Showing posts with label scholarship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label scholarship. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

How Many Druids Does It Take to Screw in a Lightbulb?

Well, I was so busy doing my best to write up an unbiased report on the recent news coming out of the UK about The Druid Network being granted religious charitable status by the Charity Commission — and interviewing lots of folks (including some who are kind of like famous people now, you know, if you're a Druid) about their own thoughts and opinions on the news — and then collecting and organizing all the information I could about US and UK nonprofit law to write up an article on the process of seeking status as a church or religious organization for minority faiths — that I never did get around to writing about what I thought of the whole thing. And now it seems I may have missed the boat, or the wave, or the tide, or whatever water-related metaphor you want to use [insert plug for Blog Action Day 2010 on 15 October here]. But — to twist a trope that's also been making its way around the Pagan blogosphere — I'm a Druid, and I have opinions about stuff.

Of course, I'll be honest, most of those opinions are about other people's opinions. The run-down of my own initial reaction to the news, which I read about first on The Pagan and The Pen goes something like: Hey! That's fantastic! Good for them! Even though I'm not a member of TDN because (a) I don't agree completely with the definition of deity that Emma Restall Orr outlines in her book Living Druidry, and (b) it seems like the Network is mostly focused on the UK more than the US — I still very much respect the organization's leadership and the projects they promote. Plus, their anti-hierarchical anarchic tendencies are pretty cool, and Jeff and I really enjoyed doing the freely-available-on-their-website Perennial Course in Living Druidry over this past year. Maybe this news will help them grow and inspire more people to take a serious look at Druidry and what it can offer as a modern spiritual tradition. Whereupon I forwarded the news and link on to Jason at The Wild Hunt to perhaps be included in the regular "Pagan Community Notes" feature... because at that point, it was of note to our community, but not actual news.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Participating in Enchantment: Reflections on Magic

Susan Greenwood, The Anthropology of Magic.
New York: Berg Publishers Ltd, 2009.
Review by Alison Shaffer

After the flight to Charlotte, North Carolina, two days earlier, I had learned one thing for certain: I was not a natural flyer. My first time in an airplane in more than fifteen years had left me feeling queazy and disoriented, retreating to the quiet sanctuary of my hotel room for the evening as I attempted to ground myself in a new landscape and a new city hundreds of miles from my home in chilly, hilly western Pennsylvania. High-rise buildings, a depressing lack of trees and green park space, people walking around without jackets in early December: I'd spent the trip feeling out of sorts and cut off from my usual sense of place. Now, I sat anxiously in the claustrophobic cabin of the plane, preparing for the flight back to Pittsburgh and worrying that I was in for another nauseating, jolting ride.

Susan Greenwood's latest book, The Anthropology of Magic, was tucked into my carry-on. The text was academic in flavor as well as subject matter, and clearly it had been written with the new student of anthropology, rather than the lay magical practitioner, in mind. A more accurate title for the book might have been "Competing Theories About Magic, And What It Really Is, In Anthropology," though that would have admittedly been far less catchy, and a bit cramped on the spine. The text introduced a good number of scientists and researchers who had spent their long, distinguished careers studying the practice of magic and shamanic techniques in tribal cultures throughout history and all over the world. Some of the names I recognized from my college days studying comparative religions, but even still I had often felt my head swimming as I worked through Greenwood's arguments. I'd spent the past few days reading her intense (and sometimes convoluted) discussions of the myriad competing theories of consciousness, ritual, reason and myth that have been informing and shaping the field of anthropology for the past several generations. While I knew such a book wasn't your typical how-to Magic 101 that many Pagans might enjoy, I also knew that the text held something immensely valuable for those seeking to deepen their understanding of magical work as a spiritual practice. It would take time, and some rigorous intellectual work on the part of the reader, but it would be worth it. As our plane taxied into place on the runway, I took a deep breath and pulled out the book, flipping through the loose pages of notes I'd taken and thinking once again about the nature of magic.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Love What Makes Us Wonder

Folks, it's been a sniffly, mopey week here chez Ali, as I do my best to sweat and sleep my way to good health in time for my partner's and my up-coming week-long Big Fall Wedding Tour 2010, during which we will be doing things like: driving all over creation, camping on the beach, praising the gods of the threshold, investigating potential vendors and venues for our wedding, and introducing me to my future mother-in-law and other relatives. Not to mention, yesterday a hacker-virus-thing made its way into my gmail, triggering an automatic suspension of my account and officially deleting this blog for an hour or two, sending me into panicked sobs and hysterical blubbering (overly-invested much?) before it was eventually restored, but not before thoroughly nailing into my thick, mucus-filled skull that it's definitely time to begin the long process of transferring this blog to its own official domain name (more on this a bit later in the month). So let's just say I've had a lot on my mind this week.

But all you loyal readers deserve a post before I head off into the great southern roadscape. So I'm going to do my best, despite my head-cold-muddled mind, to give you one.

What I'd like to talk about is mystery.

The subject is prompted most immediately by a post by a fellow who goes by the name of Ravendark over at the blog Atheist Druid, which I stumbled upon a week or so ago thanks to Heather of Say the Trees Have Ears. Both of these writers are well worth keeping your eyes on. I've been reading Heather for a while, enjoying her emphasis on art, science and observation of the natural world which is modulated by a certain humility about her own experiences and uncertainties — something that is quite refreshing when so many other writers out there in the Pagan blogosphere are so full of snark and self-importance (not that I mind a little snark now and then, don't get me wrong). Ravendark's atheist blog, quite a new venture it looks like, has so far been intriguing; I've always enjoyed engaging atheists and agnostics in conversation (which may be why I've dated quite a few of them in my time — that is, when there wasn't a good Zen Buddhist around), and so far Ravendark's musing on deity and organized religion have proved quite interesting. (We'll forgive him for skipping over the niceties with me and instead emailing my partner, Jeff, to commend him for his excellent Druid Journal, which he found through this blog. This is one of the effects of the Druid archetype, I'm afraid: the older man with the beard must surely be the wiser and more experienced Druid than the young woman with the Celtic armband tattoo — even if she has been practicing almost twice as long. But no, I'm not jealous of my fiancé's clout, not at all. I mean, he's like, what?, fifty or something? and his blog has its own domain name, so clearly he must be more qualified, Ali continues her plotting...[1])

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Jeff Lilly :: Dogma Bites Man: The Role of Reason in Religion

"The doctrine is like a finger pointing at the moon, and one must take care not to mistake the finger for the moon." — Buddhist saying

"In the beginning was the Word; and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by Him; and without Him was not any thing made that was made. In Him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not." — John 1:1-5

And in Greek

The language of the Bible is remarkably direct and accessible. John is talking about great ineffable mysteries — things perhaps beyond the comprehension of the human mind — and yet he speaks simply, plainly, as one might to a child. Actually, even more plainly than that: the language of the Bible, even in the New Testament's original Greek, is extraordinarily simple and plain, compared to the standards of the language as a whole.

To take one very evident example: the Bible uses "and" a lot. English (and Greek) have any number of conjunctions that might serve: "because", "since", "while", "however", etc. In general usage, writers and speakers tend to vary the conjunctions they use, not just to avoid heavy-handed repetition and a simplistic style, but also to link their ideas and lead the reader from thought to thought, showing how things fit together. The Bible doesn't generally do this.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Etymology of My Gods, Redux

While Bob Patrick was writing up his recent guest post on polytheism and divinity, I was busy gathering my thoughts on Bonewits' version of modern American polytheology, and doing a bit of research and etymological digging of my own. Exploring the roots of words like "god," "deity," and "spirit" gave rise to the contemplative-poetic piece posted a few days ago. But I thought it would also be valuable to share — in solid, trustworthy prose — the results of my digging.


Words for the Many, Words for the One

courtesy of Amancay Maahs, via flickrdeity

From the Latin deus, "god." Related to the Proto-Indo-European root *dewos-, which gave rise to various words for god, spirit or demon in languages like Latin, Persian, Sanskrit, etc. The PIE form comes from the base *dyeu-, which means "to gleam, to shine," and also gave us words like sky and day. It seems the term "deity," related to the name of Zeus, originally evoked the idea of a being or spirit of light, whether a solar-god or a god of lightning. The word "divine," also from the Latin deus, when used as a verb (as in "to divine the future") originally suggested the ability to see by a supernatural light.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Cú Chulainn and the Queen of Swords: Reflections on Reason and Nakedness

courtesy of ~♥~AmahRa58~♥~, via flickr.comOne of the ways that I clothe and shelter my nakedness in the world is with my intellect, which always seems to be churning away sometimes even in spite of myself.

Don't get me wrong, I value reason highly as an expression of Spirit in the human animal; it is a wisdom-weaver and pattern-dancer, it is one of the meaning-makers of human experience that can serve to highlight and elevate, to shape and navigate. When used in this way, reason and critical analysis can exercise the mind, stripping it of falsehoods and obscurities and laying it bare to the world in all its complexity and sublimity (and when applied with a devotion that borders on bhakti, reason can be a terrible and awesome thing that shakes the world ruthlessly down to its rattling joints).

But too often, reason can be wielded as a weapon. I find that I do this far more often than I like, and it always leaves me feeling uncomfortable, disturbed from the dwelling-place of naked presence that I am continually seeking in the world. When I feel threatened or misunderstood, I can swing my intellect like a sword, cutting down hesitant, half-formed or poorly-articulated arguments where they stand — without regard for the meanings they are striving towards or the complexities they, too, are trying to navigate. The fight becomes the thing, and I get caught up in the thrill of parry and thrust and the heat of my own mental muscles tensed and flexing as I dodge and turn and feel the bite of my blows striking home.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Contemplations on Polytheism and Gods of the Land

There was a lightness of being in my solitary walk to the library this morning, after yesterday's long-rumbling thunderstorms growling out of the dense haze and heat of the city.[1] For the past two weeks I have been getting up early to hillwalk through the wooded park down the block, and even in the dawn hours everything hung heavy and damp, dark green, sticky, slick with heat, heat, heat. The pond was a low patch of thickening mud, the stream in the ravine a gully of trickling gutter-water between the tree roots. The mulberries from the neighbor's drooping tree were slowly fermenting on the sidewalk, and giving birth whenever someone walked by to a swarm of iridescent flies. This is not exactly unusual for July around here (certainly not as out-of-character as the hotter weather farther north). But the cloudless domed sky fading to muggy gray on the horizons unbroken for so many rainless days became a little disconcerting in a city centered on three rivers and so near a great lake, where the mountains rising to the east back up the westerly winds carrying their rainstorms over the land. We get a lot of rain here in Pittsburgh, but for the past two weeks it seems we've had nothing but hot, thick, hard-to-breate damp — sliced through with burning arrows of sunlight.

So yesterday was a blessing. An early twilight by midafternoon when the storms rolled in, and it was finally cool enough to fall asleep a few hours before midnight for once. For the first time I felt refreshed when waking up this morning, as if I had slept well and without that constant, unidentifiable anxiety that the body seems to absorb and store up from the enforced stillness of long, hot summer days. And the morning is beautiful. During long weeks of constant heat, coolness becomes a kind of abstract in a sun-fogged brain. Jeff and I kept talking about our upcoming vacation in cool, ocean-hedged Acadia National Park, and my trip soon after to Ireland — the misty green lands that my skin and bones remember, like a gift from my ancestors, without ever having been there — but I don't think I could really believe in these things or imagine them with any kind of realism.

Ah, but this morning I can almost taste the very first hint of crisp, cool autumn, sneaking in just after the high, bright peak of the solstice! Walking down the streets of my neighborhood, I had flashbacks to that feeling I used to get during the first weeks of a new semester back in college, when everything was light and fresh and free, with new classes (and, glory be!, new books to devour!) and new faces roaming campus, and a new year ahead. And in all of this, that special kind of solitude, the aloneness of stepping out and away from home, cut loose from routine or rather in the early stages of a new one when it still feels wide and spacious and full of possibility. It was as if heat had become my home, and I thought it would go on being home forever. It is hard to describe, but I could taste it like gentle sunlight — after two weeks I'd almost forgotten that sunlight could feel gentle and smooth, not always burning and oppressive — and light wisps of clouds that go skipping now from horizon to horizon in a cool lake of blue sky, awash in relief. And I am so thankful that my gods, if I have any, are changeable, full of movement and utterly beyond me.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

The Peaceful Warrior: Pagan Pacifism Without Excuse (Part 2)

Pagan Values Month '10Vulnerability, Individuality and Interdependence

Contemporaries of the Celts reported them as being strongly independent, and many of the heroic tales passed down to current day describe courageous individuals who choose a life of glory and accomplishment to be remembered down the ages, rather than an unremarkable life of longevity and quiet. Cu Chulainn, the quintessential Celtic warrior-hero, makes just this choice when he overhears a prophecy that the young man to take up arms that day would become the most famous hero in Erin; the eager young hero then proceeds to test out, and break, every piece of weaponry in the land until the king himself must offer him his own spear and war chariot.[6] At first glance, such stories might seem to support the notion that the ancient Celts were hungry for conflict and the accolades that could be earned, that they were downright scornful of peace and "easy living." But other well-documented aspects of Celtic culture suggest another interpretation, perhaps no more true than this first but more relevant to today's world.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

The Peaceful Warrior: Pagan Pacifism Without Excuse (Part 1)

Pagan Values Month '10There is no going back. We consent to our own destruction, with the passing of time, with the changing seasons, with the restless intensity of living and breathing. Above the blazing concrete and glass of the city skyline, sharp-wedged forms of birds wheel and tip against the dark, blustering sky of the oncoming summer storm. I find myself thinking again that it takes an awful lot of courage to live in this world sometimes, knowing even at the height of summer that winter is coming, the dark is coming, and death, too, will eventually arrive to claim us. It takes courage to release ourselves, to enter willingly into the wild dance that whirls in this liminal space between life and death, creation and destruction. In my mind, the image of birds crashing through wind currents and swift-driven clouds commingles with the image of the warrior, poised in grace on the edge of chaos. The face of that warrior is not violence, but fearlessness. And the culmination of fearlessness, the height of its realization, is peace.

On Violence and Control

We live in a modern world, a world that has known the power of peace as well as the force of violence and war. A world that has known King and his dreams of the mountaintop. That witnessed Gandhi leading hundreds to the shore, stooping to gather the sea salt forbidden to them by law but offered freely and ceaselessly by something far greater and older than empire. And it is no less true for being trite: these days we have the capacity for obscene violence as well. This world we live in has seen the invention of atomic weapons by men cloistered away in sterile laboratories, and the use of those weapons to intimidate and threaten, to bring whole cities broken and poisoned to the ground. I share this world with you, and together we have watched our modern culture grow bloated and listless with propagandistic marketing trends and diet fast food. Yet alongside these we've felt a dawning common understanding that can no longer excuse violence against women and the marginalized, nor accept the callous mechanizations that would treat nature as fuel to burn for turning a profit. These times are unique, with their contradictions and global communications networks. There is no going back. We live in a world in tension, a culture brought precariously to the brink of tremendous violence again and again. How can we live, fully and freely, in such a world?

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Sky Earth Sea: Better Than Coffee!! (and other bits of interest)

Hey there, dear readers! Shameless plug to follow, for those of you looking for some new high-quality reading material on Druidry and Paganism... Check out the latest issue of Sky Earth Sea: A Journal of Practical Spirituality. Not just for Druids and Pagans, this journal has something for anyone and everyone interested in spiritual practice and looking for ideas and guidance on how to incorporate Spirit into everyday life.

I'm particularly proud of my two contributions to this issue, if you don't mind me saying so. (So proud, in fact, that I'm planning on sending my dad a copy of the issue, just to show him once again that Druids aren't crazy tree-hugging hippies... or, okay, we're not just tree-huggers, anyway!)

  • "The Peaceful Warrior: Pagan Pacifism Without Excuse" is an article exploring the necessity of nonviolence to counter the rampant systemic violence of our modern consumer-culture world, and takes a careful look at the mythology and iconography of the ancient Celtic past to discover themes that help to guide our search for fearlessness and courage. How can a violent, tribal past be relevant today? What roles do vulnerability and individuality play in fearlessness? How can we step up to become "peaceful warriors" in our own lives? This article presents some potential answers to such questions.


  • "Peace of the Three Realms: A Daily Meditation" is a step-by-step guide through one of my favorite daily practices, a series of interwoven meditations based around the Druid Prayer for Peace. Using such techniques as daily prayer and visualization, we can each begin to embrace a new worldview, a new story about the role we have to play in creating peace in the real world.

  • This issue also features lots of interesting articles on other forms of meditation, including a few how-to guides to get you started. On top of that, enjoy great poetry and beautiful seasonal artwork! Visit their website and check it out! (You can subscribe electronically for a very modest price, barely more than a cup of coffee; or, if you're not sure, register to download an earlier issue for absolutely free and see what you think!)


    Also, on a more somber note, take some time to read my recent guest post over at Druid Journal: On Grief and Connection: A Response to the Fort Hood Deaths. While Jeff’s last post illustrated very well the kind of divisive rhetoric utilized in most political speeches these days, language that takes for granted an implicit superiority of American citizens and soldiery, and that rejects understanding, compassion and forgiveness for fear that such things will lead to acceptance of and complicity in violence (that is, those forms of violence deemed unacceptable by the State). His post, by reversing the target of this rhetoric, raised a lot of hackles and provoked a lot of feedback, through comments and email, about the basic immorality of justifying violence and excusing killers. Now, with his gracious permission, I try my hand at rewriting Obama’s speech, not by reversing its aim, but by turning the rhetoric itself on its head, and speaking in terms of inclusion rather than exclusion, connection instead division. This is the speech I wish Obama had given, though for reasons that will become obvious, it is not one I ever expect any political leader in this country to give. 

    Monday, June 1, 2009

    Relationship & Story: Exploring Ethics from a Pagan Perspective

    The beginning of June marks the beginning of the first-ever International Pagan Values Blogging Month, and I couldn't be more excited! I also couldn't be busier, as I juggle schedules, arrange for my summer vacation, plan for my up-coming birthday and help my boyfriend move into his new apartment. So, I hope you will forgive me if I kick off this month's posts with a review of two excellent books on "Pagan values" already out there in circulation and well worth reading: Living With Honour: A Pagan Ethics by Emma Restall Orr, and The Other Side of Virtue, by Brendan Myers. Within the next few days, I'll also be guest posting over at Druid Journal on ecology, environmentalism and practical pacifism, as an introduction to a four(ish)-part series on the role of pacifism, violence and warriorhood in Paganism. I'll be updating here again to let you know when that post is up, so be sure to hop on over to check it out! Until then, enjoy the following review, first published in Sky, Earth, Sea: A Journal of Practical Spirituality (Spring 2009).


    "The greatest achievement of spirit: the ability to transform nearly anything--even our suffering and tragedy--into art."

    - Myers, The Other Side of Virtue


    As the Pagan community continues to change and grow, establishing itself as a thriving contemporary spiritual tradition (or more accurately, traditions!), the needs of this diverse and somewhat chaotic community also continue to develop beyond those of first-generation neophytes looking for initiatory experiences and basic how-to guides. One aspect of this evolving need for a deeper, more complex engagement with the Pagan spiritual path--so familiar to those who demand "advanced" Pagan texts that move beyond the typical "Druidry 101," for instance--can be seen in the community's desire to establish its own unique sense of ethics and virtue apart from the divinely mandated good-and-evil dualism of a monotheistic mainstream. From the earliest modern practitioners of Wicca and Druidry, we find examples of moral formulations: the Wiccan Rede, the Law of Threefold Return, and the collection of Druidic triads, to name only a few. And yet many of us can see that these simple codes often leave much to be desired, faltering under pressure or deteriorating into self-justifying rhetoric. Two new texts published recently by O Books, however, rise to the challenge and take on the complex, wild and vital questions of ethical action and virtuous living, seeking new ways of approaching such ancient problems: Living With Honour: A Pagan Ethics, by Emma Restall Orr, and Brenden Myers's text, The Other Side of Virtue: Where our virtues come from, what they really mean, and where they might be taking us.

    Both texts center on the idea of relationship, more specifically that between the self and the world (and those in it), as the defining aspect of what we should consider an ethical or virtuous life. Emma Restall Orr sets out in her book, Living With Honour, to provide a clear basis for making practical (or "applied") ethical choices apart from the moral doctrines laid out by monotheistic religions and secular culture, which have tended in recent times to be dualistic and hierarchical. The result is a uniquely Pagan conception of ethics based on the primacy of "honorable relationship," an on-going, active engagement with the world and those living in it, guided by courage, generosity and loyalty. While Restall Orr focuses primarily on how this relationship with the world shapes our everyday choices and behavior in order to form a healthy interconnection with other beings, in Brenden Myers's work The Other Side of Virtue, the author trains his attention on the engaged individual, exploring how a self-aware relationship with Immensities helps each of us to discover, as well as to create, "who we are." For Myers, self-knowledge presents a philosophical "problem," and the work of resolving it cultivates a person's virtue in the form of human excellence. Both authors, however, recognize a core ambivalence about assuming such relationship with the world will always be safely benign, challenging the easy dichotomy between good and evil so common to monotheistic religions. In searching for an alternative ethical foundation, both Myers and Restall Orr evoke Pagan and Druidic notions of creative story-telling as the means by which we might shape our lives with a sense of meaning, beauty and truth.

    Emma Restall Orr's text might be considered, for many readers, to be the more practical and down-to-earth of the two. She devotes the first half of this clear-sighted and articulate book to deconstructing common (and commonly misunderstood) terms such as "Pagan," "morality," and "honor", as well as developing a broad understanding of the many schools of thought that have contributed to the study of ethics over the centuries. Leaping over whole philosophical systems in a single bound, she is likely to leave some readers a little giddy with vertigo, but her treatment is invariably sharp and fair, seeking the central tenants and common threads that will be most illuminating without risking oversimplification. Her careful exploration of the multifarious foundations and processes that go into making everyday choices--from emotion and instinct, to reason and the rule of law--prepares the reader for the "applied ethics" of later chapters. Further, her brief description of various Pagan traditions and their unique moral formulations provides a place for the contemplative Pagan reader to find an initial foothold of familiar subject matter, while also clarifying (for Pagan and non-Pagan readers alike) how one can establish and maintain a functional ethical model outside of the doctrines of monotheistic religions and secular humanism. Scattered throughout these sections of analysis and dissection are Restall Orr's characteristic flashes of narrative--dancing in the rain, savoring an apple, reading quietly in the park--which give flavor and moving insight into the potential of engaged ethical living.

    These more poetic moments become less common in the second half of Living with Honour, as Restall Orr buckles down to the nitty-gritty and addresses many contemporary social and political issues of our time. Exploring everything from suicide and euthanasia to animal rights and vegetarianism, parenting and romance to ecology and materialism, she applies her ethic of "honorable relationship" with intensity and consistency. Her approach puts the individual's ability to choose freely, no matter how difficult or convoluted the circumstances, at the heart of an ethical life, and eschews any reliance on socially-imposed "morality" or external rule of law. This text does not aim to rewrite the shared assumptions of a Judeo-Christian mainstream, but instead celebrates the anarchistic, pluralistic tendencies of the modern Pagan community as essential to developing a sense of individual responsibility ("response-ability") that relates more directly and receptively to a world that is always complex and in flux. Because of her intensity, however, some of her conclusions may make readers cringe (especially those passages which call for strict veganism or which challenge the usual notions of death); her thorough deconstruction of our potential for careless exploitation is pitiless, daunting, even at times overwhelming. One might wonder how it is ever possible to have enough knowledge or power to be capable of making truly effective ethical choices in the face of a huge and infinitely complicated world.

    However, her unfaltering emphasis on personal, responsive relationship softens her own tendency towards moralizing, saving the text from becoming just another example of imposing doctrine. Instead, Restall Orr works tirelessly to remind readers that ethical living must be guided, above all, by an open and ever-changing experience of the world itself, here and now. In the third and final section of her book, she addresses the feelings of fear, impotence, inertia and confusion that often keep us from acting according to our own sense of ethics. As an antidote to such feelings, she suggests a kind of stubborn, loving integrity that seeks for a meaningful, empowering sense of self immersed in an infinitely beautiful world. In these final pages, she tells a story of scared awe and gratitude, in which the choice to act ethically is rarely ever a choice at all, but only the natural response that empathy and integrity evoke in a receptive individual willing to place honorable relationship above pure self-interest or familiar fears.

    In some ways, this poetic conclusion to Restall Orr's work leads naturally to the first chapters of Brenden Myers's The Other Side of Virtue, which opens with a warm circle of storytellers gathered around a crackling fire, inviting the reader to join. While Restall Orr finds powerful, ecstatic inspiration above all in the wildness of the natural world, Myers is clearly moved and motivated strongly by the shared life and work of community and locates the beginning of his discussion of virtue in this setting. The first "movement" of the text (which is structured like a song or musical score) plays informally with images and metaphors to be developed more fully later on, asserting aphorisms and even making jokes. Reading along, it is almost impossible not to begin to engage the text directly, chuckling aloud or scribbling notes in the margin, developing a dialogue, a conversation of ideas and possibilities. While Restall Orr prepares the reader to enter into the thick of ethical analysis by first covering the familiar ground of Pagan tradition, Myers uses a different approach to his task of defining virtue: establishing a sense of community that will run through the rest of the book and give landscape and texture to the path it will trace.

    In the following three movements, Myers proceeds to examine the historical development of the concept of "virtue," beginning with the tribal culture of Heroic societies, through the developing emphasis on reason in ancient Classical philosophy, following the various permutations over the centuries as they produced humanism, romanticism and contemporary examples, real and fictional, of honorable heroes and great men. Throughout this discussion, Myers includes useful details about the changes in society and politics, as well as myriad quotations from ancient texts, to give context and perspective to the evolving definition of human virtue. His examination of particular thinkers and writers, such as Shakespeare, Machiavelli and Nietzsche, provide stepping stones through history for the reader; however, at times they give the text almost too specific a focus, as though standing in for whole schools of thought without giving the reader enough perspective to see how these trends weave together in a broader theory. Meanwhile, the influence of Judeo-Christian morality and its redefinition of virtue as that of passivity and obedience, so intriguingly mentioned in the book's overture, is left almost entirely unmentioned. Here is one place where Restall Orr's sweeping but sometimes overly broad discussion of philosophical concepts can compliment Myers's more specialized focus and remind the reader of the "bigger picture" that might otherwise be lost in the historical milieu.

    If the discussion of virtue's historical development, although very well-researched and highly informative, feels a bit dense or cobbled together at times, the fifth movement of The Other Side is where Myers really hits his stride. In it, he attempts to lay bare the "logical structure" of virtue itself, as he understands it, and the slowly-unfolding weaving together of seemingly disparate ideas from previous sections is by turns masterful, musical and mind-blowing. Here we are confronted in a kind of pure contemplation with some of the "Immensities" (Myers's term) that Restall Orr addresses more directly and practically in the later chapters of her own work: the Earth, Death (or Time), and Other People; as well as some of the responses their presence in our lives can evoke: wonder, integrity, and humanity. For Myers, the issue of relationship--the place of the individual within a community and landscape--comes to the forefront in "threshold" experiences whereby a person's sense of identity and self-knowledge is challenged, shaken to its core and thus transformed by an engagement with something both infinitely knowable and intimately overwhelming.

    Unlike Restall Orr, who believes that an open engagement with the world usually renders the "ethical" course of action obvious and natural, Myers suggests that we develop our sense of virtue, or human excellence, precisely in those situations when an Immensity calls our most fundamental assumptions about the self and the world into question--that is, precisely when we are least certain of what we once believed to be obvious. His discussion of how these experiences shape us, however, is remarkably similar to Restall Orr's. He too emphasizes our inherent ability to choose as both a revelatory and creative act, at once revealing ourselves to our own self-awareness and helping to create those very selves. The choices we make are shaped by our sense of story (what sociologists might call, on a larger scale, our mythology, what Druids might call our "song") and the role we see ourselves playing as that story unfolds. There is no guarantee that Fortune will be kind or an Immensity benign--in fact, the potentially transformative nature of threshold experiences might be considered inescapably destructive, even traumatic to some extent. But with a strong sense of story, rather than a reliance on traditional definitions of right and wrong, we both discover and create meaning and beauty in our lives through the choices we pursue at such times.

    Of course, the study of ethics and the exploration of virtue are not precisely one and the same. On the one hand, virtue is only one way among many to approach the question of ethics (including relativism, utilitarianism, deontology, etc.); on the other hand, there are certain amoral or nonmoral aspects to our understanding virtue itself (such as beauty, physical skills and even good fortune), so that it is difficult to see one as fitting snugly as a subcategory into the other. It may be a gross simplification to say that virtue concerns the effects of a relationship with an Immense world on the nature and knowledge of the self, while ethics is the study of how this relationship is expressed in our behavior and practical choices in everyday life. Yet it seems these two approaches are essentially the ways in which two remarkable contemporary Druid authors have chosen to explore a subject of vast complexity and vital relevance for every human being today. These two books, published so fortuitously within a few months of each other, should most definitely be read together, and read more than once. The questions they raise and problems they wrestle have continuing importance fundamental to our perception of ourselves and the world we live in with one another. And as our own stories change and evolve over the course of our lives, these texts will continuing to offer fresh new insight and possibilities for meaning, beauty, knowledge and truth.

    • Brenden Myers, The Other Side of Virtue: Where our virtues come from, what they really mean, and where they might be taking us, O Books, 2008.

    • Emma Restall Orr, Living With Honour: A Pagan Ethics, O Books, 2007.

    Saturday, April 4, 2009

    Conspire, Perspire, Expire

    The Actual Conversation

    The muzak system is playing Smash Mouth: Somebody once asked could I spare some change for gas, I need to get myself away from this place... Sitting in the last corner booth after work today, next to the day-shift manager as he trains the newly promoted cover, Steve, in number-crunching paperwork. "Two to thaw, three to bake. Have them bag up four dozen, we go through a lot on weekend midnights." I twirl my fork, push spaghetti around my plate. I said, Yep, what a concept, I could use a little fuel myself, and we could all use a little change...

    Across from me Steve bends over the pages and pages of prep lists and stock inventory, scribbling in numbers with the stub of a pencil. He's dressing up these days, classier than the polo shirt and eye-bleedingly red apron he used to wear like the rest of us servers; now, he's in black slacks and a button-up collared shirt and tie, also black. It's like he's trying to turn the restaurant into the Matrix. Would you like the red pill or the blue pill? Can I bring you fries with that? Steve's girlfriend is Pagan. They're both amazingly industiral-goth when not in uniform. Now he's crunching numbers as middle management in the food service industry. This is how life is sometimes.

    The day-shift manager asks me to slide out for a second so he can go make a phone call in the office, and in a moment Steve and I are joined by another friend, Frank, who's snacking on some fries before his dinner shift begins. Frank is tall, with no waist, a neatly trimmed goatee and big clunky shoes; he always brings his uniform to work in a backpack stitched all over with anarchy symbols. Once when there was a bomb threat at the post office next door, he turned the bag inside out just in case the investigating police might get the wrong idea. When Frank is being funny, he purses his lips and blinks his eyes.

    "Rob said he loves me like a rock," I tell Frank, to make conversation. "So I asked him if he meant that he really loves rocks, or that rocks have very strong emotions." Frank raises his eyebrows at me. "You know--if he loves me as though I were a rock, or if he loves me as though he were a rock... He told me to shut up."

    "Maybe he meant the-way-in-which-he-loves-you is like a rock, you know, solid and durable... and slowly being worn down by the constant erosion of wind and water." Frank and I both giggle. Steve continues crunching numbers, chewing on his lip and ignoring us.

    "See, I was just about to say, 'Yes, but that's not as funny,' but you proved me wrong." I twirl more spaghetti onto my fork. (This is the way my conversations at work go, hopping from one clever or ridiculous non sequitur to another, seeing what acrobatics of wit or syntactic contortions we can accomplish. So after a pause, I add:) "Stupid global warming."

    Steve, in his all-black-cover-manager-threads-and-silk-tie, mutters without looking up at either of us, "Global warming isn't real."

    For a moment, Frank and I don't say anything. I mumbled with my mouth full of pasta. "What?" Frank asks.

    "I said, 'Well that's enlightened of you...'" Then, holding my hand up on the wrong side of my mouth, I say to Frank in a faux-whisper that Steve can hear perfectly well, "But I was being sarcastic."

    "Global warming isn't real," Steve says again, this time stopping his scribbling and tapping the pencil stub on the table a few times. "It's just something the government made up to make money."

    It's hard to read Frank's expression, his lips working into a purse but his eyes wide open. Still, I can't help but chime in (at risk of being the only person at the table with, you know, a functioning brain), "I don't know... making money by asking us to consume less; sounds kind of counterintuitive."

    "I think," Frank says, blinking, "instead of addressing any real problems, they should just invest everything in some ridiculously pointless master plan. You know, like a Planet Umbrella," he adds, saving us all from having to muddle through a serious conversation.

    I laugh. Steve goes back to his paperwork. Frank finishes his fries as the conversation moves on to other things.


    What I Should Have Said

    Now wait. Let's pretend I'm a slightly different person than I am, someone with more practice (or less civility) in confronting people about the fundamentally ignorant or frightfully misinformed statements they sometimes make in the course of casual conversation.

    "Global warming isn't real," Steve says again, "It's just something the government made up to make money."

    "Let me get this straight," this Other Ali would say. "You're telling me that our government, the government of the United States of America, invented an elaborate lie about global warming as early as the 1970s, then conspired to spread this lie all across the world, convincing scientists from every industrialized nation to 'independently verify' such a concept through hundreds of studies, all conducted independently. Then, when the rest of the world has completely fallen for this thoroughly convincing lie and everyone begins signing silly Kyoto Protocols and such nonsense, you know, cutting emissions, designing more energy-efficient vehicles, the U.S. government--the same government that supposedly conspired to tell this Lie of Global Warming in the first place--refuses to play along and instead decides to reject the whole idea, to reduce regulations and to encourage hugely wasteful and backwards industry models that only serve to put our manufacturing and technology industries far behind foreign competition. Despite this, our government persists, cleverly, in being very vocal in the fake denial of the lie they conspired to create and disseminate, and this goes on for decades and decades (meanwhile, the country's weathermen and meteorologists are in on it, too, reporting on the ever-increasing number of 'record-breaking heat waves' and extreme weather conditions all over the world). All of this, so that now, when even fellow American citizens have finally come to believe the lie the government has been telling them by way of everyone-except-the-government, they can make a little money off the fad of shopping for organic tomatoes and driving foreign-built hybrid cars. This is the story you want me to believe?

    "I'm all one for conspiracy theories," this Other Ali would continue, "but I'm more inclined to wonder why the only 'scientific' studies that call global warming into question have been pursued and sponsored by corporate and government think-tanks. Or why it is only the American media that assume 'fair and balanced' means including misleading claims of the hypocritically-capitalist, irrationally anthropocentric Religious Right to balance out the bias of actual fact confirmed by countless peer-reviewed and respected scientific studies. Or why the CEOs of American car companies continue to spout global-warming-denial rhetoric and portray fuel-efficiency as merely a trendy innovation; the same rhetoric proffered by oil companies who make billions of dollars in profit when gas prices rise in response to national security threats and personal economic anxieties that the government helps to create and maintain with its fear-mongering and willful incompetence. Conspiracy? Sure thing. You're right there, Steve.

    "Certainly, now that global warming has become so firmly established among the educated population of the world, now that its effects are becoming apparent even to the amateur observer with any long-term memory of what childhood winters used to be like--in short, now that the government and corporations of this country can no longer get away with complete and unadulterated denial... of course they're now trying to make money off of global warming, trying to reduce it to a trend, a brand, a marketing strategy. They're racing panicked around the deck of a sinking ship, dismantling it board by board and trying to sell the parts to us as life-preservers. Certainly they wouldn't want us to take anything too seriously, to question their priorities or actually maybe change the fundamental way we live our lives. Gods forbid we learn how to swim.

    "And isn't your girlfriend Pagan? Isn't her best friend Pagan, too, and you're all housemates together? Even if you're right about everything, even if global warming is a Big Lie the government has told us, even if that's true--how do you reconcile consumption and waste with a love of the earth and the sacred celebration of its seasons? How can you ignore the very basics of ecology, the cycle of resources, the vast interconnected web of being? How do you turn yourself off to the singing of the trees choked by smog, the streams humming as they empty into oceans clogged with pollution and whole continents of plastic refuse set adrift by our recklessness? What lie could the government tell that could be worse than this, worse than the lie that we have the right to live as callously and selfishly as we like, to consume and squander and whine for more, ceaselessly and without consequence? And what is Paganism to you, if it has no room for the earth in it? Just a mishmash of misguided antiauthoritarianism and fashion accessories, the fringe-thrill of worshipping gods that make the WASPs and JWs squeam? And have you ever stopped and wondered, then, who exactly is making money off of your religion?

    "Not to get on your case, Steve. We're all friends here."

    Monday, February 9, 2009

    Book Learnin': A Helpful List of Books on Druidry

    I have been attempting to develop a kind of flow of interconnected ideas and concerns, from one post to the next, in this blog lately... but every once in a while, I find myself struck by a sudden rant that just needs expression. Now. This is one of those rants. Enjoy (or be annoyed), and I hope you'll come back when I return to writing more directly about the problem of spiritual growth.

    See, this is why AODA annoys me sometimes. In general, members are very kind, supportive and helpful, but every once in a while, they go in for this "sabotaging the newbie" nonsense. It might not even be intentional. Perhaps they do not even realize that, collectively, they're coming off as very intimidating and discouraging, at times even obnoxious. The latest example that set me off (and has happened at least twice in the past month) concerns what I will flippantly refer to as book learnin'. Someone sent a post to the online forum asking for recommendations on good, reliable (and accurate) books on Druidry. Now, this is a perfectly understandable request, especially if you're just starting to explore the Druid path, because there is a ton of misinformation out there on the Druids ancient and modern, some of it more or less intentional and misleading. Asking for advice on where to begin looking for a foundation of scholarly information as well as insight into modern practices is not only a good idea, but perhaps an essential early step for a neophyte (especially one not lucky enough to have other practicing Druids around to offer in-person guidance and discussion).

    But what do the members of this AODA forum do? They respond with things like, "O well, it really depends on what kind of Druidry you mean, because there are so many, such as [insert long list of all the variations and "denominations" of Druidy here, many with names that sound like paleontology prefixes and which you've probably never heard of unless you've been studying two or three years already].... Which one did you mean?" Not one helpful recommendation of a good, solid text that covers a wide variety of information to provide a beginner with a bit of foundation. (Such general introductory texts do exist, I assure you, and I would bet money that every person who responded to this inquiry with nitpicking has probably read several such books.)

    O, and my favorite: "Druidry isn't something you can learn from books. You have to do it and experience it for yourself. How can someone possibly understand [insert name of exotic sounding ritual involving fire and possibly pain or blood sacrifice] and even attempt to write about all its important lessons when such things are beyond words?"

    How is this helpful? It's not. It's a way of avoiding giving anything away or giving up any of the aura of authority you get by knowing more and having more experiences under your belt than a neophyte. If I were new to Druidry, I would be immensely discouraged, not to mention as annoyed as I am now, by such replies. Luckily, I adore books and you couldn't stop me from reading them if you tried, no matter what kind of sanctimonious the-reality-is-beyond-words nonsense you bombarded me with.

    Perhaps it's because I came to Druidry through my poetry (which I've been writing since about the age I could first hold a crayon) and I continue to adore Druidry because of its bardic traditions, which embrace and celebrate music, song and the power of words... but I have never understood the kind of response that rejects book learnin' as somehow less important or more dangerous than direct experience. To me, reading and exploring ideas in books has always inspired and sewn in me the seeds of desire: desire to move ideas into the real world and bring their beauty into participatory being, and desire to meet the challenge of articulating my own experiences in meaningful ways that can sew those seeds in others. If it hadn't been for a few incredibly well-written books on Druidry, I wouldn't have ever bothered to begin the real life practice that has given me so much and opened me to so many experiences (I wouldn't even know what a [insert exotic sounding ritual here] was or why it might matter to other people, let alone what it might someday mean to me).

    Somehow I doubt people who post requests for book recommendations are looking to replace the actual activity of walking a spiritual path in real life. I don't see why it should be a problem to provide suggestions about a few well-researched and insightful books about Druidry, which is after all not only a personal path but a community spiritual tradition (and a diverse and diffuse community at that, which has developed its own customs of discussion and often communicates its shared interests and values through text, in books as well as in online forums and blogs like this one). If this were still an oral culture and non-textual sources of information were more readily available, perhaps an avoidance of books might be more justified. But the truth is, this is a literate culture we live in today, and if a new student of Druidry is to find her way into the tradition, it is not enough to set her loose in the forest without a teacher or a mythology to guide her, and say, "Well, go to it, go do 'Druidry'."



    On that note, these are a few of my favorite books on Druidry and modern Druidic practice:

    • Way of the Druid: Renaissance of a Celtic Religion and its Relevance, by Graeme Talboys With a bit of historical background, this book explores the "Celtic metaphysic" and how it relates to modern practice. It's the first book I would lend to a non-Druid friend or family member interested in understanding the spiritual tradition I follow.

    • Spirits of the Sacred Grove: The World of a Druid Priestess, by Emma Restall Orr A wonderful memoir that follows the cycle of the seasons, this book expresses in beautiful, powerful writing the kinds of personal experiences at the root of practical Druidry and gives you that itch to go out and spend long hours in the local woods listening to the breathing of things. A very nice counterbalance to Talboys' more theoretical focus, though it may come across as "too weird" for non-Druids... I wouldn't recommend it to my mother, anyway!

    • The Mysteries of Druidry: Celtic Mysticism, Theory, & Practice, by Brendan Myers This text focuses a bit more on various common themes and symbols that echo throughout Celtic mythology and lay a foundation for creative, engaged work with the Druidic tradition.

    • The Rebirth of Druidry: Ancient Earth Wisdom for Today, edited by Philip Carr-Gomm A collection of essays, this is the very first book that shook me awake and inspired me to seek out Druidry in my own life; all sorts of topics are covered, from the personal to the traditional, from theory on seasonal calendars to explorations of self- and social-identity, and more.

    • The Druidry Handbook: Spiritual Practice Rooted in the Living Earth, by John Michael Greer A very good how-to kind of handbook that talks a bit about some of the concepts central to Revival Druidry in particular, and lays out the First Degree curriculum for AODA in depth.

    All of the above focus on contemporary Druidic practice from various perspectives. As far as scholarly historical works, Ronald Hutton wrote a fascinating introductory text entitled, Druids: A History, that traces the development of the idea of Druidry and Druidism throughout the past several hundred years. He has a more extensive book due to be published in June, 2009, called Blood and Mistletoe: The History of the Druids in Britain that will expand on this topic, and which is bound to be great. Beyond this, I'd recommend any of Miranda Green's work (I just got her Symbol & Image in Celtic Religious Art, which I can't wait to tear into!), as well as most of the books written by John and Caitlin Matthews, which usually explore mythological themes and have a bit of an historical/academic bent, if not much at times.

    Saturday, February 7, 2009

    Plan for Advanced Druidic Study

    Since I've formally committed to continuing my degree work within AODA (OBOD's Bardic correspondence course ended up being a bit too touchy-feely for me), I've been giving some thought to what kind of work I want to pursue over the next few years.

    Some of it will be guided in part by the AODA Second Degree curriculum, with its focus on the four elements and corresponding emphases: earth: a foundation of continual connection with the natural world and a developing understanding of ecology; fire: more intense and creative engagement with ritual and holy day rites; air: scholarly study of Celtic mythology, Arthurian legend and the history of Revival Druidry; and water: emotional and community development through teaching and mentoring. In addition to these four areas of training, AODA also encourages the development of practical skills in the arts and spiritual crafts by requiring three "spirals" of study in things such as poetry, music, magic, and divination, as well as a "fifth element" (spirit) focus on comparative religion and the theory and history of nature spirituality in particular, in order to develop a broader perspective on the role of Druidry in our own lives and within our contemporary historical-cultural context.

    This is all very structured and task-oriented; e.g. "read x number of books on this topic and write an essay y pages long," or "develop n holy day rites and perform them at least z times a year," or "choose a musical instrument and practice p times a week, memorizing q number of songs you feel skilled enough to play in public." In some ways, I very much like this approach, since it sets out very clear, attainable goals to work towards without putting too many restrictions on what exactly each individual will learn from or get out of such work. Of course, there's a general assumption that, for instance, committed regular contact with nature will rub off on a person in terms of appreciation and care, or that the self-discipline required to meditate daily, or the creativity and knowledge needed to write a certain number of self-designed rituals, will have similarly predictable effects, all working together and playing off each other to shape a person walking the uniquely AODA Druidic path while also ensuring they have at least some of the skills necessary to teach newcomers and neophytes, passing the tradition on to others. In some ways, the structure of the AODA degree program works to inculcate and train its Druids in the same way a graduate school program trains its students to become competent professors within the academic institution. (And, as with graduate school, this type of institutional training, despite its benefits, is not cut out for everybody.) Obviously, the part of me that eventually rebelled against the influence of inadvertent or unacknowledged "indoctrination" in my creative writing graduate program struggles, too, from time to time with this aspect of AODA training. However, because I do enjoy the challenge of specific, outlined goals and I believe the process of training and growth in Druidry is valuable in itself, I've decided to take up the challenge and confront whatever obstacles that may come up with a commitment to my own future goals in mind.

    As I mentioned, the AODA program is very much task-oriented, and so to help "flesh out" this approach and give it depth, another aspect that will guide my Druidic work over the next few years will be a personal emphasis on "Ovate"-related aspects of spirituality. Although for some reason (not entirely clear to me) AODA very much downplays the traditional (Revival) Druidic division of training into Bardic, Ovate and Druidic levels adopted by groups like OBOD, I feel that these broad categories make a kind of sense to me. Because I first came to Druidry through my "bardic" work with poetry and creative writing (and chose poetry as the "spiral" for my First Degree work), metaphors of music, song, dance, imagery and imagination have echoed strongly through my Druidic study so far. As I continue to explore and grow, however, I find two new interests coming into focus: a fascination with shamanic and trance or dream work, divination and magic; and a growing need to articulate my spirituality in theological and philosophical terms that encompass questions of ethics, justice, politics and metaphysics. These correspond, very roughly, to the emphasis found in Ovate and Druid training. While I will certainly continue to develop the latter on my own (as if I could stop myself!), I've decided that my Second Degree work will benefit from a good dose of shamanic, intuitive exploration. The "spirals" I've chosen (divination, magic and a self-designed "faery spiral") all deal with nonrational, Otherworld aspects of spirituality, learning how to shape consciousness, connect with sacred or trans-mundane beings and energies, and working more closely with liminal experiences in the human life cycle (such as birth, love, grief, death, illness, initiation, etc.).

    One way I've thought about this threefold division within Druidry is to imagine the Bards as the poets and story-tellers, the Ovates as what we would think of as "priests" or spiritual counselors, and the Druids as "judges" and advisors in both worldly and spiritual matters. Thinking through AODA's Second Degree curriculum, one thing that strikes me is the important role that mentoring, teaching and group leadership comes to play over the next few years. By the time an Apprentice is ready to become a Druid Companion in AODA, their work has supposedly prepared them for formal ordination and the responsibilities of organizing and leading a chartered Study Group.* The exercises and reading of the Second Degree's Water path place heavy emphasis on encouraging emotional maturity, exploring various models of spiritual development, and learning effective techniques for teaching, coaching and counseling; meanwhile, the Fire path requires students to write, memorize and be able to effectively perform ritual with others (including the Candidate initiation ritual). Once again, in its own task-oriented way, AODA's curriculum works to impart the skills and knowledge a person needs to act competently as a priest or priestess for their local community. Intuitive shamanic and dreamwork seem, to me, to be a natural compliment to these more overt, exoteric leadership skills. After all, how can you help to counsel and guide others without personal exploration and experience of your own.

    But this is where I find myself almost immediately running into difficulties. The next two or three years of my Druidic study are fairly well mapped out, with lists of important books, exercises and techniques to pursue and correct, and a given number of hours of "community service" to provide. Not to mention, I have the added benefit of knowing a few people within AODA who have worked through and completed the Second Degree already, who can and often cheerfully do provide advice, encouragement and personal examples from their own lives. But for me, this isn't enough. Instead, I keep asking myself, "What does spiritual growth look like?" There was a time when I thought I knew, or I at least had a kind of ideal to shoot for, to work towards. Now... I find myself honestly unsure. For all its structure and challenge, in many ways the AODA degree program strikes me as imparting barely more than a skill set. Valuable, useful skills, of course, but.... still. I've seen people who can effectively read runes or competently perform moving rituals, but then I've also seen Catholic priests who preach movingly about love and service, and then afterwards go diddle some poor altar boy in the rectory. Not to put too fine a point on it. Certainly, skills are important, but as I read Judy Harrow's book, Spiritual Mentoring: A Pagan Guide, for instance, I read again and again about how necessary it is to encourage real, substantive spiritual growth... and yet nowhere do I find any indication of what this might be or how we might recognize it. So I'm left asking (skill-sets, knowledge-bases and charisma aside): what does spiritual growth look like?






    * One thing that bothers me about AODA is that Groves can only be established by Druid Adepts, who are initiated based not on a clearly outlined program of study as with the two previous grades, but according to the whim of the Grand Grove and its members, who must approve a self-designed program (or decide to bestow the title honorarily on people who impress them). This is where hierarchy becomes an issue for me. In theory, this "freedom" of study is meant to encourage self-discipline and commitment, demanding that truly serious students of Druidry prove themselves by taking up the responsibility for their own development after they reach a certain level. In practice, however, it seems to work to keep very few people from attaining to the higher degrees. Instead, it seems people at this point more often "take the iniative" by leaving AODA altogether to establish their own groups or groves (and if/when I reach that point, I will most likely do the same). The current archdruid of the Order often seems quite satisfied (almost suspiciously self-satisfied) to allow members "without the commitment" or who take issue with this hierarchical structure to drop away, move on, or simply stay put at their current level. I find this a shame, since it means that AODA's membership (which consists almost entirely of Candidates and Apprentices) is likely to remain fairly stagnant in the coming decades. I can only hope that, as membership grows to include more younger members and the current leaders finally being to retire, a new and more refreshing attitude might take hold that encourages growth both for the group as a whole and for members personally. Since, as part of my Apprentice initiation, I promised to work to help the AODA community, I will continue to try to be part of that more promising trend.

    Wednesday, January 14, 2009

    Re-Membering Theology: Part V

    Part V: Paths and Parting Ways

    Now, of course, deo and others might find this kind of talk a bit uncomfortable, even disconcerting. To speak of being moved by a theological story, rather than led forward by philosophical rigor towards truth and reality... And I would be the first to step up and agree that, yes, philosophical inquiry is vital and necessary. After all, how will we come to know ourselves and our stories without the perspective and provocation of philosophy? How could we find the rational common ground on which we share and compare these stories, the very activity that enables us to grow and learn about ourselves? Interfaith dialogue is only rendered meaningful and relevant when we have a standard of careful, subtle thoughtfulness with which to understand it--a common language, so to speak. Philosophy can provide that common language, because it is capable of teasing out (even if only by cataloguing) those threads that run through the lives of every human being of any religion: questions of existence and identity, ethics and aesthetics, epistemology and hermeneutics, to name only a few. In other words, philosophy, like theology, like the scientific method, like basket-weaving, has its own unique function, and this function is necessary, invaluable. But it only goes so far.

    Almost a year ago, I wrote an "open letter" to deo in response to a deo's Shadow podcast on "Science, Skepticism and Scientology" (#38, the penultimate episode, it turns out). He replied to my post with a very thoughtful comment of his own, which at the time stirred up so many ideas in response that I never got around to responding at all (for which I hope he has long since forgiven me!). In his comment, deo wrote:
    My mistake was always taking Paganism as a from of inquiry into the nature of the mind-independent universe, as if some deep metaphysical truths could be found within it. Paganism is not suited to such an inquiry. As you suggest, Paganism in general is suited to meaning-making, not ontological discovery. If you confuse these two as I had, Paganism looks like a jumbled mess, barren of value... or at least badly in need of repair.

    Now, I'm not sure I agree that "Paganism is not suited" to an inquiry into metaphysical truths. (Or at least, I do not see, at first glance, why it is specifically less suited to it than any other spiritual or materialist worldview.) But I do understand what deo means when he says that it is a mistake to approach Paganism primarily as an inquiry into the mind-independent universe. For one, the very conception of a mind-independent universe takes a certain amount of dualism for granted, and Pagans are notorious for rejecting such dualism. (So, incidentally, are Christian mystics who, in a moment of exaltation or weakness, depending on who you ask, have been known to experience a union with the Mind of God which is not separate from the world which it creates and sustains, rendering the idea of a "mind-independent universe" sound downright silly.) This is not to say that it is not incredibly useful to have a dualistic perspective of the world in which we have, on the one hand, the objective universe and, on the other, the mind. Thank you, Descartes (among others), for shrugging off the restraints of a God-bound worldview and giving birth to the modern scientific method and all its subsequent, succulent fruits, like computers, evolutionary biology and the atom bomb. There are, of course, problems with believing that this is the only valid approach to understanding the world, but that's an old argument that I need not get into right now.

    The point is that anyone familiar with deo's podcasts and posts should have seen this eventual "outgrowing" of Paganism coming: he has always demonstrated his love for philosophical thought, particularly as it's shaped by the Western philosophical tradition; he explains that it was in part Paganism's "promises of deep dark secrets," those hidden truths about the world, that attracted him to that spiritual tradition in the first place. (Whereas for me, such promises always sounded a bit hokey and remained, for a long time, a good reason not be another New Age fluff-bunny sucker.) In his response to my post last year, deo talked about the struggles of functioning as an "ironist," pursuing activities and maintaining beliefs for pragmatic reasons even though they apparently contradict one's meta-theory about the world. He writers more recently that his "entire time in Paganism was dedicated to making it more palatable to the skeptic," which is in some ways a very fair description of my own time within Christianity (looking back only a year or two, there are examples of such justification in this very blog). Having gained a bigger perspective on my own journey through Christianity into Druidry, I can appreciate these struggles and internal conflicts. Reading about his reasons for leaving Paganism behind, it seems that deo is not giving up or outgrowing anything, but rather growing into himself, becoming more true to his own natural inclinations, his own "inherent beliefs" in a mind-independent universe, the value of ontological exploration and the intellectual rigor it requires.

    As I see the end of this series of posts in sight, I realize it has certainly not gone where I wanted it to go. Bad essays, bad! Heel. I have not, for instance, addressed the possibility that even if there are "ontological truths" about a "mind-independent universe," discovering those truths through careful rational thought does not guarantee that all people will react to them in the same rational, detached way (I was going to cite Myer's wonderful discussion of Immensities in his new book, The Other Side of Virtue, as well as R. Scott Appleby's fascinating text, The Ambivalence of the Sacred: Religion, Violence, and Reconciliation). I haven't gotten around to discussing my current understanding of the Divine and its slow, slow evolution towards the possibility of polytheism, nor have I discussed why I, unlike deo, do not find myself burdened by a sense of irony when it comes to Paganism. In fact, I have only barely skimmed the surface of the whole point of all these posts, which is: traditions, including the tradition of philosophical inquiry, each have their own unique internal consistencies, and at times pursuing these paths requires that we commit ourselves to them completely and pursue them to their utmost end. After all, we can't all mull around the bottom of the mountain, admiring the diversity of trailheads. Sometimes, we must gird our loins, as they say, and pick one to see where it leads, what treasures it might have hidden around those bends and what views it may afford that we cannot see or imagine from the bottom. Such a commitment comes easiest when it is not dragged down by irony or internal disjoint, and so pursuing a path deeply along its natural course also demands that, along the way, we come to better know ourselves.

    deo has chosen the path of non-religious philosophical inquiry that, for whatever reasons, has called to him for a very long time as the most fruitful and fulfilling. Because of that same call, though for different reasons, I have chosen the path of Druidry. As we each follow our unique paths, there will be times when the view spreading out before us will offer us new perspectives on those paths we left behind. These are times when we might look back and remember our own experiences on those paths, piece together the many disparate-seeming parts to form a new perspective of the whole and where it leads. That is, we will, hopefully, have moments in which we remember and re-member the theologies of our pasts. I have experienced this a few times recently looking back on the Christianity of my childhood, and I believe that deo, too, will have such moments looking back at his time as a Pagan and gaining new insights about himself and the spiritual movement. We should value these moments as moments of connection and understanding, and a place from which we can begin to talk with one another about the nature of the world.

    Tuesday, January 13, 2009

    Re-Membering Theology: Part IV

    Part IV: Changing Stories

    It seems the debate online has died down a bit, just in time for a blast from my past: a practitioner of the Norvicensian Witchcraft tradition emailed me asking if I was still in contact with its founder, Rawna Moon. Unfortunately, I haven't communicated with Rawna in a few years. Her particular blend of "Christian Witchcraft" was my first serious step into a practical "Pagan-ish" nature-spirituality.

    A year and a half before, I'd studied Neopaganism academically as part of a summer research grant, looking at ways in which it was shaped by and responsive to modern socio-cultural patterns. But I had not, at that point, ever considered becoming a "practicing Pagan" myself (though one of my interviewees suggested I'd make a good one). When I finally dipped a big toe in to test the waters--on that Candlemas (i.e. Imbolc) four years ago, among a half-dozen tealights and wafting incense--it was through a tradition that honored Julian of Norwich and Hildegard of Bingen, the Catholic saints, as its inspiration and spiritual role models. Rawna Moon described witchcraft as just that, a Craft, that anyone from any religious tradition could practice. Just as anyone--Christian, Buddhist, atheist--could practice medicine or basket-weaving or poetry. It was a way of interacting with the Divine, more creative and interactive than prayer, more personal and private than church service. I was okay with this (I was still in my good-example-of-a-Catholic mode), though over my year of practice I was never able to get comfortable with the term "witch." By the following February, I had come upon Druidry, completely by accident, and three years later, here I am.

    It feels like a lifetime. Reading back over the journal I kept during that year of witchcrafting, I can see how much I have changed and grown--and yet my core ideas have always remained anchored in a few key truths. Those unwavering, inborn beliefs, I suppose. I may adapt my way of speaking and writing about them, tweaking them to fit the language of my current spiritual life moment to moment, but there they always seem to be, lurking, glistening, whispering to me. On the other hand, reading Beyond the Burning Times: A Pagan and Christian in Dialogue, I find it strange and even at times amusing how Philip Johnson's essays provoke me into objections and disagreements (while I find myself nodding along with Gus diZerega). I have gained a new perspective on how Christians come across to non-Christians.

    When I read his statement, for instance, that "some analogies [for God] are metaphysical while others are metaphorical," this seems like unnecessary semantic parsing. Later, when he explains that the immanence/transcendence of God is a paradoxical "both/and," this paradox seems lessened, dulled, by his explanation that God's transcendence is existential while its immanence is merely relational. It seems like a lot of bending over backwards to preserve the Otherness of the Divine, something which has never seemed necessary to me (we are, after all, surrounded by "otherness" because we are surrounded by uniqueness and diversity--why should Spirit be special?). Yet there was a moment when suddenly these language acrobatics coalesced and clarified, became a discernible dance of belief, and I understood again that Christianity has its own story and, for two thousand years, that story has hung together. It may not be my own story--perhaps it never really was--but it is a story that I can appreciate nonetheless.

    I am still seeking my own story, the story that moves me and speaks to me. It is a project--an on-going process--in self-knowledge. Why do I believe some things and not others? Why does the generally Pagan-y belief in reincarnation come so easily to me, and yet I still struggle with the polytheistic belief in multiple gods and goddesses? As I've studied Celtic mythology more seriously over the past year, this question has continued to nag me. Am I not cut out for belief in many gods, just as I was simply not cut out for belief in a savior? I'm not sure. Of course, it may take years of exploration, study and practice before I know the answer. I'm okay with this.

    Clearly deo and Mandy have explored and studied, and discovered--at least for now--that atheism suits them. I do not think--at least, I hope that it isn't so--that they believe themselves to have found the Truth-capital-T of which we will all one day be convinced. Personally, regardless of exactly how I conceive of the Divine, I cannot help but believe that the world is infused with Spirit, positively overflowing with it. I cannot imagine a purely materialist reality. I have had my own doubts about a personal God or god, or goddess, or gods and goddesses for that matter, but it has never led me towards an explicit atheism. Uncertainty, a sense of curiosity, sometimes an overwhelming loneliness--yes. But the story that atheism tells is too simple, too flat to speak to me the way the singing of sunlight and long grass and winding paths in the woods speak to me.

    (It looks as though this series is likely to run its course in a fifth and final part. Meanwhile, here are a few more links to interesting and related blog posts by other Pagans and Druids that I've stumbled across since last writing.)

    Saturday, January 10, 2009

    Re-Membering Theology: Part III

    Now this is the story all about how my life got flipped turned upside down, so I'd like to take a minute, just sit right there, and I'll tell you how I became Priestess Sparklepony.

    Part III: The Everyman Spirituality

    Nah, just kidding. Where was I? Ah yes... It seems believing in a Savor just isn't part of my spiritual make-up. So it goes. But even now, this is a fairly recent realization about myself. You would think that, having been raised in a religious tradition to which salvation was a fundamental belief, I would have noticed sooner my basic disinterest in the idea (and instead run headlong for the hills that sang to me). You would think that, but you'd be wrong. Being part of a huge "poor Irish Catholic" extended family was simply part of my heritage, part of who I was, and growing up in a fairly small, fairly conservative area (blessed with farms and woods and vast stretches of open land that have since become strip malls) meant that almost everyone I knew just happened to be Christian, and those who weren't just happened not to be--without the threat of real diversity always looming, no one found it too much to accept warm-heartedly the three Jewish girls or the one kid who fasted for a month and prayed facing Mecca.

    Yet not all of the Christians I knew were the Savior-needing types. There was plenty of diversity of personality; some, like myself, were grateful and happy and amazed by the world, we were the ones who sat in church and said "Praise be to God" like we meant it (but only ever mumbled "we are not worthy to receive You" half-heartedly). We didn't moan and worry ourselves over being sinners; we didn't lose sleep at night about going to Hell when we died. It was easy to get away with simply not thinking about these things. Everyone else took our healthy-mindedness to be the natural result of having the "right" religion. Obviously, a good relationship with God (i.e. through Christ) manifested in positive ways in a person's life. My childhood was pervaded by the sense of Christianity being the Everyman's religion--a religion that anyone could believe in, no matter who they were. Which is not to say that everyone should or ought to believe in it. But nothing stopped them. A Christian who studied physics or biology? Sure. A Catholic lawyer? No problem. A doctor, a philosopher, a horse-groomer, a dentist, a bricklayer, even a soldier--Christianity was the come-one-come-all faith. It didn't ask you to turn off your brain, it didn't ask you to condemn others, it didn't ask you to grovel or weep. All it asked was that you allow yourself to be saved. Such was the Christianity I was raised to believe in, which it took me so long to leave behind.

    Which brings me, in a very round about way, back to the current murmuring roar throughout the online Pagan community (which may or may not be a community, though that's certainly a handy term for a bunch of people who all get together to talk about things, exchange ideas and debate about whether or not they constitute a community*). In some ways, the more or less all-accepting anything-goes attitude of the Pagan community reminds me a lot of the Catholicism I knew as a child. I still have conversations with my father sometimes, when he asks me what it is that I believe. Interconnection, compassion, love, creativity, inspiration, truth, justice, freedom, all those big, vague words that can move mountains or fall flat. Inevitably, these discussions end when he smiles and insists, "Well, you can believe all that and still be a Catholic!" And I smile back and say, "I think the Pope would disagree." Recent blog posts wondering sadly "what we [the Pagan community] did to lose" deo and other intellectuals remind me of my kind-hearted, well-intentioned father. It also reminds me of a Simpsons' quote (no, not the "everyone is stupid except me" one), the one where Rev. Lovejoy cries out to God what he did to lose his flock, and God replies, "What did you do to keep them?"

    People leave spiritual paths for a variety of reasons. Sometimes the conflicts are deeply ingrained and apparent from the beginning, making a particular path insufferable for even the shortest time; other times, a creeping sense of disjoint or struggle comes over a person after years of traveling a spiritual path. And sometimes, a person simply loses interest, loses that sense of connection and ceases to find anything worth the staying. It seems to me that the very first thing we as a community need to think about, is: what do we do to keep the intellectuals and philosophical types? What is it, in other words, that Paganism offers? If it offers merely the appeal of the exotic and the strange, then it is unlikely to satisfy for very long. Likewise, if all it offers is a broad tolerance of everyone, without being able to articulate a specific worldview that is uniquely "Pagan," I think we will always feel slightly at a loss when people drift away or slowly lose interest. If the Pagan community is to hold onto and truly encourage its diversity, if it is to develop a philosophical depth and intellectual rigor, it must offer something more satisfying and more substantive than mere permission. It must offer something worth the struggle, worth overcoming the sense of disjoint, worth working through the boredom and disinterest and distraction that can so easily crop up for anyone in any spiritual tradition. I believe that Paganism can and does offer something, though what exactly that is may take a long time to fully understand.


    *"Network" is such a computer-age word; social "networks," business "networks"... I prefer more organic metaphors.

    Wednesday, January 7, 2009

    Re-Membering Theology: Part II

    (Meanwhile, a few more posts have popped up... And I've discovered some very interesting things about Pagan goings-on in Second Life, which I'll write about later.)

    Part II: Salvation/Illusion

    As a child, I had a relationship with the Huge Generic Personal Spirit that I felt in the breeze over a sunlit field, the flock of gulls swinging towards the ocean's horizon, the quiet darkness that lingered like a loving presence and to which I prayed at night. Jesus, on the other hand, was just a cool guy, a role model, a man I'd heard stories about all my life--but deity? What did it mean to believe in good ol' J.C. as a god, as God itself? I still struggle with this question, and though I can tell people without flinching that I was "born and raised Catholic," sometimes I feel as if I know too much of its murky, complex and sometimes downright unlikely theologies to have any clear sense of what "being a Christian" actually means. I suppose this uncertainty is amusing, considering plenty of people have similar difficulty knowing what it means to "be a Druid" (since the ancient Celtic caste system which defined the original Druids no longer exists and so little information about it has survived).

    In some ways, I was only ever truly Christian insofar as I didn't know some of the more obscure details of the religion. (On the other hand, this might very well be true for a majority of Christians; but that's a different debate, between clergy and laity.) Despite the myriad theologies and denominations of Christianity the world over, it is probably safe to say that the one core belief they hold in common is that Jesus Christ is a/the Savior, and that his crucifixion and resurrection in historical time was the vehicle or medium or manifestation of his saving act. This is what I had been taught as a child. Growing up, I elaborated vast and complex explanations for exactly what this belief in a Savior actually meant, especially how it jived with my personal experiential relationship with a Divine that seemed to leave no room and no need for salvation. Eventually, I settled on the mystery of the Trinity, locating that H.G.P.S. of fields and sunlight and oceans and darkness in the theology of the Holy Spirit; the transcendent quality of the Divine, I decided, was God(head) the Father/Creator; and the place of Jesus, the Christ, was that of Reconciler, the bridge between immanence and transcendence, that third unique element of human consciousness that expresses the universal through the particular.

    For all its heady technical terms, for a while this spiritual story hung together quite well for me. But soon its metaphors began to take their toll. The image of Christ stretch between immanence and transcendence, between earth and heaven like some axis mundi, his tendons forever strained with the effort of holding us close as we threatened to spin away out of control, holding up the sky as Godhead teetered almost near enough to obliterate us--in short, the image of Christ on the cross, and the suffering aspect of love--became not only what kept it all together, but also what kept it apart. When before I had not understood the need for a Savior, so intertwined was the transcendent Divine with dancing manifest creation; now I looked to a savior who could not even save himself from the suffering of unconditional, selfless love, but could only submit to it in a kind of blinding, awe-filled sacrifice. I began to pity my god.

    Meanwhile, the thought lurked in the back of my mind that, if God were the fundamental essence of our being and of existence itself, then salvation from a separation from that essence could only ever be a kind of illusion, or rather the waking up from illusion. Yet trying to believe in a Salvation had only led me into an illusion I hadn't held to begin with (perhaps this was why Jesus was so adamant about not leading the innocent children astray, though Catholicism would maintain there was no such thing). It seemed, in the end, that believing in a Savior just wasn't part of my spiritual make-up.

    Re-Membering Theology: Part I

    The Pagan blogosphere is abuzz with Deo's and Mandy's recent announcement that they've outgrown Paganism.

    I had originally begun this post in response to Johnson's and diZerega's book, Beyond the Burning Times: A Pagan and Christian in Dialogue, which has brought my journey through Christianity into Druidry in a new and intriguing light. But over the course of the week, this once short little musing has sprawled and grown, shaped in part by the sudden conversation blooming online about spiritual identities and how we choose them. So as not to miss the boat (or perhaps I should say, in order to catch the wave before it peaks and I get left doggie-paddling my ideas back to shore), I've decided to break this post up into parts and begin posting them now, even though I have not yet finished writing. (Hopefully this will lighten the burden on readers, too, who may not want to read a novel-length dissertation on personal theology!)

    Without further ado (or aoda, or obod), here is:

    Part I: Story & Reflex

    A friend of mine recently mused that theology, unlike philosophy, couldn't ever "get to the real truth," because it always had a few assumptions it simply couldn't question. Of course, philosophical traditions have their biases and assumptions as well, and postmodern philosophy even holds that there is no singular Truth-capital-T to get to in the first place. Still, there is a kind of indistinct line that we cross, from philosophy into theology, from rational ideas about the world to spiritual beliefs about it. Theologies hang together like good stories, if they hang together at all. I think one reason why I'm so fascinated by the study of comparative religions is that each tradition has its own unique internal consistency, each has its particular poetry that weaves through the basic beliefs about how the world is and who we are, and draws those beliefs together into a compelling, inspiring story.

    The more I study and the older I get, the more I wonder if some beliefs we hold almost like a reflex, these ideas that somehow get into our heads and stay there, make a home, make sense. Reincarnation, for instance, was one of those beliefs for me. I can't remember a time before I believed in reincarnation, though I can remember a time when I willfully disbelieved in it because it "wasn't Christian." For some reason, the idea of cycles of birth, death and rebirth made intuitive sense when I looked at the world and all its wide, sweeping patterns. I felt older than I was, connected to something in the past, with the possibility of living on in the world, not in some dull heaven, after I died. Where did I first hear the belief that might explain these inborn sensations? It could've been anywhere. Why did it stick? I couldn't say exactly.

    Growing up Catholic, I held a panentheistic understanding of the Divine, a God that was ever-present and essential to the very fabric of existence, and yet transcended what we were able to experience of the world. (I still remember the Sunday school class when our teacher held up the word "N-O-W-H-E-R-E" written boldly on a piece of paper and pointed out how God was both "no-where" and "now-here"... it left a powerful impression on my six-year-old mind.) I could not imagine anything that was not an aspect of this Divine Creator, and I felt that creation was not something over and done with, but an on-going, interactive, creative process: the Dancer dancing the Dance, to borrow from Yeats. All of these beliefs remain essential to my spiritual life even today, shaping my Druidic understanding of our souls' songs and the swelling, transcending harmony of which we're each a part. And yet it was only when I began to study theology formally in college that I confronted seriously for the first time the "problem of Christ."