The Prophetic Voice

A Dominique Dao Huu Bao, mon frère, mon compagnon de route et d’écriture. Quand je lis Sulivan, je pense toujours à toi

It was of course Eamon Maher who introduced me to Jean Sulivan, albeit somewhat circuitously. Some twenty-five years ago, my late wife remarked over lunch that she had just been listening to an interesting radio interview with an Irish academic, whose translation into English of what sounded like a fascinating autobiographical piece by a French priest-author had just been published. Although the names of neither the interviewee nor the French priest meant anything to me at that time, and I did not always pursue Linda’s literary enthusiasms, I nevertheless speedily tracked down Anticipate Every Goodbye, Sulivan’s haunting memoir of his relationship with his mother and of his own life, translated by Eamon, and I became an instant convert.

Some years later I met Eamon in person, and we quickly established what I think both of us would regard as a genuine friendship. Before we met, however, I had already set myself to learn more about Joseph Lemarchand/ Jean Sulivan and his writings and, although my French is sadly abysmal, I had found several of his writings captivated both my attention and my admiration. It was before I met Eamon (and was thereby to learn far more about Sulivan) that I came upon Matinales, Sulivan’s remarkable spiritual journal – Morning Light in the translation by Joseph Cunneen and Patrick Gormally. I can testify that few books have had greater spiritual impact on me, and I therefore do not apologise for giving it space in this Preface to The Prophetic Voice. I firmly believe that Morning Light should be considered as truly a ‘Christian classic’. It should come as no surprise that it has been translated into a number of languages. Certainly, it has been a bedrock spiritual guide for me over many years, customarily occupying a readily accessible spot on my cluttered desk. The sub-title of one of the French editions says it all – La traversée des illusions. Sulivan traduces many of the religious chimeras with which we may comfort ourselves, pushing his own spiritual and intellectual boundaries outwards with uncompromising honesty, but also considerable theological insight. He lacerates many of the accretions with which we so easily pervert the Christian faith. There is always spiritual clarity but never outright bitterness. Sulivan remained ready to accept an essential need for Church, but a Church shorn of its pomposity, prettification and, at times, outright cruelty.

Morning Light is not an easy read, but it speaks compellingly to our own troubled times and to each of our Christian traditions with a disturbing voice. I have certainly found that often, when I have quoted from Matinales (whether in sermons or addresses), I will receive at least one later enquiry as to who Sulivan was, and where this book may be obtained. It is little wonder that I constantly badgered Eamon to translate more of Sulivan for the necessary benefit of sad non-linguists such as myself.

A Preface is never to be an anticipatory book review and hence, in expressing sincere gratitude to Eamon for providing us with such a timely study of Sulivan and the connections with, and relevance for Ireland, I continue to restrict myself to more personal reflections (as Eamon indeed suggested). Over many years I have found myself wondering why it might be that a number of French writers have influenced me to the degree that they have, given that my abilities in the French language are minimal at best. Back in my teenage years, however, I found myself enthralled by both the figure and the writings of Albert Camus and have never deviated in my admiration. In the years since, figures as disparate as Simone Weil and Georges Bernanos have joined my notional pantheon, as of course has Jean Sulivan. If there is a commonality, and I accept that there may not be, it is perhaps in what this reader at least sees as intense humanity coupled with steely eyed objectivity that utterly repudiates the easy solution. There is a resolute solidarity with those who have been placed outside the margins of society, combined with an intellectual calmness that makes the voice of justice and concern even more compelling. This may certainly be seen in Sulivan, as The Prophetic Voice makes clear.

It seems fair to suggest that Sulivan was not a great novelist per se, lacking the flow and elegance of a great stylist. For all of that, what we encounter is an almost brutal honesty not only of the heart but from lived experience. In The Sea Remains, we encounter the Cardinal, Ramon Rimaz, who finally realises that he has allowed himself to become detached from the human pain endured by those outside his own elevated circle but who then makes the huge sacrifice of changing places with Monolo, a political prisoner who is languishing in jail. We do not know how Rimaz will end his days, but we realise both that he had nothing in common with Monolo and also that part of the price the Cardinal paid was to become a figure of contempt for his ecclesiastical colleagues. Another ‘hero’ of Sulivan, the priest Strozzi, a fictional character based on a real priest, Auguste Rossi, displays the same refusal to be intimidated by those in authority.1 His life is also one of sacrifice, and he is impervious to the contempt in which he is held by other clergy, as he ministers to those who have been rejected by respectable society, a group of prostitutes in Pigalle, one of the seediest Parisian arrondissements. Strozzi does however give the women a reason to live, and for him this is far more important. All of this tells us much about Sulivan the man, who could never be content with a life of comfort or to bask in the admiration of others. Over forty years after his death, he speaks still to an Irish Church that is slowly learning the virtues of true contrition and humility.

I feel greatly honoured to provide a Preface for Eamon Maher’s fine book. He has brought Joseph Lemarchand fully to life, probed his writings with insight and precision, and made us understand that Sulivan has an abiding context for the Ireland of today. For that I am truly grateful, as I know that many others also will be.

+ Richard Clarke, retired Archbishop of Armagh and Primate of All Ireland

This book is the fruit of four decades of research and would never have seen the light of day without the support and encouragement of many people. It would be futile to try and mention them all, but I do have to mention a few of them.

Firstly, Archbishop Emeritus Richard Clarke’s infectious enthusiasm for Jean Sulivan is one of the reasons why I decided to write this book. Sincere thanks to him for a wonderful Preface that shows how Sulivan transcends religious boundaries and has a relevance for people of faith and for those who are struggling to find spiritual meaning in their lives.

In 2022, the French Embassy in Ireland awarded me a High-Level Scientific Mobility Grant, which allowed me to spend a month researching this book in France. I am immensely grateful for that opportunity.

Working in TU Dublin has been greatly enhanced these past few years. I want to thank Dr Dominic Dillane, then Head of Tourism and Hospitality Management, for extending my career at a critical juncture by accepting me into his School. I owe him a great debt of gratitude, as I do to his successor, Dr Ralf Burbach, who has been equally welcoming and appreciative of what I do. The library staff on the Tallaght Campus have been absolutely wonderful in sourcing books and articles for me and their patience with my lack of technological nous has been admirable!

Special thanks go to Drs Elaine Mahon, Brian A. Murphy, Keith Murphy, Anke Klitzing, Kevin Griffin and the entire AFIS community in TU Dublin for their energy and indefatigable commitment to research, a commitment which does not in any way detract from the enjoyment of making new discoveries and working as a team. Equally, the Tallaght family of TU Dublin have been amazing to me since my arrival there in 1994 – where have the years gone?! Every section of the team there is helpful, encouraging and dynamic – it is always a pleasure to share their company.

Former PhD/Masters students and colleagues Brian J. Murphy, Máirtín Mac Con Iomaire, Patricia Medcalf, John Mulcahy, Tony Kiely, Paul Butler and Declan O’Keeffe taught me a lot more than I ever taught them. Similarly, it has been a source of great pride to see Dr Sarah Nolan, my first PhD student, grow into the person and accomplished academic that she has become.

I could never thank Professor Eugene O’Brien enough for the inspiration and enthusiasm he has always instilled in me during our many collaborations. Eugene co-supervised my first PhD students with me, as well as acting as co-editor of several books. I always marvel at Eugene’s good humour, organisational skills and capacity for work. His positive evaluation of an early draft of this book gave me much-needed momentum and confidence and his precious friendship helped me through some dark times and showed me that one always needs to see the bigger picture and the value of what we do as teachers and researchers.

Professor Grace Neville’s exemplary scholarship and collegiality, her infectious enthusiasm and constant positivity make her a cherished friend and confidante. Grace has always set the bar ridiculously high for any of us working in French studies or Franco-Irish studies and her friendship, approachability, support and invaluable advice have meant a huge amount to me over the years. It is rare that a proud Cork woman should befriend a Tipp man like myself, but I thank my lucky stars for the multiple gifts that have flowed from that friendship.

I am also indebted to Professor Pádraig Ó Gormaile, my PhD supervisor, who convinced me to do my research on Sulivan and whose confidence in my ability to complete the task rarely waned. Equally, Dr Michael O’Dwyer in Maynooth University was a supportive presence and mentor in the early years of my research on Sulivan. Likewise, Dr Pierre Joannon has been a great inspiration and introduced me to one of Sulivan’s Breton admirers, the journalist and author, Jean-Paul Kauffmann, who devotes a section of his award-winning memoir L’accident to Sulivan. In addition, I would like to thank Professors Michael Cronin, Jane Conroy, Fabienne Dabrigeon, Derek Hand, Sylvie Mikowski, Catherine Maignant, Anne Goazin, Alexandra Maclennan and Eamonn Wall for their wisdom and advice at various points during this journey. Eamonn very kindly agreed to read the manuscript when it was at an advanced stage and it really benefitted from his input.

Dr Barry Houlihan in the Hardiman Library in Galway could not have been more helpful during my visits to the McGahern Archive, which contains so many undiscovered gems.