Posts tagged ‘Paganism’

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June 18, 2013

Writing in the Rain: Towards an English Mythology

The Dorset Ooser: His significance is now obscure.

It is a peculiarity that England – the country to have lead the way more than any other with the contemporary Pagan revival – has in fact no coherent pantheon or ancient mythology of its own. We have a great many pieces of folklore, traditional rites, interesting characters, places and themes, but there has never been – either in Ancient Times or Modern – an attempt to synthesise or unite them in a common set of stories. Countries with a far more vigorously attested ancient mythology – Greece, Iceland, Russia, Italy, Ireland – were all relative latecomers to Paganism. Although there are many good historical reasons why, the problem is that English Paganism has not yet filled this void completely. There is of course a really popular English Pagan myth – that of the Horned God and the Triple Goddess, worshipped by Witches, who are themselves the subject of a myth all their own. And this is the myth I’d like to examine.

I am speaking of course of the myth of the persecution of Europe’s witches by “the Church”, of the fertility cult they enacted and the God and Goddess they worshipped. As myths are wont to, it has captured the imagination of many – but due to its roots in history, rather than mystery, it has had a short-lived efflorescence. Within 20 years of its birth, the “Witch-Cult Hypothesis” was rejected by academe, within 50, it had fallen out of favour in the country of its birth, even amongst Wiccans.

In my view, this myth has boasted other less obvious shortcomings. Firstly, it isn’t truly English. As a “Pan-European” legend, it is not rooted in the rolling hills, grey skies and mirrored waters of this green and pleasant land, but in a much wider ethnoscape – one in which all Christian peoples persecuted by their priests, not just the English, have purchase. As such, it isn’t really the “English” legend that we might like to balance the legends we find in other lands. Rather, it’s the antithesis to the concept of Christendom – a cultural critique of the overarching narrative of a triumphant Roman Christ who liberated our beleaguered continent from itself. Instead, the Witch Cult Hypothesis suggests that the people of Europe aren’t/weren’t truly Christian in their hearts, or that only threats and violence made them so. This may be true in places, but this process was begun and over long before the time when the supposed persecutions were imagined to have taken place, having been more a feature of Christianisation rather than Inquisition.

The other issue I have with the Witch Cult as an English myth is that it owes as much to Victorian conceits of lumping gods and cultures together into ill-conceived, grand categories as it does to ancient history or the worldview of the rural cultures it apes after. Suggesting that all gods are facets of the One, all goddesses are reflections of Her may be a profound spiritual truth, but it’s very bad anthropology. Small-scale, localised societies such as those which make most Pagans misty-eyed often show great interest in particularity; knowing the difference between this and that stream, these and those mushrooms, the season now and the season is given great importance. Gods are not assumed to have universal significance, nor are “our” gods meant to be connected, necessarily, to those of one’s neighbours. Zeus is NOT Thunor is NOT Taranis is NOT Thor is NOT Taran. They are each very different beings, with their own personalities, histories, cultus and spiritus. In this way, the gods are like humans – although emphasising the oneness of Mankind can teach many things, ignoring the fact that we are all different people can have terrible side-effects. Just as I have similarities with other Geminis, so Thunder Gods share certain similarities. In this regard, I see the divine realm as no different to the human.

Another thing that makes me feel a little frustrated with the WCH as a local myth is that it is very limited. In comparison to the huge variety to be found within most traditional cultural worldviews, detail in the WCH is thin on the ground. Two gods. A Great Rite. A single rede. A rumour of genocide, and the promise of grandmother stories. That’s it.

This doesn’t mean that the Witch-Cult Hypothesis and the dimensions of it that modern Wiccans adhere to is bad. It’s only that it’s the beginnings of a tradition, not the whole of one. As for the pseudo-historical witch hunt, it’s certainly not what I’m looking for from Paganism. If I wanted a persecution narrative, I could identify with my sexuality, or my Jewish relatives on my mother’s side. If I wanted one binaristic divinity, there’s plenty of that in Hinduism and Catholicism. What I want is something local.

Now, none of this is to suggest that nobody in England has tried to devise a mythology to go with our homeland. In fact, plenty of people have – but sadly, most (all?) of them aren’t Pagan. C.S. Lewis, despite never setting out to create an English myth, created in Narnia a joyful arcadia that reminds me deeply of my homeland. JK Rowling’s depictions of witches and wizards in the Harry Potter series is – sociologically speaking – sometimes alarmingly similar to the British Pagan community; with batty-named people who all know each other living in secret, keeping the magic alive. Eva Ibbotsen, an Austrian author whose work I devoured as a child, masterfully syncretised all manner of English magical creatures into singular, coherently English bestiaries for her novels. But the two leaders in this field of mythopoeisis are, in my humble opinion, JRR Tolkein and Susannah Clarke.

Notable about their work is the way in which it is designed around the setting, rather than the other way around. Tolkein, whose expressed purpose was to create a myth for the English people, created landscapes, languages, peoples and angelic beings that have proved so captivating that he has literally set the mould into which the majority of contemporary, world-builder fantasy is cast. Unfortunately, though, Tolkein’s work had the weakness (as far as his aim of mythologizing England was concerned) of not being sufficiently rooted in England, its heritage and localities. With my observations about traditional, localised societies in mind, it’s easy to see how Tolkein’s corpus – despite being amazing myth – failed to be an English one. His creativity got the better of him; by re-inventing everything, Tolkein divorced Middle Earth utterly from its roots as a spiritual twin of the country in which he grew up.

What lies beyond the gates: England could do with another good mythos, in my view.

Susannah Clarke has not made the same mistake in Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell; under her pen, Northern England is a place both otherworldly and immanent. It is not some strange dominion named Menegroth that is guarded by mystical woodland, but the city of Newcastle. It isn’t someone we’ve never heard-of named Theoden who is faced by the Storm Crow, but rather Edward III. She captures the essence of what Pagan spirituality is about – a throbbing animism that enchants body and soul, by tugging you down into the very land you live with – and gives it life within her pages. As Liz Williams remarked to me when I enthused about JS&MN: I found myself wishing very deeply that her invented history of English magic, with its carefully footnoted faux-scholarship, had been the real history.

And yet… England does have a rich and well-documented magical history. It isn’t without good reason that Romanticism flourished here, that The Tempest was written here, that some of the English language’s greatest fantasy writers have worked here, and that Paganism, in modern times, was born here. Great magicians – from Dee to Ashmole – have sweated, strained, and spellcast in some of our greatest institutions. Ancient monuments cover the land, as do funny little stories, with more being made all the time.

Why? Because these hills, springs, woods, and rivers sing. They demand our attention, generation after generation, and insist upon our expressing what we think and feel from living amongst them. And though we have of late wrapped ourselves in the trappings of modern life, that power still has the same grip upon us it always had. All that advanced technology has bought us is the opportunity to put our fingers in our ears, and pretend to each other that we’re not listening. Or, in some cases, write down some sheet music.

—

With this in mind, I think somebody (probably me), needs to set about fusing that history into a mythos. But rather than be “fake” scholarship, as the previous attempt was, I intend to participate fully as a scholar, and then from there embark upon writing works of fiction, clearly bracketed as such. If Tolkein’s life shows nothing else, it proves that fiction can be just as profound as fact. Indeed, it becomes more so, if fact has inspired it.

Posted in "Britishness", Narnia, Paganism, Social Anthropology, Writing | 2 Comments »

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August 25, 2012

Thor and his Hammer: Why Dawkins doesn’t understand Deity

Thor and his Hammer: Quite that ridiculous to believe in?

I’ve already mentioned the atheist’s Rottweiler Richard Dawkins before on this blog, but I haven’t dwelt much on his worldview. However, his views are something I’ve given quite a lot of thought to in the past. I’ve heard him speak, and even got to ask him a question directly afterwards – the answer, as it happens, was singularly unsatisfying. I’ve never been very keen on him – both because of his attitude to education as a whole, and his intellectual outlook. While he dismisses theology, he totally ignores anthropology; not seeing fit even to mention the extensive and detailed ethnographic studies that social scientists have conducted on religious belief in his own work on this subject. This is probably because (as I discovered) his experience of cultural anthropology “nearly sent him screaming from the classroom”. He doesn’t much expand upon what his objet d’horreur was, other than his terse assessment of cultural anth as postmodern and “strange” (note: it isn’t), although if his subsequent choice of specialism in biological anthropology and his negative view of the AAA’s (Anthropological Association of America’s) choice to drop references to “science” in its guiding principles are anything to go by, he probably felt it wasn’t scientific enough.

I’ve explained why this view is misplaced elsewhere; if you place science on an explanatory pedestal, then the truth claims of almost every other province of human activity unravel. But I’d like to say that Dawkins is a particular grievous offender for claiming special pleading for subjective views he happens to approve of. He frequently waxes lyrical about how beautiful the universe is, how important humanist ethics are, while nonetheless affirming that only science can give us true knowledge, and that any non-scientific belief is foolish.

But I also have a theological beef with Dawkins. One of his favourite point-scoring tricks with monotheists is referring to the fact they don’t believe in Thor, despite the fact other people have done in the past (he doesn’t seem to accord present-day Pagans any significance). If you’re an atheist with regard to every other god, so he says, why not go one god further?

Apart from this being mildly irritating (there’s obviously a tone of “I mean, nobody believes in Thor anymore, do they?”) there’s a real problem here, and one that most Christians miss – Thor is really quite a different sort of being to the monotheistic God. The Almighty is an omni-being – all-powerful, all-seeing, all-knowing, all-benevolent and so on. Thor is not. Thor, powerful though he may be, has limits. All pagan gods do. And this is vitally important conceptually, as a great many of the logical incoherencies within monotheism that atheists mock spring from the presumed all-powerful nature of their god. If Thor operates within limits, we have an explanation for why our prayers for protection aren’t always answered.

Secondly, and more importantly, Pagan gods by and large do not fit under Dawkins’ definition of God as “a creative intelligence”. We do not believe our gods made the things that fill the world. They are those things. Or rather, they are the spiritual and archetypical personifications of those things. Thor is an ancestral, cultural embodiment of the forces present in the sky, the oak and the hammer. He isn’t something that may-or-may-not-exist that you have to have faith in – you feel his presence, as surely as you see the colour blue or feel a sense of strength when you stand firm against adversity.

Now, what that sense of Thor-ness might be from a scientific perspective is something we can discuss. It might be solely a symbol, knitted together in the human brain. Or he might be some morphic field or archetype, equally real to any other force. Or there may have been some historical person, euhemerised into a god by his followers. Or there might be another reality, from which the Aesir hail. There may even be a large, big chested being rolling around loudly in the clouds. All these views (except the last one) are ones different modern-day pagans believe. None of them are refuted, or even addressed, by contemporary atheism.

As I’ve said in the past, modern day theology seems to be dominated by an academic tug of war between polemical atheists and monotheists, with little being done to actually explore the issue of who and what gods, or God, might be really. Thor definitely exists, even if he does so as a mythical rather than physical being, and we don’t yet understand the science of religion and belief well enough to say which one of those possibilities is the right one. The same can be said of all gods.

I consider myself to be a post-atheistic thinker. I accept that the stage-magician-cum-watchmaker of Paley and co. probably does not exist, and so I have begun to explore what manner of things the religious impulse might be responding to. From this perspective, the simplistic worldview of Dawkins and his coterie of New Atheists seems very simplistic. Atheism is obvious – as obvious as the Sun going around the Earth and the Earth itself being flat. To see the truth behind these naive observations, a variety of perspectives are called for.

As such, I do long for the day when I can meet Richard Dawkins on the floor of the Cambridge Union, and when he snidely asks me why I believe in some gods, and not others, I can truthfully answer. “But Richard, I believe in all of them”.

Posted in Paganism, Social Anthropology | 10 Comments »

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August 25, 2012

Hideous Strength: A Pagan Perspective on Spiritual Warfare

Dangerous: Although most Christians eschew such practices, the spiritual warfare movement represents worrying departures from correct ritual procedure.

One of the things I really like about writing this blog is the quality of the comments I get in return. Even though I’ve been a bit sloppy with responding to them over the past couple of months – I’ve had a lot to do in terms of job and PhD applications – I’ve really appreciated the profound and sometimes personal comments people have been willing to make on what I’ve written. It’s also been interesting to see the range of people reading my articles; both Christians and Pagans have had insightful things to say.

I used to be a Christian myself, and there is much about the faith I find wonderful. I see my movement away from Christianity less as a loss of faith, and more a broadening of it. Although I have no problem believing that Jesus Christ was divine, I don’t believe he was anything special in that regard. As Thales once said “all things are full of gods”. Why should first century Messianic prophets be any exception? As for the centrality of the Bible, my primary critique has never been addressed by any Christian I have confronted – if the people in the first century were presented with miracles to convince them of Christ’s superlative divinity, why are we expected to convert on the basis of a bunch of nth-hand correspondences? Thomas needed to see before he believed, and he became an apostle. I demand nothing more, and I’m supposedly going to hell for it.

But I disagree with lots of people, it’s by no means a cause for concern. What does worry me, though, is something that the Pagan community over in the U.S. has been writing about for some time; the danger posed by conservative Christian groups engaging in what is, in essence, magical practice in order to support their evangelical and theocratic agenda. It is my view that this “spiritual warfare” is a deeply troubling development.

Most of the criticism has centred around the so-called New Apostolic Reformation (NAR) movement, who held a 40-day prayer vigil last year to “change the atmosphere over the city of Washington D.C…. preparing the way for our legislators to function on a different playing field as we release 40 days of light over the city.” These people aim at reforming the entirety of American society to fit with their own Bible-centred worldview; a vision in which Paganism, clearly, has no place. A great many American Pagans rallied in response, and held a number of private and public rites in defence of the gods, particularly the local goddess Columbia, the genius loci of the American capital. Their piety is to be commended, and I am hopeful that it will be successful.

I find the NAR’s behaviour to be morally reprehensible. However, that’s not to say I necessarily come down against them for using magic in an attempt to see their political goals manifested. I certainly know of Pagans in this country who have used magic for broadly political ends; encouraging spiritual awakening and warding off the predations of consumer industrialism on our natural and cultural heritage. I’ve done similar things myself. Such practices certainly fly perilously close to disregarding the free will of others, but that isn’t to say they’re not justified. Personally, I don’t have much truck with free will – freedom is a matter of degree, and none of us are totally independent from anything. A spell directed by one individual at another without consent is an abuse, but I’d say more general rites – that operate in the collective realm – consent ceases to be as much of a factor. Instead, moral consequences of the rite, rather than its relationship to free will, become the key consideration.

That’s where the NAR has erred – in their desire is to smash our gods with the supposed power of their own. The divinities we worship are not evil, therefore attempts to remove their influence are themselves malignant. Further, there is a deeper problem. I fear that these collective spells done by Christians (for that is what they are) seem to lack the ritual procedures other magical practitioners put in place to protect the celebrants. Do Christians have their equivalent of casting circle, or purification beforehand? Do they get grounded properly afterwards? I’m not sure. And the problem with this sort of uncontrolled magic, as Gandalf once said of the Palantir, is that you don’t know who else might be watching. By practicing in this way (especially by setting their intent on so grand a goal) the NAR movement is leaving itself wide open to being possessed and manipulated by malevolent spiritual forces.

Protection: It is much easier to protect oneself from negative magic, than it is to use negative magic effectively.

So how does this apply to my posters? Well, one of them – a “Russ Weekwald” suggested I check out a series of videos produced by a Dr Del Tackett as part of The Truth Project. Curious, I went over to his website, and was greeted by yet another Christian group desperate to get me to believe them. The problem was, that the DVD Dr Tackett had produced was also accompanied by a “platform of prayer”, in which the good doctor would be praying for “God to do his work” and convert me himself.

Now, that’s magic. From my perspective, praying and spells are just different ways of focusing intent. What’s more, because the Truth Project will pray for me (as a viewer) by name, it’s directed at me personally. Unless I give him my express say-so (and I don’t), such acts of prayer are a huge violation of my autonomy; and, because the universe works on a principle of return – Dr Tackett can surely expect to reap a whirlwind of disempowerment if he tries to get his god to override my will without my consent. What the NAR have to look forward to, though, I dread to think.

So I am glad that the majority of Christians who have posted on my blog show no such interest in converting me, or using prayer in such abusive ways. Respect is always appreciated!

Posted in Paganism | 2 Comments »

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May 9, 2012

Beliefnet joins The Telegraph’s campaign against Paganism

Just over a week ago, I covered Cristina Odone’s vapid and inflammatory comment article in The Daily Telegraph on the decision to include Paganism as a possible topic of Religious Education classes in Cornish state schools by the county council. It was pretty well received by my fellow Pagans, but it was entirely ignored by Ms. Odone, despite my pestering her on twitter a little. So I headed off to my tribe’s Beltane celebration in Wiltshire, hoping that her silence indicated that the issue was ready to die quietly.

Beliefnet: A centre for seekers, but has Senior Editor Rob Kerby let it down?

When I returned, however, I discovered that the shit was very much still being stirred. Rob Kerby, Senior Editor at Beliefnet, one of the largest English language multifaith blogs, had written an article entitled “What can the Third World teach us about witchcraft?” Kerby’s answer to this question is never unambiguously stated, but it seems to fly in the direction of witchcraft being nothing more than a base superstition that, in Africa and the Islamic world at least, is used to justify persecution and violence. Quotes from Odone’s article sit pride of place, crystalising her point that Paganism is an illegitimate faith not worthy of respect by monotheists, and that the recent rights Pagans have gained are nothing more than a conspiracy by milquetoast liberals who want to destroy good Christian values. Kerby naturally goes further, hinting that this same belief in witchcraft could lead to child abuse and witch hunts.

Humbug: Christopher Howse is another Telegraph columnist who objects to Cornish educational policy.

At the same time, the Telegraph has vomited out another ill-informed and bigoted anti-Pagan article, this time by Christopher Howse. Howse re-articulates many of the points of the Kerby article, revisiting the Cornwall schools topic with typical Telegraph bluster.

Howse’s problem with Paganism being included in the syllabus is twofold. Firstly, he argues that “Just as French lessons and maths lessons do not merely teach about French and maths but train children to speak the language and add up, so religious education has its practical application.” Presumably, Howse is also against teaching History in schools, for fear that young children might end up becoming Vikings.

Secondly, Howse states, “The other problem is that if paganism is taught alongside the religion that children’s parents practice at home, it implies that paganism is a religion just as well-founded as Presbyterianism or Islam. It’s like teaching Esperanto alongside French.” This is a strange point to make, given the fact that there are a great many Pagans in Cornwall; there are certainly more Pagans than Muslims in the county, if the fact that the Islamic Community Centre in Truro boasts itself as “Cornwall’s only Mosque” is anything to go by (contrast with Boscastle’s famous Witchcraft Museum, the three Pagan Federation Moots in the county and the numerous witchcraft practitioners and groups in Penzance, Bodmin and elsewhere).

Howse frames these bad educational analogies with two broader themes – firstly, he echoes Kerby by saying that “It seems there are now two kinds of witchcraft: the bad kind that black people believe in, and the kind that should be celebrated because it is believed in by Cornish people.” He concludes by parroting the age-old favourite of the seasoned witch-burner – the affirmation that there is no historical continuity between contemporary and ancient Paganism. Howse relates this specifically to the issue of Cornwall’s stone circles, which have featured prominently in this debate so far, as justification for the importance of Paganism in Cornwall’s heritage. “But nobody knows what standing stones represent.” Howse protests. “The astronomical, social, ritual, pacific or bloody uses they might have had are lost in prehistory. They might have been linked with spring flowers or with human sacrifice. No one knows.”

Such grand pronouncements about the dangers of witchcraft beliefs, our ignorance of the religious practices of our far ancestors, and the absolute discontinuity of pre and post-Christian spirituality are proof positive, if ever it was needed, that a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing. Both Howse and Kerby draw on academic literature selectively to bolster a shamelessly pro-Christian agenda. As an anthropologist I have studied each of these themes in quite a bit of depth – the fact that I am still a Pagan should say something about the validity of Howse and Kerby’s assessment.

Glamour: Modern usage of “witch” and “witchcraft” by occultists forms part of a programme of rehabilitation and renewal. Rather than deny magic utterly, contemporary pagans seek ways of addressing the underlying bigotry and fear that encourages witchcraft accusations.

Firstly – witchcraft. Witchcraft accusations are indeed a widespread cultural phenomenon, and serve, as such anthropologists as Evans-Pritchard, La Fontaine and MacFarlane have argued in the past, as both an explanation for misfortune and making such misfortune meaningful by relating it to social concerns about negative forces, such as jealousy or malice. But, as Jason Pitzl-Waters has pointed out over at Wild Hunt, witchcraft accusations, in Africa especially, have been pushed to further violent excesses by the actions of Christian evangelists – with Christian dualism reframing the personal grievance-fuelled workings of a curse-wielder into a moral assault of cosmic scope. The same can certainly be said of Medieval Europe – although witchcraft was very much part of pre-Christian Roman culture; fear of infernal maleficium only reached its overzealous peak under the authority of the Christian churches.

In addition, I feel that Kerby and Howse’s articles don’t just mistakenly apportion blame onto Pagan shoulders, they also fundamentally miss the point of why present-day pagan occultists use the terms “witch” and “witchcraft” at all. Unlike the thoughtful priests and Enlightenment philosophers who attempted to end the violence and terror of witch trials by denying the existence of magic entirely, present-day Pagans attempt to avoid purges by redeeming the individuals and practices that often empowered them. Reflecting the Jungian process of reclaiming the Shadow by accepting it and learning from it, the witch is transformed from poisoner to prophetess, from hexer to healer. If a person is so jealous, lonely and isolated that they are willing to harm their fellows, we need to think about why, rather than hanging first and asking questions later. Contemporary European witchcraft attempts to hamstring superstitious hysteria by inviting us to re-cognize, rather than demonize, the figure of the witch.

Many roots: Pagan continuity is not measured by confessions of faith or institutional survival, but through threads of tradition that have survived the Christian era and are being re-woven in new ways in the modern day.

As for Howse’s bold assertions concerning continuity, what this amounts to is little more than a piss-poor reading of the past fifty years of historical research into the origins of contemporary Paganism. It is not sufficient to simply hold up Murray as a straw man and knock her down without telling us whose gloves you are wearing when you do it. Ronald Hutton, a leading historian of British witchcraft and Paganism, was one of the major players in the systematic deconstruction of Murray’s claims, but as he points out in Triumph of the Moon, there are in fact four distinct streams linking ancient and modern Paganism – it’s just that an underground, organised witch cult is not one of them. Instead, high magic, folk magic, folk ritual and the love of classical art, poetry and philosophy have all contributed to the resurgence of Paganism in the modern age, and all have their roots in pre-Christian practices and beliefs. This does not constitute the sort of confessional or institutional continuity that Christianity and Islam can boast, but given the fact that Pagans tend to be wary of belief-related labels and formal institutions, it should be obvious that these things are not crucial articles of faith for us. Instead, it is the sort of loose, experientially motived tradition that you find in traditional religions the world over that characterizes both modern and ancient European Paganism, and links the two together. Paganism has not survived as a hidden form of “anti-Christianity” (as cool as that seems) into the modern age. It is its own kind of cultural assemblage, with its own lineage and patterns of authority that have to a great extent remained intact.

People of the Stones: Contemporary practice may not be entirely consistent with what was done in earlier centuries, but can any Christian church boast as much?

As for stone circles, we actually know a great deal about them, thanks to extensive archaeological research. We know they had astrological significance, being aligned to important points of the solar year, and that they were potentially used for rituals relating to the dead and possibly healing. If later European religious practices are anything to go by, they probably involved ritual processions and clockwise circumambulation. Steven Waller has suggested that the design of Stonehenge was inspired by interference patterns in sound. Regardless of their original function, subsequent generations to the builders have all placed their own interpretations on these ancient structures, and modern pagans are no different in this regard – much like early Christians building on pre-Christian religious sites. Exploring these shifting understandings and comparing them to contemporary archaeology would surely be an informative exercise for schoolchildren.

Howse, Odone, and Kerby all show an all-too widespread attitude amongst Christians; that denigrates anything that doesn’t fit within their own, narrow worldview. And because Christianity is so widespread, such odious opinions get far more airtime than they deserve, discouraging seekers and poisoning public sentiment. As a young person, I was put off pursuing my true spiritual calling because of angry old men like Howse telling everyone that Paganism was silly, even dangerous, superstitious nonsense. I fortunately have realized my mistake, but not after losing many years, trying to shoehorn my soul into a Christian mold. Although Christianity is a beautiful faith for many, it was profoundly incompatible with my own state of being, and left me closeted and self-hating. I feel it is up to Pagans and open-minded Christians to challenge individuals like Kerby, in order to make things that bit easier for people who are seeking the right spiritual path for themselves.

Posted in Paganism, Social Anthropology | 5 Comments »

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April 16, 2012

More Beatitude than Platitude? An Open Letter to Cristina Odone

Cristina Odone believes it is ridiculous that Paganism be included in British RE lessons.

Dear Ms Odone.

You recently produced an article condemning the inclusion of Paganism and Druidry as part of the Religious Education syllabus in Cornish schools. You omit, though, that teaching about these faiths is not actually required, merely optional – what is required however, is that 60% of every RE course in this county must be concerned with your own faith of Christianity. It is therefore patently ridiculous for you to claim that our society believes that “one set of belief(sic.) is as good as another.” Christianity still is top dog, being the only faith that it is mandatory for schools to teach our children about.

Of course, the error at the heart of your article – you elide cultural and moral relativism and class this unwarranted merger as a “liberal fear of religious values” – is nothing new. The right wing press (including your erstwhile sparring partners over at The Daily Mail) regularly roll their eyes at any mention of Pagans or other minorities getting greater religious rights; considering such concessions to be the acts of timorous bureaucrats with no discernment when it comes to matters of religious validity.

Such journalists, as you have done, make the allegation that Paganism doesn’t have an ethical compass. Indeed, in reference to your encounter with Emma Restall-Orr on the BBC’s The Big Questions, you said much the same thing – dismissing the ethical teachings she shared on that show as “platitudes” and expressing high dudgeon that such a base occult person as a Druid should be permitted a platform in the high halls of public service broadcasting. Presumably, you believe the BBC’s function is to  “edify” (read “indoctrinate”) everybody in true, good religious values. The alternatives are wishy-washy relativism.

To be honest, I think you’ve fallen into the usual trap of Christians faced with people who aren’t, and assumed that just because we don’t have Abrahamic-style morality, we must not have any morality at all. This could not be further from the truth. We Pagans have very clear moral frameworks – they’re just not like yours.

Pagan ethical teaching, was, I felt, very clearly elucidated by Emma (a Druid, like myself) on The Big Questions, and in a very good book she wrote to answer the questions she received there. To use her words, Pagans believe that the good life is founded upon sustainable relationship. We must always, as moral beings, be sensitive to the needs and situation of all others – only in light of that sensitivity can ethics truly shine. Empathy – the same principle that underpins the Christian Golden Rule – is critical here. This is not simply a principle poached from Christian thought though; it has its origins in the work of Greek philosophers such as Aristotle, and beyond. Refusing the special pleading of humanism, modern Pagans attempt to apply empathy universally to create a fully heartfelt ecological perspective.

Despite this shared cornerstone of empathy, though, Pagan ethics are quite different from Christian ones. Christian ethics are heavily influenced by the political views of their day – most notably the Bronze-Age notions of sacral kingship it inherited from Judaism, and the Roman concept of Imperium. In both these political systems, the king-emperor is the absolute autocrat, whose word is law – never (in principle) to be questioned. Ultimate moral authority is therefore invested in the judgements of a single personality; one who is assumed to be uniquely elevated above all others.

All the Abrahamic faiths retain this concept – although, unlike the cultures from which they sprang, in them this role ceases to be filled by humans, and instead is filled by a transcendent god. The primary human role becomes that of the Prophet, the one into whose ear the absent Emperor whispers. The Pope still holds this role for Catholics such as yourself, as Christ’s representative on Earth. For Protestants, it is the Bible who holds such authority.

As a non-Abrahamic faith, modern-day Paganism has no such fondness for autocrats. We acknowledge the fact, as the ancient philosophers of Greece and India did, that true certainty is inaccessible for human minds. This doesn’t deny that the truth is out there (as relativism proper does), it just insists that the human capacity to know that truth is always provisional, no matter what title a person may have. In our view, the Pope, for all his learning and influence, has no greater claim to moral (or metaphysical) authority than you, regardless of which chair he might be sitting on at the time. The Bible might have been written mere decades after god himself (or one of them, anyway) walked the Earth – but that doesn’t guarantee its veracity.

This centralizing of doubt (the technical term is “skepticism”) in fact makes Paganism, Buddhism and other non-Abrahamic traditions far more like Western academia than they are like Christianity, Islam or Judaism, which place much greater stock in faith. This is always painted as faith in God, but it is really faith in whoever or whatever told you about God in the first place – be it man or book. It is an attitude that breeds hierarchy and autocracy.

Pagans believe that there is certainly a right and wrong course of action to take, in any situation. We reach, we fight, we strive to discern what is right, but, because we’re flawed beings, very often we fail. History more often than not reveals shortcomings in our own choices that we could never have imagined at the time of their making. Both our traditions accept this – but rather than give up, crying in the dust of our failures, and hope that some surrogate eternal parent will pick us up and make everything better as the Christians do; we pick ourselves up, and struggle on.  We don’t do this because we want to, often – we do so because it is right. It is necessary. It is ethical. It is, to point to a growing line of thought within Paganism, the heroic thing to do.

In a positive application of the Nietzschean critique of Christianity as the religion of slavery, we Pagans seek an emancipated morality that doesn’t sugar the pill of a life filled with difficult decisions, but treats us as spiritual adults and calls us to embrace responsibility for our mistakes. It allows for a plurality of views. Although there may be one reality behind the plurality of human experiences of it, it is impossible from our perspective that any one experience could grasp that reality completely. Therefore, it is up to us to come together, and discern the most moral course of action from our many insights. Christians do this too of course, but rather than bow and scrape around the supposed divine authority of Pope or Presbyter, we acknowledge the truth of what we are doing, and honour it for what it is – messy, difficult and ultimately finite.

So what? What do these fine words mean for my daily life?

I recycle. I’m kind to others. I’m seeking a job that doesn’t involve working for an organization that exploits or harms the planet. I don’t have a car, because I feel it’s unsustainable. I support democracy and civil liberties. I respect the autonomy of others. I accept the limitations of my own perspective, and despite my critical view of Christianity, I fully support it being taught in RE lessons. Because I know that I might be wrong.

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April 1, 2012

The stuff that gods are made of

Are God and Man closer than we think?

Debates about the existence of God have been going on for ages, and have gone nowhere interesting for almost as long. A regular dance now plays out – where believers and non-believers dodge and weave around the bones of old philosophers, their jousts and jibes predictably inconclusive. I think part of the problem is that what we have is a disagreement between apologists and critics – people who want to defend a particular theory, and those who wish to poke holes in it. What nobody ever seems to do in the debate is speculate – theorise openly about what sort of god, if any, the evidence might point to.

Atheists tend to merely claim that God is a “delusion” concerning a “supernatural being” or a “creative intelligence”. Monotheists tend to agree (apart from the delusion part), viewing these traits as the natural conclusion to draw from the various omnies  they attribute to Him – omnipresence, omnipotence, omniscience, omni-compassion, omni-justice etc. This view has a long (Christian and Islamic) philosophical provenance, and aside from being logically fraught, seems to say more about what Divinity does than what it is. Even labels like “supernatural” tell us nothing other than this being or quality doesn’t fit within our world. It doesn’t stipulate how its own world functions, or how we might identify its effects on this one.

In short, it seems to me that whole debate is badly posed, and badly understood – even by theists. They cling to one particular image of Divinity, rather than approach that image philosophically and critically. The reason for this is simple – the importance of upholding the right set of beliefs in Christianity has always been paramount, and is at the very least important in the other Abrahamic faiths. As such, rather than openly ask the question “What is this Divine thing anyway?”, theists have spent most of their time trying to justify other people’s answers (i.e. those of Biblical or Quranic prophets) to this basic question, while atheists have spent most of their time trying to torpedo those same answers. Nobody is doing any blue sky research. Or nobody participating in the debate is, at any rate.

My approach to these questions, though, has always been one of looking to the blue sky for answers; always one of trying to explain experiences I have, rather than attempting to defend a theory somebody else has provided for such experiences. For me, the Divine is as real as joy, power or the colour green – it is something I experience directly. So the question isn’t “does this exist?” but “how does this exist?” Is it mere imagination, or does it relate at all to the world around me in some way?

From a reductionist atheist perspective, the gods are just mere imagination – voices in the head, created by some quirk in the evolution of the brain. Primitive man, so the theory goes, personified natural phenomena – thunderstorms, dreams, spring, childbirth – in an attempt to better relate to them. Those who still express this trait are a throwback to this earlier time, before mankind developed reason as a better way of understand the world. In anthropology, this idea was championed by Edward Tylor, who believed that religion was a “survival” from a prior phase of human evolution. He was working in 19th century, and his ideas are now seen as highly antiquated by contemporary anthropologists of religion. But they still prove popular amongst certain atheists – particularly Richard Dawkins – because they serve the same purpose for which Tylor originally thought them up – to discredit religious beliefs.

The problem for reductionists is, of course, that lots of other things exist primarily as structures in the brain – not least consciousness itself. Physically speaking, the human self and the persona of my gods are composed of much the same stuff – neurological matter. My sense of “I” and my sense of “Sulis”, “Frey” or “Nodens” are basically the same mental function – the brain being able to create a particular sensation, in this case, one of persona and agency. This is a foundational adaptation, and is basically as much a “sense” with which the brain decodes the world as colour or temperature perception. This sense of “sociality” is carefully tuned to help human beings interact with other consciousnesses, by allowing the brain to construct models, using its own neurones, of the brains of other beings. Capable of being used on predators, prey and most importantly, other humans, this ability to give voice to others inside our own heads is vital for anticipating how those others will behave in any given situation.

Now, one conclusion that could be made on this basis is that people who sense gods are misapplying this ability to things that, fundamentally, do not have consciousness. But one might equally say that applying instrumental logic – another great human adaption, evolved for the purpose of manipulating inanimate objects – to human interactions, is a “misapplication”. But we all know that being logical in ones dealings with others is often useful, so long as it is tempered by a sense of their agency; I’d say much the same is true for the wider world. Including Nature in one’s social world is perfectly acceptable, so long as maintain a fundamental sense of the logically observable differences between one’s own condition and that of the thing you are attempting to relate to. We may use sociality to make sense of stones, so long as we do not forget they are still stones, and not humans. The presence of this consideration is the difference between anthropomorphism (which is foolish) and egomorphism (which is not). To apply one’s full cognitive powers to any given situation, so long as it is done with sufficient awareness of the limitations and strengths of those powers, seems eminently sensible, especially given the fact that the human’s social sense is so exceptionally powerful.

When you consider the implications of the idea that social knowledge consists of creating “models” based on diligent observation that work unconsciously, it actually seems even more sensible to use sociality to engage with non-conscious things. This could explain why many indigenous communities – who practice empathy for their surroundings untrammelled by dogma and hewn from direct experience – are able to show such incredible powers of perception and foresight when hunting, gathering, planning settlements or travelling. It isn’t because they are “close to nature” in some essentialist way, but simply because by living attentively in the world, they are able to use their unconscious social processing as well as logic to correctly anticipate the behaviour of complex systems, such as weather or geology. Even though this information is refracted through “social” metaphors, it nonetheless retains an accuracy that is decidedly useful. This would also explain why it has proved to be such a successful and enduring adaptation.

Of course, this is all conjecture. The mechanisms for consciousness are still barely understood, and there are plenty of philosophers, and even some biologists, who believe that consciousness is an inherent property of all matter, rather than merely a function of the brain. But at least this is doesn’t stoop to the “all-true or stupid” dichotomy that most debates about gods descend to. Even if one entertains a reductive view of spirituality, it still can’t necessarily be dismissed as mere delusion. Reason is not the only means by which humans usefully interpret the world, and even if gods are just “in our heads”, they would still be no more or less real than each and every one of us.

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March 14, 2012

Free Radicals: On the true spirit of the English

There’ll always be an England – but is this what it should look like?

Patriotism is a dirty word these days. For all the diverse bluster of our politicians and right-wing journalists, nationalism exists in only two, rather flawed modes: the bland, teary-eyed flag waving of Britishness; inclusive to all and tied more to narrow political values of citizenship and democracy than any broader cultural vision, and the backward, small-town, conservative xenophobia of Englishness. Denuded of its once imperial pretentions, Britishness has become something of a civic duty – a demonstration of a willingness to participate in public life – and little more. Englishness, in most cases, seems to be merely an ideological deployment of Stuff White People Like (British Chapter), combined with a nastier element; a performance of the fears some have about how that might change in a global world. What’s worse, is that the two are frequently confused, Britishness being used to refer to Englishness being used to refer to Britishness… to almost infinite regress.

Confusions aside, I have less beef with the new vision of Britishness. All states have their theatrics of belonging, and the government at Westminster is no different. At least it is an open, inclusive vision of citizenship – a hell of a lot better than the restrictive, crypto-Metropolitanism that Britishness used to be; under whose auspices Welsh, Irish, Scottish and regional cultures were almost stamped out. A more pressing concern for me is the state of Englishness. Regardless of whether it is the middle class vision lampooned by Jam and Jerusalem or the more working class mixture of football and fame; both have an unnerving tendency towards a fear of “others” – foreigners, outsiders or dissenters – that betrays an ignorance of history. After all, the Cross of St George is the symbol of a Middle-Eastern Saint, adopted after the Crusades. Tea is imported from India. Jam started off in France. Looking to Christianity, St George and football to give us our sense of Englishness always seemed odd to me – all these tropes are world-covering in scope, and yet are frequently paraded about by bigots who tout them as symbols of the essence of one specific nation.

Of course, all this goes to show a basic truth that anthropologists have understood for decades – that all nations are imagined communities. Created on the basis of common destinies cooked up by intellectuals, artists and others with a platform and an agenda, pretty much any human community of any size is intentionally forged by some historical figure or other. Englishness is the way it is not because of any natural facts of blood and soil, but because persons or persons unknown decreed it so.

Norwegian nationalism was made by painters, writers and musicians

Some nations, such as Norway, arose as concepts more or less directly from the Romantic movement. 19th century Norwegian intellectuals and artists such as Asbjørnsen, Lindemen and Grieg set about recording the folk practices of their newly-born country (it had been a Danish province for some 400 years), and forged from both these records and their own genius something of a collective soul for the Norwegian people. Of course, England also had its own Romantic movement, but it seems to not have had anything like the same kind of impact on the nationalism that eventually took shape here. England was very much eclipsed by Britain as a favoured concept early on, and so it was eventually Britannia, not Ing, who prevailed as the favoured Genius Populi. With modernity’s vicious destruction of folk culture in the early half of the 20th century, the only ethnic identity people could turn back to once Britishness shed its ethnic associations was what they remained passionate about – sport, Christianity and popular culture.

As a result, the nostalgia of present day wannabe nation-builders is invested in the 50s (when Britishness involved a rolling-out of English culture, before the race-riots of the 60s), not pre-Industrial times as with other nationalisms. And given the short period of time between then and now, this supposed “happier time” is only too easy to pick holes in. 1950s Britain was oppressive, inane in its disrespect for the past and faith in the future, racist, sexist, homophobic, and imperialistic. It had yet to challenge the many grotesqueries of capitalism. So a collective imaginary rooted in such an era is bound to be negatively contaminated with such attitudes.

The Children of Robin Hood?

But within this rather sorry state of affairs, there lies an opportunity. With the hideousness of nationalism so closely bound-up with an obviously false essentialism and an oppressive cultural outlook, we have the chance to do away with it, and replace it with something more in tune with contemporary values. The same ingredients the early romantics of Norway used to produce a sense of collective culture – folkways – have in England been left mercifully untainted by the bad old days of ethnocentric nationalism. What’s more, during the 60s and 90s especially, English people have drawn on these traditions to support the various protest movements and rebellions of the 20th century. I see it as no coincidence that the Battle of Beanfield occurred just when Richard Carpenter’s mystical Robin of Sherwood was being broadcast on British television – they are both manifestations of the deeply spiritual and profoundly rebellious spirit of the English people.

To me, English folk culture is the missing ingredient in creating the right kind of English ethnicity for a pluralist society. It is local, it is assertive, it is historically (and mythically) rooted, and yet it isn’t intolerant or oppressive. In fact, it can easily be interpreted as quite the opposite. Whether we think of Wat Tyler or Robin Hood, The Levellers or The Travellers, there is a long and proud tradition of ordinary English people fighting for freedom and equality – precisely the things that identity politics and now the Occupy movement are demanding. Folk culture has, and can provide a symbolic language to articulate this. This freedom-loving nature of course isn’t unique to the English, nor are the English “essentially” about freedom. The rise of Elgar-fuelled nationalist pomp is proof against that kind of naïveté. But given how all cultures are made, not born, surely we can re-make English culture out of these radical historical ingredients, and put it to work in leading the English to a better destiny? Perhaps now is the time we should see ourselves, as one of my favourite musicians Damh the Bard puts it, as the sons and daughters of Robin Hood.

Posted in "Britishness", Paganism, Social Anthropology | 7 Comments »

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March 9, 2012

Paddy Power rides the White Horse

In a world full of pain, I often feel that “offense” is nothing to moan about. Yesterday, thousands died in Syria, millions more elsewhere in the world died due to a lack of fresh, clean drinking water. We still inhabit an economic system based on inequality, exploitation and greed. These practical matters are, perhaps, more deserving of our grief than mere acts of violence towards symbols – especially when those behind those acts did not intend to bring harm. Sometimes, I find it exasperating how whenever somebody even coughs in the direction of the Prophet Muhammed or the Qur’an, you get a screaming mob of Muslim fundamentalists burning American flags and baying for blood.

But what’s easy to miss, is when people complain of being offended, it’s rarely the specific act that’s causing the upset. Rather, it’s the fact that the act highlights a wider pattern, or attitude, in the world – in short, it strikes a nerve that is already raw. Afghans rioting in Kabul over Americans accidentally burning copies of their holy book are as much protesting about their hostility to a foreign presence, that, for all the freedoms it has brought, has had a heavy cost in what Americans euphemistically call “collateral damage”, and has yet to deal with institutional corruption or the insurgency. There are of course other motives – such as the frustrated belief that Islam should stand astride the world as a colossus; the validity of which is denied with every demonstration of Western military might. Looking at it like this, my exasperation is thoroughly misplaced; the anger rises not from a simple careless action, but from a catalogue of grievances and sorrows. The trigger merely picks at the scab of a wound that was already there.

The White Horse of Uffington: The Goddess Rhiannon and/or the Hound of Cunomaglus

So it is with this: yesterday’s usage by Irish bookmakers Paddy Power of the White Horse of Uffington in a publicity stunt. Over cover of darkness and without permission, a crack team of PR people sporting night-vision goggles laid out a canvas jocky-figure, riding the chalk image. The National Trust – the landowners – discovered the workers early in the morning, and told them to leave immediately. The site is still being inspected for damage to the figure, and the National Trust is still contemplating legal action.

Paddy Power: Guilty of an act of wanton disrespect.

Let’s not make any bones – the horrified local villagers are right; this is desecration. The White Horse is a depiction of the spirit of the Vale, of quite remarkable antiquity. It is thousands of years old, and was first made (potentially) by the Dobunni people, who dwelt in the Vale from before the Romans’ arrival. Some say it is Rhiannon, the White Horse of the chalk (interestingly, the West Berkshire Downs upon which the figure is carved are famed for their studs). Others suggest it is one of the white Cwn Annwn; hounds of the underworld, who hunted with the great Iron Age god Cunomaglus, or “Hound Lord”, whose cult centre was near to where the town of Swindon is now. It reflects the free, unbridled spirit of southern Britain’s high places, that assists humankind as we go out into the world, to hunt or travel. It is sacred, not just to the Vale’s permanent residents, but to those of us who travel there throughout the year to honour the landscape.

As a community, we believe the White Horse to be sacred.

Each Beltane, Lughnasadh and Samhain, my tribe travels to the Vale to celebrate these festivals – and the White Horse has become something of a guardian for us, watching over our festivities and representing the land in our rites. Therefore, for it to be used for some tawdry publicity campaign that promotes horse-racing is deeply disrespectful.

Horse racing: Cruel to an image of the goddess.

Why? Horse-racing, as practiced in the modern-day, is a billion-pound industry that is widely criticised by animal-rights campaigners for abusing horses. When I’ve come across racing horse-trainers in the past, they show little love and affection towards the animals they work with, teaching them to respond to harsh words and violence.

On a deeper level, to treat an image that is deeply connected to its place and context as “just another horse-picture” is profound. It reveals the sheer anomic, McDonaldised impersonalism of crass, mass modernity, and thus for those of us who reject that assemblage, to use one of our most beloved symbol to further its aims is totally galling. What’s more, this isn’t the first time that Britain’s ancient chalk figures have been targeted by people seeking a bit of free publicity. Fashion harridans Trinny and Susannah targeted the Long Man of Wilmington a couple of years ago, an action that was protested by local Druidic community.

So I hope Paddy Power gets taken to court. They may have donated money to the National Trust, but the fact they didn’t ask permission first (and didn’t on purpose because they knew they’d be denied it) shows the contempt with which they view the image, and their ignorance of what it stands for. And as such, I feel justified in feeling deeply saddened and angry about what they’ve done.

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December 22, 2011

Interstellar Iconoclasm: Stargate SG-1’s war on religion.

It's theocide - IN SPACE!


Stargate SG-1 was one of the longest-running science fiction TV-shows in American history. It remains massively popular since its cancellation, and has produced a huge variety of spin-offs and has been syndicated globally. It depicts an intrepid team of all-American commandos, sent to explore other worlds using a mysterious network of interstellar portals called Stargates, and forced to battle the scary alien empires they find there. It’s a good show, and I’d recommend it. The downside? The major antagonists are based on the gods of Earth history. Many mythologies are represented, although the Egyptian Pantheon seems to be a hot favourite. In addition to Ra, Apophis, Anubis and Bastet, we see Cronus, Kali, Baal and even the Morrigan being transformed into decidedly campy villains, of which any pantomime would be proud. I could rant about this being heinously offensive, but I’m a firm believer in freedom of speech and besides; my gods are big enough to respond themselves, if they so desire. I’m not even too bothered that the richly complex personalities of myth are transformed into simplistic monsters of the week, who to a man (or woman) are a bunch of weasily, treacherous bastards, with very little variation in terms of personality. Again, it’s an issue of creative freedom – if the producers want to pillage mythology to window-dress some easy nefariousness, that’s up to them. And to be fair, it is emphasised that the Goa’uld adopted pre-existing (human) divine archetypes in order to take control, rather than humans simply responding to their advanced technology of “Anubis” by making him into a deity. Small favours, I suppose.

What gets my goat, though, is the fact that almost every major pantheon is represented, but the Judeo-Christian/Islamic God is conspicuous in his absence. Even the Devil (who is “revealed” to be the same, particularly nasty Goa’uld who earlier portrayed himself as Sokar – that’s right, the Egyptian falcon god of salvation) is represented. But not YHWH. And in one episode – “Demons” – we find out why: According to Teal’c, a former slave of Apophis, no Goa’uld would be capable of showing the necessary compassion to pass as the Christian God. Yes, that’s right. Bastet, the Egyptian goddess of hearth and home – manageable. Isis, the benevolent Egyptian queen of marital love and protection of innocents – no problem. Lord Yu, the heavenly Lord of the Chinese pantheon – easy peasey. But YHWH? He of the seven plagues, he who rained fire down on Sodom and Gomorrah, he who has shed blood in all seven continents (something that even Baal was unable to manage), he who has suppressed and oppressed gays, women, witches, artists, intellectuals and other free-thinkers for generations? No, he’s much to nice.

Now, I’m not saying that YHWH is nastier than the pagan gods. Most of the pagan divinities have their darker side. Even my patron Sulis is a most expedient deliverer of curses (something I do not ask of her). But the point is, that like every other divine force in the cosmos, YHWH is both powerful and (potentially) very controlling. If that isn’t enough, then why the hell are the more beneficent gods and goddess included in Stargate SG-1s stable of villains?

Of course, the show does make a side-swipe at extremist Christianity – through the religion of Origin. Led by yet more “false gods” (the Ori – ascended beings of much greater power than the Goa’uld), this religion promises Enlightenment, but delivers only slavery. But I find it irritating that while the writers are only too happy to make a direct pop at the darker side of Pagan faiths, Christianity needs to be critiqued from behind a swift name-change. It’s yet another instance of Monotheists getting special treatment, and it marrs my enjoyment of an otherwise tremendously good franchise.

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June 17, 2011

The Long Defeat?

Is Evil destined to defeat Good?

In my last blog post I made a brief allusion to The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien – describing how the possible responses to an evil and morally bankrupt social context are two-fold; one represented by the character of Boromir, the other by Faramir, his younger brother. Boromir shows how easily one can fall from grace – rather than accept the broader, ethically loaded aspects of the situation in which he finds himself, Boromir views the One Ring solely in terms of his own, narrow frame of reference (i.e. as a Weapon which could be used to defeat Sauron and thus save Gondor), ignoring its deeper significance as something that destroys all who touch it. This, in my view, is similar to a person in this day and age who, while working for large corporates, makes “pragmatic” justifications of the global free market and hierarchy; ignoring political debates and claiming that the current system is the best of all possible worlds. To take this tack neglects the fact that the imperial logics of domination and exploitation are eminently destructive – causing social problems and environmental degradation that threaten the survival of all of humanity. As Gandalf might have said, these things are “altogether evil”. Just like Boromir, millions of people around the world today compromise their principles to support a “pragmatic” approach. There is nothing wrong with compromising in principle – such moderated efforts are often neccessary – the problem is compromising with something that will not itself compromise.

Faramir, on the other hand, takes a better stance. Although he is also tempted by the ring, he eventually lets Frodo go, in the hope that his quest will be completed. This approach, despite seeming idealistic (especially seeing as it puts Faramir’s life in jeopardy by angering his father), is actually more pragmatic, as the situation in Lord of the Rings (like ours) is something of a zero-sum game. Structural inequality and greedy industry just aren’t sustainable. The environmental devastation, decline in social values and over-reliance on advanced technology that such a system will eventually create are certain to strip away from us what little moral fibre we still possess. Faramir takes a wiser, broader view of the situation, and sees the fallacy of Boromir’s false pragmatism. Even though Faramir believes he is probably dooming himself and his people, he still makes his choice, because to commute his judgement and take the ring for himself to use against the Enemy would end up in total defeat anyway. As I said in my last post, I think this attitude is a good one to carry with you in life – you may be forced or tempted to participate in an evil world, but it is ultimately up to you to respond wisely and virtuously.

I personally feel that this little Aesop is also a starting point for thinking about a moral challenge that Tolkien left Pagans with in LotR. Because that book, despite being very popular within our community, is nonetheless hugely Catholic, as this blog entry by Loren Rosson III describes. It presents a view of history that is inherently negative – seeing the search for moral life as inherently self-defeating unless the Judeo-Christian God is involved. The world is doomed to ever spiral downwards into greater depravity without the redemptive power of Christ. “The long defeat” of the Elves is a masterful piece of Catholic historiography – it doesn’t matter how wise, or powerful, or beautiful or kind you are; without Jesus, you’re screwed.

But what might surprise some people is that the notion of the noble defeat is not a Christian trope – but a Pagan one. The literature that has come down to us from our Pagan ancestors is full of tragic heroes, doomed to die but battling for honour anyway. Ragnarok is perhaps the best example, although I have been told that its world-ending grandeur could have been a later Christian imposition. In this mode, both Boromir and Faramir are tragic heroes for different reasons – Boromir because of his weakness, Faramir because of his noble ceding of the key to victory (much like Freyr giving his sword Skirnir) and thus making his defeat seem inevitable. Supposedly it is this sort of fatalism that Christianity “cures” – Pagans were fatalistic and lacked hope; the Christians gave them something to hope for.

But ultimately, I think Paganism has had the last laugh. While Christians have been counselling us to put our trust in a land of silver glass beyond the sea, people have nonetheless been working away at fighting the manifold troubles and evils that the world contains. Scientists, philosophers and other people inspired by the work of the Classical World have managed to bring us closer and closer to a better, loving world in which nobody goes hungry or thirsty. The depressive historical narrative that Tolkien offers is now being questioned – not in favour of some naively whiggish idea of “progress”, but rather of a good world where people can, in theory at least, lead the good life. This optimistic cosmology – of a world where death and life are just part of a single, great round; where it is our duty and our priviledge to make things better for everyone, not because it suits us but because it is right – is profoundly Pagan. Tolkien’s representation of Pagan theodicy was incomplete – rather than a world of fatalists waiting to become Christians, as the hagiographies might have it, the Pagans were world-loving optimists. We are told of the Celts making legally binding loans to be paid back in the Otherworld, and charging through life with no fear of death. And why? Because the world they lived in was a good one. El Mundo Beuno.  Tragedies do happen, but the overall rightness of things will endure. Life goes on.

The Long Defeat was only ever half the story.

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