Bede and Anglo-Saxon Paganism

As I said previously, the 8th-century Christian monk known as the Venerable Bede mentions pagan practices in his writings, although he is usually careful not to give too many details, not wanting his works to serve as a manual for anyone who wished to return to the pre-Christian modes of religious observance. Presumably, if some lapsed Christians were to use his writings to recreate the only-recently extirpated pagan practices of idolatry and thereby damned their eternal souls to hell, Bede would have felt to some degree responsible for their fate. Thus, he keeps his discussion of such practices rather generalized. On occasion, however, he does provide some tantalizing details. In a 1985 article in the academic journal Parergon entitled “Bede and Anglo-Saxon Paganism,” Macquarie University archaeologist Audrey L. Meaney provides a fresh translation of a passage in which Bede discusses the Anglo-Saxon pagans’ lunisolar calendar and some associated seasonal festivals. It is important to keep in mind, she says, that Bede was writing “within living memory of the demise of paganism” in Northumbria (modern-day northern England and southeast Scotland). This suggests to her mind that if Bede distorted the picture of pagan practices, there would have been people around to call him on it. Instead, Bede has a reputation for scrupulous honesty.

In the passage, taken from his De Temporum Ratione (“The Reckoning of Time”), Bede starts off by explaining that the pagans’ names for their months usually end with the term monath, derived from their word for the moon—a practice also followed by the Greeks and the Hebrews. The year began, he says, on December 25th—the eighth day before the Calends of January in the Julian calendar—on which the pagans held a festival called the Night of the Mothers (Modranect). Meaney connects this with the chthonic Triple Goddess figure common in both Celtic and Germanic traditions. Evidence remains of the veneration of such “Matronae” throughout the Roman Empire, including Britain. This is precisely the sort of pagan event that the Christians sought to co-opt by placing their most celebratory holiday, Christmas, on December 25th, in contravention of the clues as to the dating of the birth of the Christ child in the gospels. The month that followed, corresponding roughly to January, was called Giuli, according to Bede, from which descends our word Yule. The month takes its name, he says, “from the change of the sun in lengthening the day,” meaning the Winter Solstice; i.e., this month was thought of as the post-Winter Solstice month. This was followed by Solmonath, a term which Bede translates as “the month of cakes,” the Anglo-Saxon version of February. Despite the lack of evidence for a word sol in Old English referring to cakes, Meaney is willing to give Bede the benefit of the doubt. She recalls the description in a much later medieval text of a ceremony to mark the plowing of the year’s first furrow during this season. As part of the ritual, a flat cake was baked using various types of grain, milk, and holy water. The cake was then buried under the first furrow to ensure a prosperous harvest. She speculates that such a ceremony may have originated in the pagan culture Bede was describing. If so, it was likely connected with Imbolc rituals.

March and April among the Anglo-Saxons were known as Hrethmonath and Eosturmonath, respectively. Bede claims that these months were named in honor of the pagan goddesses Hretha and Eostre, though such deities are attested nowhere else in the extant literature. However, as Meaney points out, there are similar names for February or March in medieval German, such as Retmonat. She also notes that scholars have connected hreth with similar words in Old English meaning “swift, alert, or prompt,” “glory, fame, or triumph,” and “fierce, cruel, or rough” and feels that these would be appropriate characteristics for a goddess presiding over this stormy time of year. However, since a female weather deity would be unusual for either Celtic or Germanic mythology, she suggests that hreth may have resulted from a linguistic inversion of the word eorthe, female earth deities being much more common. She posits some connection, then, between Hretha and the Germanic fertility goddess Nerthus. As for Eostre, Bede notes that, like Christmas, the Christian celebration of the self-sacrifice of the Christ, elsewhere named for Passover (a Christianized Jewish holiday), was among the Anglo-Saxon peoples referred to as Easter, co-opting the pre-existing pagan spring fertility festival. Or as Bede puts it, the month “formerly had its name from their goddess who was called Eostre, and for whom they celebrated a feast in it. From whose name now they name the paschal time, calling a festival of new solemnity with the accustomed name of a former observance.” In Old High German, the festival was called Ostara, the name we have chosen to use, and modern German Christians celebrate Ostern or Osterfest as English speakers celebrate Easter. Since the Old High German word ôstar, like the Old Norse word austr, indicated “movement toward the rising sun,” scholars have postulated that Eostre was a goddess of the dawn, like Aurora and Eos in Greco-Roman mythology. As previously mentioned, other scholars, such as Ronald Hutton, remain unconvinced. Meaney maintains, though, that Bede was unlikely to invent these two goddesses, Hretha and Eostre, out of whole cloth, since he is here comparing paganism negatively to Christianity. If his purpose in getting so uncharacteristically specific was to denigrate paganism, she contends, it would have been more effective for him to focus on the well-known pagan gods for whom days of the week had been named (Odin, Thor, Frey) rather than picking (or making up) some obscure, minor goddesses. His failure to do so she takes as a paradoxical “indication of its veracity.” However, she also suggests that Bede may have seen less danger in speaking of these obscure goddesses if their worship had been in decline for some time—wayward apostates would be unlikely to resume worshiping them in that case, and Bede wouldn’t have to worry about contributing to such sinners’ damnation.

The Anglo-Saxons referred to May by the quirky name Thrimilchi (“Tri-Milky”). Bede says it “was so named because in it the herds were milked three times a day; for such was once the productiveness of Britain or Germany, from where the English nation invaded Britain.” It sounds a bit like Bede longed for those good old days when everything was better, not like the less productive present day when society’s going to hell in a handbasket. I guess some things never change. June and July were both called Litha, essentially being thought of as the pre-Summer Solstice month and the post-Summer Solstice month. According to Bede, the word Litha means pleasant or navigable, in the sense that “in each of those months, the gentleness of the winds is pleasant, and [the Anglo-Saxons] are accustomed to navigate the calm seas.” Since the lunar calendar does not keep pace with the solar year, a thirteenth month was periodically inserted. This was also called Litha and placed in the summer. Such years were, as a result, called Thrilithi (“Three-Litha”) years and served as their version of leap years. August the Anglo-Saxons named Weodmonath (“Weed-Month”), Bede says, “because then [weeds] flourish very greatly.” September corresponded to Halegmonath (“Holy Month”), “the month of sacred observances” related to the harvest.

October was known as Winterfilleth (“Winter Full Moon”). According to Bede, the Anglo-Saxons considered their year to be divided into two main periods, the waxing half (winter) and the waning half (summer). The wintry half of the year was said to start with the full moon of this month, hence the name. Bede does not indicate whether the pagans held any sort of festival on this date. November was called Blotmonath, “the month of sacrifices, because in it they dedicated the herds which were to be killed to their gods.” Meaney suggests, “it was the custom to kill off superfluous stock at this time, in order not to have to feed over the winter anything surplus to the next year’s breeding requirements.” Thus, a practical matter of animal husbandry was imbued with a ritualistic dimension by dedicating the slaughtered animals to the gods. These sacrificial rituals were called Blōt, a term still used by many Neo-Pagan groups such as Ásatrú. Also, as mentioned in my post on Samhain, historian Ronald Hutton has pointed out that this was the ideal time for the year’s most important tribal assemblies: the harvest had been completed, the livestock brought in from the pastures, and the normal seasons for warfare and trading closed. Thus, royalty, warriors, and peasants alike had some extra time on their hands—perfect for taking care of tribal business before the onset of winter. Like June and July, December shared its name, Giuli, with January, due to being primarily thought of as the pre-Winter Solstice month. As noted above, we still refer to this time of year as Yule.

Meaney points out that “Bede does not indicate at what stage of the moon the months are supposed to begin and end, but it would be logical to assume that the new month began with the appearance of the new moon. But if this were so, then winter must have been supposed to begin halfway through the month Winterfilleth, and end halfway through Eosturmonath.” Given this, it seems just as likely that the months may have begun with the full moon. The rest of Meaney’s article is given over to a description of the archeological site at Yeavering in Northumberland, located not too far from where Bede spent his time.

Yule Intro

The celebration of the Winter Solstice, the border between autumn and winter, is known by many Pagans as Yule, a name derived from a Scandinavian seasonal festival that was imported into the British Isles by Vikings in the 11th century. According to the 13th-century Icelandic author Snorri Sturluson, Yule had been celebrated at least as long as an October “Winter Nights” festival that is described in the earliest Scandinavian literature, placing its origins firmly in prehistory. Though little evidence has survived, it seems clear that British pagans had been celebrating the winter solstice for at least half a millennium before the Vikings came. In the 5th century, St. Patrick excoriated Irish pagans who venerated the sun and would have celebrated the solstices and equinoxes. Anglo-Saxon and Welsh sources from before the 11th century also refer to a “midwinter” festival held at this time of year—for them the solstice was considered the midpoint of winter, and it is still celebrated as such throughout Great Britain. However, in America, due to climatic differences, the Winter Solstice marks the beginning of the season. In his 1996 book The Stations of the Sun, historian Ronald Hutton notes that we know little of how ancient British pagans celebrated the season, but we can be sure of “the existence of a major pre-Christian festival marking the opening of the new year, at the moment at which the sun had reached the winter solstice and its strength was being renewed. There is testimony to this in the Anglo-Saxon, the Viking, and the Welsh components of the medieval British heritage” (p.8).

Since the Winter Solstice is the longest night of the year (and consequently the shortest day), it seems appropriate that the theme of Yule celebrations should be “Darkness.” What does darkness mean to us? From prehistoric times, human beings have associated darkness with fear and danger, but it also provides respite—the perfect conditions for introspection, rest, and sleep. There is also a special beauty to lights in the dark; colors become more vivid and our attention more focused. The universe itself is predominantly darkness, punctuated by points of sparkling light and wisps of color. The glowing sun and the Earth, that pale blue dot, spiral through the dark unafraid. We can do likewise: hunker down, snuggle up, and take some time to contemplate the darkness within us. In some ways, the Winter Solstice feels like a low point; the light is at its weakest and the world seems dull and gray, the darkness can feel relentless and overwhelming. But we should be mindful that it is the shadows that are now in retreat, for we are crossing over into the waxing half of the year.

Yule Ritual

Celebration for Yule, the Winter Solstice

Opening Poem

Suggested reading: “Air and Water in Darkness” by Juan Ramón Jiménez

The Winter Solstice and the Meaning of Yule

Twice a year, the Earth reaches the balance point between day and night. On those days, the equinoxes, we celebrate the life-sustaining cycles of light and dark and reflect on the turning wheel of life and death. When the day and the night are of equal length, we are reminded of the equality of all living things—for they are all aspects of Gaea, our living world. We celebrate with flame, whether the flicker of candlelight or the roar of a bonfire, to remind us of the energy of the sun and the creative spark of the cosmos beyond.

Twice a year, too, the Earth transitions from lightness into darkness and then darkness into light. On these days, the solstices, we pause again, to celebrate the lesson the Earth teaches us: that all things are temporary and that change is inevitable. The winter solstice comes at a time of cold and darkness, of shortening days and lengthening nights.

At Yule, our celebration of the winter solstice, we are reminded that no matter how dark it gets, the light always returns. The night will always end and a new day will always begin. Life is often a struggle; we grasp and slip, fight and fail, win then lose. But hope, like the light, is always present, if we have the presence of mind to find it.

We are at the year’s closing; as the wheel turns around us, the days will now grow longer and longer until we are once again spiraling beneath the late sun at Litha, the celebration of the summer solstice. Even though we look to the light with hope and anticipation, we must remember that we need winter’s long dark nights. They are the time for us to turn inward, to reflect, and to renew ourselves so that we might be capable of fulfilling our role in this world in the year to come.

Today is the beginning of the waxing half of the year; from now until the summer solstice the day will lengthen and night will shorten. Today marks the re-birth of light into our world, with the promise that winter will come to an end. Now we shed our fears and worries and celebrate all that is and all that will be, the ideas and projects we have brought to fruition, the joys and sorrows that have grown from the seeds we planted.

As we walk the spiral, let us think about what it is we want to celebrate about this year. What do we hope to bring into our lives next year? What do we hope to let go of? What attitudes and actions did not serve us in the last year? Where do we need to forgive ourselves and others to make peace with past hurts? In the darkness of winter, what do we want to learn, to create, to nurture? This is the dream of Yule, to honor all that we have made manifest in our lives, and to begin again in joy and peace.

Walking the Spiral

In the greatest darkness   The light is reborn
Out of winter’s cold   The light is reborn
From our deepest fears   The light is reborn
When we most despair   The light is reborn
When all seems lost   The light is reborn
When the earth lies waste   The light is reborn
When animals hide   The light is reborn
When the leaves are gone   The light is reborn
When the river is frozen   The light is reborn
When the ground is hard   The light is reborn
Shadows are fleeing   The light is reborn
Light is returning   The light is reborn
Warmth will come again   The light is reborn
Summer will be here once more   The light is reborn
Plants will grow again   The light is reborn
Animals will be seen once more   The light is reborn
Green will come again   The light is reborn
Life will continue   The light is reborn

(Repeat until all have completed the spiral walk.)

Candle Lighting

I light this candle in the name of the Ancestors, the Guardians, and all the holy ones who walk the world. May its light guide all the kindly spirits to bless this place.

I light this candle in the name of learning. May its flame remind us to look towards the unknown with curiosity and an open mind.

I light this candle in the name of creativity. May its glow inspire us and give us the confidence to share our true selves with the world.

I light this candle in the name of friendship. May its light continue to bring us together, so that we might offer each other joy, comfort, and company.

I light this candle in the name of the sun. May its flame warm our winter nights and remind us of the ever-returning summer.

I light this candle in the name of the Earth. May it illuminate our path through the coming year and remind us to walk with peace and compassion for all Gaea’s children.

Closing Poem

Suggested reading: “Burning the Old Year” by Naomi Shihab Nye

Pagan Paths

Since starting this blog, I’ve discovered that what I call “Scientific Paganism” is akin to other spiritual paths classed under the umbrella term “non-theistic paganism,” such as Naturalistic Paganism (or Pagan Naturalism) and Atheopaganism. These are Earth-based spiritualities that eschew belief (or “faith”) in supernatural entities or occult powers that defy the generally accepted laws of physics while still finding value in ritual behavior and deep, purposeful exploration of the human spirit. The same impulses that lead people to monotheist or polytheist religions are also present in those who have rejected the very idea of the “supernatural,” i.e., beings or forces that somehow exist outside, above, or beyond the natural world or the cosmos surrounding it.

My view is that, even if cosmic-level sentient entities were proved to exist, they would still be part of the natural order of the universe, and science would expand its horizons to accommodate them. This process has already occurred, as when Albert Einstein was freaked out by the notion of “spooky action at a distance,” only for it to go on to become the respectable scientific principle of quantum entanglement. There are many things about the universe that we do not yet understand and much more to be discovered. But there’s no need to carve out a privileged space that’s exempt from rationality where “and then a miracle happened” is an acceptable explanation. So in religion, as in science, the “supernatural” is, in fact, superfluous.

Rather than wasting time arguing with intractable “true believers,” non-theistic pagans prefer to take a skeptical attitude toward all unsupportable assertions and a practical approach to ritual. They value creativity over adherence to dogma. They generally celebrate or revere the Earth itself, the existence of which does not need to be debated. In this way, they get to the heart of religion and the psychological benefits it confers without building around it an elaborate house of cards that must be defended at all costs. Whatever terms such Neo-Pagans are most comfortable describing themselves with, they share a similar approach to honoring that which gives us life and the wondrous cosmos that we all inhabit.