[Or: the personal is political, but the political is not necessarily meant to be personal]

In 1988, Mike Nichols wrote an essay on how the experiences of new Pagans in the 1970s and before differed from those in the 1980s and after (read it here: “Old Guard Paganism”). Some of his observations continue to ring true today; others are out of date now that the internet is the main way that new seekers come to Pagan traditions.

Nichols’ remarks about feminism, however, have continued to resonate with me. He writes that before the late 1970s, many Pagans became feminists as a result of their Pagan beliefs. In the late 1970s and thereafter, the causality of that relationship flipped: many feminists became Pagans because of their feminist beliefs. Nichols considers both approaches valid, emphasizing that these different generations of Pagans are indeed each others’ siblings (complete with sibling tensions and rivalries).

Nichols’ essay got me thinking about my own journey with feminism and Paganism, especially about how my attitude toward ideology in general changed as I became more committed to the Craft. So I will tell you this, and some of you will not like it any more than I would have when I was most committed to my feminist identity:

The Craft will always challenge your ideology, regardless of which one you hold. To perceive before believing, you must be able to lay ideology aside.

Before I go on, let’s make sure we’re on the same page. What do I mean by “ideology”?

An ideology is a system of ideas and ideals, especially relating to social policy and politics. Ideologies guide us in making big-picture decisions about ethics. They give us frameworks to look at how decisions play out socially, politically, economically, and otherwise. They contribute to a coherent worldview and help us determine what things mean and how to tell right from wrong. Examples of ideologies are feminism, neoconservatism, Marxism, and nationalism.

Religions can also be ideological, sometimes in an all-encompassing way. Evangelical Christianity, for example, offers an ideological worldview that can help the believer figure out how to do basically everything, from having sex to losing weight. All decisions, even the most minor, can be tested against core evangelical principles, which are discussed in community using specialized language (“Have you surrendered?” “How’s your walk with God?”).

Ideology is not something we can ever escape. Human culture is shot through with competing ideologies. Our thinking is informed by them, regardless of whether we “drink the Kool-Aid” and fully embrace one, or whether we attempt to remain skeptical of all.

The ideologies we grew up with can be especially hard to think critically about, as the attitudes we were exposed to in childhood form our perceptions of what is “normal.” Even if we reject the ideology with which we were raised, it can be easy to get stuck in a reactive mode where we criticize everything associated with our upbringing rather than evaluating it piece by piece.

All of this is to say, most of us are trained to believe first—to filter all new information and experiences through an ideological lens, either one we were raised with, or one we embraced as adults. Our ideologies tell us what our experiences mean and what to do about them. Only rarely are children raised to sit in a state of uncertainty with experiences and allow their meaning to unfold. Children look to adults for answers and, hoping to grant a sense of safety and stability, adults often give answers—and yet in that moment of dictating meanings, the opportunity to perceive first can be lost.

Needing a feminist religion was a large part of my original motivation in seeking out Paganism. I was struggling with being female, struggling with my gender identity, and groping for tools to explain myself to myself. Happily, I came to Paganism through a part of the women’s spirituality movement that was feminist but not gender-essentialist. The feminist Paganism I found showed me many, many different ways to inhabit a female body, and in that freedom I found healing.

For some years I was a committed feminist. Feminism opened my eyes to systemic inequalities that affect women in superficially egalitarian Western countries, as well as to the overt oppression that women and girls face internationally, oppression that white Christian nationalists now seek to return to the United States. Feminism became a lens through which I approached the world and evaluated political decisions, media, and my own life choices.

Even as I was embracing feminism, however, feminism was losing much of its ability to engage younger generations. When I taught my first college class in the early 2000s, none of the young women considered themselves feminists at all—as far as they were concerned, it was a movement that had accomplished its aims and was no longer needed. The feminism I embraced in the late 1990s had more complex ideas about gender and sexuality, race, and class than feminism had had in the 1970s and 1980s. At the same time, new queer, postcolonial, and neo-Marxist theories were popular in universities. I was thoroughly seduced by the sophistication of these theories, which feminism could not completely assimilate. For a time I became critical of feminism, particularly feminist philosophies that seemed to deny the full range of female sexuality or the fluidity of gender. My ideological loyalty shifted toward queer theory and stayed there for a time.

At length, I got out of grad school. I took jobs that involved working with people from a large variety of race, class, and educational backgrounds. I lived in predominantly Black neighborhoods. I had a child. And I studied the Craft, always practicing to see the world and the beings around me more clearly.

None of those university-based ideologies held up in the face of experience. In fact, some of them threatened to get in the way.

An example. One summer, a Black teenager was murdered on my block by two other teenagers. The neighborhood came together to mourn; my neighbors were his relatives, his friends. I went to the community vigil that the neighborhood held for the young man, and I walked there thinking about the injustices of systemic racism, the impact of poverty, the ongoing intergenerational trauma of broken families, the legacy of slavery and colonialism.

When I arrived, I listened to the local leaders of the Black community speak about the ongoing gun violence between young men in our city. They talked about the negative influence of rap music and of video games, and the need for Jesus. I saw a woman scoop up her four-year-old son and mutter, half to herself, half to him, “You’re never going to listen to that music.”

I held space for the community and for the young man. I walked home, and I kept my mouth shut. Nothing I had learned from theory helped me be an effective support for my neighbors. To the extent I was a positive influence at that vigil, what I was able to bring came from studying the Craft: being present, being open-hearted, suspending judgment, mourning with respect.

Feminism ultimately broke my heart. I withdrew from groups identifying as feminist when it seemed to me that the members spent most of their time criticizing each others’ beliefs and behavior, rather than building coalitions and pursuing actions to create a more just society for all people. After the success of the movement to legalize same-sex marriage in the US, I noticed the same concern with ideological purity (and resulting infighting) in the LGBTQ+ movement that I continue to serve. Too often I observe fellow activists—even friends—shouting at each other without listening in return, objectifying each other as straw men for the opposing viewpoint, to be torn down at any cost.

Without a robust sense of justice—an idea of a community in right relationship, one that benefits all—ideology is dangerous. It leads us to categorize each other with collections of identity labels, rather than being open to the inconsistent and multitudinous complexity that makes up every human being. It leads us to cast aside or embrace others’ opinions based on their apparent gender or sexuality or race or class, rather than waiting to fully perceive who they are.

What a disappointment it can be when a brilliant representative of one’s favorite ideology turns out to be driven by revenge! What a sweet surprise when the seemingly backward and old-fashioned neighbor is the one that rushes to others’ aid regardless of who they appear to be!

None of this is to say that my engaging with ideology was useless. I am far more sensitive to power dynamics, and far more aware of the privileges I enjoy, than I would have been without those theories. When I hold those ideologies loosely, informed by all of them but committed to none, they often guide me in making ethical decisions.

But—and here’s the most important part—all of them tried to tell me about how the world is, and from that analysis, how it should be. But the world is too complex for any ideology to encompass.

It is not easy to perceive first, then believe, as Victor Anderson often advised. I do not claim mastery of that skill, though I aspire to it. I do believe, however, that a certain skepticism is necessary in order to see others accurately. We cannot take for granted the things we are told are true—not by our families, not by our communities, not by our friends or our religions. We must wait, and test; we must listen and touch and see for ourselves.

I no longer call myself an –ist of any kind, although there are –isms that continue to inform my thinking and behavior. As I grow older, however, and especially as I raise a child, I desire ever more deeply to see what’s really there.

Without being able to see the child I have, I cannot parent him well; if I am driven too much by ideology, by a fixed idea of who my child is and should be, I will inevitably deny his authentic self and damage our relationship. It is ideology that leads conservative Christians to try to reprogram their queer and trans children; it is ideology that causes parents to dress their children exclusively in pink or blue and provide them with “gender-appropriate” toys. If I had taken away my son’s beloved trucks and given him only dolls, would that not also have been ideology? Shouldn’t my parenting be guided by my insight into my child’s needs, talents, and joys, rather than by expectations set either by mainstream culture or by the queer subculture I joined as an adult?

I have the same goal when it comes to my Craft: to see what’s really there. For me, true seeing is the foundation of relationship, the foundation of intimacy. True seeing is at the heart of my work as a witch.