areas of enquiry and an unspeakable negligence in the areas
of social engineering, that is, the areas in which government ought
actually to govern. We are all too painfully aware of the Reformatory
and Industrial schools, but few if any are aware of the ordinary
schools and the church’s accepted face of universal brutality. If you
forget about aids/contraceptives in Uganda, and nearer home take the
general topic of ‘ crime in Limerick’. It is as if the ‘departments of
criminology/sociology’ are as utterly useless and silent here as they
were with Church and State corruption. They are so phlegmatic, so
uncritical, so uninformed, so uninvolved, so foreign, so privileged,
so ‘academic’, so paralysed, and so-so empty!
Sean: They really annoy you!
Seamus: Yes; they do; they are so smug and at the same time so
indifferent or ignorant – I’m not sure which? They wallow in the pious
prickery of Irish academia. Anyone who knows anything about Limerick
will know of the disproportionate distribution of wealth as between
the old ‘working class’ areas (depicted a little by Angela’s Ashes,
but well known to the police and criminal lawyers) and the new
bourgeoning Irish (and imported) ‘middle class’. The gap between
tribal Ireland (the Cathedral) and the nouveau riche (the
Castle) may be a new gap, but it is not the criminal gap. The real gap
lies still between the guy standing up with a crucifix and the guy
kneeling before him. No social mobility can exist here; it is a
medieval relationship. Between the allpowerful priest and the all
enslaved penitent there is no movement because there is nothing by way
of a social ladder or the division of labour between them. This is the
awful medieval gap in modern Limerick. Crime is its statement – a
statement concerning the gap, their place in the universe, not just
the universally corrupt Irish universe, but the Bertie/Blair/Bush
universe as well. But to use the contorted language of the time, even
if we accept something that approximates a Limerick middle class,
there is no middle class like it, simply because it is never
quite makes the grade as a middle class. There is just poor and
enormously rich, powerless and enormously powerful: that’s all: and
both are recently self-realised in a most remarkably confrontational
Angela’s-Ashes’- way. We just use the phrase middle class or bourgeoisie to give it a European reference. But even this is to
be grande in ways that Limerick isn’t Grande. But it would be
wrong to skirt any outward analysis of Limerick’s crime problem
without understanding the role of religious ignorance in a secular
society (or a society pretending to be secular) as well as the
expression of all these frustrations in the modern felt need for
drugs. The personal need for drugs in Limerick, on the estates, is
tremendous. The ostensible headline-catching crime occurs in the
management of the felt need for drugs and the geography of that need.
It is built upon the city’s plan for the poor and unemployed of the
city. The newly enriched of Limerick are not really organically part
of the society of Limerick. I don’t think Limerick is a ‘society’.
Like the rest of Ireland, it approximates the horde as much as the
herd, and the Church, which is its total base, is an aristocratic
throwback trying still to look mendicant. But for the purposes of
argument (for we can find no terms suitable to describe Limerick
accurately. No dictionary of the social sciences can describe that
stratification (or ‘class’) that has occurred so late in the twentieth
century. And even if we call it the sudden growth of the middle class,
with an immediate conscious response on the part of the otherwise
working class, we have to concede that there is no middle class so raw
as that which is newly hatched, hatching, and to come… Yet, given
these circumstances, any notion of sociological analysis is reserved
to the most inexpert, usually to irate judges, anxious lawyers,
penitential priests, partial reporters, silent and ignorant
criminologists appointed by the Opus, and a department of Justice,
etc., whose view of the Criminal Justice System is so abstract, (we
have it in book-form), that it satisfies every thing that an Irish
leprechaun could wish for. I think the department of Justice is an
extension of the Bishop’s house and that has never recovered from the
days of Berry-Berry. I think they’re all gentlemen there: a new breed
of old saints who want to be scholars, or is it the other way around!
Sean: You’re saying they could surely have done something about
Limerick – maybe with a pinch of the money they spend on being nouveau riche.
Seamus: In the social sciences, money is neither a problem nor an
issue – save in so far as it determines the basic class unfairness
that the Irish are inevitably, unalterably, and uncontrollably
experiencing. Class, in the climate of Anglo-America, has to realise
itself in Ireland! Otherwise, we will be talking medieval nonsense for
another fifteen hundred years, while our offspring do themselves to
death. And even if it is unbearably, hideously, ugly, petty, and
puisne, it is the central theme of Irish life right now. In that
sense, of course money is important. But otherwise, that is, as we
address what this petty and puisne class could be doing while they are
working towards their new middle-class status, is deflating and
removing the social tensions in Limerick. And if they can for a moment
get the primitive church and its ridiculous and obscurantist views off
their back, they can come up with a million ways of relieving that
tension. Then Limerick can begin on a history of its own; there may
even be Irish talk between Irish men that does not come censored the
way of the pulpit or any other Roman way, the way Biddie Early existed, the way Mackay and Ringy hurled – directly,
paganly, humanly, action-orientedly towards the society that is
in pain. Limerick belongs to someone, but apart from the priests, who
now run in silence after the mess they created in Hospitals, Schools,
Parliament, etc., I don’t think anyone knows who that someone is. The
young are seizing and emptying the vacuum, and the lacuna created in
1603, since the Parish Priests took the place of the native chieftains
has come back to haunt Limerick. I cannot imagine the middle ground
the Cathedral and the hovelled streets. There are no Limerick men who
act as a role model for either the people or the county. Priests have
been doing it for ages, at their own behest, because they have driven
everyone else away, and they are essentially misleading and
inauthentic. So, who else is there, who identifies with Limerick men,
Limerick history, Limerick in the raw and in the splendid, and is not
at the same time a newly made up keep-a-way-from-me millionaire lawyer
or inauthentic Priest?
Sean: Whom do you suggest one can read on these matters?
Seamus: What a wonderfully primitive suggestion. It should be
followed by: Is there anyone Irish who understands anything Irish? If
we had authors of our own, then we wouldn’t have the obsolete church
we have. Nor would we be in the mess we are in. Nor would you be
asking for someone to read. We, as ever, are in uncharted waters, and
the church-made paddles we have are as useless as the deadwood they
are made of.
Sean: But how is Limerick different than elsewhere?
Seamus: Only at the margins, and in matters of focus and emphasis.
Otherwise it is no different that elsewhere in Ireland. It’s just that
in asking that question, there is an implicit assumption that
‘elsewhere’ is somehow better or less violent. And that is what is
meant by ‘at the margins’, and ‘matters of focus and emphasis.’ Put it
another way, in Limerick there is nothing that is sacred, no value to
which the people as a whole can point and say: ‘Ah1 Yes! That is off
limits, for we all unanimously agree that that is sacred.’ Now, it may
be a game, like the Munster Final, or a graveyard, or a group of
persons, or Sean-nos singers, or whatever. Such might
constitute a fundamental vale, or set of values that Limerick people
share at the level of the sacred. But there is nothing sacred in
Limerick, neither life nor death nor religion nor money nor authority
nor love nor hate, or anything that we know of. Why? Because there is
nothing sacred amongst the Irish. Our church is rotten, and the
buggers get off because they are Holy our State is rotten and the
robbers get off because no one can catch them. Not all the talking
shops in Dublin can put away one sharp operator. And the whole
ensemble is rotten, because you can even kill the State’s men, and
each Irish government will do a deal. We are not repulsed by the
sacred priest buggering our children – neither are the bishops. If we
were repulsed by that crime, there is no way on this earth that we
would pay for their damages or allow them to bend the criminal justice
system or to go without ‘naming and shaming’; them, no matter how much
catholic criminologists and the department of Justice, etc want it
that way. Neither are we repulsed by murder or capital murder; because
if we were then no one would get off because they merely belonged to a
political party. So, you see, we are not really a society; we are some
kind of horde that has served the Holy Roman Empire, but has never
developed our own garden. We have no discourse with ourselves, either
with Protestants or with Catholics inter se. All Irish
discourse comes through the Pulpit and is necessarily a homily. And
the only dog to bark is Holy Roman. In such circumstances, any
discourse is of necessity secular. And this, under the auspices of the
church, has never been allowed to happen. And even today the Opus is
back in to stop and curtail its development. We not only have nothing
sacred among us, but we cannot freely talk to each other. This isn’t
just Limerick; it is Ireland: and Limerick is just the small place
where we can see it happen most. And the response is every bit as
acculturated as the need for drugs and drug-gangs; it is the response
of the Christian conquest, the priest, the judge, the lawyer, and the
journalist.
Sean: Surely they are not all as barren as you make them out to
be. I know that when you speak of the sciences you really refer to
science as it applies to the Catholic mind, or, more accurately, as
the Catholic mind approaches science. The Protestants have not
problems here, and whether we distinguish between the natural sciences
and the social sciences, the Protestants come up trumps. Moreover,
Protestantism in general has no difficulty with philosophers either.
Consequently, Irish culture for the Protestant mind means something
much richer and more malleable and alive than it does for the
Catholic. Surely the sciences have not passed Catholic Ireland by
completely?
Seamus: But now you bring in a more difficult question. The
Catholic mind, being a-historical and being medieval, has enormous
difficulties with any notion of history. That’s why I said
(exaggeratedly, of course) that the secret of the Irish – meaning the
Irish Catholic – is that we have no history. It is not just the notion of history that is the problem, but also the fact of
history. Those societies who experienced a Renaissance, a Reformation
and an Industrial Revolution didn’t just learn how to produce greater
wealth from an augmented division of labour; they had to evolve
historically to both the appreciation of materialism as well as the
division of labour that facilitated such a development. In these
processes, therefore, we have the development of new personalities;
for generations do not succeed each other as clones, or if they do,
they do not leave the world as clones. Your grandfather, whatever his
and your beliefs, had a personality that is totally different from you
– and not just because of time, but because of the moving parts of
society that neither you can understand for him, nor could he envisage
for you. And you understand your father at the same distance as your
son will understand you, but neither of you will understand the social
circumstances of your lives in the same way. When the Catholic mind,
as a social construct, meets the modern world, it is afraid of
science. And that is partially why Opus Dei went into operation
– but Opus Dei suffers from even greater infirmities than the
regular church in this regard. That’s why they can own the colleges of
technology, own the banks and infiltrate all our institutions; but, in
truth, they merely privatise our public institutions by trying to
govern them with cadres of secret-society incompetents. And this is
precisely the response of the Catholic mind to the natural and social
sciences – ownership and control without accountability or creativity.
Put another way, when the Catholic mind leaves its medieval base, the
most it can envisage by way of ‘freedom’ or ‘development’, is the
exchange of goods and services – and even here it has to relax so many
of its rules and regulations that it can hardly digest the new
circumstances. It is a lot like a primitive communist country that
never quite faces it condign dissolution: so it hangs on to power by
meshing everything in order to slow it down to the requirements of its
own digestive tracts. Unlike communism, it won’t face the music of
destruction and rebirth; it prefers the denial and barrenness of the
a-historical Bible. And even when the countries or societies it
dominates, perforce of necessity, move forward on the ladder of
production, the Catholic mind resists it, and its most secular or
daring parts, when given free rein, can, nevertheless, only abide by
small gradations of change in the direction of the free confederacy of
services. The larger notion of laissez faire capitalism is
still too much to cope with. The Catholic mind is therefore
organically prevented from travelling too far along the line of
consumer or productive freedom. The most it can do is attract to
itself nearby fellow travellers. It can only make pacts with those who
are not too forward or too backward from its contemporaneous position.
It must of necessity attract people to whom it is ethically disposed.
In this sense the Catholic mind can only attract the mediocre mind
after the fashion of The Dermot MacMurrough Syndrome.
Sean: But what then about Irish people who aren’t Catholic or
Protestant?
Seamus: Such persons are still going to have the institutional
problems that the Christian conquest lobbies have created in the work
place, the schools, the civil service, etc. Although these
institutional things don’t go away – you may be an Irish atheist, but
if you listen to RTE, you are still going to hear the Angelus. So,
whether you are free in your own mind or not, does not allow you to
escape the norms and rules and regulations set up by the dominant
religious interests. The only consolation for such people is in their
own knowledge. If they have set themselves free from the dominant
norms, then they are clever enough to acknowledge it, and some, by
being perfectly silent or diplomatic, may even rise to whatever great
social heights there are available in Irish society. So far as I am
aware, however, the Opus wouldn’t be long about tracing their
religious pedigree. So, their diplomacy and tact, if they are
unorthodox, would want to have begun at a rather early age – and
what’s more awful, would have to be sustained as a lie throughout
their entire lives. Who would want advancement at such a price or
under such conditions? On this reasoning, then, we may be assured that
those who have risen in the ranks of Irish society are not atheists
and are genuine believers and, indeed, zealous of the values
cultivated and inculcated by the established church (as).
Sean: But on another level, is there anyone we can look to relieve
us of these awful contrasts? There must be someone we can read, who
can alleviate us of the worst aspects of being Irish? I’m serious.
Seamus: If we have to go foreign, wouldn’t Freud be a start?
Extract from A Description Of The Criminal Justice System, 1950-80
Population and Litigation, 1950-1980
(Extract from Chapter 1 of
7. Crime and Punishment in Twentieth Century Ireland
Volume 2: A Description Of The
Criminal Justice System (CJS),
In general the population within the national
jurisdiction fell from 3.2 million in 1901 to 2.8 million in 1966.
Since then it has tended to increase to 3.4 million in 1981. The total
volume of litigation in the courts per thousand of population has, in
general tended to fluctuate upwards. ( Table
I.I)
More particularly, it can be estimated that cases
contemplating litigation increased from 229,190 in 1936 to 626,297 in
1979, an increase represented an increase per thousand of population
from 77 litigiable cases in 1936 to 186 in 1979. Year 1981 (and 1980)
is somewhat unrepresentative when compared with earlier years and
marks for this period the nadir of litigation in the High Court with
the hitherto unprecedented issuance of almost 32,000 summonses at that
time.
It must be emphasised that Table I.I is not a record of
cases heard annually by the courts; it is rather an estimate of
conflicts arising between citizens inter se and the State, in which a judicial determination of
these conflicts is contemplated.
Courts, Estimates and Jurisdictions.
In general the courts exercise three broad
jurisdictions, namely, the High Court, the Circuit Court and the
District Court. Each of these courts is controlled by appropriate
rules, and each exercises a civil as well as a criminal jurisdiction.
The jurisdiction of the lower courts from the point of view of legal
practice and procedure is quite limited; its numbers are used here
simply because of its numerical preponderance and statistical
convenience.
1. The High Court. The litigation-estimate of High
Court is based upon the number of summonses (Plenary, Summary and
Special) issued for selected years. As such they are a gross
exaggeration of the number of cases actually heard in any given year.
Nevertheless, the hierarchical and proportion-ate nature of the
several jurisdictions is apparent in Table I.I. With the exception of
1979 and 1981, and given the increase in number of summonses issued
since 1961, the jurisdiction of the High Court accounts for less than
2% of all cases litigated.
2. The Circuit Court. The litigation-estimate for the
Circuit Court, based on the number of ‘new cases entered in each
Circuit Court’, accounts for an increase of 22,964 cases between 1936
and 1979, that is, an increase of 1549%+. Between 1979 and 1981
Circuit Court litigation almost doubled in an unprecedented manner.
Between 1936 and 1979 the court’s share of litigation has remained
stable at not less than 5% and not more than 3% of all litigation.
3. The District Court. By far the greatest volume of
litigation occurs in the lower or District Courts. The administrative
work in this jurisdiction, with the exception of 1981, has remained at
a constant high level of over 90% of all cases annually listed.
Between 1936 and 1979 annual litigation increased from 210,144 to
576,123 cases, an increase of 365,979 or 174%. This estimate is based
on the number of ‘charges, summonses, processes and applications
entered for hearing’ in each level year.
Of course the jurisdiction of the respective courts
changes from time to time in accordance with the hierarchy of cases
litigated. Throughout the seventies, for example, when inflation was
raging the District Court jurisdiction was, broadly speaking, limited
in civil matters to £250, the Circuit Court to £2,500, and damages in
excess of £2,500 (except by consent of the parties) had to be sought
in the High Court. These jurisdictional limits, fixed by the
Courts Act 1971, bore little or no relation to the increasing
inflation-ary conditions operative throughout the seventies.
Consequently, between 1974 and 1979, for example, High Court summonses
issued and Circuit Court cases entered for hearing respectively
increased by 10%. And between 1979 and 1981, a short period of two
years, High Court summonses almost trebled while Circuit Court cases
increased by 63.6% Understandably, therefore, the latest change in
jurisdiction under the Courts Act, 1981, expanded these jurisdictions.
The District Court jurisdiction was increased generally to a ceiling
of £2,500, a tenfold increase in jurisdiction; the Circuit Court’s
jurisdiction was increased generally £15,000, leaving claims in excess
of £15,000 to the jurisdiction of the High Court.
This meant that the 50 thousand civil cases ordinarily
arising in the Circuit Court (as in 1981) thereafter fell to the
jurisdiction of the District Court. It also meant that a considerable,
if incalculable, number of High Court cases simultaneously, though not
commensurately, fell to the jurisdiction of the Circuit Court. This
reshuffle of jurisdiction also means that when the backlog of cases
pending in the High and Circuit Courts in 1982 had been dealt with,
pressures on both these jurisdictions – particularly on the High
Court, where long delays in getting cases on for hearing was becoming
the norm – were relaxed until inflation again enhanced a substantial
number of actions ordinarily arising in the District Court and drove
them again into the Circuit and High Court jurisdiction. Apart from
the interest, which legal practitioners and administrators might have
in this major reshuffle, it also holds an interest for court personnel
and, more indirectly, the public at large.
Any redefinition of jurisdictions contains a converse
effect. While the higher courts are relieved of excess pressure, the
lower courts are obliged to administer the added and cumulative
workload. And notwithstanding the resistance of the District Court
clerks to operating the provisions of the new Courts Act, and the High
Court’s concern to have the law implemented, there is a third
dimension, which needs to be noted. As administrative work in the
lower courts increased, particularly the number and volume of cases
allocated for trial in those courts, there is an assumption that,
ceteris paribus, the average case heard must be dealt with more
expeditiously than heretofore. On this reasoning deterioration in the
quality of cases heard must necessarily ensue. We shall have occasion
to return to this aspect of lower court pressure more than once
throughout this enquiry. For the moment, however, we will try and
describe the incidence of litigation.
The Rate of Jurisdictional Litigation
As we have already stated, the rate or litigation per
thousand of population rose form 77 (in 1936) to 203 (in1981). This is
a national rate, and, like all general notions, it tells us little
about how the incidence of litigation is distributed and less about
the causes of its increase.
Obviously, to test any litigation or, indeed criminal
theory, we need to know more about the composition and distribution of
litigation cases. But because of the poverty of the material
available, the most we can do at this juncture is to describe some
demographic movements and their possible connection with litigation.
The Republic at the time was divided up into 23
District Court areas and 8 circuits. The District Court returns,
however, gave no information as to their geographical composition. As
a result therefore, we must fall back on the Circuit Court figures,
and these are very limited. All we can hope to do, then, is sketch a
partial outline of litigation in terms of possible industrial
development. Although the State substantially intervenes in the
economy, the Constitution countenances a free-enterprise system. The
population, within these outer limits, are thereby induced and self
propelled to maximise their own selected individual and group economic
interests. From this it can be broadly inferred that the demographic
features of Irish society are, at any given time, no accident. Indeed,
it is to be nationally expected that the population will follow the
uneven composition, combination and distribution of capital itself.
And since we have two dominant forms of capital, land (requiring a
lower division and intensity of labour) and industry (requiring a
higher division and intensity of labour), it follows that in
population terms the former must decrease with the onset of the
latter. On the basis that the formation of capital, in effecting
job-prospects, ultimately affects Irish demographic movements, and
that the movements of capital as well as people affects the incidence
of litigation, we can describe the incidence of litigation in terms of
very broad demographic shifts.
Until recently Irish society was characterised by high
emigration, that is, the reproduction of people in excess of
productive requirements. Roughly speaking, less than half a million
people emigrated between 1950 and 1962. Assisted by the Land
Commission, whose activities range from those of a rent-fixing body,
to a tenant-purchasing agency, and increasingly to a ‘great purchaser
and distributor of land mainly for the relief of rural congestion’,
9,000 persons per annum left the land between 1961-66 and 9,9000 left
per annum between 1966-74. During this period, therefore, the
dispossessed had one of two broad options – emigration or urbanisation.
Further, with the increasing combination of
industrialised capital, just like the concentration of land capital,
not only does more property go to fewer, if more efficient, hands, but
also Irish labour, with a high dependency ratio, must increasingly
lock future generations into urban employment-expectations.
Despite former emigration, “a proportional status quo
has been maintained over the past 20 years between the Dublin area and
the next 19 towns in the national hierarchy; but although
comparability in growth rates has occurred, the absolute size
disparity between Dublin and the major provincial cities has increased
substantially”. 23 And
since the Government’s Regional
Policy envisages (since 1972) at least the “development of Dublin to
be such as to accommodate the natural increase of its existing
population”24, a constant or increasing return of
litigation to the scale of urbanisation is to be expected. By 1990,
according to the most recent forecasts, Dublin County should rise to a
population of 1,140,500. The fastest rate of increase is forecast for
Dublin County (i.e. a rate of 4.4% per annum compared with a national
average of I.I).
Litigation on the eight circuits reflects in an inexact
manner this national demographic phenomenon ( Table
I.2). These figures comprise
the only court statistics available on this issue – that is, except for the crime statistics,
which also demonstrate the urbanised nature of litigation.
Between 1946 and 1979 the Dublin rate of litigation –
always above the national rate – increased over four fold, while the
remaining circuits, excepting the Eastern and South Eastern (and
Western which starts from the smallest base) hardly doubled. For years
1966/71//79 the Dublin circuit accounted progressively for 27.65,
28.65 and 29.25 of the national population and simultaneously
accounted for 45.5, 53.45 and 51.15 of all Circuit Court litigation.
In 1966 the combined Dublin, Eastern and South Eastern Circuits
represented 51.2% of the population and 66% of the Circuit Court
litigation; in 1979 they represented 53.9% of the population and 69.5&
of Circuit Court litigation.
But another way, if w e compare these eastern and
industrialised Circuits with the other five, we find in aggregate that
the litigation rate per thousand of population for years 1966/71/79 in
respect of the former was 10.6, 14.1, and 14.5 respectively, while the
rate for the latter was 5.6, 6.0 and 7.2.
For the legal year 1981 the three eastern Circuits
accounted for 52.6% of national population, 62.6% of Circuit Court
litigation, or 21.4 cases per thousand of population. The remaining
five circuits accounted for 47.4% of national population, 37.4% of
Circuit Court litigation, or 14.2 cases per thousand head of
population.
Although the amount of Circuit Court cases is
overshadows by the preponderance of litigation in the District Courts,
this circuit distribution, in the absence of similar figures for the
High or District Court business, is an instructive indicator of future
expectations. Under no circumstances, however, can the Circuit Court
jurisdiction be taken as representative of the overall civil/criminal
ratio. Indeed, the criminal content of new cases entered in the
Circuit Court is invariably low (245 in 1979), even though the greater
share of criminal business is entered in the metropolis. Table
I.3 and Table I.4 respectively show the number and distribution
of civil and criminal business throughout the circuits for selected
years from 1950 to 1981.
In 1979 the combined Dublin, Eastern and South Eastern
Circuits accounted for 66.85 of civil litigation and 77.9% of criminal
business. In 1981 they accounted for 62.85 of civil and 64.6% of
criminal business. These tables also show the metropolitan bias
towards litigation, particularly in criminal matters.
The Civil/Criminal Ratio 25
The Civil/criminal ration is interesting for several
reasons, some remote and some immediate.
As we have already stated, anthropologists and
evolutionary theorists like Spencer, Darwin, Durkheim and Hobhouse
have had much to say about law thus analysed. In his ‘Ancient Law’,
possibly the first attempt at a socially scientific explanation of
law, H.S. Maine observed in the early history of the Teutonic code, a
preponderance of criminal measures and sanctions over the number of
civil remedies. From this he maintained: “The more archaic the code
the fuller and minuter is its penal legislation”.
Since this is not a simple nor an agreed matter 26,
it is first advisable before examining criminal matters to enquire as to what part the State
plays in the overall scheme of litigation. That is, before attempting
to establish a civil/criminal ratio, we find it necessary to examine
more closely the classifications of litigation in the lower courts.
District Court business has been traditionally divided
into three categories, summary and indictable cases, civil proceedings
and ejectments, and licences renewed ( Table
I.5). Unlike the Circuit Court
jurisdiction, the District Court administers to a very high and
increasing criminal content. Between 1936 and 1981, for example, this
criminal content increased from 126.5 thousand cases to 479.4
thousand, an increase of 352.9 thousand cases or 279%. In 1981 these
criminal cases accounted for 79.1% of the workload of the lower
courts. In 1946, immediately following the Second World War, crime
controls increased significantly and civil proceedings dropped by 37%.
During the emigration years of the fifties crime control decreased
while civil proceedings and the renewal, crime controls increased and,
for the most part, civil proceedings and licences renewed (except for
1971) declined.
There are several other points to be noted regarding
the distribution of work in the District Courts. With the exception of
years 1961/66/81 the number of licences renewed and issued has
steadily increased over the period. For the purposes of establishing a
civil/criminal ratio, however it is difficult to know to categorise
licences. Applications for such renewals constitute the more
mechanical, if administrative, side of litigation. Should they,
therefore be inclined as civil or criminal cases?
By their nature, whether they are liquor-licensing
applications, licences for hawkers, gam-ing, dancing, auctioneers or
turf accountants, licences are administered by the courts on behalf of
the State. The parties to these applications, in so far as there are
parties at all, are, respectively, the applicant and the State. Such
applications are instituted unilaterally and, if opposed, a competing
party with the same or a similar interest to that of the applicant or
a defendant in a civil action does not oppose them. 27
The more ‘active’ civil proceedings and ejectments have
remained, in numerical terms, comparatively stable over the period
between 1936 and 1981. It would seem, therefore, that the major
influence on the increased litigation figures has come from the
criminal input. In this regard, it should be understood that the
criminal figures include summary as well as indictable offences. This
distinction between indictable and summary offences is of primary
importance and should be noted. 28
For the moment the difficulties in calculating a
civil/criminal ratio are several. The High Court, for example, has an
annual criminal content in the criminal jurisdiction of the Central
Criminal Court, and Court of Criminal Appeal. The Supreme Court also
contains a criminal content. But we have no exact data on what this
content is. We have already shown that civil litigation in the High
Court, exaggerated in numerical terms by the expedient of counting the
annual number of summonses issued, accounts historically for less than
2% of all litigation. Should these High Court figures be included at
all?
Similarly in the Circuit Court, there is the difficulty
that a great proportion of cases, both civil and criminal, arise there
by way of appeal from the District Courts. Moreover, those which do
not enter the Circuit Court lists by way of original jurisdiction will
have already been counted and heard in the District Courts. Should the
Circuit Court figures, therefore, be abandoned in favour of the
District Court returns which annually account for over 90% of
litigation cases? And if we rely totally on the District Court
returns, should the figures for Licences Renewed be classified as
civil, criminal or neutral in calculating the civil/criminal ratio?
Table I.6 attempts to overcome some of these
difficulties by giving five different readings based on five different computations.
Computation A includes all litigation in the High, Circuit and
District Court; Computation B ignores the High Court figures and the
number of Licences Renewed in the District Court returns, computation
D ignores the number of Licences Renewed, and computation E treats the
number of Licences Renewed as if they were criminal cases.
The most conservative reading of Table I.6 (i.e. a
reading of row A) accords the criminal content of national litigation
in 1936 at least a greater than half share of judicial business. For
years 1971/76/81 the criminal courts dealt with 72.0%, 71.6%, and
70.3% of litigation business respectively, or, converted into a more
legible ratio, one civil action per 2.6/2.5 and 2.4 criminal offences.
Viewed in this way, it can be argued that, despite the economic
revival of the late fifties and early sixties, the criminal content
and the State’s controlling interest has tended over the period to
revert to what in was at the end of the Second World War.
The least conservative and more disturbing reading of
Table I.6 accords the criminal content in 1936 a 73.4% share of
judicial business, or one civil action per 2.8 criminal offences.
Again, by gradations, this criminal content rose to 88.1%, 87.4% and
90.0% in respective years 1971/76/81, or, receptively, one civil
action per 7.4, 6.9, and 9.3 criminal offences. Indeed, this is an
extreme interpretation, and ought not to be relied upon except as a
measure of general State intervention in judicial litigation and, of
course, social control.
Less extreme results occur if we accept either B or C
computations. Computation B, which ignores the number of Licences
Renewed and comprises returns for both the Circuit and District
Courts, shows a criminal content which exceeds that based on
computation C for every year up to and including 1979. Thereafter
computation C, which comprises lower court litigation only and
includes the number of Licences Renewed as civil actions, exceeds that
of B. In 1981, there was a criminal content of 79.1% or one civil
action to 3.8 criminal offences, litigated in the District Courts.
If we choose to ignore the number of Licences Renewed,
that is, by treating them as neither civil nor criminal matter, then
the criminal content becomes much more pronounced, as is evidenced by
computation D. Indeed, throughout the seventies the civil/criminal
ratio exceeds what it was in either 1946 or 1951.
We can see that the criminal business of the courts
throughout the seventies (on whatever reading we choose) has never
been less than 70% of contemplated litigation. And at no time since
1936 has the annual number of civil actions exceeded the number of
criminal offences listed in the courts.
Obviously our interpretation of the criminal content
and the civil/criminal ratio (the one being a more direct way of
recording the other) will reflect our preconceptions of the role of
the State. As an index, it not only records the amount of State
control and the number of interventions necessary to police civil
society, whether real or merely imagined -- but it also reflects the
quality of Irish civilisation. Were the number of civil actions to
exceed the number of crimes processed by the courts, then,
necessarily, there would have had to be a qualitative social change
from repressive measures of social solidarity to restitutive ones. In
Durkheimian anthropology the civil/criminal ratio, coupled with an
elaborate classification of restitutive and repressive sanctions, is
used to indicate change in the social sphere (between mechanical and
organic solidarity), in the criminal sphere (between religious and
human crimes), and in the penal sphere (between the severity of
punishment and the use of imprisonment).
For these purposes, however, it is sufficient to note
that, since Licences Renewed exhibit neither the use of a restitutive
nor a repressive sanction, the number of repressive sanctions has
considerably outstripped restitutive ones throughout the seventies
(Computation D).
Indictable and Non-Indictable Offences
It is advisable at this stage to distinguish between
certain types of crime. This may, perhaps, mitigate the more sinister
side of the civil/criminal ratio. For our purposes it is sufficient
for the moment to classify offences into three broad types: indictable
offences, minor (or summary) indictable offences, and non-indictable
offences. Generally speaking ‘indictable’ means ‘more serious’ and,
consequently, triable by judge and jury. /Minor (or summary)
indictable’ means ‘less serious’ and, consequently, under certain
conditions, may be tried before a District Justice. ‘Non-indictable’
means ‘even less serious still’ and, consequently, these offences are
always tried before a District Justice.
Non-indictable offences comprise a vast array of
regulatory wrongdoings, e.g. offences in connection with dog-licences,
the liquor laws, vagrancy, begging, motoring, highway offences and
such like. These regulatory offences are of an expanding nature and
since our accession to the EEC have witnessed enormous proliferation
in respect of areas like vehicular traffic and travel, drink and
drugs, computer crime and all sorts of documentation both national and
international.
Indictable offences, by contrast, and no less
expansive, are offences which the law regards as more serious, and the
Constitution prescribes that offenders so charged should have the
right to be tried by a judge and jury. These offences range from the
more serious crimes of murder, manslaughter, rape and armed robbery,
to the most venial crimes of larceny and receiving.
It can, of course, be equally argued that
non-indictable offences range from the most venial type of offences,
e.g. failing to display a Road Fund Licence, to the most flagrant
offences of careless or dangerous driving. Though convenient for
statistical purposes, this classification and the legal reasoning
which supports it is, as we shall see, by no means simple. The
difficulty arises when we come to distinguish between ‘indictable’ and
‘minor (or summary) indictable’ offences.
Since all criminal cases begin in the District Court
and are either heard there or sent forward for trial, for sentence, or
an appeal, we cannot accurately distinguish between indictable and
non-indictable offences from the District Court returns. From the
Gárda Commissioner’s Annual Report, however, as well as from The
Statistical Abstracts, the number of indictable offences recorded by
the gárdái and the number of non-indictable offences in which
proceedings were taken can be compiled ( Table
I.7).
There was a decrease in non-indictable offences between
the early and late fifties, after which they increased continuously.
Between 1951 and 1955 there were, on average, 125 thousand such
offences proceeded against per annum. This average more than doubled
for the period 1976/80, and in 1981 474.9 thousand were proceeded
against, an increase of 280% on any year between 1951/55.
Indictable crimes recorded, on the other hand, showed a
marginal increase throughout the fifties, and have in general
continuously increased at a faster rate than non-indictable offences.
Non-indictable offences, however, have always occupied a much broader
base than indictable offences. On average between 1951/55 for every
indictable offence recorded there were 8.9 non-indictable ones
proceeded against. Between 1976/80 this ratio fell to I/5.6. And in
1981 there were almost half a million non-indictable offences
proceeded against or 5.3 offences per indictable offence recorded.
Even within the non-indictable category, some types of
offences have increased at a faster rate than others. Of those
selected ( Table
1.8) the fastest rate of
increase occurs with
motoring insurance offences. Between 1958 and 1960 less than two and a
half thousand of such offences were proceeded against. By 1981, no
doubt due in part to the use and popularity of motoring at this time,
this type of offence has arisen to almost 48 thousand offences.
Insurance offences were followed by offences related to
drinking and driving. Minor assaults and dangerous and careless
driving offences shared the same general increasing trends, though
neither type of offence increased at the same rate as those related to
insurance and drunk driving. In 1981 there were 67.2 thousand non-indictable
offences committed by motorists and cyclists solely in relation to
driving and insurance. This figure only accounts for 15% of all
non-indictable offences in 1981. For the same year there were a total
of 89.4 thousand indictable crimes recorded by the gárdái, most of
which related to property offences.
Given these magnitudes it is perfectly arguable that
non-indictable offences are in most respects every bit as serious and
deserving of our attention as property offences. In this respect it is
to be noted that for the three-year period 1979 to 1981 there were
1,589 fatal traffic accidents on Irish roads, arising out of which
1,749 persons died.
Notes
23 “The counties surrounding Dublin will also experience rapid
increases with Kildare rising by 2.8% a year, Meath by 2.3%, and Wicklow by 2.2%. It is also
anticipated that the labour force of the Republic will grow at an
annual average of 14,300. See Census of
Population of Ireland, 1981”
(Preliminary Report), CSO, Government Publications. See also B.
M.Walsh: The Structure of
Unemployment in Ireland, 1954–72, ESRI, Oct., 1974; NESC, No. 63, July
1982; National Economic and Social Council: Urbanization and
Regional Development in Ireland, No. 45, The Government Publications Sale
Office, Dublin, p. 32 The Dublin Metropolitan area now extends between
Howth and Greystones in Wicklow with over a third of the national
population. See also Telephone Directory 24
24 Ibid. 25
25 See the author’s Emile Durkheim On Crime And Punishment: Dissertation. COM, 2002, chapter 2 et al.
26 H.S. Maine: Ancient Law (ed. F. Pollock, John Murray, 1930,
p. 368). See also Engels, Frederick: Der Ursprung der Familie, des Privateigenthums und des
Staats (1st ed., 1884)
in Karl Marx, Friedrich Engels Werke, vol. 21, Berlin, Dietz Verlag,
P; 25-173); Maine, Henry Summer: Lectures on the Early History of Institutions, (London, John Murray) 1875;
Vinogradoff, Paul: Roman Law in Medieval Europe (London, Harper &
Row), 1909; Posposil, Leopold: Anthropology of Law, A Comparative
Theory, (Harper & Row),
1975, chapter 5.
27 See Woods: District Court Guide, Vol 11, Naas, 1977; Part 11
Licensing (pp. 93–227)
28 For an update of the distinction between Indictable and Arrestable
Offences, See Section 4, The Criminal Law Act 1997. See also Walsh,
Dermot: Criminal
Procedure (Round Hall, Dublin, 2002); Woods,
James: District Court Practice and Procedure in Criminal Cases (James
Woods, Limerick, 1994).
Table 1.1

Table 1.2

Table 1.3

Table 1.4

Table 1.5

Table 1.6

Table 1.7

Table 1.8

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