Saints, Scholars
and Schizophrenics
By Nancy Scheper-Hughes
Reviewed by HJG
In Saints, Scholars, and Schizophrenics, Nancy Scheper-Hughes examines
the lives of modern-day Irish people in the pseudonymic village of Ballybran
in the rural Dingle Peninsula through the influences of the Celts, Irish
Catholicism, and the Great Famine. Although the Irish are now extremely
ascetic Catholics, following in the tradition of Jansenism, their pre-Catholic
memory still balances their lives. Scheper-Hughes argues that even before
Saint Brendan came to Ireland, the Celts were already fairly ascetic,
shunning most things bodily, which helped them to adapt to the rigorous
lifestyle of Jansenism. This does not fit with out current conception
of the Celts, but perhaps it was true of Western Ireland which Scheper-Hughes
investigates. However, scrutinizing true history through
millennia of Catholic interpretations is, of course, impossible.
The local mythology (beyond the usual Celtic history of the Fir Bolg
and Tuatha de Danann [isnt that a yogurt?] and all that) relates
primarily to the adversarial position of Saint Brendan the Catholic
and Crom Dubh, the local pagan chieftain (formerly deity). Through trickery,
Saint Brendan won over the chieftain and presumably obtained the right
to co-opt his people into a new religion. However, the legendary Saint
Brendans fathers name was Fionnlugh, joining the names Fionn,
the great Celtic warrior, and Lugh, our favorite sun god. Similarly,
Bran the god and Brendan the saint seem to have been merged into one
entityBrendan is the patron saint of navigation due to his discovery
of America ten centuries before Columbus (in Irish heads), and Bran
is a god of the sea. In yet another blatant conflation of Catholicism
and local paganism, the annual Lughnasa trek the villagers make to the
top of their local mountain to perform little rituals for luck and prosperity
and curing backaches is now done in the name of Saint Brendan. And
ever since the conversion of the village to Christianity, it has rained
on the day of pilgrimage, hence giving annual testimony to the victory
of the gloomy and ascetic Brendan over the pagan sun god (p.86).
(Sounds like the Druids had more fun.)
Despite their conversion, the Irish have not forgotten their pagan heritage.
Crom Dubh, since his conversion to Christianity, was given a saint day
at the end of July (hmm, coincide with Lughnasa much?), and his statue
stood in the graveyard until the early 1990s, when it was stolen. Although
they praised Saint Brendan as their new god of the light, Crom Dubh
was important as he stood for their dual, dark nature, which was equally
vital in giving balance. Although they shied from talking about it,
the villagers still recognize the magic power and religious validity
of the ancient pagan monuments. I had occasion to mention the
three curious standing stones of the parish. The wife in her ready reply
collapsed the two-thousand-year history separating the religion of her
Druidic ancestors from the Catholic faith of her own times: Those
were the kind of altars we used to have before the priests made them
flat (p.83) The phallic symbol of the stones flattened
to ascetic celibacy; the lively religion of the Druids flattened to
Christianity. Crom Dubh and the pagan religion were castrated.
What is sad and somewhat amusing is the proof that the Irish lifestyle
leads to psychoses (at least, that was Scheper-Hughess interpretation
in the mid-70s, when she did her field work). At that time, Ireland
had the highest rate of schizophrenia in the world. When Scheper-Hughes
lived among the village to try and find out some of the causes, she
found a lifestyle so bent on asceticism that it precluded basic human
needs. The babies were often left to their own devices, and cuddling
them was considered to be spoiling them. Physical punishment and guilt
were used to keep children in line, and blatant favoritism often resulted
in the youngest son being forced into the role of black sheep, cast
by parents and village as an inept bachelor, whose duty it was to take
care of the old people and the farm. This was forced on him even when
small farms were becoming extremely unprofitable, leading to the whole
village being essentially supported by the Irish government dole. Older
sons and women fled the village as soon as possible in order to be successful,
but the youngest son was trapped by obligation and low self-worth. Not
surprisingly, a large percentage of institutionalized patients were
youngest sons who couldnt cope with the emotionally crippling
village life. As much as Id like to gleefully blame this all on
Catholicism, there is good reason to believe most of this unhealthy
extremeness came about as a result of the Great Famine in the 1850s.
Before the Famine, Ireland tended to have the same quietly debauched
population as the rest of Western civilization. However, their starvation
caused a third of the Irish population to die, a third to emigrate,
and a third to stay home, forever scarred. (An interesting socio-political
note is that in the Great Famine, as in most famines, there was no lack
of food in Ireland. The Irish grew many crops for the English while
subsisting mainly on potatoes for themselves. And when the potatoes
died, the Irish died.) These intolerable conditions resulted in fleeing
becoming the favored option. Also, parents began distancing from babies,
so as not to be too sad if the bairns died from starvation. Additionally,
the asceticism further encouraged a celibate life in the name of God,
resulting in many fewer children. Now, self-deprivation is so celebrated
that the elderly bachelor, who managed to survive life somehow, is referred
to as a saint, even if he takes his cows into the kitchen
to keep them warm. In fact, especially then, as extreme eccentricism
is tolerated (and even celebrated) as long as it doesnt violate
the village norms. (I have been informed that this is typical of all
the British Isles. However, I find it particularly perplexing when contrasted
with the fates of people who are more sane than the saints, but who
are castigated for outwardly breaching the surface peacefulness of village
life.)
What I found most striking about Scheper-Hughess study was the
difference in attitudes between hospitalized patients and normal (unhospitalized)
patients. In the 70s, DSM-II was still the prevailing diagnostic psychiatric
manual, and its definition of schizophrenia was quite vague, even to
go so far as to implicate excessive and inappropriate silliness
as signs of schizophrenia. The definition was later changed to reflect
only the seriously ill, those with voices or delusions or serious functioning
impairments. The likelihood is that most of Scheper-Hughess interviewees
were not schizophrenic, simply unwilling to cooperate with the village
norms. This was especially notable where sex was concerned. The hospitalized
patients, when given the TAT (a pictorial test), would describe what
I consider normal relations between men and women, whereas the normal
interviewees would skew the pictures often to reflect their own concept
of reality. For example, in a picture of a naked woman lying on a bed
with a man standing with his head bowed, most normal people
did not think of the scene as sexual in nature, or ignored the fact
the woman was unclothed, which can be credited to the near-complete
sexual repression of the Irish villagers. The hospitalized people, on
the other hand, saw more typical interactions, since the abnormal
Irish people rejected the notion of imposed celibacy and yearned for
intergender relations. From an outside viewpoint, the reality of the
village was really sort of a dream which all the people believed in
and never talked about so as to preserve their illusion of contentment,
causing them to reject those rabble-rousers who refused to have an ascetic
life imposed on them.
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