Celtic religion in pre-Christian times — Text and Context

Local Deities and the Problem of Individualisation

Anwyl emphasises that the vast majority of Celtic deities were strictly local, tied to springs, rivers, or specific regions. He notes grouped goddesses such as the Matres (mothers) and Proximae (kinswomen), which he interprets as representing a stage before earth-spirits or corn-spirits had been fully individualised. The Welsh term Y Mamau for fairies is cited as a parallel. Individualised goddesses like Rhiannon (Rigantŏnā, 'great queen') and Modron (Matrŏna, 'great mother') are mentioned, but Anwyl stresses that the relationships between paired deities—mother-son, brother-sister, or husband-wife—cannot be determined from available inscriptions. This cautious approach reflects the author's commitment to not overinterpreting fragmentary evidence.

The Indo-European Lens and the Apollo Cult

A recurring thread is Anwyl's use of comparative philology to trace Indo-European roots. He identifies the god Borvo (meaning 'the Boiler') as Indo-European, linked to hot springs, and notes other names like Grannos (Apollo) and Mapŏnos ('the great youth'). The Apollo worship in Gallo-Roman civilisation is characterised by its association with healing, which Anwyl sees as a sign of Celtic religion 'emerging into a measure of light' from prehistoric darkness. He also references Caesar's remark that Gauls began the year with night, linking this to their belief in descent from Dis, the god of the underworld. These observations are grounded in specific etymologies and historical accounts, not generalised claims.

Goddesses, Grouped and Paired

Anwyl devotes careful attention to goddesses, noting that many are known only through group names like Dervonnæ (oak-spirits) and Niskai (water-sprites). He observes that the Matronæ appear in Britain, Cologne, and Provence, but warns that some grouped goddesses may be Teutonic rather than Celtic. The paired deities listed—such as Mercurius with Rosmerta, and Sucellus with Nantosvelta—are presented with the caveat that their association may be a later fashion. Anwyl's method is to present the data without forcing conclusions, as when he writes that 'the data are not adequate for the final decision of the question' regarding the nature of these divine relationships.

Philology as a Tool, Not a Crutch

Throughout the excerpts, Anwyl demonstrates a disciplined use of philology. He explains that Celtic and Italic languages share a common origin, and uses this to hypothesise a centre of dissemination in the Danube valley. He is equally careful to distinguish between linguistic and ethnic groups, noting that 'man had lived for ages' in Gaul and Britain before Indo-European speech arrived. The author's tone is academic but accessible, with terms like 'military aristocracy' and 'talent for administration' used to describe the spread of Celtic languages. This blend of linguistic precision and historical context gives the work a distinctive voice, one that prioritises evidence over narrative.

Anwyl's study is best approached as a series of interconnected arguments rather than a comprehensive survey. Readers should note his reliance on inscriptions and classical sources, and his willingness to leave questions open when evidence is lacking. The work rewards attention to his etymological analyses and his distinctions between local and pan-Celtic deities. For those interested in the intersection of language, archaeology, and religion, this text offers a methodical example of early twentieth-century scholarship that remains valuable for its clarity and restraint.

I have held Anwyl’s little book for many evenings, pondering how the old Celts kept their gods close in groves and springs. There’s a quieter echo of that same faithful care in that fast-day sermon, England's Stewardship The Substance of a Sermon Preached on the Fast-Day, in Trinity Church, Tunbridge Wells — Story, Setting & Ideas, where stewardship meant tending what was sacred, though in a different tongue—both works whisper of duties older than our own remembering.