Then Jesus said to them, “Suppose you have a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; a friend of mine on a journey has come to me, and I have no food to offer him.’ And suppose the one inside answers, ‘Don’t bother me. The door is already locked, and my children and I are in bed. I can’t get up and give you anything.’ I tell you, even though he will not get up and give you the bread because of friendship, yet because of your shameless audacity he will surely get up and give you as much as you need.
Bible, Luke 11: 5-8
Once upon a time and long ago Scandinavia worshiped other gods. Strange gods. Gods like Odin, Freya, Thor, and other Marvel characters as well. The Christianization of the Northmen was a messy affair. Long, drawn out, and doubtless entered into by many with less than full hearted enthusiasm. There were forced conversions, yes, but on the whole it was more banal than that, as history often is. The conversion of the Nords was driven as much by economic factors as anything else. Trading with Rome or (much more importantly at the time) Byzantium was possible for a pagan but there were barriers. Constantinople liked to transact with people of the same faith, so renouncing Odin and embracing Jesus could really open doors for a young man looking to make his way in the world. At the time getting baptized was just good business.
And of course, that is primarily what the Vikings were. Businessmen. Not to take away from their mystique as warriors or adventurers, which they certainly were, it is nonetheless true that a great many of their voyages were for simple economic purposes. Sailing about to harvest hardwoods was big money for example, as was facilitating trade around the British Isles and up and down the French coastline, lined as it was with churches. Being a mercenary for the Byzantine empire was also a popular occupation, all things which were made a little easier if you wore a cross around your neck. Practical, in my estimation, is the word that best describes the Vikings. An adjective which continues to be an apt descriptor of the Scandinavians to this day. A no-nonsense bunch. If paying tithes to the Church and showing up on Sunday got them a few more trading partners well… surely Odin wouldn’t mind. This sort of half-hearted conversion is probably why Christianity in that part of the world has very often been sort of laissez-faire. The righteous zeal of the Spanish during the Inquisition never had a Northern counterpart, nor was there ever a Scandinavian analog of the Germanic passion for doctrinal purity that spurred the Reformation. This isn’t to say they never got fired up over their religion or that holy wars are unknown to them, but, on the whole, it’s always seemed to me that the Nordic version of Christianity is a less demanding one. Certainly it’s almost impossible to imagine, say, a fiery Baptist preacher speaking of hell-fire in Norwegian. Indeed, there are some who would say that the Nords never truly converted at all. Take that for what you will.
Despite all that, there is at least one Scandinavian whose faith seems to have been as genuine as any’s. Saint Olaf. The Viking King of Christendom.
Now, Olaf’s life is a checkered thing. I suppose all lives are. His history is full of both black and white and he’s one of those characters who you could interpret any which way you wanted. Olaf can be a hero if you chose to see him that way. Many do. He can also be a conniving villain if you so desire, and many like to do that too. Unlike most Vikings of renown he’s been primarily immortalized for losing a battle. Stabbed through the abdomen with a spear. Had he not converted to Christianity years before such an ending would have certainly guaranteed his place in Valhalla. But as Olaf lay dying it is said that he willfully released his grip on his sword, an act that was anathema to an Odinist. Dying with sword in hand was something equivalent to Nordic Last Rites. If you were able to achieve such a death it all but guaranteed your welcome into Asgardian halls.
But Olaf didn’t want that.
He was a man who’d had enough fighting for one lifetime. Presumably the idea of an afterlife of the same had long ago lost its appeal.
“So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.”
— Jesus (Bible, Luke 11: 9-10)
Before the battle which would claim his life, Olaf was composed enough to take a nap as the enemy army gathered on the horizon. When they began to move in one of Olaf’s retainers went and shook him awake. Olaf was a bit upset about this. Sad because the man had awoken him from a beautiful dream.
“I dreamed I was climbing a ladder to Heaven,” the Viking King said. “And that God himself was there to welcome me.”
Seeing this, rightly, as a portent of the King’s impending death (which would mean they were going to lose the battle), the retainer is said to have responded, “This dream, I think, pleases you more than it does me.”
Most everybody on King Olaf’s side died.
Outnumbered.
Only so much you can do.
The enemy had a force of trained soldiers in the thousands, yes. But… they’d also brought with them a veritable horde of untrained farmers. Angry men. Poorly equipped and lacking martial discipline, there were nonetheless thousands of them and all of them to a man savage towards Olaf for his earlier attempts to convert them to Christ. He’d been ousted you see. Kicked out of his own country for numerous reason, not the least of which was his faith. The pagans liked their gods just fine, thank you, and there, on that battle field, they would prove it to their king. Hacked at the knee, struck with blows, and, as I said, at last run through with a spear, Olaf gave up the ghost on a field far away from the heart of his Church in what is now Turkey. Perhaps however, he gave up the ghost not so far removed from the heart of his God.
The most curious bit of all this is the man who killed him. Naked don’t you know.
Well, except for the reindeer skins.
See, Thorir Hund had a personal vendetta against the king. A vendetta born from numerous causes, not the least of which being that one of Olaf’s men had years ago murdered his nephew. More to the point however, Thorir was a pagan. Through and through. An Odinist to the bone. He would hear none of this newfangled stuff about a Triune God and a Jewish messiah. To Throrir, Christianity was nothing but a political tool. A way for the kings of the south to gain power and influence over his beloved Scandinavia. In this he was at least somewhat surely correct. As subsequent years would show, submitting one’s kingship to the validation of foreign bishops who answered to a foreign emperor was indeed a lever of control which could be exercised. A genuine concern, even if it was perhaps more intense in Thorir’s mind than it ever turned out to be in reality.
When Olaf had run away into exile and taken refuge amongst the Rus (ancestors of the modern day Russians) Thorir had assumed this problem of Christianity sorted. Now it was back, and had to be routed once again. There was surely also a sense of betrayal in Thorir’s heart, for Olaf had been given a new army with which to try and Christianize the land by none other than the king of Sweden, a man whom perhaps Thorir wished to consider a Viking brother. It was all too much and it had all gone too far.
Thorir would have no more of it.
So, perhaps for no other reason than to prove his faith stronger than the king’s, Thorir the king slayer came to battle that day in the nude. Armored, if it could be called such, by nothing but reindeer skin.
“Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”
— Jesus, Bible, Luke 11:11-13
You see, Thorir believed in the old ways. In magic. And to carry out his vengeance upon Olaf he had chosen to resort to the same. Going north to the Sami shamans who dwelt near the arctic circle, he had their magicians forge him an enchanted cloak of reindeer skins which would make him impervious to any blade.
This was not uncommon. The word “berserker” translates to “bear-shirt”, and references the practice of wearing animal skins (and often only animal skins) into battle. On the surface such seems like a bad choice when things like chain mail and iron helmets are available, but the skins were believed to be magical talismans, granting protection to the wearer and often imbuing them with the traits of the animal whose corpse adorned their shoulders. And Thorir’s cloak was special amongst the bear-shirts. All of them were magical but his was extra magical. He’d spared no expense in the commissioning of it, and many magicians had labored long over his mantle with countless spells and incantations. They assured Thorir the cloak would protect him and that he needed nothing else. He believed them.
The crazy thing is that it worked.
As the history comes down to us, Olaf did strike Thorir in battle, as did others. But, just as the shamans had promised, none of the blades ever went through.
Now. A skeptic (and there are many) would either declare this story embellished or point out that animal hides, particularly tanned (e.g. backed with leather) animal hides are better at stopping blades than most might expect. This is true of course. Layered leather and fur is not a bad option to choose for protection if someone is trying to stab you. Worse than chain mail, but, not bad. That being admitted, let us also admit the Vikings did not fight with small weapons. Dane Axes were about the weight of a modern sledge hammer and sharp as a razor, and could generally be relied upon to cut through most anything they came in contact. Either way, it is likely that the people who struck Thorir believed with some confidence they were striking killing blows. Even if such a blade did not cut through the furs, the blunt force of an object of that weight should have been enough to break bones, cause internal bleeding, or crush a skull. Yet if Thorir was wounded at all by these attacks it was not permanently so. The man went on to life a full life afterwards. Somehow Thorir, fighting only in enchanted reindeer skins amongst men clad in mail and iron, took their blows and gave better than he got. Thorir the king killer. Thorir the naked mad man.
How do we account for this?
How was such a thing possible?
And, perhaps more importantly, ought we revive the practice and start getting druids to enchant our Abrams tanks?
It stuck me the other day as I was pondering the words of Jesus above that perhaps Christ, the enchanted cloak of Thorir, and “The Secret” by Rhonda Byrne may have more in common than any of us are comfortable with. Because, and this sounds weird, I know, but, the teaching of Jesus is that, in order to get what you want from God, you have to annoy him.
Really.
That’s what’s in the parable.
The man coming to ask his neighbor for bread is a stand-in for us, and the neighbor refusing to get up and open the door is a stand-in for God.
“Don’t bother me!” God shouts down from his high place. “I’m sleeping.”
“I know I know but I really need some bread Father. Please.”
“No! Go away!”
“Please! I need bread. It will only take a second of your time and then you can go back to bed.”
“I told you no, now leave!”
“God, please! Please you must help me!”
(Sighing deeply) “Listen… If I agree to come down and give you bread do you promise to go away and leave me alone?”
“Yes Father! I promise!”
“Fine… (Grumpily getting out of bed) Hold on a minute. I’ll be right down.”
That’s how Christ said prayer works.
Isn’t that weird?
I mean, it hardly comports with the image of a loving, generous Father in Heaven does it? God’s more like an annoyed neighbor? Really Jesus? Are you sure?
Knock and keep on knocking.
We in the West have been conditioned to think of prayer as something like seeking an audience with a King. You know, this idea that we have to get down and grovel when we ask for anything, making sure to pepper our requests with all manner of compliments and praise. You know what I’m talking about. The sort of “Oh Most Gracious Heavenly Father, we come before you today, humbly asking your favor. You, Lord, who are most glorious and most loving, whose name is above every name, worthy of honor and praise. Do hear us now we pray, we lowly sinners, your servants, and be pleased to remember us, unworthy though we are, and hear our prayer for healing and the removal of illness. We ask in your most Holy Name, Amen.” thing.
But that’s not actually what Jesus says gets results.
No.
He says, “Because of your shameless audacity…” God will be roused to action.
Isn’t that interesting?
In fact in numerous ways and places Christ implies that that sort of “Oh Most Gracious Heavenly Father” style of prayer is to be avoided. “The pagans,” he states, “think they will be heard because of their many words. But you don’t be like them. Babbling on and on.” So you know, maybe peppering your prayers with flowery language doesn’t count for much in God’s eyes. Maybe he sees through all that false humility.
Instead, Jesus says, be direct. Ask God for what you want, shamelessly, over and over again, until he responds. You can’t disguise your selfish desires from him so don’t try. You want money, or a new job, or to find a spouse, or to feel better?
Fine.
But don’t gussy it up as anything more than that. Don’t be Holier Than Thou. You have a selfish desire, okay. Selfish desires aren’t bad just… just don’t pretend they aren’t that. Be frank. Say to God, “I want X.” And then, tell him the same again tomorrow. And the day after. And again the day after that. And keep bugging him about it everyday until he gives it to you.
That’s how Jesus said prayer works.
I bet most of you didn’t know that.
Thing is, that’s sort of how “manifesting” works too.
If you’re unfamiliar with manifesting I can only conclude that you’ve been living under a rock for the last ten years as it’s become all the rage amongst certain demographics. Granted, by “certain demographics” I mean, “white women between the ages of 24 and 47 who are online entirely too much.” Still, as women dominate the social media space, the digital world has become fully saturated with talk of Manifesting and all its various forms.
In a nut-shell, Manifesting is another word for the idea of “the law of attraction”, a New Age concept popularized by pop-guru Neville Goddard throughout the 1940s and 50s. The basic premise of the idea is that our thoughts create our reality. In very powerful and all encompassing ways. What you think about consistently, Neville said, tends to come true. Both the good and the bad. So therefore if you worry all your life about becoming sick then, according to the law of attraction, you are highly likely to end up getting a cancer diagnosis. If, on the other hand, you focus your imagination on that beautiful new house you’re going to live in, well, then, one day, fairly soon, you’ll find yourself there too. Manifesting is the idea that The Universe will work itself out in such a way as to conform to our desires. Our wishes.
…Our prayers?
Now of course, some will here counter that worrying about being sick all the time isn’t a desire or wish to be sick.
To which I would say, “Meh… it sorta is though.”
Think about it. What, precisely, is the difference between a Fear and a Hope? A desire and a dread? A fear of something in the future is qualitatively the same sort of thing as a hope for something in the future, just with a minus sign in front of it. Other than whether the potential thing in the future is good or bad there is no difference between the two. As the old saying goes, “Worry is praying to the Devil.”
Exactly right.
Now, Nevill took this very far. Farther than most anyone who still follows his work today will. You see Nevill’s life philosophy fell into obscurity after his death but was given new life with the 2006 publication of a self help book called “The Secret” by Rhonda Bryne. In it, Rhonda served up a warmed over version of Nevill’s ideas to a new generation and millennial white women ate it up. Why wouldn’t they? Women in the modern world are told to believe (true or not) that the system is set up against them and controls their lives. The possibility of having power over the outcome of their fate just by thinking hard enough was too tasty an idea to not consume. “I can just think about something intently, and… it will happen? Whatever I fixate my mind on will manifest into my reality?”
That’s what Rhonda said.
That’s what Jesus said too. You know. Sorta.
Now, as stated Rhonda tempered Nevill’s message to gain wider appeal. Nevill believed in the law of attraction to an extreme degree, such that, to Nevill, everything that ever happened to you was a result of what your mind had imagined or thought about. Nevill believed our consciousness, our imagination was God, and that it was actively involved in the continuing process of Creation, day-in and day-out. Everyone, Nevill believed, got exactly what they really wanted.
And isn’t that terrifying.
Of course, Rhonda didn’t go that far. Most followers of The Secret wouldn’t either.
I wonder though, if Jesus would?
My more conservative readers will scoff at all I’ve just said which is okay since I scoff at it too. Even as I’m sat here writing it, I’m shaking my head at the screen, saying how stupid it is. And yet the truth of it is undeniable, for Jesus said plainly, ask and keep on asking, and you will receive. So the concept of “focus on what you want until you get it” is present in both traditions. The only tangible difference between Christ’s message and the message of The Secret being the assumption about who or what we are asking for these gifts. Christ’s assumption is that when we ask, we are asking God. The Manifesting crowd, by contrast, does not take this as a given. You might be asking God, sure. But also maybe you’re actually asking “The Universe” or your quote unquote “higher self”, or maybe Fate? The Manifesting crowd isn’t sure who they’re asking. They’re just asking.
So who did Thorir ask?
If you’re unfamiliar with Occultism then you should know that spells come in essentially two flavors. One, which we’re less concerned with here, involves the invocation of spirits. You know, demons, deceased human beings, Nature elementals, that sort of thing. In these spells such spirits are called upon through the offering of sacrifices in order to seduce the spirit into doing this or that task. The sacrifice may be something simple, like burning a wild flower, or something more complex, like bleeding an animal upon an alter. The goal of such spells is to enact an exchange with the spirit. You give the spirit something through sacrifice in the hopes that it gives you something in return. Weird as this sounds to modern ears, this sort of tit-for-tat exchange between Man and spirit has been the basis for almost every archaic faith since the dawn of time. Most of our ancestors practiced such rituals, so be cautious dismissing them entirely out of hand.
The second flavor of spell is more or less a belief aid. It’s a rite or a ritual that you perform in order to convince yourself to believe something more strongly. Voodoo dolls are a great example. In Voodoo, just as with The Secret, there’s an assumption that your belief, or your desire, causes effects the physical world. Naturally however, if your beliefs and desires affect the world then so too does everyone else’s. If you want to make someone fall ill with your belief, how are you to overcome the fact that their belief and desire for themselves is to be healthy? Well… you have to make your belief stronger. Enter the Voodoo Doll. A visual aid. A doll, an image (an icon) of the person you are trying to harm. Physically stabbing or poking the doll with needles in the places you want them to get sick will certainly strengthen your imagination that such is really happening. And while you do it maybe you can say their name over and over again, really visualizing the pain you want to inflict. Even more powerful if you could gain a lock of their hair for the doll, or a scrap of the person’s clothing for it to wear. Maybe a drop of their blood. Then you really would be damaging a piece of them. That would make your belief that they were hurting all the stronger.
Maybe strong enough to get results.
The doll, in itself, is nothing. It is your belief which is presumed to be the mechanism. The doll’s just there to enhance your belief. Because a curse, when you think about it, is essentially just a bad prayer. A prayer for someone else to be hurt.
Do you see?
That’s why Magik (you’re only cool if you spell it with a k) has all those weird rituals in it. They are visual and auditory aides to help you believe that the outcome you desire has already happened. That’s the whole purpose of symbols. You perform acts on the symbol of the thing in the hopes that the acts upon the real thing will follow.
Is there any truth in all this? Does it work?
Dunno.
But Thorir didn’t die.
And, the fact that enchanted “bear-shirt” fighting was such a widespread practice (the Amerindians had similar) is something too.
Indeed, “enchanted” warfare is one of the oldest traditions of mankind, persisting even unto the present. The most recent example I can think of is General Butt Naked (yes that’s a real person). Mr. Naked was an African warlord who fought either completely in the nude or while wearing a white wedding dress. No armor, nothing to protect himself from the enemy at all. Nothing physical at any rate. Instead, Butt Naked and his men engaged in ritualistic cannibalism which they believed provided them with magical protection from bullets. For a practice like enchanted warfare to endure for so long, one has to conclude there’s some utility to it. Of course, a skeptical person might concede as much, saying that, well, such rituals don’t really do anything in the physical world but they might give a warrior more confidence and reduce his fear of being killed, thereby giving him a combat advantage.
And yeah.
Maybe that’s all it is.
But, despite being struck with them, swords didn’t pierce Thorir.
And, despite being in dozens of battles, bullets never pierced Butt Naked.
He [Jesus] could not do any miracles there, except lay his hands on a few sick people and heal them. He was amazed at their lack of faith.
— Bible, Mark 6: 5-6
And he [Jesus] did not do many mighty works there, because of their unbelief.
— Bible, Matthew 13:58
Maybe Belief really is a kind of key. As much as I reflexively want to dismiss any idea that New Age Religion and Christianity have overlap… maybe Neville was onto something. After all, Jesus talked endlessly about belief and the necessity of it. In at least two places he’s specifically cited as being either unable or unwilling to work miracles because the people there believed so little. Moreover, Christ does at one point cite a scripture that says “you are gods,” the “you” there referring to humanity in general. Maybe, perhaps, God really has imparted a bit of himself into all of us. And maybe, perhaps, just as he willed the universe into being with his imagination, we have a minor version of the same power.
Maybe.
Perhaps.
People in the “Conspiracy Theory” space have all sorts of ideas about what the motives are for all things they claim are happening. You know, ideas about why “they” (whoever “they” are) do what they do. In my opinion the most of it is just belief harvesting. Faith farming, if you will. The goal is to scare you. To propagandize you. Because, if enough people believe a thing is going to happen, then, maybe, it really does. Maybe the only way to actually enslave a people in a techno-futurist nightmare is to get them to believe that such a future is inevitable. Maybe the way to actually get lots of folks dying from a vaccine is to make them believe it’s already happening? Maybe we create our own dystopias. Maybe “they” just serve to guide our anxieties in their desired directions. Maybe if you can get enough people to believe that there’s simply no other choice but to go to World War 3 over Ukraine then…
Well.
Let’s hope not.
Of course, some might here claim that I have equivocated praying to God with “praying” to nothing in particular. That I’ve made it seem like I don’t think there’s any real difference between “manifesting” and prayer.
Yes and no.
I think that “manifesting” is a part of how prayer really does work. That God has given us, created as we are in his image, some limited degree of his power. At the same time though, I also believe that most people who get what they’re trying to manifest are granted such by God, even if they never acknowledge that he’s the one who provided it. I don’t think God needs our thanks. He appreciates it… but he doesn’t need it. If he sees one of his children earnestly desiring for something, I think he often grants it, even if they never ask him for it by name. So, in that sense I think manifesting is just prayer that doesn’t recognize itself as such.
Additionally I think praying to God specifically is better than not because prayer isn’t only meant to be an exercise in asking for things. Prayer is also meant to form you into the right sort of person. The sort of person who asks for good things. You know, people have all sorts of wants and desires, many of them problematic. I don’t say that God won’t give you the problematic things that you ask for, he might, but… well… let’s just say that if you’re directing your intentions towards God instead of the universe or your higher self, then maybe you’re more likely to check yourself if your intentions are like, “please give me a mistress to cheat on my wife with” or something like that. Remembering that it is ultimately God who gives everything helps you remember to try and not desire what is wrong.
Not sure.
Like I say, I don’t have all the answers here. I can tell you however that I have put to practice the idea of just asking God for the same thing, over and over, everyday. It works. It really does work. The things I pray for come. Not always as quickly as I’d like, but they come. Call it manifesting if you want, like I say, I’m not overly sure there’s much of a difference.
As for Olaf?
He became a saint. Revered all over Scandinavia for his holiness, his dead body near immediately famed for its healing power.
See, when I said swords didn’t pierce Thorir, that wasn’t quite true. Swords didn’t pierce through his enchanted reindeer skin. But the pagan’s hands weren’t covered by that. In his fight with Olaf, Thorir suffered a wound to the hand. A fairly deep one. But, before the man’s own eyes, as he laid his hands on the corpse of his enemy, the wound healed.
“The king’s blood came on Thórir’s hand and flowed between his fingers where he had been wounded before, and from that moment the wound healed so quickly that it required no dressing. Thórir himself bore witness to this occurrence…Thórir the Hound came to be the first among the men of influence who had been the king’s opponents to witness to his sanctity.”
— Snorri Sturluson, Icelandic Historian, from the “Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 230”
Thorir disappeared not long after that. Gave up on the whole protecting Norway gig and went south. Down around the Mediterranean. No one is quite sure where. It’s long been rumored though that the pagan eventually made his way to the Holy Land, his heart having been converted by the kindness of his enemy. Thorir’s cloak might have been more magical than Olaf’s sword, but, in the end, his faith was not as strong. In a very real way the age of the Vikings ended there, on that battlefield. The Christianization of the North which Olaf could not achieve in life made possible by the cult following he achieved in death.
And why shouldn’t it have worked out this way? Maybe Neville was right. Thorir’s prayer and desire was that he should kill his enemy. Olaf’s prayer and desire was to go to Heaven and to save his people’s souls.
In the end, both got exactly what they wanted.
That’s how prayer works.
“Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.” — Jesus (Bible, Mark 11:24)
Just a note from an appreciative reader from the Faroe Islands (where our national holiday is Ólavsøka, or St. Olaf's Wake, the 29th of July). Thank you for such a thought-provoking article!
Your comments on the power of symbols illustrates how unfortunate it is that the Protestants discarded iconography.