History, Myth and Genocide: Real and Imagined; Or The Pagan Problem with Patrick

Been working on this particular piece for some time, but it is finally ready to go, and here it is. The third and final installment of my "St. Patrick's Day Trilogy". If you ever need to provide or "prove" to some obstinate, black armband wearing Pagan, that the psudeo-history of the "real" meaning of St. Patrick's Day is bullshit, this is it.

Enjoy.

http://www.gaolnaofa.org/website-updates/new-article-history-myth-and-genocide-real-and-imagined-or-the-pagan-problem-with-patrick/

-Gorm.

"Our" Values (GRP Focused): The gods and "knowing our place"

I have in the past, distant though it may be, discussed issues relating to the concept of agency; how much freedom do we have to enact our will upon the cosmos? Today, I would like to come at the idea of agency from a different angle, and explore how our agency affects and is affected by that of the tri na naomah. How much control do we have when we interact with the gods, ancestors and spirits of place? How much control do the gods, ancestors and spirits of place have upon us? When we have this figured out, or as much as we can figure it out, what do we do with this information, and where do we go from here?

Many polytheist bloggers, tumblrs, and assorted others, have put forward the idea that humans are at the mercy of the gods, in all things. Concepts like morality are relegated solely to human affairs, for the gods have no time for puny human "feels"; so expecting or advocating for things like "consent" are right out. The gods make you dance as their divine marionettes. and maybe if you're lucky, you'll learn something from the experience. Oh, and if this isn't your experience, you're probably doing it wrong; best run back to "safe", empty religions, lest the "reality of the gods" destroy your fragile mind.

This is, by the way, bullshit. At least when it comes to all the evidence we have about how the Gaels coexisted and worshiped their gods. So if you're more interested in being a divine whipping boy, maybe you should just ignore the rest of what I have to say; Go read other folks who have deemed thralldom as their raison d'etre, who have abandoned their own wills, to be subsumed by what they (earnestly believe) is the will of the god(s) they serve. Frankly when one goes down that path, the reading becomes really creepy and moves off into self flagellating delusion more at home with groups like the Stylites than  pre-Christians, but seek at your own peril. Honestly, it goes from fan squeeing to cult vibe at breakneck speed. Tl:dr, google "god slave" and "god spouse", though you'll probably regret it. I sure did!

No, our ancestors had a rather different approach when it came to establishing how we "dealt" with the gods, we fought them. We fought them long and we fought them hard, for every inch of land we came to occupy. We entreated with other gods, powerful goddesses the gods themselves were also beholden to. We took the power of the gods and made it our own, turned it to our own devices and used it to win our place in the world. We had to fight the gods themselves to legitimize our own existence, and we won. If that isn't a crystal clear precedent for the concept of human agency when it comes to the gods, then nothing is.

Now, with that said, we ought to take some other things into consideration, and primarily I want to discuss the issue of enhumeraziation. Enhumerization is a literary trope where something that is great and powerful, is reduced in greatness and power. In the case of the medieval (and later) Irish literature, this is most obviously observed when we examine the Mythic, Ulster and Fenian Cycles, but is present too when we examine folktale and tradition that relates to the aes sidhe. The argument being that the gods which the pre-Christian's worshiped, were not actually gods (because those didn't actually exist, being monotheists and all) and were instead a successive series of semi-divine races who sought for the rulership of Ireland, culminating with the ascent and victory of mortal man. This is important to keep in mind, because the point can be made (and laboured) that the preceding paragraph about "our" ancestors is far more reflective of a Christianized world view, and actually has very little to do with a pre-Christian perspective.

Such is the perilous nature of trying to reverse engineer mythic texts compiled by Christian scribes to get a peek at earlier views, but I'm willing to go out on a limb and defend this particular bit. The reason it is not so far fetched to understand humans as being able to go toe to toe with the gods, mythically speaking, is because of patterns. Throughout the Mythological Cycle, Ireland is settled in a series of "waves" or "invasions", hence why one of the greatest collections of this cycle is referred to as "The Book of Invasions". Things don't really get interesting until (IMO) until the Tuatha De Dannan show up, and we see the first real example of divine inversion occur. I don't want to get too deep into the text, but one of the key elements of the TDD strategy for the overthrow of the Fomorians during the "Second Battle of Moytura" is to seek out the aid of sovereignty goddesses as well as subsuming the very power and fury of the Fomorians themselves (as Lugh is able to do). Through these means are the TDD able to secure victory and win the rulership of Ireland.

The subsequent "Invasion" of the Mileseans, while not a mirror image of the previous epoch, involves very similar concepts. The favour of the goddess of sovereignty are secured, the land itself is invoked, and there is even the utilization of a poem with likely cosmogenic overtones, all to secure a toehold and then victory over the Tuatha De Dannan. Of course, it doesn't go exactly as the Mileseans want, and they eventually have to entreat with the gods to once again secure the fecundity of the land itself with them. So does this mean that the ancestors of the Gaels saw themselves as equal to or even more powerful than the gods they worshipped? Unlikely, but I suppose a literal reading of the myths could produce such a conclusion.

Here then is where parsing out which bits are enhumerized and which are not becomes very important to our understanding and ability to draw conclusions about pre-Christian world view. I do not, for example, hold to the idea that the gods can be killed (or that the ancients believed other than their gods were remarkably powerful and immortal), at least not in any sort of meaningful way. Understanding the purpose of a given mythic narrative and the lessons contained within are crucial, but taking them as being reflective of the real nature of the gods (at least in relation to mortality) is to buy into the enhumerization of the mythic pre-Gaelic peoples as being semi-divine or simply magically gifted mortals. Likewise, to hold that not only could the gods be killed, but that humans were capable of doing so, would surely undercut the potency of any such beings being held as, well gods, in any meaningful way. We need to examine what the purpose of a given story is, and not just what the story in and of itself is narrating.

When, for example, I read about Lugh being killed by Mac Cuill, Mac Cecht and Mac Gréine, I do not take it to then mean that the worship of Lugh is pointless because he is dead. Nor do I take it to mean that the story where he dies is pointless and without purpose. Nor do I take this as an example of apotheosis, where a historic personage named Lugh was freed from his mortal body and became deified by a later historic cultus. I accept, first and foremost that this is a story told from a specific narrative tradition, serving a purpose intend by the author for their audience. I accept that this also explains why Lugh doesn't show up during the Milesian invasion to stand against the Gaelic invaders. I accept that this does not explain how Lugh later goes on to father Cuchulain. I accept that Lugh is still very much "alive" in whatever manner it is that gods exist. I accept all of this because I understand that Myth is not History and that a literal reading of the mythic texts is incredibly stupid. 

The myths teach us, they instruct us, they inspire us and intrigue us. They are the best window we have into an earlier time, and while they are not opaque they are more translucent than clear. The light comes trough, but it is muddied, distorted and befuddled by layers of filtering installed by those standing between then and now. We ourselves necessarily come with our own perceptual filters and so we need to recognize our own biases as readily as we do of the sources we glean information from. Which brings me back to the point of this rambling post, Our present conceptions of how the past, how older and more ancient worldviews worked are necessarily affected by our perception of modern world views. Something is not good or valuable simple because it is held to be ancient; conversely something is not bad or worthless simply because it is held to be modern. There are many, many things that are worth our while to restore and revive as best we can; but there are many, many things which have been relegated to the rubbish pit of history, and there it ought to stay. 

This conversation is happening, and we who find ourselves doing our best as reconstructionists, as polytheists (devotional, ritual, or otherwise) need to decide which elements belong where. Not everything is worth saving or reviving, and this is certainly something which consciously needs to be addressed. It is sometimes said (and always critically), of reconstructionists, that we are slightly more academic members of groups like the SCA, that we seek to return society and culture to a pre-Christian ideal (and this implied idealism is also held as a critique) reminiscent of the Iron Age. Which is of course nonsense. No GRP I know of is actively seeking to abandon technology or modernity; considering how central the internet has been to its growth this seems remarkably hypocritical, and so it would be. If anyone were calling for it, that is. What I am getting at is that GRP (and like minded reconstructionist methodologies and lifeways) are fully aware that we are moderns, that we do not live in the Iron Age and what is more, we do not want to live in the Iron Age. We seek the gods of our ancestral forebearers, we seek to honour and worship them in culturally appropriate ways and we see the mythological tradition we have as one of the more accessible, if deceptively so, means of coming to such an understanding. This does not mean that the misogyny, the brutality or the utter disregard for life (to name but a few highly problematic elements) present in the texts are something we ought to be embodying or transposing in our lives today, simply because they are there and so are more "raw and real" than some idyllic, sanitized and modern version.

Which, again, is not to say that we ignore or do not address these problematic aspects; studying the period tends to rip away any illusions of some bygone golden age we are so desperately trying to restore. It means that we recognize what has come before, and that it wasn't all love and light, but this too can be taken to unhealthy extremes. By advocating for the return of something because the advocate perceives it at being "anti-modern" or "an affront to modernity", does not mean that such advocacy is right. If something was practiced in the ancient world, but is "an affront to modern sensibilities", then we ought to consider its centrality in the ancient world, how relevant it was and how necessary its restoration would be to aid in modern reconstructionist efforts. Not everything needs to be rejected or accepted out of hand, such a dichotomy would be patently false, yet some things ought to be left behind because they are so at odds with "modern sensibilities" that they are justifiably treated thus.

This categorical "refuse heap" is not limited to outdated social, political or economic practices, but to theological and spiritual concepts too. What is more, and to the point of this piece, what may seem like a rejection based on "modern or sanitized" sensibilities is actually a projection of some imagined "way it was, and way it should still be" onto the past. 

The gods are beyond us in so many ways; their power, wisdom and grasp of reality exponentially greater than ours. Yet despite all of this, anecdotally speaking, they appear to seek us out as often as we seek them. The gods want our worship and devotion. The gods want our client-ship for their patronage. The gods have judged us, have and continue to challenge us. and they have found us worthy. If the myths speak to one theme, one melody of theological and philosophical import, throughout, it is that humans can stand up..

We have stared out into the harshness of our world, in all its ugliness and horror, stared into the faces of the gods themselves, full of wrath and ruin, and we have stood firm.

We have struggled bitterly and savagely fought for our place in the world, for our right to exist. We have done so without the gods, in the face of the gods, with the gods throwing everything they had at us, and we are still here. This was when things were done the hard way, when we failed to see the value of cooperation and hospitality, forsook harmony and sough out out enmity with our divine predecessors. We struggled, and earned our place, but it was tangential, ephemeral and fragile; we lived, but we did not flourish. It was through mutual understanding, cooperation and respect that we came to worship the gods, as was their due. The wise realized that while we had the resolve to stand firm, that there was as yet something greater to be had. By accepting the reality of firenne, how to properly and respectfully come to know and honour the gods, were our lives made better. At times these bonds were tried and tested, bent yet never broken (at least not until the coming of the men of the bells, but this is another story and another matter for another time).

We are not, nor were we ever, slaves to our gods and we would bring unimaginable dishonour and shame upon ourselves, to say nothing of the ancestors, to relinquish the very agency that allowed us to earn the respect and favour of the gods we worship and devote our lives to. In closing, I leave you with one of my most repeated, yet all time favourite quotes:

"If you approach the Celtic gods with the attitude of 'I'm not worthy', they're going to respond, 'Well, come back when you are."

-Gorm.

 

Only a fool...

Not so long ago I wrote about morality, the gods and their behaviours in the lore. I concluded my examination and analysis of the mythic texts with a rather forceful entreaty that the gods had earned my trust and I had no reason to doubt their fidelity. I like to think myself as someone who is not a fool and so I also provided a caveat. This proviso was that my unequivocal statement was based upon my reading of the lore and personal devotion relating to the gods of Irish myth and culture alone. I stand by that statement, but so too do I stand by my caveat, because when it comes right down to it:

Only a fool would trust Odin

For his plans may be for the best

But what is best may not be for you

If you value a long life

Grímnir is best avoided

Honour and glory are his reward

But they are bought at a heavy price

 

I say this with the utmost respect and gravity, and my intention here is not to impugn the gods, to cast aspersions upon Their persons or to belittle those who are devoted to them. Rather, it is simply through a desire to understand Their natures and tendencies that theology and herumenics can be developed in a polytheistic context.

Not all gods have YOUR best interest at heart

It is made mention in the short stanza above, but it calls for a nuanced comprehension. Providing that the gods we are talking about are limited to those with which human endeavor coincide (i.e. gods that represent war, justice, agriculture, art, magic, love, law, government, sovereignty, child birth, the dead, etc.), because those with functions or associations outside the realm of human endeavor will more often than not ignore humans (and those gods who are malicious are best entreated with or avoided). Therefore I limit my scope to those whose business relates to our own, and it is in this context that a more nuanced appreciation is needed. For while the gods may seek to aid in our actions where our functions or desires overlap, this does not mean that they always will, or that our need outweighs Theirs.

If you want to be a warrior, par excellence; seeking battle, bloodshed and above all victory, then few gods will be as well suited to your endeavors as would Odin. Odin is a god of many names (over 200) and a considerable number of those epithets relate directly to his function as a god of war and battle. Yet there was always a purpose to war, a reason that he would incite hatred in the hearts of men and urge them to battle:

From "Auda's Art Blog"

More often than not, being one of “Odin’s Chosen” was as much a blessing as a curse; a life of fame and glory bought with blood and untimely death. This motif of glory and honour in exchange for a short life is one of the more common threads among the heroic literature of several Indo-European cultures and can be seen also in Irish and Greek sources. The All-Fathers motivation, however, is considerably different than those heroes desire for honour, he needs an army.

While the exact nature of where and how the concept of Ragnarök came into being, if its conception was wholly pre-Christian or mingled with Christian eschatology is debatable, what is not is that the mythic lore has been framed with this most awesome of inevitabilities. As such, it could certainly be argued that Odin’s entire motivation for causing war and strife is to collect the valorous dead and mold them into a fighting force to stand with him on the last day. In this light, Valhalla is best understood as a temporary reprieve and not as a final, paradisiacal “heaven”. Only death and slaughter await those whom Odin chooses, but by their valour and sacrifice is a future made possible. Often enough Odin would cause weapons to fail, provide disastrous military advice or other such nefarious ploys in order to ensure those he needed died in combat.

So while I believe the All Father is worthy or respect and devotion (even if I do not worship him personally), it behooves us to recognize that beings with a “long view” perspective of things will inevitably have their own agendas and purposes. So too is it worth realizing that even when our desires or needs overlap with Theirs, that we may be supported by those same gods in our efforts, our ends may be the price we pay for that support.

"Our" Lady of Sorrows

                This was not the first time she had witnessed this, nor would it be her last; yet something moved within her, profoundly. True, so much time had passed between where she was now, and where she had been, that the pain had become a dull ache, but still she remembered. There had been so much blood that she had at first believed that it could not all have belonged to him, but as the grim reality of the situation donned on her, as she held her son’s pale, still cooling hand, she broke.

              
 She screamed.
              
                Everything had stopped and what was going on around her no longer mattered. She did not care that her husband was standing by her side, that her in-laws were but a few feet away or that her friends had gathered around her. There was only the pain, there was only her voice. Her cry split the very air through which it moved; a resonant wail that echoed into the valley floor, spread across the lake and into the sky above. The sound was suffocating, her moan became a roar.
                           
            She screamed.
               
Her body began to revolt against her, her eyes streamed as though her being had been up to this point, nothing but tears. Her throat burned, as if her lungs had become great furnaces and each piercing wail that escape her lips was a dagger, carving away as they passed. Her legs had long ago given out, and she felt as if she were rooted to the earth upon which her crumpled body had fallen in despair. Her fists had clenched to tightly that her nails had dug deep, torn through the worn flesh and her hands streamed nearly as much as her eyes.
                                  
                      She screamed.

                Men, women and children fell dead at the sound, cattle miscarried and many of the horses bolted from their camp in sheer terror at this otherworldy wailing, tumbling into the lake, mad with fear. The skies began to grow dark, the earth seemed to be slowly undulating under foot and the lake seemed to be growing more turbulent, frothing and bubbling in unison with this stricken mother. Those around her, who had been struck dumb by her cry, took notice and realized that if something was not done they would all perish.

                                        She screamed.

                He would never again speak to her, never again laugh or cry, never again be held in her embrace. Her tall, handsome and strong son had been laid low, felled in the prime of his youth; stolen from her. Stolen from her by whom she knew not. Stolen from her for no reason she could then understand. Stolen so recently that she could still hear his laughter echoing in her ears. Now, her once proud son, her most precious possession, was gone.
                                                             
                                                   She screamed.

                They looked around at one another, still paralyzed by the sheer force of her wail. The sky had gone from a deep black to a burning red. The sun appeared a sickly, misshapen disc and its warmth now seemed a mere memory. Her tears and her blood had begun to mingle with the rising waters of the lake, which was steadily approaching in small waves. They realized that if something were not done, if this uncanny shrieking was not stopped, they would all of them be no better off than her poor son. The fear of their impending doom spurred a fire in all of them, and the fetters which had frozen them in place shattered.
                                                                       
                                                                    She screamed.

                The pain was there, and her head was swimming from her strain, but it was staring to fade. Her voice began to crack, her lungs that had burned like a need fire was now burning out. Her body ached and her bosom heaved, the pain was being dowsed with the loss of sensation; numbness began to creep along her limbs. But she would not be stymied, and as her own guilt for failing to protect him welled within her chest, the pain redoubled and the flames roared back to life.
                                                                               
                                                                                 She screamed.

                They sprang upon her, shook her, struck her, cried out to her, only to be drowned out by her lamentations. Nothing they did was of any avail; no shouts could quiet her, no arms could hold her, not twenty of their strongest could move her. Her grief was weighing her down, as if she shared the same roots as the mountains. Realizing that no force could stop her, that no reason would reach her, they broke and fled for their lives.
                                                                                               She screamed.

Alone she was left, with no company but her poor, dead son, his head resting on her lap. The streams that had issued forth from her eyes had washed away the ichor that had caked his clothing, discoloured his gleaming hands and obscured his shining face. His wound, that had streamed with the same fury as his mothers tears, was so small it was hard to believe that it such a thing had killed her hale, boastful, splendid son. But he was still, he was quiet as no boy should be, and with her son in her arms, she finally relented.
                                                                                                                    She screamed.

Then all went dark, all sensation ceased and all that came after was quiet and silence. Her body was spent, her very soul a hairs breadth away from joining with that of her son, she collapsed. She dreamed of him then; of her bright, happy, joyous boy. She watched him leaping through the air as he dashed through the fields, climbing over hill and rock, and diving into the deepest of pools, a bundle of lightning in boys’ clothes. Then he stopped, he aged suddenly into a fine, handsome young man and he turned to look at her; he said something her ears did not hear and with a final wave of his hand, stepped through a sudden mist, and was gone.

After that, she remembered very little until long after he had been laid to rest. The pain she felt on that first, terrible day had eventually subsided. The pain became numbness, numbness became sadness, sadness became a deep grief, grief that gripped her heart as she had gripped the earth. Yet, little by little, the grip loosened on her heart. Light slowly flittered its way back into her life and while she would not, could not ever truly be whole again, she discovered that joy had stealthily creeped back into her life.

This was all so long ago, ages it seemed now. Much had happened before, and much had happened still after. Yet her she was again, surrounded by those with whom she shared a terrible kinship, for they like her, had also known the pain of death and loss. Yet, in the end, this made her stronger; strong enough even that she could now be a source of strength for those who needed her. For those to whom it seems as if time has stopped and life itself had come to an end, who ask how this could have happened and how do I go on?

For all of us who mourn, for all of us who grieve, for all who question why; she is there. She offers no easy answers, no platitudes, no quick fix. She cannot turn back the capricious nature of fortune, nor take away the pain of loss; she had no power over those claimed by death. Yet tall she stands, strong she remains, and a balm for the soul is her gift. She, above all others, understands the sorrow, knows full well the feeling and remembers the hurt.

In her compassion, may we find consolation.
In her wisdom, may we find meaning.
In her courage, may we find our own.

-Gorm

Gods behaving (badly)

I stared writing this post several months ago, but only now have gotten around to publishing it. Spurred on by the current discussion among some Pagan/Polytheist bloggers relating to the moral character of the gods, it seemed like a good time to put it out there.

Calling them "ethical dilemmas" may be a bit of a stretch, a euphemism on my part. No, perhaps they would more properly be labeled as moral failings. Far be it from me to judge the gods, but if the applicability of ethics is upon a cosmic scale, and the deities are supposed to be held to the same (or similar) standards, then whey they fail, what are we to do? What do we take away from a given moral lapse in a story? It is well understood that the gods are not infallible, but when they are deliberately duplicitous or dodgy in their behaviour, the questioning of the correctness of their actions remains.

I have a few arguments about this, but lets look at an example first. The event which always springs to my mind when I ponder these sorts of dilemmas, is the conception of Angus Og. Angus' mother, Boann, is married to Nechtan, but is desired by An Dagda. An Dagda convinces Nechtan to go off on some task, so he can have a tryst with Boann. In order to hide their deceit and the fact that An Dagda has made Nechtan a cuckold, An Dagda freezes the sun in the sky for nine months, allowing Aengus Og to be conceived, gestate and born in a single day. This is the origin of his epithet "Og" or "the young". In any case, the story is aware that what An Dagda is doing is morally questionable, and certainly that his actions are deceitful. In one version, Aengus tricks An Dagda into giving up his home, but in another it is Eclmar (in that same version, the husband of Boann in place of Nechtan) who is tricked out of his home, with the aid of An Dagda too boot!

One of the first things to consider, upon examining the story, is what its purpose or intent is. There is a tendency to try and understand everything from an immovable ethical standpoint, and this is not unreasonable. Ethics ought to be constant and applicable in any given situation, otherwise they're simply platitudes of convenience and have no real value. On the other hand, it also needs to be understood that not every tale or story is a morality play, and that the point of a story is not always tied to the morality of the characters within it.

One figure of generalized disdain who found in Irish myth (though by no means bound to this regional context) is the cuckold; the husband whose wife (or mistress/concubine) is unfaithful to him. As monogamy has been culturally engrained in our collective consciousness and understanding of social patterns, we moderns may often times feel that the cuckold is a figure not to be mocked but to be pitied; after all he is the wronged party in these sorts of affairs. In a fascinating twist, however, the cuckold in these narratives (the story I shared above, and numerous others) is not to be pitied but mocked, derided and insulted. The precedent established, albeit in a decisively Christianized context, was an episode which occurred during the LGE, where Partholón's wife, Delgnat has a tryst with one of their servants while Partholón is away. Discovering his wife's unfaithfulness, he kills the servant and Delgnat's dog, but is chided by her because it was his fault for leaving her alone. The mythic literature is replete with over and under tones of misogyny, and this argument is essential in later tales where the cuckold is held as responsible for the tryst; if he were a better man, his wife (who like all women are inherently untrustworthy) would not seek out others, or so the logic goes. Rarely is the male agent who participates in the tryst held to be in the wrong.

Now, turning back to an earlier point I had made, it is incumbent upon is to consider what the purpose of a given story is. The tale of the conception of Angus Og is not a treatise on the sanctity of monogamous marriages, rather it is an expositional narrative explaining why Angus became known as the Mac Og. There are other aspects to consider as well: the narrative definitely succeeds in exemplifying the sexual prowess and appetite of An Dagda, especially when it comes to tueletary goddeses. It also showcases his magical power, being able to suspend the very movement of the sun for nine months, to mention nothing of his cunning. Eochaid Ollathair did not earn the epithet of "The Good God" because of his moral virtue, but because of his might and proficiency in all that he did.

 

Another example, and one which many GRP’s take to heart as having a significant impact on their perception of this god, is the leech Dian Cecht. Of all the gods from the mythic texts, few illicit such vitriol and disdain from such a significant part of the GRP community. This relates to the mythic narrative where Dian Cecht features prominently, CMT2. Nuada having recently lost his hand to the Fir Bolg Sreng, has Dian Cecht make him a replacement, composed of silver. Dian Cecht’s son Miach, however, believed that he could do one better than his father, and literally grew Nuada a new hand. The fury and violence Dian Cecht rained down upon his son for having the audacity to surpass his father eventually resulted in Miach’s death. Airmed, Miach’s sister, buried her brother and from his grave grew all of the plants which were to be used to heal. Dian Cecht, still having not been satisfied with his punishment, mixed up the plants so that their healing properties were confused.

Many GRP’s utterly reject any sort of veneration of Dian Cecht, and refuse to give him the slightest obeisance. They see in his story not the slight of the young against the old, or the origin of healing herbs, but an abusive father exacting his murderous revenge upon his unfortunate son. Some have through UPG also felt terribly negative energies and emotions when they have encountered this god. Now it bears mentioning that within the narrative itself, no punishment is sought out for or exacted upon Dian Cecht by any of the other gods; no one except Airmed sheds any tears for her murdered brother, not even the god who benefited the most from his efforts, Nuada. Give that the killing of one’s own family was one of the more serious crimes, according to Brehon law, it is curious that the narrative remains morally ambivalent in this case. Of course Dian Cecht then goes on to aid the gods in their struggle against the Fomorians, and his influence is strong enough that a medieval tract is attributed to him. So here we are faced with a story which, within its own context is morally neutral, yet to modern sensibilities is abhorrent (at least to some).

The final example I wish to examine is the main drive behind the Oidheadh Chloinne Tuireann (The fate of the Sons of Tuireann), the revenge of Lugh. I won't go into too much detail, but Lugh's father, Cian and his two brothers were having a dispute with the three sons of Turieann: Brian, Iuchar and Iucharba. Cian is murdered by the three brothers and his death is covered up, but eventually Lugh learns the truth and wishes to have the three put to death. He deliberates and debates with the other gods, eventually agreeing to absolve the brothers if they can recover a number of simple objects; the brothers agree. It is only then that Lugh reveals that the objects are all legendary items obtained only through great hardship and peril. Lugh fully expected the task to claim the three Brothers lives, but feigned to offer them some assistance under the guise of preparing for the coming battle with the Fomorians. None the less, the Brothers keep their vow and set off to fetch the items. What follows is a very entertaining series of adventures, and the Brothers obtain all that they seek. Lugh, his plans for revenge being stymied by the skill of the Brothers, makes them forget  a few of the items they had not yet obtained, so that they return with several items which would have later on helped them. Upon remembering that they had yet to obtain a few things, but realizing that without their previous spoils could only do so at the cost of their lives, do so none the less (fyi, the final "thing" there were to obtain, " to give three shouts upon a hilltop" ;D ). Rather reminiscent of the later tale of Diarmuid and Grianne, Lugh has the power to heal the three Brothers, but refuses to do so, and achieves his vengeance. Their father, Tuireann, dies of a broken heart at the loss of his sons.

 

The question which remains when all is said and done asks whether Lugh was just, or whether he subverted true justice for the sake of petty revenge? To start with, the tale is considered a "tragedy", one of the "Three Great Sorrows of Storytelling", counted along with the Clann Lir (the children of Lir) and Longes mac n-Uislenn (the exile of the sons of Uisliu). It is a tragedy because we come to like and root for the hard pressed Brian, Iuchar and Iucharba, despite their original transgression, and realize that they are doomed by a more cunning and powerful foe, Lugh. If the tasks they are given are supposed to have any sot of redemptive or secondary quality to them (like obtaining powerful items to aid in the struggle against the Fomorians), it is wholly undermined by Lugh's desire for revenge. If on the other hand, the point of the story is to show just how powerful a ruler (and by proxy deity) Lugh is, and that his devotion to his kin surpasses all other concerns, then message received loud and clear. Cian in his final moments foretells that his killers ..."will pay a price heavier than any which came before, and any which would come after." So in this instance there is the voice of the victim to consider as well, and it should also be noted that the three Brother's never really recant their crimes, never show any sign of remorse or wrong doing; only when they realize that it is their own lives which are on the line, do they become forlorn. On the other hand, Lugh as the administer of justice, through the personage of the king, has a duty to meet out just punishment. Clearly Lugh seeks to subvert the terms of the fine he places upon the three Brothers, and so for this perhaps he is acting duplicitously.

So there you have it, three stories which feature gods acting in arguably less than ethical or honourable ways. What then do we, as devout and pious polytheists take from all of this?

For starters, we need to understand that while these stories may have pedigree stretching back into the pre-Christian past, they are not whole cloth transliterations of pre-Christian myths. They are at best recreations; euhemerized and embellished for the audience they were scripted for, with a particular purpose in mind. Such is the difficulty with adhering to a literal interpretation of the mythic texts, such as they are. The figures reflected in the tales are just that, literary reflections of deities and other mythic figures; this is why I have, and will continue to argue that the corpus of mythic texts are not sacred texts. They are the best, most reliable source we have for trying to understand pre-Christian cosmology and mythology, but they are not in and of themselves those myths.

Secondly, we need to try and understand the myths from within their own cultural and chronological context. As such, we need to try our best to understand the perspective of the author/ audience they were made for. Only then can we appreciate the subtleties and nuances contained within the narratives, and best grasp what meaning they seek to impart upon our wider experience.

Thirdly, we need to acknowledge that while we can understand their original context, we are not (nor can we be) restricted to a medieval mindset when it comes to our own, modern, concerns. Myths do tell of specific events and these events have meaning within their own time periods, but this does not mean that they can not have other meanings to us in the present day. It is a very fine line to walk, and we must proceed cautiously lest we fall into the pit of universalism or decontextualization; I understand that in the context of the second story, Dian Cecht is never reprimanded or reproached for his infanticide, but I can still feel terrible that it happened. Understanding something in its original context, does not mean that we have to accept that such a context is still valid.

Finally we ought to take a step back and consider the theological implications and how our understanding of the gods and of our devotion to them relates to our own experiences, and further how this meshes with the stories written about them. Here we move away from literary criticism and dive deep into theology and worldview. Our gods are not infallible, and for many who come from religions which teach that their deities are, this can be a difficult reality to adjust to. Yet adjust to it we must; for the gods are not paragons of virtue, at least not all of the time. The gods do have emotions, can be duplicitous, are given to capriciousness and perhaps even cruelty. Their goals can and may often times be at odds with our own, and bad, terrible things can happen as a result. Yet we continue to be devout, to leave our offerings and make our sacrifices to them; to pray to them and seek their benedictions and favours, their guidance and strength. Do we do so out of fear, of either angering them or seeking out their curses?

Of course not.

The gods may be flawed, but they are far less so than we. We are beings of a social nature, and so to place ourselves within a hermitage for fear of what may come through our bonds, is to deny our very nature. So while their existence is no guarantee of cohesion or safety, social strictures and systems exist to facilitate these interactions. Never forget that while their morality may differ from ours, as those whose sight is long must, the gods are beholden to the same structures which govern the cosmos; even if they are themselves the craftsmen who established, and the stewards who maintain them. Fír is a concept that applies to we mortals, but so to does it apply to the gods; for they are immanent and a part of this world, not apart and withdrawn from it. I have mentioned it before, but the gods do not need our worship or our patronage; they were here before us, they will be here long after our bones have withered. Yet they seek us out as often as we seek them, because they want our devotion, they want to help us, to help us succeeded because they benefit from our mutual achievement. If nothing else, remember always that we are better for having the gods, but so too are they better for having us.

We are not gods, we are human beings. We are not their equal in any capacity, for they are necessarily superlative. Yet they do not seek out our subservience, they do not seek to enslave us nor to oppress us. Certainly for a time we were mutually antagonistic towards one another, but this stymied each community to the detriment of both. Our ancestors had the good sense, and the gods had the compassion to realize that cooperation was better than animosity.

Can the gods be deceitful?
Can they take away as readily as they give?
Can they place their own needs above our own?

The answer is yes, but just because they can, does not mean they will. A question was asked by a blogger if it was wise to trust the gods; unabashedly, unequivocally, I say yes.

I say yes, because trust is something which is earned, and the gods have certainly done that.
I say yes, because trust is the foundation upon which relationships are built.
I say yes, because trust is based upon sound judgement.

I believe that I have developed the faculties and the knowledge to properly entreat with the gods, to understand what would offend them, and to honour them as much in accord with our ancient forbearers as possible. To uphold the oaths I have sworn and to ensure that I make such oaths only with gods who will honour those oaths. I can only speak to my own experiences an with the gods I worship, and so this limits my above arguments to Gaelic deities. Folks coming from other cultural perspectives, YMMV.

Thoughts?

-Gorm

 

Love is overrated

 

Makes for a nice poster, but no, no it isn't.

 

Love is not the be all and end all of everything, but you could be forgiven for mistaking the concept as a panacea for the universe. From literature to film, television to song, religion to philosophy and everything in between, "love" is popularly represented as the ultimate value' surpassing even life itself. In fact, to be without love is held to be one of the greatest tragedies one can have occur during the course of ones life, and to some extent I agree with such a sentiment. Yet the hyperbole and fervor with which western culture has come to understand and laud "love" is so excessive that other values and pursuits utterly pale in comparison. Honour, Justice, Valour or Wisdom? Fuck all of that shit, all the world needs is love. Well, I beg to differ, but as always a caveat, lest you think me curmudgeonly.

 

I am in love, have been in love and will likely continue to be in love until I die. I am happily married, and in my wedding vows expressed the depths of my commitment and love for my wife. This is not a polemic against the idea of romantic love, or love in general. Rather, my goal is to explore the culture which has been built up around the centrality of love as the singular goal worth striving for in ones life, and argue that for GRP's this model is untenable and other values are just as, if not more important than love. Remember that love is important, just over rated.

 

Popular fiction is the flagship for so many of a societies' values, of its aspirations and dreams, that it is difficult to find a more staunch proponent of love as the be all and end all of human endeavour. I realize, as a matter of course, that outliers in both forms of media exist, but they remain outliers; exceptions to the rule remain just that, exceptions. While it is encouraging to see satirical and critical examinations of this cultural obsession with love, they have remained ineffectual in shifting any paradigms beyond sub genre and subculture (even the disparate counter cultures that have arisen have accepted love as a central value, if slightly redefined to buck the mainstream).

 

Fiction and music, on the whole, emphasize love and in the broadest sense this is meant as eros, or romantic love. It is remarkable enough if a film or story does not contain some element in which the male and female leads become romantically involved. Or, to put it another way, while the quest element of a film may not be romance in and of itself, said romance often enough supplants the quest, to become the real point of the story. Let's look at one of my favourite of the current Marvel Studio's films, 'Thor", to showcase this perspective. "Thor" is a very basic story at it's roots, it is a component of the "hero's quest" where as a consequence of the hero's vanity or hubris, conflict emerges, the hero is removed from his lofty position and forced to redeem himself through trial and tribulation. Yes, the film cuts out the element of the origin story involving the crippled doctor, which was essentially retconed away in the later comics anyway, substituting pathos for slapstick, but I digress. Thor, in his very brief jaunt on earth, also falls in love, and while it is a subplot to the greater narrative of the film, by the time the credits begin to roll, the love between Jane Foster and Thor frames everything which is to follow (and indeed does in the sequel.) Thor, then has redeemed himself in the eyes of his father and community, yet he remains distraught because he was forced to (temporarily) sacrifice the aforementioned love. So here is the first really solid point; even when there is no "happy ending" (where the couple is together at the end of the film), the act of sacrificing that relationship has untold power and value. So much so that this romantic love supplants the value of compassion and leadership; a lesson is learned, but the cost is great (too great it seems). What is the point of all this new found wisdom, if Thor can't be with the woman he loves?

 

Now, this is but one example of the multitude of film, and I could go on and on about romance supplanting the original values sought, but I'm fairly certain that as far as film and romance goes, it is self evident. So I turn now to other variations of love in other films: Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter.

 

The LOTR films cover an enormous swath of geography and characters, if a short period of time (in the main narrative anyway). The upshot is that that while the romantic elements were heavily expanded upon in the films (particularly the Aragorn, Arwen, Éowyn love triangle) it never manages to eclipse everything else that happens. So while Jackson did his best to shoehorn in romance (after all, audiences crave it) the kind of love that was the focus of the film was philia and agape (or friendship and selfless devotion). I think the films did an admirable job of translating this component of the novels, if only to be utterly misunderstood by audiences and relentlessly mocked. Modern movie going folk were so utterly ignorant of concepts like philia and agape (outside of a very famous, yet specific context) that they themselves invented their own romantic subplot, homoerotic as it may have been. Of particular note is the relationship between Sam and Frodo, an exemplar of agape love if there ever was one. Sam is utterly devoted to Frodo, is willing to travel the breadth of the world they inhabit, to the very source of the evil they seek to destroy, to the extent of being willing to sacrifice his life should the need arise. Such devotion is admirable, especially since it is reciprocated by Frodo. Yet the framework for such a relationship, the means of understanding and explaining such selfless devotion between two people who were not blood relatives, was for the vast majority of people, eros. Or more accurately, since no physical expression of this love occurs, the subtext was held to have been extremely homoerotic. So while it is a subtext, and such is usually the source of humour, the point remains that agape love was the linchpin of the entire story; "Frodo wouldn't have gotten far without Sam."

Turning now to Harry Potter, the power of love, particularly storge (or familial love), is hammered home again, and again, and again. An old and powerful magic, a mother putting herself between harm and her child; powerful enough to destroy the most powerful dark wizard of all time. Throughout the novels, this protection remains until it transforms into something different. It is at this point that we can move away from looking at fiction to sourcing the centrality of love to something else. In the last film Harry sacrifices himself to save his friends, the order of the Phoenix and everyone else at Hogwarts. He purposefully seeks out his own death in payment for the protection of those he loves. Note, however, that it is not simply Ginny Weasley he seeks to protect, but everyone. What is not presented in the film, however, is the result that his sacrifice has (other than destroying the penultimate Horcrux). In the novels, his sacrifice literally protects everyone from Voldemort's magic, which is rendered utterly ineffectual. Is it any wonder than that there exist books like "Jesus Potter Harry Christ"?, because the only way the parallel could have been stronger is if Harry had of been crucified (well he was crucio'd...). The day is saved by love, agape love, and this is precisely the sort of love which is exemplified in the central figure in the Christian religion, Jesus Christ.

Here we come face to face with that "very famous, specific" example of love understood outside the confines of romance or kinship. The love of Christ, the love for which his apostles forswore all else to seek after him, and which he ultimately sacrificed himself for, was one of utter devotion. An utter devotion so intense that it spread to the whole of humanity, for all of time. So while the precise term agape may be relatively underutilized in common parlance; the value and significance of what it represents has been one of the singular forces shaping western culture for the past two millennia. Christians are theologically conditioned to recognize that sacrifice as the most important single act in human history, and western culture certainly follows suit. There are few acts held to be as noble or inspiring as the willingness of someone to give up their own life, for that of another. So while sacrifice is by no means unique to Christianity, as far as cultural underpinnings go, it is difficult to escape the impact this model of sacrifice has had upon western culture in general. So to by proxy the value of love as expressed through the teachings of Christ ( "But now faith, hope, love abide these three; but the greatest of these is love" Corinthians 13:13, "...thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself" Mark 12:31) have also had a profound impact upon the culture.* This is the "love" so often sung about, so often expressed across religious bounds, which has over time mingled, very gradually, with the idea of romantic love.

Having established how love is represented and why it is held among moderns to be the ultimate pursuit, let us turn our attention to sources from Gaelic myth which touch upon and explore the importance of love (in its various forms). The two tales I would like to focus on are: ""Longes mac n-Uislenn " and "Tóraigheacht Dhiarmada agus Ghráinne ".

 

Longes mac n-Uislenn, or "The exile of the sons of Uisliu" is often grouped among the remscéla (or fore-tales) of the "Táin Bó Cúaligne". The purpose of the story, as it relates to the Táin, is that it explains why Fergus and other Ulster heroes are fighting for the Connachtmen during said story. The basic plot revolves around Deirdre, a maiden betrothed to Conchobar, falling in love with Noisiu, their elopement, trials in exile, eventual return, betrayal and violent deaths. I certainly do not do it justice here, but the reason the tale is relevant to this discussion is the action/decision upon which the bulk of the narrative hangs; Deirdre's and Noisiu's elopement. The "young lady intended for an old man, falls for young man, and they run off" trope is of a rather ancient pedigree, and this tale is a shining example of that trope. Deirdre is raised, almost to the extent of being cloistered, for the sole purpose of becoming a wife of Conchobar. She by chance happens to see Noisiu, and his beauty overwhelms her, and despite his initial protestations he too falls for her beauty. They elope, and flee Ireland to settle in Scotland, and the tale goes on. Conchobar is understandably furious, and being a schemer, arranges for their return that he may have his revenge. Noisiu and his brothers are eventually killed, and as punishment for her crimes Deirdre is made to marry Eogan mac Duthacht (the man who killed Noisiu), upon which she kills herself by leaping from a chariot and smashing her head against a rock. The tale is rightly so grouped among the "three most sorrowful tales of Irish literature", and we as readers cannot help but feel bad for Deidre and Noisiu, and hate Conchobar. Except Conchobar is in the right.

 

That's right, Conchobar is totally justified in his anger at this betrayal, by his own nephew even, and that his intended bride ran off with another man. His later actions are abhorrent, his eventual betrayal of Fergus unforgivable, and his final treatment of Deirdre terrible, but he is initially right. Deirdre and Noisiu both knew what they were doing was wrong, but did it anyway regardless of the very dire consequences sure to happen. Noisiu's brothers both try to convince him that his actions are folly, that death and disaster would pursue them, but being unable to convince him, go along with him. Conchobar's honour is impugned, and the honour price is steep. This entire calamity could have been avoided if only two young lovers had resisted their passion, and acted according to their duty. I realize this is anathema to modern sensibilities, but there in lies the rub. Romantic love trumps duty and obligation now, but that shit did not fly in Iron Age Ireland. So, lets move on to the next tale. 

 

The second tale to examine is Tóraigheacht Dhiarmada agus Ghráinne , or "The pursuit of Diarmuid and Grianne", which is part of the Fenian cycle. One of the more widely known Fenian tales, and great favourite of folklore (considering how many stones are recounted as "beds of Diarmuid and Grianne" which dot the Irish countryside). The motif is the same as the tale above, but the consequences play out slightly different. Grianne is yet another Irish beauty of legend, and is also intended to Fionn mac Cumhaill (again in this narrative considerably older than Grianne). The other figure of note in this tale is Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, one of Fionn's retainers and core member of the Fianna under Fionn's leadership. Grianne, being disappointed with the prospect of becoming the aged Fionn's wife, places a sleeping draught in the cups of the Fianna, and leaves only a handful of them awake. She asks each of the still conscious men to elope with her, but they all refuse. She then places a geis upon Diarmuid, that forces him to run off with her. Diarmuid is reluctant but has little recourse, and they flee. Fionn awakes and in righteous anger pursues the couple across the whole of Ireland, with many interesting events occurring, including the continued aid of Aengus Og, Diarmuid's foster father. Eventually Fionn pardons the couple, and they marry and have several children. The addendum to the tale involves the culmination of this and another tale, where Diarmuid is gored to death after slaying a giant boar. Fionn has the chance to heal Diarmuid, three times even, but each time declines to do so, and Diarmuid dies.

 

So the end result is tragic, but not nearly as tragic as the tale with Deirdre and Noisiu, as Diarmuid and Grainne do wind up together and have children. Fionn is represented as the primary antagonist throughout the narrative, and is made fool of on many occasions. Yet, the entire affair began because of the decision of Grianne to abandon her sworn oath to marry Fionn, because of her love for Diarmuid, and their fate was sealed the moment she placed a geis upon Diarmuid to elope with her. As much as the reader is meant to root for the young lovers against the aged rival, that Fionn's anger and pursuit of the pair who wronged him is never in question. Fionn is utterly humiliated and disgraced by those whom he trusted, Diarmuid breaks his own vows of loyalty to his leader, and disharmony abounds. As light hearted as the narrative is, and despite the initial positive result for the lovers, Diarmuid's death is a direct result of this tragedy. Both men are good and just, fair and honourable, yet because love is allowed to supersede duty and obligation, tragedy (eventually) comes to pass. 

 

The singular point which leaps off the page, one of the central "morals" of the tales, is that when romantic love is placed before duty, grave consequences follow. This is again not to under value love, as the motif of "wasting" or "love" sickness is common enough; the power of love is undeniable. Only that from the perspective of the culture, when romance is placed above all else, disaster and tragedy are the consequences. As difficult as it may be for modern sensibilities about the role that romance and individual choice play in marriage, such was not the case during the period in question. I have long argued that the values, the core ethical framework which bound pre-Christian Gaelic society together (and for a considerable time after the conversion to Christianity) were communal in nature; the good of the group came well before the good of the individual. While it would be foolish to seek after a return to wholly communal values (individualism is far too ingrained in us now), as GRP's we ought to be doing our best to restore and live by the ethics which are the legacy of our forebear's. Indeed if any form of love I have discussed above was held to be important, it would have been storge, or kinship. The loyalty to ones family, the family's loyalty to the clan, the clans loyalty to the tuatha; was the microcosmic supporting the macrocosmic. Considering how great a crime like kin-slaying was, this comes as no surprise. Romantic love, also, has its place and is the focus of many tales, but you will note that in such tales where it is treated as noble and worth striving for, it is never at the cost of honour or society in general.

 

There needs to be a balance between ones passion and ones duty, and we see time and time again in the tales the consequences of passion gone too far. Ruination follows in its wake, primarily because it stands against tradition and the right order of things. We may root for the lovers, sympathetic as they may be, but their transgressions threaten not only themselves, but their communities as well. Here then is the dissonance between modern sensibilities inherent in the over culture, and our adopted values as GRP's. In the sort of generalized ethical modes, or categories present in CR, of the values espoused by the texts, love is notably absent. Wisdom, Justice, Honour, Loyalty, Courage are however all present, and certainly love can have a place within such concepts (particularly loyalty and courage), but it ought not to supersede them. Honour, for example, is one of the most romanticized virtues and values, yet it is so misunderstood that it is rejected out of hand. Honour necessarily exists only where the is community to render an individual as honourable. It is a virtue that can not exist alongside rugged individualism, because honour is inexorably linked to reputation. How often in films or fiction does ones reputation count for nothing, how easily is it abandoned for the sake of love? Remarkably simple really; reputation counts for nothing when it stands in the way of love, and so to must honour.

 

If we are to openly and fully live as GRP's, then there will be times where we are at odds with our families, friends, cohorts and society at large; at least when it comes to ethics and behaviours. Many of our values overlap, but often enough they are at odds with positions so taken for granted, they are the default. The first step is to recognize that these differences exist and that the default cultural conditioning needs to be overwritten. As I mentioned in my previous post, given that we have already bucked the trend of a monotheistic approach to deity; that other conceptual changes need to occur should be obvious, but not terribly difficult to accomplish. This may cause some friction with other people in our lives, yet if we really do seek to fully embrace GRP then it has to extend beyond our devotions to the na trí naomh. It needs to encompass our very way of seeing and being in the world and this extends to how we comport ourselves, the values we embody and which we need to transmit to future generations.

 

We can not turn back the clock, and there is a multitude of reasons that even if we could, we would not want to. It is important to recognize that we do not live in the Iron Age, just as it is important to recognize that reconstruction in not re-enactment. Not every scrap and every practice is valuable to a 21st century worldview, but this does not preclude that the values of our ancestors which may have been placed on the cultural back burner should also be forgotten. There is so much value in restoring, well, more antiquated values and these values naturally flow from our more overtly religious devotion and the tales which inform that devotion. So enjoy romance, celebrate friendship, reinforce ties of kinship, and devote yourself to those who are worthy of your devotion. Just be mindful that love isn't the only thing worth living for: live with honour, speak with truth, act with valour, judge with wisdom and enjoy with hospitality.

 

-Gorm.

 

* For a slightly more in depth examination of this cultural shift, see Kelly and Dryfus, "All Things Shining".

Tinker Bell Theology... or if you just believe.

I've not come across any sort of formal use of the term, though most folks seem to understand what I'm nattering on about when I make use of the expression. The "Tinker Bell Doctrine" or "Tinker Bell Theology" or "Tinkerbell effect" is a term I utilize when I encounter a peculiar, if pervasive, perspective when it comes to the nature of the gods. The origin of the term denotes the character Tinkerbell, originating in the works of J.M Barrie and most popularly, the 1953 Disney animated film, "Peter Pan", and in particular that the more an individual (or group) believes in something, the more potent it becomes. This is a concept which, while not necessarily a major strain in theological thought, is none the less pervasive, especially in fictionalized representations of mythic beings.

There are a number of fictional works where this approach to deities can be observed, ranging from stories by Douglas Adams, to Neil Gaiman, to the show "Supernatural". Jason, at the Wildhunt blog, has already explored some of the problematic aspects of the practical application to gods some of us actually still worship (in the case of the later); it is one reason why I dislike the show and despite the protestations of my wife and others, will not "give a chance". I'll touch on this in a little more detail later on.

I wanted to touch on and explore in a little more depth the approach Gaiman in particular takes. I really, really like the fiction of Neil Gaiman. I am at a loss to name any other recent author who so thoroughly "gets" what many refer to as "mythical thinking". The love the man has for mythology, in and of itself, permeates all of his works. Coupled with the understanding that myth is a framework, a lens through which to understand our experiences, to provide meaning to those experiences, is a thoroughly refreshing approach, normally only found haunting academic approaches to the subject itself.

Having gotten my fanboy gushing out of the way, Gaiman does make substantial use of "Tinker Bell Theology", smatteringly throughout his "Sandman" graphic novel series, but centrally in his novel "American Gods". In particular, his framing of the origins and extent of deities in particular (sometimes conflated with genius loci, sometimes not) fully adopts this perspective. The basic framework outlining the "life" of a god or goddess is as follows.

1. Humans have something they begin to believe in strongly.
2. This belief manifests itself in a physical form.
3. This form will follow the humans who believe in it, or another localized form will do the same.
4. The level of offerings/sacrifices/ influence directly correlates to the potency of the god/ goddess.
5. As the level of devotion wanes, so too does the god.

In conclusion, the mitigating factor in the existence of a deity is the extent in which Humans actively/inactively believe in them. The more people who believe, the stronger the deity is.

While this creates an interesting framing of the origins and nature of gods, and certainly works as a plot device in a number of fictional universes, it is at its core, incompatible with a truly polytheistic approach to theology. Pantheistic, Panentheistic, Monistic, even perhaps so called "soft polytheism", but not polytheism in and of itself.

I personally think such a theological approach to the gods is an almost textbook definition of self-importance and solipsism. That we create the gods, that they are beholden to us, that they need our worship to sustain them speaks far more to the ascendency and dominance of monotheistic thinking, than to the actual nature of the gods, from a polytheistic world view.

If the gods are little more than thought projections, delusions of a fevered mind or mass imagining, then what value do they have, really? How can these mere mental (and later physical) constructs, or idols, hope to compete with the supreme being, with the "author of creation"? In a word, they can not; they are literally straw(god)men, built up specifically so they can be torn down by the obvious truth which can only be found through the worship of the "One true God". Monotheists, while trying to explain away the historic context of the struggle monotheistic systems had in dealing with contemporary polytheism, will argue that references to "gods" do not refer to deities aside from their own, but the metaphorical idols of the human condition: money, greed, power, lust, etc. In the same breath, the gods of our ancestors are explained away as at best base superstition and at worst demon worship. The gods of polytheism necessarily have to be imaginary friends or hallucinatory monsters, because they do not fit anywhere else.

While I can appreciate the more sympathetic approaches in some of the other theistic frameworks I listed above, they all tend to have one thing in common; they reduce the existence, the nature of the gods, as being sourced to the human mind. The gods become archetypes of human endeavour, they become names of power, they become explanations of natural phenomena to a primitive people, they are relegated to a bygone era, they are shelved in storybooks, and they are proclaimed to be dead (especially when compared to the "living" god of monotheism). Is it any wonder, then, that people will often look askance at those of us who mention that we not only "believe" in these gods, but that we actively worship them?

This turns back to one of my major criticisms with the show "Supernatural", and also why I balk at it, but give Gaiman a pass. The narrative framing of the series is from a monotheistic theological perspective; gods when they do show up, are little more than glorified monsters and readily dispatched by the recurring heroes/villains. Living in a culture steeped and saturated with the superiority of monotheism, I'd rather spend my time in fictional universes more sympathetic to my own view of theology. While Gaiman does us similar framing, and is just as guilty of utilizing 'Tinker Bell theology", he applies it equally across the board. For those of you who like me have the 10th anniversary edition of "American Gods" and have read the Apocrypha, you'll understand what I'm getting at. For those who have not, suffice to say that Jesus is "stretched", just a little bit, not unlike an aged Bilbo Baggins. Gaiman gets a pass for having a good grasp of the myths his characters are sourced from, and not just using them as magical (and recognizable) names, to be disposed of at will for plot convenience. In addition, his sympathies lie with mythic thinking, and not mythic name dropping.

I am firmly of the perspective that the gods are both real and external to us. They do not require our worship, nor do they require our belief in order to exist. At least not anymore than I require your belief to exist. Subjectivity is fine and good, and context is always relevant, but one needs to have a grounding in what is, so as to not fall into the trap of solipsism. Why then worship the gods, if they do not need our worship to sustain themselves?

Because it is better to live in harmony with the gods than to be in opposition to them.
Because they enrich our lives and provide us with models and guidance to follow.
Because they offer to us a connection to something far greater than ourselves.
Because their worship establishes a connection with those who came before us.
Because they, and their stories, provide us with meaning and purpose.

I believe in the gods, because they believe in me.

Thoughts?

-Gorm

Oisin or Cailte?

Fenian lore, in all its longevity and folk charminess, bears the distinction of being the mythic period which overlaps more than any other, with the coming of Christianity to Ireland. While the accounts themselves, and the exploits of the Fianna under Fionn mac Cumhaill, take place in the centuries proceeding the mythic start of Christianity, Padraig's mission, the tradition ends with two accounts which are both some of my favourite literature, as well as quite inverse to one another.

These are Acallam na Senorach  (Or "The Tales of the Elders of Ireland") and Agallamh Oisín agus Phádraig (Or "The Dialogue of Oisin and Patrick". The former dates to the 13th century, and I would highly recommend Anne Dooley and Harry Roe's Translation. Oisn and Patrick, on the other hand can be found in Lady Gregory’s adaptation of the Fenian Cycle, Gods and Fighting Men (1904), itself derived (in large part) from Jerimiah Curtin’s “Myths and Folk-lore of Ireland” (1890). Curtain based his translations off of Agallamh Oisín agus Phádraig, which was published in Duanaire Finn, by Aodh Ó Dochartaigh, in the 17^th century.

Acallam na Senorach, is the larger of the works, and it contains a treasure trove of Fenian lore and legends. The basic premise is that Caílte mac Rónáin and Oisin, as well as a band of unnamed followers, are all that are left of the Fianna. Oisin and Caílte meet one last time, and Oisin decides he is going to stay with his family in the Sidhe. Calite and the others are then left to wander about, when they happen to stumble upon St. Patrick, who is in the process of missionizing to the whole of Ireland. Patrick inquires as to the giant, yet aged figure of Caílte, and he recites a few tales of the exploits of the Fianna. Patrick is naturally enamoured by the stories, when two angels descend and instruct Patrick to record all of the tales Caílte recites, for the betterment of Ireland. The story then has Caílte and his cohorts travelling from place to place with Patrick and his followers, while Caílte recites tales about the Fianna at every single place they inquire about. This story, among other things, is the source of the oft-quoted:

Truth in our Hearts, Strengths in our Arms, Fulfillment upon our Tongues.

"Patrick and Oisin", on the other hand is really an end piece of the Fenian lore, dealing specifically with Oisin upon his return from the Otherworld. Oisin, having become an ancient upon his touching down upon the earth, is now blind and decrepit. He is taken in by Patrick and his monks, and the story revolves around the debate which occurs between Oisin and Patrick regarding the merits of their pre-Christian and Christian beliefs. It is somewhat reminiscent of "The Madness of Suibne", in that Oisin as the Suibne figure, is the man out of time, enamoured of the wilds and the wonder of nature. Patrick is a joyless, at times cruel figure, giving Oisin only the meagerest of food and drink, and chiding him for his fondness of his heathen past. Patrick is very much the fire and brimstone preacher, condemning the Fianna to hellfire and Oisin himself will share their fate if he does not convert. There are some different versions, usually Oisin relents and converts, but sometimes he refuses and dies unbaptized.

We are presented with two very different accounts of a similar type of event, and two very different approaches to the subject (or subtext) of the religious conversion of the Irish. The later is fueled by animosity, contrast and Patrick being an all around git. The former, on the other hand, does its best to showcase the very best of the Pagan and Christian worldviews, and how they (could have been) reconciled. The nobility of the past, the heroic days of valour and adventure, the dignity of an old warrior mingled with the peace and joy of the new faith, in its magnanimity and charity to those who, while not "saved" in life, are deserving of heaven none the less.

I am by no means a fan of Christianity, as any who have a familiarity with my blog and me personally, are certainly aware. I'd not go as far as some who recognized March 17 as a day of mourning, but theologically there are some very real and problematic elements of the religion, and the world view that has developed, which I find myself at odds with. Truth be told, and it ought to be, I rather liked "Oisin and Patrick" precisely because of the animosity which permeates the narrative. It presents a side of the "argument" which has for the most part been omitted or left out, that of the pre-Christian. Even in the older manuscripts and texts, primarily the Ulster cycle, there is an underpinning of the "natural evolution" towards the new faith. All having been written long after the conversion, there none the less remains an undertone of "we know what's coming, and it has little to do with magical folks in mounds". The inevitability of the coming of Christianity, written with the gift of hindsight, precludes a lot of the value of the pre-Christian world view. Oisin and Patrick presents that rare voice of the conquered, who still clings to a way which is no longer seen as feasible or worthwhile by contemporaries. Make no mistake, Oisin is the conquered: aged, debilitated and crippled, at the complete mercy of Patrick. This is not a robust, full bodied defense of pre-Christian religion or world view; it is a man on his deathbed, lamenting for a bygone age, in the face of his own misery and the bully pulpit of Patrick. None the less, the criticisms made by Oisin are both poignant and even of value today. Who among us has been fortunate enough to never encounter Christian triumphalism? None to few, I would wager. Oisin and Patrick appeals to that part of me which seeks to stand against the hegemony, which wishes to see a broader return to the religion of my far distant ancestors in a more robust way. It appeals to the part of me which has endured for decades the notion that Christianity was and is "it" when it comes to religion, and that nothing before or since has any value.

On the other hand...

It would be foolish to ignore the centrality of the Christian religion, and in particular Catholicism in the history and culture of Ireland, both historically and today. Certainly, like many western democracies, there is a gradual shift towards secularism occurring; albeit in Ireland's case it is remarkably slow. The majority of the population of the republic is Catholic, and most of the rest are Protestant to some extent or the other. Certainly those of us who find ourselves in the Diaspora, whose ancestors left Ireland some centuries ago, have to face up to the fact that by and large, our ancestors were staunchly Christian. We really do need to go back to times immemorial to find those pre-Christian connections, and almost certainly any individual in our family tree's with a name would be Christian.

Christianity is also still the dominant religion in the world today, certainly this is not going to change in western countries any time soon, and so we find ourselves faced with the reality of demographics and being a rather tiny minority, have little recourse but to learn to live with it. Well, reality check time again, we already are living with it, have been and will continue to do so far into the future, so this will surprise exactly no one. I suppose the point of all of this is how ought we to proceed? The way of opposition and confrontation or the way of cooperation and pluralism? Do we walk with Oisin or Caílte?

In my youth, unabashedly, I would have sided with Oisin in this matter and there remains a part of me which still wants to. Being a little older, and by proxy more experienced, I think the best choice lies, however, with Caílte . Well for the most part; Caílte did after all become a Christian, and that's simply not something a GPR can do. Our textual traditions are the product of a gradient of pre- and co-Christian world views, but this does not prevent us from holding them as being central and relevant. We need to understand that we will never have a purely pre-Christian textual tradition, and do our best to sort the bits out which can in fact, be sorted.

The history, the "bad blood" between the pre-Christians and the Christians, is all but absent from our history; texts like "Oisin and Patrick" are extremely rare. By and large we simply do not have much evidence to support an antagonistic relationship between the ancient and slightly less ancient religious traditions of the Gaelic world. There is no evidence of the sort of religious conquests or mass conversions under the sword which is evident in the lands further to the north and to the south. I can understand why an Asatruar or Heathen may balk, why a practitioner of the Religio may be understandably hostile, but our own anger and frustration is a byproduct of a modern worldview which is noticeably absent in our own records. Try as some may, black armbands on March 17th and all, there simply is no basis in the evidence we have for such theatrics or outrage. This is because the process of conversion was gradual, peaceable and highly syncretic. Yes, in later hagiographical accounts the image presented of the "noble pagan" is replaced by conjurers of demons and other Christian bogey-men, but an examination of such "events" reflects far more the retooling of existing Biblical stories or of continental hagiographies made local, than disdain for actual pre-Christians. The largest victim of the coming of Christianity to Ireland, was Christianity itself; it would become quite literally, its own worst enemy. Christians have carried out far more unspeakable things to each other than they ever did to the pre-Christian Gaels.

I like to think I'm not so naive to see everything as sparkles and rainbows, but historically speaking, the Celts had a lot worse done to them by other polytheistic cultures (in fact one of the only clear examples of religious persecution from a polytheistic culture was that of the Romans towards the Celts, and in particular the Druidic functionaries) then they ever did from Christians. Yet, I've not seen any sort of the vitriol or disdain among some GRPs (and CRs) which is held for Christianity, aimed at members of the Religio.

Returning to the main thrust of this post, however, this entire piece is written primarily as an exploration of mythic ways in which figures who represent disparate world views interact with one another, and what (to some kind of extent) follows. The real world applicability is of relatively small consequence; not because the question is one that need not be explored, but because of demographics. It may have some wider applicability beyond the scope of GRP, perhaps extending as a model for CR’s or even more broadly neo-Pagan traditions stemming from the Celtic cultures. If nothing else, perhaps something to consider before slapping on a black arm band or celebrating “All Snakes Day” on March 17 as a knee jerk reaction to the imagined horrors of the conversion of the Gaels to Christianity.

 

Practically speaking, the vast majority of Christians aren’t even aware of our existence, or have some vague notion that people actually believe in those silly fairy tales they read as children. Anecdotal as it is, most of the people I encounter have such a poor grasp of their own religion, they’ve not even thought about other traditions, let alone how to interact with them. Pre-Christian perspectives are just that, pre-Christian, and as such are relegated to the past and have little to no bearing on the present. Patrick in which ever version outlives both Caílte and Oisin after all.

 

Ours is presently a rather insular community, already awash in a lake of polytheism, itself surrounded by a continent of monotheism. At the end of the day, I direct my message to the GRP’s, CR’s and Celtic influenced neo-Pagans. We decide how we want to understand and interact with the Galileans (albeit this could certainly be broadened to interfaith relationships in general), by understanding how the (mythic) “last Pagans” chose to do so. Perhaps it will largely depend on context, as so much often does. It is rather easy to abide alongside an open minded, pluralistic styled Christian, and this is reflected in the Patrick from the Acallam. The fellow who is not only willing to attentively listen, but to discuss and recognize the merits of a world view outside of their own. Of course is also helps when the other side is represented by someone who is also willing to listen, who is up to the task and capable. Caílte, while ancient, remains a staggeringly powerful figure throughout the narrative of the Acallam. It is another matter altogether to sit idly by while the fire and brimstone preacher lambastes everything one holds dear, and demeans and debases what is considered sacred. It does not help when the other is reduced to decrepitude  at the utter mercy of his host, that the host thinks nothing of the words being spoken, and only hears the last mewling of a long broken worldview.

 

I have come to understand that while the later is certainly the most vociferous, the most bombastic and the most influential, there are folks who are willing to listen. There are those who are willing to not only listen, but to learn and understand; to see the value in the worldview of another. This is really the only basis upon which we can build any sort of interfaith dialogue, and I think the best way forward.

Thoughts?

-Gorm