The name ‘Easter’ and internet misinformation
Suggestions that the word ‘Easter’ represents some syncretic paganisation of Christianity are not new, but seem to be becoming more common, at least on the various social media feeds that I receive. They are unconvincing. One line seeks to link the word ‘Easter’ with the Babylonian fertility goddess Ishtar. There is a meme circulating that this was some sort of papist plot, replacing the proper link of Easter to the Jewish Passover, and instead linking it to some pagan fertility cult. This is just prejudice. Really straightforwardly, the word ‘Easter’ is English, not Latin; the Church Latin word for the festival is ‘pascha’, which is obviously and directly linked to the Passover. In traditionally Roman Catholic countries, this link is always (to the extent of my knowledge) visible – the French for ‘Easter’ is ‘Pâques’, for example. Amongst major European languages, German and English alone (I believe) use words like ‘Easter’ – if we have to recall the Reformation divides, ‘Easter’ is a Protestant, not a Catholic, usage. The use of the word pre-dates the Reformation, however, so we should see it as a Northern European/Germanic usage. Where does it come from? Bede offers a theory, which has also become popular: it is a borrowing of the name of an old goddess. So to call the resurrection festival ‘Easter’ is an act of syncretism, trying to make the new Christian religion acceptable by linking it with the old pagan celebrations. Bede advanced this theory in De Temp. Rat. xv.9, where he wrote: ‘Eostur-monath, qui nunc paschalis mensis interpretatur, quondam a dea illorum quae Eostre vocabatur, et cui in illo festa celebrabant, nomen habuit, a cujus nomine nunc paschale tempus cognominant, consueto antiquae observationis vocabulo gaudia novae solemnitatis vocantes.’ We should notice two parts to this comment: first, he tells us that in ninth-century England the month in which Easter is (typically) celebrated was called ‘Easter-month’; second, he proposes that this was once in honour of a goddess named ‘Eostre’. The second point seems unlikely: in all the texts and artefacts that have come down to us, this is the one single mention of a goddess named ‘Eostre’. In the book this quotation is found in, Bede is proposing origins for various English names of days and months. Most of them do refer to pagan deities (in modern English: Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, January, March, &c.), so I suspect that, not knowing the origin of ‘Eostre-monath’, he guesses at a goddess named ‘Eostre’. The first point is more interesting: Bede tells us straightforwardly that ‘Easter’ is so called just because it is the festival that falls in ‘Eostre-monath’ or ‘Easter-month’. This is the origin of the term. So where does the name of the month come from? It is common to Old English (Ēastermōnað), Old Dutch (ōstermānōth) and Old High German (ōstarmānōd). The etymology is uncertain – it is just the word for (roughly) ‘April’ in these various languages. That said, there is a plausible, if not definite, connection with the Germanic roots behind the English word ‘east’, back to a presumed primitive Indo-European root meaning ‘dawn’ or ‘to become light in the morning’. The OED is sufficiently confident to propose this etymology for the word. ‘Easter’, then, is just the festival that falls during ‘Easter-month’ – and ‘Easter-month’ is the month when the dawn becomes earlier, or stronger, or something like that. Nothing pagan, nothing syncretistic; just a descriptive account of when the resurrection festival falls in the...
Read MoreOn Nationalisms, Christian, Scottish, and British
Can ‘nationalism’ ever be Christian? Brian Stanley has recently answered that question negatively in a blog for the Edinburgh Centre for World Christianity. He defines nationalism as ‘the elevation of one’s own nation over all others’, which I suspect many who call themselves nationalists would not recognise as an account of their position. He rightly highlights, however, that the two presently-plausible outcomes of the present Westminster election both involve a nationalist party holding some measure of the balance of power: If the polls are even close to correct, and if they do not shift significantly in the next thirteen days, then it seems that a Labour minority government, relying on the support of a large SNP block, and perhaps also the Liberal Democrats, is the most likely outcome. There is essentially no chance of a Conservative majority, or even of the current coalition having enough seats to govern, so a right-of-centre alliance is very likely to be dependent on support from UKIP. Further, today’s ‘English manifesto’ went some considerable way to defining the Conservatives as an English nationalist party that has essentially given up on Scotland and Wales, particularly in its repudiation of the Smith Commission. Is there more, theologically, to be said for nationalisms? I think so; the Kirby Laing Institute for Christian Ethics in Cambridge do excellent work, and their resource material in the run-up to the election has been a wonderful example of intellectually-serious non-partisan Christian engagement. The most recent (as I type) example caught my eye: Adrian Hilton’s offer of ‘a plausible ethical perspective’ on a Christian preference for UKIP. Hilton’s language is more colourful than I find comfortable (‘Ukip becomes an army of protestants, defending British national culture and traditions from the latest threat to emerge from Rome’; umm, no…), but his basic argument is worth reflection: he highlights a real problem with a democratic deficit in EU decision making (a problem that, as I see it, is nationalistic in origin: the member states will not surrender power, and so important decisions are made by the council of ministers, not in the parliament); and suggests, essentially, that a revival of traditional English anti-Catholicism will be the solution. If there is to be a Protestant defence of UKIP’s English nationalism, I accept that this is the best line available. That said, my basic response is this: I find it unconvincing, for exactly the same reasons that I found Doug Gay’s arguments in defence of Scottish nationalism in his (excellent) book Honey from the Lion eventually unconvincing. Now, I know enough of Gay’s politics, and can guess enough of Hilton’s, to appreciate that neither will be at all grateful for the comparison. Further, there is an unpleasant and unworthy Unionist line in Scottish politics at the moment trying to link the SNP to UKIP, which I have no desire to give any support to. UKIP stand well to the right of the mainstream of British politics, and propose positions that to my mind are reprehensible; if I find the SNP’s current self-presentation as the standard-bearers of progressive politics somewhat unconvincing, particularly given their record in office in Holyrood, I nonetheless of course accept that they are essentially a party of the centre-left; I would rather they were rather more to the left, but that is finally a difference of emphasis not of direction. That said, and this is my point, both pieces of writing assume that the a Christian defence of their position requires a defence of the ethical possibility of nationalism; that nationalism is properly applied to Scotland on the one hand or the UK on the other is almost taken as a given. (This is somewhat unfair to Gay’s book-length treatment, but the weight is certainly in this direction; he perhaps relies on others’ constructions of ‘Scottishness’ – I have on my shelf Storrar, who is important to Gay, judging by the references, and Smith.) I have commented before in public that I have essentially no instinctive sense of national identity; I do not say this either as a boast, or as a confession; it is just who I am – a fairly peripatetic childhood (all, however, within England) might be the reason. I found the referendum campaign odd, in that I had neither the instinctive sense of ‘Scotland’ that fired the core nationalist vote nor the instinctive sense of ‘Britain’ that drove the core unionist vote. (And I think the ‘Yes’ campaign was much better run precisely because it understood that some of us who had a vote were in this position, and so it offered appeals beyond gut-level nationalism, something only Gordon Brown, late in the day, really managed on the ‘No’...
Read MoreAt Lazarus’s Tomb: An Easter poem
He wept, the man who I had learned to trust, And spoke: ‘he who believes will never die.’ My brother, who for four days dead did lie, Rose, stripped, and lived again. This we discussed Endlessly – how could we not? The years went by He married, prospered, then, as all men must Grew old. Stooped. Sickened. Returned to dust. And now once more we watch his tomb and cry. ‘The resurrection and the life’ he said, But I await the last of days again. ‘Though die, will live’ – strange words he spoke, and hard; What has he changed, who on the cross once bled? He rose. And rose. Made gates of death, through pain, A door held open by the hands still scarred.
Read MoreFaith in faith and valuing values? Reflecting on David Cameron’s Easter message
The Prime Minister has issued an ‘Easter message’, which makes for interesting reading. It has rather less (that is, no) reference to cross, resurrection, or indeed the name of Jesus than I suppose is normal in Easter messages; The claim that ‘Easter is all about remembering the importance of change, responsibility, and doing the right thing for the good of our children’ might raise more than a few eyebrows; Easter always used to be all about ‘the death of death in the death of Christ’ (to borrow what is possibly John Owen’s only truly memorable line). My friend Danny Webster has blogged on this, and I pretty much agree with everything he says. I cannot imagine any positive reception for this piece; Mr Cameron has (once again) proved himself simply tone-deaf to the concerns of the Christian community (I am told he is similarly blind to the concerns of the Muslim community). I say that not as a complaint – I do not have any right to demand a Prime Minister who is interested in my faith commitment – but as a matter of surprise; if I were running for office in a democracy, and there was a group of organisations that claimed the serious allegiance of about 7-8% of the voters, I would either make sure I understood how to speak to them, or at least had people around me to check my words and give me advice. He draws attention to the enshrining in law of the 0.7% of GDP overseas aid budget and to the modern slavery bill, two good things for which his administration does deserve credit; I suspect churches that are involved in foodbanks and debt counselling services (which most of us are, one way or another) might struggle more with the claim ‘I am proud that despite the pressure on public spending, we made clear choices to help the … most vulnerable in society’. That said, I find the piece interesting and worthy of comment because it displays a particular type of common contemporary liberal piety, which is not only wrong but positively dangerous. He starts with a recognition that is valuable, and deserves to be remembered more often: ‘As Prime Minister, I’m in no doubt about the matter: the values of the Christian faith are the values on which our nation was built.’ Yes; absolutely. He then moves on to defend the importance of faith in British society: ‘I’m an unapologetic supporter of the role of faith in this country … I’m a big believer in the power of faith to forge a better society.’ He then makes a point which I agree with entirely, but which I interpret rather differently: strong faith makes people act. Mr Cameron says ‘…faith is a massive inspiration for millions of people to go out and make a positive difference.’ OK, but I want to think about the word ‘positive’, or at least to suggest that ‘faith’ is also an inspiration for other people – fewer, I hope – to go out and make a very negative difference. Then we turn to that wonderful contemporary idea, ‘values’: ‘in the end we are all guided by the lights of our own reason … this government has consistently taken decisions which are based on fundamental principles and beliefs.’ Well, yes; as Danny said, ‘everything we do is based on some sort of fundamental principle and belief’. And that includes the bad things as well as the good things. I think that celebrating ‘faith’ and valuing ‘values’ is dangerous. Strong faith makes people act, and if their faith is deformed, so will their action be. The Anglicans who condemned Elizabeth Gaunt to be burnt alive for being a Baptist were people of faith, acting according to their values; the German Christians who supported the rise of Hitler were people of faith, acting according to their values; the members of Westborough Baptist Church who picket funerals with their homophobic ‘God hates fags’ posters are people of faith, acting according to their values. (I criticise my own tradition; other faith traditions are, obviously, not immune.) ‘Values’ are not necessarily good; some are, but some are not. Faith is a powerful motivator to action, but that makes it particularly dangerous if it is misplaced. Faith well-placed will inspire heroic and sacrificial action. When Mr Cameron says ‘[a]cross the country, we have tens of thousands of fantastic faith-based charities. Every day they’re performing minor miracles in local communities.’ I know that he is right; I know many people who work for these charities, and some of the visionaries who have started them; I know in some cases just how much they risked to follow the calling of God...
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