is a mythological allegory upon the subject of initiation into the mysterious rites of Cerridwen. And although the reader of cultivated taste may be offended at its seeming extravagance, I cannot but esteem it is one of the most precious morsels of British antiquity, which is now extant.76
This statement, along with many others, invokes a wondrous image of Cerridwen as a goddess and seems to reflect modern attributes given to her. On first glance one may be inclined to be in agreement with Mr. Davies; alas, he mixes fact with a good dash of conjecture where he arrives at several incorrect conclusions. Davies argues that a cult to Cerridwen as a goddess did exist and that she was worshipped conjointly with the moon as late as the twelfth century. He remarks that her temple resided in the district of Caergyvylchi, modern-day Dwygyfylchi in the county of Gwynedd in North Wales. He claims that the Book of Pheryllt she consulted was, in fact, priests of the Pharaon, whom he describes as “the Higher Powers.” According to Davies, the Pheryllt had a city among the mountains of Snowdonia that some may identify as the ancient fort of Dinas Emrys, anglicised as the Ambrosial City. He claims that the Pheryllt were the first teachers of the mystical arts and were immensely skilled in the arts of magic. However, Davies has been ridiculed by later academics for his outlandish remarks concerning temples, places of worship, and ancient priests of magic, of which there is no written or archaeological evidence to substantiate. D. W. Nash, in his Taliesin or Bards and Druids of Britain, seemingly embarks on a mission to utterly destroy and denounce the suggestions of Davies:
This statement that the goddess Cerridwen had a temple at Caergyvylchi in Caernarvonshire is made with all the historical seriousness with which we might affirm that there was a temple of Diana at Ephesus, or of Jupiter at Rome. It is nevertheless destitute of the slightest foundation, and affords another example of the modern manufacture of the Druidical Mythology.77
Although I agree with Mr. Nash’s criticism of Davies’ imaginings, I cannot help but feel that something is missing from his argument—his condemnation of Davies’ work and his lack of evidence is based entirely on the fact that no physical material exists to prove the theories set forth in Mythology and Rites of the British Druids. However, Mr. Nash and subsequent critics of the Celtic material have not considered local lore as worthy components to a body of evidence. The material examined in this book arose from locality- specific narration; the subsequent scribing of these tales is only one part of the story, for the Narrative Spirit continues to perpetuate these myths locally. Davies may have been liberal with theories, but I cannot help but feel that some descriptions tally with the locality specific legends and lore. How do we as modern Pagans judge what is appropriate and what is mere conjecture? After all, we have access to sources that pure academia does not. Can we justifiably use lore and folk tales as evidence? If not, do we then simply conform to the standard that if it is not written, it is not so?
The area remarked upon above, and purported to be the site of the temple to Cerridwen in the Welsh county of Gwynedd, is abundant with folkloric history and legend, the majority of which concern witches, cauldrons, fairies, and ancient priests who inhabited a temple at the summit of the mountain that overlooks the current village of Dwygyfylchi, the descendant parish of Caergyvylchi, as mentioned by Edward Davies. Local legend records that this was the site of a temple to the goddess Cerridwen and that her priests resided in the city that stood atop the mountain. It says that 20,000 men at arms protected the priestly caste that resided within the fortification and were known only as “the watchers.” With the coming of the Roman invasion, the watchers are reputed to have departed to the west, and with that they fall out of history. Now, among the aged of the area, it is still held that the watchers were none other than the Pheryllt, whose book Cerridwen consulted. This rich folklore is briefly mentioned by the writer Lewis Spence, who identifies the city of the Pheryllt as Braich Y Ddinas, which sat atop the mountain adjacent to Dwygyfylchi.78
These tales, rich in local lore and legends, can be at loggerheads with academia, for they may seem to contradict the written material. As we have seen, while the material of the Narrative Spirit may not have the strength of evidence that scholars prefer, it does, however, have merit. It is at this junction that the role of the witch, the magician, or the seer comes into play. The nature of the tale we are examining is an intricate allegory of transformation, but for that transformative process to take place all elements must be balanced—light and dark, liminality and physicality, content and form. It teaches that we must be balanced to see both sides of an argument, not preferring one over the other. This principle is vital for the exploration of the material; it is by means of all methods that we come to an authentic conclusion that is valid to our spiritual development and connection. The components and archetypes that make up these tales are real, very real, but it is our connection to them that defines that realism. Mr. Nash and Mr. Davies, to name but two, had their own agendas and connection to the source material, and whilst we can admire and be inspired by their efforts and studies, we must be cautious that we do not fall into the unmoving territory of literalism.
It is by means of examining local lore, legends, and the written material that we can study Cerridwen’s development into a goddess, and many influential individuals have been paramount to her deification. Their justification for doing so may be a little scarce on evidence, but nonetheless these opinions have moulded the modern-day practise of Celtic Paganism. The writer J. A. MacCulloch, when discussing Cerridwen, informs us that:
the cauldron was first of all associated with a fertility cult, and Cerridwen must therefore once have been a goddess of fertility…She may also have been a corn goddess, since she is called a goddess of grain, and tradition associates the pig—a common embodiment of the corn spirit—with her.79
MacCulloch and his successors were influenced by various scholars before them—W. F. Skene, who as we saw previously attributed Cerridwen as the goddess of various seeds, being one of them. But of greater influence to the deification of Cerridwen and what has had the most impact on modern Paganism is the body of work called The White Goddess by Robert Graves. This work has been heavily criticised in recent decades, and although it may often draw inaccurate conclusions, it has become central to the myths of modern Paganism. The White Goddess is essential reading for any practising Pagan, for within it one can identify the source for the majority of modern Pagan myths and the deification of mythological archetypes. This does not devalue current practise but simply demonstrates the ability of modern practise to evolve and create new material pertinent to the spiritual quest.
Within the pages of The White Goddess, Graves introduced the concept that Cerridwen shares an antiquated origin with various other female deities. He forms bridges that elaborate on the notion MacCulloch had of her being a grain goddess and links her with Demeter and Cardea. He claims that the etymology of her name shares a similar root as the Spanish word cerdo, meaning “pig.” With this, he presents Cerridwen as the white sow goddess, the barley goddess, and the white lady of death and inspiration. He also claims that other significant female deities of the Celtic chronicles are aspects of Cerridwen in her guise as the white goddess of life in death and death in life.80 We can see by these associations how Cerridwen has developed into the commonly accepted belief that she is an aspect of the Dark Goddess.
Her associations as a white sow goddess do have allegorical merit, and this aspect of her can be utilised within the practise of modern Paganism with astounding connection and results. When we look to the legends and source material, we find numerous instances where pigs played mystical roles or sparked wars and battles between various tribes. It was commonly believed by the Celts that the pig was a creature of Annwn, the underworld. In the fourth branch of the collection of legends known collectively as the Mabinogi, we encounter a white sow that performs the task of devouring the profane aspect of the initiate. Central to the tale is the birth, lif
e, death, and rebirth of the offspring of Arianrhod called Lleu Llaw Gyffes, meaning “light, of skilful hand.” The fourth branch is perhaps the most mysterious and magical of the Mabinogi and is literally riddled with pre-Christian thematics and iconography; in fact, Will Parker suggests that “Lleu is literally a Druidic God in medieval clothing and we have definitive evidence of a pre-Christian cult.”81
The story centralises around the divine children of the Mother Goddess Don. A war is initiated by the stealing of pigs, which calls the great magician Math away from his palace, where he resides with his feet in the lap of a virgin, unless he is at war. His lap maiden is brutally raped and consequently we are introduced to Arianrhod, who is interviewed to replace the virgin. When asked to prove her virginity by stepping over the magic wand of Math, she gives birth to two babes: one slithers like a fish to the ocean and the other, Lleu, is secreted in a chest by his uncle, the great enchanter of the Britons, Gwydion, the son of Don. A series of trials ensue between the child, his uncle, and Arianrhod, who curses the child for the shame he brought upon her. Condemned to never marry a mortal woman, his uncle and Math create for him a bride from the flowers of the woodland. She, in turn, ultimately betrays him and falls in love with another man, and together they conspire to kill Lleu. However, he is not easily killed and demonstrates to her the complex situations that must be created to ensure his death. Alas, it is a trap, and a spear is driven through him, but instead of dying he transforms into an eagle and flies away. At this point in the tale we are told:
…and Gwydion discovered that upon each day a sow would break free from the swineherd and nobody knew where she went. Gwydion took to pursue her, and she went upstream, travelling beside the river in the valley now called Nant Lleu (in modern Welsh, Nantlle), and within this place she stopped to graze. Gwydion came under the tree where she fed and looked to see upon what she grazed. He saw that the sow was feeding on rotting flesh and maggots. He looked to the top of the tree and saw an eagle within its topmost branches. When the eagle shook its feathers, flesh and maggots fell from him to be devoured by the sow. It occurred to Gwydion that the eagle was Lleu, and he took to his spells to call him.82
This is not the only instance of a sow leading a querent on a journey. Another white pig leads the hero Pryderi and his mother Rhiannon to become trapped in the otherworld in the Third Branch of the Mabinogi saga. Pigs have long been associated with the indigenous underworld of the Celts, the realm of Annwn, and were believed to have free reign to travel between both worlds. In the account above, the role of the sow and its associations with Cerridwen mirror the actions of the witch goddess in the act of devouring the profane as she consumes the initiate Gwion Bach before his transformation is complete. In the Fourth Branch of the Mabinogi the hero Lleu is also undergoing a sublime initiation, and it seems evident that the sow is a facet of this process, the component that devours the profane, dense aspect of the initiate. In light of this we can associate Cerridwen as a goddess who presides over the act of initiatory transformation. The sow is also seen in folk tradition and concerns a chase, which coincidentally emulates the initiation process. A Calan Gaeaf (Halloween/Samhain) custom popular in Wales concerned a black sow that would chase the villagers and threaten to seize the hindmost and devour them. This tradition, most common in North Wales, is believed by folklorists to contain residual elements of an ancient initiation ritual.83 It may also account for the rise of modern trick-or-treat practise.
Within the sacred landscape of Cerridwen’s realm we find another goddess of significant antiquity, and one whom Cerridwen and Gwion Bach directly interact with. This is not so apparent upon initial examination of the tale, for it hides within the magic of words and names. Within the chase sequence we are informed that the goddess pursues Gwion Bach, upon leaving his guise as a hare, “ai ymchwelud tu ag afon Ayrwen (and chased him towards the river Aerwen).”
This statement is important, and I must reiterate that every word within the narrative is chosen for its significance within the greater context of the tale. Here we are informed that the river in which part of the chase sequence is enacted is called the Ayrwen (Aerfen in modern Welsh). On first glance, a would-be initiate may see nothing of value or meaning—surely it is just the name of a river, right? Indeed, nothing could be further from the truth. The names of rivers and lakes, mountains and valleys have enormous significance within the language of Wales, and this river is no exception. If we examine the name, we discover that Aerwen is the title of a war or battle goddess to whom the river is sacred. No longer called by this title, she is now referred to as Afon Dyfrdwy (the river Dee); Dyfrdwy is composed of two words that combined mean “the river of the goddess.” It is notable that the river begins its life in the mountains of Snowdonia and courses its way through this wild terrain to eventually meet with the lake at Bala, the home of Cerridwen and her family. After a few miles she once more takes her form as a flowing river that continues through the famous Celtic Land of the Dead. This landscape of hundreds, if not thousands, of burial mounds and cairns in the Ruabon Mountains hosts the river Dyfrdwy as she seeks a path to the sea. The river has been considered sacred for centuries and was even recorded in 1188 by Giraldus Cambrensis in his journey through the landscape of Wales. It was said that a temple dedicated to Aerwen was situated in the current village of Glyndyfrdwy and that to ensure success in battle she required three human sacrifices each year.84
It has long been assumed that Gwion’s shape in the river is in the guise of a salmon, although we are only informed that his shape is that of a fish. However, the river Dyfrdwy is famed for being the greatest salmon river in the British Isles; therefore, it is safe to assume that it was indeed the form of a salmon that Gwion took. It is also significant that we have the combination of two deities here, the goddess Aerwen and the deific aspect of Cerridwen. Cerridwen’s later association of being the goddess of life and death may have been confused with those of Aerwen, who inhabited the same realm; in fact, it would be impossible to state which deity would be totemic of Lake Bala. It has been recorded that a previous name for the lake was indeed Llyn Aerwen (the lake of Aerwen). It has been suggested that Cerridwen and Aerwen may be aspects of the same goddess.85 We may never know the true connection between these two archetypes, but the interaction between them is important to the understanding of the tale and the characters therein. Cerridwen and Aerwen share similar traits, and both are symbolic of a place and the relationship that human beings have with the land. In a visionary sense, Cerridwen is representative of the powers of magical transformation and the instincts of a mother. Aerwen is presented to us as a goddess of a natural force, the river, whose course cannot be altered or controlled. She is symbolic of nature and the relationship humanity has with it as it courses through the land touching and affecting. Cerridwen and Aerwen interact, and this relationship is important, for it grounds the characters within a place; they are imminent. Pertinent to this discussion is the fact that the identity of Aerwen as a goddess is an accepted fact, whereas it is by process of apotheosis that Cerridwen comes to us in the guise of deity.
It is by the means of apotheosis, the act of exalting a subject to a divine level, whereby Cerridwen indisputably has been deified and is currently revered and worshipped by devotees around the globe. We have explored the various mechanisms that may have given rise to her deification, and we have also witnessed the rebuke of her rank as goddess by various academics. But the fact remains that she is now perceived as a goddess and one who is applicable and appropriate to the new Paganism of the twenty-first century. It also serves to demonstrate the uncanny ability these archetypes have for survival, because no matter how often or how vigorously they are suppressed, denigrated, or devalued, they continue to exist.
The gods and goddesses of the current Pagan tradition will continue to be devalued and belittled, pulled apart and eviscerated to within an inch of decency, for they are still perceived as a threat. Paganism may be generally
accepted, but it is still a fringe tradition seen as a threat to other institutions who would love nothing more than the demise of our deities. Thankfully these archetypes have significantly more power than the prejudices of little human minds, and try as some might, they will not succeed in suppressing these divine voices.
Many may argue that the gods bear no resemblance to those of the ancient world—that any bridge which linked us directly to the wisdom of the past has long since burnt. Many cry that the gods are not real but are merely romantic notions of fantasy and an unhinged mind. We may well hear the protestations that “They are not gods!” I would beg to differ. My gods are as real as I am, for I give my gods voice, as do you and the covens and groves that devote their spiritual practises to them. Nothing is inherently original; everything must evolve or suffer stagnation and annihilation; nobody would have the audacity to question the face or attributions of the Christian or Islamic deities, yet they too have evolved. Everything has to start somewhere, right? The gods of the revealed religions bear little semblance to the archetypes that gave birth to them. Our gods are new gods inspired by old gods; we are the new Pagans who give voice to this Paganism that we have created to emulate the past whilst consciously not trying to live in it. Cerridwen and her kin cause us to look to the future, to be inspired but not long for the past. We are encouraged to change and develop their allegories and tales and make them authentically applicable to the Pagan spiritualities of today and tomorrow.
From the Cauldron Born Page 17