A YEAR OF DRUID VALUES:

THE HONOR OF THE PEOPLE

By Rev. Michael McGuinness, Druid of the Fellowship

This yearlong series of articles has explored some of the Irish Celtic values expressed in the Gaelic mythological tradition. The tales of our Ancestors are a source of wisdom that John and Caitlin Matthews refer to, in The Encyclopedia of Celtic Myth and Legend, as glefisa or “the bright knowledge.” Those tales teach us (among other things) about balance (finding a “middle way” through life between extremes), about hospitality (a conception of life as a mutual exchange of giving and receiving that unites the People with each other and with the Gods) and also about art (confronting challenges with creative problem-solving).

At Samhain, we remember our Ancestors who, as we often say in our rituals, “have carried the honor of the People to the Other World.” Our Ancestors extolled the virtue and achievements of the Gods and the People in elaborate praise poetry, like The Iliad of Homer, in which the hero Achilles joins the Greek assault on Troy in search of “imperishable fame.” This article will explore some ideas about what honor might have meant to our Ancestors, and what it might mean to us.

Honor (according to the dictionary) is a word that comes into English from French, meaning “glory, renown, or fame that is earned,” which, in turn, is derived from the Latin honos, meaning dignity, office or reputation. According to Celtic scholar Alexei Kondratiev (in an article on the Imbas website entitled Celtic Values) some of the Old Irish words for honor include oenach, meaning “face,” and clú from a root meaning “hear.” These words survive in modern Irish in almost the same form: oineach and clú, suggesting that honor made it possible to show your face in the community, because people heard and said good things about your actions. The myths that have come down to us indicate that, to the ancient Celts, such an honorable reputation was earned through truthfulness and bravery.

The Irish word for truthfulness is firinneach, derived from firinne, meaning truth.

Honesty is translated as ionracas (according to Kondratiev, indracus in Old Irish), from ionraic meaning honest, which also seems similar to the word ion, meaning pure or sincere.

The Testament of Morann, a piece of wisdom literature adapted here from the Celtic Literature Collective at www.maryjones.us, advises kings (and, by extension, anyone who seeks to live a life of autonomy and authenticity) on the importance of truth:

Let him preserve Truth, it shall preserve him 
Let him raise truth, it will raise him…
The truth of the ruler protects the people from great sickness and storms  
The truth of the ruler judges the great tribes and their riches
The truth of the ruler secures peace, tranquility, joy, ease, and comfort

The truth of the ruler dispatches great battalions to defend the borders from enemies         

The truth of the ruler builds a fine house for every heir
The truth of the ruler brings forth a bounty of fruit from the great forests 
The truth of the ruler pours the flowing milk from the great cattle
The truth of the ruler harvests an abundance of every high, tall corn 
The truth of the ruler hatches an abundance of fish that swim in the streams
The truth of the ruler happily begets fair children  

Truth plays a part in another tale, Cormac’s Adventure in the Land of Promise. In it, Cormac Mac Art, High King of Ireland, follows his wife and children to the Otherworld, where they have been taken by Manannan Mac Lir (adapted from Gods and Fighting Men by Lady Augusta Gregory):

And there was a gold cup put in the hand of the master of the house, and Cormac was wondering at it, for the number of the shapes on it, and for the strangeness of the work. “There is a stranger thing yet about it,” the man said; “Let three lying words be spoken under it, and it will break into three, and then let three true words be spoken under it, and it will be as good as before.” So he said three lying words under it, and it broke in three pieces. “It is best to speak truth now under it,” he said, “and to mend it. And I give my word, Cormac,” he said, “that until to-day neither your wife nor your daughter has seen the face of a man since they were brought away from you out of Teamhair, and that your son has never seen the face of a woman.” And with that the cup was whole again on the moment. “Bring away your wife and your children with you now,” he said, “and this cup along with them, so you will have it for judging between truth and untruth. …And I myself,” he said, “am Manannan, son of Lir, King of the Land of Promise, and I brought you here by enchantments that you might be with me tonight in friendship.”

The magic cup in this story, breaking and mending itself, suggests that every time we tell the truth, we are able to restore some of the integrity we have lost by lying. Even behind the clouds, the sun is able to dispel some of the darkness.

Besides truth, another aspect of honor appears to have been courage. Bravery was as important to the Irish Celts as it was to any warrior culture. The word for bravery or courage in Irish is misneach (from Old Irish meisnech). Alexei Kondratiev, in the article cited earlier, reminds us that this word stems from meas, meaning judgment, which suggests an ability to maintain a cool head in the stress of battle.

A prime example of bravery and the resolute acceptance of one’s own death can be found at the end of the story of Cuchullain, the great hero of Ulster. Despite a multitude of bad omens, he goes to battle his enemies nonetheless, knowing that he is doomed (adapted from Cuchullain of Muirthemne by Lady Augusta Gregory):

Cuchullain went to the house of his mother, Dechtire, to bid her farewell. And she came out on the lawn to meet him, and she brought out a cup of wine. But when he took the cup in his hand, it was red blood that was in it.

Cuchullain dashed the vessel against a rock, and broke it, and he said: “My luck is turned against me, and my life is near its end, and I will not come back alive this time from facing the men of Ireland.” Then Dechtire tried hard to persuade him to go back. “I will not wait,” he said, “for anything you can say; for I would not give up my great name and my courage for all the riches of the world. And from the day I first took arms till this day, I have never drawn back from a fight or a battle. And it is not now I will begin to draw back,” he said, “for a great name outlasts life.”

Then he went on his way, and Cathbad the Druid went with him. And presently they came to a ford, and there they saw a young girl washing, and wringing out clothing that was stained crimson red, and she crying and keening all the time. “Little Hound,” said Cathbad, “do you see what it is that young girl is doing? It is your red clothes she is washing, and crying as she washes, because she knows you are going to your death against Maeve's great army. And take the warning now and turn back again.” “Dear master,” said Cuchullain, “you have followed me far enough; for I will not turn back from my vengeance on the men of Ireland that are come to burn and to destroy my house and my country. And what is it to me, the woman of the Sidhe to be washing red clothing for me? It is not long till there will be clothing enough, and armor and arms, lying soaked in pools of blood, by my own sword and my spear. And if you are sorry to let me go into the fight, I am glad and ready enough myself to go into it, though I know as well as you yourself I must fall in it. Do not be hindering me any more, then,” he said, “for, if I stay or if I go, death will meet me all the same.”

Then Cathbad left him, and he went on his way. And after a while he saw three hags, who were blind of the left eye, and they were cooking a venomous hound with charms on rods of the rowan tree. And he wanted to pass them by, for he knew it was not for his good they were there.

But one of the hags called to him: “Stop a while with us, Cuchullain.” “I will not stop with you,” said Cuchullain. “That is because we have nothing better than a dog to give you,” said the hag. “If we had a grand, big cooking-hearth, you would stop and visit us; but because it is only a little we have to offer you, you will not stop. But he that will not show respect for the small, though he is great, he will get no respect himself.”

Then he went over to the hags, and shared their meal, even though it was prohibited for him to eat dog on account of his name (Cuchullain, or the Hound Of Culann). After he ate, he lost all the strength in his left hand and leg.

Then he met the army of Maeve of Connacht in battle, with the light of his courage bright upon him, and the Crow of Battle flying in the air over his head.

After a fierce battle, Cuchullain is mortally wounded and prepares himself for death:

Then Cuchullain said: “There is great desire on me to go to that lake beyond, and to get a drink from it.”

“We will give you leave to do that,” said his enemies, “if you will come back to us after.”

“I will bid you come for me if I am not able to come back myself,” said Cuchullain.

Then he gathered up his bowels into his body, and he went down to the lake. He drank and washed himself, and he returned back again to his death, and he called to his enemies to come and meet him.

There was a pillar-stone west of the lake, and his eye lit on it, and he went to the pillar-stone, and he tied himself to it with his belt, so that he would not meet his death in his lying down, but would meet it in his standing up. Then his enemies came round about him, but they were in dread of going close to him, for they were not sure but he might be still alive.

Then a bird settled on his shoulder and the hero light faded from him, so his enemies came and struck off Cuchullain's head.

Honor is difficult to write about in our modern and cynical world. We put no value on reputation because we’ve been disappointed too many times by public figures who constructed an appealing external image which hid an unsavory inner character. We’ve been deceived too many times to believe in truth. And at best, we feel that bravery is only for soldiers; at worst, our violent society might make us mistrust anything having to do with a martial virtue like courage, so we dismiss it as a relic from an older time. On a more personal level, we might tend to focus more on our failures to live up to the standards that we (or others) have set for ourselves, which makes us reluctant to think that something like honor can be a part of our lives.

But we don’t have to be noble kings or mighty warriors to be inspired by these tales of honor; all of us have opportunities in our ordinary lives to be truthful and brave, and thus to emulate the honor of our Ancestors.

Truth and bravery seem to be related; it takes courage to admit the most basic truth or reality of human life on Earth: that everything about it is limited. We have a limited time on this planet, we have limited strength, and, at some point, we will all die. Once we accept that our time and strength is limited, we no longer need to lie in order to project a power or beauty or intelligence that we might not possess at the moment, or to gain a benefit that we haven’t earned by our own efforts.

As we recognize our limits, we can therefore tell the truth to ourselves and to others; we can also then become aware of our strengths, which gives us courage to take action to improve our lives or our community in spite of our fears. We might succeed or we might fail (we’ll probably do both along the way), but, like Cuchullain in his final battle, we will have the determination to keep working and not to give up. This kind of everyday truth and bravery earns us the respect of ourselves and of others, and makes it possible to create in our lives the peace and joy and abundance spoken of in The Testament of Morann.

At Samhain, as we give thanks for the harvest and celebrate the communion between the living and the dead, may the Gods, the Land and the Ancestors bestow abundant blessings on all of the People in the upcoming year. And may we strive to live with balance, hospitality, skill and honor, so that those who come after us may speak of us as Oisin spoke of his father Fionn and all the Fianna: “We had truth in our hearts, strength in our arms and fulfillment in our tongues.”