I recently finished David Epstein’s book Range which discusses the importance of having a broad exposure to skills and disciplines. With breadth comes perspective. With wide experience comes discernment. Through reference to extensive scientific research and persuasive case studies, Epstein sets out to debunk the age-old adage: ‘jack of all trades, master of none’. But the idea of generalists is far from modern and the Irish god – Lugh – is a compelling case in point.
Lugh is one of my favourite of the Irish gods, not simply because of his colourful character and the intriguing legends which surround him. But because of how he subverts expectations. When we describe ancient gods, it is nearly always followed by the epithet – Zeus ‘god of thunder’; Venus ‘god of love’; Odin god of war’. But Lugh’s epithet is Lugh of the Long Arm. On a simplistic level this is likely a reference to his prowess with spears, but that barely scratches the surface. For Lugh it is almost certainly deliberately ambiguous; for Lugh himself was ambiguous – the god of many talents.
Who am I?
If I were to ask you today ‘who are you?’, you’d reasonably reply with your name. But in ancient Ireland, you were defined first by your lineage and clan; your identity was grounded in your ancestry whether you were a simple commoner like me, or a god such as Lugh. So as Lugh approached the palace of the King, and the doorkeeper asks, ‘Who are you?’ Lugh replies:
“I am Lugh, son of Cian of the Tuatha de Danaan, and of Ethlinn, daughter of Balor, King of the Fomor,” he said; “and I am foster-son of Taillte, daughter of the King of the Great Plain, and of Echaid the Rough, son of Duach.”1
It’s worth pausing here to consider the significance of this lineage, for to the ancient Irish it would have had profound importance when describing Lugh’s significance. Let’s start with his grandfather – Balor ‘of the evil eye’. Balor was so named because it was said anyone he looked upon with his eye would die. A prophecy foretold that he’d die at the hand of his grandson, so – having only one daughter named Ethlinn – imprisoned her in a tower. Much later, Balor robs Lugh’s father – Cian – of his prized cow. Having sought the counsel of a druid, Cian’s told he will only regain his cow with Balor dies so, knowing the prophecy, is magically transported to Ethlinn’s tower; the two fall in love, get pregnant, and eventually the child Lugh is rescued and hidden away to be fostered under Tailte.2 Hence, the simple lineage is not so simple after all.
Now we can return once more to the doorkeeper.
A god’s CV
The tale goes on with the doorkeeper asking Lugh what he’s skilled at, to which Lugh lists of his gifts one by ones in an amusing exchange. From carpentry, to metalworking, from playing the harp to being a champion of spear, from poet to healer, Lugh claims brilliance in them all. But each time the doorman replies he has a specialist already for each of these, so why – he asks – should he grant Lugh an audience with the king. And isn’t this so relatable?
How many of us look to the specialists and think that’s all we need. We train as medics, lawyers, builders, and scientists, forgetting that the world doesn’t fit into the neat domains of specialisation we impose upon it. And that’s exactly what Lugh challenges: “Then Lugh said: ‘Go and ask the king if he has any one man that can do all these things, and if he has, I will not ask to come into Teamhair.’”3
What comes next is testing of all Lugh’s claims. Chess, music, story-telling, and so on; Lugh passes each test in turn. Until eventually the King realises what this means:
“And when [the king] saw all the things Lugh could do, he began to think that by his help the country…And it is what he did, he came down from his throne, and he put Lugh on it in his place, for the length of thirteen days, the way they might all listen to the advice he would give.”4
God of the generalists
Now it’s worth pausing for a moment once more, for the significance of this story is easily missed. The ancient Irish used these stories as lessons, a way to teach wisdom and give guidance. Those, on hearing this tale, would have immediately understood its meaning – that leadership comes from recognising the wisdom of others. Moreover, it suggests a belief that someone gifted in a range of areas was far more valuable than anyone who specialised in one.
Looking back at history it’s all too easy to think of the specialists: the smiths and carpenters, fishermen, weavers, and on the list goes. But the reality, it appears, is much more nuanced. The fisherman would have learned to repair his hooks. The farmer would have sewn his clothes. The healer would have learned the art of poetry alongside herbology. It’s these nuances that make history such a wonderful mystery to uncover.
Wisdom of perspective
Later, ahead of the Great Battle of Magh Tuireadh, Lugh calls together a war counsel. Though this gathering, once again, is far from a typical gathering of generals. Rather than turn to the military specialists, Lugh seeks advice from a broad range of disciplines, each of whom can offer a unique perspective.
“Lugh had called together the Druids, and smiths, and physicians, and law-makers, and chariot-drivers of Ireland, to make plans for the battle.”5
To each in turn Lugh asks for their opinion. From cup-bearers to smiths, each give their contribution to the war-effort. Together it’s a powerfully holistic depiction of war; a profoundly modern one even. As each offers up their services, Lugh directs the entire kingdom – not merely warriors – against the invading forces.
Of course, as the story continues, Lugh is depicted charging into battle, singing songs of courage to embolden his warriors, and ultimately defeating the enemy king. But to reduce Lugh to a warrior or, indeed, any single characteristic is exactly the problem to avoid. Which makes it difficult for anyone – like me – trying to describe his character, significance, and portrayal. So let me instead focus on a few further choice examples.
The Divine Horseman
Lugh’s martial prowess is hard to overstate. Not only was he portrayed as one of the most formidable of his time, he fathered the most formidable of all time for the Irish – the mighty Cuchulainn. 6 However, that is a whole other story altogether. Instead, it’s worth quoting at length the wonderfully visual depiction of Lugh regaled for war by Lady Gregory:
“[H]e had Manannan’s horse, the Aonbharr, of the One Mane, under him, that was as swift as the naked cold wind of spring, and the sea was the same as dry land to her, and the rider was never killed off her back. And he had Manannan’s breast-plate on him, that kept whoever was wearing it from wounds, and a helmet on his head with two beautiful precious stones set in the front of it and one at the back, and when he took it off, his forehead was like the sun on a dry summer day. And he had Manannan’s sword, the Freagarthach, the Answerer, at his side, and no one that was wounded by it would ever get away alive; and when that sword was bared in a battle, no man that saw it coming against him had any more strength than a woman in child-birth.”7
Lugh’s Legacy
Lugh of the Long Arm remains an enduring part of Irish culture today. Traditionally the festival of Lughnasadh (meaning ‘Assembly of Lugh’), held on August 1st, commemorated his contributions and marked the beginning of the harvest season. It’s roots remain in the modern Irish word for August today – Lunasa – an embedded reminder of Lugh’s significance that he defined one of the most critical seasonal markers in the year.
But, as this post has argued, Lugh was much more than a given epithet or story; he is a holistic embodiment of many of the traits the ancient Irish aspired to achieve. Strength and power are balanced against his wisdom and creativity. His parentage and children shaped the wars and conflicts of the ancient Irish legends. And perhaps, this ancient portrayal of the generalists encourages you too; that it’s not any individual skill which defines us – it’s the sum of all these parts. In their combination we see their power – for the singular gods of love, war, music, poetry, art, healing, and so on, it’s their specialisation which is so often at the root of their undoing. Maybe these ancient Irish were on to something, something we can draw from today.
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