Tag Archives: Historical figures

On Terminology

Recently, there has been a bit of a race war (pre-Blumenbach usage of “race”) on Twitter/Tumblr/etc. regarding those Gods worshipped by the ancient peoples of Greece. There is a lot going on there and I’m not about to wade into the morass of who and what rightly constitutes “Hellenic” religion.

Kaye Boesme wrote a very heartfelt position piece on her Kallisti blog that takes strong positions- especially against allowing theological and ethical arguments to fall into petty abusiveness.

In addition of her condemnation of abuse for the sake of the abuser’s emotional satisfaction, she very rightly calls out the impact this has on the broader polytheistic population. Such persons often have no close community and are left with only online discussions as guidance for their own praxis and piety.

I’m publicly on-record as pushing for bringing polytheists closer together regardless of their tradition. I want to be clear that I’m not pushing for erasure or universalization. I simply recognize that our peoples have more common cause and shared worldview with each other than with monotheists and atheists. There is plenty of time for our traditions to move farther apart again once they have strength and stability.

I recognize that this is a privileged position. My polytheism, while recondite due to its apparent secularization, is arguably one of the most universal (if under-practiced) in the United States. I can see representations of my Gods all around me- not hidden away, but in positions of honor and importance.

Yet, my faith is trapped in a “catch-22”. Were my faith to gain wider recognition, those statues and bas-reliefs would, under our laws, be removed. The assumed “metaphorical” purpose of those idols and icons protects them, allowing the Gods of my nation to reach out and influence us even today. At the same time though, that “allegorical” labeling prevents many from acknowledging and offering cultus to Them as the Holy Powers They are.

However, specific to the terminology argument at hand, I have always shied away from the term “Hellenic” (and certainly “Hellenismos”) to describe my faith.

Why? Let’s consider some important aspects:

Syncretism

My faith is not directly rooted in a single, unbroken tradition. While a great many indigenous polytheistic faiths practice syncretism to varying degrees, here in the U.S.A., none of the Old World faiths are indigenous.

Furthermore, because of our physical residence in the New World, we owe respect and cultus to the spirits and Powers of this land as well. As such, while our dealings with Them are not part of an indigenous religious tradition, we are technically syncretizing our practices by incorporating Their worship- even in our bastardized and imperfect form.

Similarly, our worship of Old World Powers is not and cannot be identical to the traditions of ancient faiths. This is in part due to lost information, in part due to cultural and linguistic disconnect, and in other ways by necessity (see above).

Thus, while researching ancient knowledge of The Gods is important to the modern practice of my faith, it cannot be a direct template. Historical information provides points for triangulation and self-correction, but not a point-by-point liturgy or dogma.

American

I am neither Greek nor Roman. I am not even Celtic, Slavic, or Germanic, though my ancestors generally are. I am an American, both in the broad, hemispherical sense and in the narrower sense commonly used in the United States.

My faith is directly born of the syncretic nature of American culture.

Neo-Classical

The early generations of my nascent nation took inspiration from the ancient cultures of Greece and Rome. America’s founders looked to Athenian democracy and the Roman Republic for guidance on governance and the pitfalls thereof. The Enlightenment philosophies that justified the American Revolution (and Mexico’s) were built on attempts to reconcile Classical philosophy with the differing worldviews of Renaissance and Colonial Europeans.

Throughout Europe (and later the Americas), people began to draw inspiration from the Greek and Roman Gods and Their mythologies. These Gods, adopted first as allegorical icons, began to be covertly recognized as Themselves, however imperfectly scholars of the time understood the differences between Them.

Through Them, the illusion of “The One, True God” dissolved like cheap cloth left too long in the sun. In New England, once the epicenter of monotheistic religious extremism in the New World, an American of African descent openly praised without irony the Goddess Columbia. While monotheists and atheists might argue this was purely poetic, Wheatley’s words clearly denote Columbia- not Jesus or Yah, as the heavenly Power protecting our land.

One century scarce perform’d its destined round,
When Gallic powers Columbia’s fury found;
And so may you, whoever dares disgrace
The land of freedom’s heaven-defended race!
Fix’d are the eyes of nations on the scales,
For in their hopes Columbia’s arm prevails.

Following Independence, the peoples of our nation widely embraced many forms of Classical art and architecture. This trend started in Enlightenment Europe, but here our leaders sought to draw a direct visual connection between the new American Republic and the old Roman Republic. As a result, many of our most important government buildings, especially capitals, are built in this “Federal” or “American Neoclassical” style.

It is important to note, therefore, that my faith is new (in historical terms). It is a syncretic revival of Classical faiths interpreted through the numerous philosophical lenses that shaped (and continue to shape) my nation and the global civilization it helped to bring about.

Tradition

At the same time, my faith has direct person-to-person heritage going back hundreds of years. Our peoples’ relationship with these Gods in this form (through masks both ancient and more recent) is no longer a New Religious Movement (NRM).

Rather, it is a set of mythologies, assumptions (worldview), and practices (praxis) that are widespread and so commonplace as to be largely unremarkable to the average American. Yet, as with other faiths, mine is threatened by the twin Adversaries manifest in monotheist hegemonic oppression and in atheist/postmodernist erasure of meaning.

My goal is to restore health and piety to this extant tradition by exploring both the new masks worn by my Gods as well as ancient understandings of these Holy Powers. At the same time, I hope to restore right relation between my peoples and the sacred Powers and places of this new land we inhabit far from the homes of our ancestors.

So there you have it- my faith is the Syncretic American Neo-Classical Tradition.

-In Deos Confidimus

Daniel on the Hill – An Allegorical Tale

Centuries ago, in a land long since drowned, a man stepped out of a tavern and closed the door.  His heart was heavy with fear and anger and worry.  The distant hooting of an owl echoed through the trees as he stepped into the night.  Smoking his clay pipe, the man walked home with apprehension, stopping near the top of a hill to look down at his farm.

“What troubles you, Daniel,” inquired a woman’s voice.

Looking around, the man saw a well-dressed woman sitting on a tree stump.  He could not believe that he had been so lost in his thoughts that he had missed her sitting there holding a torch, especially a torch that shone so brightly and steadily-for it did not gutter and flicker in the wind.

“I am worried that the tax men will take my farm,” he answered, not knowing why he shared this burden with a strange woman that he did not recognize.  She was handsome, but in the sturdy way of the Yankee women who labored in the snow alongside their husbands.  He appreciated her strong beauty, but knew that it was not feminine wiles that moved his tongue.

“Yes, they are going to take your farm.  I’m sorry.”  The strange woman looked genuinely sad.  “It was necessary.”

“What do you mean, necessary?  Are you the one taking my farm?”

“Directly?  No.  But you offered it to me when you took up my cause, and now it is needful that it be sacrificed.”

“To you?  I never… Who ARE you?”

“You do not recognize me?”  The woman looked genuinely hurt.  Her eyes widened, and in the torchlight shone silver, like mirrors.  The man felt his attention pulled into those vast, shining eyes.

He stood, again, in a field that he had stood in many years ago.  The sun beat down upon his woolen tunic, smoke and stench filled his nose.  Ragged militiamen crowded around him, seeking reassurance, courage, leadership from the poor farmer.  He himself looked about for guidance.  A sea of carmine marched inexorably closer- the finest and most feared soldiers in the world advanced across the field, bearing death.  Horrified now, the man glanced about like a drowning man seeking a tree limb.  His eyes locked upon a giant of a man astride a white horse.  The General.  Behind him, almost invisible, a woman whispered in his ear.

Standing again upon the hilltop, the man realized that this strange woman’s collar and bodice were not of cloth, but of hammered bronze.  Her dress was not cloth, but mail so finely wrought as to drape and billow in the breeze.  She shifted, and he could see the hilt of a sword buckled about Her waist.

“Columbia.”  As the name left his lips he had to fight the buckling of his knees.  Terror and ardor played across his bones as he faced Her, knowing that Her words rang with truth.

“Or, as Doctor Franklin preferred, America.  And other names to other men in other days.”  She smiled briefly and then Her face grew serious.

“When your great men declared independence, they pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor- to each other, and to me and to my Republic.  Many of those men’s sacrifices have already been laid upon my altar.  When you took up their cause, you offered the same.”

“But the war is won.  Why do you come for me now?”

“Is it?  Just now you came from a meeting in which your friends begged you to take up your sword and lead them against the tyrants in Boston.”

“I sold my sword.  I needed the money.”

“This sword?”  She gestured at the hilt at Her waist.  The man could see that it was the very same sword given to him by LaFayette.  “My sword is every sword wielded for justice.  My spear is every spear thrust against tyranny.  Do not despair at the want of a sword, I offer you another.”

“To defeat Bowdoin and his bankers?”

“No.  To be defeated by them.”

The man recoiled in horror.  “Why then offer me the sword if I am to lose?”

“My strategy is not measured in single human lifetimes.  A war amongst men is but a skirmish in my campaign.  If my Republic, OUR Republic, is to survive the next century, you must fight Boston… and lose.”

“Will I die?”

“It is hard to say.  You might.  Certainly, some of your followers will lay their lives upon my altar.  Live or die, I can promise you disgrace and if you live, financial ruin.”

“Then why try?”

“Right now, these United States are anything but united.  Your neighbors to the north, the rugged hill folk of Vermont, have been forced to declare independence from the very nation they helped to birth.  Commerce between the states is tenuous, they cannot agree on what money has value.  Poor men, many of them veterans, find themselves silenced in the halls of power that they fought to erect.  The young eagle is tearing itself apart before it even fully hatches.”

“So let Washington fix it.  Let the other great men fix it.  I’m a farmer.”

“You are also a soldier, a leader- and a good one.”

“But there are others, better leaders.  Let them put the Republic back together.”

“If they could, do you not think I would require it of them?  Your poverty, your relative isolation, your non-involvement in petty politics… all these place you and only YOU at the touchhole.  You and you alone can ignite this conflict and see it through to its necessary end.”

The man trembled, his eyes glittering with tears at the enormous burden placed upon his soul.  “If I do this, will it save the Republic?  Will it end the conflicts tearing us apart?”

“No, Daniel.  But it will make a stronger nation, one that might be able to survive what must come next.”

“Next?  NEXT?!”  He trembled now in fury as much as fear.  “How much more death do you want?  Are you so bloodthirsty that you demand endless war of us?”

“Not I, but the weakness of men- the same great men who led your nation to independence.  They embraced my Republic, but they did not offer it to all who dwell upon these shores.”

“The slaves,” he breathed.

“And the Indians, and the women, and the countless hordes that will come to dwell in the light of my freedom.  By not accepting them now, your leaders have guaranteed that those people must purchase entrance into my Republic by struggle, sacrifice, and sadly- blood.”

The men fell to his knees and wept.  “It is too much!  You ask me to give up the last of what I have, and for what?  A world in which my children and their children must make the same sacrifices?  Is there no end?”

He fell Her hand upon his cheek, and She lifted his chin until he gazed deep into the silvery pools of Her eyes.  Through Her eyes he saw terrible horrors and a growing peace that followed in their wake.  He saw injustice and cruelty- yet he saw the spread of laws and equality and charity as humankind sought to give a better world to their children.  “My campaign is long, Daniel.  I have waged this war for longer than men have recorded their history.  Every battle fought in my name, every victory, every defeat, every sacrifice- each one advances my strategy.  Each one brings your kind closer to the civilization that you are ultimately capable of.  Each one brings humanity closer to my Republic.”

“But is there a final victory?”

“Victory is never certain, Daniel.  All I can offer you is a sword, and my promise that in future days other men and women will study your struggle and decide that your sacrifice improved the lives of the generations that followed.”

“You promise this?”  He struggled to rise.

She offered him Her hand.  “I promise that if you do as I have told you, if you withhold nothing and fight as if you can win- history will declare your defeat a victory.”

He took Her hand and rose, finding himself alone in the dark holding a sword.

The rest is history.