Roy Foster on Ireland’s Many Unmade Futures | Conversations with Tyler

Hello everyone and welcome back to Conversations with Tyler. I'm here today with Rye Foster, who is arguably Ireland's greatest historian, some might say ever. I recommend his classic work Modern Ireland. He's also written a two-volume biography of Yeats, one of the best biographies written ever, I think, and numerous other books on the history of Ireland. And also England. Roy, thank you for coming.

Thank you for asking me, Tyler. Delighted.

I have many questions about Irish history. If we go back to the 17th century and earlier, why is it that the equilibrium ends up that the English are so much more brutal to the Irish than to the Scots?

That's a very good question on the comparison between Ireland and Scotland and their relative experiences vis-à-vis the the powerful neighbor goes on through many centuries, but the 17th century notably. I think as in so many other cases, it comes down to religion and ethnikos, if I can put it that way, a kind of cultural ethnic identity. The Irish were overwhelmingly Catholic. In the global political world of the 17th century, that meant being against Protestantized England. They were seen as an entry point for continental political influence from Spain and from France, who had their— who were at war effectively for much of this time with England, and therefore they were ipso facto disloyal. Their first— this is in the view of the English— their first loyalty was to the Pope. Their ambition was to be an independent sovereign country, which became stronger and stronger through the 19th century. The Scots, on the other hand, adapted, at least Lowland Scotland, which was rich Scotland, adapted to being part of the Union. They united with England in the Union of Great Britain in 1707, and the Scots made a good thing out of it. Look at proconsular figures all over the British Empire, so many of them are Scots. Look at generals in the British Army, so many of them are Scots. The Highlands are different. The Highlands have their Catholic identity to a certain extent. They have their poverty. They are exploited in the way that Irish tenants are exploited by absentee landlords, but that's a minority element in Scotland. The majority of Scots do well out of the union with Britain and have done until very recently. I think we may be seeing the end of that era right now.

Adam Smith made the claim in one of his letters that the Scot elites did poorly out of union because a lot of the positions they would have taken in the home country, in essence, went to English people. And he argued, well, the union is good for the country, bad for the elites. Do you think he was wrong?

I would think— I take a more nuanced view. I think the elites did a lot better than Adam Smith, for his own purposes, was admitting.

If we look to the 17th century, we see England in particular being ideologically radicalized along numerous dimensions, including religion. So much open talk of tyrannicide. Politically, and Ireland doesn't seem to be. What accounts for that difference?

It's an enormous question, but there are older loyalties in Ireland. The Irish adopt the Stuart, the Jacobite cause. The Irish definitively have adhered to the old faith, to Catholicism. This rules them out from the Cromwellian dispensation, which revolutionizes England in such a total way in the 1640s, well, the '60s, from the 1630s through the 1640s, right through to the Restoration in 1660. Ireland has a different social basis really in so many ways, in landowning, in a history of colonization and dispossession from the Elizabethan period on, but in the 17th century, that process of colonization and dispossession takes a very particular shape of expropriating native landowners in favor of English incomers and of planting, as the word went, in a plantation of Scots and Lowland and North of England people into the northern corner, the northeastern corner of the island. From that day to this, of course, we've seen the effects of that. So you've got it. There's radicalization going on in a different way, if you like, in Ireland. And for different reasons, but is a radicalization that essentially expropriates the old Catholic aristocracy, the landowning aristocracy in Ireland, reduces them to a tiny minority west of the Shannon in the bad lands of Connemara.

And if we think of the 19th century, as you know, I think it's what, in 1831, that free universal schooling comes to Ireland. Are there ways in which in that 19th century Ireland is more modern than Britain?

That's a very interesting and subtle question. There is a theory that Ireland is used as a laboratory for British government and that they will apply in further afield in India and the Caribbean models and lessons that they've learned in Ireland, which is sometimes referred to as Ireland's— as Britain's oldest or England's oldest colony. I have a slight problem with that because Ireland is a very special kind of colony, if it's a colony. It's a metropolitan colony. The original inhabitants remain far more, one could say, in a far stronger position than in many of the areas of the British Empire where they're effectively either enslaved or wiped out. But the point is really that what's happening in Ireland in the 18th and 19th century is, as I've said earlier, a kind of dispossession. But at the same time, there are elements, and this is true from the Act of Union which abolishes the old very elite Irish Parliament in 1800, there are elements of experimentation in the British government of Ireland which aren't, I have to say this, entirely malign, and you zero in on education, the attempt that was being made in the early 1830s was to introduce a non-denominational form of primary education for the Irish people. Ireland being Ireland, it was rapidly denominationalized. The Catholics used it for their purposes and the Protestants used it for their purposes, but the theory of it was that you had to overcome the religious differences which, by the early 19th century, seemed to dictate everything that was happening in Ireland. The great novelist William Thackeray, who was married to an Irish woman, said when he did a tour of Ireland and wrote his Irish Sketchbook, where to get at the truth in this country. It is not possible. There are two truths: the Catholic truth and the Protestant truth. And by the early 19th century, this seemed all too true.

Why did popular spoken Irish fade more rapidly than, say, Welsh?

Welsh speaking continued in the areas that became industrialized and prosperous in 19th century Wales, the areas of the slate quarries, the coal mines. People there spoke Welsh. The areas of Ireland that were comparatively prosperous, and they were much fewer than the areas of Wales in the 19th century, were in the east of the island and in the northeast where Irish was not spoken and had not been for many, many years. It remained the preserve of the distant western fastnesses, Connemara, the islands off the coast, certain pockets elsewhere. Irish-speaking therefore became identified— and this is when we get what we call the Celtic Revival from the 1890s— it became identified with a pure prelapsarian view of an unmaterialistic, ancient, almost pre-Christian civilization which inspired people like Yeats. But Irish-speaking ipso facto was part of that distant time and was not seen as relevant to the modern go-getting materialist commercialization that was affecting much of the rest of the country.

Now, my own field is economics, and it's striking to me in the 19th century how much excellence there is in Irish economics. You have Mountaford Longfield, who maybe first understood supply and demand, John Eliot Cairns, Richard Watley, Isaac Butt. Why this great flowering of economic thought in Ireland?

I'm so glad you mention Isaac Butt, who I think is one of the great neglected figures of Irish history. He founds the Home Rule Party for autonomy within the empire, but before that he is, as you and too few other people know, is a very interesting and intellectually original economist who lectures in economics at Trinity College Dublin and declares at the beginning of one of his first lectures that the great question of economics is why are the many poor? And applying that to Ireland brings him straight into the thorny thickets— and this is the 1830s, of course, 1820s and '30s— of protectionism and landowning. And Butt is a radical land reformer in theoretical terms long before the land reform issue galvanizes Irish politics in the 1870s and '80s. He is a protectionist for Irish purposes, He is, he becomes, I think, a home ruler, somebody who thinks that Ireland must get some form of autonomy back because of what he sees happen in the famine. The theory of the Act of Union between Ireland and Britain was that Ireland would be treated as any other part of the United Kingdom. The fact of it, when Irish people starved and died in their hundreds of thousands and indeed millions during the Great Potato Famine of the 1840s, the fact of it was that they were not treated as if they were part of any part of the United Kingdom. They were treated as a special case, and Irish property landowners, such as it was, were left to take the brunt, which they didn't in many cases accept, but saw this happening all around them and it radicalised them as a politician as well as an economist. I think to look to your larger question, Tyler, the reason why economics was something that people intellectuals turned to in 19th century Ireland, and Lecky, the great historian, was also, I think, a sophisticated and interrogative economist, was simply that there was that question that Butt kept asking: why are the many poor? Why was Ireland so poor when it had so many natural advantages? There's a simple— to some people, there's a simple political answer: English domination. But there were intrinsic infrastructural reasons as well, many of them to do with the way land was used and the way the population was growing, and these questions had to be answered.

Another very popular question is, how far back can we go to explain why Ireland developed so many first-rate writers and poets? Why is that, in your opinion?

Well, this is something that has preoccupied me more and more. I was— I started life as a straightforward historian and wrote a book about Charles Stuart Parnell, which was a kind of contextual biography. I then wrote a book about— another biography of a British politician, Lord Randolph Churchill, the father of Winston. I then wrote my book Modern Ireland, which I think you mentioned earlier. But especially writing Modern Ireland, I was fascinated to see how often a radical and questioning kind of discourse emerged through creative and fictional and poetic writings in Ireland. And then almost, I would say, serendipitously, but it was a tragic case really, the person, a great mentor of mine, F.S.L. Lyons, who was to write the authorized biography of W.B. Yeats, died before he could write it, and the task passed to me. And in writing about Yeats, I also had to write about the heft and the power and the originality of Irish writing in the English language, which is so notable in the period when Yeats comes to prominence, where you also have Joyce, you have Shaw, you have slightly later Beckett, you have a great number of less well-known writers like George Moore, who I think is a very underrated and experimental novelist of this time. And they're using the English language in a completely new way. Now part of this, and structuralist critics following the great Russian critic Bakhtin would say it's because they're writing in a language that is at the corners of change. There are traditions of a different language, the actual Gaelic Irish language which you mentioned earlier. There are also uses and changes and mouldings of English that happen in the island of Ireland, which you don't get outside. You still will get this. I always think I had an aged Volvo once. This is not irrelevant. And I was on holiday in Ireland in the summer, as I usually am, and the boot, which you call the trunk, jammed. And I went into the local garage man in my Kerry village and said, I suppose I should take it to a Volvo dealer, and he lifted up a monkey wrench and hit the back of the car where the boot was jammed with a great belt. And as he hit it and it did spring open, he said, 'In matters like this, Volvo dealers wield no special magic.' And I thought at the time that could be something that Yeats could have heard, or Lady Gregory collecting sayings of the people traveling in the west of Ireland. There is a an original twist to the English language in Ireland which is unique. As I wrote about this more, and I wrote another book called Words Alone: Yeats and His Inheritances, I felt that looking back through the 19th century and into the late 18th century, the time when the Irish language begins to spectacularly decline and English takes over, the novelists of the early 19th century Lady Morgans, that's Sydney Owens, um, William Carlton, Sheridan Le Fanu, many others who used to be seen as rather crude and, um, farouche and slightly, uh, rough around the edges writers now look to us, looking back through Beckett and Flann O'Brien and other experimentalists, as far more subtle, sophisticated, intentionally destabilizing writers of the English language than they used to be accepted for, and I think critical opinion would agree with me in this. Why this is, is something to do with the decline of Irish and the way it seeps and filters into the way English is used. Part of it is to do with the way that the English language is often a way in which— a medium which Irish people in the 19th century used to conceal the truth or evade uncomfortable conclusions when they're dealing with land agents or police or bailiffs. Or the army, if it comes to that. And part of it is the oral tradition of storytelling and using slightly idiosyncratic but vivid turns of phrase like car dealers wielding no special magic.

Why did Frederick Douglass visit Ireland and then spend 6 months there?

Douglass's trip to Ireland is something people are looking at more and more now because there are so many perceived parallels between the position of the native Irish and other oppressed or excluded elements in different cultures, such as the Native Americans and of course Black people in the antebellum and indeed postbellum states of America. I think myself that historical parallels and like historical precedence can be used as rather a blunt instrument, but certainly there was a feeling among radical politicians, nationalist politicians in Ireland and Black politicians in the United States, that they had a certain common cause. There's also the overwhelming fact, and this I think is very relevant to Douglass, that the great leader of Catholic Ireland who brought about the so-called emancipation of Catholics when they were finally allowed to sit in Parliament in 1829. This great leader Daniel O'Connell was a, a very passionate anti-slaver and abolitionist, and many of the people in his Catholic movement and then his movement to repeal the union with Britain and Ireland felt the same way. He was a, a great radical in the cosmic sense of radical politics, Daniel O'Connell, as well as being a founder of Catholic freedoms and an avatar of national autonomy.

And what do you think Douglass learned in Ireland?

I suspect that Douglass, who was a subtle and clever politician, learned that the parallels between what seemed to be the oppression of the native Irish and the very real oppression of Blacks in the United States were not exactly commensurate to each other. But he— whether he's— he believed— whether he— the extent to which he absolutely noted that is— isn't proven. But I feel that— and here, here I'm chancing my arm, rather— that anyone as analytical as him, as he would have seen, that what Irish natives suffered under in mid-19th century Ireland was nothing like what black slaves suffered under in mid-19th century America.

Now, my last name is Cowen and I'm Irish American. Can you tell me anything about Cowens in Irish history?

Tyler, I'm going to have to pass on that one, I'm afraid. I'll send you to the genealogical office in the National Library of Ireland where they will tell you everything they can about Cowens.

Sure. Now, you grew up in Waterford, correct?

Yeah.

How do you think that influenced your subsequent views on Irish history? The Waterford background, not from Dublin, right?

Not from Dublin, and neither of my parents were from Waterford either. One came from County— the border county. My father came from County Cavan. My mother came from County Wicklow, just south of— very beautiful county south of Dublin. But the school they taught in and where I was taught was a Quaker school. We weren't Quakers, we were nominally Church of Ireland, but the ethos of the education and very many of our friends were Quakers. And Waterford was a strong centre of the small but disproportionately influential Quaker presence in Ireland. And the older I get, the more I admire what Quakers stood for, what they did, what Quaker values are, and the more I I'm conscious that those values infused the, I think, very impressive education that I was lucky enough to be exposed to. So you ask for Waterford and I give you Quakers, but Quakers were an intrinsic part of the history of Waterford and I was brought up at the center of that.

And you think your views on religious toleration and the history of religion in Ireland were shaped by that background?

I think they couldn't not have been. Quakers had been, like other dissenting Protestants in the late 18th and 19th centuries, they had been rather discriminated against by the established Church of Ireland, the, one would have to say, the Anglican Church of Ireland. And so therefore they felt, I think, more at one with the Catholic majority of the island, and anyway that squared with the Quaker beliefs in equality which go back to Charles James Fox, to Charles Fox and beyond. So I think yes, if you take a Quaker view of Irish history, you will have a more intrinsically sympathetic view to the varieties of religious experience that exist in Ireland. Than you would if you were either coming from a Church of Ireland, hardline Church of Ireland background, or a devoutly Catholic background. Quakers sit rather attractively to me in a middle territory, and a territory that doesn't privilege privilege, if I can put it that way.

If we think of Ireland in the mid to late 19th century, do you think there was a path where British Union with Ireland persists, is at least, you know, moderately liberal and is permanent. Does that involve earlier Home Rule or giving Catholics access to the spoils system, or how does that look? Was it ever on the table? Was it just fantasy?

There are two great missed chances. One is when the Act of Union happened in 1800 to 1801 and did away with the old Irish Parliament. I mean, this was later seen as a great injustice, but it should be remembered that that old Irish Parliament British Parliament was a very elite Protestant monopoly. Implicitly, part of the promise to the Irish for doing away with their Parliament was that Catholics would be, in the phrase of the day, emancipated and be allowed to sit in the British Parliament and have access to the great offices of state. Thanks to the opposition of King George III, this was ruled out, and Catholics felt very reasonably that they had misled and cheated, and it took nearly 30 years till 1829, as under Daniel O'Connell, as I've mentioned, for that injustice to be rectified. Very good recent book about it by Antonia Fraser. This, I think, was a missed chance for reconciliation, and those 29 years between the Union of 1800 and Catholic emancipation of 1829 were suffused with bitterness, which need not have been the case. The other great missed chance is in 1886 when Gladstone converted himself and a large part of his Liberal ruling Liberal Party in Britain to the cause of Irish Home Rule. And in the greatest speech of his life, for nearly, I think, 2 and a half hours, he tried to persuade the House of Commons that if they rejected giving Ireland an autonomous parliament within the Empire, within the— indeed, within the United Kingdom, they would regret it in the future, and it would be a very ominous sign. They did reject it, the House of Commons. They passed it a few years later, but it was rejected by the House of Lords. But I think 1886 was probably the last moment when conceivably there could have been united Ireland between the increasingly different northeast and the rest of the island, with an autonomous parliament on the Canadian model within the empire, which I suspect would have disengaged itself over the next 50 years by peaceful steps, as indeed the Irish Free State after the Irish Revolution disengaged itself from the Commonwealth by peaceful steps. But by then Ireland was partitioned, which to me is an— a tragedy, if an inevitable tragedy, still a tragedy, and that could just about have been averted had Britain given Ireland Home Rule in 1886.

How contingent was that partition in the 1920s? Is there a scenario where there's an attempt to make all of Ireland independent that is anything other than just a very bloody civil war?

No, I think by, certainly by the early 1920s, that's the case. And I think the First World War, which was one of the defining events in Irish history, split a deeper rift than ever between the northeast and the rest of the country. Mind you, very, very many— 100,000, more than 100,000 Irishmen volunteered to fight on the side of the Allies in the First World War, but the real commitment came from the northeast, the Protestant culture of the northeast, which was determined to use the war effort as a way of showing that they were part of Britain, not part of a putative Home Rule Ireland. And the Battle of the Somme, which decimated the flower of Ulster's youth on the Western Front built this into stone, just as the 1916 nationalist rising a few weeks before at Easter 1916 and the executions of all the leaders of that built into stone the resentment of the nationalist Irish against British rule, leading to the extremely traumatic guerrilla war of independence and then the civil war which followed.

So you also think the periodic World War II talk of Ireland giving up its neutrality in return for unification, that was never serious in your view?

No, I think it was, um, Churchill with one too many drinks in him, frankly.

If we look at the economic history of Ireland from, say, the Republic now, 1920 through the 1970s. It seems there's some bad trade policies. The economic gap with Britain widens. There's not that much industrialization. What went wrong during that era in terms of policy or culture or whatever?

Well, I think de Valera, the leader of independent Ireland from 1932-33, took protectionism to its limit. There was a trade war, a sort of economic war with Ireland over— sorry, with Britain over the disagreement about outstanding payments for land reform. And incidentally, Tyler, as an economist, I think we've got to mention the extraordinary achievement of land reform in Ireland. When I went to live in England in the 1970s, I was amazed at how feudal the English land system was, the size of huge estates, In fact, people in villages in Norfolk and Dorset didn't own their own properties. This was so different from Ireland, where thanks to the Land Acts from 1881 right through to 1909, with a great deal of government money, the Irish occupying, occupying tenantry were enabled to buy out their own holdings from the landlords, who were given enormous sweetener payments by the British government. This is one of the Irish revolutions that is less often mentioned. And it created a very solid, conservative, small property-owning rural petit bourgeoisie. In that one fact, in that one sentence, you have a large explanation for why the Irish Revolution, when it did come, was politically radical in some ways but socially very conservative. You also have the reason for the— I have to use the word backwardness or conservatism of Irish farming in the 1920s, '30s, '40s, '50s, '60s.. It was the small family farm and the absolute determination of the landholder to hold on to what he, or more rarely she, had fought in the Land War of 1879 to '81 to get hold of. The stem system of inheritance, the ruthless emigration of redundant siblings to leave one inheritor for the farm, all this led to a a fairly stagnant agricultural economy. It was also a stagnant industrial economy in the— for much of the 20th century until the 1950s when a very brilliant civil servant called T.K. Whitaker, Ken Whitaker, T.K. Whitaker, brought in a whole new schedule of economically liberalizing measures and began to invite outward external investment into Ireland and set up an industrial development authority to work on Ireland's resources, and it did have resources. I'm not talking about turf in the bogs and endless wind to drive electricity, although this has now come to be the case. I'm really talking about the, the existence of a highly educated and quite disciplined and intelligent workforce, because Irish education has always punched above its weight. And we've seen this in the years of the so-called Celtic Tiger as well. But from the 1950s, '60s, '70s, the Irish economy did expand in a way that it had never done under the years of de Valera. And you as an economist will know this, partly because I think the general tendency began to be to look outward and welcome outward influences coming in from the outside world, whereas de Valera had— and this goes back to the years of the Celtic Revival in which he was immersed. De Valera had a vision of Ireland which was inward-looking, which was purist, which was anti-materialist, which was not going— and he said this frequently in lectures, in speeches— which was not going to privilege the creation of wealth and material comfort if it meant losing the essentials of what he conceived of as Irish identity.

If we think about the Troubles, they seem to heat up again in the late 1960s Why does that happen at that time?

Well, many books are published about this. The most recent ones actually have started emphasizing the examples of global movements of civil and libertarian unrest, notably in America, on a generation that had been educated to know how discriminated against the Catholic people were. I think there's a question as to whether the outburst of violence that began in 1968-9 and then continued, as you know, until the Good Friday the agreement of 1998. There's a question as to whether this was the bursting of a boil which was always going to happen because of the way the Catholics in the northeastern counties, the statelets set up by the, the Anglo-Irish Treaty in 1921, that this was always going to happen. More recently, there's a more nuanced view that sees movements towards reconciliation, movements towards peaceful civil rights demands movements towards liberalisation within a certain wing of the Unionist Party that sees this as happening in the early and mid-1960s and all that followed as a lurch into violence that could have been avoided had the Unionist establishment behaved with more intelligence and foresight. I think I incline rather to that view, and I believe that it was the view of Seamus Heaney as well, about whom my latest book is, and certainly when you read about his life and those of his peers in mid-1960s Northern Ireland, you get a sense of finally some new territories of interaction, cultural interaction, social interaction between the two communities opening up. But due to the violence with which civil rights demonstrations were put down in 1969,. And due to the rise of the Provisional IRA as a result of that, that was not to be, and we had 30 years and 3,500 deaths instead.

And why did the British intervene as much as they did? Because that had not been the general pattern, right?

No, absolutely not. There was one of the first pieces of crusading journalism that drew attention to the way Northern Ireland was run and gerrymandering and discrimination and all the rest of it of it was in the British Sunday Times, which was then amazingly quite a crusading paper, which it no longer is, and the article was called 'John Bull's Political Slum,' and it was a political slum, and one reason it was a political slum, Northern Ireland, was that the British threw money at it when demanded by the Unionists, but kept their faces firmly averted from the kind of culture of discrimination that had been built upon and encouraged ever since the measures like the abolition of proportional representation in voting right back at the beginning in the 1920s. When they did intervene, it was, I believe, reluctantly. There's a simple nationalist version which is that they were determined, the British were determined to hang on to Northern Ireland for military reasons no matter what, and that's why they poured the army in. Absolutely unproven, and I think proven to be untrue by the recollections and the evidence that's come to light since. Northern Ireland was never going to be anything but a running sore for the British, and many of them secretly and covertly would have really done their utmost to wash their hands of it, as indeed they may almost unintentionally be doing now because of the nonsensical position in which the catastrophe of Brexit has put Northern Ireland in relation to the larger island and in relation to the Republic.

How much permanent cultural influence do you think it had that the Republic did not fight in World War II?

Again, a very incisive and interesting question. Many Irish men, and I think they probably were men, did sign up to fight for the Allies. Many Irish women went over and worked as nurses and doctors in British hospitals during the war. In my own, in my wife's family, that's very true. My own family, 4 of my uncles fought for the Allies, but when they came back after 1945 to Ireland, they were not welcome. Certainly they were not welcome to talk about their experiences. There was a kind of doublethink in this. I think the vast majority of Irish people were engaged in what might be called a pro-Allied neutrality. Certainly Allied airmen who were shot down over Ireland, for instance, during the war, if they were from the Allied side, were quietly repatriated to Britain. If they were Germans, they were interned. I mean, there was a different approach. Too much emphasis is put perhaps on de Valera's correctness in going to pay his respects on the death of Hitler at the German Embassy, or the German Legation as it was in Dublin, at the end of the war. You can't really read from that that he was essentially pro-Nazi, though some Irish Republicans certainly were. He simply felt that as a head of state he was doing exactly what he should do when another head of state died in whatever circumstances. But this is often raked up against Ireland, implying that Ireland was pro-Germany, pro-German during the Second World War. It wasn't by any means, but preserving a position of neutrality was, I think, probably politically inevitable for de Valera. And I think one interesting fact is that so very few politicians in Ireland from the opposition side ever queried it. I can only think of one, James Dillon, the Fine Gael leader, who was very much anti-neutrality and believed that Ireland should have entered on the side of the British. It was, I think, as I've said, a pro-British neutrality, but a neutrality nonetheless. It's one of those subjects in Irish history which has recently been coming into focus on the histories and the treatment of those people who did volunteer to fight on behalf of the Allies and came back to a cold welcome, or if they were soldiers from the Irish Army who'd gone to fight for Britain, they were actually disciplined when they came back. This is now coming under view, and a number of very interesting studies have been written about it. It's left one of the— it's, it's one of those many issues in Irish history, like the abuse of children and women in the so-called industrial homes run by the Catholic Church. It's one of those no-go areas that is very recently coming under examination by a new generation of, I think, very impressive Irish historians.

After the war, the Republic switches its electoral system to a version of the single transferable vote. Why did they do that, and how has it mattered for Irish politics?

It's mattered because it has encouraged, as STV PR systems do all over the world, a likelihood towards coalition governments, often between unlikely allies. I think this is a good thing, and living in Britain where they have what I think is an archaic and crude first-past-the-post system, which has given repeatedly sweeping powers of government to parties who have not received anything like a national majority, I think it's a much less admirable system than what Ireland manipulates. The general line is often taken that it's too difficult for voters, but actually anyone who's at all interested in where their vote is going knows very quickly, or finds out very quickly, the advantages and disadvantages sometimes of tactical voting in a PR system. The Irish are exceptionally good at it. The disadvantage might be that it produces a rather clientelist kind of politics. And there's a lot of horse trading and, and, and pork barrel, as you would say in the States, politics that go on, especially in rural constituencies, as deals are hammered out for who gets what and what votes go to whom. But in the end, I think it's produced— and I think this has to be admitted— it's produced a remarkably stable political system in a post-revolutionary country. When you look at the numbers of revolutionary regimes that were set up in European countries after the First World War, and I think Ireland should be seen as one of those. When you look at what was happening in Central Europe, when you look at the rise of fascism in especially in Italy but also in Germany and to a certain extent in France, Ireland, though it had a miniature para-fascist party in the 1930s, kept a stable democratic, democratic system going and it kept going through the crises of war and poverty and a number of internal crises within the government itself right through to the present day. At the moment we have again a coalition government in Ireland between the long-standing enemies Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael, parties that emerged out of the Civil War divide, which is yet another of those until recently rather unexplored areas of Irish history, the traumatic civil war that followed the Anglo-Irish War in 1921. And I think the PR system that Ireland adopted has stood it in good stead, and I think that Ireland at the moment seems a far more mature and effective polity in political terms, certainly than Boris Johnson's England. And I say England advisedly because I think both Wales and Scotland are in a rather questionable position vis-à-vis the unity of the UK at this moment.

Now there's so much focus on Joyce and Yeats as writers, but how does Irish modernism differ in your understanding if you view it through the lens of the Irish visual arts and painting, stained glass, sculpture?

This again is another area of Irish history that has been reopened with a number of, um, analytical treatments of Irish art, putting it in the mainstream of European modernist art rather than as an interesting variant on the British experience, which was far too often the case in the past. That may be true of, let's say, Irish 18th-century landscape painting, but it's emphatically true of Irish painters of the fin de siècle, great painters like Orpen and Lavery, who are much more like French painters and have all studied in France in many cases, rather than being variants of the British norm. You mentioned stained glass, Tyler, and that of course is— with artists like Harry Clarke and Mainy Jellett and Evie Hone— that is another area, medium, in which modernism and cubism Surrealism, even in the case of Evie Hone, finds its way into Irish art at a time when the British are turning away from or averting their faces from it. There's a great crisis, or a great— not a crisis, a controversy in Irish art around the early years of the 20th century when a man called Hugh Lane, a great collector of art, tries to set up a modern gallery in Ireland of Impressionist and even early Post-Impressionist art and tries to give his great collection to, to the Irish people to form such a gallery. I can't go into it now, but it becomes a disputed issue when he dies in the Lusitania, leaving a disputed will, and the paintings are grabbed by the National Gallery in London, where they largely still reside, though a new arrangement for sharing them with Dublin has just been recently worked out. Now the interesting thing is that Lane and many Irish people had an eye for the new French painting, as did some Scottish collectors, long before they became valuable in the eyes of the British artist— the English art establishment. So I think there's always been a case for arguing that Irish art looks to Europe in many ways. Many Irish artists train in Europe An exception, someone who doesn't train in Europe, is perhaps one of the greatest, if not the greatest, Irish painters of the 20th century, who is Jack Yeats, brother of W.B. Yeats. And there is an absolutely wonderful, huge exhibition of his work in the National Gallery in Dublin at the moment, where the radicalism and power and poetry of these very expressionist paintings is just mind-blowing. And you can't think of any English painter at the time who's doing anything like it. You can think of Kokoschka, you can think of some of the German expression of some of the colorists, and you can see parallels, but it's, it's a very definitively un-British kind of painting. So that's visual art. We've long been used to the idea of Irish literature existing in a different, a much more international, a much more radical framework than English writing of the 19th, certainly of the 19th and early 20th centuries, but I think an interesting development that's happening now in cultural history and cultural criticism is that Irish visual art is also being seen from this angle as well.

Why is Jack Yeats still so undervalued in international art markets? You can still buy a top one for, what, a little more than a million British pounds? And if you compare it to prices for, say, continental artists, it could be, you know, 10 or 20 million pounds or euros.

Million pounds is still a lot of money, Tyler, and my in my book. I think he is underestimated, but well, there is one very practical reason, which is that Jack Yeats didn't prepare his canvases, and they're fragile things. Sometimes when you look inside the glass along the bottom of a Yeats painting, there are flakes of paint that have fallen off. That's a very practical reason for perhaps not hitting the very highest values, but during the boom of the Celtic Tiger, I think a million would have been cheap for a major Jack Yates. They were hitting large prices, and recently they've been hitting them again. I think to compare them, if you're thinking of the sort of tens of millions, you're thinking of Picasso or Matisse, and I think that's a different ball game really. I don't think Jack Yates— I think what you're buying with a Picasso, or with a major Picasso or Matisse, is a statement of a change in the history of art that affects the entire artistic world. I imagine, though I'm by no means an expert, that that's one reason for the astonishing prices that these command, as with, to take a very different example, Andy Warhol. If you're buying a Jack Yates, you're not buying into a work that has changed the practice and effect and achievement of world art. You're buying something very special and, if you like, idiosyncratic, and I think every bit as beautiful as a Matisse or a Picasso, but that's perhaps a biased opinion.

Do you think it's fair to say that Ireland is not a country of utopian theorists?

That requires a bit of thought about. No, I think If you look at modern Irish fiction, which is very often a barometer of how a country thinks about itself, in the early decades of Irish independence, let's say the '20s and '30s, you had the short stories of Sean O'Faolain, Mary Lavin, Frank O'Connor, and you had a kind of, not utopian, but often rather idealised, though often quite a bitter view of Irish especially rural life as well, but certainly a sense of specialness and removedness and a celebration of a certain kind of Irish identity. This is, I think, true of many lesser-known writers as well. What seems to me to have happened since the 1970s, when the whole focus of Irish literary achievement shifted from the short story to the novel, when you have writers like John Banville Contobin, Anne Enright, Sebastian Barry, they're going for a different kind of thing. They are not in the least utopian, though very often a novel will end with some kind of resolution, but I think dystopian might be more the world that many of them are working in, or are working to represent. The novel of family life has become in many cases, and Dermot Bolger is another example here, a novel that explores imprisonment rather than safety and refuge. The novel of rural life, and think of the great John McGahern here, is often a novel of cruelty, hardness, exploitation rather than a novel of pastoral beauty. The novels of Sebastian Barry send his characters often wandering all over the world to get away from a terrible Irish past, though as I say, there's often a resolution at the end. Colm Tóibín, who has also extended the range of the Irish novel immensely, writes about the memory of the War of Independence and the encoded cruelties and violences in Irish life. So I think we're not in a position at the moment, or we're not in a situation at the moment, where utopian theorists are going to be found writing about Irish life who were at a very different moment, partly because we're talking about things that had not been talked about. And I'm thinking here of the so-called mother and baby homes and many other scandals about church authority. We're talking about things that for many years were not to be spoken of.

John Stuart Mill once wrote this in a letter, quote, I know tolerably well what Ireland was, but have a very imperfect idea of what Ireland is. Is that still true? Was it ever true?

It's true of many people. It's interesting you quote Mill, who wrote a wonderful essay called England and Ireland, which reflects, I think, that opinion. He also said something which I've often quoted, which I like very much, which is that Ireland is in the mainstream of European history, whereas England is in an eccentric tributary. And I think that's very true, and a lot of what we've been saying today, Taylor— Tyler— seems to me to bear that out from the 17th century on. What Ireland was, I think, is something that is also in a sense up for grabs, where we're trying to re-envision it, we're trying to revise it, we're trying to re-explain it. Something I wrote long ago, which has been quoted once or twice, is that the best history is written when we realize that people acted in terms, in belief of, in expectation of a future that was never going to happen. And I think that's very true of— well, it's true of the histories of most countries, but very true of the history of Ireland. The expectations in which the revolutionaries acted in 1919 to '21 were of a future that didn't happen. The expectations of Unionists and Imperialists in Ireland, of which there were many in the late 19th century, they acted in terms of a future that was never going to happen either, as we all act in terms of a future that's never going to happen, but that imagined future is what dictates the way in which we behave. I think in a sense John Stuart Mill's very honest admission is relevant to that as well.

As you probably know, Oscar Wilde once wrote to William Yeats, quote, "We are a nation of brilliant failures, but we are the greatest talkers since the Greeks." With so much Irish success today, how will that image have to change? Is Ireland culturally prepared to be one of the countries that's doing better than all the other countries?

Well, again, if I can instance my own work, I wrote a book called Luck and the Irish: A Brief History of Change, 1970 to 2000. Which is a study of how Ireland became rich, successful, a country of— into which people immigrated rather than exporting its own people for emigration, a country which was producing large quantity of the world's supply of Viagra, to take one example of its pharmaceutical revolution, a country in which not only Big Pharma but also Silicon technology invaded from the 1990s and made a number of people very, very rich. Um, it all would collapse— no, actually it wouldn't all collapse. There would be an extreme check applied in the crash of 2006 to 2008. But now that we can look back from 2022, the upside is still there. Ireland is a great deal richer, more prosperous more fully populated and more, I think, optimistic than it was in the Ireland I grew up in, in the 1960s and early '70s. I think Ireland has got very used to being a world player, or at least an EU player, if I can put it like that, and that can't be underestimated. I think Ireland began being rich earlier than people think, just as Ireland began being liberal earlier than people think. People think that Ireland cast off the shackles of overwhelming Catholic power and social morality with the scandals that emerged about bishops having children and the mother and baby homes and so forth. Not so, I think, and I said this in the lectures that became that book, luck in the Irish. I think it began with the Irish women's movement in the very early 1970s when the— what the sociologist Tom Inglis has called the bargain, the implicit bargain between the priest and the mother that kept Ireland going was broken radically from the mother's side when women were not going to be instructed by the church how to live their lives and how to live not only their reproductive lives but their social and their work and their and their sexual lives. That was an enormous revolution, and it happened both quickly and irrevocably from the 1970s. Similarly, I think Ireland became rich not just when the Big Pharma and Silicon Valley began invading in the 1990s. It became much richer from 1972 to 1973 when it entered the EU, the Common Market as it was then called, and became the recipient of very many grants and handouts, and also more creatively was integrated into the European government, with always punching below— above its weight at Strasbourg and Brussels and doing very well out of it. Ireland took to Europe in a very committed way, and even during the years of austerity after the crash of 2006-08 when it seemed at the time rather draconian implementations of economic policy were being ordered on Ireland from the so-called Troika of European financial authorities. It wasn't objected to half as much as it was in Greece or in Spain, for instance. The medicine was taken because so much good medicine or sugar, or whatever you like to use metaphorically, had gone down for the previous 20-odd years. And Ireland has come through its— a lot of its economic dislocation since then and is more, I think, I think I'm right to say, more passionately and more committedly European than ever, especially in the light of what Brexit is bringing about in the larger island next door.

As you know, Ireland has quite a low marriage rate. So how do you think about the long-term repopulation of the country? So could you imagine, say, 30 years from now that half the population in the Republic is simply from the EU and that that's culturally stable and everyone's fine with it?

Why should everyone not be fine with it?

There seems to be pressure brought upon politics in many countries when the percentage of non-native-born individuals, say, creeps over 20%. Now Ireland may be different, right? There's less populism of a certain kind there, many other differences.

You know, I think it is, Tyler. I don't want to sound too chauvinistic about this, but it surprises me. There is, of course, racism in Ireland, as there is racism everywhere, but it surprises me given the— and you've just drawn attention to Treaty itself, the extent of immigration into Ireland. It surprises me how comparatively easily that has been absorbed and how little there is of populist, or as you put it, or nativist movements against the incomer, partly because I think emigration has created among the Irish a kind of global sense which opens the mind to such things. And there's also such a thing as reverse emigration. A great many people from the boom years on re-emigrated— you wouldn't say re-emigrated— returned, I suppose, the simple way of putting it, to Ireland, having emigrated earlier and returned, bringing with them, I suspect, an outward-looking and tolerant view which perhaps they wouldn't have if they had lived all their time in Ireland. I think given what you see in other countries, and you're absolutely right, it's, it's, it's, it's, I think, unusual for, for it to be so. But I think there is a far lesser degree of resentment and expressed bigotry against incoming people from different cultures in Ireland, partly because those people themselves become rather quickly what is called the New Irish.

As Northern Ireland becomes at least as much Catholic as Protestant, does that increase or decrease the chances for a single Ireland?

To say that it would increase them is to perhaps assume too much that people, people's political vote follows their ethno-religious identity. It used to be so, it's less so now. I think there you get far more middle-class Catholics who will admit to be— to believing in the union now than you ever would have before. Um, you get on the other side, I think, more especially in the younger age cohorts, you get far more people from a Protestant background prepared to, um, envisage a united Ireland, partly of course because the Republic with which they would theoretically be uniting is such a younger, more outward-looking, less priest-ridden, more fashionable— to use the word— entity than the country that their parents or grandparents would have averted their gaze from. At the same time, I think there's much talk at the moment of a border poll and how it would go. A border poll meaning a vote for reunification. I think intercommunal tensions are so high at the moment in Northern Ireland, and that again brings us back to Brexit, or has a lot of its origins in Brexit, that I think it's the wrong time for such a poll. If it narrowly turned out in favor of United Ireland, I think it would be fairly catastrophic If it turned out narrowly the other way, it would probably be catastrophic too. I think at the moment things are too finely balanced to push it. I suspect, and here I'm pushing the boat out a bit, that in about 30 years' time the governing opinion in the six counties of Northern Ireland might well have shifted much more towards uniting with a European Republic of Ireland to the south than staying with what will by then be a sadly diminished England. But that's just a personal opinion.

In a scenario of that kind, does Belfast become Ireland's second city, or is it too deindustrialized? Is it ultimately going to be Cork in the south, or how do you see the urban landscape of a united Ireland evolving?

Tyler Cowen, I'm not a prophet. I do know Cork would be very annoyed if it was— if it were to be demoted from the second city since it because many people in Cork think they're the first city anyway. I think Belfast would— maybe I speak from the kind of slightly idiosyncratic Protestant culture I was brought up in, but I think that in a united Ireland, Belfast and what it stands for would supply something that was lacking, certainly in newly independent Ireland. That quality that's sometimes called Northern iron. I think the creativity— and just think of the Belfast poets since the 1960s— the creativity and the history and the, um, Belfast energy would be a valuable adjunct to the, the rest of the island. That's not to say that there aren't great disadvantages in this, in, in the case, in the economic situation. You as an economist will know the parlous state of the Northern Irish economy and the fact that so much of Northern Ireland society subsists on handouts that come directly or indirectly from the larger island. That's an enormous question of assimilation which we haven't really touched on, which is, I think, a great obstacle to, to a simplistic form of reunification. But were there to be reunification possibly after my 30-year period, I think, yes, I think Belfast would supply something that would bring a new injection of energy and interest into the reunited island.

One hopes. Does Derry, or some would prefer to say Londonderry, have an economic future, or is it just stuck out there and it's going to get smaller and people will leave it?

I'm not qualified to say. I mean, Londonderry, Derry stroke City, as some people refer to it, because London, London's Derry stroke Derry, has its own valuable traditions and again its own cultural traditions, but its hinterland culturally has often been seen as, as much the Republic as Northern Ireland. Derry, Londonderry would perhaps assimilate with a reunited Ireland rather easily than many places, because in a sense, culturally, so much of it has looked south anyway. But that's, again, a semi-educated guess.

Last question to close. This is in some ways quite a large one, but you've, throughout your entire life, you've taught Irish history to Irish people, to English people, presumably to Europeans, and to Americans. What are the main differences across those groups in terms of how they understand Irish history or how you teach it?

One of my favorite Irish novelists, Elizabeth Bowen, said that she wished the Irish— the English remembered much more Irish history and the Irish forgot more of it, and I tend to feel the same way. If you teach Irish history to Irish people, you can expect a certain parti pris, a certain attitude that is already there that you have to kind of challenge. And I, I should say one of the great things about being an Irish historian is the sophisticated, engaged, passionate interest in history among Irish people. We see it at the moment in the decade of commemoration, so-called commemorating that key decade 1912 to '22 when so much changed in Ireland. Living in England, I've been amazed at how little commemoration there was, let's say for instance in 1991, of 1691, of the Glorious Revolution, of the moment when Whig culture created essentially the modern British political system. Nobody gave a damn about it or remembered it. I was in France in 1989, and again, the extraordinary level of commemorativeness about the Revolution was something you never see in England, perhaps because England is more secure and perhaps blinkered in its own views of itself and its past. Moving on to teaching Irish history to English people, British people, I think it's absolutely vital. I've done it in London for many years. I inaugurated the first chair of Irish history in Oxford, which is still there with a very brilliant successor, I'm glad to say. And teaching English people, especially at the heart of the establishment, which you would have to say Oxford represents, is utterly vital because these are the people who will be the civil servants and possibly politicians of the future. And the astonishing ignorance of English people about Irish history, apart from some set pieces, is one of the things that astonished me when I came in 19— back in 1974 to to be an academic in this country. So there's that. That's the obstacle you have to get over when you're teaching Irish history to English people. Teaching Irish history to Americans, which I have done a bit, is another question again, because you're encountering the emigrant memory of Ireland in many cases. Irish Americans or people with some Irish blood in them will say, I'm Irish, not I'm I'm Irish-American. It's a sense of identity which I think societies of immigrants bring very powerfully with them and sustain very powerfully, but it does mean that all too often the memory of Ireland is the memory of the grandmother or the grandfather or the generation who emigrated, and they've kept it in aspic, and it's necessary to stir that around a bit, to change it, to, to accentuate the complications, the nuances, the ironies of Irish history, the unexpected futures and the futures that were expected but never happened, as I mentioned earlier. That's what you have to try and get across to an audience that thinks they have a kind of historic tapestry, an immobilized tapestry or mural of great national events one after the other, leading in the end to liberation. It was all a great deal more complicated and more difficult and more interesting and I think more creative than that.

It's been a real pleasure. Roy Foster, thank you very much.

Thank you, Tyler. I enjoyed it.