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How to Be a Heathen:

A Methodology for the Awakening of Traditional Systems

By

Stephen E. Flowers

The following paper was generated from a talk delivered to the Pagan Student Alliance of the University of Texas at Austin, November 22, 1991 and is dedicated to the memory of Edwin Wade, Óðinsgoði, who died on this date in 1989.

I have come to you to speak about how exactly one might go about being a heathen, or pagan, in today’s world.  What I will say will be of use on two fronts.  First, it will provide a model for the rationally intuitive “reconstruction” or revival of heathen religions – or better said – cultural value systems.  But second, it can also act as a sort of manual of “consumer guidance” for such systems.  Since we are swamped with the “marketing” of such systems on a constant basis, I think the time has surely come for some discussion on how we should approach them. 

The whole issue of culture is often glossed over, especially by American writers.  This is because there is usually only tenuous understanding of what all is meant by this term.  When we speak of culture, we may meaningfully break it down into four types of culture – all of which blended together give us a true picture of any given historical society, ancient of modern.  There is:  1) ethnic culture, 2) ethical culture, 3) material culture, and 4) linguistic culture.  These may be conveniently illustrated as in Figure 1.

 

Culture
Ethnic	Ethical
Material	Linguistic

Figure 1:  The Culture Grid

All kinds of culture have to do with contact of some kind between real people.  Humans are cultural animals.  To survive we need to absorb, intellectually and consciously, tremendous amounts of cultural data.  The faculty to generate culture and to absorb its contents is one of the things that separate us from the “other” animals (Which is another way of saying what makes us something other than animals). 

Ethnic culture is a purely physical reality.  It has to do with the reproduction of the carnal human reality – physical bodies – through sexual contact.  It is, if you prefer the term, the “racial culture” of a people.  In any holistic understanding of culture this must, of course, be accounted for and discussed.  When we look around the world today, we see cultures like Japan which has an almost entirely homogeneous ethnic culture.  This is also reflected in other aspects of their over all cultural model, which is to be expected.  They constitute a true nation, in the original meaning of that word, i.e., a people sharing a common birth (from Latin natio, I am born).  The United States of America on the other end of the spectrum, is not a true nation but rather a multi-national state.

Ethical culture is the most complex kind of culture.  It touches all the other types, and is usually what most people think of when they think of culture at all.  It has to do with everything that is contained in, and generated from, the minds of humans (in that given culture).  It contains the categories of everything from religions to political ideologies, to literary traditions, to economic systems.  Ethical culture is the collective ideology – or spiritual systems – of a society. 

Material culture comprises, on the other hand, all the physical objects created by art (i.e., craft).  These are the artificial projections onto the physical world of the contents of the mind – of ethical culture.  Often we know of a given historical culture only by means of the artifacts (objects of material culture) left behind in the archeological record.  This is, for example, the case with the “Old Europeans,” the pre-Indo-European folk of the far western part of the Eurasian land mass.

Finally, linguistic culture is the language spoken and understood by a people.  This is most intimately connected with ethical culture, for especially in the case of cultures of the past it is virtually only through linguistic records that we can determine what the content of their minds – their ethical culture – was.  Factors from the material culture also become extremely important here because it is usually only through tangible (i.e., material) records of the linguistic data that we can know the thoughts of the people of the past as directly as possible – through actual scrolls, papyri, inscriptions, books, etc.  This is how they can speak to us most directly and most clearly over time, and we must hear them in this way to be sure of the voice of the past. 

What most heathens, or pagans, seem to be interested in is the revival of ancient cultures.  They like to go back in their minds and imaginations to a time when the cultural grid was a holistic one – where one could speak of (just to name one example) the Germanic culture as a whole:  Germanic folk, Germanic religion, Germanic art, Germanic language were one organic whole.  If a sense of this wholeness can be regained, it can again make a positive impact on the individual and the culture to which that individual belongs by healing the sense of alienation the loss of that wholeness causes.

This is a noble endeavor.  But it is a difficult one to do well and reliably and with a minimum of subjective wish fulfillment.  The establishment of a method of doing all this is what I hope to contribute to with this paper. 

The “neo-pagan movement” is rife with subjectivism.  People reconstruct the “past” in the vision of their own private needs and prejudices.  Neo-paganism is often less a religious path and more a system for the validation or justification of subjective biases.  Sometimes these subjectives result in effective and sometimes beautiful systems of thought and practice:  take for example the original form of Gardnerian Witchcraft.  But their bases are nevertheless in the subjective needs and prejudices of the creators.  What I propose is the development of an objective, rational basis for a system from which reliable and more profoundly useful systems can be developed.

A little less than two thousand years ago, when someone mentioned “pagan science” or “pagan thought” (as distinguished from “Christian”) it implied that there was a rational basis to it – not a “revealed,” irrational one.  How much that has changed over the ensuing years!  I would like to see the pagan birthright of rationality restored to us.  So that when the word “pagan” is heard it will not necessarily call up images of whacked out misfits, but will on the contrary be synonymous with clear-headed, yet inspired thought. 

One of the great pagan thinkers was a Greek named Plato.  His system was almost entirely from his indigenous philosophical tradition (although for the sake of prestige he often invented myths about more exotic sources for his thought).  Greek idealism, like Indian idealism, is really derived from the same Indo-European ideology.  Idealism is, in this context, the supposition that there is a more real, more permanent, world beyond this one, and of which this world is a shadow or reflection.  To the traditionalist this is the world of the gods and the world of laws beyond them to which they are also subject.  For Plato and the Indian philosophers of the Brahmanas and Upanishads the world beyond is filled with impersonal first principles, or forms (Greek eidos), or archetypes, if you will.

If this world is a reflection or shadow of the ideal world, and if we can learn the laws and principles of how such reflections or shadows are made, we have the possibility of discovering the truth about the hidden world beyond our senses.  The way to discover these truths is, furthermore, shown to be a process of rationally intuiting the objects of knowledge beyond the grasp of our senses.  We begin with what we may know rationally, significantly improve on that knowledge, and then jump intuitively (using objective knowledge as our spring-board) into the world beyond the rational.  The main problem with pagan thought as usually practiced today is that there is a good deal of jumping – but the spring-board is made of balsa wood. 

Plato identified four levels, or types, of knowledge, as shown in figure 2.

 

Type of Knowledge	Object of Knowledge
4. Rational Intuition	Forms
3. Logic	Mathematical Objects
2. Belief	Things
1. Conjecture/Guess-Work	Shadows

Figure 2:  Platonic Scale of Knowledge

Conjecture, or guess-work (Greek eikasia) hardly qualifies as “knowledge” at all.  No one should “think” like this.  Although all of us do at least occasionally – and most people do most of the time.  This is the kind of thought that is based on nothing but totally subjective “evidence,” or worse yet, on the subjective evidence provided by others.  Two-dimensional characters, such as Archie Bunker, provide perfect examples of such people.  Such people know nothing but the shadows of real things. 

Belief (Greek pistis) is a faith in the validity of things which have been received from authoritative sources.  In a traditional society these authoritative sources are easy to identify.  The priests and priestesses of the national divinities, tribal elders, etc.  In our postmodern world these authorities are more difficult to identify reliably.  If nothing else, this paper should be of some use in that process.  At this stage the person knows real things, but can only follow certain directions with regard to practice when dealing with things beyond the world of the senses.  To this realm belong what we usually think of as “religion” – the correct performance of rituals, etc.  This is the level at which the vast majority of people are comfortable.  As far as a healthy society is concerned, this is also the level at which most people should be satisfied.  Beyond it is a realm of spiritual toil and anguish.

There is a gulf which separates belief from logic.  The tension across this gulf was quite palpable in the modern age. 

Logic, or rational thought (Greek dianoia) is knowledge of the kind we would today call “scientific.”  It is essentially based on data, which are, as often as not, rooted in mathematics.  As we have come to learn in the modern world, if you “have the numbers” concerning something it is likely that you will be able to manipulate or reshape that thing.  You can control it because you have quantified it.  To this realm of knowledge we would today ascribe all of the arts and sciences taught and researched at our universities.  Universities are temples to Dianoia – or thought.  Today credible knowledge seems to end here.  Beyond it lies only mumbo-jumbo and ufo-ria.  But such was not the case in pagan times.

Rational intuition (Greek noesis) is the highest kind of knowledge.  But one can non leap from belief into rational intuition – one must pass through dianoia.  Long training in objective science (in whatever field) is necessary to cause the mind to function in a reliable manner.  Then when it is prefocused on more “spiritual” objects the knowledge it gains will be maximally reliable – or real.  We no longer have traditional schools for training in this kind of knowledge.  All the schools which exist at present in cultures derived from European roots are new schools.  So the question becomes one of quality, not age or legitimacy of authority. 

This scale of knowledge, and this whole discussion of pagan bases of knowledge in general, has been offered to give some sort of context for the body of this presentation.  The point will be that the “reconstruction” of whole cultural systems must (at least according to the best kind of pagan knowledge) be based on objective criteria and data, but additionally they must just as much be matters of actual doing – not merely ivory tower theorizing.  It is only through enactment of theory that knowledge becomes real.  We can only learn the most important things through action and experience.

How is it that we know how to put men on the moon, or how to build bombs that can destroy the world (proving that we are indeed gods of the planet) today – but we – as a species – in fact know nothing more about the most profound human problems of Love, Truth, Justice, etc. than did good old Plato?  “Progress” can be seen clearly in technological fields because this kind of knowledge (technical knowledge) can be passed on easily in a system of belief from one person to another, from one generation to another.  Each person, each generation, does not have to “reinvent the wheel.”  But when it comes to those other things, those things which cannot be passed on by authority from one person to the next, every person does indeed have to reinvent his or her own wheel.  But not just any wheel will do.  It has to be the right wheel.  This is what initiation is all about.  This further points to the methods used by philosophers which really can only put the student in a place where knowledge can be gained directly from the source.  The teacher cannot impart the knowledge, only create the conditions in which knowledge can flow into the student’s conscious mind. 

Can a Dead Cultural System be Revived?

Before beginning our quest, we must refine our goals.  To the basic question of whether a truly dead cultural system – such as the Egyptian, Sumerian, or Indus Valley – can be revived, I think the honest answer must be:  “No.”  That is, human creativity can (re-)create something of an artificial likeness of such a cultural system to vivify it with action and devotion.  But the thing itself is not actually brought back to life.  This is in part also due to the fact that in the cases mentioned above the lines of continuity of ethnic, ethical and linguistic culture have been irreparably broken. 

But to a slightly different question of whether a sleeping cultural system can be awakened, the answer may be more confidently be given:  “Yes.”  If there is some continuity between the past and the present in all four cultural areas – but if a cultural system has nevertheless become disestablished – then it is said to be not dead but merely sleeping.  Such is the case with the Germanic tradition.  We form a continuously identifiably ethnic unit, we hold many of the old ethical traditions (see everything from concepts of “English Common Law” to the “Christmas” tree), we still create art based on Germanic concepts of abstraction, and we certainly still speak a language derived directly from that of our pre-historic ancestors.  None of these categories is completely dead – all are just sleeping under a blanket of Christian/Middle Eastern overlay.  The same could be said for the Celtic, Italic, Hellenic, Slavic, and a dozen other traditions.

In many ways what I will present in the sections that follow is the method I used in the awakening of the Germanic tradition in a score or so books I have written on the subject, and the methods used for awakening slumbering practices and beliefs in the Asatru movement as a whole.  This methodology is essential for students of any such cultural system.
 
The Process of Awakening

The process of awakening comes in three phases.  These do not follow in the linear pattern 1-2-3, however.  That is, you do not start in Process I, finish it, and then move on to Process II, etc.  Really we are involved on all three levels throughout our lives as long as we are dedicated to the long process of reawakening the hidden reality within.  But, with all this being said, wisdom must be applied at all times to discipline one’s self so that in the early part of one’s quest most of one’s time is spent on Process I, while relatively less time is spent on the latter two.  As the years do on the balance will begin to shift, and relatively less time will be spent on the objective tasks and more time will be spent in the activation of what one has learned.  It is in this latter stage that true understanding arises.

Process I is one of rational discovery or objective analysis – where the traditional record is examined in a scientific manner. 

Process II is one of subjective synthesis – where the data gathered and analyzed in the first process are allowed to sink into the subjective universe, or soul, or the individual.  Here it is allowed to become whole with your mind.

Process III is one of enactment – where the inner synthesis is activated, made to become effective in the objective universe. 

Process I
Rational Discovery or Objective Analysis

To begin the first process we have to ask ourselves one basic question:  What do we have to work with objectively?  Now at this stage we must remind ourselves that we are sticking to things that are part of the objective record.  What so-and-so might have “channeled” concerning the true nature of the old Germanic, Celtic, or Egyptian system is, whatever else it might be, not objective.  To accept such material or ideas is simply to believe in the power of that individual to “channel” such things.  You are dealing with “revelations” not traditions.

So what are the kinds of things that can tell us about the objective tradition?  These are mainly written sources for reasons outlined above.  Does that mean that everything that was ever written by or about a culture is to be used without discrimination?  Certainly not.  Discrimination is of the highest importance.  The sources must be used in the following order or precedence: 

1. Internal Contemporary Texts
2. External Contemporary Texts
3. Archeological Evidence
4. Internal Surviving “Texts” (e.g., folklore)
5. Secondary Texts
   1. Autochthonous
   2. Comparative

Internal contemporary texts are ones such as the Eddas or runic inscriptions which give us some sort of direct insight into the minds of heathen Germanic peoples.  External contemporary texts are things such as the Roman and Greek historians’ and ethnographers’ accounts of the people indigenous to the north.  Although their views may be skewed for one reason or another (and these reasons must be examined) they did have more direct sources of raw information perhaps than we can today, and so remain tremendously valuable.  (For a collection of these see James Chisholm’s Grove and Gallows [Rûna-Raven, 2001].) 

Archeological evidence is mute.  It can not “talk,” that is, convey verbal information, without corroboration from textual sources.  If a statue of an otherwise unknown god or goddess is dug up somewhere, and it cannot be identified with some figure in the local mythology as recorded in texts, what are we left with?  All that remains to us is some pretty wild speculation based on nothing but an image.  But if that same artifact is to some extent “explained” by a textual source, then it becomes a great window into the spiritual life of the people.

Again, this bears reiterating, all we can objectively know about a bygone culture must be found in an objective record – written or archeological – and all interpretations of that record must be held to judgments based on the objective record.  To proceed otherwise is simply to be a believer in modern prejudices and prophets.  To illustrate this with a concrete example, of the many rune books that came out in the 1980s (with one exception) only my works were based on the actual tradition of runology well-known from the runestones, rune-poems, and modern scientific runology itself.  All the others freely altered or dispensed with (or more accurately, were simply ignorant of) the traditional knowledge available in any good reference book on the subject – if you couldn’t be bothered to visit a runestone.  But books were written on the bases of these wild speculations, prejudices, and wishful thoughts.  How to decide “which” runic system to use?  In a way, I was faced with this same problem when I started my own esoteric studies.  But I realized that all foundations had to go back to some objective piece of evidence – to some runic inscription, to some Eddic or runic poem, to some saga passage, and perhaps to some comparative evidence – all else was interpretation.  But as I came to see it, it had to be interpretation based on the whole of the tradition, not just one select part of it. 

Another slightly different class of primary evidence is provided by folklore.  By folklore I mean customs, stories and all kinds of traditions that have been handed down in a continuous fashion from early times.  Examples of this kind of evidence would be folk-tales collected by the Brothers Grimm or the various country customs collected by folklorists throughout northern Europe.  It is probably true that a great deal of this goes back to pre-Christian, heathen, times.  The problem is we can never know exactly how much of it has been innovated or imported in the Christian era.  Therefore folklore evidence must be considered as being secondary to the more archaic material.  It can be used to fill in gaps in our knowledge, but on the evidence of folklore alone no reliable objective system can be created, nor can folklore evidence be used to overthrow the evidence from more archaic sources.

Finally actual secondary, scholarly, literature about the traditions must be considered.  The huge body of scholarly work that has been done on the ancient Germanic religion, for example, is too rich and thought-provoking to ignore.  The present-day heathen should approach this literature as a record of contemporary men and women trying to make some rational sense out of the primary evidence according to certain intellectual rules by which their science is supposed to be governed.  “Inspiration,” so important to the practicing heathen, is of much less importance to the scholar.  But often inspiration can be drawn from their sometimes limited conclusions.  When making use of secondary scholarly literature you should try to find the most recent works possible.  If the scientific aspect is being developed as it should be, the older literature will be accounted for in newer, and the older will been superseded by the more comprehensive findings of the newer as well.  The only caveat here is when some ideological fashion (e.g., “political correctness,” “feminism,” etc.) comes to dominate scholarship in certain sectors.  Learn to recognize and avoid such intellectual fashions.  In general secondary material can be divided into two classes:  one which treats a given tradition from within itself and another which tries to compare one system to another thereby illuminating further the more obscure of the two.  Of course, this latter method must account for the ways in which one system or tradition might be connected to the other.  It is in this area that the work of Georges Dumézil is so important. 

Now that we have reviewed the types of sources to which we will attempt to gain access, the problem arises as to what exact questions will we attempt to answer with this data.  The essentials of understanding any person individually, or any group of people collectively, lie in knowledge of their view of the world, of themselves, of any gods or goddesses they might have, and in understanding the practices they use to act and interact within these various contexts, e.g., what rituals, spiritual technologies they use.

In technical terms we must discover the traditional cosmology used by the folk-group in question.  That is, what is their view of the order of the world.  Also essential to this is the origin of the world, their cosmogony.  Once you understand how people view the world, you have gone a long way toward understanding the very soul of the people. 

The soul must also come under direct examination.  Here we must try to reconstruct the traditional psychology of the group.  The investigator should try to determine what the folk-group thinks a human being is in essence and how the individual relates to the whole (society and world).  This in turn opens the door to the sociology of the traditional group under investigation.

Usually a special category is enjoyed by the gods and goddesses of a people.  The divinities are special exemplary models for human behavior and spirituality.  By knowing the pattern inherent in the god-forms as well as understanding how the various god-forms relate to each other inside the system we will have a deep-level map of the ideas of the people in question. 

Also essential to the whole process is an understanding of the “spiritual technologies” used by a people to communicate with their gods, to interact with them and/or with the world directly.  Peoples usually have rituals and customs to affect this part of life.  Such customs and behaviors are usually at the center of revivalist efforts.  The problem is often that the rituals are lost or only survive in sketchy outlines.  At this stage we are primarily concerned with finding out what these outlines are.  The only way to restore the soul to these outlines, and to flesh them out again in a robust fashion, is to discover the soul of the people through the understanding of the cosmology, psychology, sociology and theology – and then enacting the ritual elements regularly and physically.  When modern heathens make the same sounds, gestures or motions that their ancestors did in worshipping the gods or carrying out some other spiritual or magical practice, their actions physically and actually resonate with those of the past.  The more this is done, the stronger the resonance becomes.  This is why in the True movement, or in Ásatrú, it is so often emphasized that actually troth is a matter of doing, not believing.  From action comes faith in the results of action.

Two other important ways to recover the soul of the ancestors, and ways theoretically very much akin to the rediscovery of their spiritual practices, is the learning of the archaic languages they spoke, e.g., Old Norse (Icelandic), Old English, and/or learning their methods of crafting things in the physical universe, e.g., metal-working, weaving, wood-working.  At first these seem to be merely technical undertakings, but as time goes on the soul of the activity will manifest itself as the acts of today begin to resonate with the actions of the past and a sort of inter-epochal harmony begins to arise in the soul of the modern heathen. 

Process II
Subjective Synthesis

Once suitable progress has been made in all phases of the first process, all the data collected in that learning process is to be constantly and thoroughly submitted to a threefold model of subjective or internal inquiry.  Each piece of data is to be considered as it relates to the individual self of the subject (you), how it relates to the tradition (as you have come to understand it), and how it relates to the environment (social and natural).  The question of tradition handles the problem through time (diachronically), while the question of the environment handles it as it relates to the here-and-now (synchronically).  This process is actually a description of how the individual soul makes sense of the tradition.

As an example of this, let us take the traditional fact that the cosmos is made up of “nine worlds.”  How does this relate to my individual self?  How does this relate to tradition?  How does this relate to the world around me?  Now let it be said that what exact answers you come up with are perhaps less important in the beginning than the fact that you have posed the questions to yourself and set the wheels of inquiry into motion.  In time the questions will be answered – not because you read them in a book by Edred Thorsson or Georges Dumézil – but because you have come to know the answers yourself.  You will have experienced the answers.  Often the best efforts at objective and subjective inquiry come to an impasse.  Knotty problems sometimes remain.  At times, but especially when such thorny problems arise, a threefold tool of inquiry can be brought to bear.  Ask these three questions: 

1)      Is it factual? (i.e., fits the findings in Process I)

2)      Is it aesthetic? (i.e., pleasing to the sensibilities)

3)      Is it useful? (i.e., fills a basic contemporary need)

Again, let’s take a concrete example to illustrate how this is supposed to work.  Let’s say Uncle Einar, who resentful of his Christian upbringing, objects to having a “Yule-Tree” in the hall during Yuletide because he thinks it is a “Christian thing.”  You want to do the right thing, so you apply the threefold question to it:  Is it factual that the tree is pagan?  Yes, that can be proven from many sources.  Many Christian denominations realize this and therefore try to discourage their followers from having “Christmas trees.”  “But just because heathens did it doesn’t mean we have to do it, right?” persists Uncle Einar.  This is true, O avuncular one.  But the fact that the whole culture finds the tree an important and meaningful part of the Yuletide festivities (despite the attempts of the early Christians to suppress it) shows that it is generally pleasing to the sensibilities of most folks.  Because of its popularity its usefulness as a symbol and as a religious practice is assured.  It helps us focus on the immortality of the folk so long as its identifiable organic existence continues.  Gifts given to the children, and to the ancestors, focus our attention both on the roots and to the leaves of the tree.  This also points the way to the preferability of using living Yule-Trees.  The roots were cut off when the crypto-heathens had to remove their Yule-Trees indoors to worship in secret ways that had formerly expressed in public and in the woods.  Let us restore the roots to the Yule-Tree! 

So the problem of the Yule-Tree seems to be a personal one for Uncle Einar.  He is, of course, free to dispense with it in his own home, but it can certainly be proven to meet all three criteria for continuance, maintenance and redevelopment as a true custom.

 Process III
Enactment

Once a set of practices, beliefs, and so on, have been established through the application of Process II, it increasingly becomes the responsibility of the individual to prove the results of the second process through enactment, through actually and physically acting out the practices.  This first comes on a personal level.  Only through enactment in the physical world can the final judgment be made on the viability of the system you have arrived at.  Things that looked good on paper, or sounded good in your head, may be unworkable in actual practice.  This can only be shown through practice.  On one level this is the end of the whole process, but on another level it is just the beginning.

This process of enactment itself comes in two main phases.  The first involves individual enactment.  Begin to enact the subjectively synthesized patterns on an individual basis – both internally and externally.  Internal “action” is just as important as external action.  Internal action is tantamount to faith or belief – a firm conviction of the truth of something.  A thought profoundly held and conceived is a powerful deed.  Most forceful and sustainable external action is motivated by the emotional engine of the soul, which is perceived as faith or belief.  The Norse term for this is trú.  This moves the subject to act.  The external actions may range from undertaking traditional handicrafts with spiritual intent, to the enactment of the religious rites rooted in ancient Germanic patterns, to the carving of runes.  Again the important thing is to act, and to act in full awareness of the meaning of one’s actions.  The resonance built up between one’s actions and the original paradigms upon which these actions are based is rooted on the trueness, or accuracy, of their forms. 

Using these methods you can create your own personal religion, of course.  But heathendom is in essence a folk religion, it involves a community of people.  Individual development is important and essential, but if it is isolated and detached from others, it will not have permanence, and hence will not be as holy as it might have been.  Therefore, the next arena of enactment is on the group level.  Unless you can make what you arrived at up until now valid for a group of people, all you have done is create a highly personalized system.  It is for this reason that organizations are necessary in the applications of these methods.  Once the system becomes successful for a whole group of people it can be said to have gained, or regained, a transpersonal validity.  This is the end-goal of all reawakened heathen systems.  When group-level validity is achieved and maintained it becomes clear that the system is not the clever invention of a single individual, but rather the resonant and true reawakening of something that had been slumbering in the souls of all it touches.  It can be said to ring true.

Weltschmerz: Schellingian Reflections of C.D. Frederick’s The Wanderer Above the Sea of Mists (1818)^[1].

by P.A.Q.

 

Solitude in reflection upon an absolute landscape; the traveller encounters nature so as to encounter himself, for in the loneliness of his vantage point there are but two objects, the finitude of embodied existence and the infinite expanse of nature. We understand the figure to be a traveller, a wanderer who has made his way from the streets and towns somewhere below, his origin is the busy world of everyday life but he has risen up, up through the landscape, he has pierced through the veiling mists and now surveys the world. His travels have purified his horizons, they have removed the clutter of a life that is absorbed in the mundane but necessary tasks which sustain his finitude and brought him to a point where he might survey and reflect upon the site of that existence. Embodied finitude and sublime infinity reflect into one another and in that reflection the two extremes are subsumed, their interplay ceases to be that of two opposed forces and becomes a total vista.

Much is obscured from our view. The traveller is only partially revealed to us, we see him only from behind, no hint of his expression, his pose the only indication of his mood. The art historian assures us that the figure before us is the artist himself projected into the landscape^[2]. Of course this may be so, yet all we see is the figure of a man absorbed in a meditative encounter with nature. We could project an image of the figure, we could posit an identity, yet this would go beyond what is present to us, it would go beyond what our perspective allows. We accept the finitude of our perspective but we allow our thoughts to explore the possibilities.

The landscape itself is only partly revealed; the wanderer’s journey has indeed provided a broader horizon then he could have found below but total clarity has not been achieved. The rocks and peaks jutting through the sea of mist at first appear as isolated and independent moments, a series of natural objects, the mist concealing the underlying unity. From our perceptive this fundamental unity cannot be known, for we cannot see what lies behind the fog, we could project from what we see towards that unity and indeed we know it even though we cant see it. But with what right do we do so, what is before us seems to be a fragmentary landscape, obscured by mist and so once more we have to accept that truth lies in excess of our perspective.

From his transcendent vantagepoint the traveller has a view whereby he can infer, yet not hold, the ultimate unity of the landscape he surveys, if he moved back down from the hights the immediacy of the things of the world would suddenly crowed around him, he would become embedded in the world, unconsciously embedded in the nature he now encounters, consumed in the infinite. Natures immediacy would prevent him from viewing it, it would prevent his reflection upon it, it is only in moving out of the realm of the everyday world that he can reach a point where he can adequately reflect upon nature. His journey has not only been a movement through space and time but also a movement in thought and perspective. So the nature he encounters is the same nature as he encounters in his everyday life, only his mode of reflection has changed.

He is still embedded in nature he is still part of what he surveys, but now nature opens up to him in an auratic sense, it returns his gaze and engages him in such a way as to… His vista is Revelation, it offers a pantheistic insight into ultimate truth, for from this rich precipice he can gaze into the infinite and see the truth of his being - wave after wave of cloud, rolling hills and swirling mists, steady earth, defiant rock and open sky an interplay of being and becoming a sea of constant change stabilised by a unity he knows but cannot see. He can look into nature and see himself, his highs and lows, his fluxing moods, the movement of his life juxtaposed against the unity of his being, a unity he knows but cannot hold. The excess which he detects in nature, that indeterminable and auratic presence evidences the truth of his finitude and also affirms his unity with the infinite; evidences the paradox of his being.

We no longer need to worry about the identity of the traveller for the traveller has become identical with his object. Now the cosmic pain^[3] that is expressed by the landscape reflects to us the mood of its interlocutor just as the rich green of his costume reflects the verdural richness of the valleys which the mists conceal. The landscape is no longer fragmentary but a unified vision, an interplay of land and mist, being and becoming. The human subject coming to know itself through reflections on nature.

2. With reference to Schelling

The image is indeed a pantheist vision, it is a vision of the unity of human being and natural being, it shows the human subject, a pinnacle of natural complexity surveying nature. It is an encounter with the self; the subjects encounter with nature is an encounter with itself, it is an aspect of an infinite and self-developing substance looking back on itself, looking back at the nature from which it has emerged. As a finite aspect of an infinite nature there will always be an excess in this encounter. Knowledged can never know itself completely there is always mist, there is always limit. Religious thinkers thought that the intellectual revolutions of their day threatened to separate human existence from ultimate realities - yet this could only be the case for those whose deity is projected out beyond the frame of nature into some transcendent realm beyond space and time. Yet if nature is itself the ultimate reality then human being is always and primarily embedded within ultimate reality.

In the System of Transcendental Idealism Schelling claimed that art is the only way of communicating philosophy’s highest^[4] a clear display of his pessimism about the capacity to discursively articulate ultimate insights about the nature of reality. Ultimately Schelling is seeking some relation to ultimate realities, even from his earliest essay’s at Tübingen this seems to be his goal yet he also carries a pessimistic despair at ever being able to articulate his intuitions about that reality. An early essay on Plato’s Timeaus bares the following quote from Plato as a refrain “It is difficult to find the author and father of the universe, and impossible, after one has found him to proclaim him to all”^[5]. Art thus becomes the vehicle whereby these ultimate realities can be brought to presence, yet Schelling does seem to have moved away from metaphysics, it is not the a transcendent god or any supernatural reality that his philosophy seeks rather nature itself which becomes that ultimate reality. In bringing forth the notion of a self-developing realm of nature, an immanent naturalist teleology he reintroduces a notion of ’spiritualised’ nature. Human life becomes part of a natural movement and the hope that we might share a common purpose with nature once again becomes a possibility. For as part of the natural realm our encounter with nature is an encounter with ourselves.

---

^[1] My completely amateur excursion into the realm of Romantic Art is supported by a philosophical understanding of the work of Schelling rather than a thorough understanding of art history and theory. Given, however, that Frederick and Schelling where not only almost exact contemporaries but actually met in Dresden I feel that my Schellingian reflections on this piece are not entirely unusal.
^[2] Craske, Mathew. Art In Europe 1700-1830: A History of the Visual Arts in an Era of Unprecedented Urban Economic Growth. Oxford University Press. Oxford. (1997). p 67-8
^[3] Toman, Rolf. Neoclassicism and Romanticism: Architecture, Sculpture, Painting and Drawings 1750-1848. Könemann. Cologne. 2000. p 441.
^[4] Op cit. Schelling (1800). p 14.
^[5] Op cit. Baum. P 201

Myth, Poetry and Norse Religion

by P.A.Q.

Myth is a means of apprehending and communicating value in the world in an internally consistent way, using narrative as a vehicle^[1]. Myth and myth making are emotional and creative interactions which, in a sense, might seem non rational. Rational discourse on myth seeks to de-mythologise, to ‘explain’ the non-rational, a process which severs myth from its emotional basis^[2]. Myths should first and foremost be read and enjoyed. In each reading, as in each telling, the myth is transformed by its interaction with the individual, an individual who is caught in and cannot be divorced from matters contemporaneous. This essay will firstly analyse some important mythological theory, with a view to establishing the limitation of such theory, before the focus is narrowed to analyse the nature of Norse mythical poetry. Icelandic literature, especially poetry, has been seen as a literary phenomenon, a cultural pinnacle, standing in sharp contrast to the image of the ‘bloodthirsty’ viking raider. However, the two are not mutually exclusive. Egil Skala-Grimsson, the famous Norse poet, led an illustrious viking life, raiding and killing his way from Norway to England. Poetry was very important to the Scandinavian religion, whose sovereign god was the god of poetic inspiration. The many myths which deal with the origins of poetry also attest to this importance. This essay will conclude by an examination of the nature and relation of Odinn, poetry and Norse religion.

Myth and theory.
Late nineteen century theories of myth, such as those presented by J.G.Frazer^[3], rely on a connection between myth and ritual, where mythology represents the theoretical component of the more practical ritual. In terms of the relationship between myth and ritual in an ancient context, it is recognised that the limited evidence would render such relationships speculative. It is also important to consider that this theory does not fit with many contemporary ethnographic accounts of myth and ritual^[4]. From these accounts it can be seen that mythology, although associated with some aspects of ritual, is not necessarily the basis of all ritual. Ritual, like myth, is dynamic and communicative, ritual can use myth as the basis for symbolism but this is not necessarily always the case. Despite its frequent association with ritual, myth must be regarded as essentially a self contained cognitive system, one which is internally consistent, a logical paradigm, rational yet metaphoric^[5].

Many believe that myth is closely associated with establishing social mores. This functionalist view is however limited and fails to recognise that myth also articulates modes of behaviour beyond that which is socially acceptable, and in some cases seems to promote them^[6]. In this, any effective study of myth must consider the mythic relationship to society, but despite this important social element it must also be recognised that myth has important communicative and intellectual elements for the individual. Myth is both socially and intellectually engaged^[7] and so one must not only consider the material and social world expressed by myth but also the intellectual world. Other students of myth show an historicist approach to myth, attempting to recover an ‘original’ version of myth and reclaim it as some primal verity. Myth however is not a monolithic entity, it exists in various forms at various times and shows regional variation, depending on the needs of the community^[8]. Every variant narrative, every fragmentary detail is valuable, there is no original or correct version of any myth.

Norse Literature.
Close to the year 1220 an Icelandic scholar, Snorri Sturluson, produced his famous work entitled Edda. This work of prose was to provide a guide for the writing of traditional poetry, an art which Snorri felt was in decline. Snorri’s material was structured using the vehicle of Scandinavian myth, and in this work many myths are either told or alluded to. Although Christian, many believe that Snorri did in fact preserve many of the values of old Norse society especially since Iceland had only adopted Christianity in 1000 C.E^[9]. Snorri was a native of Iceland, he had travelled the Scandinavian lands widely, and may have been exposed to some pagan practices which survived in Sweden until the end of the Twelfth century. Despite this there is undoubtable evidence of strong Christian theoretical premises to his work, the prologue which euhemerises the gods and claims that the religion of the north is a natural religion which developed after the great flood^[10].

Snorri’s Edda remained one of the main sources of information on the old Scandinavian religion, until in 1642 a Bishop Brynjolfur Sveinsson obtained a codex of poetics, believed to have been compiled by Saemundr Sigfusson ‘the Wise’ (1056-1133). The codex found by Bishop Brynjolfur was presented to King Frederick the III of Denmark and since has become known as the Codex Regius^[11]. Among the few mythological lays in the Codex Regius are Havamal and Voluspa^[12], which were the first of the collection to reach print in 1665. The codex, dated c.1270, is believed to have been copied from one or more older texts, the oldest literary recordings being those cited in Snorri’s Edda (c.1220)^[13].

Essentially there are two poetic forms which emerge from the Nordic culture, Eddic poetry (mostly contained in the Codex Regius) is rhythmic and alliterative and resembles much Old English poetry, and is either mythical or related to heroic legend. The mythic poetry of the Edda are of two main kinds: narratives, usually illustrative or pedagogic in nature, and didactic poems^[14]. Many poems such as Havamal reflect both elements. The codex is important to the study of Norse heathenism as it contains several purely mythical lays and also heroic lays with mythical allusions to the gods and other inhabitants of the Norse mythic world. It has been said that it is impossible to understand Norse religion, literature or history without some knowledge of this type of poetry^[15]. A later poetic development was that of skaldic poetry, an art highly patronised by nobility, usually dealing with the events of contemporary history, and unlike Eddic poetry, usually attributed to a specific poet. This form of poetry is marked firstly by its formalism, every syllable is counted and also by the use of periphrases (kennings) which developed the use of metaphor beyond that of the earlier Eddic poetry^[16]. Kennings are given to many aspects of the Norse world, from the gods to the sea, from poetry to ships. Among the most numerous kennings are names for Odinn (eg. HangaTyr- Tyr of the hanged, or hrafenass-raven deity^[17].) also plentiful are kennings for poetry such as Kvasir’s blood^[18]. The Skaldic poets honed their use of language against an ever evolving interpretation of the myths, they explored the meaning of their myths. Skaldic poetry opened up a vast hermeneutical well for Norse poetry and myth and brought with it some of the most artistic use of language during the middle ages^[19]. There is also literature which would seem to be transitional between these two poetic forms such as Eiriksmal a skaldic poem written in Eddic form^[20]. Then there are the poems of the legendary Egill Skalla-Grimsson, which are skaldic yet contain much mythical material usually contained in Eddic poetry^[21].

The fact that poetry is so important to Norse mythic literature is evidenced in the narratives of Odinn’s winning of the mead of poetic inspiration. Odinn is the first to bring the art of Poetry to Asgard, the home of the gods. This narrative is also given in prose form in Snorri’s Edda, however the most important poetic references to this narrative are contained in the Eddic poem Havamal. The theft is alluded to in three variant forms in Havamal which would indicate that this narrative existed in different forms^[22]. Snorri could not have obtained the detailed version in his Edda^[23] (p. 61-64) purely from Havamal, which is not a detailed account, but merely a series of allusions to the winning of the mead. Possibly Snorri had more then one source for his version and one not contained in Havamal. The myths of Odinn winning the mead of poetry are reflected in other Indo-European myths which relate to the gaining of wisdom, particularly the story of the salmon of wisdom, also Indra and his drink soma. Other poems in the Edda also reflect this story particularly Fafnismal (31-32) which tells how Sigurd gained wisdom from drinking the blood of a dragon’s heart and also echoes the story of Finn and the salmon of wisdom^[24].

Poetry and Germanic Religion.
Evidence for an ancient Germanic religion is primarily based on external commentaries such as those of Caesar ^[25] and Tacitus^[26]. These are valuable sources, though not entirely reliable, since they reflect the agendas of their authors. The earliest source material in the vernacular is from medieval Iceland, an historical and geographic context distinct from that of “The Gallic Wars” or “Germania”. Yet within the corpus of Eddic poetry there exists evidence that such poetry does hark back to very ancient sources, albeit much distorted by transmission. The earliest datable event in Norse literature is the death of Ermanaric the Goth (375 C.E.), some eight hundred years before the poems reached a written form^[27]. This would indicate that the stories contained in the Edda do represent the continuation of an oral tradition which would seem to be at least eight hundred years old. If one considers that many of the tales of the Edda reflect broad elements of stories which appear to have been common to the Indo-European peoples^[28], then one is faced with the possibility that this oral tradition is older still. The Edda’s and Saga’s only allude to or recall aspects of myth and ritual, making interpretation difficult. Ultimately this religion cannot be reconstructed in any real sense, the gulf of time is too great, the evidence too “ill-assorted” ^[29] and it is impossible to have full empathy for a people so removed from our own lives. We can only hope to tease out motifs and themes which were important to these people and through reading their literature attempt to share in their perceptions.

The presence of Odinn dominates Icelandic mythic poetry and prose, yet there is little cultic or place name evidence in Iceland which would relate to Odinn or an Odinnic cult^[30]. Why should a God who has had such a great impact on Icelandic literature leave so slight a mark on its landscape? This might be due to the fact that Odinn is the god of the most literate section of the Icelandic community, the God of poets, and hence celebrated by them. It is possible that the myths do not in fact accurately represent the nature of religious practice in Norse lands. It is possible that we only have access to a privileged, literate, male discourse. The preservation of poetics dedicated to Odinn is not surprising when one considers his role as God of poetic inspiration, and his role in the winning of the mead of poetry. There are many scaldic kennings for poetry which refer to the narrative of the theft, Odinn himself is said to speak only in poetry^[31].

That the poets’ love for this God is probably related to him being patron of poetic inspiration is corroborated by the first stanza of Egil Skala-Grimsson’s poem Sonnatorrek (lament for my sons).

“My mouth strains- To move my tongue,
To weigh and wing- The choice word:
Not easy to breathe- Odinn’s Inspiration
In my hearts hinterland,- little hope there.”^[32].

This poem was written by Egill who, after the death of his sons, is angry with Odinn and blames him for the death. At first he finds it almost impossible to compose the poem but as he does, Odinns inspiration wells up inside him, he composes the poem and overcomes his grief^[33]. The position of the poet in relation to the narratives in Havamal is also interesting and reflects later developments in prose works which feature the poet as protagonist. The best example of this is Egil’s saga in which the story is developed through an interplay of verse and prose. Here verse adds emotional depth to an otherwise action based narrative. The verse highlights the personal intellectual life of the protagonist and thus intensifies the prose narrative by demonstrating how the poet is emotionally interacting with the events of the narrative. This is a unique development in the northern literary tradition^[34]. However, the poets were set a divine precedent in their God Odinn, a God who plays the role of chief protagonist in Snorri’s Edda, a god who speaks only in poetry.^[35]

* * *

Evidence concerning religion and religious practice in Viking age Scandinavia is uncertain, but it does appear that poetry played an important role. However, Literary evidence which points to the importance of poetry in that religion might be misleading. To claim that the Edda’s are representative of wider Norse religion is like claiming that Hesiod’s Cosmogony is indicative of the religious attitudes of Greek society. Literary ‘evidence’ for Norse myth, much like mythological theory, is essentially the product of a literate male elite. What we have contained in the Edda’s is not a mythology which represents ‘Icelandic religion’ or myth, it is merely representative of the way Norse poets perceived myth and especially their own god, Odinn.

Bibliography.

Caesar. The Gallic Wars.(C. Hammond. Trans.) Oxford University Press. Oxford. (1996).

Clunies-Ross, M. Skaldskaparmal: Snorri Sturluson’s ars poetica and medieval theories of language. Odense University Press. Odense. (1987).

Clunies-Ross, M. Prolonged Echoes: Old Norse Myths in Medieval Northern Society. Odense University Press. Canberra. (1994).

Dronke, U. Myth and Fiction in early Norse Lands. Variorum. Vermont. (1996).

Frazer, James G.. The Golden Bough: A study in Magic and Religion. (abriged edition). Papermac. London. 1995.

Greenway, J.L. The Golden Horns: Mythic Imagination and the Nordic past. The University of Georgia Press. Athens. 1977

Hollander, Lee. M. (ed. and trans.) The Poetic Edda. (Second Edition) The University of Texas Press, Austin. 1996.

Kristjansson, J. Foote, P (ed). Eddas and Sagas: Iceland’s Medieval literature. Hid islenska bokmenntafelag. Reykjavik. (1988).

Lincoln, Bruce. Myth Cosmos and Society: Indo-European Themes of Creation and Destruction. Harvard University Press. London (1986).

Meulengracht-Sorensen, P. The Unmanly man. Odense University Press. Canberra. (1992)

Palsson, H. Edwards, P. (eds.) Egil’s Saga. Penguin Books. Ringwood Victoria. (1976.).

Sturluson, S. Heimskringla: History of the Kings of Norway. (Hollander L. trans.) University of Texas Press, Austin. (1991).

Tacitus. The Agricola and The Germania. (H. Mattingly & S.A. Handford. Trans). Penguin Books (1970).

Talley, J.E. Runes mandrake and the Gallows. University of California. Los Angles. Germanic Religion. Course Book. Sydney University. (1997)

Turville-Petre, E.O.G. Myth and religion in the North: The Religion of Ancient Scandinavia. University of Oxford Press. London. (1964).

Turville-Petre, E.O.G. The Cult of Odinn in Iceland. Nine Norse Studies. Course Book. Germanic Religion. Sydney University. (1997).

Turville-Petre, E.O.G. Origins of Icelandic Literature. The Clarendon Press. Oxford. (1953).

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^[1] John L, Greenway. The Golden Horns: Mythic Imagination and the Nordic past. The University of Georgia Press. Athens. 1977. p. 2-6.
^[2] Ibid.
^[3] James George Frazer. The Golden Bough: A study in Magic and Religion. (abriged edition). Papermac. London. 1995.
^[4] Margaret Clunies-Ross. Prolonged Echoes: Old Norse Myths and medieval Northern society. Odense University Press. Odense. (1994). p. 11-12.
^[5] Ibid. p. 13-17.
^[6] Odinn, the most prominent Norse god, is often portrayed in a very negative light, often associated with oath breaking and theft he is also associated with individualism and personal quest for knowledge, none of which would be seen as conducive to social harmony.
^[7] Op cit. Margaret Clunies Ross. (1994). p 15.
^[8] Brit- Mari Nasstrom. Freyja- the Great Goddess of the North. University of Lund. Sweden. (1995). p 30-31.
^[9] Jonas Kristjansson,. Foote, P (ed). Eddas and Sagas: Iceland’s Medieval literature. Hid islenska bokmenntafelag. Reykjavik. (1988). p. 20-5.
^[10] Margaret Clunies-Ross. Skaldskaparmal: Snorri Sturluson’s ars poetica and medieval theories of language. Odense University Press. Odense. (1987). p. 14-15.
^[11] Op cit. Jonas Kristjansson. (1988). p. 20-5.
^[12] Hollander, Lee. M. (ed. and trans.) The Poetic Edda. (Second Edition) The University of Texas Press, Austin. 1996.
^[13] E.O.G. Turvile Petre. Myth and religion of the North.p 8-9.
^[14] Ibid.
^[15] E.O.G. Turville-Petre. Origins of Icelandic Literature. The Clarendon Press. Oxford. (1953). p16.
^[16] Turville-Petre, E.O.G. Myth and religion in the North: The Religion of Ancient Scandinavia. University of Oxford Press. London. (1964). p. 14-15.
^[17] Op cit Margaret Clunies-Ross. (1987). p. 100-101.
^[18] Snorri Sturluson. (A Falks. trans) Edda. Everyman. London. (1995). p. 70-72.
^[19] Op cit. E.O.G. Turvile Petre. (1964). p15.
^[20] Ibid.
^[21] H. Palsson. P. Edwards. (eds.) Egil’s Saga. Penguin Books. Ringwood Victoria. (1976.).
^[22] Op cit. E.O.G. Turvile Petre. (1964). p. 35-7.
^[23] Op cit. Snorri Sturluson. (1995).
^[24] Ibid. p. 40-1.
^[25] Caesar. The Gallic Wars.(C. Hammond. Trans.) Oxford University Press. Oxford. (1996).
^[26] Tacitus. The Agricola and The Germania. (H. Mattingly & S.A. Handford. Trans). Penguin Books (1970).
^[27] Op cit. E.O.G. Turville Petre. (1964). p. 196.
^[28] Particularly the story of creation as alluded to in Voluspa and as told by Snorri in Gylfaginning, for a more detailed examination see. Bruce Lincoln. Myth Cosmos and Society: Indo-European Themes of Creation and Destruction. Harvard University Press. London (1986).

^[29] Mircea Eliade. Patterns in Comparative Religion. University of Nebraska Press. Lincoln. (1996). p. 5.
^[30] E.O.G. Turvile-Petre. The Cult of Odinn in Iceland. Nine Norse Studies. Course Book. Germanic Religion. Sydney University. (1997).
^[31] Sturluson, S. Heimskringla: History of the Kings of Norway. (Hollander L. trans.) University of Texas Press, Austin. (1991).

^[32] Op cit. H. Palsson. P. Edwards. (1976). p. 204.
^[33] Dronke, U. Myth and Fiction in early Norse Lands. Variorum. Vermont. (1996).
^[34] Ibid p25
^[35] Ibid.

Odhinn and Tyr – Two modes of Sovereignty

by P.A.Q.

War and peace, the two concepts seem worlds apart, in fact they are often thought of as exact opposites, they seem to be two extremes that are irreconcilable with each other. Yet they are two intimately linked social potentialities. Crisis and stability, again we are presented with two opposed concepts, concepts that seem antithetical - but once again these are two potentialities that often confront societies. This latter pair of concepts has some resonance with the former pair, crisis seems to resonate with the concept of war, war represents a social modality through which a society seeks to overcome a crisis. Such an overcoming brings that society towards stability and peace. Yet times of war and crisis are very different to times of peace and stability, and so in facing times of crisis societies are forced into patterns of behavior that are very different from those that they display in times of peace. The social mode is, by necessity, altered by the conditions that the society has to face and hence the form of leadership that is required will also have to adapt to the conditions that the society has to face. A society that is inflexible in the face of changed conditions is not likely to be a long lived one - society must have the capacity to move between different modalities.

Think now of two more abstract concepts - magic and law, there seems again to be some tension between these two concepts even though the tension is not quite as distinct as in our first two examples. Yet for our ancestors these two concepts also resonate with the notions of war and peace, crisis and stability, albeit in quite an abstract way. These two notions, magic and law, are linked to two modes of leadership or sovereignty, they serve as abstract yet pragmatic modes or principles of action for a society which is realistic about the potentiality for war as well as the possibility of peace. Such a claim is difficult for many moderns to accept, we are often unable to see beyond our legalistic notion of sovereignty and so we fail to understand, worst still we fail to accept the possibility, of a form of sovereignty which some commentators refer to as magical. One of the main aims of this essay is to highlight the sophistication of our ancestral notions of sovereignty through demonstrating that these two social modes were not only social realities but also mythical and sacral realities. In so doing I hope to be able to open up new ways of considering the nature of two of the most well known deities in the Teutonic world - Odhinn and Tyr.

In order to achieve this I have broken the article into two sections. The first section aims to provide a broad background for the ideas presented in part two. It covers a consideration of the types of evidence for Teutonic religion and the limitations of that evidence. It also considers the Indo-European background to studies in Teutonic myth and religion - this is important as much of the argument presented in part two is based on Indo-European studies. This will involve a very brief consideration of two key players in the field of Indo-European studies, the infamous Georges Dumezil and a more contemporary scholar - Bruce Lincoln. Both of these theorists have argued that Indo-European society is marked by a dualistic, or bi-functional notion of sovereignty. With this background information laid Part Two takes up the issue of bi-functional sovereignty in regard to the Gods and myths of the Teutonic people. Part two will demonstrate that this bi-functional model is applicable to the Teutonic people; it will demonstrate that this bi-functionality in sovereignty is connected to two forms of command - direct verbal command and indirect magical command; it will demonstrate that this bi-functionality of sovereignty is also linked to a bi-functionality in the notion of the holy - that there are two modes of holiness in Teutonic religion; further it will show that this bi-functionality of sovereignty is reflected in the pantheon of the Teutonic people through the gods Odhinn and Tyr. The article will end by considering the exact relationship that these gods have to the two notions of sovereignty that this article proposes.

Part One:
Teutonic and Indo-European society - evidence and models.

Evidence For Teutonic Religion

A good deal of the evidence for Teutonic religion is drawn from external commentaries, these are two fold: Firstly those written by non-Christian contemporaries such as those of Gaius Julius Caesar (C.100 - 44 BCE) and Cornelius Tacitus (C.56 - C.120 BCE); Secondly those written at a later date based on the reportage of Christian missionaries such as Anskar (801-865 BCE). These are undoubtedly quite valuable sources, yet it must be emphasised that they are not entirely reliable as they tend to reflect the agendas of their authors. In the first case Caesar is a Roman General eager to win tribute and hence there is a tendency for self aggrandizement in his work - this in turn leads Caesar to focus on the militaristic nature of the Teutonic tribes and to emphasise their ferocity. Tacitus is a writer who seems to have a critical agenda and tends to portray the Germans as ‘Noble Savages’ and almost models of virtue in contrast to what he sees as the decadence of his own people - hence his work carries its own particular bias. In the case of Christian missions to the North there are a number of factors which must be considered as possibly skewing reportage, most importantly the need to portray Christianity as the superior faith by highlighting the barbarism of the Heathen, the savagery of their religion and the impotence of their gods (a pattern that missionaries continued well into the modern period). So while these external accounts of Teutonic religious practice are important one must approach them with caution, we must approach them critically, holding off from the immediate acceptance of these reports and trying to understand the motivations of the particular authors.

Due to the difficulties presented by these external sources one feels the pressure to turn to internal sources, archaeological artifacts and particularly texts written by Teutonic folk in their vernacular language. It is these sources which are felt to provide the most intimate contact with the life world of our Teutonic ancestors and so these become an important tool for accessing our old ways. This is not, however, a path that is completely problem free and these internal sources present problems of their own. Most important is the fact that our textual record is not complete, there are gaps in our knowledge that will prove difficult to fill from internal textual sources alone. Where source material in the vernacular exists it is primarily from medieval Scandinavia and more specifically from Iceland, a historical and geographic context distinct from that of Caesar’s “The Gallic Wars” ^[1] or Tacitus’ “Germania”^[2]. This geographical and temporal distance makes it difficult to directly confirm or deny any of the details provided by our early external sources. Nonetheless if one proceeds cautiously some fruitful comparisons between these texts can be made, these two sources of information can inform each other to provide better access to the traditions of our ancestors.

The Icelandic vernacular literature is essentially comprised of two sorts: The Eddas, which are poetic accounts of Northern myth and legend and the Sagas which are prose accounts of life in the Scandinavian society of the Viking age. To these two main categories can be added the writings of Snorri Sturluson, prose writings which form important sources for both Myth and History. The Eddas and Sagas provide us with a reasonably good route of access to the mythology, folklore and customs of our ancestors but only allude to aspects of ritual. The scarcity of evidence for the ritual practice of our ancestors has made the reconstruction of our ancestral ways extremely difficult. It must, however, be recognised that, at present, this religion cannot be reconstructed with perfect precision, the gulf of time is too great, the evidence too ill-assorted - reconstruction must proceed carefully through close study of evidence and careful analysis of language. Yet non-specialists can hope to benefit from the work of scholars and tease out motifs and themes which were important to our ancestors, most importantly the non-specialist can, through reading our ancestral literature, attempt to share in the perceptions of their long dead kin. Ultimately this is just as important as accuracy in reconstruction - through coming to understand our ancestors and their values we reactivate the primordial understanding of the world which lies buried within us - we reactive the primordial wisdom of our folk. Our factual knowledge of their tradition grows constantly, this kindles the fires of reconstruction. But our inner understanding of those facts - an understanding based on the reactivation of our ancestral relation to the world - kindles an altogether different fire, it kindles the fires of wisdom. Indeed it is wisdom which is the source of all meaningful reconstruction. Our task as modern folk is not to merely act on knowledge and describe what ‘was’, but to take our knowledge of what ‘was’ and use it with wisdom to revitalise our culture in the present - our aim is to turn knowledge of what ‘was’ into wisdom in what ‘is’.

The Indo-European connection: Broadening the Context

Modern Ásatrúar acknowledge the fact that it is difficult for us to exactly determine the nature of our ancestral tradition directly from internal sources and for many this raises another problem, that of context. Is the field of study to be narrowed to exclude anything beyond that which is specifically Teutonic or does one look to Indo-European cultures for correspondences which might illuminate the evidence available through purely Teutonic material? The first approach, due to limited evidence and the delicate nature of the sources, might seem to leave one at a bit of a dead end in relation to many aspects of the tradition. The second approach risks abstraction into theoretical comparisons and speculations which are potentially far removed from the social reality of life in Teutonic society. Yet with the limitations of each of these approaches in mind one can seek to overcome these difficulties - one can use comparative Indo-European material as a means of accessing aspects of the Teutonic tradition which are opaque or concealed. More importantly one can use this material to fill out and deepen our understanding of those aspects of the tradition which are more familiar to us. This is an especially powerful tool for those who have a sound foundation in the specifically Teutonic tradition, those who have a sound understanding of the specifically Teutonic approach to the world. Such a person can take the disparate Indo-European material and interrogate it from the ‘perspective of the Teuton’ to try and discern how earlier Indo-European ideas apply within our own tradition.

The use of Indo-European comparative material as a means of coming to understand Teutonic religion is an approach which has been promoted by scholars such as Georges Dumezil and recently Bruce Lincoln. Their work is based on two premises, firstly that myth expresses social values that strengthen social coherence and secondly that linguistic unity represents a considerable ideological unity^[3]. The first point emphasises the idea that the key avenue to understanding the life world of a people is through their mythology and legends. Myth and legend codify the most important values and beliefs of a people, they reflect the relation of that people to the world - physically, emotionally and intellectually. Understanding this relationship to the world is the key to understanding the folk, the society and the religion. Hence Myth is not mere religious discourse but is a vehicle for the aesthetic expression of culture and deep cultural values.

The second point emphasises the importance of language as a vehicle of culture and deep cultural values - language is the primary vehicle of culture and one will have a hard time understanding a culture without first having some understanding of that cultures language. The point that linguistic unity represents a considerable ideological unity is vital for our tradition - this notion implies that the linguistic unity of the Teutonic languages, of which modern English is a part, provides a broad ideological unity for those who share that language. The closer the languages the closer the ideological unity. Our own understanding of the Modern English language can be seen as a primary link to the ideology and values of our ancestors, this is also the case for all the other modern Teutonic languages such as; German, Danish, Swedish, Norwegian, Icelandic, Dutch and all the dialects of these languages.

Georges Dumezil: The Tripartite division of Indo-European Society

Georges Dumezil, one of the most famous Indo-Eurpoean scholars of our time, has proposed a controversial theory about the structure of Indo-European society which claims that that society was subject to a tripartite division which is broadly reflected in the notion that society is comprised of three estates; firstly the peasantry or sometimes slaves, secondly the warrior class and thirdly the sovereign, noble or ruling class. This is both a controversial theory and one that on first glance does not appear to be of great significance - as Dumezil’s tripartite functional division of society is evident in many societies and hence it does not seem to say much about the specific nature of Indo-European society. However, in Indo-European society this structure is intimately connected to religion and receives expression in myth, pantheon and ritual - hence the social structure of the Indo-European people is seen as a reflection of mythical structure of the cosmos, this is in line with the thesis that myth expresses and strengthens deep social values. This reinforces the notion that Dumezil’s theory is not purely sociological but a theory about broad cultural paradigms, paradigms which are thought to reflect something of the cognitive structures of the Indo-European people. A tripartite social structure which is reflected in a tripartite mythic and ritual structure reflects a tripartite mode of understanding the world. Hence Dumezil’s theory is a theory about the way the Indo-European mind structures its world.

In order to understand the relation between this tripartite division and Indo-European culture it is important to understand the way Dumezil characterises the social structure of the Indo-European world. The foremost layer of the social structure, the realm of sovereignty, is the most complex and is itself subject to its own internal division. Sovereignty is considered a bipartite system based on the opposition of two modalities of sovereignty - magical sovereignty based on rule by magical power (or might) and juridical sovereignty based on the rule of law. Both forms of sovereignty are seen as legitimate modes of rule in different contexts, different circumstances require different modalities of rule. The second layer of the social structure is the warrior function, this is a layer which represents physical force which can be directed outward towards hostile forces or at times inwards in policing actions. The third layer of the social structure is that of the rural peasantry, this is the function of fecundity and prosperity, this class can be associated with the class of slaves - although this class is very different to the slave class of the early modern era and is probably best thought of as an underclass.

This social structure is reflected to a significant degree in Indo-European mythology where the gods were marked by this three fold division - the mythical society reflects the nature of the society experienced in the life world of the Indo-European people. This can be seen in the Nordic context where Odinn and Tyr represent the dual aspects of magical and juridical sovereignty (see Table 5). The Gods Thorr and Heimdallr represent the warrior function and the Gods Freyr and Freyja represent the function of fecundity and fertility so important to the rural peasantry. The relation of this last group of deities to the social structure is quite complex and it seems that certain Teutonic peoples found an important role for the gods of fertility and fecundity in their noble cults. This is an interesting point but will not be pursued here as it is beyond the scope of this article.

There is also important mythical support for Dumezil’s thesis that Indo-European society was based around a tripartite social structure, here the myths are used to support a sociological thesis. Most important in this regard is the Eddic Rigsthula ^[4], a myth reinforcing the threefold division of society into that of Thrall (slaves), Karl (freemen) and Jarl (nobles) ^[5]. Some commentators have treated this narrative with critical caution claiming that it is merely a justification for aristocratic rule. This criticism has some force, and indeed the poem could not be seen as a discourse free of value judgements about the merits of the various estates. But we are not here interested in the value judgements that the poem contains, rather we are interested in the social structure it reflects - which is indeed tri-partite. This poem itself seems to be a reflex of an older narrative and may be connected to the earlier continental narrative of the three sons of Mannus, as described by Tacitus, who Dumezil associates with the Indic Manu^[6] (See Table 6)^[7]. The social stratification has also been preserved in the colour symbolism of Indo-European societies, where Indian, Iranian, Latin and Celtic cultures all associated the priestly or sovereign group with the colour white, warriors with the colour red and peasants with dark colours^[8]. Such a schema finds its expression in Teutonic culture where in the Rigsthula the poet mentions the hair colour of Rigr’s three sons, the first Thral has “dark” hair (strophe 7), the second Karl was “ruddy” (strophe 21) and Jarl whose hair was “flaxen” (Strophe 35) ^[9].

Lincoln’s Hegelian Revision of Dumezil: An alternate Model for Indo-European social structure.

Bruce Lincoln using similar methods to Dumezil and working largely with Indo-Iranian material has proposed a model of Proto-Indo-European society based on a four tiered social system. In essence this system is broadly in harmony with the tripartite model of Dumezil yet this system is also one that allows for a greater degree of complexity in the power relations between the various groupings of people in the system. Lincoln has referred to his own model of Indo-European society, in Hegelian terms, as one of ‘dialectical binary opposition’. To demonstrate what this involves one must turn to the system itself. Lincoln sees Indo-European society as one which is based on a series of binary oppositions which become more restrictive as one moves up the scale and more open and inclusive as one moves down the scale towards its base. For Lincoln the basis of this system begins by a strict definition of ‘our’ people against ‘other’ peoples - there is a binary opposition between ‘us’ and ‘them’. At the next level the system divides our people into two groups, commoners and the upper classes - this forms the first internal binary opposition. The upper classes are then themselves divided into warriors and sovereigns. Finally sovereignty is itself divided. Sovereignty for Lincoln was divided into kingly duties, the maintenance of proper order in ‘this’ world and priestly duties, revolving around the maintenance of the relationship with the ‘supernatural’ world (see tables 2 & 3). It can be seen that in this system there is a process of division or separation of peoples into two groups where one group is privileged over the other. The privileged group then becomes a tight circle - warded from outsiders - an inner core that leaves a remainder on the outside. Ultimately this inner circle is itself further divided as the process continues until the ultimate binary opposition is reached - the opposition of priests and kings - at this level the power must be balanced.

This system is one that is marked by a high degree of ethnocentricity where it is difficult for outsiders to penetrate into the inner sanctums of society. From a linguistic study a society emerges which has a high degree of cultural or, more specifically, ethnic ’self-consciousness’ and hence a society that is highly conscious of cultural or ethnic difference. Most importantly a society emerges which is united by close knit kin ties, a society in which hospitality and reciprocity are an ideal when extended to members of the group, but are always hesitantly extended to the ‘other’^[10]. In this regard kin loyalties are the primary and overriding loyalties of the society - kin come first and foremost, the kin group is placed above the tribe and even above the self - this is a tight group, an inner circle - a circle of trust or, as we Ásatrúar would have it, a circle of troth. This does not imply that outsiders cannot be integrated within this society, this is not the case as there are many ways that outsiders can be integrated within the society. What is indicated by this is that such integration is an exception rather than the norm, normatively Indo-European society is marked by a sense of closure to outsiders.

Another point which is central to Lincoln’s thesis relates to ecological and socio-economic factors - the importance of cattle (mobile wealth) to the Indo-European economy. Lincoln proposes an ecological basis for Indo-European society and religion, viewing their society as one that grew out of their pastoralist life style. It is this ecological basis which, when combined with the dialectical binary opposition as a mode of structuring social relations, contributes greatly to the nature of Indo-European traditions - especially the importance of wealth and the giving of prized possessions to the Gods. In a reconstructed myth cycle Lincoln makes the relationship of the gods, the people and cattle clear - here we will encounter the reconstructed Indo-European terminology for our tribe, the *arya, and for all ‘other’ tribes, the *dasa. The sovereign deities give cattle (mobile wealth) to ‘our’ people, the *arya, cattle as a form of wealth is our divine gift. This divine gift can be stolen by the *dasa, and indeed some portion of this divine gift has been stolen by them, their possession of cattle is evidence of this fact - it is a transgression of divine decree. This necessitates a raid by the *arya warriors who win back the lost cattle and return them to the sovereign class. Finally the priests sacrifice the cattle - thus returning a share of the wealth to the Gods who gave it - this sacrifice is made in order that the celestial sovereigns will grant an increase in cattle and warriors^[11], it is made in the spirit of reciprocity.

It must be remembered that this is a reconstructed proto-Indo-European myth cycle, a myth cycle that is supposed to represent the beliefs of the proto-Indo-Europeans who lived in the second millennia BCE - not one that perfectly reflects any of the ways of the later Indo-European cultures. Yet elements of this myth cycle are kept alive in the traditions of later Indo-European peoples and for Northern European people this is clearly demonstrated in both the Celtic tradition, with their Cattle raid cycles such as the Táin Bó Cuailnge and in the Teutonic world it seems best exemplified by the concept of raiding - a practice common to the Viking age.

Conclusion to Part One.

This concludes our consideration of the nature of the sources for a reconstructed Teutonic religion, its relation to the Indo-European tradition and the outline of the two most important approaches to reconstruction from an Indo-European basis. It is the opinion of this author that while culturally specific studies are the fundamental point of departure for all reconstruction of Teutonic religion, the Indo-European approach still has much to offer in filling out and deepening our understanding of the Teutonic tradition. Dumezil was vital to this modern Indo-European perspective on Teutonic religion and it was Dumezil who first proposed a bifunctionality in the role of Indo-European sovereignty. The work of Linclon is an important continuation of Dumezil’s work and one that overcomes many of the criticisms leveled at Dumezil’s approach. Importantly Lincoln’s thesis maintains a similar bifunctionality in sovereignty to that which was proposed by Dumezil, a bifunctionality of rule which seems to have been the norm in Indo-European society. This notion is extremely important for understanding the social structure of Indo-European society and also for understanding the sovereign function of both the ruling classes of the human social realm and the role of divine sovereignty in the mythical realms. The remainder of this article will deal with this issue explicitly and focus on how this notion is played out in a specifically Teutonic context.

Part Two: Indo-European and Teutonic conceptions of Soverignty and the Great Gods of the Teutonic Tradition - Odhinn and Tyr.

In our consideration of the role of sovereignty for the Teutonic folk it is important to firstly clarify the exact nature of juridical versus magical sovereignty in Indo-European society generally and the different ways these roles are approached by the two theorists under consideration - Dumezil and Lincoln. This consideration will be framed against a consideration of the way sovereignty is played out in a particularly Teutonic setting and will lead into many issues which are vital to understanding Teutonic Religion.

Sovereignty and bi-functionality: a controversial thesis

Unlike Dumezil, who characterises the dual sovereign roles as juridical and magical, Lincoln narrows the semantic field of the respective functions to kings and priests. While the evidence from Indo-Iranian material would justify Lincoln’s conclusion, whether this is applicable to the Germanic concept of sovereignty is a matter of debate. There is little evidence of any organised, specific, ‘priestly class’ in Germanic society^[12] - in fact the Godhar (plural) of Scandinavia are not specifically religious functionaries and their role seems to span religious, legal and political functions. In a sense they are like the tribal ‘Big Men’ of Papua New Guinea, they are the focal point of the community for almost all matters of community importance be that religious, legal and political. Hence for the Godhi (singular masculine) and Gythja (singular feminine) the prime focus was on the community and community cohesion, they did have an important relation to the Gods as head of the community but they acted more as chieftains than as priests.

Some have doubted the importance of any bi-functional division at all, on the basis that a variety of social systems developed in Germanic lands. It is an undeniable fact that, from all the evidence, there does seem to have been some very different social systems within the Teutonic world. According to Caesar, those tribes nearer the Roman Empire were more warlike and subjected to a totalitarian agricultural system^[13]. A social system whose foundation is the act of war, the leaders of war bands held great power - such power can be seen as corresponding to the theological concepts expressed by Valhalla^[14] where warriors are united by their loyalty to one war-chieftain or Drighten who leads them in battle and in feast. Here the Drighten is an earthly reflection of Odhinn. This reflects a society in which the ideals are physical and magical might, the capacity for martial prowess, bravery and above all loyalty to one’s lord. The honor system, which determined a persons social standing was dependent on the degree to which they lived up to these ideals. This is a social system that is far removed from the hereditary system of Rome. It differs also from Scandinavia, a more stable society, in which hereditary land tenure developed, however loyalty to king and especially to ones kin are also vital^[15]. Hence there seems to be quite a gap between the social structure of the migration age Teutonic society and the more settled existence of their later Scandinavian cousins.

Far from its intention, this criticism might only serve to highlight the dual nature of sovereignty in Germanic society and the evidence does seem to be in accord with the Dumezilian model. From this evidence one might propose a model of sovereignty which has the capacity to move between two modalities of social behavior. Sovereignty can be seen as divided between two leaders, one for times of peace, conducive to stability, prosperity and structure (a juridical mode of sovereignty), the basis for its society is hereditary land tenure and aristocratic rule. The other social modality is one that suits times of social instability and war, a harsh and totalitarian social mode marked by the dissolution of stable hereditary structures, expansiveness and violence (physical and magical), the basis for this society was autocratic. In each case the sovereigns operate along a continuum of war and peace as two alternate modes of sovereignty for a society.

Soverignty and power - the power to command

Primarily the sovereigns access power through words and communication, however they used the power of the word in different ways, the magical or priestly power is accessed through Galdor (a form of incantation usually expressed in poetry or verse), and kingly power is emphasised by the power to command at the material level. Priestly and magical rulers effect change through the manipulation of the mythic or sacral dimension through the use of the word in its poetic manifestation - the vehicle of mythic expression - this is the power of magical command. Whereas the chieftain or King effects change through the manipulation of the material dimension through the use of the word in more prosaic directives or commands. The power of the word is reflected in the nature of one of the main sovereign gods of the Norse, Odhinn, who is said to speak only in poetry, an art form important to Germanic aristocracy, indicating some form of divine reverence for the spoken word. The relation of speech to the supernatural can also be seen in Germanic religion, especially the importance of prophetic speech and communication with dead ancestors in times of crisis. The importance of speech for sovereignty is also evidenced in the legal sphere were the term ‘Lawspeaker’ is applied to the leader of the Thing (assembly). Finally, the binding and sacral power of the word, in Teutonic society, is further evidenced through the importance placed on the act of swearing oaths - one is bound to enact the terms of ones oath or suffer a humiliating loss of honor. The words spoken by the Teutonic hero during a communal drinking session were taken as an oath, words which must be matched with action otherwise honor is lost^[16].

Duality and sacral unity: the ultimate unity of duality

Kingly power is temporal and relates to command in this world, the priests’ power is sacral and relates to communication with the ‘other world’. This worldview seems to be marked by a duality between this world and the ’supernatural’ order - yet no such duality in fact exists, the duality is a practical social duality. Some theorist say that this duality is evidenced by linguistic studies of Indo-European religious terminology, which seems to be arranged in doublets, one referring to sacred nature, the other to its secular nature^[17]. These theorists are correct to point out this system of doublets but one must bare in mind that the dualisms which exists between them is not that of two opposed substances, one material and one sacred, but rather a conceptual dualism whereby the world can be classified in terms of two different categorical schemas - one material the other sacral. The radical substance dualism of Christianity, where spirit and matter are radically opposed substances, is foreign to the worldview of our ancestors. Likewise the kind of substance dualism that is found in early modern notions of mind - where mind is seen as something radically other than the material body - such notions are mere secularisations of the original Christian substance dualism. These notions are alien to our ancestors who viewed the universe as a complex whole, comprised of many interrelated, yet not opposed, parts - a cosmic or sacred unity.

This being said one must account for the fact that this cosmic and sacred unity exists side by side with an apparent conceptual or terminological dualism. This terminological opposition is strikingly present in Germanic religious terminology where two different modalities of the holy manifest. Firstly there is a form of the sacred which specifically relates to healthy or whole material manifestation. This concept is rendered by the proto-Teutonic term *hailagaz or wholeness and integration, the holy seed of life^[18] - the terms whole, health and holy are all concepts that are derived from this proto-Teutonic root word. This form of the sacred is represented by all forms of whole and integrated being - in terms of sovereignty this form of the sacred is represented by the king who is the material affirmation of the divine immanence and a reflection of the wholeness and health of the lands he rules. This principle of wholeness or integration is possibly a principle that Yggdrasill metaphorically embodies^[19]. Conceptually the world can be considered from the point of view of *hailagaz, in this case the more integration, wholeness and health that an object, person or group demonstrates the more it demonstrates the principle of *Hailagaz.

The other expression of the holy in the Teutonic languages relates to a concept of individuation or separateness, it relates to that which has been marked out as special. This notion is rendered by the reconstructed word *Wihaz, this is the power that the priest must regulate - a power that seems to be otherworldly. This concept is embodied in a number of different ways in the Teutonic tradition, firstly and most importantly it is connected to the Old Icelandic word for a sacred site Wê or Wih-stead. Here the use of a word which is related to *Wihaz denotes that the space signified is special or separate from the space that surrounds it, that it is marked out by an main that is particular to it. Another important term which is a cognate of *Wihaz is the Old Icelandic word for banner - Vé - here what is indicated is that the group of individuals that are united under this banner are a select group, separate from the masses which exist outside of the unity of this banner - it denotes a sense of separation. Hence banners signify the sacral nature of a group. Here the sense of particularity and separation that is embodied in the banner is a reflex of the dialectical binary opposition that was encountered in the social sphere. From a mass which is originally a unity it distinguishes a subset which is special and select, this subset is given unity by the commonality of sharing in the *Wihaz energy, the specific form this energy takes is physically embodied in the banner or Vé which marks the group. To ‘march under one banner’ is to acknowledge that those who march under that banner share some particular trait or goal - thus separating the group from the mass but creating a strong internal unity within that group.

This last example gives us good ground to destabilise the notion that these two terms for the holy are somehow mutually exclusive or dichotomous terms. For if we consider the fact that a group can be both *Hailagaz, that is unified, whole and integrated as a healthy group should be, yet also *Wihaz or separate, individuated or select - apart from the masses which surround it - then we can see that there is no opposition between the terms. These two terms represent two ways or perspectives that one can take in regard to objects, one can consider its health or wholeness and on the other hand one can consider its separateness or individuality. One might also posit that the more an object demonstrates the *Hailagaz energy (wholeness) the more it will also demonstrate *Wihaz energy (individuality) - as that which is whole and integrated is also that which is more self-contained and individuated. Likewise in order for something to be *Hailagaz (whole or integrated) there must also be a sense in which it is first *Wihaz (individuated or separate).

These two terms merely represent two different principles of judgement applied by two forms of thinking about the world in Teutonic society - a form typical of the juridical sovereignty of Kings (*Hailagaz) and a form typical of the Magical sovereignty of the mage or priest (*Wihaz). Yet just as the two social roles are seen as two faces of the principle of sovereignty so too these two terms which denote the holy are two faces of a more unified principle of the sacred - a principle preserved in the runic formula found on the Pietroassa ring - Wihailag. A compound word which combines the notion of *Wihaz here rendered in the form Wih and the notion of *Hailagaz here rendered in the form Hailag. That which is Wihailag is that which is both a) whole, integrated, healthy and hence holy (*Hailagaz), but also that which is b) separate, special or marked off from the masses (*Wihaz). The highest form of the holy in the Teutonic tradition must demonstrate the unity of these two notions of the sacred, hence the highest social level, that of sovereignty, bares the marks of this notion of the holy - it is a unity of two functions, that which unifies through outward command and that which individuates through magical command.

Principles of Judgement: Perspectivity and the Cosmos

One of the interesting points to note from the above discussion is the relationship between the subjectivity of the particular perspectives and the unity within which those perspectives exist. Both the terms for the holy in the Teutonic tradition can be seen as principles of judgement - they are two different perspectives that one can take in regard to the world. Importantly these two perspectives are not mutually exclusive, taking up one perspective does not exclude the possibility that one could also take up the other - one taking the principle of wholeness as its principle of judgement, the other taking the principle of separateness and individuality as its principle of judgement. Indeed, as we have seen, both views are ultimately united and find unified expression in the term Wihailag. The idea that there are a number of principles of judgement which present unique perspectives on the world yet are not mutually exclusive is an interesting one and one that we should take time to consider - as philosophically this is a very modern way of thinking about the world, our ancestors did indeed develop a very advanced and subtle way of thinking about the world.

The Eddic poem Alvismal, a didactic poem which is designed to teach skalds the use of terminology in all worlds^[20], may preserve evidence for the idea that in Germanic religion, there are a number of different principles of judgement - none of which are mutually exclusive. The poem demonstrates that the various objects of the worlds are known by different names from the perspective of different entities and hence in terms of mythological meaning and sacral significance the world is a multivalent object. In other words the various objects that we encounter in the world are not reducible to a single meaning. It demonstrates that the various material entities that we encounter in our world are understood in very different ways depending on whether one is a God, man, giant, dwarf, elf or ghost. This shows that the one universe that is inhabited by all of these entities can be conceptualised in different ways - that the world means different things to different entities.

Important for our discussion is that the poem constantly juxtaposes the terminology of the Gods to the terminology of human folk - showing a dual conceptualisation of a united cosmos - one material the other mythic or sacral. Consider the following example, when asked about the names of the Earth Alvís answers “‘Tis hight ‘Earth’ among men, among Aesir ‘Land’;” (strophe 10, Alvíssmál). This implies a different linguistic and cognitive relation to the one material entity - the Earth - it does not imply that these two terms relate to two different material entities. It is possible that these two ways of understanding the world might harmonise with the perspective of juridical and magical sovereignty. The perspective of ‘men’ might represent the concrete and material understanding which would be important to juridical rule, where as the perspective of the ‘Gods’ might represent the mythic or sacral conception of the cosmos. While this proposal is merely speculative what must be noted is that the poem Alvíssmál provides a literary precedent for the idea that our ancestors understood the nature of perspectivity - that they understood that there were different ways of relating to the same cosmos.

Bi-functionality and the Gods

Dumezil in his book “Mitra-Varuna” proposes that the bi-functionality of sovereignty is best expressed by two sovereign gods whose names, in Sanskrit texts, are usually presented as united - Mitra-Varuna (see table 5). This dual function grew out of the original otiose Indo-European sky-god *deiwo (celestial)^[21], the only term for god common to Indo-European peoples^[22]. Here we find support for the notion that duality in the Indo-European tradition is duality of aspect or perspective rather than duality of substance. In the first case the dual name Mitra-Varuna demonstrates a unity in duality or a duality in unity - the dual nature of the coupling is overcome by the symbiotic relationship of the two. In the second case we can see that this duality is itself derivative of a more fundamental unity and the coupling Mitra-Varuna emerges from an original united entity *deiwo. Hence these two sovereign deities do not represent two separate functions but two potential modalities of the same sovereign function. To understand this we will need to explore the nature of these two deities.

The deity Mitra (friend, god of the contract), like the king, is responsible for the bond of men in this world and provides and maintains the social contract - he keeps the material order whole through the juridical bonds that unite men, he operates under the principle of *Hailagaz. The deity Varuna on the other hand is related to the supernatural cosmic order (rta) and magic, he is a dark god who binds or fetters those who break the social contract. Varuna is a dark deity that uses his magical potency to bind and discipline individuals, he rules through magical might - fear is the force which binds folk to his laws. Dumezil uses the legend of the founding of Rome to further demonstrate this bi-functional sovereignty (see table 2). In this legend, the young and war-like Romulus who establishes the material Rome with military might, is followed by a wise old law maker, Numa, who establishes the law and religion of Rome and thus provides its spiritual birth^[23]. Dumezil further compares these two gods with the Norse sovereign gods Odhinn (Varuna), and Tyr (Mitra)^[24] (see table 5). This connection might seem to be a tenuous one, as Lincoln identifies Tyr with the *deiwo (celestial), which gives the Indo-European *dieu-s, Latin dius, Greek Zeus and the German *teiwaz^[25]. Eliade would seem to agree that Tyr and *teiwaz represent the old Germanic celestial sovereign, who due to remoteness become otiose and many of his functions replaced by other closer sky powers^[26].

Tyr and Mitra

While there may be good etymological reason to associate the god Tyr with the proto-Indo-European *deiwo the Tyr encountered in the Mythology does seem to have something in common with Dumezil’s Mitra. There is indeed a sovereign and a juridical air associated with the deity Tyr - for he is a God who uses contracts to preserve cosmic order, even if this means accepting a painful fate, the loss of his hand. Both Dumezil and J. De Vries conclude that Tyr is the chief judicial god for the Germanic people, and it was Tyr or *teiwaz who was behind the Romanised Mars Thincsus^[27], a god who presided over legal assemblies. There is also, however, a warrior aspect to the God Tyr, which is alluded to in Gylfaginning where he is referred to as a God who is “the bravest and most valiant and he has great power over victory in battles.” ^[28]. Yet this reference does not seem to fit well with the fact that this god is never depicted in battle, rather we are reminded of the Iranian Mitra who was shown as master of verethranga (the spirit of victory)^[29]. The tension between the juridical and the warrior functions of Tyr and the Iranian Mitra seem to present a challenge to the bi-polarity of sovereignty, demonstrating that the deities themselves are not reducible to a single function.

That the juridical god of the Germans might take on a martial air is not entirely surprising when we consider that warfare itself might be envisaged as a “decision obtained between two combatants and secured by precise rules of law”^[30]. Warfare itself might be considered from a juridical perspective, a consideration that would seem to harmonise with our modern ‘adversarial’ legal system. If we move to a consideration of the judicial process of our ancestors and particularly the evidence from Iceland we see too that this legal process bears marks of violent confrontation. All the men involved were armed and, as the early Germans of Caesar, shake their weapons in approval of a decision. Most of the decisions reached at the Thing are reach by a verbal struggle of two groups, each trying to impose their will on the other^[31]. Tyr, like Mitra, represents the rule of law, he grants victory to the just whether that be on the battlefield or in the legal assembly. Tyr is a ‘pillar’ of society and originator of the social contract that binds the community, he is invoked for ‘just victory’ both in war and in legal assemblies - he is the god of the aristocrat. The kind of sovereignty that is represented by this deity is the kind of aristocratic or noble rule that is fitting for a stable society free from the chaotic pressures of migration or war. Tyr rules that function of sovereignty that we have designated juridical, he is the god of the material order and the right of command. At the material and juridical level his binding social decree is that which brings unity to the social order - he is the God of the principle of *Hailagaz. Yet the same juridical decree which unifies the social order making it whole is also implicitly a decree which individuates or separates that social order from those which surround it - hence *Wihaz is concealed within *Hailagaz.

Odhinn and Varuna

In the Eddic texts and Snorri’s Prose Edda, Odhinn^[32] is portrayed as the father of the cosmos and of the gods, he is a primal figure and a divine leader. Unlike Varuna, Odhinn is closely associated with war, a trait which Dumezil sees as particularly Germanic, and a trait which also marks the nature of the other sovereign god, Tyr. Yet whilst Tyr seems to be concerned with the juridical nature of the act of war and the distribution of justice on the battle field, Odhinn’s relation to the art of war is far less benevolent. Odhinn is no lover of just victory, and indeed to be chosen by Odhinn is to be slain in battle rather than to be victorious. Odhinn’s love of war stems from a love of the magical energy of the fray - the heightened senses, the rush of adrenaline and the divine furor. His love of war is also related to his own power, for the strife of warfare and the blood of the battlefield are vehicles for the empowerment of Valhalla, bringing a new influx of warriors into Odhinn’s hall. Dumezil and De Vreis both place Odhinn at the head of the Germanic pantheon, he is the most distant god, he cares little for human affairs and is more concerned with human death than life. He is the most transcendent god, a god who is beyond human understanding, a god to be respected yet feared.

The similarities between Odhinn and Varuna are striking. Odinn, the battle god, is a psycho-pomp, gathering those killed in battle to be by his side - he is venerated by warriors, yet he is a god who never really takes part in battle, just as Varuna is unconquerable, yet never fights. Despite the loss of one eye, Odhinn is still omniscient, Varuna is also omniscient and with a thousand yellow eyes (the stars of the night sky), sees and knows all. Odhinn is a necromancer who has the ability to talk to the dead especially the victims of the gallows. In Indic texts Varuna is associated with the night and the moon, he too is a dark god. Odhinn is the master of fetters, which he can cause to be placed on people especially in battle. Varuna is also associated with fetters, he binds those who break the contract of Mitra. Both Odhinn and Varuna are often portrayed as old men, yet it is said of both that they are remarkable looking^[33]. Odhinn is the supreme mystic, relentlessly in search of ‘otherworldly’ knowledge. Like Varuna he is the initiated mage, he knows the secret of the runes. Most importantly Odhinn, like Varuna, is not a beneficent deity, many of his names reveal his sinister nature, he is a hooded or masked god who belongs to the world of magic, strife and death. Thus, Odhinn is not only a deity who is closely associated with the magical function of sovereignty, the ‘terrible king’, he would also seem to share many aspects of correspondence with Varuna, who represents the same function. Odhinn is not a ruler for times of peace and stability, the stability of settled life seems almost anathema to his nature. Odhinn is the God of the warrior and frontiersmen, the God of the Drighten who leads the war-band to fame and glory. He governs the principle of magical sovereignty and rules through magical might. Those who march under Odhinn’s banner are a select group who master their fear and tread baldly into dark and unknown territories - they march under the raven banner, they are *Wihaz, separate from the mass. Yet within this separateness there is the implicit unity of those who share common aims, those who follow Odhinn’s path, the path of magical self actualisation, are indeed a select, separate and special group, yet one which are united by their ties to the Odhinnic energy - hence *Wihaz conceals *Hailagaz.

Odhinn, Poetry and Odhinnic Cults

Odhinn is the god who is most closely associated with poetic inspiration. In Ynglinga Saga, Snorri states that his temple priests were called “songsmiths”^[34]. Yet the evidence for an Odinnic cult, especially in Iceland, is very limited. Many believe that if such a cult existed it was restricted to the Scandinavian peninsula and Denmark^[35]. In Iceland there is no place name evidence to support the worship of this god, and the only literary evidence for worship of him comes from the sagas, which are more concerned with artistry than with history. Despite this the poetic Edda and the Prose Edda, Icelandic sources, portray Odhinn as the most active and dominant god. Examining the social causes of the Icelandic migration provides some insight into why this might be.

It is claimed by many of the sagas that the Icelandic migrations were in effect the result of King Harald’s attempt to centralise Norway^[36]. Many Norwegian aristocrats resented the autocratic, totalitarian and ultimately Odhininic tendencies of Harald and, in equally Odhinnic fashion, decided to preserve their independence and to migrate West to Iceland where they could continue their system of hereditary land tenure. Many of these aristocrats may have worshiped Odhinn who is, as we have seen, an aristocratic God. But King Harald himself seems to have been a worshiper of Odhinn and indeed seems to represent some of the potential excesses of those who worship Odhinn - the capacity to become a tyrant. It has been posited that the excesses of Harald made many Scandinavians suspicious of the Cult of Odhinn and that this suspicion had the effect of driving the Odhinnic cult underground, into concealment or occultation.

The fact that Icelandic literature related to Odhinn is so plentiful, would indicate that the poets of Iceland had a great deal of knowledge about this god and his role in the Norse pantheon. This alone is sufficient evidence that many of those who settled in Iceland where followers of this dark God. It must indeed be countenanced that this effusion of poetic sources on Odhinn in Iceland was a product of the fact that he was the God of poets and hence the God that poets would have felt closest to and known most about. But it seems that Iceland itself had more than its fair share of poets and Skalds, who were also predominantly members of the more noble classes. Surely the cult of Odhinn was something that these noblemen and poets took with them when they migrated to Iceland - it would be difficult to imagine that the cult was something that was left behind or rejected by those who settled Iceland. Hence the absence of cultic and place name evidence for the cult of Odhinn may indicate the worship of Odhinn was something which was restricted to the halls of the aristocrat and possibly subject to some secrecy.

Odhinn, Tyr, Mutilation and Ragnarok

Odhinn and Tyr are both depicted as mutilated gods, Odhinn has only one eye and Tyr only one hand and while this seems to be a mere coincidence their respective mutilations can in fact tell us something about the nature of the deity and the nature of the specific form of sovereignty that the deity presides over. The actual details of Odhinn’s mutilation are quite vague and no direct narrative is given, all that is known is that he pledged his eye at Mimirs well. This pledge is seen as an exchange for knowledge, Odhinn sacrifices physical vision for spiritual vision, this exchange forms part of Odhinn’s quest for knowledge. It is only through occult knowledge that Odhinn can hope to prevent Ragnarok. He is acting in full accord with his sovereign function^[37], he is guarding his social unit from hostile forces and trying to preserve both the individuality (*Wihaz) and the unity or wholeness (*Hailagaz) of that group. The means that Odhinn deploys towards this end is the magical sacrifice of his eye in exchange for magical insight into the workings of the world - Odhinn uses magical technique to preserve the social order. Very important in this regard is the fact that through preserving the social order Odhinn also preserves his own right of sovereignty.

The encounter between Tyr and the wolf Fenrir and Tyr’s resulting injury is also interesting when considered in relation to the proposed function of the god as sovereign jurist. In the narrative as given by Snorri in Gylfaginning the god was not at all unaware of his potential fate. In fact he seizes the opportunity to bind the wolf by using the terms of the Fenrir’s own contract. Admittedly the terms are harsh for Tyr, but the result is that the wolf is bound and Asgard is safe. In fact the ruse is so successful that the wolf is not heard of again until Ragnarok. This is a story of a sovereign god who manipulates contracts so as to defeat an enemy and to the benefit of society^[38]. Tyr uses the juridically binding contract as a vehicle to prevent the social unity (*Hailagaz) from being sundered and dissolved by the wolf Fenrir - in so doing he preserves the social unity as an individuated and separate unity (*Wihaz).

Both these deities make a self-sacrifice that is for the benefit of cosmic order - both of their sacrifices preserve the cosmic and divine unity of the worlds. But their respective sacrifices are very different in nature and tell us much about the deities. Fittingly the Odinnic sacrifice is not merely aimed towards preserving social unity it also represents a sacrifice for personal gain, the self-sacrifice of a mystic or shaman who seeks knowledge. So whilst Odhinn assists in maintaining cosmic unity (*Hailagaz) his sacrifice increases the degree to which his own being is separate (*Wihaz) as this act of sacrifice increases his personal power and adds to his personal capabilities. Tyr’s sacrifice is for the benefit of the community of gods, it is the jurist’s sacrifice, giving of the self to protect society. His sacrifice maintains the community in unity and separateness, it staves off dissolution, but this is only achieved through the loss of his personal powers. Tyr sacrifices his own individual powers (*Wihaz) through the loss of his hand, he also sacrifices his health and wholeness (*Hailagaz) through this sacrifice but maintains the cosmic and social unity. Odhinn Balances the his physical sacrifice, an act which decreases his health and wholeness but gains an increase in personal power - indeed Odhinn must sacrifice in order to help maintain the cosmic and social unity but with his sacrifice comes a boon. Odhinn, Drighten and mage, will accept personal pain and suffering so long as that suffering brings with it an increase of power.

Conclusion
To be concluded!!!

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Appendix.

Table 1. ^[39]
Comparison of proscribed behaviour between Roman and Vedic Hindu priests.

Flamen Dialos

Brahman

*Despite their contextual remoteness both the Roman and Hindu priestly class show many aspects of correspondence.

Table 2. ^[40]

Antithetical roles of Luperci and Flamen Dialos in Roman society.

* The Luperci were the warrior band who accompanied Romulus. This table demonstrates the antithetical nature of sovereignty in Roman society.

Table 3. ^[41]

Antithetical roles of Gandharva and Brahman in Vedic society.

*The Gandharva were a mysterious band of warriors in Hindu mythology.
Table 4. ^[42]

Antithetical nature of Mitra and Varuna in Vedic society.

Table 5. ^[43]

Antithetical nature of Odinn and Tyr in Germanic society.

Table 6. ^[44]

Dumezil’s Three functions and Germanic religion.

Bibliography.

H. Aguilar. The Sacrifice in the Rgveda. Bharatiya Vidya Prakashan. Delhi. (1976).

Caesar. The Gallic Wars.(C. Hammond. Trans.) Oxford University Press. Oxford. (1996).

Clunies-Ross, M. Prolonged Echoes: Old Norse Myths in Medieval Northern Society. Odense University Press. Canberra. (1994).

Ursula Dronke. Myth and Fiction in early Norse Lands. Variorum. Vermont. (1996).

Georges Dumezil. Gods of the Ancient Northmen. University of California Press. Berkeley. (1973).

Georges Dumezil. Mitra- Varuna: An Essay on Two Indo European Representations of Sovereignty. Zone Books. (1988).

Mircea Eliade. The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion. Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc. New York. (1959).

Mircea Eliade. Patterns in Comparative Religion. University of Nebraska Press. Lincoln. (1996).

Michael J. Enwrite. Lady with a Mead Cup: Ritual Prophesy and Lordship in the European War-band from the La tene to the Viking age. Four Courts Press. Dublin. (1996).

Gavin Flood. An Introduction to Hinduism. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge. (1996).

Dominic Goodall. Hindu Scriptures. Orion Books Ltd. London. (1996).

Hollander, Lee. M. (ed. and trans.) The Poetic Edda. (Second Edition) The University of Texas Press, Austin. 1996.

Kristjansson, J. Foote, P (ed). Eddas and Sagas: Iceland’s Medieval literature. Hid islenska bokmenntafelag. Reykjavik. (1988).

Bruce Lincoln. Priest Warriors and Cattle: A Study in the Ecology of Religions. University of California Press. Berkeley. (1981).

Bruce Lincoln. Myth Cosmos and Society: Indo-European Themes of Creation and Destruction. Harvard University Press. London (1986).

Bruce Lincoln. Death, War and Sacrifice: Studies in ideology and practice. University of Chicago Press. Chicago. (1991).

J. P. Mallory. In Search of the Indo-Europeans: Language Archaeology and Myth. Thames and Hudson. London. (1989).

Britt- Mari Nasstrom. Freyja- the Great Goddess of the North. Lund Studies in History of Religions. University of Lund. Sweden (1995).

Meulengracht-Sorensen, P. The Unmanly man. Odense University Press. Canberra. (1992)

Palsson, H. Edwards, P. (eds.) Eyrbyggja Saga. Penguin Books. Ringwood Victoria. (1992.).

Palsson, H. Edwards, P. (eds.) Egil’s Saga. Penguin Books. Ringwood Victoria. (1976.).

Edgar C Polome. Language society and Paeleoculture: Essays by Edgar C. Polome. Stanford University Press. Stanford. (1982).

Edgar C. Polome. Essays on Germanic religion. Institute for the Study of Man. Washington. DC (1989).

Sturluson, S. Heimskringla: History of the Kings of Norway. (Hollander L. trans.) University of Texas Press, Austin. (1991).

Tacitus. The Agricola and The Germania. (H. Mattingly & S.A. Handford. Trans). Penguin Books (1970).

Talley, J.E. Runes mandrake and the Gallows. University of California. Los Angles. Germanic Religion. Course Book. Sydney University. (1997)

Turville-Petre, E.O.G. Myth and religion in the North: The Religion of Ancient Scandinavia. University of Oxford Press. London. (1964).

Turville-Petre, E.O.G. The Cult of Odinn in Iceland. Nine Norse Studies. Course Book. Germanic Religion. Sydney University. (1997). (No reference in course book)

Turville-Petre, E.O.G. Origins of Icelandic Literature. The Clarendon Press. Oxford. (1953).

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^[1] Caesar. The Gallic Wars.(C. Hammond. Trans.) Oxford University Press. Oxford. (1996).
^[2] Tacitus. The Agricola and The Germania. (H. Mattingly & S.A. Handford. Trans). Penguin Books (1970).
^[3] J. P. Mallory. In Search of the Indo-Europeans: Language Archaeology and Myth. Thames and Hudson. London. (1989). p 132.
^[4] Lee. M. Hollander. The Poetic Edda. University of Texas Press. Austin. (1996)
^[5] Ritual evidence for this structure can be found in the hierarchy of sacrifice. The nature of animals sacrificed would depend on the nature of that deity, hence the sovereign, Norse god, Odinn is the only god who receives human sacrifices. This hierarchy of sacrifice can also be seen in the way the sacrifice is divided according to Vedic ritual. This division basically reinforces the social structure, where the portion of the sacrifice received by the participant reflects their social status.
Bruce Lincoln. Death, War and Sacrifice: Studies in ideology and practice. University of Chicago Press. Chicago. (1991).
^[6] Op cit. J.P.Mallory. (1989) p. 130
^[7] Dumezil also allows for what he terms Glissement, a sliding between functions, this is especially evident between the first between the sovereigns and warriors.
^[8] J. P. Mallory. In Search of the Indo-Europeans: Language Archaeology and Myth. Thames and Hudson. London. (1989). p 132
^[9] Op cit. Lee. Hollander. (1996). p. 121. There is some debate as to exactly who this Rigr is, the prose introduction states that the poem is about Heimdallr, however due to the myths sociogonic nature it would be more suited to a sovereign god. Some say that due to the fact that Rigr is also portrayed as an instructor in the art of magic this figure is, necessarily, Odin. Despite this fact one could still mount a convincing argument against this view and in favour of Heimdallr, who is associated with magic ( Gylfaginning 27: A. Faulks. p 25.) Heimdallargaldr. Also both H. Pepping and B. Pering discuss Heimdallr’s association with the cosmic tree (U. Dronk. p. 666-678.), which links the worlds and is a symbol of life and a healthy society. In this sense Heimdallr could also be seen as a sovereign and a lot like Mitra. He also has the role of protector.
^[10] Edgar C Polome. Language society and Paeleoculture: Essays by Edgar C. Polome. Stanford University Press. Stanford. (1982). p 297-8. Also Margaret Clunies-Ross notes that Germanic culture is marked by negative reciprocity to outsiders.(1994). p. 103-4.
^[11] Bruce Lincoln. Priest Warriors and Cattle: A Study in the Ecology of Religions. University of California Press. Berkeley. (1981). p. 159-62.
^[12] This may, however, be due to uniquely Indo-European or alliteratively uniquely Indo-Iranian social developments.
^[13]Edgar C. Polome. Essays on Germanic religion. Institute for the Study of Man. Washington. DC (1989). p. 4-5
^[14] E.O.G. Turvile Petre. The cult of Odin in Ice Land. In. Nine Norse Studies. Course reader. Myth and Religion of the Germanic People. (1997).
^[15] This ideal of loyalty seemed to break down during the viking period, when once again loyalty to a warrior band is more important than traditional loyalties.
^[16] Michael J. Enwrite. Lady with a Mead Cup: Ritual Prophesy and Lordship in the European War-band from the La tene to the Viking age. Four Courts Press. Dublin. (1996). p. 15-17.
^[17] Op cit Edgar C. Polome. (1989). p. 57.
^[18] Mircea Eliade. The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion. Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc. New York. (1959). p.116-120.
^[19] Mircea Eliade. Patterns in Comparative Religion. University of Nebraska Press. Lincoln. (1996). p. 265.
^[20] Op cit. Lee M Hollander. (1996) 110.
^[21] Op cit. Edgar C Polome (1982). p. 286.
^[22] Ibid. p285.
^[23] This is further reflected in the relationship of the flamen dialis (priest of Jupiter) and rex sacrorum (holy king) who headed the early Roman hierarchy. Their roles and rules of conduct are in an antithetical relation, one marked by celeritas (swiftness, vitality) in the domain of the Iuniores (youths), the other by gravitas (heaviness, importance, dignity) in the domain of the Seniores (elders).
^[24] It must be recognised that a number of etymologies are possible for these deities, therefore it would be hard to determine correspondences on the basis of name alone.
^[25] The sky is one of the most important symbols of transcendence, it encapsulates the ‘otherness’ of the sacred as being beyond and above the self, “the sky shows itself as it really is: infinite, transcendent.”. This transcendence gives rise to the tendency for sky gods to become otiose and are often replaced by other divinities. A prime example of this is the way the Indian Dyaus was replaced by dual sovereigns Mitra-Varuna who together encapsulated “the two powerful and sublime masters of the sky.” (Eliade. 1996. p. 68.)
^[26] Op cit. Mircea Eliade. (1996) p. 66-8.
^[27] This is attested to be an Anglo-Frisian inscription found in Britain.
^[28] Snorri Sturluson. Edda. (A. Faulkes. Trans.) Everyman. London. (1995).Gylfaginning (24). p25.
^[29] Op cit. Bruce Lincoln. (1981). p. 98.
^[30] Georges Dumezil. Gods of the Ancient Northmen. University of California Press. Berkeley. (1973). p. 44.
^[31] Ibid.
^[32] The name Odinn derives from the Old Norse Odr, it denotes drunkenness, excitation, poetic genius as well as a violent or rapid movement, particularly of wind or sea. (Dumezil. 1973. p. 36-37.).
^[33] Op cit. E.O.G. Turville-Petre. The Cult of Odinn in Iceland. p. 13.
^[34] Snorri Sturluson. Heimskringla: History of the Kings of Norway. (Lee. M. Hollander. Trans.) University of Texas Press. Austin. (1991). In relation to Snorri’s comments about the priests of Odinn being refereed to as “songsmiths”, we can possibly gain some insight into the nature of an Odinnic priesthood, by considering the Hindu tradition. The oldest form of the word Brahman, in the masculine, means poet, singer and creator of forms. The word stems from the Indo-Iranian *brazman (E. Polome. 1982). Also it is important to note that almost all Vedic Samhita literature is made up of hymns, songs, verses, incantations, but only limited prose. The mixture of verse and prose in the ‘black’ book of the Yajur Veda, as opposed to the ‘white’ book which is entirely verse. In this respect it must be noted that during the Vedic period poets where used to drive the warriors chariot, they held a special non combatant role. (G. Flood. 1996).
^[35]Op cit E.O.G Turville- Petre. The Cult of Odinn In Iceland. p. 6-7.
^[36] This would seem to be the case in both Eyrbgyggja Saga and Egil’s Saga.
^[37] Georges Dumezil. Mitra- Varuna: An Essay on Two Indo European Representations of Sovereignty. Zone Books. (1988). p. 140.
^[38] Ibid. p 142-3.
^[39] Op cit. Georges Dumezil. (1996). Addapted from Ch 1, 2 & 3.
^[40] Ibid.
^[41] Ibid
^[42] Op cit. Georges Dumezil. (1996). Adapted from Ch 3,4,5,6 & 7.
^[43] Ibid.
^[44] See bibliography.

On ‘Havamal’

by P.A.Q.

Close to the year 1220, Icelandic scholar, Snorri Sturluson (1178-1241), produced his work Edda which was to provide a guide for the writing of traditional poetry, an art which Snorri felt was in decline. Edda remained one of the main sources of information on the old Scandinavian religion until in 1642 a Bishop Brynjolfur Sveinsson obtained a codex of poetics believed to have been compiled by Saemundr Sigfusson ‘the Wise’ (1056-1133). The codex found by Bishop Brynjolfur was presented to King Frederick the III of Denmark and since has become known as the Codex Regius. Among the few mythological poems in the Codex Regius are Havamal and Voluspa, which were the first of the collection to reach print in 1665. The codex, dated c.1270, is believed to have been copied from one or more older texts, the oldest literary recordings being those cited in Snorri’s Edda (c.1220). This essay will focus on the importance of Havamal to the study of early Norse religion. Especially of interest to the study of Norse religion will be the nature of the wisdom literature in Havamal, Odinn’s Self sacrifice, Odinn’s winning of the mead of poetry and the mystical nature of the runes. Also a major difference between Snorri’s Edda and Havamal, is that Snorri does not tell of Odinn’s self-sacrifice, a narrative which seems to be very important to the cult of Odinn.

The mythic poetry of the Edda are of two main kinds, narratives usually illustrative or pedagogic, and didactic poems, Havamal reflects both these elements. In Havamal different narratives concerning Odinn are presented within the framework of a didactic poem. Similarly in Edda (c.1220) narratives about the gods are didactic and illustrative of either myth or of the way myth was used to convey meaning in skaldic poetry. The title Havamal ‘Sayings of the High One’ indicates that the compiler believed the source of the wisdom in this poem was Odinn. In the very last strophe of the poem the title is referred to: “Now are Har’s sayings - spoken in Har’s hall.”^[1] That the poem is spoken in the first person whilst dealing with mythical narratives of Odinn would also seem to support the title.

Havamal is thought to be of tenth century Norwegian origin, corroborated by the fact that it was quoted by Eyvind the Plagiarist in his 960 lay to Hakon the Good, Hakonarsmal^[2]. It is also likely that the mystical passages, relating to the runes, originated in Norway, as the cult of Odinn was a lot stronger in Norway^[3] than Iceland. The presence of Odinn dominates Icelandic mythic poetry and prose, yet there is little cultic or place name evidence in Iceland which relates to Odinn. Why should a God who has had such a great impact on Icelandic literature leave so slight a mark on its landscape? This might be due to the fact that Odinn is the god of the most literate section of the Icelandic community, the God of poets, and hence more celebrated by them. It is possible that the myths do not truly represent the nature of religious practice in Norse lands, that in Havamal we only have access to a privileged, literate discourse.

The poem itself is at least six original poems joined to form one sequence and is commonly broken down into five sections^[4]. The first section of Havamal is called Gestathattr or the guest’s section, containing allusions to a narrative related to a variant of the myth of the winning of the mead of poetry from Gunnlod (strophe 13). The “Heron of Heedlessness”^[5] is mentioned and seems more concerned with drunkenness then the mead itself. However it has been noted that this section may link Havamal with Skaldskaparmal, in that the Heron is famous for spontaneous regurgitation as well as gluttony, drinking, drunkenness^[6] and defecation as a form of defence. All these points are relevant to Skaldskaparmal, spontaneous regurgitation and regurgitating the mead into vats, gluttony, drinking and drunkenness are represented in Odinn’s quaffing all three vats of mead and finally, defecation as a form of defence.^[7] That drunkenness and vomiting are part of established Odinnic tradition, evidenced by two sections of Egil’s saga; firstly in his treatment of Armond^[8], who he vomits on and later blinds in one eye, but also in the poem Sonnartorrek^[9]. when he states that the words don’t come as easy as the mead from Odinn’s throat.

The second Section (strophes 80-110) mentions two of Odinn’s love stories. Havamal firstly deals with Odinn’s encounter with Billing’s daughter where he is tricked and humiliated. The second is related to his dealings with Gunnlod whom he tricks and leaves humiliated, so as to gain the mead of poetry. The incident with Billing’s daughter has often been compared with Skirnismal (96-101). In both stories the Gods are victims of their own passions. Following this is a poem, essentially didactic but containing strong cultic elements (Strophe 111), called Loddfafnismal, the title indicates that the speaker is Loddfafnir. It is clear from the verse that it is Loddfafnir who is receiving the advice and possibly Odinn who is reciting it. The fourth section, the Runatals, is mainly concerned with Odinn’s self sacrifice (138-145). This section has been a point of interest for scholars of Germanic religion with a possible allusion to initiatory ritual and its common associations of trial by ordeal, symbolic death and a change of state in the initiated. The last section of Havamal, called Ljodatal, is didactic, focusing on the transmission of arcane knowledge, much like Sigdrifumal. The similarities to Sigdrifumal are strong as it is also a didactic poem, which contains rules of conduct as well as magical uses for the runes, importantly Sigurd is a favourite of Odinn, so it seems fitting that he learn rune magic.

Most of the poem is advice about social conduct, mixed with wisdom sayings, the tone of which seems cynical and suspicious. The very first stanza is similar to the cautious warning we see on page two of Snorri’s Edda, that caution is needed when entering unknown areas. This is appropriate to a Norwegian Viking context where life was violent and often treacherous^[10]. The poem is not all cynical and also deals with issues such as the value of friendship, loyalty, bravery and moderation. Suprisingly there is little talk of King or kin, ideas central to Nordic society, supporting a Viking context for Havamal, since on Viking voyages traditional loyalties are less important than the loyalties which need to develop in warrior bands, especially that of friendship^[11]. It also may be due to the nature of the warrior band that one of the most important themes in Havamal is the importance of moderation. According to Havamal moderation is to be practised in all things when eating, drinking and even moderation of wisdom is stressed. This may have suited the communal life of a warrior band. The didactic sections of this poem have been likened to other forms of wisdom literature, particularly Ecclesiastics^[12]. Due to the general nature of wisdom literature it would be hard to prove any connection. Wisdom literature is comprised of general ideas produced without authority, and is a genre which is common in Old English and Norse. It is not surprising that concepts like ‘travel broadens the mind’ are expressed in more then one culture. Typological similarities occur in wisdom literature because these wisdom sayings embody widely valid truths^[13].

Havamal also has a mystical component and contains important narratives on Odinn’s life such as his self sacrifice on Yggdrasil, a narrative which has been interpreted as relating to sacrifice and initiation. It is this narrative which provides an important link with Odinn and death. Odinn returns from the world of the dead enriched, transformed by knowledge from the other world. Sacrifice and initiation are logically very similar, both acts are ritualised acts whose aim is transformation. The three components of sacrificial ritual are also present in initiation, i) performance roles, ii) sequence of action, iii) effect^[14]. Sacrifice has been broken down into four performance roles i) victim, ii) sacrificer, iii) sacrifier/ beneficiary, iv) deity (Hubert and Mauss^[15]). The role of victim and sacrifier/ beneficiary are intimately linked by logical homology^[16]. In initiation the same roles are performed but the sacrifier and the victim are united as both victim and beneficiary- i)Initiand/ beneficiary, ii) initiator, iii) deity. Odinn’s sacrifice can also be analysed in terms of a three phase process of attaining knowledge. The seeker of knowledge moves from the bondage of ignorance, through atonement towards awakening into the light of knowledge. A process which can also be seen in Odinn’s ordeal in Grimnismal, here like Havamal we see Odinn bound (Fetter breaker, Havamal 149), gaining a drink, and then expounding wisdom. The names given by Snorri to the three vats of mead in his version of the tale in Skalskaparmal are interesting in this regard, i) Bodn- a drinking container, also the underworld and has been interpreted as the restraint of death. ii) Son- atonement. iii) Othroerir- vital spirit, a rebirth into a more vital productive life. This process is further evidenced by two poets, Kormakr calls Odinn Hapt soenir-The one who provides atonement, also in Egil’s Sonnatorekk, i) Egil’s tongue has been fettered by grief, ii) via the atonement of poetry, iii) the fetter is broken and the divine inspiration wells up.

Another important narrative is the winning of the mead of poetic inspiration which is alluded to three times in this poem. Firstly (strophes 13,14) where we see a variant version of the tale of Odinn and Gunnlod. Secondly (104-110) we have a version of the tale which closely resembles the version given us by Snorri and finally (140,141) Odinn gains a sip after his ordeal on the tree. Snorri could not have got the detailed version in Skaldskaparmal (p. 61-64) purely from Havamal, which is not a detailed account, but merely a series of allusions to the mead. The myth seems of secondary importance in Havamal’s narratives, it is what is illustrated which seem to be stressed, other ideas such as drunkenness, male/female relations and Odinn’s retrieval of information from the nether world. Possibly Snorri had more then one source for his version in Skaldskaparmal. The myths of Odinn winning the mead of poetry are reflected in other Indo-European myths which relate to the gaining of wisdom, particularly the story of Finn and the salmon of wisdom, also Indra and his drink soma. Other poems in the Edda also reflect this story particularly Fafnismal (31-32) which also echoes the story of Finn and the Salmon of wisdom.

Significant for the study of Norse religion in its more mystical aspects are Odinn’s discourses on magic, the runes and their uses. It demonstrates that they had a meaning which was beyond their simple letter value, Turville- Petre suggests that their original purpose was for magic and not writing^[17]. He says that the runes are “reginkudr”^[18] or divine, gained from the world of death, and associated with burials, which is evidenced by the runic inscriptions on memorial stones. The magical association is corroborated textually by Ynglinga’s saga^[19], Sigdrifumal^[20], Egil’s Saga^[21] as well as being twice mentioned in this regard in Havamal (111 and 138-164). These sections of Havamal have also inspired many to attempt to recreate ‘Rune magic’^[22]. Despite this we must also consider that the runes may have become mystified by their association with a new technology, that of literacy, and the inscriptions on memorial stones may be more indicative of care for the dead and respect for ancestors, than of mystical associations for runes.

Havamal was not directly quoted in Snorri’s Edda, raising the issue of whether he had access to this myth. Considering Snorri’s reputation as having read all the vernacular Norse texts contemporary with his day and that Snorri had access to oral sources as well^[23] its likely that Snorri had access to Havamal. Odinn’s self sacrifice is also suspiciously absent in Snorri’s Edda, perhaps this was deliberate on Snorri’s part because of its connection with the cult of the high god Odinn^[24]. A clue to this omission might be found in Snorri’s treatment of Odinn’s association with magic in Ynglinga Saga^[25] where “sorcery is attended by such wickedness that manly men consider it shameful to practise it and so it is taught only to priestesses.”^[26]. Odinn is often seen as being the transgressor of boundaries, he breaks oaths, has access to the other world, and by his practise of sorcery he transgresses sexual boundaries in a world where the masculine ideal is paramount^[27]. These concepts and the implied sexual nature of many magical and sacrificial acts^[28] might not have appealed to Snorri’s Christian Aristocratic audience. However Snorri also wrote Ynglinga saga, where he does not hesitate to mention that Odinn was involved in sorcery and that this was considered ergi (unmanly-effeminate). Perhaps there are other reasons why Snorri neglected Odinn’s sacrifice. The initiatory nature of this section of Havamal may provide another clue as to why it was omitted by Snorri, initiatory rituals are quite often associated with secrecy and exclusion of no initiates. If Havamal represents such initiatory ritual perhaps it was omitted by Snorri out of respect for secrecy or the poem may only have been known by a few select initiates, the fact that Havamal is only found in one Icelandic manuscript^[29] might be evidence of this.

The preservation of poetics dedicated to Odinn is not surprising when one considers his role as God of poetic inspiration, and his role in the winning of the mead of poetry. There are many scaldic kennings for poetry which refer to the narrative of the theft. Odinn himself is said to speak only in poetry^[30]. That the poet’s love for this God is probably related to him being patron of poetic inspiration is corroborated by the first stanza of Egil’s Sonnatorrek;

“My mouth strains To move my tongue,
To weigh and wing The choice word:
Not easy to breath Odinn’s Inspiration
In my heart’s hinterland, little hope there.”^[31]

The position of the poet in relation to the narratives in Havamal is also interesting and reflects latter developments in prose works which feature poet as protagonist. The best example of this is Egil’s saga where the story is developed through an interplay of verse and prose. Here verse adds emotional depth to an otherwise action based narrative, the verse highlights the personal intellectual life of the protagonist and thus intensifies the prose narrative by demonstrating how the poet is emotionally interacting with the events of the narrative. This is a unique development in the northern literary tradition, however the poets were set a divine precedent in their God Odinn, a God who plays the role of chief protagonist in Snorri’s Edda, a god who speaks in poetry.^[32]

Havamal with its combination of narrative and wisdom sayings is essentially a compilation of works dedicated to Odinn. The wisdom literature contains social pointers which would have been fitting to a tenth century Norwegian Viking setting, and is quite general in nature. The two main Odinnic narratives dealt with in the text of the poem are his winning of the mead of poetry, which is mentioned three times, and his self sacrifice, a narrative neglected in Snorri’s Edda. The treatment of these narratives leaves open the question of whether they may contain initiatory elements linked to the quest for knowledge. This is supported by the fact that Odinns ordeal on Yggdrassil has sacrificial elements which are placed in a narrative about the gaining of wisdom, ritual death is a common feature of initiation. Perhaps the Odinnic cult was an initiatory cult which was closely guarded by nobles and especially poets, this might explain the abundance of literary evidence, and lack of physical or place name evidence surviving for an Odinnic cult. Whether this was the case is probably impossible to tell, yet one must accept that Havamal would have provided many mystical features to such a cult. This is best seen in the Runatals and Ljodatal where wisdom seeking and magic are primary. Over all it is very difficult to say how Havamal effected the Northern mind, many modern commentators skim over the wisdom literature and focus on the mythic narratives, however this might not have been the case in tenth century Scandinavia where the revelations of Odinn may have been of utmost importance, especially in the performance of magic.

Bibliography.

Hollander, Lee. M. (ed. and trans.) The Poetic Edda. (Second Edition) The University of Texas Press, Austin. 1996.

Turville-Petre, E.O.G. Myth and religion in the North: The Religion of Ancient Scandinavia. University of Oxford Press. London. (1964).

The Cult of Odinn in Iceland. Nine Norse Studies. Course Book. Germanic Religion. Sydney University. (1997). (No reference in course book)

Kristjansson, J. Foote, P (ed). Eddas and Sagas: Iceland’s Medieval literature. Hid islenska bokmenntafelag. Reykjavik. (1988).

Dronke, U. Myth and Fiction in early Norse Lands. Variorum. Vermont. (1996).

Palsson, H. Edwards, P. (eds.) Egil’s Saga. Penguin Books. Ringwood Victoria. (1976.).

Turville-Petre, E.O.G. Origins of Icelandic Literature. The Clarendon Press. Oxford. (1953).

Clunies-Ross, M. Prolonged Echoes: Old Norse Myths in Medieval Northern Society. Odense University Press. Canberra. (1994).

Sturluson, S. Heimskringla: History of the Kings of Norway. (Hollander L. trans.) University of Texas Press, Austin. (1991).

Meulengracht-Sorensen, P. The Unmanly man. Odense University Press. Canberra. (1992)

Talley, J.E. Runes mandrake and the Gallows. University of California. Los Angles. Germanic Religion. Course Book. Sydney University. (1997)

---

^[1] Hollander, Lee. M. (ed. and trans.) The Poetic Edda. (Second Edition) The University of Texas Press, Austin. 1996. p. 41.
^[2] Turville-Petre, E.O.G. Myth and religion in the North: The Religion of Ancient Scandinavia. University of Oxford Press. London. (1964). p. 12.
^[3] The Cult of Odinn in Iceland. Nine Norse Studies. Course Book. Germanic Religion. Sydney University. (1997). (No reference in course book)
^[4] Kristjansson, J. Foote, P (ed). Eddas and Sagas: Iceland’s Medieval literature. Hid islenska bokmenntafelag. Reykjavik. (1988). p. 25-30.
^[5] Op cit. Hollander. (1996) p.16-17.
^[6] An old German term for drunkenness was ‘vomiting like a heron’ also for many other interesting similarities between Heron’s and tales of Odinn see-.
Dronke, U. Myth and Fiction in early Norse Lands. Variorum. Vermont. (1996). (VIII- p. 53-55)
^[7] Ibid.
^[8] Palsson, H. Edwards, P. (eds.) Egil’s Saga. Penguin Books. Ringwood Victoria. (1976.) p. 185-191.
^[9] Ibid. 204-209
^[10] Turville-Petre, E.O.G. Origins of Icelandic Literature. The Clarendon Press. Oxford. (1953) p. 16.
^[11] Op cit. Kristjansson, J. (1988) p. 47.
^[12] Op cit Turville- Petre. (1953). p. 108.
^[13] Op cit. Kristjansson, J. (1988). p. 47-57.
^[14] Clunies-Ross, M. Prolonged Echoes: Old Norse Myths in Medieval Northern Society. Odense University Press. Canberra. (1994). p. 192.
^[15] Ibid, p192.
^[16] The idea here being that the sacrifier provides the object of sacrifice, this object then symbolically is identified as being consubstantial with the sacrifier, the sacrificial act brings the sacrifier closer to the deity. In initiation the initiand presents themself as the object of sacrifice, initiation is the ultimate sacrifice, it is the gift of self to God. Perhaps this may throw some light on Tacitus’ discussion on the wearing of collars.
^[17] Op cit. Turville Petre.(1953). p. 17.
^[18] Ibid.
^[19] Sturluson, S. Heimskringla: History of the Kings of Norway. (Hollander L. trans.) University of Texas Press, Austin. (1991). Ch. 7 p.10-11.
^[20] Op cit. Hollander (1996). Sigdrifumal. p. 233-240.
^[21] Three occasions in Egil’s saga relate to his use of the runes, firstly to protect against poison, secondly as a curse and thirdly for healing. Op cit. Palsson, H. Edwards, P. (1976).
^[22] Among the authors who have published popular works along these lines are Edred Thorsson and Kveldulf Gundarsson.
^[23] Op cit. Turville Petre. (1964). p.22
^[24] Op cit. Clunies Ross.(1994). p. 32.
^[25] Snorri Sturluson. Heimskringla: History of the Kings of Norway. (Trans. Lee. M. Hollander). University of Texas Press, Austin. (1991) p10-11.
^[26] Ibid.

Codex Wormianus and the First Grammatical Treatise

by P.A.Q.

Any text is more then the product of one mind, it is the product of a culture. Text interacts with its historical and social context which form a matrix of information through which the text may be understood and from such an understanding the scholar also enriches their understanding of the culture from which it stems. Textual study is a dynamic process. A codex is not merely a linguistic artifact, it is a cultural one and every manuscript edition of a text is a new and unique cultural product. Iceland has an extensive written tradition the most well known of which is indubitable the Icelandic Saga, however there were many other forms of literature produced by Icelanders. As with any literate culture Icelandic literature covers a breath of human experience which includes histories, poetry, religious literature and laws. In addition to this work there is also a body of scholarly writing which gives an important indication of the intellectual environment in which Icelandic literature grew. The most important manuscript in this regard is the Codex Wormianus, which preserves an important collection of tracts on grammar and orthography. The most frequently studied of these tracts is known as the First Grammatical Treatise, which outlines the method used by one Icelandic scribe to try to formulate a standard for the written expression of his tongue. This essay seeks to examine the nature and development of Icelandic manuscript culture through the development of a formalized literary language and the influence this has had on contemporary understandings of the Old Norse language. It will begin with a general discussion relevant to the study of manuscripts followed by a discussion of the development of a standardized form of Icelandic. The discussion will then turn to a closer look at the Codex Wormianus and the First Grammatical Treatise and examine their influence on Icelandic writing.

Philology in the broadest sense of the word is the desire to understand a work of written communication. The process of gaining such an understanding it is not simply a matter of interpreting the language of a text but also involves the process of understanding whatever contextual information may help to elucidate that text^[1]. This information may be gleaned from a variety of sources; form historical and political studies; through biographical information about the author; through an understanding of the socio-economic conditions in the area at the time the text was produced; through knowledge of how the text was produced; an appreciation of the world view of the author and the intended use for the text^[2]. This contextual data forms a matrix of information which contributes to a holistic understanding of the text which can not be considered as independent of its context. However it is important not to stop at considering merely the context of those who produced a particular document or manuscript. Any act of communication whether it be written or spoken has both an addressor and an addressee^[3]. And so one must also consider the relationship between these two participants who may even be one in the same person such as the author of a personal diary^[4].

It is essential when studding a particular codex that it not be considered as the mere receptacle of linguistic information which has fortunately preserved a particular text. It is a total unit whose physical make up, composition and history need to be as fully understood a possible^[5]. Even the act of coping a manuscript is to some degree context reliant and is defiantly not free of intervention. As a copyist the scribe now supplants the position of the original author and may often take liberties with the text by changing the expression to suit the vernacular of the day or interpolating new material^[6]. The copyist might also abbreviate sections of the text or even change the narrative order hence changing the nature of the text. Any such changes will be reflexive of the copyists context and so each copy must be seen as a new cultural production^[7]. These changes may reflect changing aesthetic tastes and it must be recognized that such changes imply a sense of superior judgement and understanding on the part of the scribe who undertakes the coping^[8].

When studding a dead language such as Old Icelandic one must remember that that language can only be preserved through a text or a number of texts which may reflect but can never full convey knowledge of the spoken form of that language. Through the high medieval period Iceland was a developing nation, and as such the development of a national language was an important part of its self identity^[9]. The make up of the Icelandic population was predominantly Norwegian yet there were also many people from Sweden and other countries which spoke a Scandinavian language. Importantly amongst the lower socio economic groups there was also a significant number people from the British Isles particularly the Irish. The diversity of this population must have bought a wide range of different Scandinavian dialects as well as some foreign influences. Yet from this relatively mixed population there was little dialectical variation in Iceland itself and there seems to have emerged a Standard language which was probably based on a West Norwegian dialect.

There are no doubt some political, geographical and economic factors which may have influenced the development of a standardized form of the Icelandic language (see bellow). However it is difficult to conceive of how such standardization of language can take place without some sort of written culture^[10] and it is only through such a written culture that we can come to study such a language. It is understood that non literate people have various types of formalized discourse and many standards for correctness, however without explicitly formulated rules it is questionable whether we can call this discourse standardized^[11]. Generally it is a societies written tradition which becomes a guide for the standard forms of a formal speech act, this is true whether it be a written act or a spoken one. However formal speech acts can not be seen as representative of the way a language is used in every day acts of communication. Generally the written tradition is only an ideal form of that standard language which people follow only in so far as it is suits their communications needs. Communication must be seen in a pragmatic sense and judged on its capacity to convey the desired information. Even with a written tradition we must question what degree of unifying power that tradition could have had on the language of a population that was largely illiterate. It is clear that prior to the spread of literacy through print the influence of such a written culture could only make itself felt within a restricted and privileged range of persons^[12].

Of all the Medieval Scandinavian countries Iceland has the largest surviving body of vernacular literature^[13] and it is the only one which preserves a grammatical literature. It is from this literature, both the grammatical and non grammatical texts, that we can talk of a standardized Icelandic language^[14]. The history of this standard language is closely linked to the Latin alphabet which reached Iceland in the tenth century through the medium of the Christian religion^[15]. Being a religion of the book Christianity is to a large degree reliant on literacy for its spread^[16]. The nature of manuscript writing was substantially similar in all areas of western Europe during the Medieval period. Latin as a “universal tongue was the language of wider communication in the western world- used by clergy, royal houses and all men of learning”^[17]. Translations of Latin religious texts such as Saints lives, homilies, bible paraphrases as well as non religious literature such as historical chronicles and romances were copied scriptoria, which also produced original works^[18]. From quite early in the history of Icelandic literature there were scriptorial centers at Holar, Skalholt and at Oddi^[19]. By the end of the Medieval period in all Scandinavian countries accept Iceland, which was too remote, the peoples literary and religious life was conducted either in Latin of Low German^[20].

The influence of Latin was strong in the Scandinavian world, especially in Denmark which was the last country to adopt a vernacular writing system. Unlike the Danish the Norwegians and Icelanders developed a strong vernacular tradition, this might be due to the influence of English Missionaries in the conversion of these lands^[21]. The vernacular had been used for writing in England since the eighth century. The Danish however were more reliant on the continent (particularly the Frankish state) for their religious education and so they developed a strong Latin tradition. The distinction between the Icelandic and Danish writing traditions is no more clearly demonstrated then by the fact that when the Icelander Snorri Sturluson sought to write his history of Norwegian Kings (Heimskringla) he did so in Icelandic. Whilst the Dane, Saxo Grammaticus chose to use Latin to write his Danish History, the Geasta Danorum ^[22]. Vernacular writing was first used for the production of legal texts which for the sake of clarity it was felt were best rendered in the vernacular. It was not until relatively late that Denmark was to produce its own Vernacular Laws which were recorded in 1371^[23], whilst as early as 1117-8^[24] the Icelanders had made there first attempt at recording their laws. However as the Power of the Danish state increased its influence spread through out Norway and Sweden were the vernacular traditions soon succumbed to Latin and Low German.

The divergent languages of the early medieval Scandinavian manuscripts were merely an embryonic form of standard languages. Forms which were subject to alteration and even extinction depending on the political or religious situation in the nation. By the end of the fifteenth Century the political unification of Scandinavia under the authority of the Danish state was beginning to have linguistic ramifications^[25]. It was only Iceland which was to preserve its native witting tradition for which there is a profuse record, which includes both poetry and prose. In the preservation of a vernacular writing tradition in Iceland there were three factors in its favour. Firstly its geographical remoteness from the rest of the Scandinavian world which preserved its vernacular speech form from the changes which occurred in other Scandinavian lands, which adopted many Danish and Low German loan words^[26]. Secondly it development of a extraordinary Medieval literary tradition which was widely studied and revered^[27]. Thirdly Iceland’s economy was predominantly based on fishing and ranching which promoted mobility and inhibited the formation of dialects^[28]. Further to these factors was the linguistic gap between Danish and Icelandic, which represent dialectical extremes of the Scandinavian region, enabled the Icelandic tradition to preserve its language^[29]. It is due to this preservation that Icelandic had become a model of what the medieval Scandinavian language might have been^[30]. Through the nineteenth and twentieth centuries scholars have attempted to eliminate Danish and German loan words and thus bring the language to a state of relative ‘purity’^[31].

Many are aware of the fact that Iceland has produce and extensive written record, which includes a range of material from historical and religious literature to the Icelandic family Saga. However few are aware that there also exists an important body of learned literature from medieval Iceland, which includes four treatises on Icelandic Grammar^[32]. All four of these treatise are in fact appended to Snorri Sturlusons Edda which collectively form the main body of the Codex Wormianus (AM 242, fol.). No complete description of the Codex has been published to date although it has been the subject of many investigations and there is much known about many of its characteristics^[33]. The first known owner of the manuscript was Bishop Gudbrandur Thorlaksson and it was possibly owned by his grandfather Jon Sigmundsson^[34]. The codex passed from Gudbrandur to a Reverend Arngrimur Jonsson and it was defiantly in his possession before the year 1628^[35]. It was on the 4th of September of that year that Arngrimr sent the codex to his Danish friend Ole Worm, form whom the manuscript takes its name^[36]. It stayed in Ole Worms family for two generations until his Grandson Bishop Christian Worm presented the text to Arni Magnusson in 1706^[37]. From where it came to reside with a famous collection of Old Norse manuscripts the Arnamagnæan Collection^[38].

This manuscript is the work of a single scribe^[39], writing on vellum, possibly working from the monastery at Thingyrar in North West Iceland^[40] in the middle of the fourteenth century^[41]. Through its age and association with this monastery the manuscript is thought to have been produced in connection to three known authors and translators, Arngrimr Brandsson, Bergr Sokkason and Arni Laurentiusson^[42]. Although it is difficult to determine exactly who the scribe of the text was it has been claimed that Bergr Sokkason was possibly the editor of the codex^[43]. In this regard it is important to realize that the functions of the editor and the scribe are separate yet this does not necessarily imply that they were undertaken by separate persons^[44] and so the Codex could be the work of just one man. The nature of the material compiled in the Codex also may give some clues as to the motivation for compiling it and the aims of the individual or individuals who did this. The codex seems to have been collected with the aim of compiling a collection of texts relevant to the vernacular language and poetry. Perhaps this was for the purpose of collecting important pieces of learned literature into one Text. The codex has been described as a collection of “linguistically and rhetorically orientated texts, edited by someone with a keen interest in the linguistics and poetics of his own language”^[45].

Of the four grammatical treatises contained in the Codex Wormianus the most extensively studied has been what has come to be called the First Grammatical Treatise. This text, which is found in no other source, is the oldest of the four grammatical treatise which appear in the Codex and it is some seventy five years older then Snorri’s Edda^[46]. The importance of this text is manifold, however it must initially be said that it aptly demonstrates that Iceland was far from being a parochial backwater and was in fact quite closely in contact with the learning of its day^[47]. In creating the first vernacular writing systems the Scandinavians adopted many Latin grammatical rules^[48] the First Grammatical Treatise is definitely a grammar which is this tradition. The Latin alphabet was one of the most important inheritances received from the Roman world however this alphabet was not entirely well suited to the various sounds of other Indo-European languages^[49]. Those Indo-European peoples which eventually adopted this phonetic orthography needed to modify the system so as to be able to represent the full range of sounds in there own native tongue^[50]. This was mainly achieved by bringing Latin writing habits into a vernacular system, however we also have evidence of some innovators amongst these non Roman scribes. The German scribe Notker and the English scribe Orm are two examples of such innovators^[51]. Yet the anonymous author of the text under consideration, a man who has become know as the first Grammarian is one of the most important of these. He provides the only example of the method used for adopting a Germanic language to the Latin alphabet^[52].

While it is solidly based on Latin grammar the First Grammatical Treatise represents an early instance of the application of descriptive linguistics to a vernacular language and the author states linguistic principles that were not otherwise formulated until the twentieth century^[53]. Writing in the middle of the twelfth Century the first Grammarian intended that his treatise would establish a writing system by which the sounds peculiar to the Icelandic speech could be rendered in writing^[54]. Modern Old Norse Grammars such as that by E.V. Gordon^[55] are indebted to this text for their knowledge of the Old Norse phonetics^[56]. Yet the treatise is not only useful in understanding the Icelandic language and it also provides useful information on the pronunciation of medieval Latin and how this was adapted to vernacular phonetics^[57]. The text itself was first published by the founder of modern Scandinavian Linguistics Rasmus Rask in 1818^[58] and since then has been republished a number of times (By Sveinbjorn Egilsson in 1848. The Arnamagnæan commission in 1852. Also by Verner Dahlerup and Finnur Jonsson in 1886)^[59]. In 1931 the famous Icelandic scholar Sigurdur Nordal produces a facsimile copy of the entire Codex Wormianus^[60].

Whilst there is little biographical information known about the first Grammarian he was probably the son of a member of the very first literate generation of Icelanders^[61]. It would seem fairly safe to assume that he was a well educated twelfth century Icelander. References to Ari the learned whilst eliminating one possible source for the codex, at the same time it raises the possibility that the grammarian may have been a student of Ari’s. Despite the lack of biographical information available regarding the first Grammarian it is possible to conjecture that his motivations for producing the work was a sense that the writing of his compatriots was in some way inadequate^[62]. He is worried that the ambiguities that he perceives in the writing and spelling of the Norse tongue would cause great problems for future generations^[63]. He is not actually the inventor of a grammar per se he is a systematiser of ideas that seem to predate him, he is trying to set the other scribes aright^[64] by producing a standard of correctness. Here we gain a glimpse of the grammarians personality he comes across as a man who is concerned with correctness, a man who feels the need to make sense of the disorder he perceives. He comes across a self confident codifier who has been prepared to make a judgment of superiority by determining the right way of producing written Icelandic. A self confidence that stems from his undoubtably fluent knowledge of Latin grammar and the apparent experience of another vernacular orthography, that used by the English. He points to the English adaptation of the Latin Grammar as an inspiration for Icelanders to do the same^[65].

Despite the efforts of the Grammarian it must be noted that many of his recommendations were never followed by the Icelandic authors and scribes which followed him.^[66] This raises the important issue of the extent of his proposed reform. The work has a text book feel to it, but it definitely was not written for the beginner, it is a text written by and for scholars, its intent was to correct the errors of the learned^[67]. The language used would seem to indicate that the Grammarian assumed his audience had achieved a certain level of knowledge of traditional Latin grammar^[68]. The grammarian, unlike the author of the Third Grammatical Treatise, does not begin his work as the tradition Latin grammar texts do, that is with definitions of terms, he takes for granted that the reader already knows those terms. From this it has been assumed that the text was written for the purpose of aiding clerics in the authors own scribal school^[69]. Despite the fact that the work did not have far reaching influence on Icelandic literature it seems to have been the basis for all the grammatical treatises in the Codex Wormianus^[70]. This would indicate that it must have been quite well know to a certain section of the literate members of the Icelandic society, possibly restricted to those who studied at the monastery at Thingyrar.

The development of a standard form of the Icelandic language could never be bought down to just one factor. A we have seen the geographical remoteness of the Icelandic colony, its development of a strong literary tradition, the fact that it was reliant on an mobile fishing and ranching economy where all factors which contributed to this development. The fact that Iceland was able to resist the linguistic changes that occurred in other Scandinavian lands has often been emphasized as a key factor of the preservation of such a formalized language. However the importance of the written tradition of Iceland can not be underestimated in this regard. It is due to the breath of the written record of medieval Iceland that today’s scholars are able to reconstruct the formal language that was used several centuries ago. Whilst it is recognize that this reconstruction merely preserves the high discourse of a privileged, literate, segment of the population, one must also recognize the impossibility of accessing any other form of the language. The learned literature that is preserved for us in the Codex Wormianus provides us with insight into the formation of formal language of the Icelandic people. It also demonstrates the problems faced by those few scholars who set out to reform that language by producing a standard for others to follow.

---

^[1] Siegfried Wenzel. Reflections on (New) Philology. Speculum: A Journal of Medieval Studies. Medieval Academy of America. Cambridge. Vol 65. 1990. p 12.
^[2] Ibid.
^[3] Suzanne Fleischman. Philology, Linguistics and discourse in Medieval texts. Speculum: A Journal of Medieval Studies. Medieval Academy of America. Cambridge. Vol 65. 1990. p 29.
^[4] Ibid.
^[5] Op cit. Siegfried Wenzel. (1990). p 14.
^[6] Stephen G Nichols. Introduction: Philology in Manuscript culture. Speculum a Journal of Medieval studies. Medieval Academy of America. Cambridge. Vol 65. 1990. p 8.
^[7] Ibid.
^[8] Ibid.
^[9] Einar Haugen. The Scandinavian Languages as Cultural Artefacts. Studies By Einar Haugen. E.S. Firchow, K. Grimstad, N. Hasselmo and W.A. O’Niel. (eds). Mouton. The Hague. (1972). p 564.
^[10] Ibid. p 565.
^[11] Ibid.
^[12] Ibid.
^[13] E.V. Gordon. An Introduction to Old Norse.(Second Edition), Revised by A.R. Taylor. The Clarendon Press. Oxford. (1988). p 266.
^[14] Op cit Einar Haugen. Studies by… (1972). p 565.
^[15] Ibid. p 566.
^[16] Preben Meulengracht Sørensen. Religions Old and New. In, The Oxford Illustrated History of the Vikings. P. Sawyer. (ed). Oxford University Press. Oxford. (1997). p 204-5.
^[17] Op cit. Einar Haugen. Studies by… (1972). p 567.
^[18] Ibid.
^[19] Ibid.
^[20] Ibid. p 568.
^[21] Hreinn Benedictsson. Early Icelandic Script: As Illustrated in Vernacular Texts from the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries. The Manuscript Institute of Iceland. Reykjavik. (1965). p 34.
^[22] Ibid. p 567.
^[23] Ibid.
^[24] Hreinn Benedictsson. Early Icelandic Script: As Illustrated in Vernacular Texts from the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries. The Manuscript Institute of Iceland. Reykjavik. (1965). p 13.
^[25] Op cit. Einar Haugen. Studies by… (1972). p 577.
^[26] Ibid. p 573.
^[27] Ibid.
^[28] Ibid.
^[29] Ibid.
^[30] Ibid. p 374.
^[31] Ibid.
^[32] Einar Haugen. First Grammatical Treatise: The Earliest Germanic Phonology. An Edition Translation and Commentary. Longman. London. (1972). p 1.
^[33] Fabrizio D. Raschella. The So-called Second Grammatical Treatise. Felice De Monnier. Florence. (1982).. p 15.
^[34] Ibid.
^[35] Ibid.
^[36] Ibid.
^[37] Ibid.
^[38] Ibid.
^[39] Karl G. Johansson. Studier I Codex Wormianus: Skrifttradition och auskriftsverksamhet vid ett Islandskt skriptorium under 1300-talet. ACTA. University of Gottenburg. Gottenburg. (1997). p 246.
^[40] Ibid. p 247.
^[41] Op cit. Fabrizio D. Raschella. (1982). p 1.
^[42] Op cit. Karl Johansson. (1997). p 248.
^[43] Ibid.
^[44] Ibid.
^[45] Ibid.
^[46] Op cit. Einar Haugen. First Grammatical…. (1972). p 4.
^[47] Ibid. p 1.
^[48] Op cit. Einar Haugen. Studies By… (1972). p 578.
^[49] Op cit. Einar Haugen. First Grammatical…..(1972) p 1.
^[50] Ibid.
^[51] Ibid. p 2.
^[52] Ibid, p 72.
^[53] Ibid. p 1.
^[54] Ibid. p 2.
^[55] Op cit. E.V. Gordon. (1988).
^[56] Op Cit Einar Haugen. First Grammatical… (1972) p 2.
^[57] Ibid. p 3.
^[58] Ibid. p 2.
^[59] Ibid.
^[60] Ibid. p 3.
^[61] Ibid.
^[62] Ibid. p 4.
^[63] Ibid. p 5.
^[64] Ibid.
^[65] Ibid.
^[66] Ibid.
^[67] Ibid. p 6.
^[68] Ibid. p 5.
^[69] Ibid.
^[70] Op cit. Fabrizio D. Raschella. (1982). p 2.

On Swedish Rune-Stones

by P.A.Q.

 

A cultures written record, if it has one, is an important and vital way to access its past. Though this can never give a complete picture of the nature of a society it is through such a record that we are linked to those who lived and breath the reality of that which we seek to comprehend. The Germanic people left such a record, carved in wood and stone, etched on metal and bone, time has preserved for us mysterious glimpses of their past. Their unique script, known as runic, was seen as a source of mystical power and was believed to be derived from the Gods, indicating a recognition and reverence for the power of language. Even the name of the script is etymologically linked to the concept of mysteries or secrets while in another sense it is linked to an act of speech. This essay will concentrate on the nature and uses of the runic record in Scandinavia. While there is ample evidence of early vernacular writing from continental Germanic peoples and indeed the Anglo-Saxons, it is Scandinavia and particularly Sweden which has been the richest source for the runic script. Particular emphasis will be placed on the use of runes on memorial stones which have become one of our primary runic sources and are the oldest linguistic monuments of the Scandinavian people. In examining the nature and uses of the runes this essay will not only demonstrate the diverse nature of the script but also consider what the inscriptions can tell a modern researcher about the nature of Norse society.

By approximately 200 CE the art of writing, although rudimentary, was practiced by the Germanic peoples [1] . The script they used, known as runic, was a unique cultural manifestation and seems to have been inspired by the alphabets of the classical Mediterranean cultures [2] . The origin of the script is much debated although its development must have been reliant on some degree of familiarity with a foreign alphabet and some exposure to that culture’s literature [3] . Whether the originator of the runic script was one individual or a group, access to a model on which the script could be based would have been essential [4] . Without such an understanding it is unlikely that a complex phonetical system could have developed in isolation [5] . Yet the development of this script did not initiate an extensive written culture such as existed in the Mediterranean. This technology had the potential to radically change the nature of Germanic society, yet despite this the most Northerly Germanic people, the Scandinavians, were to maintain a vital oral culture for centuries. That they did not take up this technology with any great force cannot reflect an inability to do so, it must be assumed that orality was more suited to the Scandinavian way of life [6] .

It was the arrival of Christianity which eventually caused the cultural transformation which displaced orality and brought a strong literate culture to the Scandinavian people. Yet for some time Christianity had to coexist with paganism, a largely peaceful cohabitation as is attested by archaeological evidence from Svealand where some 650 Christian rune stones exist alongside pagan burials [7] . That runes were used in Christian monuments demonstrates that they were not viewed as exclusively pagan despite the notion that they were considered a gift from the pagan god Odhinn. Odhinn has two important attributes which are relevant to his connection to the runes: his association with poetry and his perpetual quest for knowledge. Runes were seen as a linguistic technology, a form of knowledge and like poetry one that only the wise could manipulate. In this sense it would seem natural that they become associated with this knowledge seeking God of poets. That the ninth century inscription on the Sparlosa stone states that the runes are “of divine origin” (runaR thaR raeginkundu) [8] further attests to the divine origin of the runes. The adjective raeginkundu only occurs in Norse literature in one other instance, in the Eddic poem Havamal (strophe 80) [9] .

Runic inscriptions occur on a variety of objects from wood and bone to steel and stone, on any surface on which they can be cut, scratched or chiselled [10] . The script is thought to have been designed to be cut into wood primarily and only later adapted to a variety of other mediums. Continental writers such as Venantius Fortunatius (6th century) and Hrabanus Marcus (9th century) [11] tell how the Germanic people cut runes on wooden boards, this anecdotal evidence has been supported by many archaeological finds such as those at Bergen. The archaeological evidence for runes on wood is unfortunately not as well attested as are runes on stone which is largely due to the highly perishable nature of wood. There is also etymological evidence of this connection between runes and wood, the Old Norse term Bokstav (German- Buchstabe and Old English- Bocstaef), used to indicate a letter or character, originally was a reference to a rune cut into wood, specifically beech wood [12] . The modern English word ‘book’ is also etymologically linked with the concept of writing on beechwood or any other wooden medium [13] .

The earliest Scandinavian runic inscriptions are third century finds associated with funerary deposits and are mostly metal objects such as spear blades and brooches. One example of such a find is the Mos spear blade from Gotland. These inscriptions use a twenty four rune Futhark [14] which appears to have been common to the Germanic linguistic group and is attested by some 200 finds. Of these early inscriptions 50 have been found in Sweden, an area rich in runic inscriptions [15] . It was not until around the end of the eighth century that this elder Futhark began to be superseded by the sixteen rune ‘Younger Futhark’ in Scandinavia. Many of the earlier inscriptions prove difficult to interpret and it is for this reason that many have remained largely uninvestigated. A number of these inscriptions although difficult to interpret appear to be personal names, even the sequence of the text or whether the inscription is a verb or a noun are difficult to determine [16] . One of the greatest barriers to interpretation is the paradigmatic gap between twentieth century scholars and the Germanic people of the first centuries of our era, we simply do not know what they thought was an appropriate inscription for the various items which they used [17] . A silver brooch, part of a 3rd century grave deposit found at Gardlosa Sweden, is a good example of this difficulty, the inscription on the brooch (I unwod) has been interpreted as ‘the calm’ [18] . This inscription is thought to be a name, although it is unclear whether this is a personal name or a nick name or a name for the brooch, it is also possible that the inscription might have some magical purpose.

One of the most important types of runic inscriptions are in the form of memorial stones, many of which have skilful pictorial additions. An example of this type of stone is the Mojbro stone, erected in about 500 CE in Uppsala Sweden, probably in memory of a dead chieftain or warrior named Frawaradar (the resourceful). The picture on this stone is that of a warrior on horseback with shield and upraised weapon, accompanying him are two animals which are quite probably dogs [19] . It is possible that the highly animated picture on the stone is a representation of the dead man which the inscription commemorates, although it might be based on images of Roman cavalry [20] . The Proto Norse inscription (frawardaR anahahaislaginaR) comprises twenty five runes reading from right to left and bottom to top. The first element of the inscription is a personal name, the second element has been interpreted as “was slain on the horse” [21] . This inscription is rather exceptional for a memorial stone of the ‘primitive’ Norse period, as many of the inscriptions give only a personal name and often they bear no pictorial adornments. For example the inscription (fino) on a stone at Berga has been interpreted as the feminine personal name Finna [22] . These inscriptions are important for the study of early Norse society as they not only provide indication of funerary practice but they also give an indication of the nature of personal names in this period.

During the Viking age (C. 800-1100 CE) runic inscriptions seem to vary in intensity. Danish memorials are mostly of tenth century origin and seem to have died out early in the eleventh century. In Sweden there is a relative lack of inscriptions from the ninth and tenth century and it is not until the eleventh century that the practice of raising memorial stones seems to have become popular [23] . This is not to say that the early part of the Viking age saw a decline in Swedish runic literacy, it may be that the fashion for rune inscribed monumental stones began in Denmark and spread to Sweden. It is more likely to represent a variation in funerary custom then a sudden increase in Swedish literacy and it is probable that before this period inscriptions were mainly on perishable materials such as wood [24] . In fact the ninth century Rok stone from Ostergotland, is an example of the exceptional literary ability of the Swedes during the early Viking period. This monument to a dead Kinsman mixes prose writing with the alliterative verse forms reminiscent of the migration age, and like them is rich in allusion to heroic lays and legends, providing valuable insight into the literature of the ninth century. This stone, a memorial to the literary ability of the Swedes, also contains a runic cipher which further challenges the reader’s ability to interpret the message [25] .

The broad geographical context of these eleventh century inscriptions highlights the mobility and restlessness of spirit which marks the Viking age and to an certain extent runic monuments commemorate voyages just as much as they commemorate fallen kinsmen. Many such memorials speak of Vikings who died in the East, probably a reference to what is now modern Russia, the Smula stone recounts “they met death in the host in the east” [26] . The most famous group of stones commemorating eastern voyages are the Ingvar stones, a group of nearly 30 stones which were raised in honour of men who had died in ‘Serkland’ [27] , possibly Khazaria, between the Caspian and the Black Sea [28] . Of all the foreign references Greece or ‘Grikkland’ is the most common land mentioned in runic inscription, this is probably a general reference to the north east Mediterranean rather then a specific country [29] . Memorials tell of the profit to be won in Greece, the Ulunda stone tells of a warrior who “went boldly, wealth he won out in Greece” [30] a temptation which might have proved irresistible to the ambitious and adventurous youths of the Scandinavian peninsula. Interestingly the Byzantine Emperor was to make use of these Scandinavian visitors who were formed into the Emperor’s private sentry, which became known as the Varangian guard. Viking presence in Greece is also attested by the now illegible, runic inscription carved into the Piraeus Lion which once adorned the harbour entrance at Porto Leone in Athens [31] .

The Varangians of Miklegard (Constantinople) were not the only travellers to enter the employ of Kings, many who travelled to England in the eleventh century served in King Canute’s [32] Royal Guard the Thingmannalid [33] . The rune stone from Landeryd bares witness to one such warrior, “Varing raised the stone in memory of Tjalve, his brother, the ‘draeng’ who served with Canute.” Not only does this stone directly mention Canute but the name of the man who raised the stone, Varing, is etymologically linked to the Varangians [34] . This significant inscription bares reference to men who served both in the east and in the west, demonstrating the vigour of Viking travel. Westward voyages were common, the second most common foreign land attested to in runic inscriptions is England, once again many Swedish stones attest to men who had lost their lives abroad. A poignant runic monument from Navelsjo in Smaland reads “Gunnkel placed this stone in memory of Gunnar, his father, Rode’s son. Helge laid him, his brother, in a sarcophagus in England in Bath” [35] , an inscription which commemorates the location of a kinsman’s burial and provides vernacular evidence for Viking presence in southern England.

Memorials were not the only manner in which Scandinavian people paid tribute to the dead, civil works were often performed to honour dead members of a kingroup, although this was common another motivation for such work was personal hubris. Regardless of the motivation many runic inscriptions in Sweden commemorate the building of roads, bridges and the clearing of Thing sites, activities which benefited the entire community and so were thought to be meritorious [36] . The Bro stone from Uppland, raised by a devoted wife, Ginnlog, also marks the building of a bridge and both these works were carried out in honour of her dead husband Assur. That these were violent and uncertain times is also indicated in the inscription, as it tells that Assur “kept watch against the Vikings” [37] , implying that there was a need to guard coastal areas against raiding. With the coming of Christianity many of these works were conducted to help the soul of the dead in reaching heaven. Jarlabanke’s causeway at Taby is one of the best known public works of this sort, four stones were raised to commemorate the building of this bridge, one of which reads: “And he made this bridge for his soul”, a metaphorically apt expression for one seeking divine favour.

Runic inscriptions are essentially the first form of vernacular Scandinavian literature, many of these inscriptions are verse, in terms of metre most follow the fornyrdislag narrative metre which is used in Eddic poetry. Many of these poetic rune stones bear the name of the person who inscribed the stone, in a sense they are the first vernacular literature that we can assign to an author [38] , significantly even in the fifteenth century much Scandinavian vernacular literature was anonymous [39] . These stones demonstrate the age of the Scandinavian poetic tradition showing that the alliterative metre common in Norse poetics can be traced from the twelfth century back to the primitive Norse period in the fifth century [40] and ultimately to a common Germanic origin. The inscriptions also contain examples of poetics which were to become common in the courts, the Karlevi stone (circa 1000 CE) holds a complete stanza of drottkvaett metre and the Rok stone uses kennings which were later popularised by in Skaldic poetry [41] . The Bergen inscriptions also contain many verse inscriptions which provide an insight into the strength and vitality of the folk culture of the Scandinavian people which in this case has persisted into the twelfth century and is contemporaneous with the vernacular Icelandic saga literature.

The stones are more then just literature, they are also forms of decorative art, an art which shows a feel for proportion and a superb sense of linear rhythm. This art form is the final expression of animal ornamentation which was common amongst the Germanic peoples [42] . Gotland is the primary source of these pictorial representations, which allude to myths and legends known throughout the Germanic world, of particular popularity are the story of Sigurd the slayer of Fafnir and the story of Volund the smith which is depicted on one of the Ardre stones as well as the Franks Casket [43] . Like all forms of literature the runes are not the exclusively for artistic or monumental purposes and have been used for a variety of mundane purposes such the sending of messages. Some of the different forms of correspondence include trade documents, merchants labels, military plans as well as personal messages, some of which are quite long [44] . Many such documents have come to light amongst the finds at Bryggen in Bergen, they are often cut into small and insignificant pieces of wood which may account for there lack in the runic record. These finds have also given some indication of the extent runic literacy had reached by the twelfth century [45] , demonstrated by inscriptions which are as mundane as a message to “buy some fish while in Bergen” [46] .

Generally the debate on the use of runes tends to be divided between those who believe that they served a utilitarian purpose and those who believe that they are a magical script. This would seem to assume that the ‘primitive’ Germanic world is one that was clearly divided into these two distinctive categories, it necessarily assumes that a culture recognises a substantial gap between the sacred and the profane. This assumption is influenced by the highly secularised world view of many modern researchers who tend to view the sacred world as something which is extraneous to the more prosaic social reality, the sacred is viewed as an epiphenomenon of the social. R.I. Page claims that the runes were considered by their users as a script like “any other script” [47] and so would have used them “for practical day to day purposes” [48] . While it can not be denied that they were used for everyday purposes, this statement assumes some sort of privileged access to the consciousness of early Germanic people, it assumes that we can ‘know’ why they behaved as they did. The inconsistency of Page’s position is clear when it comes to interpretation of the inscriptions which he believes are impossible to decipher due to the otherness of the ‘primitive mind’ [49] . It would seem that Page’s argument is determined by an ideological stance which would view runes as essentially a secular phenomenon, which have from time to time been used for religion and magic. A more balanced view accepts that in ‘primitive’ societies writing represents a blurring between the natural and the supernatural [50] , it is seen as a mysterious technology that can only be manipulated by the wise.

That the runes have been used in connection with magic cannot really be doubted, however the question for many is whether the runes themselves were thought to be imbued with power. Once again we must consider the figure Odhinn and his relationship with the runes. Odhinn is seen as the master of all magic, central to the Odinnic myth is his winning of the runes through ritual self sacrifice [51] (Havamal. 138-139). It is through this sacrifice that Odhinn gains control of language and its magical power, he becomes the master of speech. Through his ordeal he grows in insight and wisdom, verse and poetry flow from his lips, he masters the nine mighty songs of Bolthorn (Havamal 140-141) [52] , he becomes the master of inspirational utterance [53] . Performative speech, that is speech which is some how causally effective at a material level is essential to the magical tradition. This can be seen in spells and charms, like the Merseburger charms, which derive there power from the spoken word. This connection is further attested in the Germanic tradition by the word for magic Galdor which literally means incantation, something which is chanted [54] . The carving of runes can be seen as an extension of this principle, it becomes the performative act or the performative image which is a reflection and possibly amplification of performative speech [55] . This principle is demonstrated in Egil’ Saga where the bard uses a combination of runes and verse to uncover a poisoned horn of ale [56] . Even as late as the twelfth century, the use of runes for magic persists as is shown by the Bergen rune staves, these contain a variety of inscriptions ranging from the secular to the sacred. Amongst them are also magical charms, one of which seems to indicate that the cutting of the runes is causative in the performance of magic “I cut runes of help, I cut runes of protection, once against the elves, twice against the trolls and thrice against the ogres” [57] .

The runes are a vernacular testimony to the private lives of the ancient Scandinavian people which strain to cross the void of time and cultural otherness. They give much important information about Scandinavian culture before, during and after the Viking age. Importantly they also provide us with diachronic information on the Old Norse Language which can enrich our understanding of later Norse vernacular texts. Runic memorials to dead kin not only preserve the names of an age long past but also leave a stark reminder of the obligations of kinship. They tell of journeys to other lands, daring deeds and through them we can learn how lives where lived and lost. Many claim that this script was primarily utilitarian and was only secondarily used for magic. However it must be recognised that to a society which believes in magic no such distinction can be made as, naturally, magic would be considered a utilitarian practice. The runes have been used for a variety of purposes, from magic and memorials to the mundane. However just because they are linked with the sacred does not exclude them from profane usage. Conversely, because runes have been used for mundane purposes we cannot conclude that they were not considered sacred.

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Bibliography.

1) R.W.V. Elliott. Runes: an Introduction. Manchester University Press. New York. 1989.

2) S. Flowers. Runes and Magic: Magical Formulaic Elements in the Older Runic Tradition. Lang. New York. (1986).

3) L.M. Hollander. (Trans) The poetic Edda. University of Texas Press. Austin 1996.

4) S.B.F. Jansson. Runes in Sweden.(P. Foote. Trans) Gidlunds. Varnamo. 1987.

5) G Jones. A History of the Vikings. Oxford University Press. Oxford. (1984).

6) R. Metzner. The Well of Remembrance: Rediscovering the Earth Wisdom Myths of Northern Europe. Shambhala. Boston. (1994).

7) P. Meulengracht Sorensen. The Oxford Illustrated History of the Vikings. Peter Sawyer (ed).Oxford University Press. Oxford. 1997.

P. Meulengracht Sorensen. Saga and Society: An introduction to Old Norse Literature. John Tucker (Trans)Odense University Press. Campusvej. (1993).

9) G.R. Murphy The Heliand: The Saxon Gospel. Oxford University Press. Oxford. (1992)

10) R I Page. Reading the past: Runes. British Museum Publications. London. (1987).

11) H. Palsson and P. Edwards. (Trans). Egils Saga. Penguin Books. Ringwood. (1976).

12) E. Roesdahl. Viking age Denmark. S. Margeson and K. Williams. (Trans.). British Museum Publications. Gateshead. 1982.

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FOOTNOTES

 

[1] E. Roesdahl. Viking age Denmark. S. Margeson and K. Williams. (Trans.). British Museum Publications. Gateshead. 1982. p 20.

 

[2] Preben Meulengracht Sorensen. The Oxford Illustrated History of the Vikings. Peter Sawyer (ed).Oxford University Press. Oxford. 1997. p 204.

 

[3] Ibid. p 204.

 

[4] Ibid. p 204.

 

[5] The 24 character runic script appears, quite abruptly in a fully developed, although some runes show a continuity with earlier pictographic art many do not.

 

[6] Op cit. Preben Meulengracht Sorensen. (1997). p 204.

 

[7] Ibid. p 222.

 

[8] S.B.F. Jansson. Runes in Sweden.(P. Foote. Trans) Gidlunds. Varnamo. 1987. p 9.

 

[9] L.M. Hollander. (Trans) The poetic Edda. University of Texas Press. Austin 1996. p 26.

 

[10] Op cit. Roesdahl p 20-21.

 

[11] Op cit. S.B.F. Jansson. p 29.

 

[12] Ibid. p 29.

 

[13] There is a possible Indo-European link to this concept of writing on wood as Codex, Latin for book, is similarly connected to writing using wood as it refers to split wood, the Sanskrit word for a Beech tree (bhurja) also refers to bark used for writing. Connecting the practice to three distinct Indo-European linguistic groups.

 

[14] The name Futhark is taken from the letter values of the first six runes in the runic series- F, U, TH, A, R, K, which has been likened to the ABC.

 

[15] Op cit. S.B.F. Jansson. p 10-12.

 

[16] R I Page. Reading the past: Runes. British Museum Publications. London. (1987). p 10.

 

[17] Ibid. p 10.

 

[18] Op cit. S.B.F. Jansson. p 11.

 

[19] Ibid. p 16-18.

 

[20] Ibid. p 16-18.

 

[21] R.W.V. Elliott. Runes: an Introduction. Manchester University Press. New York. 1989. p 32.

 

[22] Op cit. S.B.F. Jansson. p 17.

 

[23] Op cit. E. Roesdahl. p 20-21.

 

[24] Op cit. S.B.F. Jansson. p 31.

 

[25] Ibid. p 31-37.

 

[26] Ibid. p 42.

 

[27] Ibid. p 63.

 

[28] Dr R. Perkins. From a lecture given to The Centre for Medieval Studies 8/4/98.

 

[29] Op cit. S.B.F. Jansson. p 42.

 

[30] Ibid. p 44.

 

[31] Ibid. p 62.

 

[32] King Canute the Great, the son of King Svein Forkbeard, was an expatriate Dane who arrive in England in 1013.

 

[33] G Jones. A History of the Vikings. Oxford University Press. Oxford. (1984). p 266.

 

[34] Op cit. S.B.F. Jansson. p 76.

 

[35] Ibid. p 76.

 

[36] Ibid. p 91 and 106-8.

 

[37] Ibid. p 91.

 

[38] Many famous rune carvers have in fact ’signed’ their work- Karesson, Opir and Askil are all names attested on more then one stone.

 

[39] Op cit. S.B.F. Jansson. p. 142-3.

 

[40] Preben Meulengracht Sorensen. Saga and Society: An introduction to Old Norse Literature. John Tucker (Trans)Odense University Press. Campusvej. (1993). p 85 and 96.

 

[41] Op cit. S.B.F. Jansson p 132-4.

 

[42] Ibid. p. 144.

 

[43] Ibid. p. 146.

 

[44] Op cit. E. Roesdahl. p. 22.

 

[45] Ibid.

 

[46] Op cit. R.W.V. Elliott. p 92.

 

[47] Op cit. R.I. Page. p. 12

 

[48] Ibid. p 12.

 

[49] Ibid. p 12.

 

[50] Op cit. R.W.V. Elliott. p 79.

 

[51] Op cit. L. Hollander. p 36.

 

[52] Ibid. p 36.

 

[53] R. Metzner. The Well of Remembrance: Rediscovering the Earth Wisdom Myths of Northern Europe. Shambhala. Boston. (1994). p 114.

 

[54] S. Flowers. Runes and Magic: Magical Formulaic Elements in the Older Runic Tradition. Lang. New York. (1986). p 138.

 

[55] G.R. Murphy The Heliand: The Saxon Gospel. Oxford University Press. Oxford. (1992) p 206.

 

[56] H. Palsson and P. Edwards. (Trans). Egils Saga. Penguin Books. Ringwood. (1976). p 101.

 

[57] Op cit. R.W.V. Elliott p 93.

Rune Gild - Seið Network

A. Karlsdottir, Moderator

Seidh Network

“Oðinn had the skill, that brings greatest power, and worked it himself. It
is called seið, and by means of it he could know the fate of men and
foretell events that had not yet come to pass. He could work the death of
men or loss of luck or sickness. So also could he take the wits and
strength from some people and give it to others.”

- Ynglingasaga, ch.7

“Freyja was the daughter of Njörðr. . . . She first taught the Æsir seið,
such as was practiced by the Vanir.”

- Ynglingasaga, ch. 4

The Seidh Network is a special interest group within the Rune-Gild. Through
the study of traditional lore and relevant areas of modern science, along
with practical experimentation, we seek to rediscover and restore the
practice of seið.

The Seidh Network has a discussion group on Yahoo Groups, which is open to
all interested members of the Rune-Gild. For more information, check the
group home page at:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/seidhnet-l

See also the Recommended Reading List of Seið

---

 

A Brief Description of Seið

Seiðr is a type of magic in the Northern tradition characterized by the use
of an altered state of consciousness, or trance-state. It was also
concerned with natural substances (animals, plants, and minerals) and sexual
activity, similar to tantrism or sex magic. Seiðr included such techniques
as the use of a platform, a staff, and some sort of vocal singing or
chanting. Many people today associate it chiefly with soothsaying, but it
was also used for a wide variety of magical purposes, including
shape-shifting, faring-forth, influencing the mental state of others, and
weather magic.

Seiðr was associated with the Vanir gods of the Northern pantheon, chiefly
with the goddess Freyja, and was probably dominated by female practitioners,
although it was practiced by both men and women. During medieval times it
was singled out for particularly harsh persecution by the Church and
acquired a reputation for being “shameful.”

---

A Selected Bibliography on Seiðr
compiled by the Seið Network of the Rune Gild

7/18/03 (updated 9/20/04)

Core Titles:

Chisholm, James A., and Stephen E. Flowers, eds. and trans. A Source-Book of Seid. Smithville, TX.: Rune Gild, 1998.

Strömbäck, Dag. Sejd: textstudier i nordisk religionshistoria. Stockholm: H. Geber; Köpenhamn [Copenhagen]: Levin & Munksgaard, 1935. Rpt. in Strömbäck, Dag. Sejd och andra studier I nordisk själsuppfattning. Acta Academiae Regiae Gustavi Adolphi 72. Hedemora: Kungl. Gustav Adolfs Akademien för svensk folkkultur, Gidlunds förlag, 2000. 1-209.

[Thorsson], Edred. Witchdom of the True: A Study of the Vana-Troth and the Practice of Seiðr. Smithville, TX: Rúna-Raven, 1999.

Other works:

Adalsteinsson, Jon Hnefill. “The Vardhlokkur of Gudridur Thorbjarnardottir.” Northern Lights : Following Folklore in North-western Europe. Dublin : University College Dublin P, 2001. (ISBN 1900621630)

Bäckman, Louis. “Types of Shaman: Comparative Perspectives.” Studies in Lapp Shamanism. Eds. Louise Bäckman and Åke Hultkrantz. Stockholm Studies in Comparative Religion 16. Stockholm: Almquist & Wiskell, 1978.

Behringer, Wolfgang. The Shaman of Oberstdorf: Conrad Stoeckhlin and the Phantoms of the Night. Charlottesville: UP of Virginia, 1998.

Blain, Jenny. Nine Worlds of Seid-Magic: Ecstasy and Neo-Shamanism in North European Paganism. London: Routledge, 2002. (ISBN 0415256518)

Bourguignon, Erika, ed. Religion, Altered States of Consciousness, and Social Change. Columbus, OH: Ohio UP, 1973.

Boyer, Régis. “On the Composition of Völuspá. Edda: A Collection of Essays. Eds. Robert J. Glendinning and Haraldur Bessason. U. of Manitoba Icelandic Studies 4. Manitoba: U of Manitoba P, 1983. 117-133.

Buchholz, Peter. “Shamanism - the Testimony of Old Icelandic Literary Tradition.” Mediaeval Scandinavia. 4 (1971): 7-20.

Chaney, William A. “Aethelberht’s Code and the King’s Number.” The American Journal of Legal History. 6 (1962): 151-157.

Davidson, H. R. Ellis. “Hostile Magic in the Icelandic Sagas.” The Witch Figure, Ed. V. Newell. Boston: Routledge and Keegan Paul, 1973. 20-41. (ISBN 0710076967)

Dillmann, Francois-Xavier. “Katla and Her Distaff: An Episode of Tri-Functional Magic in the Eyrbyggja Saga?” Homage to Georges Dumézil. Ed. E. Polomé. Jour. of Indo-European Studies Monograph 3. Washington, DC: Jour. of Indo-European Studies, Inst. for the Study of Man, 1982.

Dubois, Thomas. Nordic Religions in the Viking Age. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P, 1999. [see esp. chapter 6, “The Intercultural Dimensions of the Seidr Ritual”, which examines the possible influences of Saami noaidevuohtta (”shamanism”) on Seid practice]

—. “Seidr, Sagas, and Saami: Religious Exchange in the Viking Age.” Northern Peoples, Southern States: Maintaining Ethnicities in the Circumpolar World. Ed. Robert P. Wheelersburg. Northern studies. Umeå [Sweden]: CERUM, 1996. 43-66.

Eliade, Mircea. Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy. Bollingen Ser. 76. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1964.

Ginzburg, Carlo. Ecstasies: Deciphering the Witches’ Sabbath. New York: Random, 1991.

Harris, Joseph. “Cursing with the Thistle: ‘Skírnismál’ 31, 6-8 and O-E Metrical Charm 9.” The Poetic Edda : Essays on Old Norse Mythology. Ed. Paul Acker and Carol Larrington. New York: Routledge, 2002. 79-93.

Haugen, Einar. “The Edda as Ritual: Odin and His Masks.” Edda: A Collection of Essays. Eds. Robert J. Glendinning and Haraldur Bessason. U. of Manitoba Icelandic Studies 4. Manitoba: U of Manitoba P, 1983. 3-24.

Host, Annette. “Exploring Seidhr: A Practical Study of the Seidhr Ritual.” North Atlantic Studies. 4.1-2 (2001): 73-79.

Jenny. “Old Norse Magic and Gender.” Scandinavian Studies. 63.3 (1991): 305-317.

Kelchner, Georgia. Dreams in Old Norse Literature and Their Affinities in Folklore. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1935.

Kress, Helga. “The Apocalypse of a Culture: Völuspa and the Myth of the Sources/Sorceress in Old Icelandic Culture.” Poetry in the Scandinavian Middle Ages: The Seventh International Saga Conference Under the High Patronage of the President of the Italian Republic, Francesco Cossiga, Spoleto, 4-10 September 1988. Paroli: Spoleto Presso la Serede del Centro Studi, 1990. 279-302.

Liestøl, Aslak, 1963: Runer frå Bryggen. I: Viking. 27 (1963): 5–53

Masters, Robert. The Psychophysical Method Exercises. Pomona, NY: Kontrakundabuffer, 1983. (6 vols.)

—. The Way to Awaken : Exercises to Enliven Body, Self, and Soul. Wheaton, Ill. : Theosophical,
1997.

Masters, Robert, and Jean Houston. Mind Games: The Guide to Inner Space. Wheaton, IL: Quest, 1998.

Monroe, Robert A. Journeys Out of Body. Mansfield, OH: Main Street, 1973.

Morris, Katherine. Sorceress or Witch? The Image of Gender in Medieval Iceland and Northern Europe. Lanham, MD: UP of Amer., 1991.

Motz, Lotte. “Old Icelandic völva: A New Derivation.” Indogermanische Forshungen 85 (1980): 196-206

Moyne, Earnest J. Raising the Wind: The Legend of Lapland and Finland Wizards in Literature. Newark: Prentice Hall, 1981.

Norlander-Unsgaard, Siv. “On Gesture and Posture, Movements, and Motion in the Saami Bear Ceremonialism.” Arv 41 (1985): 189-99.

Palsson, Gisli. “The Name of the Witch: Sagas, Sorcery, and Social Context.” Social Approaches to Viking Studies. Ed. Ross Samson. Glasgow: Cruithne, 1991. 157-168.

Pentikainen, Juha. Shamanism and Culture. Helsinki: Etnika, 1997.

Quinn, Judy. “Dialogue with a völva: Völuspá, Baldrs draumar and Hyndluljód.” The Poetic Edda : Essays on Old Norse Mythology. Ed. Paul Acker and Carol Larrington. New York: Routledge, 2002. 245-274.

Raudvere, Catharina. “Trólldómr in Early Medieval Scandinavia.” Witchcraft and Magic in Europe: The Middle Ages. Athlone Hist. of Witchcraft and Magic in Europe. London: Athlone, 2001. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P, 2002. (ISBN 0812236165; 0812217861 pbk) [see esp. her second chapter, which deals with seiðr; see review in Runa 12]

Schach, Paul. “Some Thoughts on Völuspá.” Edda: A Collection of Essays. Eds. Robert J. Glendinning and Haraldur Bessason. U. of Manitoba Icelandic Studies 4. Manitoba: U of Manitoba P, 1983. 86-116.

Simpson, Jacqueline. “Olaf Tryggvason Versus the Powers of Darkness.” The Witch Figure. Ed. V. Newell. Boston: Routledge and Keegan Paul, 1973. 165-187. (ISBN 0710076967)

Sørensen, Preben Meulengracht. The Unmanly Man: Concepts of Sexual Defamation in Early Northern Society. Trans. Joan Turville-Petre. Viking Collection 1. Odense: Odense UP, 1983. [check publisher’s website: http://www.universitypress.dk.eng/

Vissel, Anu. “Estonian Herding Songs.” Arv 51 (1995): 123-133.

Background:

Anderson, Sarah M., and Karen Swenson, eds. Cold Counsel: Women in Old Norse Literature and Mythology. New York: Routledge, 2002.

Danielou, Alain. The Phallus: Sacred Symbol of Male Creative Power. Rochester, VT: Inner Traditions, 1995. (ISBN 0892815566)

—. Virtue, Success, Pleasure, and Liberation: The Four Aims of Life in Ancient India. Rochester, VT: Inner Traditions, 1993. (ISBN 0892812184)

Enright, Michael J. Lady With a Mead Cup: Ritual, Prophecy, and Lordship in the European Warband from La Tene to the Viking Age. Blackrock, CO.: Dublin; Portland, OR.: Four Courts, 1996.

Ingham, Marion. The Goddess Freyja and Other Female Figures in Germanic Mythology and Folklore. Diss. Cornell U, 1985. Ann Arbor: UMI, 1987. 8517020.

Jochens, Jenny. Old Norse Images of Women. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P, 1996.

Motz, Lotte. The Beauty and the Hag: Female Figures of Germanic Faith and Myth. Philologica Germanica 15. Wien [Vienna]: Fassbaender, 1993.

Näsström, Britt-Mari. Freyja - the Great Goddess of the North. Lund Studies in Hist. of Religion. Lund [Sweden]: Alquist & Wiksell for Dept. of Hist. of Religions, U of Lund, 1995.

Otto, Rudolf. The Idea of the Holy. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1958. (ISBN 0195002105)

Stafford, Pauline. Queens, Concubines and Dowagers - the King’s Wife in the Early Middle Ages. Athens: U of Georgia P, 1983. London: Leicester UP, 1998.

Oracular Seidh:

Blain, Jenny. “Presenting Constructions of Identity and Divinity: Ásatrú and Oracular Seidhr.” Fieldwork Methods: Accomplishing Ethnographic Research. Ed. S. Grills. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1998. 203-227.

Gundarsson, Kveldulf. “Spae-craft, Seidr and Shamanism.” Idunna 25 (1994): 33-36, Idunna 26 (1995):7-12, Idunna 27 (1995): 14-23. Rpt. online. The Troth Official Home Page. Internet. 19 June 2003. Available: http://www.thetroth.org/resources/kveldulf/spaecraft.html

Paxson, Diana. “Return of the Volva: Recovering the Practice of Seidh.” Mountain Thunder 9 (1993): 13-18. Rpt. online. Hrafnar. Internet. 19 June 2003. Available: http://www.hrafnar.org/seidh/seidh.html

Related Techniques:

Astral Projection:

Bardon, Franz. Initiation into Hermetics: The Path of the True Adept. Trans. Gerhard Hanswille and Franca Gallol. Ed. Ken Johnson. Salt Lake City: Merkur, 2001. 220-227, 282-290. Trans. of Der Weg zum Wahren Adepten, 1956. (ISBN 1885928068)

Butler, W.E. The Magician: His Training and Work. 1959. No. Hollywood: Wilshire, 1969. 114-121 (ISBN 087980212X)

Crookall, Robert. The Techniques of Astral Projection: D’enouement after Fifty Years. 1964. Wellingborough: Aquarian, 1981.

Ophiel. The Art and Practice of Astral Projection. 1961. York Beach, ME: Weiser, 1994.

Hypnotism:

Bandler, Richard, and John Grinder. Frogs into Princes : Neuro Linguistic Programming. 1979. London: Eden Grove, 1990. (187084503X)

—. Reframing : Neuro-Linguistic Programming and the Transformation of Meaning. Moab, UT: Real People P., 1982. (0911226249, 0911226257 pbk)

Erickson, Milton H. Experiencing Hypnosis : Therapeutic Approaches to Altered States. New York: Irvington, 1981. (0829002464)

—. Hypnotic Realities : The Induction of Clinical Hypnosis and Forms of Indirect Suggestion. New York: Irvington, 1976. (0470151692)

Gill, Merton M., and Margaret Brenman. Hypnosis and Related States: Psychoanalytic Studies in Regression. New York: Intl. Universities P, 1959.

Grinder, John and Richard Bandler. Trance-Formations : Neuro-Linguistic Programming and the Structure of Hypnosis. Moab, UT: Real People P., 1981. (0911226222, 0911226230 pbk)

Hadley, Josie, and Carol Staudacher. 1985. Hypnosis for Change. Oakland: New Harbinger, 1996.

Hogan, Kevin. Life by Design : Your Handbook for Transformational Living. Eagen, MN: Network 3000, 1996. (0963508539)

—. The Psychology of Persuasion : How to Persuade Others to Your Way of Thinking. Gretna, Los Angeles: Pelican, 1996. (1565541464)

Hunter, C. Roy. The Art of Hypnosis: Mastering Basic Techniques. 3rd ed. Dubuque, IA: Kendall/Hunt, 1994. (0787268283)

—. Master the Power of Self-Hypnosis : Program Your Subconscious to Attain Health, Wealth and Happiness. New York: Sterling, 1998. (0806963514)

James, Tad and Wyatt Woodsmall. Time Line Thterapy and the Basis of Personality. Cupertino, CA: Meta, 1988. (01969990214)

Kelly, Sean F., and Reid J. Kelly. Hypnosis: Understanding How It Can Work For You. 1985. Gretna, LA: Wellness Inst., 2000.

Lankton, Stephen R. and Carol H. Lankton. The Answer Within : A Clinical Framework of Ericksonian Hypnotherapy. New York: Brunner/Mazel, 1983. (0876303203)

Shor, Ronald E, and Martin T. Orne, eds. The Nature of Hypnosis: Selected Basic Readings. NY: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1965.

Tebbetts, Charles. Self-Hypnosis and Other Mind Expanding Techniques. 3rd ed.. Royal, AK: Living Life, 1992. (0914629417)

Teitelbaum, Myron. Hypnosis Induction Technics. Springfield: C.C. Thomas, 1965.

Yapko, Michael D. Essentials of Hypnosis. Brunner/Mazel Basic Principles into Practice series 4. New York: Brunner/Mazel, 1994.

—. Trancework : An Introduction to the Practice of Clinical Hypnosis. 2d ed. New York: Brunner/Mazel, 1990. (0876305680)

Other:

Masters, Robert. The Goddess Sekhmet: Psychospiritual Exercises of the Fifth
Way. Ashland, Or. : White Cloud, 2002. [The exercises can easily be stripped of any cultural overlay, and are effective ways to awaken and experience one’s subtle bodies and non-physical vehicles.]

.

by Edred Thorsson, Yrmin-Drighten

Reprinted with permission from Fringe Ware Review 666:16 & The Ninth Night #3. This text exists in a revised edition in the book _Red Runa_ (Runa-Raven Press 2001)

There is a Secret God, a Hidden God, who dwells in a spiralling tower fortress and who has guided and overseen our development from time immemorial–and who has remained concealed but very close to us awaiting the “future” time of re-awakening. The time of the re-awakening is near. Already we have heard the distant claps of thunder which signal the coming storm.

The legacy of the Dark Gothick God is one which can guide those chosen by him to a state of development wherein they have attained a permanent (immortal) consciousness which is free to act or not act in the material universe as it desires. This consciousness becomes privy to all manner of secrets of life and death and life in death. The price for this attainment is contained in the cost of attaining it–for one who has been so chosen there can be no rest, no respite from the Quest which is, and remains, the Eternal Work.

Because the way in which knowledge of this Dark Gothick God is passed from generation to generation contradicts the favored methods of the so-called “major religions” of the world–the religions of the “book”–Judaism, Christianity and Islam–this knowledge and its methods have been forbidden and made increasingly tabu for all of the centuries since the cunning ideological conversion of Europe by Christianity.

Books can be burned, religious leaders can be killed–but the blood endures.

The Gothick God

In the past ten or fifteen years our western European culture (including all the “colonies” of western European cultures such as those in North America and Australia) have witnessed a revival of an aesthetic “Gothick Kulture.” This revival, or reawakening, of the Gothick spirit in many respects follows the characteristics of all the previous revivals.

The word “Gothick” is the key to understanding the nature and character of the spirit behind the aesthetic. (Here I use the “-k” spelling for aesthetic reasons as well as to differentiate the cultural movement from designations of architecture or literary history–more commonly spelled in the standard way.) “Gothick” is ultimately derived from the name of an ancient Germanic nation–the Goths.

These Goths came out of the far North (from present-day Gotaland in Sweden) and swept down into southern Europe beginning about 150 CE. They split into two major groups along the way: the Visigoths and the Ostrogoths. In the south they established kingdoms in present-day Italy (with its capital in Ravenna) and southern France (with its capital in present-day Toulouse). This latter kingdom, under pressure from the Franks, moved its capital to the present-day Spanish city of Toledo. In all of these regions the Goths established many secret traditions at the highest levels of society. The tip of this secret iceberg is revealed when you see how many Spanish and Italian names of nobility are derived from Gothic forms. Some of the more familiar examples would be Frederico, Adolfo, Carlo, Ricardo…

The mystery of what happened to the lost treasure of Rome (including the “Lost Ark”) can be solved through knowledge of Visigothic secret history. But that is a story for another time. Eventually the Goths were militarily defeated by a coalition of the Roman Catholic Church and the king of the Franks, who was the first Germanic king to convert to Roman Catholicism. All others before him, including many Goths, had “converted” to their own brand of esoteric “Gothic Christianity.” The final end to overt Gothic rule in Spain came with the Muslim invasion in 711 CE. But their secret traditions lived on.

The Goths gained a reputation in their own time, and through subsequent ages, as a sort of “master-race.” In ancient Scandinavia the word gotar was used as an honorific title for heroes, as even today members of the noble class in modern Spain are referred to as gotos (”Goths”). As time went on, some of the secret Gothic tradition merged with some of the established traditions of the peoples among whom they disappeared, while other parts of it were submerged in the cultural “under-class” of peasants, vagabonds and heretics.

Four to five centuries after their official “demise” an aesthetic in memorial to the spirit of the Goths was created in northern Europe–later art historians even named the style “Gothic.” But nowhere the Goths had been remained unmarked by their prestige and secret tradition. This dark and mysterious Gothick past of superhuman qualities loomed as a secret alternative to the bright and rational Classical past which was used as a model for both Christian theologians of the Middle Ages and rational humanists of the Renaissance.

It is in this cultural framework that the Romantic movement began to grow in the 1700s. The Classical models had failed the avant-garde of the day. They looked to a more distant past, as a way of looking into a deeper, more mysterious, and at the same time more real, level of themselves. When the French looked beyond their Medieval Christian roots they found the Romans, and hence the word “Roman-tic” aptly described what it was they were looking for. In northern Europe, however, the term “Romantic” was generally found wanting by the adventurous souls who saw nothing of the deep-past = deep-self formula in the word. It was still remembered that our noble past was not Roman, but Gothick. (By now the word “Gothick” was also a synonym for “Germanic” or “Teutonic” as well.)

The Gothick world was a world of the distant and powerful past, shrouded in mist and swathed in darkness–a night-side world of dream and nightmare. The Gothick images conjured by the artists of the day–poets such as Burger, Novalis, Byron, and Hugo, or painters such as Fuseli, Arbo and Dore–acted as doorways for opening the world to the Gothick stream. The dead came alive once more and walked among the living–and upon the living begat the children of darkness.

This process has continued from those nights to these branching out in ever wider circles to encompass more aspects of life. But at the level of what might be called “popular culture” clear traces can be seen which connect Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho to M.G. Lewis’ The Monk to C.R. Maturin’s Melmoth to Edgar Allen Poe’s tales and poetry to R.W. Chambers’ The King in Yellow to Bram Stoker’s Dracula and on to Hanns Heinz Ewers, H.P. Lovecraft and Anne Rice. All in their own ways, wittingly or unwittingly, have contributed to the descent of the Gothick God of Darkness in popular culture.

In many respects Stoker’s famous novel, Dracula, was a “warning” concerning the emergence of an “evil influence” from the Gothick past–Die Toten reiten schnell! Stoker has his evil nobleman declare his kinship with the northern Berserkers who fought with the “spirit which Thor and Wodin [sic] gave them,” and even obliquely refers to the Gothic tradition reported by Jordanes in his Getica that the Huns were the offspring of Gothic sorceresses, known as Haljurunas (Hel-Runes), and devils that roamed the steppes.

Neither was this influence lost on the American writer H.P. Lovecraft, who, when he was feeling more “heroic” in his younger days, strongly identified with the Gothick heritage. In a letter from October of 1921 he wrote: “I am essentially a Teuton and barbarian; a Xanthochroic Nordic from the damp forests of Germany or Scandinavia… I am a son of Odin and brother to Hengist and Horsa…”

The most important God of the ancient Goths was their most distant ancestor, which the Gothic histories record as one named Gaut. Old Norse literature provides the key to discovering the a more familiar identity of this God. There we find this name among the many specialized names given to the God Odhinn or Woden (as he was known among the Anglo-Saxons). Odhinn is called the All-Father, and Gaut is at the head of the genealogy of the Gothic kings just as Woden is at the head of the genealogies of all the pre-Norman English kings.

This God–or ultimate paeterhuman ancestor–is a wise and dark communicator. He is the master of all forms of mysterious communication by means of signs and symbols. In ancient times a system of such symbols for communication were discovered, and called “Runes.” In order to learn these the God hung himself for nine nights on a tree and thereby encountered the realm of Death–and from that spear-tip point which is the interface between life and death he at once comprehended the Runes–the Mysteries of the World.

These Runes form a system of semiotic elements which are not only potent in a purely abstract or theoretical way, but which are, by their very nature, connected to the physical universe and the realm of generation and regeneration.

Even in ancient times, when Wodan was acknowledged as the High-God of the Germanic peoples, he was not a very “popular” God. He hid himself from most, and many were glad of it. Then and even now he dwells in deep darkness and travels to the most forbidden zones of the multiverse in his eternal search for ever increasing knowledge.

As with the ancient Goths, Wodan’s most essential role is as the All-Father, as the progenitor of a continuous blood-line–and through that blood-line the forger of a permanent link with humanity. The importance of blood as a symbol of what it is that is really going on in a more mysterious way is essential. The mystery and secret of Wodan is not that “knowledge” of him is passed along through clandestine cults (though this too occurs), or even through the re-discovery of old books and texts (though this happens)–but rather that such knowledge is actually encoded in a mysterious way in the DNA, in the very genetic material, of those who are descended from him. This in and of itself is an awful secret to bear–and once grasped it is a secret which has driven more than one man mad.

Runic (Mysterious) information is stored “in the blood” where it lies concealed and dormant until the right stimulus is applied from the outside which signals its activation. In this way, knowledge can seem to have been eradicated, but yet resurface again and again with no apparent, or apparently natural, connection between one manifestation and other subsequent remanifestations.

Scientists have more recently discovered the phenomenal platform for this noumenal process in the form of the double helix of the DNA molecule.

The Secret

The Gothick obsession is an obsession with the Mystery of Darkness. It is no accident, or if it is an “accident” it is a meaningful synchronicity, that the name of the mythic sorceresses of Gothic history who gave birth to the Huns was Halju-runas, which literally translated from the Gothic would be “The Mysteries of Death.” The Gothick offspring have always sought to pry into the Mysteries of Life and Death, to penetrate to the depth of the self and to the outermost reaches of the darkened and chaotic world. Boldly forging into the Darkness to seek the Grail of Undefiled Wisdom, to Seek the Mystery, is the highest Quest of the Gothick Children of the Night. There is great power in the Quest, and the Quest alone.

The Gothic word for “mystery” is runa. When the Gothic bishop Ulfilas translated the Christian Bible into Gothic for use in the Gothic cult he translated the Greek word mysterion with the Gothic runa.

The practical power of this at once simple and obscure idea of mystery was once well illustrated in an episode of the popular American television series, Unsolved Mysteries. One day an out-of-work father took his sons fishing in remote forest area where they discovered some stones in the river carved with a variety of arcane symbols. The father and his sons were deeply struck by the signs–What could they mean? Who could have carved them? They went home filled with a sense of mystery and awe. Within a short time business opportunities poured the father’s way and the family was soon prosperous. They attributed their good fortune to the power of the stones. (Experts from a nearby university determined that the signs were carved recently and were not Amerindian petroglyphs, although they appeared to be imitations of similar designs.) Indeed, the family had come by their turn of good fortune from the stones–but not because of the particular shapes or qualities of the signs themselves but rather because of the sense of mysterious power which had struck the father and sons upon seeing the stones.

In the coming years the value and power of the concept of pure Mystery, or the Hidden, will become more apparent as the ways of the Gothick God of Darkness begin to unfold.

That which links this world with that of the Mysterious Gothick realm is clearly symbolized by the blood. But do not mistake the symbol for the entirety of the thing itself–although it, as a true symbol, is a fractum of the thing itself. The Gothick heritage, the heritage of power and knowledge, is encoded information which is by some as yet unknown paraphysical process passed from generation to generation. Knowledge of this mode of transmitting information is among the greatest tabus in our contemporary society. The reason for this is that it represents the greatest challenge to the Christian and Modern establishments with their dependence on conventional modes for transmitting information (especially the written word). The forbidden secret of the Gothick God is that you can be informed from within, by means of innate structures, which are stimulated by actual experience in the framework of objective intellectual knowledge (undefiled wisdom). When the right constellation of individuals with this knowledge are present the Ages of Dependence–on Medieval Churches or Modern Governments–will begin to come to an end. One of the chief signs of the dawn of the emerging new paradigm will come on the fifth of May in the year 2000.

The Gothick God of Darkness is the Unknown God, the Hidden God–and hence the God of unknown and hidden things. His actions are hidden because he is hidden. Mere words cannot reveal this information, only Words (the hidden forms behind a certain key concepts) can do this. It is these which hold the secrets of eternal consciousness and power beyond death. Look, you see it before you now! If you see it, you must work to realize it within–and having mastered it there, to realize it without.

In his landmark work The Postmodern Condition the French critic Jean-Francois Lyotard has some interesting things to say about the character of knowledge and the unknown in the coming years: Postmodern science–by concerning itself with such things as undecidables, the limits of precise control, conflicts characterized by incomplete information, ‘fracta,’ catastrophes and pragmatic paradoxes–is theorizing its own evolution as discontinuous, catastrophic, non-rectifiable, and paradoxical. It is changing the meaning of the word knowledge, while expressing how such a change can take place. It is producing not the known, but the unknown. (p. 60)

Among the unknown things which will be produced in the Unmanifest zone, which the profane call “the future,” will be the engendering of a new Gothick realm which will be none other than the remanifestation of the elder realm. As yet it lives in a crimson darkness, but in the spiraling tower the Gothick God waits and watches as those who will call his realm forth work their wills upon the world.

Reyn til Runa!

Ed. Note: Mr. Thorsson is author and translator of many books on Northern magic, Runecraft and the occult including Futhark, Runelore, The Nine Doors of Midgard, The Book of Ogham, Fire and Ice (as S. Edred Flowers), Lords of the Left-Hand Path, Runes and Magic (as Stephen Flowers), and recently Hermetic Magic.

A complete list of his titles (including those too dark and controversial for mainstream publishers) is available from Runa Raven Press, PO Box 557 Smithville TX 78957 USA. He is the founder of the Rune Gild.

He knows what secret Odhinn whispered in Balder’s ear.

© 1998