Tag Archive | christianity

The Bunker and the Web

How Modern Paganism Lost the Thread of Relationship

(And How to Get It Back Without Becoming a Reenactment Nerd)


A Quick Story Before We Begin

Picture two Vikings.

Viking A wakes up. Pours some mead on the ground for the land-spirits. Chats with his house-carl about last night’s dreams. Goes fishing. Makes an offering to Njord because the herring are running. Shares dinner with neighbors—some of whom follow Christ, some who follow Thor, some who aren’t sure what they follow but make excellent cheese. Falls asleep listening to the wind in the fjord.

Viking B wakes up. Checks his ancestry DNA test to confirm he’s 23% Scandinavian. Gets angry on the internet because someone called Odin “All-Father” instead of using the “correct” Old Norse pronunciation he looked up yesterday. Yells at a stranger for combining rune magic with crystal healing. Goes to bed alone, clutching his reproduction sword, dreaming of a pure past that never existed.

One of these Vikings is practicing a living religion.

The other is building a bunker.

This article is about how we got from A to B—and how to get back.


Part I: The Web That Was

(Or: Your Ancestors Were Way More Chill Than You Think)

Let’s start with a weird claim that happens to be true:

Historical pagans didn’t really do “religion” the way we think of it.

They didn’t have scripture. They didn’t have Sunday school. They didn’t have doctrinal statements you had to sign to join the club. What they had was relationships. Lots of them. With everything.

The Anthropology of “Hey, Neighbor”

Julian Pitt-Rivers, an anthropologist who spent way too much time studying Mediterranean hospitality customs (someone had to), noticed something back in 1977. From Vedic India to Iron Age Scandinavia, Indo-European societies ran on what the Greeks called xenia—guest-friendship, sacred hospitality, the art of not being a jerk to strangers.

This wasn’t just being polite. It was theological.

The way you treated a guest was the way you treated a god. The way you treated a god was the way you treated a guest. Everything was connected through webs of obligation, gift-giving, and mutual “don’t screw this up” energy.

Mary Douglas, another anthropologist who could probably sort your entire life out just by watching how you arrange your kitchen, described small-group religions (that’s all the pre-Christian European ones) as having weak boundaries but strong internal connections (Douglas, 1970).

Think about that for a second.

Weak boundaries. Strong connections.

Not “who’s in and who’s out.” Not “us versus them.” Just… connection. Permeable. Breathing. Alive.

The Land Was the Liturgy

Richard Bradley, an archaeologist who digs things up for a living (literally), wrote a whole book called An Archaeology of Natural Places (2000). His big insight? Pre-Christian European religions weren’t about believing the right things. They were about being in the right places.

Sacred springs. Ancient groves. Burial mounds that whispered with ancestors. The sacred wasn’t something you carried in your head. It was something you stood on.

This is what philosopher Edward Casey calls “locative” spirituality (Casey, 1997). It’s the opposite of “I can worship anywhere because God is everywhere.” It’s “I worship here because here is specific, and the spirits of here know me.”

The Norse Were Running a Relationship Startup

Let’s look at the evidence for Norse religion specifically—because this is where modern people get really confused.

The Landvættir: Your Local Nature Spirits, Please Don’t Scare Them

The Landnámabók—basically the Icelandic settler’s handbook from way back when—has this delightful detail. When Vikings sailed to Iceland, they would remove the dragon-prows from their ships before landing. Why? So they wouldn’t frighten the land-spirits (Byock, 2001).

Let that sink in.

These are Vikings. We’re talking about people who raided monasteries for fun. And their first priority when reaching new land was not freaking out the local nature spirits.

This isn’t a religion of conquest. It’s a religion of negotiation. Of “hey, we’re new here, please don’t make our cows miscarry.”

The Gods Were a Social Network

Michael York, a historian of religion who has opinions about polytheism (and wrote a whole book called Pagan Theology in 2003), argues that pagan pantheons aren’t really “theologies” in the modern sense. They’re social maps.

The Æsir? Political gods. Chieftain energy. Leadership and law.

The Vanir? Agricultural gods. Fertility and reciprocity. “Let’s all get along and have good harvests” energy.

The Jötnar? Wild gods. Chaos and transformation. The stuff outside the boundaries that you still have to deal with.

You needed all of them. The web included everyone.

Christianization Was a Dinner Party, Not a Crusade

Here’s something that blows modern minds: when Scandinavia converted to Christianity, it wasn’t because missionaries won theological debates.

Anders Winroth, a historian who specializes in making Vikings more complicated than you thought, points out that Christianization happened through political alliance and gift-exchange (Winroth, 2014). King Óláfr Tryggvason didn’t argue people into Christianity. He gifted them into it. Accepted the new god as a powerful ally. Made relationships.

The idea of “faith” as believing specific propositions? That would have been weird to a Viking. They cared about who you sacrificed with, not what you secretly thought.

The Blót: Religion as Potluck

Neil Price, an archaeologist who wrote The Viking Way (2002) and the absolutely massive Children of Ash and Elm (2020), synthesized all the evidence about Norse sacrifice (blót). His conclusion?

It was basically a communal barbecue with divine guests.

You sacrificed an animal. You cooked it. You ate it together. The gods got their share. You got yours. The animal became a mediator—literally “making middle” between human community and divine community.

This is relationship as shared consumption. Not theology as correct belief.

See the pattern yet?


Part II: How the Bunker Got Built

(Or: The 19th Century Ruined Everything, Part 4,729)

So if historical paganism was all about connection, permeability, and webs of relationship… what the hell happened?

Short answer: Romantic nationalism happened.

Long answer: Keep reading.

The Invention of “Pure” Germanicness

In the 19th century, a bunch of German intellectuals got really into the idea that they had a racial essence that could be recovered from the past. This was the Völkisch movement—”Volk” meaning people, but in a creepy “blood and soil” way that would go on to cause significant problems in the 20th century.

Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke traced this whole mess in The Occult Roots of Nazism (1985). Mattias Gardell followed up with Gods of the Blood (2003). Both tell the same story: the Norse heritage got transformed from a web of regional practices into a fortress of identity.

Guido von List. The Germanenorden. People with impressive beards and unfortunate political ideas. They took the decentralized, localized, relational spirituality of actual Heathens and turned it into Germanic Nationalism: The Religion.

This was the critical turn.

From “who are we connected to?” (the land, the ancestors, the gods, the neighbors)

To “what are we not?” (not Slavic, not Jewish, not Catholic, not modern, not contaminated).

Arjun Appadurai, an anthropologist who thinks about culture professionally, calls this “culturalism” (1996)—when culture stops being the water you swim in and becomes an object of passionate defense. The “old ways” became a flag. A boundary marker. A bunker.

Ásatrú: From Practice to Protest

Fast forward to 1972. Iceland. The Ásatrúarfélagið gets founded. In America, the 1970s counterculture discovers Vikings. Sounds cool, right?

But here’s the thing: American Heathenry inherited that 19th-century bunker mentality.

Jennifer Snook, a sociologist who actually talked to American Heathens for her book American Heathens (2015), found that the movement has been “shaped by its oppositional stance.” Defining itself against Christianity. Against mainstream culture. Against “fluffy” Wicca. Against universalism. Against “SJWs.” Against whatever the internet is mad about this week.

This is definitional by negation.

A religion that knows what it hates but has forgotten what it loves.


Part III: The Anthropology of Why Bunkers Feel Safe

(Spoiler: They’re Actually Terrible for Your Spiritual Health)

So why do people keep building these spiritual bunkers? There’s actually anthropology for this.

From Locative to Utopian to Dystopian

Jonathan Z. Smith, a religious studies scholar who could probably deconstruct your breakfast cereal, made a famous distinction in Map Is Not Territory (1978). He talked about locative sacred spaces versus utopian sacred spaces.

Locative = centered, place-bound, specific. You are here. The sacred is here. Relationship happens here.

Utopian = unbounded, portable, anywhere. The sacred is everywhere. Or nowhere. You’re floating.

Historical paganism? Super locative. Your gods lived in that grove. Your ancestors were buried in that mound. You made offerings at that spring.

Modern reconstructed paganism? Increasingly utopian. Portable. Placeless. Practiced in living rooms and online forums.

But here’s the twist: when your spirituality becomes oppositional—when it’s about fighting enemies—then utopian becomes dystopian.

You carry the bunker with you.

You’re not in relationship with land, ancestors, and gods. You’re in relationship with your enemies.

The Political Battlefield Is Anti-Land

James C. Scott, a political theorist who studies how states ruin everything, argued in Against the Grain (2017) that state formation required destroying local, place-based relationships in favor of abstract categories.

Citizen. Subject. Class. Race. Party member.

The “political battlefield” isn’t just metaphorical. It’s anti-local. It’s where humans relate to each other as abstractions instead of as embodied beings in specific places.

David Abram, an environmental philosopher who actually pays attention to the non-human world, traced in The Spell of the Sensuous (1996) how abstract thought and literacy let humans disengage from the more-than-human world.

Modern Paganism’s turn toward political ideology—whether left-wing “activist witchcraft” or right-wing “folkish Heathenry”—is the same disengagement. The “land” becomes a symbol (of the nation, of the oppressed, of the volk) rather than a presence (this soil, these plants, this weather).

Tim Ingold, an anthropologist who wrote Being Alive (2011) and The Perception of the Environment (2000), developed the concept of “dwelling”—knowledge that comes from sustained, embodied engagement with a place.

Bunker mentality is the opposite.

Knowledge that comes from disengagement. From internet arguments. From portable identity that needs no specific ground.

Even the Romans Weren’t This Bad

Here’s a historical fact that ruins a lot of narratives: pagan Rome didn’t conquer for religion.

Ramsay MacMullen, a historian who actually looked at the evidence, documented in Christianizing the Roman Empire (1984) that Rome had no concept of religious conversion as a state goal. The pax deorum—peace of the gods—was maintained through correct practice, not correct belief.

Roman expansion? Driven by plunder, tribute, and political domination. Greed and power. Not theological imperative (Woolf, 1998; Ando, 2008).

Peter Heather, a historian who wrote Empires and Barbarians (2009), notes that Romanization was cultural and economic, not religious. When Romans encountered local gods, they didn’t destroy them. They said “oh, your god is like our god” and added them to the pantheon.

This is the pagan pattern: religious pluralism as default. Conquest for resources, not souls. Gods as allies to negotiate with, not truths to enforce.

The bunker mentality—”we must defend our faith against enemies”—is Christian and Muslim in structure, not pagan.


Part IV: The Gnostic Exception That Proves the Rule

(Or: Christianity Was Cool Before It Got Popular)

Quick detour. Remember how we said organized Abrahamic religions introduced the bunker mentality?

There’s an exception. Actually, the original Christianities were pretty punk rock.

Outsider Religion vs. Imperial Religion

Before Constantine, before Nicea, before Christianity became the Roman Empire’s official religion—there were just Christianities. Plural. Competing groups with weird ideas and small communities.

David Brakke’s The Gnostics (2010) and the Nag Hammadi scholars (Meyer, 2007; Pagels, 1979) have mapped this out. The Valentinians. The Sethians. The Thomas Christians. These groups were:

  • Small and voluntary (not state churches)
  • About personal transformation through direct experience (gnosis), not doctrinal assent
  • Rejection of worldly power (the “god of this world” was often seen as a lower, messed-up power)
  • Inclusive across social boundaries (women, slaves, foreigners as teachers and leaders)

Rodney Stark, a sociologist of religion, argued in The Rise of Christianity (1996) that early Christianity grew precisely because it was high-tension outsider religion. It created new fictive kinship bonds across ethnic and class lines.

Then came Theodosius I and his edicts (381-391 CE).

Charles Freeman documented this in The Closing of the Western Mind (2003) and A.D. 381 (2008). Christianity transformed from persecuted minority faith to state-enforced orthodoxy with the power to exclude, persecute, and define “heresy.”

This is bunker mentality in its pure form.

Defining Christianity by what it was not. Enforcing boundaries through state violence. The cuius regio, eius religio principle—”whose realm, his religion”—that dominated European religious politics until the Enlightenment.

Religion as territory to conquer and defend.

Not religion as web of relationships.


Part V: Symptoms of Bunker Mentality in Modern Paganism

(A Field Guide to Recognizing When You’re in a Fortress Instead of a Forest)

How do you know if you—or your community—has slipped into bunker mode?

Here are the warning signs, backed by actual research:

Symptom 1: The “Lore-Only” Fortress

“If it’s not in the Eddas, it’s not real Heathenry.”

Sounds authentic, right? Wrong.

Jörg Rüpke, a historian of Roman religion who wrote Religion of the Romans (2007) and Pantheon (2018), demonstrated that no historical paganism was “lore-only.” All living traditions evolve, borrow, adapt, and innovate.

Here’s the kicker: the “lore” we have?

  • Snorri’s Prose Edda? Written in the 13th century by a Christian.
  • The Poetic Edda? Preserved fragments, written down by Christians.
  • Saxo Grammaticus? Christian. Writing centuries after conversion.

These are literary constructions, not liturgical manuals. They preserve fragments of oral tradition filtered through medieval Christian frameworks (Lindow, 2002; Schjødt, 2020).

Treating them as “scripture” isn’t restoring Heathenry. It’s Christianizing it.

Symptom 2: The Ancestry Trap

“You need Scandinavian DNA to honor Norse gods.”

Historical evidence says: nope.

Leszek Gardela’s Magic in the Viking Age (2021) and the broader archaeological record show Norse religion was practiced by diverse populations—Sami, Finns, Balts, slaves of various origins who became part of Norse households.

The Hávamál—that famous wisdom poem—says: “Cattle die, kinsmen die, but a good name never dies” (Hávamál 76).

Emphasis on name. Reputation. Relationship.

Not blood.

The Norse concept of frændskapr (kinship) could be created through oath, adoption, and service—not merely birth (Byock, 1988).

Symptom 3: The Political Weaponization

Whether it’s:

  • Progressive Paganism: Using witchcraft as “resistance” against “the patriarchy”
  • Traditionalist Paganism: Using Heathenry as “resistance” against “modernity”

It’s the same pattern.

Patrick Deneen’s Why Liberalism Failed (2018) and Mark Lilla’s The Shipwrecked Mind (2016) document how political ideology has become a substitute for religion in modernity.

But the reverse is also true: religion has become a form of political ideology.

When your primary religious activity is fighting enemies, you’re practicing politics with spiritual aesthetics.

Not spirituality with political implications.


Part VI: Restoring the Web

(Practical Steps for Getting Out of the Bunker)

So how do we get back to Viking A and away from Viking B?

The Heathen Third Path offers a framework: rooted but not closed, inclusive but not rootless.

Here’s what that looks like in practice:

Step 1: Get Locative or Get Lost

Follow Bradley (2000) and Abram (1996). Restore place-based practice.

Learn the specific ecology of your place. Not “nature” in the abstract. This creek. These trees. This soil.

The spirits here know things. They remember things. They have preferences.

Ask them.

Step 2: Make Friends With Non-Humans

Donna Haraway’s Staying with the Trouble (2016) and Eduardo Kohn’s How Forests Think (2013) argue for multi-species relationship.

Your paganism should include:

  • Animals
  • Plants
  • Fungi (they’re running the show anyway)
  • Weather patterns
  • The dead

Not just humans and gods.

Everything’s connected. Act like it.

Step 3: Bring Back the Potluck

Restore commensality—the shared meal—as the center of practice.

The blót. The sumble. Sacred consumption. Creating relationship through eating together.

Not theological debate. Not purity testing. Bread and meat and mead and conversation.

Step 4: Practice Sacred Hospitality

Restore xenia/heitsugu as a primary virtue.

The willingness to be vulnerable to the stranger. To create relationship across boundaries. To recognize that your enemy might become your guest might become your friend might become family.

This is the opposite of bunker mentality.


Part VII: The Tree and the Bunker

(A Metaphor to Take With You)

Let’s return to that image: the tree versus the bunker.

Historical paganisms were arboreal:

  • Rooted in specific soil
  • Branching in multiple directions
  • Interconnected through mycorrhizal networks (look it up, trees are chatting underground)
  • Alive, growing, dying, regenerating
  • Permeable to wind and rain and light

Modern bunker Paganism is architectural:

  • Defensive walls
  • Enclosed space
  • Static and rigid
  • Designed for siege warfare
  • Cut off from the surrounding ecosystem

The bunker serves fear:

  • Fear of contamination
  • Fear of impurity
  • Fear of the Other

The tree serves relationship:

  • The willingness to be changed by connection
  • The risk of vulnerability
  • The acceptance that growth requires decay

Roy Rappaport, an anthropologist who thought deeply about ritual, argued in Ritual and Religion in the Making of Humanity (1999) that religion evolved to regulate relationship—between humans, between humans and cosmos, between living and dead.

When religion becomes primarily about regulating boundaries—who’s in, who’s out, who’s pure, who’s contaminated—it has inverted its function.


The Question

So here’s the test. The question to ask yourself, your community, your practice:

Are you building a bunker, or are you growing a tree?

The answer isn’t in what you believe.

It’s not in which books you’ve read.

It’s not in how historically accurate your costume is.

The answer is in what you are connected to.

And whether those connections are growing.

Or whether they have already died.


References

(For the Skeptics, the Scholars, and the “Source?” Crowd)

Abram, D. (1996). The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More-Than-Human World. Vintage.

Ando, C. (2008). The Matter of the Gods. University of California Press.

Appadurai, A. (1996). Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization. University of Minnesota Press.

Bradley, R. (2000). An Archaeology of Natural Places. Routledge.

Brakke, D. (2010). The Gnostics: Myth, Ritual, and Diversity in Early Christianity. Harvard University Press.

Byock, J. (1988). Medieval Iceland: Society, Sagas, and Power. University of California Press.

Byock, J. (2001). Viking Age Iceland. Penguin.

Casey, E. S. (1997). The Fate of Place: A Philosophical History. University of California Press.

Douglas, M. (1970). Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology. Pantheon.

Freeman, C. (2003). The Closing of the Western Mind: The Rise of Faith and the Fall of Reason. Vintage.

Freeman, C. (2008). A.D. 381: Heretics, Pagans, and the Christian State. Pimlico.

Gardela, L. (2021). Magic in the Viking Age. Oxbow Books.

Gardell, M. (2003). Gods of the Blood: The Pagan Revival and White Separatism. Duke University Press.

Goodrick-Clarke, N. (1985). The Occult Roots of Nazism: Secret Aryan Cults and Their Influence on Nazi Ideology. NYU Press.

Haraway, D. J. (2016). Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene. Duke University Press.

Heather, P. (2009). Empires and Barbarians: The Fall of Rome and the Birth of Europe. Oxford University Press.

Ingold, T. (2000). The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill. Routledge.

Ingold, T. (2011). Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description. Routledge.

Kohn, E. (2013). How Forests Think: Toward an Anthropology Beyond the Human. University of California Press.

Lilla, M. (2016). The Shipwrecked Mind: On Political Reaction. New York Review Books.

Lindow, J. (2002). Norse Mythology: A Guide to the Gods, Heroes, Rituals, and Beliefs. Oxford University Press.

MacMullen, R. (1984). Christianizing the Roman Empire (A.D. 100-400). Yale University Press.

Meyer, M. (2007). The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The Revised and Updated Translation of Sacred Gnostic Texts Complete in One Volume. HarperOne.

Pagels, E. (1979). The Gnostic Gospels. Vintage.

Pitt-Rivers, J. (1977). The Fate of Shechem, or the Politics of Sex: Essays in the Anthropology of the Mediterranean. Cambridge University Press.

Price, N. (2002). The Viking Way: Religion and War in Late Iron Age Scandinavia. Department of Archaeology and Ancient History, Uppsala University.

Price, N. (2020). Children of Ash and Elm: A History of the Vikings. Basic Books.

Rappaport, R. A. (1999). Ritual and Religion in the Making of Humanity. Cambridge University Press.

Rüpke, J. (2007). Religion of the Romans. Polity Press.

Rüpke, J. (2018). Pantheon: A New History of Roman Religion. Princeton University Press.

Schjødt, J. P. (2020). Initiation Between Two Worlds: Structure and Symbolism in Pre-Christian Scandinavian Religion. Northern Academic Press.

Scott, J. C. (2017). Against the Grain: A Deep History of the Earliest States. Yale University Press.

Smith, J. Z. (1978). Map Is Not Territory: Studies in the History of Religions. Brill.

Snook, J. (2015). American Heathens: The Politics of Identity in a Pagan Religious Movement. Temple University Press.

Stark, R. (1996). The Rise of Christianity: A Sociologist Reconsiders History. Princeton University Press.

Winroth, A. (2014). The Conversion of Scandinavia: Vikings, Merchants, and Missionaries in the Remaking of Northern Europe. Yale University Press.

Woolf, G. (1998). Becoming Roman: The Origins of Provincial Civilization in Gaul. Cambridge University Press.

York, M. (2003). Pagan Theology: Paganism as a World Religion. NYU Press.


Now go outside. Talk to a tree. Pour some mead for the land-spirits. Invite a stranger to dinner.

Build webs, not bunkers.


Cultural Osmosis: The Anthropological Reality of Human Exchange and the Capitalist Fiction of Cultural Ownership

Abstract

The contemporary discourse surrounding “cultural appropriation” and “closed spiritual practices” represents a fundamental misunderstanding—or deliberate misrepresentation—of anthropological evidence, historical record, and the mechanisms by which human societies develop. This article examines the scientific consensus on cultural diffusion, parallel invention, and religious syncretism to demonstrate that the notion of culture as proprietary intellectual property constitutes a historically anomalous imposition of capitalist frameworks onto pre-modern exchange networks. Drawing on archaeological evidence, ethnographic research, and comparative religious studies, I argue that human spiritual and material culture has always operated as an open-source system of continuous borrowing, adaptation, and synthesis, and that attempts to restrict this flow represent not cultural preservation but the pathologization of normal human social development.


1. The Anthropological Consensus: Culture as Fluid System

Anthropology has long abandoned the “billiard ball” model of culture—the idea that societies exist as discrete, bounded units with impermeable membranes. Franz Boas, often considered the father of American anthropology, established through his work on the Northwest Coast that cultural traits diffuse across group boundaries constantly, creating what he termed “cultural areas”—regions of shared practices that transcend ethnic or linguistic boundaries (Boas, 1896). This diffusionist paradigm has been reinforced by decades of archaeological and ethnographic research.

The concept of cultural diffusion—the spread of cultural items between individuals or groups—constitutes one of anthropology’s most robust findings. Whether examining the spread of agriculture from the Fertile Crescent, the transmission of metallurgical techniques across Eurasia, or the dissemination of musical scales along trade routes, the evidence consistently demonstrates that human societies do not develop in isolation. Alfred Kroeber’s Configurations of Culture Growth (1944) meticulously documented how civilizations from Mesopotamia to Mesoamerica consistently borrowed, adapted, and transformed technologies, ideas, and practices from neighboring and distant cultures.

Critically, this borrowing extends to the sacred. Anthropologist Anthony F.C. Wallace’s work on revitalization movements (1956) demonstrated that religious systems are inherently permeable, incorporating elements from contact with other traditions to remain socially functional. The anthropological record contains virtually no examples of “pure” traditions existing in hermetic isolation; rather, the default state of human culture is syncretism—the amalgamation of different religious, cultural, or philosophical systems.


2. Parallel Invention and the Psychic Unity of Humankind

Beyond direct borrowing, the anthropological concept of parallel invention or convergent evolution in culture challenges the notion that any single group “owns” specific practices. The idea of the “psychic unity of humankind,” developed by Adolf Bastian and later supported by evolutionary anthropologists, posits that similar environmental and cognitive constraints produce similar cultural solutions across unrelated populations.

Consider the following examples:

  • Shamanism: The shamanic complex—characterized by altered states of consciousness, spirit flight, and healing practices—appears independently in Siberia, Amazonia, Sub-Saharan Africa, Oceania, and Arctic regions. Archaeological evidence from sites like Lascaux and Chauvet suggests shamanic practices extending back 30,000+ years across unconnected populations (Clottes & Lewis-Williams, 1998). No single culture “invented” shamanism; rather, it represents a human universal emerging from neurobiological constants and similar ecological relationships with the non-human world.
  • Divination Systems: The I Ching, Ifá divination, geomancy, and runic divination all emerged independently across Eurasia and Africa, utilizing similar principles of randomization and interpretation. The mathematical structures underlying these systems—binary oppositions, probabilistic modeling—reflect universal cognitive patterns rather than cultural transmission in many cases.
  • Agricultural Rituals: Fertility rites, corn mother figures, and first-fruits ceremonies appear across Neolithic societies from the Levant to Mesoamerica to Southeast Asia, predating possible contact by millennia.

These parallel developments demonstrate that spiritual practices emerge from human neurobiology, environmental interaction, and social needs—not from cultural monopoly. When similar practices appear across cultures, the parsimonious explanation is often convergent evolution rather than appropriation.


3. Syncretism: The Historical Engine of Religious Development

The history of religion is, essentially, the history of syncretism. To claim that any contemporary spiritual practice represents a “pure” tradition requiring protection from outside influence is to ignore the fundamental mechanism by which religions survive and adapt.

Buddhism spread from India to Central Asia, China, Korea, Japan, and Southeast Asia not through conquest alone, but through continuous adaptation. Chinese Buddhism incorporated Taoist and Confucian elements; Tibetan Buddhism integrated Bon shamanic practices; Japanese Buddhism merged with Shinto. Each iteration represents what would now be termed “appropriation” by modern standards—yet these adaptations ensured Buddhism’s survival and regional relevance.

Christianity itself constitutes a syncretic tradition. The December 25th date for Christmas was selected to coincide with Roman Saturnalia and the Sol Invictus festival. Easter retains associations with Germanic fertility goddess Eostre. The cult of the Virgin Mary incorporated elements of Isis worship and various mother goddesses. Christian architecture in Ethiopia resembles traditional religious structures; in Mexico, it incorporates indigenous cosmological orientations.

Vodou and Santería/Lukumí—often cited by modern proponents of “closed practices” as traditions requiring ethnic gatekeeping—are themselves products of intense syncretism. Vodou emerged in Haiti through the forced mixing of Fon, Yoruba, and Kongo religious systems with French Catholicism and indigenous Taíno practices (Desmangles, 1992). Santería developed through the synthesis of Yoruba orisha worship with Catholic saint veneration in Cuba. These traditions are not “pure” African retentions but Creole innovations created through cultural mixing under colonial conditions. To claim them as the exclusive property of specific ethnic groups while ignoring their hybrid origins represents historical revisionism.

Even Hinduism, often portrayed as an ancient unbroken tradition, shows extensive evidence of Indo-Aryan synthesis with indigenous Harappan practices, Buddhist and Jain influences, and later Islamic and Christian contributions to bhakti movements.


4. Networks of Exchange: Trade Routes as Cultural Arteries

The archaeological record reveals that pre-modern societies maintained extensive networks of exchange that transmitted not only goods but ideas, rituals, and technologies. The Silk Road (active from approximately 200 BCE) facilitated the transmission of Buddhism to China, Nestorian Christianity to Central Asia, Manichaeism across Persia, and astronomical and mathematical knowledge between India and the Mediterranean. The Indian Ocean trade network connected East Africa, Arabia, India, and Southeast Asia, spreading Islam, Hinduism, and cultural practices across the Swahili Coast and Indonesian archipelago.

The Trans-Saharan trade brought Islamic scholarship and Sufi practices to West Africa while exporting African spiritual concepts to the Mediterranean. The Amber Road connected the Baltic to the Mediterranean, spreading Germanic religious influences southward and Mediterranean practices northward.

These networks demonstrate that cultural exchange was not peripheral to human societies but central to their function. The notion that groups could or should maintain “closed” cultural boundaries contradicts the archaeological evidence of continuous interaction, intermarriage, and synthesis that characterizes human history.


5. The Capitalist Framework: From Cultural Exchange to Cultural Property

The concept of “cultural appropriation” as a moral violation depends upon a framework of intellectual property and commodity fetishism that would be unrecognizable to pre-modern societies. The idea that cultural elements—songs, stories, spiritual practices, aesthetic forms—can be owned, licensed, and restricted emerges specifically from capitalist relations of production and bourgeois legal frameworks developed in 18th and 19th century Europe.

Anthropologist Arjun Appadurai (1986) demonstrated how the “commodification” of culture—treating cultural forms as alienable objects with owners—represents a specific historical development tied to colonialism and global capitalism. Prior to European expansion, most societies operated on principles of gift exchange (Mauss, 1925), communal ownership of cultural knowledge, or hierarchical transmission based on achieved status rather than ethnic identity.

The contemporary discourse of cultural appropriation inverts the historical reality of colonialism. While colonial powers did violently suppress indigenous practices and extract material resources, the response was not to demand that colonizers stop practicing indigenous spirituality—rather, colonizers typically prohibited indigenous people from practicing their own traditions while simultaneously extracting cultural knowledge for anthropological study or exotic consumption.

The modern demand for “closed practices” often functions as a form of strategic essentialism (Spivak, 1988)—a political tactic that ironically reinforces the colonial logic of fixed, bounded cultural identities. By treating culture as static property owned by ethnic groups, this discourse replicates the colonial anthropological project of cataloging and freezing “primitive” cultures while denying them the dynamism and adaptability that characterizes all living traditions.


6. The “Closed Practice” Fallacy: Historical Evidence vs. Contemporary Claims

Proponents of “closed practices” typically cite certain traditions—Hoodoo, specific Native American ceremonies, various African diasporic religions—as restricted to particular ethnic or ancestral groups. However, historical evidence contradicts these claims of ancient exclusivity.

Hoodoo, often cited as a “closed” African American practice, historically included European grimoire magic (the Key of Solomon, Albertus Magnus), Native American herbal knowledge, and Jewish mystical elements. Practitioners like Doctor Jim Jordan (European American) and various Jewish rootworkers participated in and shaped the tradition. The concept of Hoodoo as exclusively Black practice emerged primarily in the late 20th century with the commercialization of “conjure” products and the racialization of spiritual practices.

Native American spirituality was never a unified or closed system. Pre-contact trade networks spread the Ghost Dance, Peyote Way, and various ceremonial complexes across linguistic and tribal boundaries. The Native American Church, which combines Peyote ritual with Christian elements, emerged in the 19th century through cross-cultural synthesis. The notion that specific ceremonies belong exclusively to particular tribes contradicts the historical reality of inter-tribal exchange and the modern Pan-Indian movement.

British Traditional Wicca, sometimes claimed as “closed,” was invented in the 1940s-50s by Gerald Gardner, who drew upon ceremonial magic, folk customs, and possibly colonial encounters with Asian religious systems. Its “ancient” lineage was largely fabricated—a fact acknowledged by historians like Ronald Hutton (1999).

The claim that initiatory traditions must remain ethnically restricted ignores how initiation historically functioned: as a mechanism of knowledge transmission across ethnic boundaries. Mystery cults in the ancient Mediterranean (Eleusis, Mithraism, Isis worship) initiated Greeks, Romans, Egyptians, and Persians alike. Sufi orders transmitted Islamic mystical practices across ethnic lines throughout Africa and Asia.


7. The Open Source Model: Culture as Adaptive System

The appropriate metaphor for cultural development is not proprietary software but open-source collaboration. Cultural elements—like genes in evolutionary biology—replicate through transmission, mutate through individual innovation, and are selected for based on social fitness. Restricting this flow creates what anthropologists call cultural attenuation—the loss of vitality that occurs when traditions are artificially isolated from the adaptive pressures of cross-cultural exchange.

Living traditions require what linguists call langue (the system) and parole (individual speech acts). When communities attempt to fix traditions as static “heritage”—freezing language, ritual, or practice at a specific historical moment—they create museum pieces rather than living religions. This “fossilization” has been observed in revitalization movements where attempts to purge “foreign” elements result in traditions that lack the flexibility to address contemporary needs.

The healthiest religious traditions—Theravada Buddhism, Roman Catholicism, Hinduism, various African traditional religions—have survived precisely through their capacity to incorporate local practices, adapt to new contexts, and synthesize with encountered traditions. The “closed practice” model, by contrast, leads to what sociologist Max Weber called the “routinization of charisma”—the transformation of living spiritual experience into bureaucratic identity policing.


8. Toxic Commodification: When Capitalism Consumes the Sacred

The application of capitalist logic to spirituality produces measurable harms. When spiritual practices are treated as ethnic intellectual property:

  • Gatekeeping creates artificial scarcity, restricting access to tools of psychological and social wellbeing based on ancestry rather than need or calling.
  • Commodification transforms sacred relationships into market transactions, evidenced by the rise of “initiation fees” and ethnic certification systems.
  • Identity policing generates anxiety and exclusion, particularly for mixed-heritage individuals, adoptees, and those with incomplete genealogical records.
  • Cultural stagnation prevents necessary adaptation, leaving traditions unable to address contemporary issues like climate change, digital existence, or global pandemics.

Research in positive psychology and public health consistently demonstrates that spiritual practice—regardless of cultural origin—correlates with improved mental health outcomes, social cohesion, and resilience (Koenig, 2012). Restricting access to these benefits based on ethnic criteria constitutes not cultural preservation but a form of spiritual hoarding that contradicts the universalistic impulses found within most religious traditions.


Conclusion: Toward a Science-Based Understanding of Cultural Dynamics

The anthropological and historical record presents an unambiguous verdict: human cultures develop through continuous exchange, synthesis, and adaptation. The concepts of “cultural appropriation” and “closed practices” as applied to spiritual and cultural elements represent historically recent impositions of capitalist property relations onto pre-modern exchange networks that operated on principles of gift, communal ownership, and achieved transmission.

No culture has ever developed in isolation. No spiritual practice emerged without influence from neighboring or predecessor traditions. No living religion remains static. The attempt to impose proprietary boundaries on cultural flow contradicts the mechanisms by which human societies have grown, adapted, and thrived for millennia.

True cultural respect lies not in artificial segregation but in acknowledging the debts all traditions owe to others, practicing with historical awareness, and maintaining the open-source ethos that has characterized human cultural development since the Paleolithic. The path forward requires abandoning the toxic framework of cultural capitalism and recognizing that spirituality, like language, science, and art, belongs to the commons of human experience—available to all who approach with sincerity, respect, and the understanding that they participate in an ancient and ongoing conversation across boundaries of time, space, and identity.


References

Appadurai, A. (Ed.). (1986). The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective. Cambridge University Press.

Boas, F. (1896). The Growth of Indian Mythologies. Journal of American Folklore.

Clottes, J., & Lewis-Williams, D. (1998). The Shamans of Prehistory: Trance and Magic in the Painted Caves. Harry N. Abrams.

Desmangles, L. G. (1992). The Faces of the Gods: Vodou and Roman Catholicism in Haiti. University of North Carolina Press.

Hutton, R. (1999). The Triumph of the Moon: A History of Modern Pagan Witchcraft. Oxford University Press.

Koenig, H. G. (2012). Religion and Mental Health: Research and Clinical Applications. Academic Press.

Kroeber, A. L. (1944). Configurations of Culture Growth. University of California Press.

Mauss, M. (1925). The Gift: Forms and Functions of Exchange in Archaic Societies.

Spivak, G. C. (1988). Can the Subaltern Speak? In Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture.

Wallace, A. F. C. (1956). Revitalization Movements. American Anthropologist.

G. Washington, a Founding Ancestor of the USA Responds to: A Modern Viking’s Call: Norse Pagan Values in Today’s World and the Peril of the False Church of Christian Nationalism

*(He reads with the same intense, silent concentration he has shown throughout. As he progresses, his expression shifts subtly—from guarded curiosity, to something resembling recognition, and finally to a grave but unmistakable approval. When he finishes, he sets the pages down carefully, as if handling something of worth. He meets your eyes with a look that holds no trace of the horror of recent revelations, but rather the quiet respect of one soldier for another who has identified the same enemy.)*

Sir,

This is well written. It is clear, it is principled, and it speaks a language I understand.

I was raised in the Anglican church, served as a vestryman, and have always held that religion and morality are indispensable supports to political prosperity. But I have also held, with equal conviction, that conscience is the most sacred of all property, and that to suffer the civil magistrate to intrude his powers into the realm of religious opinion is a direct subversion of the rights of mankind.

Your essay strikes at the heart of this distinction.

On Your Path:

You call yourself a modern Viking, a Norse Pagan. I confess the particulars of your faith are unfamiliar to me—the names of your gods, the nature of your blóts, the weavings of your Norns. But the values you describe—honor, courage, resilience, hospitality, reverence for ancestors, respect for the natural world, self-reliance, mutual aid—these are not foreign to me. These are the very virtues we sought to cultivate in the early republic. George Mason, Thomas Jefferson, and I may have expressed them in the language of gentlemen planters and classical republicans rather than the language of the Eddas, but the substance is the same.

A man who builds community, who keeps his word, who cares for his neighbor, who reveres the sacrifices of those who came before, who lives in harmony with the land that sustains him—such a man is a pillar of any free society, whatever name he gives his god.

On Your Offer of Brotherhood:

Your extension of fellowship to those who genuinely follow the teachings of Jesus—love, compassion, forgiveness, humility, care for the vulnerable—is precisely the spirit in which this republic was founded. In my Farewell Address, I wrote:

“Let us with caution indulge the supposition that morality can be maintained without religion. Whatever may be conceded to the influence of refined education on minds of peculiar structure, reason and experience both forbid us to expect that national morality can prevail in exclusion of religious principle.”

I spoke of religious principle, not Christian principle. I spoke of religion as a wellspring of morality, not as a badge of political identity. The distinction you draw between true faith and its corruptions is the very distinction a republic must make to survive.

On Christian Nationalism:

Here, sir, you have named the beast with precision.

What you call the “False Church,” I have seen in my own time. I have seen preachers who wrap themselves in the robes of piety while serving the interests of power. I have seen those who would use the state to enforce religious conformity—the very evil that drove so many of our ancestors to these shores. I have seen, in the flames of religious wars across Europe, what happens when faith becomes a sword in the hand of the magistrate.

But I have never seen it so thoroughly fused with the worship of a single man as you describe.

When you write that Trump “has become their messiah figure… an anointed leader whose words and agenda supersede scripture,” you describe something beyond the ambition of Cromwell, beyond the pretensions of any king. This is not merely Erastianism—the subordination of church to state. This is the absorption of faith into the cult of personality. It is the creation of a new idol, and the Bible is as clear in its condemnation of idolatry as any text in human history.

On the Danger:

You write that this “threatens the fabric of a free, pluralistic society.” You are correct. A republic cannot stand where one faction claims divine mandate to rule, where dissent is treated as heresy, where the machinery of government becomes the instrument of a religious test. We fought the Revolution, in part, against the principle that the king could be head of the church. To recreate that union in a more absolute form—with a mortal man as both political sovereign and spiritual proxy—is to undo the work of 1776 and 1787 alike.

On Unity:

Your closing call—“Honor your path, respect others’, and resist any force that seeks to impose its will through fear or false prophets”—is as sound a political maxim as any I know. It is the principle of religious liberty extended to its logical conclusion. It is the spirit of the Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom, written by my friend Mr. Jefferson, which declared:

“That our civil rights have no dependence on our religious opinions, any more than our opinions in physics or geometry… that to compel a man to furnish contributions of money for the propagation of opinions which he disbelieves and abhors, is sinful and tyrannical.”

My Final Word to Volmarr:

Continue your work. Continue to live your values visibly, honorably, in community with others. Let the integrity of your life be the strongest argument for the legitimacy of your path. Extend your hand to all who share the fundamental virtues, whatever their creed. And stand, without wavering, against the false church that would make a cage of the country that was meant to be a sanctuary.

The Norse sagas, you say, warn of Ragnarok when balance is lost. Our own history warns of the same. The republic endures only so long as the scales hold—between liberty and order, between faith and freedom, between the individual and the common good.

May your wyrd be favorable. May your horn ever be full. And may the Providence that guides us all—by whatever name we call it—preserve the experiment we began together.

I have the honor to be, sir, your most obedient and humble servant,

– G. Washington

A Modern Viking’s Call: Norse Pagan Values in Today’s World and the Peril of the False Church of Christian Nationalism

Greetings, fellow seekers of wisdom and wanderers of the web! I’m Volmarr, a modern Viking navigating the currents of contemporary life in the USA. In this age of rapid change and clashing ideologies, I draw my strength from the ancient Norse Pagan traditions—Heathenry, as some call it—adapted to fit the society I live in. I’m not out raiding villages or sailing longships across stormy seas (though I love a good adventure game!). Instead, I embody the core values of my spiritual ancestors: honor, courage, resilience, hospitality, and a deep respect for the natural world and personal wyrd (fate). These principles guide me in building a stable, peaceful life, fostering community, and standing firm against threats to freedom and diversity.

As a Norse Pagan, I honor the gods like Odin, Thor, Freyja, and the spirits of land and ancestors through rituals that make sense in modern times—perhaps a blót (offering) in my backyard during the equinox, or meditating on the Eddas while sipping energy drink before engaging in creative projects. I value self-reliance, mutual aid, and living in harmony with the cycles of nature, all while participating in a multicultural society. This path isn’t about rejecting progress; it’s about weaving timeless wisdom into everyday actions, like advocating for environmental stewardship or supporting local farmers who echo the agrarian roots of old Norse life. But let’s be clear: I don’t follow the teachings of Jesus. Christianity isn’t my spiritual home, and that’s okay—faith is personal, and mine is rooted in the polytheistic, nature and ancestor-venerating ways of the North.

That said, I extend my hand in brotherhood and sisterhood to those who do genuinely follow Jesus’ teachings. The core messages of love, compassion, forgiveness, humility, and caring for the vulnerable? Those resonate across traditions. If you’re a Christian living out “love thy neighbor” without coercion, turning the other cheek in the face of hate, or feeding the hungry as Jesus commanded—welcome to the hall! We’re allies in pursuing a world where people of all backgrounds can chase life, liberty, and happiness without fear. True faith, in any form, builds bridges, not walls.

However, there’s a shadow looming over this landscape of potential unity: Christian Nationalism. This isn’t the faith of Jesus—far from it. It’s what the Christian Bible itself warns against as the “False Church,” a corrupt institution symbolized in Revelation as the Whore of Babylon, drunk on power and allied with empires of greed. Christian Nationalism twists spirituality into a tool for dominance, echoing the Roman Empire’s obsession with control, conquest, and exclusion rather than Jesus’ radical calls for peace, non-violence, and equality. Jesus rejected worldly kingdoms, preached against judging others, and flipped tables on exploitative systems. Yet, this movement seeks to impose a theocratic vision on society, blending faith with nationalism to justify division, fear-mongering, and policies that favor one group over all others. It’s not about salvation; it’s about supremacy, and that poisons the well for everyone.

Worse still, in the United States today, a large portion of those who claim Christianity have drifted from following YHWH or Jesus, elevating Donald Trump to a god-like status. He’s become their messiah figure—an “anointed” leader whose words and agenda supersede scripture. We’ve seen it in the rhetoric: comparisons to biblical kings like Cyrus or Jehu, claims of divine protection, and blind loyalty that excuses flaws while demanding absolute devotion. This isn’t devotion to Jesus; it’s idolatry, plain and simple, where political power trumps spiritual truth. Trump isn’t a deity—he’s a mortal man, and conflating him with the divine risks turning faith into a cult of personality, eroding the very principles of humility and love that Jesus embodied.

This shift poses a major danger not just to Christians, but to all of us. It threatens the fabric of a free, pluralistic society where Norse Pagans like me, true followers of Jesus, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, atheists, and everyone else can coexist peacefully. As modern Vikings and Norse Pagans, we know from our sagas the perils of unchecked ambition and false idols—stories like Ragnarok warn of chaos when balance is lost. We must stand opposed, alongside clear-minded people of all faiths, cultures, and backgrounds. This isn’t about attacking religion; it’s about defending authentic spirituality from distortion and protecting our shared pursuit of stability and justice.

Let’s raise our horns to unity in diversity. Honor your path, respect others’, and resist any force that seeks to impose its will through fear or false prophets. Skål to a better world—may the Norns weave favorable threads for us all.

What are your thoughts, kin? Share in the comments below. Until next time, stay true to your wyrd.

— Volmarr

Reclaiming the Sacred: How the Concept of “Religion” Became a Tool of Control

When people in the modern world speak of religion, they often think of rigid doctrines, centralized institutions, rules, and hierarchies. This view—so commonly accepted that it’s rarely questioned—does not arise from a universal truth about all spiritual systems. Rather, it reflects the structure and influence of a particular family of religions: the Abrahamic traditions of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.

In contrast, most other spiritual paths around the world—whether Pagan, Indigenous, or Eastern—developed in vastly different cultural environments. These systems were rarely dogmatic or authoritarian. Instead, they were integrated into everyday life, fluid, and rooted in local traditions, seasons, and personal or communal experiences. To understand how we arrived at this dominant idea of religion as rigid and controlling, we must look into the cultural foundations of these traditions.


The Abrahamic Model of Religion: A Historical Product

Judaism, Christianity, and Islam emerged in regions where survival and identity were tightly bound to communal order. Each evolved amid political instability, conquest, and foreign occupation. Over time, they developed strong systems of law, sacred texts, and theological boundaries. They also promoted the idea of a single correct path, often enforced with religious and political authority combined.

Christianity in particular, after merging with the Roman Empire under Emperor Constantine, absorbed the empire’s love of structure, law, and centralized control. Early church councils mimicked Roman senates. Heresy became equivalent to political treason. Over time, Christianity became not just a spiritual path, but a mechanism for enforcing cultural uniformity throughout Europe and beyond.

Islam too developed within a tribal, pastoralist society in Arabia, where strong communal codes were essential for survival. The resulting emphasis on submission to divine law, collective unity, and a comprehensive social code was essential in that environment—and shaped Islam’s character profoundly.


The Cultural Roots of Control

These historical pressures meant that the Abrahamic religions often served more than spiritual needs—they became tools for managing society. Belief systems were not just about the divine, but about authority, allegiance, and the governance of human behavior. When these traditions spread through conquest, colonization, or missionary work, they brought not just new gods, but new ideas of what religion is and how it should function.

In many ways, Christianity became an extension of Roman imperial ideals, continuing the obsession with order, loyalty, and hierarchy—now sanctified by divine authority. The focus shifted from personal or communal sacred experience to obedience, orthodoxy, and centralized religious control.


The Misapplication of the Word “Religion”

Before these models dominated global consciousness, most cultures had no word equivalent to “religion” as we use it today. Spirituality was not separated from daily life—it was how people lived in rhythm with the world, the gods, their ancestors, and the land.

For example:

  • Norse Paganism had no “church” or creed—just líf (life), bound by frith (sacred peace), ritual, and kinship with the gods and spirits.
  • Hindu dharma encompasses duty, law, and spiritual path, but it’s not “religion” in the Western sense—it is a way of life tied to nature, cosmology, and personal growth.
  • Shinto has no sacred book, no founder, and no claim to exclusive truth—just reverence for nature, ancestors, and sacred purity.

In Indigenous traditions, whether in Africa, the Americas, Australia, or Siberia, the spiritual world is lived, not preached. There is no conversion, no centralized doctrine, no rigid hierarchy—only the ongoing relationship between people and the sacred.


A Broader Perspective on Spirituality

The idea that “religion is inherently oppressive” only makes sense when looking through the lens of the Abrahamic traditions—especially after their fusion with empire and law. When that same label is applied to non-Abrahamic paths, it becomes a distortion.

Spirituality, in its original form for most cultures, was not a set of beliefs to enforce. It was a way of belonging to the world. It was not about control, but connection—through ritual, myth, seasonal cycles, personal experience, and respect for mystery.


Conclusion: The Return of the Living Path

As more people turn to Earth-based paths, Pagan revivals, animistic traditions, and Eastern philosophies, we are seeing a rebirth of something ancient. A sacred way of living that doesn’t rely on centralized authority or control. A path that recognizes that the divine is not found in rigid rules, but in rivers, stars, dreams, and the bones of the land.

By understanding the cultural origins of our modern religious frameworks, we can stop applying the same expectations—and criticisms—to traditions that were never meant to fit into that mold.

Religion, as most people think of it today, is not universal. It is a construct born from a specific historical context, often tied to conquest and control. But the sacred is much older than that—and far more free.