The power of folklore: Accessing lost Pagan traditions in Central Europe

We know well that much of Pagan lore is hidden in folklore in many countries, especially those where major authoritarian religions stamped out Paganism many generations ago. I grew up listening to Norse and Greek myths as a child and this was a key element in the development of my spirituality.

But there are drawbacks too folklore. While someone long ago may have tried to preserve sacred knowledge through these stories, others may well have tried to obscure it and twist it.

Photo by Arie Farnam

There are few ancient Pagan religions that are more difficult to access in our modern world than that of the western Slavic tribes, who lived in my adopted country, the Czech Republic. A few of the names of deities have been preserved from the pantheon of the eastern Slavs—Peron, Mokosh, Morana, Zeme, Leto. Little more is known of them or their traditions than their names.

Scholars tend to assume the same or similar gods held sway among the western Slavs and it is possible, though there are known differences between southern and eastern Slavic pantheons. It is also equally likely, however, that western Slavs had their own stories, gods and traditions, almost entirely obliterated by genocide, war, migration, authoritarianism and a millennium of forgetting.

For a long time, I have guessed that the devils so popularly pictured in the Mikulaš parades in Czech villages have a history as a type of land spirits or even Fey. But whether they were Slavic, Celtic or Germanic in origin is debated, and further details are lost. How then can I come to know the Pagan gods and spirits of my adopted land that has been Christian for so long.

Recently, I ran across the names Libuše, Teta and Kazi in a children’s cartoon meant to help my kids memorize the key names and dates of the Czech state foundation myth for school. What caught my attention naturally was a half-sentence reference to one of them being “a witch.”

It reminded me of an off-hand comment I had once overheard about ancient Czech princesses doing real magic. So, I did some research.

The twelfth century scribe, Kosmas, wrote in the oldest surviving chronicle of the Czech nation that the chieftain known as Krok had three daughters and, “The eldest of them was named Kazi. Her knowledge of herbs, healing and divination was unsurpassed by Medea of Colchis or even Asclepius, given that she often stopped the Fates in their work or by magic changed destiny according to her will. And this is why the people of this land have a saying, when something goes wrong and all hope is lost, that ‘even Kazi couldn’t mend it.’”

That proverb, if it existed in the twelfth century, has long gone out of fashion and we are left with nothing but folklore and the bits that Kosmas and those who copied him jotted down. The comparisons to Greek mythical heroes in the text says more about the intellectual atmosphere of Central Europe in the twelfth century than it does about the tale itself.

Still it is another example of how folklore can help. By looking at the type of magic Medea did and the medical focus of Asclepius in Greek lore, we can have some inkling of what was implied about Kazi.

Kosmas and later chroniclers say that Kazi’s sisters were Libuše and Teta. According to the scribe, Libuše was a great female leader of the Czech nation after Krok’s death. She was also supposed to be a seer and prophetess.

Teta was the one referred to in the cartoon as “a witch,” though there is less recorded about her than her sisters, besides a vague implication that she posessed powers of the sea and storms, also by way of reference to Greek myths. Given that this is a landlocked country, I wonder if what was meant was magical abilities involving nature, elements and weather, which would have been crucial to the agricultural economy of the times. Or conversely whether some scholarly speculations might be true that the origins of the myth are far older than is commonly assumed and stem from Celtic, seafaring cultures.

Most estimates put the sisters living in the 9th century, but scholars debate whether or not they were real people at all or merely mythological characters, dating back to pre-Slavic, Celtic-majority times in the great valley of Bohemia.

Certainly, three magical sisters would not be out of place in Celtic stories and myths. Three is the quintessential magical number in Celtic cosmology. Some even speculate that the story of the sisters may give us clues about an ancient Central European triple goddess that morphed into a legend about powerful priestess-princesses.

There are later references to the three and quite a lot of discussion of Libuše among the chroniclers of Czech history, but much of it is either speculation, embellishment or repetition of Kosmas. Libuše was supposed to be a fair and just ruler and judge. She sided with those who were wronged, despite social convention, and men challenged her rule as a woman, though she held out until after her sisters died, the chronicles state.

Painting by Josef Mathauser, entitled “Chieftan Krok with his daughters”

Libuše prophesied the future location of the capital city Prague and instructed her people to build a castle there. She predicted where metal ores would be found for the early miners of Central Europe. On her death bed, she asked the clan chiefs to stand together and to accept the rule of her husband Přemysl.

The legend continues, however, saying that after her death, the women of Libuše’s court had their powerful positions usurped by men and they went to war against men, in a campaign known as the “Maidens’ War.” They were ostensibly fierce but they were finally brought down and killed and their stronghold burned, when their new leader Vlasta waged too far ahead of the others and was cut down.

For the modern Pagan located in Central Europe or with Central European Celtic or Slavic roots, these legends provide a wealth of information. If you take the women in the chronicles as real people, they become mighty ancestors. If you take them as mythological characters or goddesses, they give us powerful female deities, heroes and attributes that have been suppressed in this region for over a thousand years.

Of course, not knowing which it is can be a bit of an issue.

We don’t know much about the ancient Pagan culture of this part of the world. If finding Greek, Norse or British Celtic Pagan sources seems hard, Western Slavic traditions are buried even deeper by an even older Christian influence.

However, we do know that the Czech nation has Celtic anthropological and even genetic ties. Slavic tribes were a more recent intrusion. Thus a lot of what is known of Celtic Pagan practices can be loosely applied, if you are willing to go with a degree of uncertainty and guesswork.

Personal gnosis

The morning after I read about the three sisters, I had one of my most profound spiritual experiences to date. I was in the shower, covered in water and vulnerably naked. I felt a rush of presence and heard a forceful call ring in my ears. The shock of it left me dizzy.

I stumbled out of the shower and stood in awe, gazing at the morning light streaming in through my window as if it was the first such morning I had ever seen.

Such experiences are notoriously difficult to describe, but I somehow understood that I was instructed to build a small stature of the three sisters and that I could call on Kazi specifically as a healer to guide me in my work with herbs.

Because I live in Central Bohemia, on the land of these sisters, and I have been formally made a Czech citizen, although I wasn’t born here and it isn’t even my genetic roots, I was honored and touched to the point of tears. Still if I believe anything spiritual is real, then this was real. The perception was that strong.

One of the few things we know about the Western Slavic Pagans from the writings of early Christians in the area is that they kept figures representing their mighty ancestors in their homes. So, if I had been called to make figures of Kazi, Libuše and Teta to honor them, it was a sign of acceptance or at least an invitation to emulate those Slavic Pagans in this part.

The only problem was, of course, that I’m not a sculptor. Still I remembered that one of the molds I bought, thinking it was for a female figure candle, turned out to be too small for candles but just right for something like this and there were three molds of women in the piece.

I got some clay and made my figures. I painted them in colors that correspond with the talents of the three sisters and stuck the dried figures into a crescent moon shaped base with an opening for a candle.

I was rewarded with a strong impression of a sigil to represent Kazi, the healer of the trio. But then later, in meditation on the sigil, I got a strong impression of disapproval when I addressed them as goddesses. I felt instructed to address them rather as mighty ancestors and teachers.

Of course, this is personal gnosis and I wouldn’t argue with someone who conceived of the sisters as a triple goddess. The idea has possibly more scholarly backing than the concept of them as once-living humans. However, my impression was strong enough, that I think it is better for me personally to act accordingly on this point.

Since then, despite repeated offerings, the sisters have been quiet in their place on the high shelf of my altar. As with many things I have encountered along the Pagan spiritual path, there appears to be a period for waiting, offerings and proving one’s commitment.

I am content for now to research and wait for any further strong impressions from the sisters. The experience has also renewed my interest in folklore and respect for what even very watered down stories may be able to bring us from the deep wells of ancient Pagan spirituality.