There has been a lot of fuss about the recent talk delivered by the President, Mrs McAleese, at All Hallows College.
Most of you probably took not a blind bit of notice of this media-fuelled furore, but in Tuesday's paper, our first citizen was soundly told off in a letter from Father Christopher Hayden CC, of Wexford: "The President's decision to enter into theological debate has as its obverse an implicit criticism of citizens who do not share her view."
This is a right load of rubbish. The pompousness alone would alert anyone with a bit of sense. It was followed by the laughably patronising remark that "While President McAleese's interest in her church is laudable, she is deprived by her office of the capacity to make remarks as a private individual." And so on, ad nauseam.
Please, spare us. The "President's decision", is it? What kind of scenario unfolded up in Aras an Uachtarain one evening last September?
Are we to imagine our President pacing up and down the livingroom carpet, unbearably frustrated by being forbidden to make remarks as a private individual, until suddenly she stops short and cries out - "That's it. My decision is made. I shall enter into theological debate." With not a care for the jaw-dropping response of her family, and not a word of explanation, she instantly gets down to the task of writing her All Hallows speech, her sole object being to set off all kinds of nervous fluttering in the dovecote of the Irish Catholic hierarchy, and fill our letters pages with all kinds of humbug.
If that is the case, by merely mentioning certain matters which certain clergymen feel are entirely their business and no one else's, matters on which supposedly they alone are allowed to pronounce, then I (myself) am now embroiled in theological debate.
Tell us, what does it feel like? Rather . . . strange, at first. A warm tingling pervades my tissues. My blood seems to quicken. A faint dizziness gradually gives way to perfect calm. I am already sitting up straighter in my chair. My chin too is raised and my gaze becomes more penetrating. I feel quite . . . pugnacious! Now, though the day is bright, dark shades begin to emerge slowly, to crowd round me. They press closer - my goodness, these are no ordinary spirits, there is Thomas Aquinas, Augustine himself, Teilhard de Chardin, Basil of Caesarea!
And who's this? Well, bless my soul - Blaise Pascal tugging at my coat-tails, Karl Barth and Kierkegaard, Rene Descartes, Franz von Baader and dear old "Manny" Kant himself, all eager to make my acquaintance.
And do I see Thomas Muntzner over there? Why, yes! And Meister Eckhart - tell us Meister, how is the old Rhineland School pro gresssing in the afterworld? Good, good. I mean - oh. Oh dear.
Not a woman among the lot, and proper order too. Oh hold on - why yes, it's the shade of poor old Hildegard von Bingen, looking rather ragged and put-upon. Hardly the place for her, one would have thought, in this august male company. Still, always good to have the token lady. Steadies the troops, undermines the opposition.
And - is that Cardinal Ratzinger? By gum, so it is. Thought the fellow was still alive. Obviously has powers of bi-location. Still, glad to have you behind me, Ratz - or preferably, in front of me. Nothing like a bit of political intrigue along with theological obfuscation, what?
And what is this oddly sensual metallic constriction I feel on my chest? A steely net of factual certainty is apparently being stitched across my mind, rather like armour, not only bullet-proof but opinion-proof too. And damned superior it makes me feel.
Now, best of all, a crackling in my ears seems to indicate that some long-distance telephonic link is being established, perhaps a hotline to . . . I do declare! Well, I am impressed - Eircom could never have managed this. And honoured too. Good God. I mean good, God. Wonder what rate these calls are charged at - let's hope he, or rather He, doesn't reverse the charges. Joke!
A great, proud peace envelopes me. I know now I am in touch with eternal verities, handed down over the centuries, but only of course to certain chosen people. Dammit, I feel invincible. God, it's great - don't you agree?
And to think I am as yet only on the edge of the less important theological debates, the shallow trivialities of pluralism, relativism and false irenicism. Such excitement! And such certainty. Listen: ye don't know what ye are missing.
bglacken@irish-times.ie