Translation is a tricky thing, especially if you’re translating a word that has a seemingly direct equivalent in English. Sometimes the equivalent translation fits, sometimes it doesn’t. Often, it’s a mixed bag. That brings me to the Third Person of the Trinity.
I don’t know when and why the Latin phrase Sanctus Spiritus switched from being translated as “Holy Ghost” to “Holy Spirit.” I can understand the translation of “spirit.” You can see it in the word spiritus, and it is sensible to modern ears whereas “ghost” seems almost Gothic. “Spirit” also covers another meaning of spiritus which is “breath,” and it has that elusive quality of wind, water, cloud, and fire, which are symbolic of the Third Person. I wonder, though, if we have lost something in abandoning the word “ghost.”
Those very reasons which make “spirit” an acceptable translation also make it a problematic one. For one, especially to modern minds, it has a connotation of emotion and feeling, almost whimsy. Is it a coincidence that the shift from “ghost” to “spirit” came at a time when our culture shifted our responses to situations from the head to the belly (or farther below) where the emotions hold sway?
A ghost, on the other hand, is definitely a person—someone who speaks to you, commands you. Ghosts are out of fashion now, but they were once part of our culture. I, for one, enjoy ghost stories of the old-fashioned kind. (And, as an aside, if you aren’t doing anything next October, before Halloween, read the ghost stories of Russell Kirk. They will show you what ghosts are really like.)
A ghost haunts, that is, inhabits a place, and the word “guest” is related to “ghost.” He annoys us, besets us, hounds us. His message may be consoling or convicting, but a person is telling you to do something and He won’t let you rest until it is done. Seek to evade him as we will, the Ghost is there. The Holy Ghost, as the guest of our soul, haunts us, as our conscience does—or should do if we haven’t deadened it with screens, entertainment, drugs, sex, and “news.” This is why we invoke the Holy Ghost when we examine our conscience.
A guest can make us uncomfortable. We must ask Him in, make room for Him, and talk to Him. We have to be on our best behavior. It’s a difficult thing to do for a culture bent on distraction and wanting to do its own thing. Perhaps the ghosts we are most familiar with are the three in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. They came to remind Scrooge of his past, what was really happening in his present, and where he may end up in his future.
A ghost in old stories came to right wrongs, to reveal hidden things that needed correction, to see justice done. He won’t “let sleeping dogs lie,” as we want to do with our sins that “didn’t hurt anyone” or that are so far in our past that they “don’t matter anymore.” A ghost wants the truth revealed and accounted for, no matter who knows or how far in the past—those secrets we hide even from ourselves; those things we would like to forget or overlook; those “skeletons in the closet” (another sobering image) that are the very things we need to confess.
A ghost illuminates our minds to the truth of the present. Nothing is hidden from him; there are no secrets from him. Nothing is private. He sees all; knows all. He shows us the reality of a situation instead of the charade we often make it to be, as Banquo’s ghost did to Macbeth when he came to crash the dinner party.
A ghost, because he is from beyond the grave, reminds us of death—a morbid thought, perhaps, but a salutary one. He knows what is beyond the grave, which is why ghosts often seem to pop up in graveyards. He shows us, as he did Scrooge, what could happen when we die should our course not be altered. It brings to mind those portraits of the saints sitting with skulls on their desks showing us the fleetingness of this life. This is something good for an age that is frightened of death and avoids the inevitability of it either by relentlessly pretending to be young or trying to have it on its own terms. A ghost reminds us that death is never on our terms, for our life was never our own to begin with.
A ghost does not come, pace charismatics, amid fervent bouts of singing and Sister Act hand waving—but in silence. In those moments when we are alone, at the beginning or the end of the day. That soft whisper, that uneasy feeling that something, or someone, is there. He is numinous with that sense of awe you get during a thunderstorm, or when at the foot of the Rockies, or on the edge of the Grand Canyon, or when you stand on the beach and see the sun rise over the ocean. You are small. You are not in control. You don’t know everything.
A ghost, like an angel, reminds you that there is another world out there—a world that is larger and more real than the one on your iPhone, at work, or in your head. You must reckon with it, for it is the Truth.
If these reflections are too melancholy, remember that a ghost can also protect and bring comfort and security, as in the delightful story (and even more delightful movie) The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. Those little nudges we get—“don’t go there,” or “stay away from that person,” or “don’t click on that”—can be the Holy Ghost seeking to guard us. And ghosts don’t always reveal gloomy things, they often tell where hidden treasure is buried, as happens in The Ghost of Dibble Hollow. The Holy Ghost has many riches He wants to lead us to.
In the new liturgical calendar, we mark the weeks after Pentecost as “ordinary time” instead of weeks after Pentecost. Can there be such a thing as “ordinary time” after the Third Person of the Trinity has come to dwell in our souls? Time itself is a sacred thing. Each moment is haunted with fear and trembling, delight and wonder. We cannot waste a moment.
Our Lady is the spouse of the Third Person. A spouse, like a ghost, is a person. A spouse is the one you give your life to and are most intimate with. We imitate Our Lady when we give our lives to the Holy Ghost and become intimate with Him. Your spouse knows the truth about you—all your faults and foibles; your spouse inspires you and calls you to account. Feelings and emotions become subservient to the Truth because of love. When we are wedded to the Holy Ghost, He does the same.
So, while the Holy Spirit is a good translation, it may also be well to call upon Him as the Holy Ghost and allow Him to haunt us, to bring to mind all we have done or failed to do. We can ask Him to come into our lives as a guest and stir us up and tell us what to do now. Let Him disclose his wealth, which He will do if we are silent and listen. And, before it is too late, permit Him to remind us of our death and the accounting we must make of this sacred time we call life.
This article was originally published on Crisis Magazine.
