The biggest library of Dublin’s Trinity College has been renamed in honour of Eavan Boland, an Irish poet and alumnus of TCD from 1966. The previous name, connected with Trinity graduate, philosopher and less renowned poet George Berkeley, has been discarded.
In 2015, I passed an enjoyable four months in northern California, exploring my PhD subject, namely Berkeley’s take on mathematical infinitesimals. Fortunately, I was able to secure the funding to spend the Autumn session, also known as ‘fall’ in the USA, under the guidance of an extremely intelligent philosophy of mathematics scholar.
The inaugural week coincided with the opening of the college’s academic calendar. A plethora of societies and clubs, inclusive of two reputable barbershop groups, thronged the walkway leading up to Sproul Plaza, underneath the Sather Gate, which was the initial point of my daily commute to Moses Hall, the home to the philosophy department. An amusing sight was the stand of “Berkeley College Republicans”, noticeably the only quiet spot, with a solitary woman, engrossed in her phone. Despite being an amateur, I captured the scene, using the Sather Gate as the backdrop, an echo of the iconic Free Speech Movement symbol from the campus protests of the 1960s America. That tickling sight was shared with my godfather, a retired American cultural historian. The photograph today brings to mind the strong symbolism of Berkeley.
It’s not common knowledge that the naming of Berkeley, California, is a tribute to George Berkeley, Ireland’s most renowned philosopher, without intending to offend followers of John Scotus Eriugena. According to sources, Frederick H. Billings, an American politician, came across Berkeley’s poem, “Verses on the Prospect of Planting Arts and Learning in America” during an excursion to the location that eventually turned into the University of California at Berkeley. Berkeley penned the poem driven by his despair that European Christianity was on the brink of collapse and he viewed the transatlantic imperialism as an opportunity for Anglicanism to survive. The opening of the poem goes as follows: “Westward the course of empire takes its way; The first four Acts already past, A fifth shall close the Drama with the day; Time’s noblest offspring is the last.”
Ken Early’s position promotes the view that Ireland should make use of the Nations League games to free themselves mentally by accepting the possibility of failure in football.
Billings was fond of the poem, his entourage agreed that the author warranted recognition, and the nascent university was therefore named after him. Consequently, today, the mention of Berkeley, pronounced closer to ‘turkey’ than ‘car key’, rarely brings to mind the philosopher bishop or immaterialist metaphysics. Instead, Berkeley, which was christened in 1866, now proudly carries a symbolic legacy shaped by political activism and cardinal instances of liberal and left-wing ideologies in the US. The name’s connotation has clearly evolved beyond the social significance attributed to it at the time of naming.
The practice of naming is philosophically intricate, evident in the California scenario. It cautions against hastily renaming every entity associated with a figure whose adverse personal history comes to light. The case of the TCD library, christened in 1978, differs slightly. Given the strong association between George Berkeley and the Trinity, the aptness of the library’s name in today’s context demands careful evaluation. It would be inaccurate to infer that the library achieved a meaningful legacy distinct from the notable philosopher who worked there, even though it was an essential part of Trinity’s infrastructure.
The decision to rename the library stemmed from the committee’s conclusion that its continued association with Berkeley was at odds with the university’s essential values of human dignity, freedom, inclusivity, and equality. While human dignity might be relative, it is undeniable that freedom, inclusivity, and equality did not align with Berkeley’s philosophies.
Critics of renaming the library often spoke from a viewpoint that applying current moral standards to Berkeley would be anachronistic. However, this stance seems obtuse. While it is necessary to consider societal norms when assessing historical actions ethically, it is erroneous to assume they are the only factors. Such a simplistic approach risks equating an act’s ethical nature with its acceptance level at the time.
While I have a deep understanding of Berkeley’s philosophy, it’s condescending to suggest that a mind like his could not have perceived selling, dehumanising, and torturing people as morally wrong. Considering this and the wider discourse, the question put on the table was whether our opinion of Cicero is less favourable because he, like many notable Romans, possessed slaves in a society where slavery was commonplace. To me, the answer is a resounding ‘yes’. It is possible to differentiate the brilliance of the work from the persona of the author. Yet, thinking less of him does not mean disregarding his thinking altogether. He was, to be sure, an important intellect – just like Berkeley – but this difference in criteria might be why I would avoid naming a public institution after him in today’s world.
If we are not inclined to attach their names to places now, why allow tradition and familiarity to impede us from seriously analysing the merits of retaining the current names when there are valid complaints about them from key groups within the university? These matters are complex, requiring detailed individual scrutiny.
Boland seems better aligned with the contemporary values of Trinity. On the occasion of my recent childbirth, Caitriona Lally imparted the essence of Boland’s ode “Night Feed”, created during her term as the writer-in-residence at the National Maternity Hospital. The poem venerates the strength and vulnerability of nascent motherhood, narrating a new mother nursing her infant in the hospital nursery. I found the ending profoundly affecting.
What was once deemed impossible – a revered poem being born in the halls of Holles Street, let alone a female poet being immortalised in Trinity’s architecture – can now be our reality. Society’s values morph over time and it’s crucial that the symbols that represent our institutions evolve too. There’s a finite number of structures available for namesakes to honour, hence a system of rotation reflecting our dynamic – and hopefully improving – ideals is beneficial.
The author of this piece, Dr Clare Moriarty, is a postdoctoral fellow of the Irish Research Council at Trinity College Dublin.