by Jason Mankey
The first meeting of the Young Goddess and the Horned One is chaste, nothing more than a bit of infatuation on the part of the Horned God. The Lady returns his flirtations but also keeps her suitor at a distance. Early February is not a time for sexual license, but a time for blushing and fumbled words.
At the Spring Equinox, the two figures most likely share a kiss. They are becoming aware of their sexual selves, and it’s likely that both have discovered masturbation by this point in their existence. By the end of March, both figures are returning knowing glances and they begin to become inseparable. Remember here, too, that the Horned God is a gentleman, no matter how strong his sexual urges might be. While his longing is intense, he respects the boundaries and the rules of others.
As spring progresses, the love of the Goddess and God has reawakened the earth, and the trees bud and the flowers bloom. Their relationship has also grown more passionate, and on Beltane night, under the maypole, they consummate their desires. It’s the Goddess here who leads the way, guiding and instructing her lover as they indulge in the pleasures of the flesh.
It’s after this experience that the Goddess transitions from Maiden to Mother. In some versions of the story, the Goddess becomes pregnant at Beltane. As someone who believes that sex should not always be tethered to reproduction, I find this part of the story especially troubling. (Why can’t it wait until the Summer Solstice?) The use of the term Mother here can also be problematic. Why can’t she be a Warrior? A Queen? Or whatever she wants?
At Midsummer, the coupling of the Goddess and God has progressed enough that their nuptials are celebrated on the Summer Solstice. This might also be the time when the Horned One ensures his survival by impregnating his Lady. One of the first Witchcraft books I read as a young adult advised against ever planning a wedding in June, because the entire month was reserved for the Goddess and God. That’s an interesting idea, but not a very accurate piece of folklore.
It’s in August when this myth has the most variance. Depending on the person or group telling the story, the Horned God generally sacrifices himself for the good of the harvest at Lammas (Lughnasadh), the Autumn Equinox (Mabon), or Samhain. Just when the Horned One makes his sacrifice likely depends on the story being told at the ritual, and what and when certain cereal crops are being harvested. The majority of grain in Ireland, for example, is harvested by the end of August, while in the American Midwest it’s usually closer to the end of September.218
Lammas, as a festival celebrating the first harvest of cereal crops, is a popular time for the sacrifice of the God. The sabbat’s focus on bread also provides a tangible end result of his sacrifice. For many of us, September is the busiest month of the year agriculturally, making the Autumn Equinox (often celebrated as Mabon) one of the most popular sabbat celebrations to mark the passing of the Horned One.
Many Witches choose to honor the demise of the God on Samhain, and with Samhain’s heavy emphasis on death, it’s a choice that makes a great deal of sense. However, many covens also celebrate the veil being thin at Samhain, and focus almost exclusively on their beloved dead (generally close friends and loved ones who have been lost), which makes the God’s sacrifice a sideshow or mostly an afterthought. The sacrifice of the Horned God can most certainly be honored at Samhain, but make sure to do it with the care and reverence that’s required.
In my own take on the story, I see the Horned God as making his sacrifice on the Autumn Equinox, and then retreating to the realm of the dead so that he can open the gates for our dearly departed at Samhain. Told this way, the story emphasizes his need and duty to visit the realm of the dead, with his sacrifice in the world of the living also acting as a gift to those no longer with us.
After the Horned God’s sacrifice, it’s thought that he resides in the realm of the dead, waiting to be born again at Yule. For some Witches, the period between Samhain and Yule is a liminal time that exists outside of the natural order of things due to his absence. However one chooses to tell this story, it’s important to remember that it’s just a story. Life and death are both a part of this world, and as a result the Horned God always has one foot in each realm. He doesn’t die in autumn in any sort of literal way; it’s a metaphor, but one that helps us prepare for our own inevitable end.
Even with its shortcomings and limitations, the story of the Goddess and Horned God growing up side by side often makes for good ritual. If this is a myth you choose to embrace, just remember that the Horned God is as likely to take a male lover as a female one. The Goddess is no different, and good Witches know that gender is more than just male-female. There are all sorts of varying gender identities and those who identify with no gender. All of these are valid expressions and are a part of the deities of Witchcraft.
The story of the Goddess and God can be told with two Goddesses or two Gods. It can be told using more than two individuals as well. The only limit to this tale is our own imagination. It’s also a story that can be thrown out altogether, and one that can be mined simply for its most personally evocative and meaningful truths. Though often told in Witchcraft circles, the myth of the Sacrificial God and the Lady is not holy writ, and never was.
The (Wild) Hunt
Hunting has been on the decline for several decades now, and at the time of this writing, only about 5 percent of Americans sixteen and older engage in the practice.219 But even though interest in hunting is decreasing, over eleven million people still hunt every year. The Witch world is an extremely diverse one, and while I know many Witches who are vegans and vegetarians, there are also Witches who hunt animals for food, and they often honor the Horned God in the midst of their endeavors.
Most hunters strive to live in harmony with the land and the animals they hunt. They tend to be good stewards of the earth, and they only harvest from the woods what they can eat. The Horned God is the god of responsible hunters, not the assholes we read about on social media who spend tens of thousands so they can kill a lion in Africa. Witches who hunt do so to feed their families and preserve the wild spaces where they live. An overabundance of deer can destroy a forest, and with few natural predators left, hunters fill a valuable void.
As a god of both life and death, the Horned God is the balance in the natural world. He brings new life into this world, but also takes life out of it. A well-functioning ecosystem requires both predators and prey, and a healthy respect for those that are prey. Through his connection to Cernunnos, the Horned God has always been a god of the ethical hunt. He’s the deity to petition and thank whenever heading into the woods for a hunting adventure. (That includes those who simply “hunt” with cameras too!) But there’s another hunt the Horned God has been connected to over the last few hundred years: the Wild Hunt.
The Wild Hunt is a name given to a wide variety of unexplained apparitions and phenomena that are said to be led by several different deities and historical figures. The term Wild Hunt was coined by Jacob Grimm (1785–1863) in his 1835 book Deutsche Mythologie (which translates as German Mythology—and in case you were wondering, Jacob is one of the Grimms connected to some of your favorite fairy tales). Grimm’s book argued that the Wild Hunt (in German, Wilde Jagd) was generally a night ride of dead heroes led by a Pagan god and goddess.220
Depending on one’s location in Europe, the Wild Hunt was known by several different names. It was sometimes connected to the idea of a spectral army, with names such as the Furious Army, Herlewin’s Army, and Hellequin’s Army. 221 The most terrifying name for the Wild Hunt comes from Cornwall, England, where it’s known as the Devil’s Dandy Dogs and, not surprisingly, features dogs and hunters hunting the world for human souls.222 The Wild Hunt is often connected to ancient paganisms, but the first recorded instance of something like the Wild Hunt seems to date only from 1120 CE.223
In Modern Witchcraft, there are a couple of very different interpretations of the Wild Hunt. The most common reflects the ideas of Grimm and features a spect
ral army of the dead generally led by a deity of some kind. In addition to spectral figures on horseback, the Hunt often includes dogs. The Wild Hunt is often linked to the Horned God because one of the most common leaders of the Hunt tends to be Herne. Also showing up with frequency at the head of the Hunt is Odin (or Woden), which, as we’ve seen, could most certainly be related to Herne.
Just what the purpose of the Wild Hunt is depends on whom one asks. In folklore, the spirits of the Hunt are mostly terrifying and are generally souls condemned to wander the earth, perhaps due to misdeeds. These souls are out to either simply enjoy the act of hunting or gather up human souls. In some traditions, the Wild Hunt appears before a time of great calamity, such as a war. And others believe that the Wild Hunt is more common at certain times of the year, most notably the Summer and Winter Solstices.
In addition to souls and deities, the Wild Hunt is sometimes linked to the fey, or fairy folk. Modern interpretations of the fey tend to be positive, but that’s a relatively recent phenomenon. For several centuries, people were absolutely terrified of the fey, and believed their influence on human lives was generally baneful. Seeing the Wild Hunt led by the fairy folk might lead to death or one getting taken to the world of fairy, which was not always a good thing.
Several historical figures have been said to lead the Wild Hunt over the centuries. Charlemagne and Frederick the Great figure in French and German legends, respectively, leading the Hunt, and in parts of England and France, the legendary King Arthur leads the chase.224 Biblical figures such as Herod the Great, Herodias, and Pontius Pilate have been listed as participants in the Wild Hunt as well. Archangel Gabriel is said to be another huntsman, but for our purposes it’s the deities linked to the Hunt who are the most interesting. There’s Gwyn ap Nudd, the Welsh Lord of Death, and the previously mentioned Odin and Herne. Goddesses are common, with Diane, Hekate, and Holda being the most referenced.
Today the Wild Hunt is being reimagined by Witches and Pagans for various purposes. I’ve been to several outdoor Pagan festivals where Wild Hunts are enacted to link individuals to their wilder and more primitive side. Oftentimes Wild Hunts are used as vehicles of transformation, with the participants going through some sort of ordeal that brings them closer to their community, or specific ideas about deities or magickal practice. The Wild Hunt can also serve as a way to connect with one’s ancestors or beloved dead. By playing the part of a spectral huntsperson, we can cross over into the realm of the dead to get a taste of what the afterlife might be like. Before tarot card readings, Herne (as the leader of the Wild Hunt) can be invoked, with the hope that he’ll lend his powers of prophecy to the reading.
The Wild Hunt is one of the most frequently referenced pieces of folklore in Modern Witchcraft. It can be both frightening and enlightening, but it’s always transformative when we find ourselves bearing witness to it. At the head of the Wild Hunt, many of us see the face of the Horned God, coming to reunite us with our beloved dead or perhaps sharing a glimpse of the future.
The Green Mile of the Horned God
In October of 2014, I took part in a Samhain rite where I played the role of the soon-to-be-sacrificed Horned God. The ritual was written mostly by my “pretty hair twin,” Angus McMahan, though I was allowed to make several changes to the dialogue featuring the Horned God and the (soon-to-be) Mother Goddess. It was an otherworldly ritual experience, and one of the ten rituals I’m most proud to have had a role in.
As my inevitable end began to draw closer, I walked around the circle with the Goddess, sharing the story of the Wheel of the Year and just why my death was necessary. I’m using the words I and my here to describe the Horned God who was walking headlong into his death , because he was most definitely with me that night. The following are most likely the words we spoke that night as we celebrated and lamented the sacrifice of the Horned One. (Since the Horned One was drawn down into me during the ritual, what we said that night might vary from our original script.)
Goddess: The Wheel turns once more.
God: Yes, the Wheel turns, and again we stand here at the end, and the beginning.
Goddess: We’ve shared love and pleasure, grief and joy. It’s been a lifetime of feelings and emotions.
God: And a lifetime in the span of only a few months.
Goddess: At Imbolc we witnessed the earth waking up from her deep sleep and our children sow the year’s first seeds.
God: Then there were spring flowers, jasmine on the wind, cherry blossoms, life and beauty spread out for all to see.
Goddess: There were our days spent playing near the restless ocean …
God: Then there were our children, our tribe … all working together, sometimes laughing, and then falling and picking themselves back up so they might try again.
Goddess: And then there was the Beltane rite … the Maidens, the promise of summer, the warmth of the sun upon our faces.
God: And then there was after the Beltane rite … with its own mysteries.
Goddess: Good memories.
Goddess: Sun-soaked days at Midsummer, the ocean breeze rippling through the tall redwood trees.
God: I was so strong back then and I thought those days might never end, but end they did, like all things. But those nights in your arms under the full moon, those are my favorite memories, and I shall cherish them forever.
Goddess: I like that your favorite memories are of me.
God: And when I found myself a shadow of my former self at Lughnasadh, it was you who helped me to stand and prepare for the harvest.
Goddess: Not only me, but our children, too. As you pour your love out upon the earth, they pour their love out to you, me, us. They have accomplished so much this turn of the Wheel.
God: They have, and those victories warm my heart and prepare me for the turning of the Wheel and the changes yet to come.
Goddess: The Wheel turns.
At this point, the Goddess picked a knife up off a table and I adjusted my cloak, pulling up my hood. Symbolically it was like wearing blinders; I knew what was ahead, but I didn’t want to see it.
God: Our children have grown so much this year, and tonight they have taken the biggest step of all.
Goddess: A big step—a necessary step—it must be done.
God: Is everyone prepared for what is to come this night? Can it all be done?
Goddess: Can what?
God: The big change, the removal of the final obstacle, all that holds our children back.
Goddess: Yes. Oh, yes! We have made them smarter than they know.
God: And stronger than they can imagine.
Goddess: And we have shown them tonight that they can do the big thing—the hard thing—the ugly, necessary thing that must be done.
God: Yes, it all must be done for the Wheel to turn.
Goddess: To once more find ourselves in the darktime.
God: My bones ache, my antlers must be shed. It has been a long year and I am now so tired.
Goddess: Are you, my Love?
God: Yes, my Life. What began at Lughnasadh has now overtaken me. I am not the satyr I once was. I am ready.
Goddess: No regrets?
God: Never. Except being apart from you.
Goddess: Never. We are eternal.
God: And the weight of that eternity is heavy upon my shoulders.
At this point, the celebrants began to chant, “Corn and grain, corn and grain, all that falls shall rise again,” 225 and we moved to a stage set up in the middle of our circle. Once there, the Goddess began pleading for one of the celebrants to kill me, because she just couldn’t do it, with me as the Horned One resigned to my fate, a fate that only she could bring to its end.
Goddess: My Love!
God: My Life!
Goddess: The Wheel turns!
God: The Wheel turns!
Goddess: [Scream
s]
And then the knife was plunged into my side. Many in the audience cried out in anguish and several actually cried. I fell to the floor of the stage, and then the lights went out.
––––––––
The lights going out began a rather awkward sequence in the ritual where I had to put some fake blood on the athame used to stab me (not surprisingly, I cut myself on the athame in the dark during this time) and then set it on our stage. Somewhere in there, I handed our Goddess a kickball to stick under her shirt to make her look pregnant. Immediately after that, I had to crawl under our stage and hide there until the end of the ritual.
I had obviously come back to a semblance of my normal existence after stabbing myself, but as I sat under our stage, I began to cry. After the ritual was officially over, some of those in attendance began to laugh a little bit, a reasonable reaction when being with friends and celebrating a sabbat. However, I didn’t find anything about my current predicament as a Dead God very funny, and I remember being quite furious for a while because of the laughing (which is also ridiculous and makes me laugh thinking about it).
All in all, it was an incredible experience, and one that still gives me both shivers and intense satisfaction. As a devotee of the Horned One, I’ve experienced a lot of joy when celebrating his rites. It was eye-opening to be on the other side of the Horned God story.
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209. Gardner, Witchcraft Today, chap. 2.
210. Gardner, The Meaning of Witchcraft, 25.
211. Gardner, The Meaning of Witchcraft, 25.
212. The term Summerlands to signify a place in the afterlife comes from nineteenth century Spiritualism and later the Theosophical Society, both groups who most likely had a tremendous impact on Modern Witchcraft.
213. I mention Frazer’s influence on the sabbats in my 2019 book Witch’s Wheel of the Year: Rituals for Circles, Solitaries & Covens, also published by Llewellyn.