At work, apparently, there is a ghost.
My colleague Nilla dropped that one on me shortly after I started working there last year. True, my place of work, the local university museum, is somewhat peculiar. Located in an aging, some would say crumbling, custom-built structure from the 60s, far from both the city center and the main university campus, the museum is a quaint place to work that only really comes to life when cruise tourists or local families show up. But a ghost, really?
The main source for this story is Valtýr the groundskeeper, a smiling bear of a man hailing from Iceland. In a version of the tale collected in a local publication about supernatural stories from the aria, he describes the event in detail:
He once was down on the underground level, just beside the toilets, checking on some wires or something, when he noticed a strong tobacco smell. Perplexed about where such an odor could come from in a nonsmoking building, he turned around and looked up the stairs. Nothing and no one. No big surprises here, as it was the middle of the night in the depths of winter. A bit puzzled, he brushed it off as some sort of olfactory illusion caused by mold or rust and went back to his work. Just an instant later, his feeling of mild bewilderment was replaced by one of pure anguish. He now clearly heard someone, something, breathing, just feet, no, inches away from his neck. Quickly, he turned around. Nothing. No one. Now clearly disturbed, he went back to his tools, trying to get done with his task as quickly as possible, but mere seconds later, the same bizarre presence manifested itself again. With a mixture of fear, anxiety and frustration, he stepped back, and loudly shouted: “Now, whoever this is, stop that right now!” Immediately, the odd atmosphere that had been present dissipated, and the groundskeeper managed to finish his work undisturbed before quickly vacating the premises.
According to Nilla, this might have been the ghost of the first housekeeper, who, back in the day, lived in a small housing unit within the museum itself, and who ended up dying there in his bed. She also insisted that both herself and Yrsa, another colleague of ours, had noticed that odd tobacco smell, which is allegedly quite prevalent in the old medieval church exhibit. According to her, there is definitely some sort of bad energy in there, and small kids routinely refuse to even enter the room, which is filled to the brim with solemn medieval statuary and paintings.
When I first heard all of this, I was really surprised. Not that I don’t understand how a museum can be a bit spooky – it’s not that. After closing the museum countless times, including in the dark of the local arctic night, I can fully admit that navigating an empty museum can be quite the eerie experience. Still, I never ever felt anything strange in the old church art exhibit, and always had quite a liking for the motley collection of suffering Jesuses, purple-clad bishop figures, and other bygone Christian memorabilia. If anything, the smell of aged wooden and stone artifacts often made me reminisce about the old medieval church in my childhood’s village and would leave me with a feeling of pleasant nostalgia.
Whatever might be in there, I cannot seem to be able to perceive it. Maybe I lack something? Maybe I have not been at the right place at the right time? Maybe my mindset is wrongly adjusted for these sort of things? Maybe this will always be some sort of mystery to me?
I don’t know, but maybe – what if it’s all just bullshit?
The Loss and the Curse
I am not writing this piece to denigrate anyone’s beliefs, or even make anyone else feel any doubts about their faith. I truly believe that everyone is entitled to believe in whatever they want, even if it might not be to anyone else’s taste or understanding. No, the reason I am writing this piece is to express a feeling that has been bugging me for many years, a feeling I have had a hard time putting into words until now, and I am sure that I must not be the only one around with a similar issue.
Basically, even though I support the revival of the “Old Religion(s),” find ancient myths and practices fascinating, enjoy Pagan events and circles, and personally identify as a Pagan, I just cannot be certain what this really means, and what the gods are supposed to be, if they exist at all. I guess some would label me as some sort of Pagan agnostic or a “seeker,” but labels matter less than lived experience, and my lived experience is one that has been utterly devoid of anything truly sacred, religious, otherworldly, or divine. In the following few paragraphs, I will attempt to put words to something that has been a bit of a personal shame for many years, and I truly hope that by doing this, it might both help make me consider what to do, and give inspiration to others in a similar situation.
Agent Scully (Gillian Anderson) speaking to Agent Mulder (David Duchovny) on The X-Files [20th Century Studios]
Empty
I was born and raised in France, where religion occupies a very odd place in society. To briefly summarize: France was no less than a religious powerhouse in the age of kings. French universities educated some of the finest theologians in Europe, powerful bishops ruled over large swaths of French land – all the while ordering the construction of magnificent cathedrals – and Catholicism was the undisputed religion of the state. This intimate relationship between the French crown and the Church came all crashing down at the dawn of the 18th century, when the French revolutionaries took control of the state and church apparatus before engaging in an unprecedented polity of dechristianization. Since then, Christianity, and religion in general, became significantly more contested in the public sphere until 1905, when the state became formally and rather harshly secular.
As a result of this long history of what can only be described as spiritual warfare on an institutional level, I was brought up in an environment where religion was, if not wholly erased, at least somewhat taboo. True, we did have a little bit of Christian history at school, but only within the confines of ancient history, and if the countless churches that dot the landscape of the country rang their bells almost every hour, their pews remained largely deserted. While there were, and are, “true” Christian believers, most of the population is a mixture of deists, agnostics, lapsed Catholics, and cultural Christians. In the whole 19 years of my life living in France, I can honestly count on the fingers of my hands the number of times I ever discussed religion with anyone. For the most part, the spiritual world was not something one really discussed much at all. It simply did not register, and only the “real” world seemed to matter.
This positivist belief in the observable world coupled with a rationalistic approach to metaphysical questions is sometimes called Cartesianism, after the 17th-century French philosopher René Descartes. While he never achieved much fame outside of France, his famous quote from his 1637 “Discourse on the Method,” cogito, ergo sum (“I think, therefore I am”) certainly did. In this work, he stated that even our senses could betray us, and that everything one sees and experiences could be nothing more than illusions created by some evil genie. In light of such a risk, one could only really be certain of the existence of a single thing: that which thinks, that is, oneself. This line of thought was often expressed by a popular saying that, ironically enough, paraphrases Saint Thomas the apostle: Je crois que ce que vois! (“I believe only in what I see.”)
This kind of wariness towards anything spiritual is something I personally experienced in my younger years. Besides the aforementioned Biblical history at school and the very few comments on religion that would randomly pop up in conversations, I can pretty much say that I lived an almost entirely faith-free childhood. Even at home, my good old mother would almost never bring up the subject. The only time I remember her addressing this issue was following one of my first Biblical history classes. I must have been seven or eight at the time, and I recall telling my mother about what we had learned that day about the Bible, Jesus, heaven, and hell. In what was probably one of the kindest things a parent could ever say to a child, she answered: “You know, I think heaven exists, but I don’t think hell does.”
Beyond these amazingly compassionate words, I thought very little about religion as a kid. Another factor that likely deepened my mistrust of religion in general was the general social climate at the time. For example, I never knew a time when the Catholic church was not closely associated with pedophilia, and when it comes to Protestantism, let’s say that what we heard about of it in Bush-era America made it look quite unappealing. But it was not just “big” religions that incited apprehension, but small ones as well. I distinctly remember watching tv documentaries and investigations about small cults and sects, and I heard adults discussing how threatening they were. This was a time, for instance, when Scientology or the Jehovah’s Witnesses had become quite visible, alongside other smaller cults like the UFO-centric Raëlism movement (notable for its claims to have created the first human clone).
Public opinion about these new religious movements was far from favorable, and the government even established a specific agency (MIVILUDES) to combat this trend. During this time, everywhere I looked, churches, cults, and religions were only ever depicted as some sort of threat, scam, or both.
René Descartes, by Frans Hals (public domain)
The Acclamation of Bonds
Over time, my understanding of religion evolved, especially since, 13 years ago, I first met a Pagan, a fellow student who would end up becoming my wife. In a very short timeframe, my years-long fascination for the “Old Religion(s)” shifted from being a largely intellectual pursuit to becoming part of my identity. It was an interesting time, but even as I enthusiastically learned more about Wicca, Ásatrú, and Druidism, I realized that I almost completely lacked even the most basic feeling of religious faith.
When I read or heard about things such as having a personal relationship with a deity, seeing things behind the veil of perception, communicating with ancestors, and the like, my brain simply could not even start to fathom what this was all about, and how it was supposed to work. In all my years previously, I had never once held any sort of religious belief or been exposed to anything that could even vaguely be tied to the spiritual or supernatural realms. Once I realized that what I lacked, I felt confused, frustrated, and maybe even a bit angry. Why was it that I could seemingly not comprehend something that was so central in the lives of so many people, even if I really wanted to?
While I don’t want to get into some sort of metaphysical or epistemological discussion, I have concluded that one huge determining factor in my lack of faith was my almost wholly secular education. When I got introduced to the U.S. Pagan scene, I realized that the main difference between them and me was that I they had grown up in an environment in which religion played a huge role. Most of the people I met had been, in their youth, some kind of Christian and once held strong beliefs in the god of the Bible. Then, at some point in their lives, they experienced a crisis of faith and discovered Paganism. Even if it seemed extremely odd to me when I first encountered this phenomenon, I could only conclude that, even when the faith they had been raised in started crumbling, their spiritual upbringing somehow made it easier for them to transfer feelings of religious devotion towards other deities.
As someone with a secular education, this was not something I would ever get to experience. In its stead were the Cartesian ideals of inquiry, skepticism, observation, and, more than anything else, doubt. Even if frustrating, I cannot deny that this represents a powerful guiding force that affects all aspects of my worldview, not merely matters of faith. I simply am extremely skeptical towards most things. This mindset has also got me interested in analyzing the mentality of others, and has led me to the general conclusion that people are extremely prone to believe whatever they want to believe. Whenever faced with a situation where doubt threatens them, humans tend to react emotionally, and they attempt to make sense of issues that even seemingly cannot be objectively addressed. It seems that, for some people, the simple yearning for the divine is strong enough for them to cross the invisible line between skepticism and belief. This desire ultimately becomes a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy: a spiritual ouroboros.
I, however, have been unable to sincerely take that step. I need something more than just thoughts and desires, something more tangible to anchor to. So at some point I thought, what if simply engaging in practices out of curiosity and trying things out could be a solution? However, I was then faced with another issue: what if I ever actually tried reaching out, and wasn’t met by anything else on the other side?
The Burning Shadows of Silence
Even after I started to identify as a Pagan, I never really dared engage in ceremonies, rituals, and the like. At the beginning, I simply was wary, because I knew very little about how these things work or are conducted. In a very Cartesian fashion, I simply bided my tim, and attempted to learn as much as possible. Unfortunately, as I dug deeper in Pagan literature, I was mostly met with what seemed like unsubstantiated statements, vague declarations, contradictions, and debatable conclusions. Add to that my apprehension about discussing religion with others, and it is not surprising that I am still a long way from “figuring this out.”
True, I could just engage in whatever practices I wanted, even without understanding them. Many people believe that simply by wishing something to be true, it is possible to manifest it in the real world in one form or another. Unfortunately, my darned Cartesian education resurfaces once again and forces me to question everything instead of just enjoying anything. But maybe in a way, this skepticism of mine acts less as a light, and more as a shield. What if I decided to start regularly praying to whatever god I chose, or attempted to engage in magical practices, and then, nothing happened? Would I merely be content to engage in a practice for the sake of it, never knowing whether there is something on the other side listening, or if I my acts are instead completely pointless?
Some would say that the very act of doing something does carry its own meaning, and I certainly can agree with that in many ways. Happiness is the road is a motto I hold dear, and it could certainly apply to the non-religious aspects of religious worship, like the numerous celebrations, festivals, and rituals that I have personally partaken of and thoroughly enjoyed. Yet, I cannot transpose this idea onto a spiritual context: if happiness is the road, there must be a road to start with. What if one was unsure whether there is even a road at all? If I ever attempted to truly practice Paganism and I was met with nothing, I feel like the little faith that I have, that conviction that maybe, somehow, there is something out there, would be ineluctably extinguished. This is one of my biggest fears.
In this, I doubt I am the only one. I truly believe that many Pagans are in the same situation as I am, especially those who have grown up outside the reach of organized religions. We might tag along in the hope that, along the way, something might happen: there is true sincerity in that yearning that is felt, but is not answered.
Still, it is easy to feel like a phony when engaging in spiritual practice with others who are assumed to have a much more vibrant and active spiritual life. But do they really? Can one truly be certain how fellow Pagans engage with their faith, when, more often than not, that question of belief is merely implicit? Could there be another issue at hand here?
Summer Solstice 2017 at Stonehenge, by Stonehenge Stoen Circle, used by license (CC BY 2.0)
He Who Sought the Fire
To put it succinctly, I believe that we need to bring the issue of belief, of faith, to the center of Pagan discourse. While it is understandable that within a “big tent” movement, people tend to focus on relatively uncontroversial and accessible themes to make people feel comfortable and appeal to the everyman, it feels like truly spiritual and metaphysical questions are sometimes sidelined as a result. How often does one see debates about the nature of the gods on online Pagan groups? How common it is for a Pagan speaker to debate the reality of magic practices? Does it ever happen that people speak out about their lack of lived spiritual experiences?
While I am sure that there are instances of that, too often I have seen quite the opposite: discussions of vaguely Pagan-themed popular media, commentaries on ancient historical texts, complaints about the politics of fringe groups, and a lot, a lot of (generally awful low-effort) memes seem to dominate the conversation. That and tattoos and beer.
This is no easy discussion to have, but I feel that, while all of the aforementioned topics are all well and good, they somehow divert from the true meaning of religion and spirituality, which is, according to me, giving people answers about the world around us, and about ourselves. Even though I do not doubt that many individual practitioners actually do ponder these hard philosophical questions regularly, and get answers through their spiritual practices, this issue remains under-communicated. Most likely for the sake of togetherness, accessibility, and convenience, many chose to focus on ancillary issues –the culture, the decorum – rather than on substance. I get this, very well. Hel, just looking back at my past articles, the vast majority deal with purely cultural/ societal issues, and only a few even touch on hard subjects like the meaning of faith, or the nature of religion. When I browse the website to see what my colleagues have written, I also see relatively few articles of this nature, and when one is published, I often do not feel in the mood to read it.
I get it: these questions are prone to make people feel uncomfortable. The issues of our place in the universe, the unknowable, the immanent, the meaning of life and death are all heavy issues that maybe ought not to be at the center of anyone’s mind for too long, but these topics should not be ignored either. In this, there is no easy answer. One must be willing to challenge and reevaluate one’s worldview and one’s own place in the world. People like me, who wish they believed, must be honest and open about the fact that they doubt and should engage with people of faith about that issue. After all, who knows what just a little bit of person to person dialog could do, if only we would frankly and openly discuss these complicated topics?
Still, maybe we who have a hard time connecting with whatever divine there might be need to make peace with the fact, for us, Paganism, and maybe religion in general, might not be anything but a very human construct. Yet, even if it were, there is no denying the value of the very real fellowship that exists within this microcosm. Ultimately, even without really perceiving the spiritual or supernatural aspects of the many religious rituals, blots and festivals I have attended, these moments remain as some of the most profound and meaningful I have ever experienced. If there was nothing more to it all, I would not regret those experiences for any reason, regardless of whether gods were truly present at that moment or not.
There might not be a ghost at the museum. Maybe my colleagues just have very vivid imaginations., Or, maybe there is, and I just do not have the abilities or mindset to see and feel it. And yet, even despite all my doubt, distrust, and questioning, I feel like maybe, in the end, there is indeed a little ghost haunting these aging concrete halls. Perhaps it is this unassuming “maybe,” that is the essence of faith?
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