Grief is a funny thing, you expect that you will act the way you always do, in any given situation and then suddenly you find yourself in an unthinkable position; it is in these places where grief lives. More often than not, grief manifests itself most powerfully when someone close to you dies. This is something I have come to observe during my work in funeral services. People will often expect that they will react to a loss in a stoic manner, and will be able to suppress their emotions; this does occur, but it is remarkably rare. No, grief will hit you when you least expect it, even those who "society" deems ought to repress their emotions, men. A man is "supposed" to be stoic in such situations, sure he will be sad (or else a heartless monster), but he mustn't show such emotions outwardly, that is the "place" of women. Men, are supposed to grin and bare it, right? Not hardly.
I'm not sure where this notion developed, and while it may be an interesting bit of the history of gender roles, in my experience such stoicism is thrown right out. Men grieve; they weep, cry, sob, yell and scream. Men find themselves acting in a way they did not expect, with their emotions pouring forth, with such fury and violence, that their shock is replaced by shame. They become very self conscious of what they are doing, and try their best to bottle the torrent which has weld up inside them, not an easy feat by any standard. Unfortunately being in such a self conscious state, the fear of being perceived as vulnerable, or weak, will often make those individuals react rather gruffly, even harshly, towards those trying to aid them (like a staff member at a funeral home offering a much needed tissue). Are men, especially young men, correct to feel this way? Should their show of grief become a source of shame? Is their emotional vulnerability a sign of weakness? My answer would be a resounding no, but this is not merely my position as someone in funeral service; no this is also my position as a Gaelic polytheist.
It is during these times, I am reminded of Caílte mac Rónáin as depicted in the Acallam na Senórach. Here we see a mighty warrior (though less mighty than he once was) who is still more than a match for any of the obstacles still left in Ireland. Here is a man who has lived for hundreds of years, has seen all those he loved killed or fall before his eyes, but who still has a story to tell. It is between the many adventures and telling, in those quiet times of reflection, that we see just how burdened with grief Caílte truly is. He bears not only his own past, but the past of all those who has gone before him, and he weeps, openly and unashamedly at their loss. At no point does anyone in the text sneer at how pitiable it is to see such a man reduced to weeping. Upon hearing the tragedies which have occurred, his audience will often be moved to tears right along side him.
Such is the burden of all those who survive, of the old warrior at once proud of his past yet also haunted by it. The burden of carrying on in a world where one you loved is no longer, seems to be well understood by our ancestors. There is no scoffing, no mocking of emotional outpourings; rather there is understanding and empathy, and the hope that we should all bear such a loss with dignity and strength. For while grief can be crushing and seemingly endless, it is something which as time goes by, inevitably becomes a constant companion. There, and never far out of mind, but bearable as we go on living.
-Gorm
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Personal agency and the problem of fate
The ability to act; to be cognizant of the decision one makes, for me is one of the central reasons morality is something which can exist. The ability to make a choice is, likewise, a necessary component of any sort of system of ethics. As such, I am simply unable to get my head around the concept of morality in a fatalistic universe. If ethics are to have any meaning, individual volition necessarily follows. If one could only ever act in a single fashion, could only ever choose A (and necessarily must choose A), then there is no personal involvement in the decision. Rather, there is no decision at all and the selection of A, is simply an involuntary reaction to the circumstance an individual finds themselves in. Aside from utterly neutering any meaning in ethics, I do believe it is demonstrably false. People make decisions all the time, and will often change their minds a dozen times, depending on the circumstance. The fatalist would argue that, regardless of the deliberation, the final action was necessary, and could never have been altered; the so called "illusion of free choice". Where does that leave us then?
Two mythic perspectives to consider through a truncated comparison of eschatologies: Revelations v. Ragnarok. The importance of the, to borrow a term "alpha and omega", from a mythological perspective is that the cosmogenic and eschatological narratives of a given culture or religion tend to bring into focus what is really important. All myth does this to some degree, but these two specific types of myth crystallize the essence of how a given culture/religion understands the way the cosmos function, and how to properly interact with it. The current running through both the Book of Revelations, and Ragnarok, is that of the inevitability of the events depicted; these events will transpire, regardless of any action to the contrary. Both stories involve the end of the cosmos (as it currently exists), untold horror and suffering, and the death of the vast majority of humanity. The response each group is to have, to all the destruction and horror, could not be more different, and from this we catch a glimpse of how each see's the role of personal volition in the face of the inevitable.
Before I get into a more direct comparison, a note regarding "The Book of Revelations". I understand this particular text, first and foremost, through the context in which it was written and the audience it was written for. It was written at a time of heightened persecution, and reads largely as a revenge fantasy; though Christians would have to endure for now, in the not too distant future they would emerge victorious against their persecutors. The intention of the text was to provide solace for the faithful, and to assure them their suffering was not in vain. It was not, I am convinced, meant to depict events centuries later. For anyone who is interested in understanding the historic context, I would highly recommend Jonathan Kirsch's, A History of the End of the World. With that proviso out of the way, the vast majority of Christians do not seem to understand said book in its historic context, or if they do also, see it as a book of prophecy and a genuine eschatology. The vast majority of Biblical literalists, at least, understand it to be nothing short of the future history of the end of the world, and whats more eagerly await the events; if not outright doing all they can to speed up the process (but more on this later). So, my comparison will be the world view espoused by said literalists, as opposed to the historic context of the text.
Throughout the BoR, the Apostle John witnesses the destruction of the earth, the (rather horrific) death of the vast majority of humanity at the hands of angels, the baseness and cruelty of those unrepentant humans, the salvation of the faithful, a pitched battle between the forces of the "lamb" and those of "the devil", the rise and fall of the anti-Christ, and he final destruction of the earth and final judgement of every human. What becomes painfully obvious is the utter lack of agency available to humanity. The vast majority are little more than insects to be trampled upon by the two "divine" forces, before being thrown into an everlasting furnace to be burned for all eternity. Those who are judged fit to not be tortured, equally play no role within the narrative, and are just as powerless as those judged "wicked". The closest thing that mimics agency is the notion that those who repent will be saved from so terrible a fate. This of course is one of many theological battles within the wide umbrella of Christendom, and different religions within have different views on how much personal choice plays a role in salvation, and how much is simply at the "grace of God". It has been my experience that literalists lean towards the idea of grace trumping personal volition, so even in that, humans have no say in their fate.
Salvation is something that is external, is enabled by the grace of the Christian god, and is absolutely necessary to avoid suffering eternal torment (among other things). This perspective necessarily reinforces its own existence (as would any world view), and instills in those who ascribe to it the very real need for the figure of a saviour. No matter what an individual does in their life, it will never be enough to merit them a place in their paradisaical afterlife. Through this we also see the importance of the idea of submissions and subservience as being key religious virtues.
Contrast this with the events depicted in Ragnarok (which again are too varied and detailed to go into specifics), which chronicles the final battle between the forces of the Aesir vs. those of the Jotun. The text is again one of prophecy (though rarely interpreted as literally or historically as Revelation is), speaking about the history of a future event. In fact many of the tales in the Eddas set up a number of key players and events which directly lead to the twilight of the gods; the inevitability is palpable. Like Revelation, there is horror and death, and the sundering of the very cosmos to its core; there is also the belief that hope springs eternal and some future state of existence will arise from the destruction. That's about as far as the similarities go, and the core message is considerably different. So to is the role that humanity plays in the last battle; humans have agency and are able to effect change. Those warriors who have lived in Odin's halls since they day of their deaths, and those who yet live stand shoulder to shoulder with the Aesir against the Jotun. God and human fight and die alongside one another, each hoping to win a future for their respective kindred. Of course the cosmos are eventually consumed by ice and fire, but there are survivors, both human and god. It is these who inherit the will of those past and strive for tomorrow.
In a more cosmic way of looking at the events, interpretations tend to fall on the notion of being cyclical (if entropic) as opposed to lateral. In such a view then, the allegoric nature of the present generations striving to do all they can to win a future for those yet to come, supports the idea that individual humans can and do shape the course of their own lives, if within the context of fate. Death is assured, but to despair in the face of this certainty is to miss the significance of what one can accomplish. Further, there is no indication of the gods coming to save humanity from some foe; humans have as much responsibility to keep destruction at bay as the gods themselves. Thus we see the idea of Valor and Strength as being important virtues.
Two different eschatologies, two different mythological perspectives, two different world views, two different course of action in similar circumstances. The inevitability of death confronted, and two different responses to it. One where personal agency is dubious at best (and absent at worst), where humanity is simply swept away, insignificant and powerless to influence the unfolding of history. The other, where personal agency is never questioned, where humanity is expected to stand for itself, active in shaping its own destiny. I must admit that from my own perspective, the response of the later would be my choice; things are going to happen which you may not be able to do anything to change, but who you are is determined by your response to circumstance and fate.
I finish with a quote from the film Mononoke Hime:
Two mythic perspectives to consider through a truncated comparison of eschatologies: Revelations v. Ragnarok. The importance of the, to borrow a term "alpha and omega", from a mythological perspective is that the cosmogenic and eschatological narratives of a given culture or religion tend to bring into focus what is really important. All myth does this to some degree, but these two specific types of myth crystallize the essence of how a given culture/religion understands the way the cosmos function, and how to properly interact with it. The current running through both the Book of Revelations, and Ragnarok, is that of the inevitability of the events depicted; these events will transpire, regardless of any action to the contrary. Both stories involve the end of the cosmos (as it currently exists), untold horror and suffering, and the death of the vast majority of humanity. The response each group is to have, to all the destruction and horror, could not be more different, and from this we catch a glimpse of how each see's the role of personal volition in the face of the inevitable.
Before I get into a more direct comparison, a note regarding "The Book of Revelations". I understand this particular text, first and foremost, through the context in which it was written and the audience it was written for. It was written at a time of heightened persecution, and reads largely as a revenge fantasy; though Christians would have to endure for now, in the not too distant future they would emerge victorious against their persecutors. The intention of the text was to provide solace for the faithful, and to assure them their suffering was not in vain. It was not, I am convinced, meant to depict events centuries later. For anyone who is interested in understanding the historic context, I would highly recommend Jonathan Kirsch's, A History of the End of the World. With that proviso out of the way, the vast majority of Christians do not seem to understand said book in its historic context, or if they do also, see it as a book of prophecy and a genuine eschatology. The vast majority of Biblical literalists, at least, understand it to be nothing short of the future history of the end of the world, and whats more eagerly await the events; if not outright doing all they can to speed up the process (but more on this later). So, my comparison will be the world view espoused by said literalists, as opposed to the historic context of the text.
Throughout the BoR, the Apostle John witnesses the destruction of the earth, the (rather horrific) death of the vast majority of humanity at the hands of angels, the baseness and cruelty of those unrepentant humans, the salvation of the faithful, a pitched battle between the forces of the "lamb" and those of "the devil", the rise and fall of the anti-Christ, and he final destruction of the earth and final judgement of every human. What becomes painfully obvious is the utter lack of agency available to humanity. The vast majority are little more than insects to be trampled upon by the two "divine" forces, before being thrown into an everlasting furnace to be burned for all eternity. Those who are judged fit to not be tortured, equally play no role within the narrative, and are just as powerless as those judged "wicked". The closest thing that mimics agency is the notion that those who repent will be saved from so terrible a fate. This of course is one of many theological battles within the wide umbrella of Christendom, and different religions within have different views on how much personal choice plays a role in salvation, and how much is simply at the "grace of God". It has been my experience that literalists lean towards the idea of grace trumping personal volition, so even in that, humans have no say in their fate.
Salvation is something that is external, is enabled by the grace of the Christian god, and is absolutely necessary to avoid suffering eternal torment (among other things). This perspective necessarily reinforces its own existence (as would any world view), and instills in those who ascribe to it the very real need for the figure of a saviour. No matter what an individual does in their life, it will never be enough to merit them a place in their paradisaical afterlife. Through this we also see the importance of the idea of submissions and subservience as being key religious virtues.
Contrast this with the events depicted in Ragnarok (which again are too varied and detailed to go into specifics), which chronicles the final battle between the forces of the Aesir vs. those of the Jotun. The text is again one of prophecy (though rarely interpreted as literally or historically as Revelation is), speaking about the history of a future event. In fact many of the tales in the Eddas set up a number of key players and events which directly lead to the twilight of the gods; the inevitability is palpable. Like Revelation, there is horror and death, and the sundering of the very cosmos to its core; there is also the belief that hope springs eternal and some future state of existence will arise from the destruction. That's about as far as the similarities go, and the core message is considerably different. So to is the role that humanity plays in the last battle; humans have agency and are able to effect change. Those warriors who have lived in Odin's halls since they day of their deaths, and those who yet live stand shoulder to shoulder with the Aesir against the Jotun. God and human fight and die alongside one another, each hoping to win a future for their respective kindred. Of course the cosmos are eventually consumed by ice and fire, but there are survivors, both human and god. It is these who inherit the will of those past and strive for tomorrow.
In a more cosmic way of looking at the events, interpretations tend to fall on the notion of being cyclical (if entropic) as opposed to lateral. In such a view then, the allegoric nature of the present generations striving to do all they can to win a future for those yet to come, supports the idea that individual humans can and do shape the course of their own lives, if within the context of fate. Death is assured, but to despair in the face of this certainty is to miss the significance of what one can accomplish. Further, there is no indication of the gods coming to save humanity from some foe; humans have as much responsibility to keep destruction at bay as the gods themselves. Thus we see the idea of Valor and Strength as being important virtues.
Two different eschatologies, two different mythological perspectives, two different world views, two different course of action in similar circumstances. The inevitability of death confronted, and two different responses to it. One where personal agency is dubious at best (and absent at worst), where humanity is simply swept away, insignificant and powerless to influence the unfolding of history. The other, where personal agency is never questioned, where humanity is expected to stand for itself, active in shaping its own destiny. I must admit that from my own perspective, the response of the later would be my choice; things are going to happen which you may not be able to do anything to change, but who you are is determined by your response to circumstance and fate.
I finish with a quote from the film Mononoke Hime:
You can not alter your fate, my prince. However you can rise to meet it, if you choose.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Marcus Aurelius and source checking
"Live a good life. If there are gods and they are just, then they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by. If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them. If there are no gods, then you will be gone, but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones." - Marcus Aurelius
I really do love this quote, and agree with the sentiment it espouses. Virtue for the sake of virtue is something anyone can aspire towards, and is one of the central principals of virtue ethics. That one can attain immortality of sorts through memory of ones descendants is something I do agree with. There is a problem however; there is no indication that Marcus Aurelius ever said anything of the sort. Rather, there are at least two dead giveaways within the quote which betray that he would not have written it.
Secondly and perhaps the more obvious of the two "tells", is that the quote implies that living on in the memories of your loved ones is something to aspire to, through leading a virtuous life. He dismisses this notion outright, to quote but a few:
"Everything material rapidly disappears in the universal substance; every cause is rapidly taken up into the universal reason; and the memory of everything is rapidly buried in eternity." (VII.10, trans. Martin Hammond)
"Soon you will have forgotten all things: soon all things will have forgotten you." (VII.21, trans. Martin Hammond)
"Turn it inside out and see what it is like, what it becomes in age, sickness and death. Life is short both for praiser and praised, for the remembering and the remembered. And this, moreover, in just a cranny of one continent: even here not all are attuned to each other, or even an individual to himself. And the whole earth is a mere point in space." (VIII.21, trans. Martin Hammond)
The notion that memories (or fame) as a basis for action is something he rejects quite unequivocally.
And herein is the problem with not cross checking your sources to see if the person you are quoting, actually said what you're attributing to them. Even a quick Google search will turn up the fact that the quote is uncertain in origin, and only mistakenly attributed to Marcus Aurelius.
A little due diligence goes a long way.
I really do love this quote, and agree with the sentiment it espouses. Virtue for the sake of virtue is something anyone can aspire towards, and is one of the central principals of virtue ethics. That one can attain immortality of sorts through memory of ones descendants is something I do agree with. There is a problem however; there is no indication that Marcus Aurelius ever said anything of the sort. Rather, there are at least two dead giveaways within the quote which betray that he would not have written it.
I'll start with the first one, Marcus Aurelius was a devout polytheist and there is no indication in his thoughts about doubting the existence of the gods, (II.11, trans. Martin Hammond). A great deal of his thoughts were centered on the role the gods played in the affairs of men. So it would be difficult to believe, that despite his very apparent devotion and certitude which is presented throughout the entirety of "The Meditations", he would have qualms about the existence of gods.
Secondly and perhaps the more obvious of the two "tells", is that the quote implies that living on in the memories of your loved ones is something to aspire to, through leading a virtuous life. He dismisses this notion outright, to quote but a few:
"Everything material rapidly disappears in the universal substance; every cause is rapidly taken up into the universal reason; and the memory of everything is rapidly buried in eternity." (VII.10, trans. Martin Hammond)
"Soon you will have forgotten all things: soon all things will have forgotten you." (VII.21, trans. Martin Hammond)
"Turn it inside out and see what it is like, what it becomes in age, sickness and death. Life is short both for praiser and praised, for the remembering and the remembered. And this, moreover, in just a cranny of one continent: even here not all are attuned to each other, or even an individual to himself. And the whole earth is a mere point in space." (VIII.21, trans. Martin Hammond)
The notion that memories (or fame) as a basis for action is something he rejects quite unequivocally.
And herein is the problem with not cross checking your sources to see if the person you are quoting, actually said what you're attributing to them. Even a quick Google search will turn up the fact that the quote is uncertain in origin, and only mistakenly attributed to Marcus Aurelius.
A little due diligence goes a long way.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
May-Time
May-time, fair season, perfect is its aspect then; blackbirds sing a full song, if there be a scanty beam of day.
The hardy, busy cuckoo calls, welcome noble summer!It calms the bitterness of bad weather, the branching wood is a prickly hedge.
Summer brings low the little stream, the swift herd makes for the water, the long hair of the heather spreads out, the weak white cotton-grass flourishes.
...The smooth sea flows, season when the ocean falls asleep; flowers cover the world.
Bees, whose strength is small, carry with their feet a load reaped from the flowers; the mountain allures the cattle. the ant makes a rich meal.
The harp of the wood plays melody, its music brings perfect peace; colour has settled on every hill, haze on the lake of full water.
The corncrake clacks, a strenuous bard; the high pure waterfall sings a greeting to the warm pool; rustling of rushes has come.
Light swallows dark on high, brisk music encircles the hill, tender rich fruits bud...
...The hardy cuckoo sings, the speckled fish leaps, mighty is the swift warrior.
The vigor of men flourishes, the glory of great hills is unspoiled; every wood is fair from crest to ground, fair each great goodly field.
Delightful is the season's splendour, winter's rough wind has gone; bright is every fertile wood, a joyful peace is summer.
A flock of birds settles...; the green field re-echoes, where there is a brisk bright stream.
A mad ardour upon you to race horses, where the serried host is ranged around; very splendid is the bounty of the cattle-pond, the iris is gold because of it.
A timid persistant frail creature sings at the top of his voice, the lark chants a clear tale - excellent May-time of calm aspect!
Irish; author unknown; ninth-tenth century.
From "A Celtic Miscellany" ed/trans. Kenneth Hurlstone Jackson.
The hardy, busy cuckoo calls, welcome noble summer!It calms the bitterness of bad weather, the branching wood is a prickly hedge.
Summer brings low the little stream, the swift herd makes for the water, the long hair of the heather spreads out, the weak white cotton-grass flourishes.
...The smooth sea flows, season when the ocean falls asleep; flowers cover the world.
Bees, whose strength is small, carry with their feet a load reaped from the flowers; the mountain allures the cattle. the ant makes a rich meal.
The harp of the wood plays melody, its music brings perfect peace; colour has settled on every hill, haze on the lake of full water.
The corncrake clacks, a strenuous bard; the high pure waterfall sings a greeting to the warm pool; rustling of rushes has come.
Light swallows dark on high, brisk music encircles the hill, tender rich fruits bud...
...The hardy cuckoo sings, the speckled fish leaps, mighty is the swift warrior.
The vigor of men flourishes, the glory of great hills is unspoiled; every wood is fair from crest to ground, fair each great goodly field.
Delightful is the season's splendour, winter's rough wind has gone; bright is every fertile wood, a joyful peace is summer.
A flock of birds settles...; the green field re-echoes, where there is a brisk bright stream.
A mad ardour upon you to race horses, where the serried host is ranged around; very splendid is the bounty of the cattle-pond, the iris is gold because of it.
A timid persistant frail creature sings at the top of his voice, the lark chants a clear tale - excellent May-time of calm aspect!
Irish; author unknown; ninth-tenth century.
From "A Celtic Miscellany" ed/trans. Kenneth Hurlstone Jackson.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
The Hard Choice
It would be wrong to say that I am a fan of eschatology, but it does fascinate me to some extent. I think that the way a culture believes the end of time will occur says as much about it as its cosmogenic narratives do. Unfortunately, for those of use with a proclivity for Celtic cultures, we lack both; or what we have are tiny fragments with tantalizing hints of a much broader set of complimentary myths. Of all the eschatological narratives our there, being discussed and bandied about, my personal favourite is that of Ragnarok, or the twilight of the Aesir. It has everything that makes a story both memorable and enjoyable: prophecies fulfilled, old scores being settled, single combats to the death and the last, great stand of those who would defend the cosmos from oblivion; those willing to sacrifice all they are to purchase a future for those who may come next. I used to balk at the fatalistic tendencies inherent in the tales of the Aesir, and ponder why none of the gods would reject a future that had been written, but not yet come to pass. I questioned the tales and the perception of impotent gods, unable to do anything to change their fate. It took me a while, and some deep discussions with some very wise and eloquent Asatruars to realize that in my dedication of the rejection of fatalism, I missed the point. Perhaps the best example to illustrate this would be to use one of the very episodes in question, a precursor to the main event, so to speak. It is a story involving Tyr, and how he came to lose his hand.
Tyr, a member of the Aesir, god of single combat (among other things) along with the other gods, had grown concerned of the growth of the wolf Fenrir, one of the three children of Loki and Angrboða, and so resolved to chain the great beast, for they had foreknowledge of the doom which would occur as a result of him. They tried three times to bound the wolf, and three times he broke the fetters they laid about him. Finally, Odin resolved to have the dwarves forge a special ribbon, Gleipnir, which would finally restrain Fenrir. The wolf, sensing that some trick was being performed upon him, would only allow himself to be retrained if one of the gods laced their hand in his mouth. Were he unable to break free, he would bite off the hand of the god. The Aesir balked at this, except Tyr, who placed his hand in the gaping maw of the wolf, who was then bound. Unable to break free of Gleipnir, and having realized the cunning of the Aesir, bit down and severed Tyr's hand from his arm. The wolf was thus bound but at a high price.
Looking at it from a fatalistic standpoint, there was no prophecy that Fenrir would devour Tyr's hand, but there were prophecies of the ill which would befall the world, because of Fenrir. Tyr had the ability to say no, to balk as the other Gods did, knowing full well what would happen once the wolf became wise to the Aesir's deceit. But had he balked, he would have not been Tyr, the embodiment of the warrior, god of single combat and heroic glory. Tyr understood exactly what would happen, knew the outcome, yet willingly bought the entrapment of Fenrir with his own hand. This speaks to one of the most important themes running through the Icelandic sagas, the hard choice.
The hard choice is never pleasant and only marginally better than the alternative, but that sliver of distinction is how honour abides. It is easy to have lofty ideals when it is convenient, but true virtue is tested when things go wrong. If you suddenly find yourself staring at the hard choice, and your resolve fails, what then of morality? What then of honour? Lofty ideals to be abandoned when they become a burden, will forever remain just that; esoteric and highfalutin sound bites. Those willing to make the hard choice, willing to embody the ideals they espouse, can justify their virtue and be held as honorable. This is one of the morals of the story of Tyr that I think has immense value, and it is a lesson that is sorely needed.
Tyr, a member of the Aesir, god of single combat (among other things) along with the other gods, had grown concerned of the growth of the wolf Fenrir, one of the three children of Loki and Angrboða, and so resolved to chain the great beast, for they had foreknowledge of the doom which would occur as a result of him. They tried three times to bound the wolf, and three times he broke the fetters they laid about him. Finally, Odin resolved to have the dwarves forge a special ribbon, Gleipnir, which would finally restrain Fenrir. The wolf, sensing that some trick was being performed upon him, would only allow himself to be retrained if one of the gods laced their hand in his mouth. Were he unable to break free, he would bite off the hand of the god. The Aesir balked at this, except Tyr, who placed his hand in the gaping maw of the wolf, who was then bound. Unable to break free of Gleipnir, and having realized the cunning of the Aesir, bit down and severed Tyr's hand from his arm. The wolf was thus bound but at a high price.
Looking at it from a fatalistic standpoint, there was no prophecy that Fenrir would devour Tyr's hand, but there were prophecies of the ill which would befall the world, because of Fenrir. Tyr had the ability to say no, to balk as the other Gods did, knowing full well what would happen once the wolf became wise to the Aesir's deceit. But had he balked, he would have not been Tyr, the embodiment of the warrior, god of single combat and heroic glory. Tyr understood exactly what would happen, knew the outcome, yet willingly bought the entrapment of Fenrir with his own hand. This speaks to one of the most important themes running through the Icelandic sagas, the hard choice.
The hard choice is never pleasant and only marginally better than the alternative, but that sliver of distinction is how honour abides. It is easy to have lofty ideals when it is convenient, but true virtue is tested when things go wrong. If you suddenly find yourself staring at the hard choice, and your resolve fails, what then of morality? What then of honour? Lofty ideals to be abandoned when they become a burden, will forever remain just that; esoteric and highfalutin sound bites. Those willing to make the hard choice, willing to embody the ideals they espouse, can justify their virtue and be held as honorable. This is one of the morals of the story of Tyr that I think has immense value, and it is a lesson that is sorely needed.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Polytheistic family fun!
I've been piecing this post little by little for a couple of months now, though it was originally inspired by Galina Krasskova's "Top 10 Pagan/Heathen Movies". I've complied a list of films, books and television series which I find provide excellent stories and useful lessons for kids. While quite modern, and not necessarily Gaelic, still have some value as widely available media to instill virtues and concepts which are pertinent to GRP's (and perhaps polytheism in general).
A quick side note: Krasskova's overviews of both "Princess Mononoke" (Mononoke Hime) and "The Lion King" are excellent and I need not repeat them here. They are, however, some of my favourite animated films and can not recommend them highly enough.
I will however, mention Hayo Miyazaki's "Spirited Away" (Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi). The story is simple enough, that children will thoroughly enjoy it, but the issues are complex enough that adults will find much to contemplate. The premise is the synthesis of modernity coming to terms with the past/ environment which is a hallmark of Miyasaki's style. In this instance, the main character, Chihiro, finds herself having to survive in an other world inhabited by the Kami of Shinto lore, with nothing but her will and the support of a few sympathetic Kami who aid her. It has very clear environmentalist overtones, but it is also tries to impart the importance of folk tradition in a world where so many are utterly disconnected from it. There is actually an excellent essay, "Forest Spirits, Giant Insects and World Trees: the Nature Vision of Hiyao Miyazaki” by Lucy Wright, which I came across (thanks to Finnchuill's Mast) which explores the way Miyazaki utilizes elements of Shinto in his films.
A novel series I discovered last year, is the Warrior's series of books. The books follow several clans of anthropomorphic cats, and chronicles the political and social turmoil between the clans. The great thing about these books are the various virtues they impart, in a way that children can understand and, perhaps, emulate: honour, courage, loyalty, living in harmony with local geography and reverence of ones ancestors. The warrior aspect is very apparent (it is after all the title of the series), but the inclusion of ancestor worship, as well as the "mystic experience" was something which is absent in a lot of similar series. The ancestors are referred to as "Starclan", and this is the closest thing to a religion which exists in the Warriors world. While not Celtic or Gaelic by any stretch of the imagination, it none the less is a way for children to develop a sense of the significance of ancestor reverence and virtues like honour and courage, while being accessible and enjoyable.
A cartoon series I would heartily recommend is "Avatar: The Last Air Bender" (and not the insipid live action film version). I will try to keep the fan boy gushing aside, but this is simply one of the best animated series I have watched. Period. There are some aspects to the show I do not like as much as others; the heavily pantheist leanings chief among them, and the emphasis on detachment from the world. There is, however, much which can be taken from the show. The interaction with the "spirit world" and local land spirits is a decent representation of more traditional forms of animism, fairly reminiscent of Shinto. While often side stories to the main plot, "trips to the spirit world" are always of benefit to the progression of the plot and the character development of Aang, the aforementioned Avatar. The way the spirits are portrayed cover a broad spectrum; some are beneficial, some are indifferent (unless crossed) and others are malicious. I like this aspect because it is more reflective of the way GRP's understand interactions with the fair folk or spirits of place, and avoids the sunshine and sprinkles approach which is fairly prevalent.
There are some other aspects of the series I also think admirable. The way that issues of morality are explored are multifaceted and complex enough to avoid the sort of dichotomous kinds of morality so often found in works of fiction. A good example of the later is found in the Redwall series, which I love dearly, but it operates on a very simple moral framework. There are competing perspectives in the Avatar world, and it seems like the writers went out of their way to not, necessarily, have one tack superior to another. Aang, the chief protagonist was raised by Monks and so has a considerably different approach to morality than another character, Katara. The best example I can think of has to do with the idea of forgiveness. There are some spoilers ahead, so if you haven't yet seen the series or are in the process, skip ahead.
[Spoiler warning]
In the episode, Katara learns that Zuko (a former enemy turned ally, who she is currently having some trust issue with) can help her find the man who murdered her mother. As they prepare to set off, Aang tries to talk her out of it, extolling the virtues of forgiveness and how seeking vengeance will only hurt Katara in the long run. She ignores him and long story short, confronts the man who murdered her mother. Seeing how pitiable his life is, she can not bring herself to kill him, and returns. Aang, overjoyed that Katara has forgiven the man, is corrected by Katara and is informed that she will never forgive him, but can forgive Zuko.
[Spoiler warning ends]
The approach to the issue of forgiveness is one I can really appreciate, because the idea of automatic forgiveness is something I strongly disagree with. Restitution needs to be earned by those who have transgressed, and it is unreasonable (bordering on unethical) to expect someone who has been seriously wronged, to forgive those who have wronged them automatically. I understand the general cultural significance of forgiveness, and its basis is a different religious perspective, but that doesn't mean I need to agree with it. And therein lies the beauty of the series approach to morality, characters can be ethical without believing the same things or having the same foundational basis for moral action. Whats more it manages to deal with issues like morality and ethics without being pedantic or clumsy, which is something which can not be said about a lot of other children's shows.
I'll probably post some more suggestions at a later date as I either remember them or actually add new ones to the list.
Gorm.
A quick side note: Krasskova's overviews of both "Princess Mononoke" (Mononoke Hime) and "The Lion King" are excellent and I need not repeat them here. They are, however, some of my favourite animated films and can not recommend them highly enough.
I will however, mention Hayo Miyazaki's "Spirited Away" (Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi). The story is simple enough, that children will thoroughly enjoy it, but the issues are complex enough that adults will find much to contemplate. The premise is the synthesis of modernity coming to terms with the past/ environment which is a hallmark of Miyasaki's style. In this instance, the main character, Chihiro, finds herself having to survive in an other world inhabited by the Kami of Shinto lore, with nothing but her will and the support of a few sympathetic Kami who aid her. It has very clear environmentalist overtones, but it is also tries to impart the importance of folk tradition in a world where so many are utterly disconnected from it. There is actually an excellent essay, "Forest Spirits, Giant Insects and World Trees: the Nature Vision of Hiyao Miyazaki” by Lucy Wright, which I came across (thanks to Finnchuill's Mast) which explores the way Miyazaki utilizes elements of Shinto in his films.
A novel series I discovered last year, is the Warrior's series of books. The books follow several clans of anthropomorphic cats, and chronicles the political and social turmoil between the clans. The great thing about these books are the various virtues they impart, in a way that children can understand and, perhaps, emulate: honour, courage, loyalty, living in harmony with local geography and reverence of ones ancestors. The warrior aspect is very apparent (it is after all the title of the series), but the inclusion of ancestor worship, as well as the "mystic experience" was something which is absent in a lot of similar series. The ancestors are referred to as "Starclan", and this is the closest thing to a religion which exists in the Warriors world. While not Celtic or Gaelic by any stretch of the imagination, it none the less is a way for children to develop a sense of the significance of ancestor reverence and virtues like honour and courage, while being accessible and enjoyable.
A cartoon series I would heartily recommend is "Avatar: The Last Air Bender" (and not the insipid live action film version). I will try to keep the fan boy gushing aside, but this is simply one of the best animated series I have watched. Period. There are some aspects to the show I do not like as much as others; the heavily pantheist leanings chief among them, and the emphasis on detachment from the world. There is, however, much which can be taken from the show. The interaction with the "spirit world" and local land spirits is a decent representation of more traditional forms of animism, fairly reminiscent of Shinto. While often side stories to the main plot, "trips to the spirit world" are always of benefit to the progression of the plot and the character development of Aang, the aforementioned Avatar. The way the spirits are portrayed cover a broad spectrum; some are beneficial, some are indifferent (unless crossed) and others are malicious. I like this aspect because it is more reflective of the way GRP's understand interactions with the fair folk or spirits of place, and avoids the sunshine and sprinkles approach which is fairly prevalent.
There are some other aspects of the series I also think admirable. The way that issues of morality are explored are multifaceted and complex enough to avoid the sort of dichotomous kinds of morality so often found in works of fiction. A good example of the later is found in the Redwall series, which I love dearly, but it operates on a very simple moral framework. There are competing perspectives in the Avatar world, and it seems like the writers went out of their way to not, necessarily, have one tack superior to another. Aang, the chief protagonist was raised by Monks and so has a considerably different approach to morality than another character, Katara. The best example I can think of has to do with the idea of forgiveness. There are some spoilers ahead, so if you haven't yet seen the series or are in the process, skip ahead.
[Spoiler warning]
In the episode, Katara learns that Zuko (a former enemy turned ally, who she is currently having some trust issue with) can help her find the man who murdered her mother. As they prepare to set off, Aang tries to talk her out of it, extolling the virtues of forgiveness and how seeking vengeance will only hurt Katara in the long run. She ignores him and long story short, confronts the man who murdered her mother. Seeing how pitiable his life is, she can not bring herself to kill him, and returns. Aang, overjoyed that Katara has forgiven the man, is corrected by Katara and is informed that she will never forgive him, but can forgive Zuko.
[Spoiler warning ends]
The approach to the issue of forgiveness is one I can really appreciate, because the idea of automatic forgiveness is something I strongly disagree with. Restitution needs to be earned by those who have transgressed, and it is unreasonable (bordering on unethical) to expect someone who has been seriously wronged, to forgive those who have wronged them automatically. I understand the general cultural significance of forgiveness, and its basis is a different religious perspective, but that doesn't mean I need to agree with it. And therein lies the beauty of the series approach to morality, characters can be ethical without believing the same things or having the same foundational basis for moral action. Whats more it manages to deal with issues like morality and ethics without being pedantic or clumsy, which is something which can not be said about a lot of other children's shows.
I'll probably post some more suggestions at a later date as I either remember them or actually add new ones to the list.
Gorm.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Reconstructionism, again...
This has been going on for a little while now, but once again it is sort of at the fore of some discussions on the methodology behind Reconstructionism; specifically how it relates to UPG. For myself it was sparked by a discussion on one of the forums I frequent, and linked to a blog by another Reconstructionist. I'll not hash out the whole thing here, but the crux was that some of the recons who frequented this forum disagreed with the use of Reconstructionist as it was defined by the blog. There was an interesting discussion which resulted, and in the end, I guess we agreed to disagree.
Recently, however, this issue, the role of UPG in Recon, has come up again. My only issue at this point is the way that the discussion is being couched, and the canard which is being bandied about, namely "lore is law". I can only speak from my own experiences with the Recons I know, but I've yet to meet any that would agree that the lore is all one goes by, and UPG or mystic experiences have no place in Reconstructionism. The issue that I have then, is that there is a vast difference between scholarly diligence and placing what is known (or probable based on inference) ahead of personal gnosis, than simply quoting the lore as some infallible text, as is wont in monotheistic circles. The problem is that the later is precisely how those who favour scholarship over UPG are being represented, as if they were some sort of mythic literalist's. I'd like to believe that people are willing to give the benefit of the doubt, and that any Reconstructionist worth their salt would be aware of the limitations of the mythic texts, doubly so for those which are known to have been recorded/written by Christian scribes. But this isn't happening, no apparently there is a vociferous contingent of Recons who think that, for example, the LGE is holy writ and wholly pre-Christian (despite it starting with a short summary of the events of Genesis) and that any who diverge from the myths as laid down are heretical and need be cast out! That isn't even the real issue here, what is the issue is the, I believe deliberate, attempt to equate a reliance on scholarship with a literalistic approach to the lore. The lore is but one, ONE, part of a much larger whole comprising a body of knowledge pertaining to a cultural group, upon which one builds the foundation for reconstruction. My experience is limited, and certainly I've not met anyone who would use the Recon label, but I've never come across any of these literalists, because frankly we know better.
I've come to expect this sort of argument, that Recons are all stodgy academics who study their religion, rather than live it, from some Pagan circles, but from within the Recon community itself? I'll repeat it here for the umpteenth time, UPG matters. UPG is crucial. UPG is an intrinsic component of Reconstructionism. UPG has a role, as does study. I believe that UPG is informed by, and understood through the study of whatever culture it is one is reconstructing from. UPG can be used to fill in gaps where we have no information, or through inference and probability where we do have some idea. If you've gotten the notion that Ogma receives offerings of oatmeal cookies favourably, I've got no issue with that. Despite there not being any references to oatmeal cookies in the lore (or other texts) it seems like the offering of baked goods was probable, so go for it. If you've had a powerful dream where an amorphous goddess tells you all deities are one, well that's not reflected at all in any of the info we've got, and if you choose to base your perspective from that point, you've stopped reconstructing. I realize these are two fairly cut and dried examples, but I'm firmly in the camp that mystic experiences need be understood through whatever cultural framework one is working from, and that this is the basis of Reconstructionism as a methodology. If it comes down to a personal experience vs scholarship, I favour scholarship. Would a conflict between UPG and scholarship necessarily manifest in such a dichotomous manner, not likely. Was there any indication of the dismissal of the importance of mystic experiences in that? Hmm.... nope.
It can be pointed out that scholarship itself has room for improvement: it is by no means monolithic, nor static and there are many perspectives and approaches to the material to consider. There is definitely a great deal of "wiggle room" when it comes to trying to understand an ancient culture, its mythic framework, and then adapting it to be something which is still relevant in a modern context. This is especially true when the sources we have are fragmentary and glossed over with a differing religious perspective, and approaching them with a critical eye is simply a necessity, because in those cases we just haven't got fully preserved pre-Christian myths. This is one of the reasons I balk at the idea that anyone who would call themselves a Recon would not be cognizant of the limitations of the mythic texts (at least in the CR camp), and why the suggestion of mythic literalism as an active force in Reconstructionism seems very unlikely. Though I could see how in the cases where more complete myths exist it being a possibility, I also think that the contemporary texts which explore the relationships between the myths and the deities they represent would be crucial reading for Recons.
Thoughts?
Gorm.
Recently, however, this issue, the role of UPG in Recon, has come up again. My only issue at this point is the way that the discussion is being couched, and the canard which is being bandied about, namely "lore is law". I can only speak from my own experiences with the Recons I know, but I've yet to meet any that would agree that the lore is all one goes by, and UPG or mystic experiences have no place in Reconstructionism. The issue that I have then, is that there is a vast difference between scholarly diligence and placing what is known (or probable based on inference) ahead of personal gnosis, than simply quoting the lore as some infallible text, as is wont in monotheistic circles. The problem is that the later is precisely how those who favour scholarship over UPG are being represented, as if they were some sort of mythic literalist's. I'd like to believe that people are willing to give the benefit of the doubt, and that any Reconstructionist worth their salt would be aware of the limitations of the mythic texts, doubly so for those which are known to have been recorded/written by Christian scribes. But this isn't happening, no apparently there is a vociferous contingent of Recons who think that, for example, the LGE is holy writ and wholly pre-Christian (despite it starting with a short summary of the events of Genesis) and that any who diverge from the myths as laid down are heretical and need be cast out! That isn't even the real issue here, what is the issue is the, I believe deliberate, attempt to equate a reliance on scholarship with a literalistic approach to the lore. The lore is but one, ONE, part of a much larger whole comprising a body of knowledge pertaining to a cultural group, upon which one builds the foundation for reconstruction. My experience is limited, and certainly I've not met anyone who would use the Recon label, but I've never come across any of these literalists, because frankly we know better.
I've come to expect this sort of argument, that Recons are all stodgy academics who study their religion, rather than live it, from some Pagan circles, but from within the Recon community itself? I'll repeat it here for the umpteenth time, UPG matters. UPG is crucial. UPG is an intrinsic component of Reconstructionism. UPG has a role, as does study. I believe that UPG is informed by, and understood through the study of whatever culture it is one is reconstructing from. UPG can be used to fill in gaps where we have no information, or through inference and probability where we do have some idea. If you've gotten the notion that Ogma receives offerings of oatmeal cookies favourably, I've got no issue with that. Despite there not being any references to oatmeal cookies in the lore (or other texts) it seems like the offering of baked goods was probable, so go for it. If you've had a powerful dream where an amorphous goddess tells you all deities are one, well that's not reflected at all in any of the info we've got, and if you choose to base your perspective from that point, you've stopped reconstructing. I realize these are two fairly cut and dried examples, but I'm firmly in the camp that mystic experiences need be understood through whatever cultural framework one is working from, and that this is the basis of Reconstructionism as a methodology. If it comes down to a personal experience vs scholarship, I favour scholarship. Would a conflict between UPG and scholarship necessarily manifest in such a dichotomous manner, not likely. Was there any indication of the dismissal of the importance of mystic experiences in that? Hmm.... nope.
It can be pointed out that scholarship itself has room for improvement: it is by no means monolithic, nor static and there are many perspectives and approaches to the material to consider. There is definitely a great deal of "wiggle room" when it comes to trying to understand an ancient culture, its mythic framework, and then adapting it to be something which is still relevant in a modern context. This is especially true when the sources we have are fragmentary and glossed over with a differing religious perspective, and approaching them with a critical eye is simply a necessity, because in those cases we just haven't got fully preserved pre-Christian myths. This is one of the reasons I balk at the idea that anyone who would call themselves a Recon would not be cognizant of the limitations of the mythic texts (at least in the CR camp), and why the suggestion of mythic literalism as an active force in Reconstructionism seems very unlikely. Though I could see how in the cases where more complete myths exist it being a possibility, I also think that the contemporary texts which explore the relationships between the myths and the deities they represent would be crucial reading for Recons.
Thoughts?
Gorm.
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