At some point in the past few decades, someone drew a line in the sand, a line that runs right down the middle of the Witchcraft community. Unlike a line drawn in the soil on the eve of battle, however, this line does not dare people on either side to cross. Rather, it walls them in, keeping them in hard and fast positions. In short, it is a line of categorization. The distinction the line makes is best summed up in a question many readers have probably been asked: “Okay, so you’re a Witch. But do you practice Wicca?”
Once upon a time, the system of practices that we now refer to as Wicca was the only system of Witchcraft most people in the western world had ever heard of. For many westerners, this is still true. This is largely due to Gerald Gardner, who had no problem drawing public attention to himself and his tradition of Witchcraft. To be sure, however, there were other traditions of Witchcraft extant in the British Isles at the time.
Take for example Robert Cochrane’s tradition, which is now generally called 1734 in the United States (though technically “1734” refers to a daughter tradition) . Both Cochrane and Gardner claimed not to have created their traditions, stating that their practices were pre-Christian survivals. Incidentally the two hated each other, partly because Gardner chose to court public attention, while Cochrane preferred to remain obscure. But the historicity of these traditions is irrelevant to the topic at hand, the perceived distinction between Witch and Wiccan.
So how can we understand this dichotomy? We would do well to begin with etymology. Most pagans have read at least one of two etymologies for the word Wicca. The first suggests that Wicca comes from the same root as “wisdom.” By this logic, Wicca-craeft (or Witchcraft) would mean something like “the Craft of the Wise.” A nice thought certainly; unfortunately, this etymology is now known to be erroneous.
The second etymology suggests that Wicca is derived from a root meaning “to bend/twist/change.” Therefore, a Wicca (as the term originally referred to a person, not a practice) would be a person who bends or changes something. Humorously, many Wiccan authors seem to bend and twist this etymology to fit their personal perspectives on the Craft!
Some say matter-of-factly (and with no evidence) that the term referred to a person who could change his/her consciousness at the drop of a hat. Others suggest that the term was only applied to early Witches by outsiders who believed Witches could turn people into animals. Monty Python, anyone?
“How do you know that she’s a Witch?”
“She turned me into a newt!”
“A newt?”
“…Well, it got better….”
Unfortunately for us, even this etymology has not been proved definitively, despite being the more contemporary of the two. So how do we understand the meaning of the term? As Mike Nichols points out in his excellent essay “A Witch by Any Other Name, ” we can take our clues from how it was applied. Wicca (or Wicce, in the feminine gender) appears to have been a general label for practitioners of magico-religious systems, regardless of whether these systems were based in Anglo-Saxon lore. Hence, even many people who probably would have called themselves “Druids” would have been labeled Wiccan (the plural of Wicca) by the Anglo-Saxons, both before and after Christianization.
Even this does not give us a full understanding of what Wicca means in the modern sense. To twenty-first century Pagans, the distinction between Wicca and Witchcraft basically comes down to this: Wicca is a religion that employs magick. Witchcraft is a system of magick, not a religion.
As Nichols points out, this categorization doesn’t work because magick and religion are not in fact wholly separable entities. But the modern usage of the term Wicca goes even further. In contemporary usage, Wicca is taken to denote a specific type of witchcraft, the basic formula for which can be found in any of a thousand “Intro to Wicca” books.
The formula goes something like this. All goddesses are one Goddess; all gods are one God. Therefore you have two deities: the God and Goddess, call them what you will. (Many Wiccans tend to view the Goddess as primary, though there are more egalitarian traditions.) The Goddess has three aspects--Maiden, Mother, and Crone. She corresponds to the moon, while the God is linked to the sun.
There are eight Sabbats. Witches use four main tools: athame, wand, chalice, and pentacle. There are four elements (Earth, Air, Fire, Water) and four directions (North, South, East, West) . These three groups of four are usually linked together in a system of fixed correspondences. Though these correspondences vary from tradition to tradition, a common example would be Pentacle-Earth-North, Wand-Air-East, Athame-Fire-South, and Chalice-Water-West. I could go on, but you get the idea. Though the system has grown since Gardner’s day, most of it is built upon the structure that Gardner put forth. And here is where I encounter my problem.
Over the past year, I’ve been sporadically watching ‘Living the Wiccan Life’, a YouTube series created by the Corellian tradition, and hosted by Rev. Don Lewis. Many of the interviews he conducts are very interesting, as he often speaks with great Pagan authors like Margot Adler, Oberon and Morning Glory Zell-Ravenheart, and Isaac and Phaedra Bonewits. Among the great authors he has interviewed is Raymond Buckland, who is largely responsible for making Wicca accessible to the American public.
While I respect Mr. Buckland greatly, I found one part of his interview offensive. In answering Lewis’s questions, Buckland seems to be saying that only practitioners of traditions like Gardnerian, Alexandrian, and Saxon Wicca (in other words, those traditions arising directly or indirectly from Gerald Gardner) have the right to use the term Wicca. In fact, he goes so far as to say that they are the only people who should be allowed to call themselves Witches. All others, Buckland states, should just call themselves magicians.
Excuse me?
I don’t want to attack Mr. Buckland personally, as he is only expressing the same opinion that many others have put forth. What I would like to do is point out to my readers that the words Wicca and Witchcraft both predate Gardner (and Cochrane and all the others) by centuries. Though they may want to, no one can claim a copyright on either term. At best, we can surmise that Wicca was originally used as a label meaning “person who participates in occult magickal practices.”
I fully understand the human desire to label, codify, and categorize everything. Fitting everything into neat and tidy boxes makes us feel secure in a world of insecurity. The problem is that often the only way something fits into a rigid category is by someone making it fit. Forcing something into a box thusly is a foolproof way to break off many important pieces. But if we don’t have a rigid definition for Wicca and Witchcraft, what then? Does this mean that just anyone can call herself a Witch? That anyone can say he practices Wicca?
In short, yes.
We have all encountered those people we like to call “fluffy bunnies.” You know the stereotype: the rebellious teenager in dark eye makeup, who broadcasts to the entire world that he/she is Wiccan, just to shock parents and teachers. The bored person who reads one book on Wicca and declares herself Lady Athena, Grand High Priestess of blah blah blah. I don’t like these people any more than most other serious Pagans--I much prefer intelligent, well read Pagans like Mike Nichols and Raymond Buckland (even if I don’t always agree with them) .
Am I saying fluffy bunnies should have the right to call themselves Wiccans and Witches? Actually, I wish they wouldn’t, but I’m saying that neither I nor anyone else has a copyright on those names, so no one can tell them not to use them.
In closing, I’d like to remind my readers that there are many Witchcraft traditions that don’t fit the formulaic definition of Wicca, but are nonetheless meaningful and powerful traditions. In Andanti, for example, we acknowledge a host of gods and goddesses, not just two. And as far as correspondences, if you say to an Andanti Witch “East corresponds to Air and the wand, ” s/he will probably answer, “Yes…except when it doesn’t.” Andanti is not the only example. What about Cochrane and all the other non-Gardnerian teachers active in Britain in Gardner’s day? What about the longstanding English tradition of the cunning men? Have we all forgotten about Feri Witchcraft, an American tradition that is at least as old as Gardnerian, if not older?
We’re all humans, even if we don’t all look the same. We’re all Witches, even if our practices don’t look the same.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The Threefold Muse
Some of you may be wondering about the title of my blog, and I don't want to give anyone the wrong impression.
Many of you are no doubt familiar with Robert Graves, having read his famous work The White Goddess. If you know a bit about the history of that book, you'll know he initially considered calling it The Threefold Muse, in reference to the triple nature of the deity it describes.
The title of my blog has nothing to do with this. I don't even work with the tradition Wiccan triple moon goddess. The Threefold Muse of my blog title is a particular figure from Andanti shamanism, related to the Three Paths (more on this later).
No infringement intended.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Ex Libris, Ex Umbris
In darkness the chant begins, first a single voice intoning from the center of the circle. Soon other voices are heard, joining the incantation. Their ululating tones rise, not in unison, but in alternation--the one voice leading, the many responding. As they reach a crescendo a flame is struck and the circle is gradually illuminated. Standing in the center is the priestess. In the ethereal glow she approaches the altar. And there, surrounded by candle flames and incense smoke, is the Book. Thick, leather bound, and filled with pages of ancient parchment, this is indeed a magickal book. Its contents are mysterious, known only to initiates. In this regard it deserves its name: Book of Shadows.
Or at least that is the mental image that many of us have concerning Books of Shadows. The true nature of the Book of Shadows (BoS) is a bit trickier to discern.
Many essays have been written about the BoS, as have whole chapters in a plethora of books on Witchcraft. These articles are usually warmly written--it is quite obvious that the authors (like most Witches) have a great fondness for the very idea of a magickal book. However, such writings are also frequently lacking in historical detail. So what are the facts behind these mysterious volumes?
Most recently the concept of the BoS was popularized in the TV series Charmed. In the series, the Book of Shadows is an ancient tome, passed down by the women of the Halliwell line from time immemorial. Contained within are secrets for vanquishing demons as well as spells (it would seem) for every need. Needless to say, the show presents a fairly inaccurate picture of what it is to be Pagan. However, it does illuminate the current zeitgeist regarding the BoS.
In contemporary Witchcraft, the concept of the BoS--a single, central magickal volume of which each Witch must have her own--is ubiquitous. The most common concept surrounding the BoS seems to be its indispensability. Most books on Witchcraft make the assumption that a Witch must have a BoS. The exact nature of the book, however, varies from author to author.
Some state that a BoS is “part poetry collection, part journal, part dictionary and encyclopedia, part recipe book and part ritual construction guide [1].” Others suggest keeping a separate book for personal observations, usually called a Book of Mirrors to denote reflection [2]. While at least one essay I’ve read claims that the term Book of Shadows refers to the dark color of the book’s cover [3], there is no evidence for this, and few other authors seriously discuss the origins of the name.
The first book we know of to be called a BoS was the Gardnerian BoS [4]. Gardner claimed not to have authored the book, insisting it was the holy book of the ancient tradition into which he had been initiated. After he initiated Doreen Valiente, Valiente confronted Gardner and pointed out that certain elements of the book were clearly of Thelemic origin. Given that Gardner was an acquaintance of Aleister Crowley (and a nominal initiate of OTO) , this is not surprising. In fact, Gardner himself did not deny the charge, claiming that he had used Thelemic and Masonic elements to fill the gaps in the fragmentary tradition that had been handed down to him.
Subsequently, Valiente rewrote large sections of Gardner’s book. Interestingly, Valiente also claimed years later that Gardner had taken the term Book of Shadows from the title of an article on palmistry in the magazine The Occult Observer[5].
Gardner claimed that a BoS was copied at length by hand by each new initiate into the Craft. Given that literacy rates were incredibly low in medieval and early modern England (only 30% of men and 10% of women in Renaissance England could read and write [6]) such transcription seems unlikely. And though an illiterate could perhaps manage to copy the book, he or she would not be able to read the words so laboriously transcribed! Add to this the fact that contemporaries of Gardner outside his tradition often used no such book [7], and it seems most likely that Gardner was the sole author of his first BoS.
But why write such a text? To answer this question, we need to look at the nature of the book. The core material of the Gardnerian BoS is concerned with outlining the primary rituals of a Gardnerian coven. These outlines are given in liturgical form--that is, in a layout of fixed statements and responses to be recited by the officiating priest and priestess, and the other coven members. Gardner probably assumed the necessity of such a book. In his day, the popular conception was that any bona fide religion (Christianity, Judaism, and Islam in that mindset) had its central holy text. It is likely therefore that Gardner created the book to legitimize his tradition.
But as I stated, the Gardnerian BoS takes a liturgical form, unlike the Bible or Qur’an. However, this should not be surprising. We should remember at this point that Gardner was an Englishman, which is perhaps why he structured his BoS the way he did. England’s state religion has for many centuries been Christianity. And since the 1600’s, English Christianity has had as its de facto holy book the Book of Common Prayer (BCP) , which lays out all major rituals of the Anglican Church. So important is this book to English culture that the House of Lords must ratify revisions of the BCP to this day. Though by no means a Christian, Gardner quite likely took his inspiration (at least in terms of structure) from the BCP.
Though Gardner was probably first to call his magickal tome a Book of Shadows, the idea of a magickal text predates him by centuries. Mystical grimoires abounded in medieval and Renaissance Europe and Gardner studied at least a few of them. These grimoires were largely concerned with protection from demonic forces and are designed to make sense within the cosmology of Judeo-Christian mysticism. It is unlikely therefore that they have anything to do with any groups of Pagan Witches that may have existed at this time [8], especially considering the low literacy rates among lay peasants.
Prior to the influence of Christianity in the British Isles, Celts, Romans, and Anglo-Saxons, who do not appear to have been fond of writing their lore down, dominated the land. (And if they were, such works were later destroyed or Christianized a la Beowulf by Christian friars.) There is, however, one Celtic text that comes to mind--Barddas. Compiled in the late 1500’s, Barddas is two volumes of Celtic lore. Though heavily Christianized, there are some clearly non-Christian elements, which in many ways resemble Hindu and Gnostic ideas. Significantly some of these teachings take the form of a catechism, which does indeed suggest the induction of initiates into an exclusive group [9].
The absence of pre-Gardnerian Books of Shadows should not bother us. After all, any religious milieu changes over time. And unless we’re all reconstructionists [10], who says all elements of our traditions have to be ancient? Similarly, we should not feel bound to any particular definition of a magickal text or any prescribed form thereof [11].
For instance, some witches replace the book with a filing cabinet (seen note 1) , or a blog, or a hard drive. I for one don’t keep a BoS, but have a small personal library, the books of which are full of bookmarks and notes relating to my magickal practice. Whether you keep a BoS (or two) or not, books in general are and should remain an integral part of neo-Pagan spirituality.
As I’ve heard elders in the Craft say, the true greeting among Witches is not “Blessed Be” or “Merry Meet” but “Have you read…?”
Bright Blessings,
Or at least that is the mental image that many of us have concerning Books of Shadows. The true nature of the Book of Shadows (BoS) is a bit trickier to discern.
Many essays have been written about the BoS, as have whole chapters in a plethora of books on Witchcraft. These articles are usually warmly written--it is quite obvious that the authors (like most Witches) have a great fondness for the very idea of a magickal book. However, such writings are also frequently lacking in historical detail. So what are the facts behind these mysterious volumes?
Most recently the concept of the BoS was popularized in the TV series Charmed. In the series, the Book of Shadows is an ancient tome, passed down by the women of the Halliwell line from time immemorial. Contained within are secrets for vanquishing demons as well as spells (it would seem) for every need. Needless to say, the show presents a fairly inaccurate picture of what it is to be Pagan. However, it does illuminate the current zeitgeist regarding the BoS.
In contemporary Witchcraft, the concept of the BoS--a single, central magickal volume of which each Witch must have her own--is ubiquitous. The most common concept surrounding the BoS seems to be its indispensability. Most books on Witchcraft make the assumption that a Witch must have a BoS. The exact nature of the book, however, varies from author to author.
Some state that a BoS is “part poetry collection, part journal, part dictionary and encyclopedia, part recipe book and part ritual construction guide [1].” Others suggest keeping a separate book for personal observations, usually called a Book of Mirrors to denote reflection [2]. While at least one essay I’ve read claims that the term Book of Shadows refers to the dark color of the book’s cover [3], there is no evidence for this, and few other authors seriously discuss the origins of the name.
The first book we know of to be called a BoS was the Gardnerian BoS [4]. Gardner claimed not to have authored the book, insisting it was the holy book of the ancient tradition into which he had been initiated. After he initiated Doreen Valiente, Valiente confronted Gardner and pointed out that certain elements of the book were clearly of Thelemic origin. Given that Gardner was an acquaintance of Aleister Crowley (and a nominal initiate of OTO) , this is not surprising. In fact, Gardner himself did not deny the charge, claiming that he had used Thelemic and Masonic elements to fill the gaps in the fragmentary tradition that had been handed down to him.
Subsequently, Valiente rewrote large sections of Gardner’s book. Interestingly, Valiente also claimed years later that Gardner had taken the term Book of Shadows from the title of an article on palmistry in the magazine The Occult Observer[5].
Gardner claimed that a BoS was copied at length by hand by each new initiate into the Craft. Given that literacy rates were incredibly low in medieval and early modern England (only 30% of men and 10% of women in Renaissance England could read and write [6]) such transcription seems unlikely. And though an illiterate could perhaps manage to copy the book, he or she would not be able to read the words so laboriously transcribed! Add to this the fact that contemporaries of Gardner outside his tradition often used no such book [7], and it seems most likely that Gardner was the sole author of his first BoS.
But why write such a text? To answer this question, we need to look at the nature of the book. The core material of the Gardnerian BoS is concerned with outlining the primary rituals of a Gardnerian coven. These outlines are given in liturgical form--that is, in a layout of fixed statements and responses to be recited by the officiating priest and priestess, and the other coven members. Gardner probably assumed the necessity of such a book. In his day, the popular conception was that any bona fide religion (Christianity, Judaism, and Islam in that mindset) had its central holy text. It is likely therefore that Gardner created the book to legitimize his tradition.
But as I stated, the Gardnerian BoS takes a liturgical form, unlike the Bible or Qur’an. However, this should not be surprising. We should remember at this point that Gardner was an Englishman, which is perhaps why he structured his BoS the way he did. England’s state religion has for many centuries been Christianity. And since the 1600’s, English Christianity has had as its de facto holy book the Book of Common Prayer (BCP) , which lays out all major rituals of the Anglican Church. So important is this book to English culture that the House of Lords must ratify revisions of the BCP to this day. Though by no means a Christian, Gardner quite likely took his inspiration (at least in terms of structure) from the BCP.
Though Gardner was probably first to call his magickal tome a Book of Shadows, the idea of a magickal text predates him by centuries. Mystical grimoires abounded in medieval and Renaissance Europe and Gardner studied at least a few of them. These grimoires were largely concerned with protection from demonic forces and are designed to make sense within the cosmology of Judeo-Christian mysticism. It is unlikely therefore that they have anything to do with any groups of Pagan Witches that may have existed at this time [8], especially considering the low literacy rates among lay peasants.
Prior to the influence of Christianity in the British Isles, Celts, Romans, and Anglo-Saxons, who do not appear to have been fond of writing their lore down, dominated the land. (And if they were, such works were later destroyed or Christianized a la Beowulf by Christian friars.) There is, however, one Celtic text that comes to mind--Barddas. Compiled in the late 1500’s, Barddas is two volumes of Celtic lore. Though heavily Christianized, there are some clearly non-Christian elements, which in many ways resemble Hindu and Gnostic ideas. Significantly some of these teachings take the form of a catechism, which does indeed suggest the induction of initiates into an exclusive group [9].
The absence of pre-Gardnerian Books of Shadows should not bother us. After all, any religious milieu changes over time. And unless we’re all reconstructionists [10], who says all elements of our traditions have to be ancient? Similarly, we should not feel bound to any particular definition of a magickal text or any prescribed form thereof [11].
For instance, some witches replace the book with a filing cabinet (seen note 1) , or a blog, or a hard drive. I for one don’t keep a BoS, but have a small personal library, the books of which are full of bookmarks and notes relating to my magickal practice. Whether you keep a BoS (or two) or not, books in general are and should remain an integral part of neo-Pagan spirituality.
As I’ve heard elders in the Craft say, the true greeting among Witches is not “Blessed Be” or “Merry Meet” but “Have you read…?”
Bright Blessings,
Fiona
Notes:
[1] Forbes, Bronwen. “What Should I Put in My Book of Shadows?”
http://www.witchvox.com/va/dt_va.html?a=usks and c=words and id=13538
[2] Cunningham, Scott. Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner, pp. 79-80.
[3] I’m referring to a Witchvox article here but I can’t find it and can’t remember the author’s name. My apologies to him or her.
[4] The Gardnerian Book of Shadows. (In publication for some time. Generally, initiated Gardnerians will neither confirm nor deny that this is their genuine BoS, though it most likely is.) http://www.sacred-texts.com/pag/gbos/index.htm
[5] Valiente, Doreen. The Rebirth of Witchcraft, p. 51.
[6] It should be noted that London was an exception to this, boasting a literacy rate of about 60%.
http://www.ac.wwu.edu/~wesmith/214materials.html
[7] Valiente, Doreen. Witchcraft: A Tradition Renewed, p. 8.
[8] Though the Witch-Cult Hypothesis put forward by Margaret Murray and others is largely a confabulation, some small independent groups of peasants performing magickal rites did exist, such as the Benandanti. See the work of Carlo Ginzburg on this subject.
[9] Rolleston, T. W. Myths and Legends of the Celtic Race, p. 257-259. See also Celtic Myths and Legends by Peter Berresford Ellis for insights on the similarities between Celtic and Hindu lore.
[10] Even reconstructionists usually admit that certain elements of ancient practice have to be modified.
[11] At least one known Gnostic sect had a holy book comprised entirely of artwork. See In Search of Zarathustra by Paul Kriwaczek for more on Gnostic sects.
http://www.witchvox.com/va/dt_va.html?a=usks and c=words and id=13538
[2] Cunningham, Scott. Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner, pp. 79-80.
[3] I’m referring to a Witchvox article here but I can’t find it and can’t remember the author’s name. My apologies to him or her.
[4] The Gardnerian Book of Shadows. (In publication for some time. Generally, initiated Gardnerians will neither confirm nor deny that this is their genuine BoS, though it most likely is.) http://www.sacred-texts.com/pag/gbos/index.htm
[5] Valiente, Doreen. The Rebirth of Witchcraft, p. 51.
[6] It should be noted that London was an exception to this, boasting a literacy rate of about 60%.
http://www.ac.wwu.edu/~wesmith/214materials.html
[7] Valiente, Doreen. Witchcraft: A Tradition Renewed, p. 8.
[8] Though the Witch-Cult Hypothesis put forward by Margaret Murray and others is largely a confabulation, some small independent groups of peasants performing magickal rites did exist, such as the Benandanti. See the work of Carlo Ginzburg on this subject.
[9] Rolleston, T. W. Myths and Legends of the Celtic Race, p. 257-259. See also Celtic Myths and Legends by Peter Berresford Ellis for insights on the similarities between Celtic and Hindu lore.
[10] Even reconstructionists usually admit that certain elements of ancient practice have to be modified.
[11] At least one known Gnostic sect had a holy book comprised entirely of artwork. See In Search of Zarathustra by Paul Kriwaczek for more on Gnostic sects.
Originally published on Witchvox.com
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Saucers and Symbols: the Pentacle and the Pentagram
In contemporary Neo-Paganism there are two terms you will hear used quite often: “pentacle” and “pentagram.” This is especially true within the community of Wicca, which is generally quite fond of the symbol of the five-pointed star. So ubiquitous is the pentagram in the Craft, in fact, that I can recall overhearing a non-Wiccan say, “Oh, I like that Wicca-sign, ” while looking at a pentagram necklace.
Of course, the pentagram as a symbol far predates Wicca, and has never been limited to use only in traditions arising from northwestern Europe. Likewise, the pentacle is not explicitly Wiccan (or even Pagan) either, having a history of uses both similar to and different from its modern applications.
“But wait, ” many of us say at this point. “Pentacle and pentagram are just two terms for the same thing.” In contemporary usage, this is often true, the two words being used interchangeably. For example, I am sure we are all familiar with Pentacle Quest, the petition that eventually established the right of fallen Pagan servicemen of the US military to have pentagrams on their headstones. The fact that this movement was called Pentacle Quest and not Pentagram Quest gives us some idea of the way the two terms are equated.
Still, some Pagan writers insist that there is a difference in meaning. Mike Nichols (if you haven’t read his essays, you should) states that while the pentagram is a symbol, a pentacle is a small dish or plate used in ritual, much like the paten used in traditional Christianity.
My point here is not to argue that one set of definitions is wrong and the other right. After all, the meanings of words change over time. What I would like to do is elucidate the history of both pentacle and pentagram, because while there are many writings by many authors on other ritual items like the athame, there are precious few about the pentacle.
In 15th century Italian, we first see the word pentacolo, presumably formed from the Greek penta- (five) and a Latin diminutive ending. Hence it would appear to mean “small object with five points or sides, ” in which case it could well be something with a five-pointed star on it.
However, it is in the next few centuries after this usage that “pentacle” becomes a more widely used term, often incorporated into the grimoires of ceremonial magick. Interestingly, in these systems the term pentacle apparently has nothing at all to do with the number five or the symbol of the five-pointed star. But it should be noted that the pentacle is also not a dish in these systems. Instead, a pentacle is a complex symbol (often incorporating a six-pointed Star of David) that is inscribed on a piece of parchment and worn around the neck of the magician as a talisman.
It has also been suggested that “pentacle” comes not from the Greek word for five, but from the Latin pend- meaning, “to hang, ” as a pentacle was suspended from the neck. In this case, it makes perfect sense to call a pentagram necklace a pentacle. Although these ceremonial pentacles do not usually incorporate the pentagram symbol, there is nevertheless a connection. The five-pointed star has long been seen as a protective symbol--a talisman against harm or evil. For example, Middle English texts describe Sir Gawain’s shield as bearing a pentagram, presumably for protective reasons.
Following its appearance in medieval and Renaissance grimoires, the pentacle became incorporated into the tarot as one of the four suits by groups like the Order of the Golden Dawn and Ordo Templi Orientis. Prior to this, the tarot suits had been Swords, Staves, Cups, and Coins. Now most of us know them as Swords, Wands, Cups, and Pentacles.
Knowing all of this, let’s look at the symbolism of the pentagram--the five-pointed star.
I have studied and practiced Witchcraft and Neo-Paganism for quite some time. By far the most common explanation I’ve encountered of the symbolism of the pentagram is that it is a symbol of the elements. In this system, the points of the pentagram represent Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit. Personally, I’ve never interpreted it this way. As Deborah Lipp points out in her excellent book The Elements of Ritual, there is no reason for a nature religion to consider Spirit to be an element separate from matter. Rather, Spirit is what arises from the confluence of the elements.
Lipp recommends using a squared circle (basically an equilateral cross within a circle) to symbolize the elements, with the center representing Spirit. Since the early days of my time as a Pagan I’ve been using a very similar symbolism in my practice, so I found myself in full agreement with Lipp when I encountered her book. But as they say, to each his (or her) own. Who’s to say that my way is the “right” way? In fact, in some Asian philosophies there are five elements not counting Spirit.
The pentagram is rather like the cross--it has a long history of use and many possible meanings and uses beyond the most common one. One of these is protection. It is fairly easy to understand this. Most people have noticed the similarity between a five-pointed star and a human being with arms and legs spread (just picture Da Vinci’sVitruvian Man) . Especially when you put this inside a circle the symbolism is obvious: a person protected by a barrier. In the system I follow, even an inverted pentagram (with two points up) can be a protective symbol.
And now some readers are probably growing uncomfortable. Upright pentagrams are all well and good, they’re thinking, but inverted pentagrams are Satanic. We don’t need any more people thinking we’re Satanists! I understand your uneasiness. However, the association of the inverted pentagram with evil or the devil is a fairly recent one, and it’s a Christian one.
Basically, 18th -century and 19th-century Christian writers interpreted it as an arrow pointing down, which they took to signify Spirit descending into matter/flesh. To them, this was undeniably evil. In fact, a writer named Eliphas Levi even created a demonic character to represent this--an androgynous human with the head and legs of a goat whom Levi named Baphomet. (Interestingly, Levi’s images of Baphomet show him with an upright pentagram, not an inverted one) . The name Baphomet may have been a corruption of Mohammed, displaying Levi‘s cultural biases. In any case, it was only following this that the inverted pentagram was seen as a symbol of evil, later being adopted by the Church of Satan as a depiction of a goat’s head.
In any case, we Pagans generally don’t believe in the devil, nor do we think that matter or the human body (or goats!) are evil. For us nature is beautiful, so I see no reason we shouldn’t reclaim the inverted pentagram. Some authors who agree with this interpret the inverted pentagram as a symbol of the Horned God, or as a banishing symbol for spellwork.
Historically, however, the pentagram may have strong feminine connotations. Take the Greek goddess Aphrodite. She appears to be related to the Sumerian Inanna. One connection between the two is that both are associated with the planet Venus (hence Aphrodite’s Roman name) .
How does this relate to the pentagram? It all has to do with astronomy. Venus orbits the sun thirteen times for every five times the earth orbits. What this means is that, observed from Earth, Venus traces a pentagrammic path through the night sky as it orbits. And there is one more connection. The Greeks considered the apple sacred to Aphrodite. And if you cut an apple in half across the middle (as I just did) , the cross-section of the core is a pentagram.
So what does all this mean for contemporary Neo-Paganism? Well, I suppose that’s for you to decide. In this essay, I’ve deliberately avoided including too much detail about my practice, partly because much of it is secret, but even more because I want to demonstrate that there isn’t a single “right” way to use pentacles and/or pentagrams. It’s the nature of the world that words and symbols evolve over time, acquiring new meanings. But I think we should all be informed about the meanings they have held in the past so we can decide how we should use them in the present and the future.
Of course, the pentagram as a symbol far predates Wicca, and has never been limited to use only in traditions arising from northwestern Europe. Likewise, the pentacle is not explicitly Wiccan (or even Pagan) either, having a history of uses both similar to and different from its modern applications.
“But wait, ” many of us say at this point. “Pentacle and pentagram are just two terms for the same thing.” In contemporary usage, this is often true, the two words being used interchangeably. For example, I am sure we are all familiar with Pentacle Quest, the petition that eventually established the right of fallen Pagan servicemen of the US military to have pentagrams on their headstones. The fact that this movement was called Pentacle Quest and not Pentagram Quest gives us some idea of the way the two terms are equated.
Still, some Pagan writers insist that there is a difference in meaning. Mike Nichols (if you haven’t read his essays, you should) states that while the pentagram is a symbol, a pentacle is a small dish or plate used in ritual, much like the paten used in traditional Christianity.
My point here is not to argue that one set of definitions is wrong and the other right. After all, the meanings of words change over time. What I would like to do is elucidate the history of both pentacle and pentagram, because while there are many writings by many authors on other ritual items like the athame, there are precious few about the pentacle.
In 15th century Italian, we first see the word pentacolo, presumably formed from the Greek penta- (five) and a Latin diminutive ending. Hence it would appear to mean “small object with five points or sides, ” in which case it could well be something with a five-pointed star on it.
However, it is in the next few centuries after this usage that “pentacle” becomes a more widely used term, often incorporated into the grimoires of ceremonial magick. Interestingly, in these systems the term pentacle apparently has nothing at all to do with the number five or the symbol of the five-pointed star. But it should be noted that the pentacle is also not a dish in these systems. Instead, a pentacle is a complex symbol (often incorporating a six-pointed Star of David) that is inscribed on a piece of parchment and worn around the neck of the magician as a talisman.
It has also been suggested that “pentacle” comes not from the Greek word for five, but from the Latin pend- meaning, “to hang, ” as a pentacle was suspended from the neck. In this case, it makes perfect sense to call a pentagram necklace a pentacle. Although these ceremonial pentacles do not usually incorporate the pentagram symbol, there is nevertheless a connection. The five-pointed star has long been seen as a protective symbol--a talisman against harm or evil. For example, Middle English texts describe Sir Gawain’s shield as bearing a pentagram, presumably for protective reasons.
Following its appearance in medieval and Renaissance grimoires, the pentacle became incorporated into the tarot as one of the four suits by groups like the Order of the Golden Dawn and Ordo Templi Orientis. Prior to this, the tarot suits had been Swords, Staves, Cups, and Coins. Now most of us know them as Swords, Wands, Cups, and Pentacles.
Knowing all of this, let’s look at the symbolism of the pentagram--the five-pointed star.
I have studied and practiced Witchcraft and Neo-Paganism for quite some time. By far the most common explanation I’ve encountered of the symbolism of the pentagram is that it is a symbol of the elements. In this system, the points of the pentagram represent Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit. Personally, I’ve never interpreted it this way. As Deborah Lipp points out in her excellent book The Elements of Ritual, there is no reason for a nature religion to consider Spirit to be an element separate from matter. Rather, Spirit is what arises from the confluence of the elements.
Lipp recommends using a squared circle (basically an equilateral cross within a circle) to symbolize the elements, with the center representing Spirit. Since the early days of my time as a Pagan I’ve been using a very similar symbolism in my practice, so I found myself in full agreement with Lipp when I encountered her book. But as they say, to each his (or her) own. Who’s to say that my way is the “right” way? In fact, in some Asian philosophies there are five elements not counting Spirit.
The pentagram is rather like the cross--it has a long history of use and many possible meanings and uses beyond the most common one. One of these is protection. It is fairly easy to understand this. Most people have noticed the similarity between a five-pointed star and a human being with arms and legs spread (just picture Da Vinci’sVitruvian Man) . Especially when you put this inside a circle the symbolism is obvious: a person protected by a barrier. In the system I follow, even an inverted pentagram (with two points up) can be a protective symbol.
And now some readers are probably growing uncomfortable. Upright pentagrams are all well and good, they’re thinking, but inverted pentagrams are Satanic. We don’t need any more people thinking we’re Satanists! I understand your uneasiness. However, the association of the inverted pentagram with evil or the devil is a fairly recent one, and it’s a Christian one.
Basically, 18th -century and 19th-century Christian writers interpreted it as an arrow pointing down, which they took to signify Spirit descending into matter/flesh. To them, this was undeniably evil. In fact, a writer named Eliphas Levi even created a demonic character to represent this--an androgynous human with the head and legs of a goat whom Levi named Baphomet. (Interestingly, Levi’s images of Baphomet show him with an upright pentagram, not an inverted one) . The name Baphomet may have been a corruption of Mohammed, displaying Levi‘s cultural biases. In any case, it was only following this that the inverted pentagram was seen as a symbol of evil, later being adopted by the Church of Satan as a depiction of a goat’s head.
In any case, we Pagans generally don’t believe in the devil, nor do we think that matter or the human body (or goats!) are evil. For us nature is beautiful, so I see no reason we shouldn’t reclaim the inverted pentagram. Some authors who agree with this interpret the inverted pentagram as a symbol of the Horned God, or as a banishing symbol for spellwork.
Historically, however, the pentagram may have strong feminine connotations. Take the Greek goddess Aphrodite. She appears to be related to the Sumerian Inanna. One connection between the two is that both are associated with the planet Venus (hence Aphrodite’s Roman name) .
How does this relate to the pentagram? It all has to do with astronomy. Venus orbits the sun thirteen times for every five times the earth orbits. What this means is that, observed from Earth, Venus traces a pentagrammic path through the night sky as it orbits. And there is one more connection. The Greeks considered the apple sacred to Aphrodite. And if you cut an apple in half across the middle (as I just did) , the cross-section of the core is a pentagram.
So what does all this mean for contemporary Neo-Paganism? Well, I suppose that’s for you to decide. In this essay, I’ve deliberately avoided including too much detail about my practice, partly because much of it is secret, but even more because I want to demonstrate that there isn’t a single “right” way to use pentacles and/or pentagrams. It’s the nature of the world that words and symbols evolve over time, acquiring new meanings. But I think we should all be informed about the meanings they have held in the past so we can decide how we should use them in the present and the future.
Bright Blessings,
Fiona
(Copyright 2010 by Fiona Morgan. Originally published on Witchvox.com.)
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