Satire in the Goidelic Traditions

So the last post was a little political, and it talked a lot about the absolute bullshit that is going on in politics right now. Fortunately, in the Goidelic traditions, we have quite a bit of precedent for dealing with these things. And on this particular day, we’re going to look at the Satire. 

First off, what is a satire? Not difficult. In the modern, mundane world, we see satire in many forms. It’s there in Saturday Night Live, or Monty Python, or Shakespearean comedies. On Broadway, from the Book of Mormon to Avenue Q, satire abounds. In the movies? Have you seen anything by Mel Brooks? Music? What about Weird Al Yankovic or Leonard Cohen? And yes, I did mention those two in the same sentence unironically. Both masters at their art though in vastly different ways. These satirical forms are some of the many ways to perform a satire, but what are the criteria?

Well – a satire is usually comedic, but not always. If it isn’t comedic, it is certainly ironic. If you look at Leonard Cohen for example, he did not write comedic music. But listening to the somber notes of You Want It Darker – what is that but a satire? “A million candles burning for the help that never came. You want it darker, we kill the flame.” Does the world go dark so that the glory shines brighter? Do we suffer to amplify the glory of a single being? We light candles for help that never comes – but why? Irony abounds – a man, knowing his death is near, speaking his truth to the world. I could dissect this song for longer than I want to write today, it’s worthy of deep study in its own right – if you haven’t heard the song, I highly recommend it. But for now, it’s an example of the irony that exists in a satire – with the words he praises, with the tone he questions, and together those things become a criticism of a system or a being that is far more powerful than Cohen himself.

Which is another requirement of the satire – it punches up. The satire is for systems, or for people who have power. It is the cry of the powerless, or it is a check on a system or a person who has spun completely out of control. It is the voice of the oppressed, sometimes spoken anonymously, sometimes not. In ancient times, the filí (bards) as a class were honored, protected – and sometimes feared, because they were the class of checks and balances. In numerous stories we have the warning to treat a bard at the door as an honored guest, and the consequences of what comes if you don’t.

As an example, look at the first satire in Ireland – that of Coirpre mac Étan on Brés, the Rí at Temhair (Tara) at that time. Reading the Cath Maige Tuired, you can see a couple of things about Brés – he was guilty of poor judgment quite literally, having made a bad judgment against the Dagda which was proven to be incorrect. Elsewhere, the lore speaks of a time when Dagda is the Rí, and speaks specifically of one of his qualities being someone who did not make a wrong judgment – so we know this “misstep” of Brés is a big deal. He was also known to tax the Tuatha Dé, to have Dagda building fortifications and Ogma gathering firewood, both without their Right Portions properly given. There isn’t much in the Cath Maige Tuired about Brés, but all of it is bad. After all of that, we see Coirpre going to the hall of Brés, looking for hospitality. He is received poorly, given cold welcome, little to eat, and an uncomfortable place to stay. In short, he was not treated as an honored guest.

As a result, as he left the hall of Brés, he stopped at the doorway, stood on one foot, closed one eye, and raised one arm – the signs of Corrguineacht, or Crane Stance – and satirized Brés. 

No food swiftly on a platter

No produce from cow, no blister upon him nor his legacy 

No abode or welcome given, but delays

No company given to beloved poet or kin, no host for their vision or augury

Such a loss, ‘Nothing here to smite coming for Bres.’

Dúnta.

Imagine Coirpre the night before, laying on a hard bed with little to eat, hearing the sounds of the Hall of the Rí nearby. Left alone, unwelcomed, given poor hospitality, trying to sleep. The hall sounding of laughter and welcome and family – the hall that his family had raised, had been in possession of until Brés made them unwelcome. He was meant to lead them, to care for them – and instead, a File (bard) at the door found scant welcome indeed. And who was Coirpre compared to the Rí? He was not in a position of leadership. He’d seen the abuses on his family, no doubt – for he was Coirpre mac Étan, and Étan was the wife of Ogma. Ogma, brother to Dagda – and Coirpre likely not only knew what his father and his uncle had endured, but had paid close attention to the abuses heaped on his Tuatha as well. All of that running through his mind while he tossed and turned in dubious hospitality. 

So now imagine him taking his leave and turning to speak this Satire. All of these things were withheld from him, a bard at the door – but clearly Brés had these things. Company, hosting, plenty of space in Tara, food and drink given – but not to the File. Nor to the Tuatha Dé, as seen in the Cath Maige Tuired. The words of his satire seem to indicate that Brés had none of these things, that there was nothing even worth taking in his dún – but of course Brés had all of these things. So it is with the satire – a takedown of those in power acting unjustly. We see that it isn’t long after that Brés is removed as Rí. Such is the power of a satirist. 

What does this mean today?

Well. The last blog post talked about mundane ways to work to improve the system for all, not just for those in power. This one? This is one of the things we can do spiritually. For what better way to address abuses by those in power than to satirize them? They’ve had their lessons already – social media, the media in general – the Fourth Estate they call it, and Teaching Tales abound there. Lessons aplenty that politicians and oligarchs and people generally in power can use to course correct, if only they’ll listen. But if they’re not listening? Then perhaps it’s time for something a little stronger. 

But how? What if you don’t write poetry?

It hardly matters. Not all poetry is rhyme and meter. Some of it is performance – like Mel Brooks movies, for example. Some of it is music, some is hidden in plays and clever acting. It can be performance art too, or sometimes just a well-written article. The key is to see clearly what you’re satirizing. And be sure your satire is just. 

For example, if I know someone is a terrible leader, who preys on his people, takes money from the poor, abuses his wife and kids, and has six fingers on his right hand? I might satirize him for poor judgment, abuse of his people, and abuse of his family – but not for having six fingers on his right hand. It’s important to satirize actions, not states of being. Neither gender nor sexual identity, not disability or lifestyle choice, not the color of someone’s skin nor the state of their hair. Personal characteristics are not – should never be – a point of attack. Unjust satires rebound on the one who satirizes, but they still can cause harm to others. 

There’s a lot more to the satire than I have time to go through in a single blog post, but these are the basics of it. Take a look at the story of the first satire, look through other satires – both in the present and the past – and start analyzing what you think might make a good target. In this current day and age, where the mundane Powers That Be seem to be focused on keeping the downtrodden both down and trodden (upon), there are a lot of ways to punch up and speak truth to power. And about power. 

Knock ‘em dead. Metaphorically.