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)

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^[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.

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^[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.

---

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

 

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Most people probably think of Chaos Magick as an entirely postmodern phenomena, a creation of the age of the PC and VCR. The magical system postulated by Peter Carroll (and other magical theorists, including Frater U.D.) certainly resonates with the postmodern state. Instead of a central, linguistically definable power source such as God, goddess, or Satan, Chaos magickians look toward an undifferentiated ether that longs to be formed into substance by the Will of the magickian — a power source one might describe as the Unmanifest longing to be Manifest. Just as the postmodern thinker does not have exterior textual standards of Truth, the Chaos magickians has no standard save for praxis. If it Works, it partakes of the divine. Although this concept of a numinous universe in continuous creation/destruction is “new” to people working under a Judeo-Christian paradigm, it was common to the more sophisticated views of our ancestors’ ancestors. It is useful to return to these roots — not only for the practical reason of checking on the experimental data that’s already been collected, but for the arcane reason of discovering what magicks have already effected the evolution of our own souls. Chaos Magick represents a path that can lead to an expansion of knowledge and power, not only in the realm of matter, but in the realm of spirit as well. But all such expansions require transformation of the Self, and all transformation requires exact knowledge.

A good place to begin one’s Quest for Chaos Magick is in the Seidhr (approximately pronounced “sayther”) practices of the ancient Germanic peoples. I began my Quest with a talk with my friend Edred Thorsson, founder and Yrmin-Drighten of the Rune-Gild, Grandmaster of the Order of the Trapezoid of the Temple of Set, at his academy Woodharrow in the Lost Pines region of Texas — which is also the location of his press:

Runa Raven Press
PO Box 557
Smithville TX 78957 USA

– write for free catalog. Woodharrow lived up to its name: “The altar of inspiration“…

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fwr: What is Seidhr and how is it connected to the idea of Chaos?Mr E: Now it is generally imagined that Seidhr is a kind of evil magic practiced by Norse shamans — especially female ones. Indeed, Seidhr is an ancient form of magic practiced by the Scandinavian peoples at least since the Viking Age. Seidhr is generally connected with the Gods and Goddesses, called the Vanir, and especially with Freyja, whose name is really the title “Lady”.

Seidhr is also generally contrasted with another word for “magic” in the Northern tongue: Galdr. Seidhr is connected to the concept of “Chaos” in the sense that the theory upon which Seidhr works is very similar to that upon which Chaos Magic works. Both are based on a materialistic paradigm — what Peter Carroll calls “Ether” and the ancient Germanic peoples called Ginnung, or Chaos. This paradigm is, by the way, to be contrasted with the essentially symbolic theory underlying Galdr — a theory which is semiotic and linguistic in character, not substance-based. The underlying theory of Seidhr is pretty much the same as “the magical paradigm” described by Carroll in his Liber Kaos. However, that general theory does not account for Galdr, which is independent of the flows of the time/space continuum.

fwr: What is the cosmological model which Seidhr presupposes? Chaos Magickians represent the relationship between the ego-portion of the psyche and the rest of the Cosmos with a circle with eight arrows bursting forth — an image copied from the fantasy works of Michael Moorcock. Do you suspect the resonance of this symbol to be a remanifestation of Seidhr practices?

Mr E: Yes, the symbol itself seems to be a noumenal atavism of the common Germanic cosmological map which is centered on the “earth” (or ego) and which radiates out in a total of eight “directions”, only six of which can even by symbolically “located” in three-dimensional space. The other two — Hel (the Realm of the Dead) and Asgard (the Realm of the Gods and Heroes of Awakened Intelligence) — exist in hyper-space at acute angles to all the other axes of the map simultaneously. The cosmological model that is presupposed is that Ginnung is present in everything. The German scientist Karl Reichenbach coined the term “Odic Force” — named after the Norse God Odin — to represent this substance.

fwr: Didn’t the term Ginnung, or Chaos, come to mean illusion or delusion? Is it related to the Indian word Maya? Isn’t this supposed to be just plain “bad stuff”?

Mr E: Ginnung or Ginning becomes a word for “delusion” at a certain point in Old Norse. One of the sections of the Prose Edda by Snorri Sturluson is called the Gylfa-ginning, usually translated “Gylfi’s Delusion”. But in the Rig Veda we see that Maya is the creative power wielded by Varuna, who with his pashas [”bonds”] can bind or loosen, destroy or create anything he can imagine. In both cases what we are dealing with is the idea that this is “powerful stuff” — and power can equal mortal danger. In essence Ginnung is the undifferentiated energy/matter which preexists creation, and which underlies the forms of all phenomena. What had been “magical power” to the trained elite, became “bad ju-ju” as its practices drifted down to the masses. The amount of training and discipline necessary to wield Ginnung in a reliable way is so great that the vast majority of humanity, when they try to “use” it, simply end up confusing themselves and devolving into a morass of illusion. Hence the use of the substance becomes more or less taboo.

fwr: How can the concepts of Ginnung (Chaos) and Futhark (Order) be creatively synthesized by an individual to produce the materials of his or her own life? What barriers are there to a creative synthesis?

Mr E: Well, first of all it must be emphasized that indeed such a synthesis must take place in order for the Will of the individual magician to rule. Order is a relatively rare event, and is one which is anterior to the existence of Ginnung. Order is something which is Willfully impressed upon, and out of, Chaos. It is the progressive impression of Order out of Chaos that characterizes self-development, or Initiation. The chief barriers to this process are that magicians may reject (demonize) either the Order or the Chaos, thus un-balancing themselves, or that they will succumb to the chaotic material within themselves — which is by far the predominant mass of the self — and begin to mistake the inherent patterns of the chaos for their own Wills. This latter path defines a sort of mysticism, but is to be distinguished from magic because the all-important component of the Will, or individual consciousness, has been negated. In Seidhr one temporarily loses consciousness in order to effect conscious aims — but unconsciousness is not the aim in and of itself.

fwr: What mental/spiritual attitudes or moods help the Magickian to get the best results when dealing with Chaos?

Mr E: Interestingly enough, the mood of Seidhr is an extremely serene, tranquil and fearless one. In the face of psychic turmoil and what most would consider frightening imagery — that of darkness, death and even dismemberment — the seidh-man or seidh-wife often evidences moods diametrically opposed to the expected ones. In Seidhr the worker is often virtually in a state of suspended animation, and most always in a trance-state of some kind. But the worker of Seidhr is not a world-renouncing mystic. Seidhr is a magic of this world, for gaining effects in this world on the level plane of existence.

fwr: What would be a practical piece of Seidhr I could do?

Mr E: With a clear and urgent Need, and with a precise question, go to a graveyard where one of your family members is buried. It’s better if the person is the most distant ancestor you can find. Sit on the grave and imagine yourself descending into the grave, to be with that family member in Hel — or at least that part of the person which remains there. When you have a sense of the presence of the person, pose the question to him or her — and listen for the answer.

From the outside, this could look like a nice visit to the cemetery, just like they used to do in the “good ol’ days”. Yes, but just how old?

This article was kindly supplied by Mr. Don Webb, author of Seven Faces of Darkness: Practical Typhonian Magic© Don Webb, Reprinted with permission .

A Conversation With

Dr. Stephen Flowers

 

One of dominant paradigms of modern society is fragmentation. In the world of popular culture this translates into dazzling distractions and endless ephemera, while in the world of academia it engenders over-specialisation and an unspoken refusal to even attempt to understand the “bigger picture,” especially from a metaphysical perspective.

In this atomised environment, anyone extolling a cohesive vision that is marked by traditional values – not to mention high standards – automatically becomes an anomaly. So it is the case with Dr. Stephen Flowers, who is the rarest of breeds: a scholar with spirit, one who is single-minded yet open-minded. For more than a quarter-century he has dedicated his energies toward unraveling the mysteries not only of the ancient symbolic alphabet of the Runes, but also of the deepest realms of the Germanic myth and culture from which they arose. For Flowers, this quest is summed up in a single word, RUNA, which is the old Gothic language form of “rune” and was equivalent to the Greek term mysterion (“mystery”). It was in the early 1970s that Flowers heard this word audibly whispered in his ear, and since that time he has tirelessly pursued a path of understanding its implications.

Following graduate work in Germanic and Celtic philology under the esteemed professor Edgar Polomé (1920–2000), Flowers received his Ph.D. in 1984 with a dissertation entitled Runes and Magic: Magical Formulaic Elements in the Elder Tradition (later published by Lang, 1986). In the mid-1980s Flowers also began a more public writing career under the name Edred Thorsson. His books on the Runes and Germanic magic (Futhark, Runelore, At the Well of Wyrd, Rune-Might, Northern Magic, The Nine Doors of Midgard, and A Book of Troth) have become classics of sorts, and although they are aimed at the occult book market, they reveal a depth of understanding and degree of knowledge that is unusual to find in this genre.

Under his own name he also published less speculative material, for example Fire & Ice, about the German magical order the Fraternitas Saturni, and his translation of the Galdrabók, a medieval Icelandic grimoire. His interest in Germanic topics extends not only to the distant past, but also into more recent and controversial manifestations, such as the völkisch period at the turn of the 19th century or the esoteric aspects of the Third Reich, and his translations of Guido von List’s Secret of the Runes, S. A. Kummer’s Rune-Magic, or the writings of Karl Maria Wiligut (The Secret King: Himmler’s Lord of the Runes) all shed scholarly light on these topics. He has also written Lords of the Left-Hand Path, a lengthy study of darker occult currents, and an innovative analysis of ancient Greek magical texts entitled Hermetic Magic.

Unlike many who possess academic credentials, Flowers was never content to relegate his interests to a purely intellectual level, and thus he has long been active in the contemporary revival of Germanic heathenism, variously called Odinism or Ásatrú (a coinage derived from Old Norse, meaning “loyalty to the gods”). He was an original member of Stephen McNallen’s seminal organisation the Ásatrú Free Assembly (which still exists today as the Ásatrú Folk Assembly), and in 1979 founded his own initiatory group, the Rune-Gild, dedicated toward the serious exploration of the esoteric and innermost levels of the Germanic tradition, as well as the greater Indo-European culture of which it is but one branch.

Underlying all of his work is a belief in the profound importance of traditional Germanic thinking and the eternal relevance of its mythological expression. After all, English is a Germanic tongue, and our society – fragmented or decayed as it now may be – owes its true origins as much, if not more so, to northern Europe than to Athens or Rome. Dismayed at the ongoing erosion of support for Germanic studies at most universities across the Western world, Flowers has recently unveiled his latest project: the Woodharrow Institute. This non-profit educational institution aims to maintain and foster the tradition of Germanic scholarship, offering courses and publications, and interacting with academic circles wherever possible. Besides administering the Institute, Flowers and his wife Crystal also direct the Rûna-Raven publishing house, which issues an ongoing catalog of titles concerning varied aspects of ancient Germanic culture, along with specialised language studies and works in related areas.

– Michael Moynihan

Michael Moynihan: Can you recall what initial event or events led to your setting out upon the path you’ve taken toward understanding the mysteries of the Germanic tradition?

Stephen Flowers: I started out my “career” in understanding the mysteries of the Germanic tradition as what I would later come to understand as an “occultizoid nincompoop.” I was interested in a variety of pretty nutty things. One of my first passions was monster movies. Perhaps Famous Monsters of Filmland was my first bible. My “favourite monster” was the one created by Frankenstein. There was simply something about the “Gothic,” Germanic origin of the myth that appealed to me. Before that I can remember being drawn to all things Germanic (and Scandinavian) the films The Vikings (which I saw during a childhood trip to San Antonio) and the Fall of the Roman Empire vaguely inspired me with certain scenes of Germanic “barbarism.” Later this slightly matured into an interest in the Morning of the Magicians/Spear of Destiny mythology, and culminated in my “hearing” the word RUNA in 1974. This was a catalyst for a quantum leap in my development. It caused me to delve into the scientific and academic basis of what it was that had so fascinated me from childhood. All of this experience laid the foundation of the nature of my own teaching, following this pattern: (irrational) inspiration, leading to (rational) objective study, leading to (subjective) internalisation, which ultimately leads to objective enactment (= understanding/personal transformation).

Michael: What brought about your initiation into organised Ásatrú or Odinism, and how do you look back on this period now?

Stephen: Back in the mid-1970s there were only a very few individuals entertaining the idea of the revival of the old Germanic religion. My own individual journey started as early as 1972. However, I will say that it remained rather haphazard and undirected until 1974 when I heard the word RUNA whispered in my ear. But even then, with the inspiration from a higher source, the struggle to understand the full significance of it all was a significant one that had to be carried out in the earthly plane. I saw notices in places like Fate magazine for the Ásatrú Free Assembly and was intrigued, but for some reason I thought it unwise to contact this group until I had something significant to offer. By 1975 my work had taken the direction of being more guided by scholarly discipline. Once I had made significant progress in the reformulation of my runic philosophy (which found expression in the manuscript that became Futhark) and in my graduate studies at the University of Texas at Austin, I felt prepared to make contact with Ásatrú groups.

I first met the leader of the AFA, Stephen McNallen, at the first AFA Althing in the summer of 1979. Meeting Steve was a life-changing experience for me. He is an embodiment of a kind of Germanic spirituality that puts words into action. It was at that time that I was named a godhi [the Old Norse designation for a spiritual leader] in the AFA. It is now the only credential that I hold as being of any significance in the world of Ásatrú /Odinism. Despite whatever history might have passed in the late 1980s and early 1990s, there can be no doubt that Stephen McNallen is the guiding light of American Ásatrú. I count Steve McNallen as a friend and colleague and very much value the fact that it was from him that I received my godhordh – or “authority as a godhi.”

Michael: You have often spoken about how essential disciplined scholarly training can be for understanding the esoteric aspects of the religion and how to most effectively put these into practice. Presumably, such an exchange also functions simultaneously in the reverse direction – in other words, what positive ways did your active involvement with the religion impact your academic work?

Stephen: The esoteric, spiritual aspects function as initial forms of inspiration to the mind. This is essential to the Odian approach to life. First there is an “irrational,” or supra-rational, impulse – a bolt out of the blue that sets the conscious mind on its mysterious course. That impulse can, for many, be a disorienting stroke from which they never recover. They simply sink deeper and deeper into a sea of subjectivity. For another group, the subjectivism is eventually re-balanced with rational work. Understanding of the inspiration is gained, without “explaining it away.” The allowance of subjective inner experience and insight to coexist with objective, rational analysis is essential to the process of truly understanding the tradition in a scientific way, as well as to the process of personal development based on the traditional symbology.

It was noted by outside observers, my mentors in the academic world, that I had an uncanny ability to make sense of obscure myths and to apprehend the hidden connections between and among various mythic structures. This ability stemmed from my inner experience which was constructed on a basis lying outside the purely rational models. If one is trying to delve into the mysteries of the symbolic culture of an archaic world – one very much separated from our own contemporary society and values – then obviously some key must be found which is something other than plodding logic or wild speculation. For me this key is the balanced openness to the mythic spirit of Odin. I was lucky enough to have academic mentors who supported me in this approach, who were themselves spiritual men. Without their inner support I could not have achieved whatever it is I have achieved.

Michael: Why is the notion of a scholar of pre-Christian religion who actually adheres to the spiritual ideas that he also studies such a radical one? Is this simply a byproduct of the situation in the West where any religious path outside of the “mainstream” monotheistic faiths is painted as cultic and marginal?

Stephen: I think this attitude stems almost entirely from two sources: 1) the antagonism of the materialist worldview toward the traditional spiritual one, and 2) the opportunity the adherents to the materialistic worldview have taken to attack the spiritual view based on historical events surrounding World War II. This materialist worldview is “monotheistic” in the sense that it allows for only one set of orthodox values. In this way it is really a secularised form of monotheistic religion. The Judeo-Christian system of thought has lent itself very well to being secularised in such a way that it can be turned into a model for modern political and economic theories. As a side-note, Islam has been much more stubborn in its adherence to its original values, which has caused it to be very much “out of step” with its monotheistic cousins.

Judaism and Christianity can be tolerated by the establishment scholarly world because they can be viewed as theoretical prototypes of the materialistic and positivistic model that now dominates thought in the West. Earlier traditional models are seen not so much as a threat to religion as they are seen as a threat to the monolithic political and economic order. The pre-Christian, traditional philosophies are too divergent and multivalent to be coerced into one single “market” of ideas. This points to the fatal hypocrisy of the current crop of modernistic “thinkers,” who spout off about “multiculturalism” and tolerance, but who exclusively support monolithic socio-economic models that enact the opposite of what they publicly espouse. Surely the ancient, traditional and pre-Christian world is more in line with what really sounds best to most people. Are not ancient, pre-Christian Athens or Alexandria more ideal models for the future over medieval Rome or Constantinople?

Clearly the animosity to those who see value in pre-Christian models stems not from the religious side of the debate, but rather from the secular challenge traditionalism poses to the current political order. What is needed is a campaign for the re-education of the academic world to show that the idealised future is one that is more likely to be based on the mosaic of pre-Christian traditions than it is to be based on the monolithic Christian model.

Scholars of pre-Christian tradition must indeed be sympathetic and even empathetic to the paradigms they are studying. If they do not have a subjective link to the paradigm they are seeking to understand, then they have categorically placed an insurmountable barrier between themselves and the “object” they seek to understand. Hence they have in fact disqualified themselves from ever being able to really understand the patterns of thought in question.

Michael: You have always tried to encourage those involved in neo-heathenism to uphold a higher intellectual standard, and whenever possible to actively pursue serious academic study. Have you noticed any significant number of people willing to rise to the challenge?

Stephen: To this point I would say that there has indeed been a significant number of people who have taken up the challenge to pursue academic goals as a way to put their inner, spiritual lives on a more firm foundation. The number may be significant, but not large. It is hoped that with the advent of the new Woodharrow Institute a greater number of people will “get” what it is I am trying to convey in this trend. The whole “neo-pagan” world has been made a part of the Bohemian “underground” sort of mentality of the Anglo-Saxon (this includes the imitative American) culture. What I am trying to do is simply call the Anglo-Saxon culture back to its more organic Germanic roots. This includes the way in which the idea of “neo-paganism” is approached.

As I outlined in my essay “How to Be a Heathen,” printed in the volume Blue Runa (Rûna-Raven, 2001), there was a time when “pagan knowledge” indicated something that was rigorous to begin with, and gradually evolved to higher realms of the ordinarily ineffable. “Christian faith” was something which opposed “pagan knowledge” and was characterised by subjectivism and infinite appeals to unverifiable authorities from the beginning to the end of the process. In this way it can be seen how the typical “New Ager,” or “wiccan” [sic] is in fact paradigmatically much closer to the original Christian model of thinking than is the average “Christian believer” today. Serious Christian seminarians would not think of ignoring the study of Latin, Greek and Hebrew, yet the many aspirants to the “priesthood” of Ásatrú today think that learning Old Norse is an unreasonable thing to require. It is remarkable to note how many people don’t even get the grammar of their supposed “Norse name” right!

The reasons for this apparent virtual hostility to learning are a part of the Anglo-Saxon “anti-egghead” mentality. By contrast it can be noted that some of the turn-of-the-century German revivalists were in fact professors, e.g. Jakob Wilhelm Hauer (Tübingen) and Ernst Bergmann (Leipzig). This inner cultural bias must be first recognised before it can be overcome. Do not think for a minute that I am extolling the great wisdom or character of the typical modern academic. The academy is presently in decay. However, the basic and systematic knowledge possessed by those who have spent decades in specialised studies, and who have been the traditional recipients of knowledge handed down from several previous generations of scholars is a resource that is indispensable to us.

Michael: While your focus is usually on traditional Germanic or northern European culture and religion, you have also addressed other areas in some of your work, such as with the book Hermetic Magic. What was your reason for doing so – and how do these seemingly distinct realms fit together or cross-fertilise?

Stephen: In Hermetic Magic I concentrated on the operations from the Greek magical papyri that made use of the symbolic power of language and the alphabet (i.e., the more Greek-influenced operations). Indeed there is a great deal of possible cross fertilisation between the Germanic and Greek traditions of verbal and alphabetic magic. The book Hermetic Magic was an experiment in the use of the principle of RUNA in the decoding of a tradition other than the Germanic. It proved to be generally successful. Much of what Hermetic magic was all about has been lost in the Golden Dawn/OTO-style magic of the Victorian gents. Hermetic Magic is an attempt to go ad fontes, i.e., back to the sources of what Hermetic magic is, in order to arrive at a fresh and eternal perspective on the power of the human will. This is an exercise in the power of RUNA, Mysterion, as I see it. Hermetic Magic shows what can be done with the principle of RUNA/Mysterion. That it has been generally ignored by the run-of-the-mill “hermetic” crowd is a sign of just how esoteric the actual tradition is.

Michael: The work of Georges Dumézil, the French scholar of Indo-European comparative religion, has been a strong influence on your own outlook. What do you consider to be the most important aspects of his work, and why did they resonate with you to such a degree?

Stephen: First of all, I suppose I came to it as a matter of tradition. My own teacher, and Doktorvater, Edgar Polomé, was a (qualified) Dumézilian. Beyond what I learned in his classrooms, however, I saw that his objective studies (which involved making detailed dossiers of the various Indo-European Gods, etc.) coupled with his structuralist approach allowed for the beginnings of a contemporary and living synthesis of ancient ideas with those of Jung and others. The ideas of Dumézil are 1) accurate and objectively verifiable to a great degree, and 2) are potent tools for current self-transformational work.

Michael: In recent years there seems to be a consistent effort on the part of certain segments of the academic community to discredit Dumézil’s work, and especially his formulation of the tripartite/tri-functional model. Such attempts are reminiscent of those directed against Mircea Eliade and other scholars of religion and myth. Why this animosity, and what are these discreditors so afraid of?

Stephen: They are afraid of the resurgence of Indo-European culture. They have intellectually invested in the idea that internationalism is good and that anything that glorifies the non-European world is preferable to anything that seems to lend prestige to European culture. All of this is so ironic because the ideals from which they draw are entirely of European origin. Nevertheless, as a matter of ideology, but probably more as a matter of an intellectual fashion trend, the academic establishment frowns on anything that they see as “glorifying” the European culture. They would probably argue that their reasons for this vaguely have something to do with Germany in the 1930s. In conversations with German academics in runology I discovered that the same things are happening at German universities now as happened in American ones in the 1980s and 1990s – anything relating to ancient or medieval northern Europe is being dismantled.

There is also the fear that Europe will really be able to make peace within itself based on the Indo-European model, rather than the Christian and/or Marxist model. This would discredit their intellectual prejudices once more. Specifically on Dumézil and the tripartite theory, his theories have the potential of forming the basis of a pan-Indo-European cultural unity. They are the greatest challenge to Christianity and to materialistic positivism in the 20th century. So it is not without some justification that Dumézil has been so widely attacked. His theories do pose a challenge, and are not merely intellectual curiosities. They call for some sort of action and some sort of change on the part of the reader of his ideas.

The dirty little secret is probably merely that in academia the study of old languages and ancient history is hard, whereas what they are replacing all of this with is relatively easy. So that the “war on the Indo-Europeans” is really part of the general “dumbing down” of the academy.

Michael: Not so long ago you attended an international scholarly conference on runology in Denmark. What were your impressions about how this discipline is faring in today’s academic world?

Stephen: The academic field of runology, like any other academic discipline, is subject to the dictates of fashion and changing intellectual trends. (This is where an academic discipline differs from a Traditional discipline.) Most of the 19th and early 20th century runologists accepted the relationship between religion or magic and the runes as a given fact. They accepted this uncritically because it appeared to them (perhaps rightly) as the most obvious conclusion based on all prima facie evidence. Because they were uncritical in their acceptance, however, this left the door open to a subsequent generation of runologists to question the earlier generation’s assumptions. In the world of science this is a good thing. If those who did not question the “magical” nature of the runes had not been so uncritical, then a deeper and more insightful exploration of the idea of runes and magic might never have been undertaken.

I was very gratified to have younger individuals – many still students – at the runic conference discreetly approach me and tell me that part of the reason they came to the conference was to meet me, and that they had first been exposed to the wondrous world of the runes and the esoteric Germanic tradition through my more “popular” works.

The changing face of academia dictates that what is “in” today, will be “out” tomorrow. The seeds of the next generation of runologists have already been planted. On some level, perhaps, those who are foes of tradition have sensed this. Their strategy is perhaps to prevent the seeds from growing by not allowing the seeds to exist in fertile soil. The whole fields of runology, comparative religion, Indo-European studies, etc., are being systematically rooted out of academic institutions. Especially in America this is occurring with simultaneous impetus both from the “right” and from “left.” The international left sees the European tradition as being in power, and their myth of the dialectic determines they should seek to disestablish whatever is in power for “revolutionary” reasons. The right, on the other hand, is dominated in America by a Christian sentiment, which sees interest in our ancient traditions as being hostile to the Christian model. It is interesting to note that these apparently divergent interests of the “left” and “right” are, in America at least, in agreement that at least one of their common “enemies” is the organic national traditions of Europe.

This is occurring not just in America, but in Europe as well. Recently the position of Prof. Dr. Klaus Düwel at the University of Göttingen in Germany was terminated by the administration of the university. At the runic conference in Denmark the runologists signed a petition aimed at the university administration to ask that this prestigious position be maintained. The roots of the academic study of runes at that institution go back to the Grimms.

Michael: Is the founding of the Woodharrow Institute for Germanic and Runic Studies in some ways a response to the current situation regarding these areas of study?

Stephen: The Woodharrow Institute is not only a response to this current situation in academia, but also to shortcomings, as I see them, in the “esoteric subculture.” The Institute stands apart from the current “magickal subculture” in that it is informed by, and on its most basic level must conform to, all the legitimate rules and regulations of scientific procedure – all of which are beneficial to the overall process if kept in perspective. These methods infiltrate our way of approaching esoteric areas, or areas of inner work, as well. As has always been the case with the Rune-Gild – which in the future will be re-established within the context of the Woodharrow Institute – we start with what is objectively known and move from that base into an exploration of the darker corners of the unknown.

So the Woodharrow Institute is intended to meet a challenge from two ends of a pole: it is to bring an objective and scientific basis to the beginning of inner work, and to re-envision the final purpose or aim of intellectual work itself as a completion of the self. It is to bring objective standards to a morass of subjectivity (the occultizoid culture) and to bring inner purpose to the often sterile and pointless pursuits of academia. This is a formidable challenge, to be sure. Yet this is what makes it worth undertaking.

Michael: What role do you see the Institute ultimately fulfilling, and how might it interact with more established or formal academic institutions?

Stephen: It is clear from what has already been said that the academic discipline of runology, as well as those of older Germanic studies and Indo-European studies, etc., are in trouble. If scientific runology is left to its normal cycle of intellectual fashion, there is no harm done. The radical traditional runologist would be free as always to partake of the fruits of that intellectual labour and have his inner work enriched by it. However, if the traditional academic fields are uprooted and marginalised to extinction then this would no longer be possible.

The Woodharrow Institute is designed to be a refuge for the academic tradition – and to foster to some extent a sort of guerrilla scholarship. The basic work for the Institute must not in any way be compromised by “occult thinking”; it should be entirely historical and academic. We will “play the scholarly game” according to its rule and according to its standards. Then and only then can the Institute fulfill another of its major tasks: to act as a “think tank” for those interested in inner work. The fact that the word “academic” is used to describe only that kind of work which is “purely scientific,” is in a sense a misuse of the term. Plato’s school, the Academy, from which our modern use of the term is ultimately derived, did not have as its final aim the production of scientific data limited to what can be quantified and objectively known. That was only a stepping stone to the true purpose of the school, which was the transformation of the individual into a higher form of being – in other words, the final “product” was the completed soul. This whole ultimate purpose has been lost in the modern academic institution, except perhaps where secret pockets of scholars might preserve it unofficially.

The Woodharrow Institute seeks to restore the complete model of the old Academy in a Germanic context. As such its ultimate purpose is transformational, and not merely “scientific” as understood in modern parlance. Participants in, or members of, the Institute will, however, not be required to pursue this inner work as any sort of prerequisite for membership. The Institute will develop a full range of areas of interest and research.

It is hoped that the Institute will in the future be able to establish good relations with mainstream academia. We could offer practical programs in language study, experimental archeology and, most importantly, experimental or experiential ideology. Our mission in mainstream academia would be merely to restore traditional areas of study where they have been lost and to help retain them where they are in jeopardy.

The Institute then has two main purposes in the world:

1) to act as a refuge for displaced scientific work in the fields of runology, Germanic studies, and general Indo-European studies; and 2) to act as a think tank for individuals interested in making use of the scientific work as a basis for inner development. The Woodharrow Institute is a weapon in the struggle against both modernism and occultizoid subjectivism.

Michael: In the ancient Germanic cosmology, a cyclical dynamic exists where the old order collapses and is torn apart from both within and without, but this is a necessary step that precedes the unfolding of a new beginning. Is it a stretch to look at contemporary events in this light? And if not, what is the best way for the aware individual to approach the present situation?

Stephen: It is my contention that traditional views are eternally valid and ever-meaningful. The Germanic cosmology, ragnarök, which can actually refer to the beginnings, middle or end of the cosmological process, involves at the end of the process certain ages. These are referred to in the poems of the Elder Edda with terms such as the “Wolf Age,” which refers to the “greedy,” “covetous,” or “appetitive” nature of the age. Clearly the world as a whole is in a “Wolf-Age.” The individual, and certain groups of elect, can, as Julius Evola put it, “ride the tiger.” This means that certain individuals and groups can, exercising their will against the grain of consensus reality as informed by Tradition, lay the personal and transpersonal foundations for the next (inevitable) cyclical development. This next cycle will (naturally) be more imbued with Tradition, as the developmental wheel turns.

Portions of this interview with Dr. Flowers have previously appeared in the British journal Rûna: Exploring Northern European Myth, Mystery and Magic, available from BM: Sorcery, London WC1N 3XX, UK. To learn more about the Woodharrow Institute, or to request a catalog of books available from Rûna-Raven Press, contact PO Box 557, Smithville, Texas 78957, USA.

 

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Michael Moynihan is a writer, artist, and publisher from New England. He is co-editor of the annual journal TYR: Myth – Culture – Religion, published in Atlanta, Georgia. He regularly contributes to cultural and music periodicals worldwide, and is also the North American Editor of Rûna. He may be reached at: dominion@pshift.com.

 

Edred, Yrmin-Drighten
(N.S. 1 / Spring 1993, pp.1-4)

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Over the years there have been those who have bemoaned what they feel to be the neglect of the Rune-Gild. That the Gild has not led them by the hand in their quests for Runic Initiation. This dispite the fact that before I wrote Futhark (and the subsequent Runic volumes culminating in The Nine Doors of Midgard) there were no authentic guides to such Runic endeavors. When I began my Runic Quest I had only the tradition itself, my growing knowledge of the Germanic culture and religion, the Old-Man HimSelf and my own Self and its wode to guide me. I think, in many ways this made me a much stronger Initiate than I would have otherwise been- and I know it made me a stronger Runer. I learned from the primeaval sources as much as possible- because that was all there was at the time. However, I am also well aware of my place in the Germanic rebirth and what my wyrd is in this matter. No one could be expected to follow my path exactly. However, there are aspects of my personal path from which I would want all who endeavor to know the Runes, and learn to use them and their power, to be able to gain. I also see that others have, and continue to expect that others will, forge new pathways within the tradition, and within the flexible structure of the Gild, on their own.
The Gild program is carefully designed to give the mainstays of the tradition, to give the leads for finding more, and to give the methods of inspiration so that the Runes and their power can be made truly the full possession of
the individual Runer. One must work to know and understand the Runes. Such knowledge and understanding is not a matter of learning the doctrines and teachings of others by rote and having faith in them, but of actual experience and knowledge of the Runes themselves. This is done through a curriculum of activity such as the one outlined in The Nine Doors of Midgard. Information that has been simply inserted in your brain through reading words out of a book will not, under any circumstances, give you Rune-knowledge. No one, not even the old Stretch HimSelf, can (or will) “give” you this knowledge and understanding. You have to win it for yourself. In fact, of course, it is true that no one can truly give anything to anyone- at least not anything really worth having.
Worthy things must be worked for. With all this being said, I do also understand the potential the Runes have for holding the interest of those drawn to the greater Troth, or the more”religious” aspects of the Northern Way. In ancient times the Runes were the
exclusive provence of much less than one percent of the population of the North. Now with widespread literacy and universal education (or what now passes for it) the interest in the basic kind of knowledge represented by the Runes and the general ability to deal with it has grown. But the true knowledge and understanding of the mysteries which the Runes are is no greater now than it was then- in fact it may be somewhat less. The purpose of the Rune-Gild is not to promote knowledge of runestaves - those quaint characters used for writing by our ancestors - but to promote understanding of the Runes themselves- the mysteries which the staves both conceal and reveal. this understanding can, however, only come with an evolution or development in the actual being of the
Runer. Understanding is not the mere storage of data in your brain- the lowest function of the hidge, the lesser task of Huginn. At the same time the Runes are the keys to this development of being- how this works will be taught directly to those who follow the NINE DOORS curriculum. The Gild is not here to indoctrinate you, although that is what about ninty percent of people who write to the Gild expect and secretly (or not so secretly) desire. The Gild provides a method for you to discover the mysteries yourself. The secrets are in the methods- and in the very essence and identity of the Gild.

© Edred, Reprinted with permission .