Reclaiming English Identity Within Modern Paganism
In the contemporary pagan landscape of Britain, cultural identity is not merely a matter of personal ancestry or spiritual inclination, it is increasingly political. Within communities that draw heavily on the mythologies and traditions of the Celtic nations, those of Wales, Scotland, Ireland, Cornwall, there is a growing discourse that positions these cultures as distinct, endangered, and in need of protection from a dominant English cultural narrative. In some cases, this has resulted in a defensive, even exclusionary posture towards those who identify as English within pagan spaces. While this reaction has historical context, particularly given England's role in the suppression of Celtic languages and identities, it also risks replicating the same kinds of division that modern paganism should aim to transcend.
This post does not seek to erase the particularities of Celtic identity or deny the harm inflicted historically by English political and cultural hegemony. Rather, it seeks to clarify that what is now considered “England” was once no less Celtic than the territories that retained their languages. It also aims to demonstrate that folklore, mythology, and pagan history are not the sole preserve of the Celtic-speaking nations. In doing so, it hopes to offer a path forward that is not based on romantic nationalism or essentialist notions of heritage, but on shared ancestry, shared loss, and the possibility of shared revival.
The notion that England has no claim to Celtic heritage is historically inaccurate. Prior to the Anglo-Saxon migrations beginning in the 5th century, the people of what is now England spoke Brittonic Celtic languages. These early Britons were part of the same cultural and linguistic continuum as the ancestors of the modern Welsh and Cornish. With the advent of Anglo-Saxon influence, these languages were gradually displaced, but the population was not. Genetic studies suggest a high degree of continuity between the ancient Britons and the present-day English population. The cultural overlay changed, but the people did not vanish. Even after the dominance of Old English, Celtic kingdoms such as Elmet and Dumnonia persisted for centuries in parts of what is now England. Cornish remained a living language until the 18th century, and Welsh was spoken into the 19th century in border areas. To speak of England as a purely Anglo-Saxon entity is to ignore this deep substratum.
One of the key arguments often raised in favour of the uniqueness of Celtic paganism is the richness of its surviving mythology, particularly the Irish and Welsh cycles. However, England also possesses a vast and often overlooked folkloric corpus. Figures such as Herne the Hunter, the Green Man, and black dog apparitions like Black Shuck are deeply embedded in the English cultural psyche. Many of these share analogues with Celtic myths and likely derive from the same Indo-European archetypes. Arthurian legend, so often claimed as part of Welsh heritage, and rightly so, was also adopted, adapted, and expanded in English literary and political culture. The English, Welsh, and Cornish all contributed to the development of the Arthurian mythos, demonstrating that mythology is rarely the property of one group alone. The same can be said of seasonal festivals, place-based spirits, and sacred landscapes, all of which are part of a common cultural inheritance.
Exploring the ritual, seasonal, and mythical parallels between English and Celtic traditions can serve to highlight their common heritage. Beltane, for instance, is celebrated widely in both Celtic and English folk calendars, whether as a fire festival in Gaelic traditions or in the form of maypole dancing and Morris rituals in English villages. The underlying symbolism of fertility, seasonal transition, and renewal is shared, though the expression may differ regionally. Similarly, traditions around Samhain and the English Halloween both reflect ancient concerns with the boundary between the living and the dead. Practices such as soul-caking in the English Midlands closely resemble Samhain customs involving ancestral offerings and mumming.
Mythological figures also offer striking parallels. The Welsh Arawn, ruler of the Otherworld, shares characteristics with English folklore’s leader of the Wild Hunt, a role sometimes attributed to Herne the Hunter. Both represent the liminal, chthonic figure who rides between the worlds. Water spirits like the Lady of the Lake appear in Arthurian literature across linguistic boundaries, and stories of faery abductions or changelings are as common in Devon as in Donegal.
These parallels should not be read as evidence of cultural homogeneity, but rather as traces of a shared mythological and ritual substratum that predates modern borders and linguistic divisions. They reflect the interconnectedness of the people of these islands, an interconnectedness that contemporary paganism would do well to remember and respect.
Recognising these parallels invites a broader reflection on how identity in modern paganism is formed. It raises important questions about the validity of imposing ethnic or national boundaries on spiritual traditions that, historically, have always been fluid and shared.
The idea that pagan traditions should be confined to particular ethnic or linguistic groups risks reducing a complex spiritual heritage to the logic of exclusion. This is particularly troubling when applied to regions like England, where centuries of assimilation have made such boundaries practically meaningless. The claim that only speakers of a Celtic language, or only those from Celtic nations, can validly engage with certain deities or practices undermines the universalising impulse of pagan spirituality itself. There is no doubt that appropriation is a real and ongoing problem, particularly when sacred traditions are commodified without understanding or respect. But the response to that problem must be based on ethical engagement and rigorous study, not on gatekeeping based on modern national identities. English pagans engaging with Celtic traditions should do so with humility and awareness of historical context, but they should not be excluded from the conversation by default.
As a practitioner rooted in Lancashire, I find it vital to ground these broader historical discussions in local context. Lancashire, positioned between what are now strongly 'Celtic' regions and the Anglo-Saxon heartlands, is itself a microcosm of Britain’s layered past. The county’s folklore, customs, and linguistic traces all point to a cultural hybridity that complicates any simplistic division between 'Celtic' and 'English'. Place-names throughout the county bear witness to its Celtic past - 'Pen', 'Blencathra', and 'Ribble' all stem from Brittonic roots, and rivers such as the Irwell and Ribble reflect ancient naming traditions that predate Anglo-Saxon settlement. In parts of East Lancashire, the persistence of place-name elements such as 'bryn' (hill) or 'pen' (head or hill) hint at a linguistic legacy that survived long after Brittonic languages ceased to be spoken. Folkloric traditions in Lancashire also carry echoes of earlier cultural layers. The well-known Pendle Witch trials may be a post-Reformation phenomenon, but they speak to the survival of folk beliefs in a region where suspicion of older customs ran deep. Legends of boggarts, water spirits, and protective charms in Lancashire closely parallel similar beings and practices in Welsh, Cornish, and Irish folklore. Even the rural craft of charm-making, once widespread in the Pennine belt, bears resemblance to other regional traditions often labeled as 'Celtic'.
This overlap is not coincidental. Lancashire, like many parts of northern and western England, absorbed waves of cultural influence, from the Brittonic Celts to the Anglo-Saxons, Norse settlers, and Normans, without wholly erasing what came before. As such, my own path does not draw a boundary around what is 'Celtic' and what is 'English', but rather acknowledges a continuous, interwoven landscape of belief and practice. To dismiss England as lacking a valid or authentic pagan heritage is to overlook places like Lancashire, where that heritage is not only present but vital and ongoing.
It is essential to acknowledge that England, as a political and cultural entity, played a central role in the suppression of Celtic languages and identities. The Welsh Not, the Highland Clearances, and the near-extinction of the Cornish language are historical facts with real consequences. Contemporary English pagans must recognise this legacy and its ongoing implications. Solidarity with efforts to preserve and revitalise Celtic languages and cultures is a moral imperative. At the same time, it is equally important to recognise that the marginalisation of English pagan history and identity is not a solution. England too has lost much: its Celtic past, its regional dialects, and many of its folk traditions have been eroded by the same forces of industrial modernity and cultural centralisation that affected the rest of Britain. The answer is not mutual resentment but mutual recovery.
Paganism in Britain need not be a battleground of competing heritages. It can be a site of dialogue, restoration, and shared purpose. The English are not interlopers in the story of British paganism; they are participants with their own losses and contributions. To heal historical wounds, we must resist the temptation to essentialise identity or heritage. The land remembers all its peoples, and the old gods are not constrained by modern borders. If there is to be a revival, let it be one that honours the full complexity of our intertwined histories, not one that deepens the fractures of the past.
