Gods of the Underworld Hilary Llewellyn-Williams writes on the rise of Eco-Paganism A few weeks ago I watched a Channel Four programme in the Teenage Kicks series, entitled ‘The Teenage Witch Craze’. Despite the rather lurid headlining, what emerged was a touching portrayal of two groups of young girls, from ordinary suburban backgrounds, in search of a spiritual dimension. These girls had become fascinated by Wicca — most likely as a result of Silver RavenWolf’s popular book Teen Witch (Llewellyn Publications, 1998 — no relation to me!). They called themselves ‘witches’. To them, this entailed meeting in each others’ houses to practise ‘spell-casting’, experimenting with levitation in the back garden, and going off to the woods to invoke the spirits of nature. It also involved plenty of girl-chat, mixed with lively discussion of their beliefs, and of course a certain amount of dressing-up.
Christian fundamentalists aside, most adults would probably share the views expressed by the girls’ mothers, that it was all harmless fun and just a phase of growing-up.
Teenage kicks, in fact.
But what struck me about these 13-year olds was their seriousness and sincerity. They were surprisingly articulate and informed about their adopted religion, insisting that it was their religion, and not ‘just a phase’. To them, Wicca made perfect sense; much more so than the Christianity they’d been exposed to, or the religionless, materialistic world they and their classmates were a major attraction of Paganism was its them the strength to face the world: a dangerous, unpredictable, frightening world.
Paganism is apparently the fastestgrowing religious movement in the UK, and its recruits are mainly young, under 35. Why should this be? Is an interest in nature-based religion (and in the New Age baggage that often accompanies it) merely a retreat from reason, a reaction against an increasingly mechanistic approach to life? Or does it have something more positive to offer?
Perhaps I'll start with a bit of ver-wwrenvieviess = background. Modern Paganism has its roots in the 19th century, but only sprang to life during the early 20th century; so despite its use of some avicient symbols and ideas, it’s very much a phenomenon of our own times. Mainstream Wicca and its Celtic (“‘Druidic’) and Nordic (‘Odinist’) offshoots are quite heavily ritualistic and formal in structure, and emerged from a mainly intellectual, classically-educated, male-dominated section of society. It drew from elements of Golden-Dawn occultism, newcentury utopianism, and the fashionable interest in myth, folklore, archaeology, back-to-nature movements, and sexual liberation. It was an alternative to the redundant doctrines of Christianity, while retaining a sense of the numinous.
For many people, especially in the years after the First World War, the new Paganism represented a rejection of orthodox values in a society that seemed on its way to disaster and reverence for the earth and the natural world S<sPai tscemed fo promise a return to a sort immersed in. These girls questioned that view of the world, even though it’s all-pervasive for their generation. They said they'd outgrown Christian ‘fairy-tales’; but they yearned for magic, for mystery, for meaning. They wanted to do spells because spells are fun, and might just work; but they also spoke eloquently of needing to find something special in themselves, some source of power, and wanting to be closer to nature. For them a major attraction of Paganism was its reverence for the earth and the natural world. And they spoke of their love for each other, the bond between them, strengthened by their rituals, which gave of Eden of primitivism, a primal innocence. It also held the attraction of some kind of power and control over one’s life, in a therapeutic way, at a time when massive impersonal forces were sweeping through society.
There were inevitably some dubious aspects to this, right-wing ‘Volkisch’ movements and Nordic Brotherhoods, psychopaths like Aleisteir Crowley; but by and large moderation and decency prevailed, and the modern Wiccan and Druidic groups developed as a quiet, benevolent and more-or-less invisible undercurrent to conventional middle-class life, until the late 1970s, when — whoosh! Something took off.
Sof 56 November 2002 Suddenly there were shaggy and colourfully-attired young people attending demonstrations — anti-nuclear, antiwar, pro-environment, pro-feminist demonstrations — wearing pentacles around their necks, or flourishing banners emblazoned with a Green Man’s foliate head proclaiming ‘Pagans Against Nukes’. Odd convoys of vehicles descended upon Stonehenge and other ancient sites, and hashishsmoking, mushroom-nibbling dropouts demanded access to their ‘sacred heritage’. Strange rites were conducted in the open air, under the moon, rather than in suburban drawing-rooms. Hitherto Marxist feminists began discussing the Goddess, and the evidence for ancient matriarchies. Some of them began devising their own rituals, and formed women-only covens. They remained politically active, demonstrating for womens’ reproductive rights and against destructive technologies; and many of the Goddess-feminists formed the heart of the hugely influential Greenham Common protests, which were in essence vast Pagan rituals.
I was part of this movement myself. Fantastic! Such a joyous outpouring of energy, such strength of belief in the power of ordinary people to change the world, and such spiritual renewal, at a very dark and depressing time. I had come to Paganism, not through any contact with Wicca or traditional organizations, but via a combination of the ‘Green’ movement (I joined Friends of the Earth as a student in the 70s), anarchism, feminism, an interest in archaeology and mythology, and a strong religious orientation that survived my break with Catholicism. I experimented with communal living, but that in itself didn’t satisfy my need to belong and contribute to a movement for real change, on either a spiritual or a well as material level.
Of course, the Pagan revival of the 70s and 80s wasn’t very coherent as a movement. The conventional Wiccan groups were aware of a challenge, and while some embraced the more politicised approach, others stepped back. Some quite strange New Age organizations appeared on the scene. Conflicts abounded between ritualists and non-ritualists, feminists and others, different traditions, anarchists and more moderate activists.
Oversized egos proliferated. But lots of good and fruitful alliances developed between traditional Pagans and ‘new’ Pagans, American activist Pagan movements such as Starhawk’s ‘Reclaiming’ coven and the British peace movement, Quakers, Buddhists, healers, and many on the fringes of Christianity with those of a non-religious background. My partner Tony and I began a little magazine devoted to Holy Wells, The Goddess and Earth Mysteries, called ‘Wood and Water’ (which is still extant, under a different editorship). It contained an eclectic array of features, from factual to imaginative, poetry and polemic; it also upset quite a few people.
I personally became less active in the Pagan/ political scene as my children grew older and demanded more of my attention; and I was struggling to make a career as a writer. Living on the dole was no longer a viable option.
But it wasn’t just me: by the late 80s there was less obvious activism around on all levels. Times were changing. Most of the practising Pagans I knew were ageing hippies, or the Seventies rag-tag of the counterculture like myself; because that whole explosion of alternative lifestyles and religion sof 56 November 2002 had of course been born from the Sixties. And that era and all it stood for seemed irrevocably lost and futile.
Then quite suddenly about ten years ago, what had always been there below the surface began to emerge into the light of day: road protestors speaking publicly about the holiness of places and trees; an increasing Pagan presence at ancient sites, celebrating the Festivals; and oddest of all, a burgeoning interest in archaeology in the population at large, spawning TV programmes such as ‘Time Team’ and ‘Meet the Ancestors’. There’s nothing especially Pagan or spiritual about that, you might say; but surely what's revealed is an increasing need to connect with our past, to find meaning there; and that’s a spiritual impulse. Most forms of religion include some ancestor-worship, after all.
We have a need to transcend our individual lives.
People are waking up to the fact that we risk destroying our remaining links with our history as a species, along with the forests, the wildlife, and the entire ecosystem that brought us into being. They are questioning the arrogance of our human-centred view of the world, and recognise in older, ‘pagan’ belief-systems a different and more sustainable approach. And it’s no surprise that younger people are rediscovering the importance of an earth-based spirituality, at a time when the very future of life on earth is threatened. The traditional religions have very little to say about that; and materialist science offers only predictions of doom. But science infused with a sense of the soul of the world — that promises a way through.
Paganism, being firmly rooted in the physical world yet celebrating the holiness and divine consciousness inherent throughout matter, is the optimistic side of environmental activism; it is the Via Positiva that perceives the divine - ultimate value and goodness - within creation. It is an invented religion, and still in the process of formation, and many denigrate it for that reason. But aren’t all religions invented? And shouldn’t they be constantly adapting and transforming along with us? Certainly the Sea of Faith acknowledges this.
So, teenage kicks or not, I take heart from those young girls in Woking and Southend and all over the country who are getting into Wicca. Maybe it will, after all, prove to be just a phase; but maybe they’Il remember it when they’re older, and the positive benefits they experienced. Some will continue to value its insights, and will work with them consciously or unconsciously in their future lives. They’re learning stuff they'll never be taught at school, or by their parents: an alternative view of the world, which will broaden their experience, even if they come to reject the ‘magical’ aspects. I think of my own children, grown now, who are firmly anti-war, pro-Green, interested in other cultures and beliefs, open to mystery and the endless possibilities of the universe; although they practise no religion, they call themselves pagan, and so do many of their friends. That gives me hope for all our futures.
Hilary Llewellyn-Williams is a poet whose works are published by Seren. She lives in Pontypool, and work as a free-lance teacher of creative writing. - x A Bluffer’s Guide to Ecology and Theology — On the relationship between radical environmental movements and their radical religious and ideas.