Much of what the classical writers had to say about the druids smacks of propaganda that would have been useful to Roman generals seeking support for their military excursions in the Celtic world. After all, if the druids are really so barbaric as to perform massive human sacrifices where dozens of hapless victims are burned alive, wouldn’t it be a service to civilization to put them out of business?

Truth be told, it does appear that druids performed human sacrifice, although evidence is not widespread and so such practices may have been considered an extreme measure, at times of severe famine or imminent invasion. And it seems a bit disingenuous that representatives of a society that entertained itself with gladiators would dismiss the druids as barbaric!

So at the end of the day, we really know very little about the ancient druids, their beliefs, and their rituals. Later folklore and mythology of the Celtic world offers some ideas as to what these ancient philosopher-priests (and -priestesses) would have been like, but these sources date from a time when druidism had already been extinct for centuries. Meanwhile, a colorful assortment of “revivals” of druidism over the last 250 years tell us more about modern spirituality (and romanticism) than about the ancient wisdom they are supposedly reconstructing.

THE PATH OF THE DRUID

The Roman historian Pliny provides us with one of the most memorable of images associated with the druids—the collecting of mistletoe. On the sixth day after the new moon, the druid would climb into an oak tree and cut the mistletoe with a golden sickle, dropping it onto a white cloak held by others on the ground—it was unlucky for the mistletoe to touch the ground. It would then be prepared and used as a healing herb. Meanwhile, the ceremony would culminate with the sacrifice of two white bulls. This unusual ritual has become one of the most popular images of ancient druidry, and I know of at least one organization of modern druids that duly performs a “Mistletoe Rite” every month on the sixth night of the moon. But no one other than Pliny discusses the ceremony, leading some to question whether it had any grounding in reality. Perhaps it was a one-time event that Pliny witnessed, or for that matter, perhaps he (or his source) fabricated the entire affair. The take-away: we never know how others will view us. We never know how accurate our perception of others really is. These are points worth keeping in mind.

THE PATH OF THE DRUID

The ancient druids were said to believe in reincarnation. They were soothsayers and diviners, and were as necessary for the performing of ancient Celtic sacrifices as a Catholic priest is to the consecration of the Eucharistic host. They were knowledgable about the planets, and the natural world, and moral philosophy, and yet they taught by the use of riddles and enigmas. If all of this is beginning to sound like a hodgepodge, well, it is. So little information is available to truly shed light on the earliest Celtic priests. In her book Druid Shaman Priest, scholar Leslie Ellen Jones suggests that succeeding generations have reinvented the ways we think about the druids, in ways that make this mysterious order of magical intellectuals relevant to our modern world.

There’s a lesson in there. It’s not only the druids that we constantly reinvent. We reinvent God (such as the notion of the Divine Feminine—the Goddess). We reinvent our understanding of what it means to be Celtic, or to be spiritual, or to be wise. There’s not necessarily anything wrong with this—but it seems like it would be a good idea to remember that such processes of revising how we understand our world and ourselves are perpetually going on.

THE PATH OF THE DRUID

Beginning in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, antiquarians and amateur archaeologists began to explore theories about the prehistoric stone circles and other ancient monuments in the British Isles. Their pet theory? That such sites were originally the temples of the druids. Today we can easily dismiss the inaccuracies of such speculation—we know that Celtic culture only arrived in the British Isles around 500 BCE, centuries after sites like Stonehenge and Newgrange were constructed. But within the framework of the world-view of three centuries ago, such ideas were electrifying. Western society was moving out of the middle ages and into the modern world; nations were being formed and the soul of the modern, secular, scientific age was being born. In this epochal age, people sought their roots, and a vision of druids constructing or using the megalithic sites seemed as good an entry as any into the dreams of the past.

Are earlier notions of who the druids were mere folly and fantasy? Yes, perhaps. But if we learn one thing from the errors of the past, let it be this: we have no more of a lock on the “truth” about the druids today than the antiquarians of the seventeenth century had in their time. Perhaps our image of the shamanistic nature-loving priests will someday be just as quaint as the druids-as-stone-age-engineers.

THE PATH OF THE DRUID

A legendary meeting of druids is said to have taken place at a London tavern in 1717, attended by delegates of druidic and bardic orders from throughout the Celtic world. Scholars today doubt that such a meeting ever really occurred, but it lives on as a myth in the traditions of several modern druid groups—and what a singularly appropriate myth, seeing the rebirth of druidry not in a stone circle or sacred grove, but at a pub! Some sixty-four years later, a secret society called the Ancient Order of Druids was founded, and this marks the reliable history of druidism reborn (and yes, this order’s organizational meeting took place in a pub). For almost two hundred years, druidism was a blend of fraternal organization and national identity (especially in Wales, where bardic competitions became popular beginning in the nineteenth century). Many of the stereotypes that dog druidism today arose from the fraternal druid orders, which consisted of English gentlemen, wearing white robes and performing ceremonies in London parks as well as more traditionally sacred sites like Glastonbury or Stonehenge. For these druids, the Celtic wisdom-keepers of old were revered not so much for their religious beliefs or intellectual function as for their symbolic value as the cultural forefathers of the land.

THE PATH OF THE DRUID

Just as the eighteenth century druid revival began in a pub, another humorous chapter in the history of the druids dates to 1960s North America. At Carleton College in Minnesota, students were required to attend chapel regularly—unless they were participants in the regular religious ceremonies of a non-Christian religion. So in 1963 a group of clever students organized a “druid grove,” mainly so that they could skip chapel and hang out in the woods. The college, perhaps sensitive to the satirical nature of this assembly, dropped the chapel requirements shortly thereafter—but the druids found that their organization thrived, no longer as a form of ironic protest but as a genuine (if somewhat anarchic) spiritual movement. This organization, known as the Reformed Druids of North America, eventually inspired other, more earnest druid groups, such as the Henge of Keltria or Ár nDraíocht Féin. Meanwhile, across the ocean, British druids were undergoing a similar process of transformation from the secular fraternal groups of old, to younger, hipper, more pagan-identified communities that characterize the new face of druidry for tomorrow.

And so the druids continue their process of reinvention. What will the future hold?

THE PATH OF THE DRUID

Neopagan (“new pagan”) druidry is a creative spiritual force, combining knowledge of myth and folklore with a body of ritual designed to honor the earth and celebrate community. Leaders of neopagan druids speculate on the spirituality of polytheism and pantheism for today, and consider the implications of deep, nature mysticism for today’s urbanized society. Of course, not everyone with an interest in Celtic matters will embrace the new druidism, if for no other reason than the ongoing vitality of the Christian faith, especially in Ireland and North America. In some ways, the druids of old really are lost—druidism has not been an independent and socially influential intellectual or philosophical movement for at least 1500 years. But the attempts at reviving druidism, even as a minority cultural or spiritual movement, speak to the ongoing need for Celtic wisdom—even if its influence is marginal rather than mainstream.

In thinking about druidism for today and tomorrow, bear in mind what the word druid probably means: “oak wisdom.” Whether you see druids as a long-lost priesthood, or a symbol for Celtic shamanism, or a doorway into a nature-based spirituality, keep wisdom in mind as the essential element for the druids. You don’t have to join a druid group, wear a white robe, or collect mistletoe in order to celebrate the spirit of the druids. All that is required is a commitment to wisdom.

THE PATH OF NATURE

Perhaps the single most attractive element of Celtic wisdom and spirituality is its link with nature. Celtic mysticism is the mysticism of the earth. This crosses religious lines—Christians embrace the Celtic love of nature as fully as do neopagans. From the windswept islands of the Hebrides, to the lush verdant fields in Ireland, to the panoramic coastlines of Cornwall, the Celtic world is brimming with the majesty of nature—and this has, from the beginning, shaped the Celtic soul.

The sense of nature as divine or holy is hardly unique to the Celts. Native American wisdom is clear in its respect for Mother Nature and insistence that a balanced life means walking in harmony with the environment. Similar themes may be found throughout primal and shamanistic cultures worldwide. For that matter, the Jewish tradition has a strong history of insisting that the earth be cared for—the commandment to remember the Sabbath is not just a religious directive, but also implies that society needs to refrain from over-working the land.

So the Celtic tradition of venerating nature is not alone. Which is another way of saying that the profound earth mysticism of the Celts is, ultimately, of universal importance.

THE PATH OF NATURE

Why is Celtic nature mysticism so attractive? To begin with, the culture of the West—which traces its roots back to the Roman Empire and its reliance on centralized, urban government—seems to have lost its way regarding nature. The political and business climate throughout Europe, America, and increasingly the rest of the world, regards the environment as a resource, and efforts at conservation or environmental protection are chiefly designed to preserve those resources for long-term usage. Rarely is a sense of nature as divine, as sacred, as valuable in itself, seriously considered. And yet this is the heart of the Celtic understanding of nature. Nowhere is this seen more clearly than in the link between the goddess, the land, and sovereignty. A king does not assume the right to manage the land, or exploit, or utilize its resources. Rather he marries the land, in the persona of the sovereign goddess. Goddess and king are partners—what we know of pre-Roman Celtic law suggests that marriage was often seen as a joining of equals. What would our world look like today, if we could begin to see the environment as our partner, rather than our resource?

THE PATH OF NATURE

The connection between humankind and nature was, to the ancient Celts, an essentially moral relationship. If a king ruled with wisdom and justice, the land responded with abundance and prosperity—cows gave plentiful milk, the land yielded bountiful harvests, and the trees were laden with fruit. But under a king whose reign was unjust or inhospitable, the land withdrew her blessings. Crop failure, drought, and meager harvests were linked not to the arbitrary whims of capricious nature, but rather to the failings of a king (and, by extension, to the people he governed). Mythically speaking, the remedy of such a problem was to find a new king—symbolic of establishing a new, and healthier, relationship with the sacred land. Simply put, when nature is encountered relationally, then nature has a claim on how she is treated. It matters what we do in regard to our environment. This is the heart of Celtic mysticism.

THE PATH OF NATURE

For many people, Celtic nature spirituality is mostly a romanticized kind of thing. We can travel to Tintagel or Glendalough or Iona and be enraptured by the many faces of the goddess—lush or austere, majestic or severe. We can find peace by a holy well or ponder the mysteries in a ring of standing stones. Our imaginations can be beguiled by stories of the fairy folk—never mind the ominous or dangerous edge to the fairy faith; we’ll just enjoy the idea of spirits inhabiting our gardens. It’s all lovely, poetic, and beautiful. But does it really make a difference in our lives? How does Celtic nature spirituality matter?

The question is a subtle pun. For “matter” comes from the same Latin root as does “matrix” (womb) and “mother.” To make something matter—anything, not just nature mysticism—means to imbue it with relationship, meaning, purpose, as symbolized by the most primal and powerful of all relationships, that between mother and child. Catholic Ireland is full of imagery of the madonna and child, but this is far more than just religious artwork. It’s truly an icon of the most profound relationship of all, that between the earth and her children. So how do we find, in our sentimental love for the glorious beauty of nature, a genuine relationship between humanity and the environment? As we answer that question, we will be taking an important step toward making the Celtic tradition come alive in our midst.

THE PATH OF NATURE

Saying that the ancient Celts were pagan is kind of like saying that they were Celts: we’re using a word to describe them that did not originate with them. It was the Greeks who named the Celts, and the Roman Christians who coined the religious meaning for the word pagani, which originally suggested civilian or country-dweller. But the country-dweller sense of the word means that it is not entirely inappropriate—after all, the Celts had no cities until the Romans or Vikings or Normans came along and built them. As a rural people, they naturally found their spiritual compass in the waters of the sea, the whispers of the wind, the fertility of the land. Their faith certainly was not “pagan” in the later pejorative sense of amoral or superstitious, but rather embodied a profound sense of being held in the embrace of the wild earth, her raging seas, and her abundant life. The pre-Christian Celts were likely animistic—regarding everything as imbued with spiritual presence. This survived after the arrival of Christianity, where heaven and the presence of God were seen not as removed from the natural world, but intimately interwoven within it. Nature was seen not just as an image of beauty—she truly embodied Divine love and grace.

THE PATH OF NATURE

The pagan spirituality of the Celts has been a significant inspiration to the neopagan (“new pagan”) movement that began in England in the mid-twentieth century and has since spread throughout the English-speaking world, as well as Europe and beyond. Although much of the modern pagan movement is undermined by an uncritical overemphasis on magic and psychic phenomena, the heart of the new paganism reflects a sincere effort to re-sacralize nature, to awaken the sleeping goddess of the land and restore a sense of humanity as living in relationship with her. Since this is such an integral, if not always conscious, part of the Celtic world, neopagans have embraced many elements of Celtic wisdom, from the myths, to the gods and goddesses, to Gaelic folk holidays and ceremonial customs. Some modern pagans carefully seek to integrate Celtic culture into their spirituality in respectful and considerate ways; others simply treat the Celtic tradition as a consumable resource (ironic, given how its greatest strength may be in the way it can teach us alternatives to the consumer lifestyle).

THE PATH OF NATURE

The great achievement of Christianity in the Celtic world came not from how it triumphed over the pagan spirituality that existed prior to its arrival, but—on the contrary—how it more or less seamlessly integrated the earth-honoring traditions of the pagan Celts into its singular vision of faith. Celtic Christianity is nature Christianity. Nowhere is this more clearly set forth than in the Lorica of Saint Patrick, a poem-prayer that invokes Divine protection:

I bind unto myself today

The virtues of the star-lit heaven,

The glorious sun’s life-giving ray,

The whiteness of the moon at even,

The flashing of the lightning free,

The whirling wind’s tempestuous shocks,

The stable earth, the deep salt sea

Around the old eternal rocks.

(Translated by Cecil F. H. Alexander)

The entire poem is primarily about protection in Christ (as befits a Christian poem). But as the above stanza clearly shows, the grace of Celtic Christianity is mediated as fully through nature as through church or word or sacrament.

THE PATH OF NATURE

In the Carmina Gadelica, an anthology of Scottish folk prayers and poems collected in the late-nineteenth century, we see how Celtic Christianity carried its nature-positive spirituality into the modern world. The ordinary Christian folk of Gaelic-speaking Scotland offered prayers and the poetry of praise at every moment of the day, and in every setting—from rising out of bed, to stoking the fire, to milking the cow, to traveling or fishing or spinning thread. “Nature” in this rich spiritual tradition means more than just the environment. Arising out of the essential truth that all things are part of nature—including humanity and the culture of the world we’ve created—the Carmina Gadelica sings of the natural presence of God and Mary and all the saints (with the occasional pagan god or goddess thrown in) throughout the daily rhythm of life. There is no separation between nature and grace, or between nature and humanity—or between nature and the divine. All is interwoven. And that tapestry is held together in the language of devotion and praise.

THE PATH OF NATURE

Relating to nature as a Sacred Other, not as an exploitable resource … allowing nature to function as a means of grace in our lives … recognizing that nature means more than just the unspoiled wilderness, but in a deeper and more real sense encompasses all aspects of the material world—these are but a few of the treasures revealed to us by the simple yet richly-textured tradition of Celtic nature mysticism. And as we conclude this path within the Celtic tradition, bear this in mind: just as you are not separate from God, or not separate from nature, or not separate from grace, so too are you not separate from the rich tradition of Celtic wisdom. Whether you are a Celt by ancestry or by the stirrings of your heart, if you embrace the Celtic tradition, you are part of it. Which means that the choices you make, the poems you write, the decisions you come to in your life to honor the natural world, are all part of the ongoing symphony of Celtic mysticism. Celtic spirituality is not a museum installation; it is a living path of insight and illumination. Consider how you can honor the goddess of the land and allow the grace of nature to flow in your life. Then you will become a living conduit of the Celtic way.

THE PATH OF THE BARD

The tale is told that long ago, with the transition from oral tradition to the preservation of lore in medieval manuscripts, somehow the great Irish epic The Tain (the Cattle-Raid of Cooley) had been lost. Sadly, no one survived who knew the tale. Like a language that had died, the rich stories and myths surrounding the tale of the war in Ulster had disappeared, seemingly forever.

But not so fast. Around the year 600 CE, a great Irish bard named Senchán Torpéist attempted to gather the missing strands of the story together, so that it might be remembered and handed down to future generations. He consulted with various bards and poets and scribes, all of whom knew part of the story, none of whom knew the entire narrative. When it seemed futile and he was on the verge of giving up, the bard received a vision. In it he was visited by Fergus mac Róich, one of the great mythic kings and heroes of Ulster, and a tutor to the young hero, Cúchulainn. In the vision, Fergus carefully recounted every detail of The Tain to Senchán Torpéist, and so the story was saved. The bard saw to it that it was written down, and so the epic survives to this very day.

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