The terms "left" and "right" in politics have their origins in the assemblies of pre-revolutionary France, when noblemen sat to the right of the king and commoners sat to his left, writes Frank McNally
No doubt the aristocrats were thinking of the Bible, which promises the virtuous a place at the right hand of God. But the political significance of the arrangement deepened at the National Convention in 1793, when the revolutionary Jacobins occupied the upper left of the chamber - the "montagne" - while the moderates sat down below them on the "plaine".
Variations on the theme now feature in many parliaments - from the rectangular House of Commons, where the governing party sits on the speakers' right, to the European Parliament in Strasbourg, where political groupings are arranged in a semi-circle, with the "far left" seated as the term implies, and so on.
Naturally, they do things the other way round in Leinster House. Defying international norms, the Government here sits to the left of the Ceann Comhairle. In the outgoing Dáil, Sinn Féin and Joe Higgins occupied the right, alongside their fellow bastions of the establishment, Fine Gael, Labour, and the Greens.
In contrast with the reality of Irish politics, the least crowded part of the chamber is the centre. This is partly because the two sides are divided by an aisle. But it was a feature of the 29th Dáil that a few Government TDs - Liz O'Donnell and Fiona O'Malley in particular - made a point of always sitting as near to the middle as possible.
In his great book Europe - A History, Norman Davies notes that the left-right metaphor is problematic unless you see the political spectrum as a straight line with the two extremes connected by a conciliatory medium. In this arrangement, the centre parties are always likely to be the most successful, because they can borrow support from the moderates on either side.
But, as Davies adds, Marxists and others see the political spectrum not as "unilinear" but as "bipolar", with the opposing extremes fated to contend until one establishes total supremacy. To the bipolarists, the notion of a political order based on compromise or consensus is just a "bourgeois illusion".
We had an outbreak of bipolarity in bourgeois Dublin 6 on Wednesday, if only in the sense that Michael McDowell climbed one pole to warn about the dangers of left-wing government while a Fine Gael candidate climbed another to warn about the dangers of Michael McDowell. But the spat only highlighted how strained the left-right metaphor has become in a country where pragmatism is the supreme virtue and all other ideology is suspect.
Davies notes that what the unilinear and bipolar schemes share is "the dubious assumption that 'left' and 'right' are simple opposites". This means that the spatial arrangement of political assemblies involves important considerations.
The House of Commons, for example, pits one bank of seats in direct opposition to the other, with no cross-benches, thereby actively discouraging the growth of a third party or "the spirit of coalition". In the old USSR, on the other hand, the Supreme Soviet met in an undivided hall, thereby actively discouraging the growth of even a second party.
In its own way, therefore, the Dáil chamber represents the reality of Irish politics. Not only does it encourage the growth of lots of parties, and therefore the spirit of coalition. But it also reflects the lack of ideological commitment. The key thing here is that the seats are arranged in a U-shape, symbolising the manoeuvre to which most governments quickly resort if a policy proves sufficiently unpopular.
Almost as outdated as the right-left metaphor is the use of colour-coding among political movements, even if the Greens have given it a shot in the arm.
Traditionally the colour of the land and therefore of peasant movements, green is also the symbol of Irish nationalism, a fact that has not been without problems. Its other main association is with bad luck. And since the great nationalist Charles Stewart Parnell was a deeply superstitious man, he could not stand to have the colour anywhere near him.
The red flag's modern symbolism is another thing that dates from the French Revolution, according to Davies. The royal standard was white. So when a crowd attacking the Tuileries picked up a blood-soaked royal flag, it established another pattern. Henceforth red was the colour of revolution, white of counter-revolution. The metaphor was still going strong in Europe 130 years later, when a white army fought a red menace, although blue has since replaced white as conservatism's dominant theme.
Even the milder revolutions we have these days tend to be colour-coded. But the orange of the Ukrainian reform movement, for example, looks more like the work of public relations consultants than the uncompromising shade of the colour that we know in Ireland. And what with Rev Ian Paisley appearing in party political broadcasts for Fianna Fáil, even Orangemen are not what they used to be.
Politics is all about pastel shades these days. Bold colours are so last season. A successful government now needs to have more nuances than the Dulux catalogue. Which may be why it's looking good for a rainbow.