Most peoples create their gods according to their own mortal needs, ideals and aspirations, and in the Tuatha may be glimpsed something of the manner in which La Tène Celts in Ireland may have pictured the ideal life. Celtic society and particularly its social obligations, such as delight in hospitality, are here transferred to the idealized world of the supernatural. The superior powers of the Tuatha were perhaps thought to have been available to their devotees.[1]
In particular, it was the last sentence that really struck me. I would endeavor to guess that most Pagans have a certain deity, or perhaps even a couple of deities, with whom they intimately associate. Many people, in turn, don the role as a devotee or a priest/ess of those gods with whom they have been able to establish a personal relationship. While this is all well and good, the above passage got me thinking: What does it really mean to be a devotee of a deity?
When I think of devotion, my mind automatically flutters back to my Roman Catholic upbringing. I envision stooped old men and aged Polish women reverently making their ways into a silent church on a weekday morning. I picture Catholic saints, like Saint Francis of Assisi, giving up everything in honor of their god. I recall the nuns who lived in the convent across from my high school, who, despite being battered by time, gave up their final energies so as to express their love of Christ. In short, when I think of devotion, I think of sacrifice.
Now, I do believe that sacrifice plays a large role in the act of devotion. To insinuate a devotional act with a deity, there must be some form of sacrifice, some sort of offering. I hardly believe that the gods just sit around all day, eagerly waiting for someone to call on them. I mean, they are not Batman, ready to come as soon as you flash a signal of distress. Rather, the gods have their own agendas; they have their own plans and their own work to get done. To begin an act of devotion to a god, then, is to ask that deity to take time from his/her schedule in order to listen to you. Thus it makes sense that some form of sacrifice should be made. After all, you would not expect a repairman to waltz into your home every time something went awry, fix the problem, and then trod along his merry little way without some form of compensation. It is the same with the gods. Sacrifice can be thought of as a form of ‘currency’; it is the means by which requests and their level of fulfillment are negotiated. And, beyond this, sacrifices are a good display of hospitality. They humbly invite the gods and spirits, whereas to simply expect them to show up at your call is quite arrogant. Of course, being a Gaelic Recon, I am quite adamant of this point: One should always show good hospitality to the gods and spirits, for if hospitality is shown one way, it is often reciprocated.
So, yes, I do think that sacrifice is a large part of devotion to deities. However, Chadwick’s passage made me wonder: How much sacrifice is too much? To be a devotee of a god is to establish a personal relationship with the deity. A healthy relationship works in two directions, wherein each partner is responsible to contribute to the wellbeing of the relationship. I don’t know about you, but in practice I have found this idea a bit hard to digest. My acts of devotion often include little more than sacrifice. I give daily offerings to my gods, offerings of food, flowers, poetry, and praise. However, I very seldom ask for anything in return, at least not wholeheartedly. I suppose that part of this is because of my Roman Catholic background: even if I did ask Yahweh/Jesus for something, I never truly thought that my petition would have much effect, as Roman Catholicism propagated the belief in an ultimate divine plan. So even if I prayed for something, what good would it have done if there was a plan already set in motion? Inundated with this notion, I spent my Christian life never truly believing that my requests could make a difference. However, in my journey through Paganism, I have come to believe that my gods, while they certainly have plans and ambitions, do not necessarily have a strict, all-encompassing agenda. (I think that the big difference in theological thought here is that, unlike monotheists, I, as a polytheist, do not believe that my gods are omnipotent.) Therefore, I have little reason to suppose that my requests will not at least be considered. Still, I have been bred into my old trappings, and they are hard to weasel out of.
You are probably thinking, “What is so wrong about flooding the gods with praise and honors without asking for anything in return? I mean, it kind of sounds like paradise, right: being constantly told that you are wonderful and awesome and amazing and, on top of that, you are offered amazing food?” Well, yes, it does all sound great on paper, but think about the reality of it. These beings have things to get done, and while I am sure that they may enjoy the occasional flattery, to be constantly haggled with compliments would not only get tiresome, it would also get in the way. It would be kind of like this:
As you can see, after awhile all of the incessant attention without constructive reason for it would get very frustrating.
This is really what I found at the heart of Chadwick’s assertion, “The superior powers of the Tuatha were perhaps thought to have been available to their devotees”: The gods not only want things from us, like offerings and hospitality, they also want to give us things. As with any relationship, the gods get tired of one-sidedness. (Just think of what it would be like to be in a relationship with a partner who insists on doing everything and will not even let you get off the couch so that you can placate your ever-present boredom. It would be awful.) Like I keep saying, the gods have agendas. To become a devotee, or even just to show occasional devotion, to the deity, then, is to become part of this agenda, if only a marginal part. In this understanding, the sacrifices of the devotee and the reciprocated gifts from the god are not the whole of the relationship. Rather, they are but the avenues of communication: The offerings to the deity demonstrate the devotee’s hospitality and pride; likewise, the gifts given to the devotee by the god equip the devotee so as to assure him/her a proper place in the god’s plan. Both of these, the offerings and the gifts, affirm the relationship. The basis of this relationship, then, is the mutual contract between the god and the devotee; it is the agreement made between the two parties.
To view devotion in terms of the underlying contract rather than in terms of sacrifice brings a whole new depth to the experience. The contract made between the devotee and the deity ultimately entails both parties sharing parts of their separate agendas. Thus, both parties are, at least for a time, working together so as to produce a common goal. Written like this, it all sounds kind of colorless, but in reality, this type of contractual relationship underlies all of the meaningful relationships in our lives, not least of which is marriage. In marriage, a couple creates a contract, the goal of which is the creation and the maintenance of a family unit, which may or may not include more people than the married couple. In seeking to fulfill this contract, the couple spend their lives working together, coming to intimately know and love each other. So, while a ‘contractual agreement’ may sound cold on the surface, it really can be a warm and beautiful thing.
I am very grateful for Chadwick’s use of language. I feel that I have spent far too much time looking at the material manifestations of my devotion and not enough time exploring the contract which may underlie it. Who knew so much insight could be wrapped up into one small passage? Just another reason why I love studying the Celts.
Beannachtaí ortsa agus ar do chuidse
Bryce
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[1] Chadwick, Nora. The Celts. London: Pelican, 1977. Page 180.
