Carl McColman

366 Celt: A Year and A Day of Celtic Wisdom and Lore


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and poets and scribes, all of whom knew part of the story, none of whom knew the entire narrative. When it seemed futile and he was on the verge of giving up, the bard received a vision. In it he was visited by Fergus mac Róich, one of the great mythic kings and heroes of Ulster, and a tutor to the young hero, Cúchulainn. In the vision, Fergus carefully recounted every detail of The Tain to Senchán Torpéist, and so the story was saved. The bard saw to it that it was written down, and so the epic survives to this very day.

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      The story of Senchán Torpéist and the remembering of The Tain provides an important glimpse into the role of the bard in Celtic society. To begin with, the bards were the keepers of history. Far more than mere poets, their job was to preserve the memory of the people, by safeguarding the genealogies and stories of great and valorous heroes, from the recent to the distant past. Clearly, if a tale as noble and heroic as The Tain had been lost, there had been a breakdown in the bardic system. In our world of Hollywood-style adaptations of stories, it might seem like no big deal if a story is lost—just make up a new one. But this would have been unthinkable to a bard. Any story worth telling is a story worth remembering—it is an aspect of the lore of the people. So the bard’s role was not only to entertain and inform, but perhaps more importantly, to archive and preserve.

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      So what could a bard do when an important element of the lore had been lost? In a way, the loss of The Tain is a metaphor for the loss of the entire pre-Christian Celtic tradition. We see how Senchán Torpéist attempted to remedy the problem: first, by gathering what fragments existed and by attempting to reconstruct the story from them, almost as one would try to repair a broken piece of fine crystal by reassembling the various fragments. So the bard’s role as archivist could extend to being a historical detective, looking at all that we do know as a way of trying to close the gap on what we don’t know. After all, to understand who we are today, and to guess where we’re going, it’s fairly important to recognize who we’ve been and where we’re coming from. So by carefully preserving (or investigating) the past, the bard gives us in the present perhaps the most valuable gift possible: self-knowledge.

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      THE PATH OF THE BARD

      In the end, Senchán Torpéist revived The Tain not by detective work or by educated guesswork—he received supernatural assistance. The spirit of one of the ancient heroes visits him, and sets the record straight. And thus, the seventh-century bard is able to preserve a story that probably dates back some five to six hundred years before his time. So we come to another important characteristic of the bards. Their skills and training extended beyond those of a mere journalist or historian—their poetry was regarded as having a spiritual component, making them not only poets, but prophets as well (prophecy meaning not only the ability to speak of the future, but in its broader sense of the ability to speak any spiritually-sourced truth). In Ireland, the bards were known as the filidh, a word best translated as “seer-poet.” The eloquence of the bard came not only from their own training and natural abilities, but also from their abilities to communicate with the otherworld. As a weaver of words and a preserver of memories, the bard also played a necessary third function: as a spokesperson for Spirit. Indeed, the filidh were regarded as having magical abilities. Which is not too surprising, considering that the order of bards probably originated in the ancient priestly function of the druids.

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      The bard’s magic could be described in a single word: enchantment. Chanting, of course, is related to song, but an enchantment is a song with something extra: an altered state, a doorway to the spiritual realm. Enchantment is what separates garden-variety entertainment from the true bard’s art, where his or her talents are used to bring divine transformation into the world.

      Think of Gregorian chant. It’s a style of music that has been used in Christian monasteries for a thousand years, and yet in the late twentieth century several CDs of such unadorned singing were bestsellers, with millions of copies sold to people who had little or no connection with organized religion. Why? Naturally, because the music was enchanting. People described it as soothing, relaxing, peaceful, meditative—all words that speak of a mild altered state of consciousness that the music helped foster. Herein lies another clue to the power of the bards. Much Celtic music, from airs on a harp to lively jigs played on a fiddle, embodies a similar ability to entrance the listener—to snap him or her into a sonically-induced mystical state. In the hands of a true bard, such musical magic is not merely an impressive show, but a ceremonial means of finding inner transformation.

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      THE PATH OF THE BARD

      The bards of old did not merely sing praises and recite poetry of glorious and mighty deeds. Granted, that may have been their stock in trade when working for a wealthy patron, but legend insists that the bards could curse as well as charm. Indeed, Irish myth clearly describes how a talented bard’s satire could raise blisters on a previously unblemished face—a not inconsiderable feat, with profound implications for a king whose right to rule lay partially in his flawless physique. Indeed, much of the dramatic tension of the earliest cyde of Irish myths comes when the bard Cairbre satirizes the inhospitable Fomorian king Bres, causing boils to erupt on his face and thereby setting into motion the forces which would depose him—and lead to the greatest of legendary battles.

      Cursing is not something that we moderns like to think of as a “spiritual” activity. Yet the interesting part of Celtic cultural history is that cursing is found among both the pagans and the Christians of old. Perhaps we don’t like cursing because we secretly wish to believe that the world is a benign place where no hostile forces exist. The ancients certainly knew better, and wanted their spiritual leaders to have a psychic arsenal ready to protect themselves from malevolent energies.

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      One way we can find meaning in the bard’s ability to satirize an unjust or inhospitable king would be to think of the bard’s vocation in terms of helping people to see things from a new angle. Sure, to the extent that the bard praises the worthy king, it’s a straightforward job. But sometimes, it is the job of a poet or a storyteller to make sure we see things from an alternative perspective. In ancient times, this meant presenting the actions of the unjust leader in a humorous or ironic way. Nowadays, we no longer have poet-historians, but we do have storytellers, journalists, essayists, and other contributors to the public debate. For these modern “bards,” it might simply mean refusing to buy in to the “official” way of seeing things. No, what the government says is not the only way the world is. No, what religious leaders, or scientific leaders, or business leaders have to say is not necessarily the ultimate truth. A gifted bard may not speak words of such satirical potency that they cause blisters to burst forth, but he or she may nevertheless invite listeners to consider choices and possibilities that might otherwise go unnoticed and unexamined.

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      Can the ordinary person be a bard? Well, maybe few of us will ever master the intricate knowledge of history and lore that an ancient bard was required to know; after all, the bards of old, like their druidic peers, had to study anywhere from twelve to twenty years before they were considered masters of their craft. In our day, such training does not exist; let alone opportunities for anyone to ply the bard’s trade. Even so, this does not mean that the spirit of the bard is lost. Anyone who tells stories with a dash of magic or mythology is walking in the path of the bards. Anyone who integrates poetry, music, history, and prophecy into their way of seeing the world and sharing it with others is living as an aspiring bard. And anyone who uses their skills as a communicator to invite others to consider alternative ways of seeing the world—especially in regard to those who wield power—is certainly on the bardic