In Iceland, Christianity and paganism have gone side by side ever since the lawsayer Thorgeir Ljósvetningagodi announced in 1000 AD that Icelanders should be Christian but be allowed to practice heathen traditions in secrecy.

Even though Icelanders haven’t been openly pagan since the establishment of Ásatrúarfélagid in 1973, the nation has upheld heathendom knowingly or unknowingly.

This is, for example, evident in Icelanders’ loyalty to heathen names. Throughout the centuries the Norse gods, like Ódinn, Thór, Freyr, Týr, Baldur, Sif and Freyja, have lived on in their namesakes.

What’s even more notable is that Christianity and paganism have merged in names like Kristrún, the first part honoring Christ and the second referring to the heathen magical runes. Better keep both sides happy.

To keep both sides happy was namely the reason for Thorgeir Ljósvetningagodi, a pagan high-chieftain himself, to decide Icelanders should convert to Christianity on certain conditions.

He probably would have wanted nothing more than for Iceland to remain pagan but realized it might tear the nation apart in violent struggles.

Christianity was gaining popularity in Iceland and there had been conflicts between the two religious sects. Moreover, the international community was rapidly Christianizing and there was pressure on Iceland to do the same. 

Thorgeir Ljósvetningagodi therefore racked his brain for a solution that would result in peace both within Iceland and between Iceland and its neighboring countries.

His decision resulted in a period of peace and harmony for the Icelandic Commonwealth, even though it ended with Sturlungaöld (“The Age of Sturlungs”), an era of domestic disturbances in the 13th century, and the loss of independence to the King of Norway.

To date, Thorgeir Ljósvetningagodi is highly regarded in Iceland for his wise move. And heathen wisdom has lived on in our culture. For example, Hávamál says: vin sínum skal madur vinur vera og gjalda gjöf vid gjöf (“be a friend to your friend and repay a present with a present”).

It also preaches heimskur er heimakaer (“the person is stupid who does not leave the home to travel”), which I find really good advice. What do you know about the world if you’ve never gotten to know other cultures?

True to the spirit of the Vikings, Icelanders are still a traveling bunch with young people going abroad as exchange students, to work or study in foreign countries for a period of time. Later they return and enrich their home country with the knowledge they’ve accumulated overseas.

Yet Christianity is deeply ingrained into the national psyche as well. Most Icelanders may not attend church on a regular basis but still uphold Christian traditions almost automatically, such as having their children baptized and later confirmed.

I’m not religious myself and have often had difficulty understanding this practice. It seems to me that many parents have their babies christened just for the sake of tradition but don’t pause to consider the actual meaning of the ceremony.

However, I’ve come to realize that at least in the case of some of my closest friends and relatives, they find this ceremony of blessing the child and thereby placing it under divine protection important for its wellbeing. And there’s something beautiful in that.

Then, in the middle of the holiest of ceremonies where everyone present has confessed their faith in God and the holy trinity, recited the “Lord’s Prayer” and promised to raise the child in Christianity, the priest asks about the name of the child.

And the parents say: “Hrafndís” (“Raven’s Nymph”), or something else inspired by darkest aspects of heathendom, with the mother explaining that the name “came to her” because she’s certain that a raven “watches over her”—and no one sees the irony of it. Really, I have been at a baptism where this actually happened.

The priest himself might be named something utterly heathen like Thórhallur (“Devoted to Thor”). The priest who taught me Christianity lessons at school was called that. He did see the irony of it and explained it to the class with a mischievous smirk on his face.

In fact, many of the leaders of Christianity through the ages are reported to have been sorcerers, most notably Rev. Saemundur “the wise” Sigfússon at Oddi in Rangárvellir (1056-1133).

Legend has it he studied black magic at Sorbonne, France (Svartiskóli) and hitched a ride with the devil in the shape of a seal from mainland Europe back to Iceland.

Though the age of sorcery, shape-shifting and Satan trickery is long gone, Iceland’s religious history has contributed to the modern nation’s mentality where once again and more openly Christianity and paganism exist in harmony, along with other religions.

When The Dalai Lama graced Iceland with his presence in 2009, a ceremony was held in his honor in Hallgrímskirkja church where nearly all of Iceland’s religious leaders addressed attendees.

“Love thy neighbor,” the Bible says, while Hávamál preaches friendship, honor and hospitality. In our hearts, these two faiths—that are maybe not so different after all—are intertwined.

Nowhere is this ‘twist of faith’ depicted more literally than at Skálholt, an ancient bishopric in south Iceland and the capital of Icelandic Christendom, where a statue showing Thor, the Norse god of thunder, and Bishop Jón Arason standing next to each other in camaraderie is situated by the cathedral.

Ever been to Skálholt? This ancient bishopric, a site of spiritualism, history and culture is placed on the Golden Circle route, Iceland’s most popular day tour. You should drop by the next time you’re in the vicinity; it’s a good place to ponder on peace and religion.

Eygló Svala Arnarsdóttir – eyglo@icelandreview.com