Survivals can only really be identified or understood in a broader context. We have to be able to look at the modern evidence, or the evidence that’s survived in the historical record, and trace things back as far as we can – to an explicitly pre-Christian point, or to a point at which the evidence would suggest that’s where things will end up. Starting with the archaeology or comparative sources – from other Celtic cultures, or the Indo-Europeans in general – and working our way through to the more recent folklore, then, we can see that a number of different elements of pre-Christian belief and practice have survived. We know the names of more than a few gods, at the very least, and the way these gods are referred to in the various sources that have survived can tell us a lot about them. Their stories and their very names can tell us something about their character, even if the minutiae of the details may have to be taken with a pinch of salt here and there (due to Christian influences and agendas). The references to them in the genealogies and on ogam inscriptions tell us that they were divine ancestors to certain peoples, and their associations with specific population groups and specific places tells us that they are part of the landscape, and that they looked after those who lived there and venerated them.
By looking at the recorded customs and lore, as much as the survivals in practice, we can identify important ritual elements that have remained a constant throughout the centuries. These elements are often underpinned by cosmological beliefs (as we saw in the case of ritual sacrifice, for example), even if that’s not something that’s immediately obvious; it’s with Comparative Studies that we can begin to appreciate their meaning.
We see the world is made up of land, sea, and sky, and each of these realms (like the rest of the world) are likely to have been born from an initial spark of creation, which started with some sort of action between fire and water. Both of these – fire and water – have a significant role in ritual, as purificatory as much as they may be protective forces. They are central elements of ritual and practice, and (speaking of which) the centre has a huge part to play in ritual and ceremony, too. To the pre-Christian Irish, these centres were often defined by sacred tress (bile) or simple posts, stones (representing the omphalos, perhaps), or the hearth itself.
It has to be remembered that the centre can only truly be defined when there are boundaries to create an outer limit, which can then help define the form and nature of the inner space, as well as the centre itself. These boundaries are therefore also a hugely significant feature in ritual practice, as we can see from the archaeological evidence of so-called ‘boundary offerings’ that are so often found in bogs and other natural territorial boundaries. These offerings helped maintain the integrity of not just the borders themselves, but the territory as a whole, and we might think of the protective charms that are so often hung above the threshold or placed over the hearth as serving a similar sort of function. Together, the centre and the boundaries form liminal places – in-between spaces – that bring us close to the otherworld, and to the gods themselves. Rituals often seek out these liminal places, or times, for that reason, as we see in the example of the ritual invitation that’s made to Brigit every Imbolc, where a member of the household goes to the threshold of the house with an icon that represents Brigit herself. A ritualised invitation is then made, letting her know that the household is ready to welcome her as she goes from house to house, bestowing her blessings upon everyone.
The evidence suggests that the similarities between domestic spaces and sacred spaces were a conscious choice in the Iron Age. This, in turn, suggests that there wasn’t much of a distinction between ‘ritual’ and ‘mundane’ practice, or ‘religious’ and ‘secular’ space, although that’s not to say that there was no distinction at all (otherwise there wouldn’t be any sacred spaces). Where domestic space seems to have been the focus of personal, familiar ritual, however, the sacred spaces were likely the focus of communal, political ritual (as much as they were religious).
All of this – and so much more – helps inform how we approach our own religious practices as Gaelic Polytheists. Our approach to ritual allows for a wide range of practices, so where some people might prefer to keep things fairly simple or informal, that’s just fine. The same goes for those who might prefer more formal, perhaps even theatrical ceremonies. Long and involved or short and sweet, so long as what we’re doing
Eòlas 