I mean, think about how often we casually throw words around every single day. We promise to call someone back. We swear we’re going to start exercising on Monday. We vow we’re never speaking to an ex again, only to be texting them three weeks later because apparently we all enjoy making poor decisions. Somewhere in the distance, ancient societies are collectively clutching their pearls.

The truth is, we have become incredibly casual with words that older societies considered enormously important. Not because ancient people were somehow morally superior—they absolutely were not (Lindisfarne anyone?)—but because they understood that words had power. And power had consequences. Your word wasn’t simply something you said. It was a social contract, a spiritual contract, and sometimes even a legal one. The world around you could literally be built upon whether someone believed you or not. Oaths, vows, and promises all held, and still hold, similar meanings but with varying levels of intensity and result. 

An oath is the heavy hitter of the group. It isn’t something you casually toss out because you’re feeling particularly dramatic that day. Oaths were witnessed. They had a basic formula that was followed. They carried weight because they involved gods, communities, sacred objects, ancestors, and reputations. Temple rings were brought to legal assemblies, sanctified with sacrificial blood, and people swore upon them. Honestly, if you’re holding a ring covered in sacrificial blood while making a declaration, you’re probably not supposed to treat it like clicking “Accept Cookies” on a website you didn’t bother reading. The entire point was accountability. You weren’t just telling another person you would do something. You were telling the universe itself and the universe would hold you to it.

Vows tend to be relational rather than transactional. They aren’t usually about accomplishing one specific thing but about becoming a certain kind of person over time. Marriage vows are the obvious example, but modern pagans do this too. We make devotional vows to gods. We promise to maintain a practice, tend an altar, or live according to certain values. Sometimes we make vows as a reciprocal consequence for help from the gods and spirits. The problem is that modern people occasionally get a little overexcited. One profound meditation later and suddenly we’re declaring eternal devotion for the next fifty years. Slow down there, my little heathens. The gods have been around for thousands of years. They are not tapping their wrist impatiently waiting for you to sign a lifelong contract after one meaningful candle experience.

Society runs on tiny promises that we rarely think about. Showing up to work, feeding your animals, paying a bill, checking on a friend, watering the garden, returning a borrowed item. Every single day we make dozens of tiny agreements with the world around us. We only notice them when they stop happening. That’s actually kind of impressiv. Human civilization is essentially one giant trust exercise with occasional paperwork attached.

Which naturally opens the door to discussing why ancient societies cared so much about this. It wasn’t simply because they were more honorable. It was because survival demanded reliability. There was no customer service department to call if someone cheated you. There was no online review system to warn others. Your reputation was your currency. One oathbreaker could destabilize an entire family, a trade relationship, or a community. Trust wasn’t a pleasant personality trait. It was the basis for community infrastructure.

This is where modern paganism has something valuable to relearn. We spend a lot of time discussing ritual tools, correspondences, moon phases, and elaborate ceremonies, but we don’t always talk about dependability or reliability. Holding to what we preach even when it is inconvenient or expensive. This may be one of the most sacred acts available to us. Showing up repeatedly when you said you would no matter how many times or ways; even if you feel the other person isn’t worthy anymore. Your word matters and it doesn’t expire just because you’re tired of it. Following through when nobody is watching and being the person others can build around is an essential part of our modern practices.

Promising a deity your eternal service because you had one emotional experience during a full moon isn’t necessary. Sit with it for a while. Let the relationship develop naturally beyond initial excitement. Ancient people weren’t speed-running spirituality and neither should we.

The lesson isn’t that we need to start speaking less. It’s that we need to speak more intentionally. Ancient societies understood that words weren’t just sounds that disappeared into the air. They built realities. They created trust. They forged the backbones of communities. They shaped relationships that could last generations. In many ways, words were the architecture. Every time we make a promise, a vow, or an oath, we’re laying down another stone that other people may eventually stand upon.

So perhaps we should be a little more careful about what we’re constructing. Because, as the title very accurately reminds us, our mouths are indeed writing checks our spirits may eventually have to cash. Be sure you have what you need in the bank.