A YEAR OF DRUID VALUES:
THE ART OF LIVING
By Rev. Michael McGuinness, Druid of the Fellowship
So far, this series of articles has explored the Irish Celtic values, expressed in mythology, of balance (finding a “middle way” through life between extremes) and hospitality (a conception of life as a mutual exchange of giving and receiving that unites people with each other and with the Gods). Our Ancestors also valued such qualities as intelligence, skill and creativity, or, to put it in more general terms, art.
The ancient Celts were recognized as one of the great barbarian peoples of the known world not only because of their fearsome military prowess, but also for the intricate and beautiful jewelry, pottery and metalwork they traded with the Greeks, the Etruscans and the Romans. That same skill and artistry has continued to be a defining element of Irish Celtic culture, and is apparent in the complicated internal rhyme schemes of medieval Irish poetry, the swirling rhythms and melodies of Irish traditional music and the verbal invention of James Joyce. Not surprisingly, this reverence for creativity is also reflected in Irish mythology.
One of the primary myths of the Irish tradition is the Mythological Cycle, which contains the tales of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the godlike People (Tuatha) of the Goddess (Dé) Danu (genitive Danann).
A major figure of the Mythological Cycle is, of course, Lugh Lamhfada or Lugh of the Long Hand. As an accomplished poet, warrior, healer and smith (among other skills), Lugh was the master of all the arts (samildanach or ildanach) needed to lead the Tuatha Dé Danann into battle against the tyrannical Fomorians.
His leadership of the small but inspired Danann army to eventual victory over the larger Fomorian force is portrayed in The Second Battle of Moytura as nothing less than miraculous. The story culminates in Lugh, armed only with a spear or a sling, defeating the monstrously powerful Balor of the Evil Eye, who is able to destroy all with a glance. The victory of Lugh the artist-warrior over the elemental Balor is thus a victory of skill over overwhelming strength.
The Danann people that rebel against the Fomorians leads are
descended from, of course, the goddess Danu. Danu is a mysterious and
primordial figure, never appearing herself in any of the mythological tales,
but possibly related to the ancient continental Celtic river goddess who gave
her name to several European rivers like the Don, the Dneister and the
The Goddess Dana’s name also resembles the Irish word dán, which means “art.” So, in a sense,
the Tuatha Dé Danann, the wise and skillful magicians of Irish legend,
resemble, in name as well as deed, the Irish name for the social class of
druids and skilled craftsmen: the Aes Dána
or the Men of Art. (Aosdána is also
the name of a select art organization in
The Irish word dána also means bold and audacious, and the similarity is certainly deeper than mere coincidence. An artist needs audacity to think outside the box, to look at the familiar and try to recreate it in new way. Similarly, Lugh’s boldness in opposing Balor and the Fomorians led to the Dananns unlocking the secrets of agriculture, the proper timing of sowing the seed and reaping the Land for the benefit of the People. Skill clearly requires bravery in order to put it into action, and our Ancestors admired the creativity of thought and deftness of execution needed, not only to create beautiful works of art, but also to live life in an artful way.
This idea of the artist as trickster can be found in the tales of An Goban Saor (“the free smith”). An Goban Saor is a favorite character of Irish folklore, derived from the mythical Goibniu, the magical smith of the Tuatha Dé Danann. He is a similar figure to Wayland the Smith, who is an Anglo-Saxon derivation of the Norse Volundr, the smith of the elves in The Poetic Edda. Tales of the Goban Saor are told in many variations, and this story is adapted from Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts by Patrick Kennedy and also from The Collected Stories of Eamon Kelly.
A man who knows his trade is as good as a lord wherever he goes, and such a man was the Goban Saor. He could make an invincible spear before you count five, he built castles and forts all over Ireland for kings and chiefs, and if he needed to hammer nails on a beam high above his head, he would toss the nails into place, throw the hammer at them to drive them in and then catch the hammer on the way down.
One day the King of Munster sent
for the Goban Saor to build for him the finest castle in the world. Now Goban
knew that, in times past, the old Kings of Ireland sometimes killed the
architects who built their castles, so that no one else would have a palace
equal to theirs. So, before he left on his trip, the Goban Saor whispered
something into the ear of his wife, and set out on the road to
When he came to
“So that’s it,” thought Goban, and the next day spoke to the King. “If it please your Majesty,” says he, “I am almost finished with my work, but there is one more thing to be done to make all is sure and strong. I’m sorry, but I haven't got the tool here, it’s called an cor in agaidh an chaim.”
“What does that mean in English?” asked the King, who was in over his head.
“It just means the ‘twist against crookedness,’” replied Goban. “If you can't spare me here, you must send your young prince to go get it for me, for my wife wouldn't entrust it to any one but of royal blood. Tell the prince to remind my wife that it’s in the big box at the foot of the bed, and tell him to come back as fast as you can.”
So the King, rather than let Goban out of his sight, sent the young prince to Goban’s house, and when he got there, the prince said to Goban’s wife, “Your husband needs the ‘twist against crookedness’ in the box at the foot of the bed, and be quick about it.”
Goban’s wife knew exactly what was meant, and asked the prince, “Surely a big strong lad such as yourself can help me lift open this box?” and when the prince helped her open it, she tripped up his heels and tumbled him into the box. “There’ll you’ll stay,” she said, “until my husband comes home to me, and I’ll write a note to the King telling him the very same.”
She wrote the note, and gave it to Goban’s pet pigeon, which carried it to the King, who raged and swore fit to tear down his beautiful new palace. But the plan worked: the King couldn’t do without his son and heir, so the very next day the Goban Saor was sitting in his own house, safe and sound by his own fire.
Using one’s head to master a difficult situation is a common theme in Irish myth and folklore. Another widely told example, this one adapted from Irish Folktales edited by Henry Glassie, concerns a life-or-death battle of wits:
There once was a man who wanted to make a good life for his three sons, but he didn’t have any money for their education. So he sold his soul to the Devil to raise the money to send them to school, and one son became a priest, the other became a doctor and the third became a lawyer.
At the end of seven years, the Devil comes along to claim the old man’s soul and take him to Hell. The son who had become a priest said some prayers and appealed to the Devil to spare his father in the name of God, so the Devil gave the old man a few more years. At the end of that time, the Devil came back and the doctor was there to plead for the life of his aged father, saying that the old man’s health was too poor to take him to Hell at the moment. The Devil saw the sense in that and gave the man another few years. When the time was up, the Devil came back to claim the old fellow, and this time the lawyer was there at his father’s side.
It was a pitiful sight indeed in the little house: the old man, eyes wide with terror, his son seated next to him, the short remnants of a lone candle sputtering on the table between them, the light flickering on the Devil standing at the door. “I know you’ve spared my father twice already,” said the lawyer to the Devil, “and we certainly can’t take advantage of your generosity again.” The devil nodded silently. “But,” said the lawyer, “as a last request, will you spare him just so long as that wee bit of candle remains?” The Devil agreed, saying that there was only the last butt of the candle on the table and it wouldn’t last long. With that, the lawyer picked up the butt of the candle and blew it out, and put it in his pocket. And that was that! The Devil had to keep his part of the bargain and go without the old man, for the lawyer held on to the butt of the candle, which would always stay just the same size as long as it wasn’t being burned. Say what you will, but you can trust the lawyer to beat the Devil.
These tales, and many others like them, suggest that our Ancestors admired not only creative talent, technical craftsmanship or even mere cleverness but, more importantly, the art of life.
The ancient Irish were not just artists, but farmers and herders living in a harsh environment. Nature didn’t always yield her bounty without a struggle; survival often depended on brains as well as brawn, and the same is often true for us today.
Whatever our definition of success, it will not be given to us for nothing (fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your outlook). To reap a bountiful harvest from the world requires more than good intentions, we also have to sow hard and intelligent work. Like Lugh, we need to discover, cultivate and (most importantly) use our physical, mental and even spiritual gifts to survive, improve our situation in life and make a positive impact on society. Like the Goban Saor and the clever lawyer in these tales (both of whom prevail over a powerful adversary just as Lugh triumphed over Balor), we can apply a little creativity to solve the problems that confront us.
At Lughnasadh, in the midst of our games and festivities, perhaps we can carve out time to consider some pertinent questions: what are my skills and talents, professional or personal? What do people tell me that I’m good at, and what do I enjoy doing? Who could benefit from my skills and talents? Above all, in this season of the harvest, may we count our many blessings and give thanks for the abundance of life.