Cultural Loss and the Defense of Eclectic Witchcraft
My practice is eclectic. I use what works and I draw from as many sources as I can get my hands on, with some limits. But I think at its root, my eclectic practice is due to having a distinct loss of culture after a few generations of erasure, usually self-imposed.
That’s the tl;dr. Let me back up.
I’m an American, but my genes are mostly Norwegian. The other major inputs are English, German, and Scots-Irish. I am in the unlucky position where most culture that my family had was buried in favor of becoming Generic White American to try and make their children successful. It seemed to have happened almost universally, across all sides of my family, between the generation of my grandparents and their parents. What culture bits I do have, I have had to either pry out of family hands, or learn as an adult that something I’ve always done is a cultural thing.
At the same time, I know that no matter how much I learn about the European-American cultures that “belong” to me (or at least my genes, anyway), most of their traditions won’t be a part of me because I wasn’t raised on them. It’s a strange kind of hurt. I can adopt them, I can revive them for the family, I can try to reconnect us for future generations. Those future generations will have that culture. I won’t.
As a result, what cultural things I was raised with I am holding on to with a white-knuckle grip. I try to accept the localness and newness of the culture I was raised in, just being here, in my state. It’s me, after all. I am who I am; I’m not the things I want, no matter how much I wish I were. I’m still the result of my ancestors and what they did, and I can’t lose that. I’ve come to terms with who I am and the culture I’ve got already.
The problem: that culture has fuck all to do with magic.
So where do I go for my magic? Where do I find those traditions? Eclecticism. “Cherry-picking,” to those who hate it. Things from my own familial background and open practices and long-dead men. Gods that find me. Whatever works. Try it all, find what works, write it down. Try it all, try it all. Building my own practice around nothing but me, because when it comes to magic, I’m all I’ve got.
I see eclectic witches criticized a lot, and I do get it. I’ve been annoyed by people who do it with a flippant attitude (but I leave them alone). Consider, however, a lot of eclectic practitioners are people like me! A lot of them, perhaps most of them. My experience is far from uncommon. People whose grandparents spoke a language they never taught their children. Whose grandparents were too caught up in The War to pass on traditions. Whose great-grandparents completely forbade their children from speaking the old language except on holidays, and even then only for prayers or speaking to elders who didn’t speak English well. Whose great-grandparents left the deep mountains for the city and left their rootwork behind. Whose family tried so hard to neutralize, neutralize, neutralize their children in the desperate hope that they won’t seem too weird for that job they want.
(And there the generational timing comes into play: my great-grandparents, apparently on all sides, influenced by the Great Depression, did everything they could to un-Other their children to give them even the slightest perceived advantage, heritage be damned, because it was more important to eat and survive. White people could be un-Othered, besides a name or distinct face, so they did it.)
They thought they were doing the right thing. I’m not going to judge them for it. Perhaps they really did impart an economic or social advantage to their children. Regardless, it’s a strange feeling to have culture denied you by your own family. Others have had their culture erased under far more horrific circumstances by enemies and conquerors. By no means do I feel disadvantaged or something, I just feel sad and empty over it, since it was my own family who did it. Whether it was right or not, it happened, and here I am now, a smudged blackboard of hastily hidden peoples with hints of the words my family wrote.
With magic, I have no choice but to be eclectic, especially if I want to try and honor the different sides of my family. I have to study it by myself too; don’t think for one minute I could have found a traditional practitioner from one of the old countries, or even German Appalachia, to take me in and teach me like I belong there. I’m a foreigner, regardless of heritage, and especially because my family didn’t keep the traditions. When it comes to magic, I’m on my own. I’m all I’ve got.