Table of Contents
Drinking in the Name of Odin: The Story and Significance of the Sumbel
The Icelandic Sagas: Literature Classics or Reliable Historical Sources?
Giving Blot: Singing the Song of Sacrifice
By Robert Ward
Asatru, as a nature religion, recognizes and celebrates the turning of the year's wheel at the solstices, equinoxes, and other seasonal and social festivals. At these times of great celebration during the year, Asatruar come together to give blot to the gods and goddesses of the Aesir and Vanir. The word "blot" is the Old Norse word for sacrifice, and probably originally meant to "strengthen (the god)." Sacrifice in Asatru is not an obligation, it is a gift where the folk offer the blessings of Nature they have benefited from with the gods.
The Nature of what is offered to strengthen the gods and goddesses and our bonds with them varies according to the god being given blot. Modern Asatruar generally give mead as an offering. Mead, the honey wine so popular with the Norsemen, has become a sacramental drink.
Mead has a very important mythological origin among the Germanic and Teutonic peoples. When the Aesir and Vanir came together to make peace, it was celebrated with a feast. Folk custom speaks of such celebration feasts having their own special drink made of the juice of berries that are chewed by its participants and then spit into a communal cauldron. In the past spit was used as a fermentation agent. The myths of the peace celebration of the Aesir and Vanir describe them spitting in the communal cauldron, and out of this was created the being Kvasir. Kvasir was killed by two dwarves and his blood was mixed with honey to create the divine mead - the inspiration of poetry.
In the past, from what the Icelandic Sagas tell us, beyond the ritual drinking of mead, the blot was a time of feasting. In the Dictionary of Northern Mythology, Rudolf Simek tells us "the sacrifice of food was one of the most important forms of sacrifice among Germanic peoples, in which the slaughtered animal was eaten by the sacrificing community." As this quote tells us, any animal sacrifice for a blot was for a communal feast, not for some bloodlust as the Christian propagandists would have one believe.
While today it is exceedingly rare for animal sacrifice, as not many people are leading a farming life where such things are practical, food sacrifice is still given to the gods - often a plate of the various foods served at the celebration feast. Other offerings of a more individual nature are also made, be it flowers to a goddess or tokens representing a gods powers and attributes.
Blot is often given outdoors whenever possible. The offerings are places on or before the horg, the Old Norse term for an alter. The term "horg" is most often used for an alter built of stones, though it is also used for natural alters such as a boulder or tree trunk. Once the site for the horg is set, the area is cleared of anything that might interfere with the blot. Often times Thor is called upon to protect the blot. The god or goddess being given blot is then invited to the circle by their names and attributes. Mead and any other offerings are then given. The sacrificial mead is poured into a ritual bowl, and with a twig called a "hautteinn" the mead is sprinkled on the gathered folk embodying the blessings of the god or goddess. The last of the mead in the bowli is then offered to the spirits of the place.
The presence and pleasure of a god at a blot can be seen as well as unseen. Signs can be seen outside oneself by a buildup of wind, or a sudden calm, signs visible in the clouds, the presence of particular animals such as ravens, and changes in the weather. Signs can be seen inside oneself as in the presence of energy up the spine or other parts of the body, strong emotions, or a particularly heightened clarity of the senses.
Drinking in the Name of Odin: The Story and Significance of the Sumbel
By Robert Ward
You have probably already participated in a sumbel, and just didn't know it. What is a sumbel then? It is a toasting ritual which has its roots in the Viking Age. As part of the communal feasts and sacrifices of the Northern European peoples, there was also included a toasting ritual made to the gods, goddesses, and ancestors.
"Raising a horn," a poetic term for giving a toast (as the horns of both bulls and rams were used as drinking vessels) can perhaps be traced back to the Stone Age as one stone carving shows a woman holding up a horn. Julius Caesar recorded how the ancient Germans often used the horns of aurochs, the now extinct wild bull of Europe, for ceremonial drinking.
The term "sumbel" is associated with feasting, and in the epic poem Beowulf it is used as the name for a drinking vessel. The traditional ceremonial drink used in a sumbel was mead. Mead, a fermented honey wine, has a very important mythological origin among the Germanic and Teutonic peoples. When the Aesir and Vanir came together to make peace, it was celebrated with a feast. Folk custom speaks of such celebration feasts having their own special drink made of the juice of berries that are chewed by its participants and then spit into a communal cauldron. In the past spit was used as a fermentation agent. The myths of the peace celebration of the Aesir and Vanir describe them spitting in the communal cauldron, and out of this was created the being Kvasir. Kvasir was killed by two dwarves and his blood was mixed with honey to create the divine mead - the inspiration of poetry.
Many stories of ceremonial feasts from the Icelandic Sagas tell of the halls being hallowed for the event by a ritual toast. Snorri Sturlason mentions in the Heimskringla the three toasts of Jarl Sigurd; the first to Odin for power and victory, the next to Njord and Frey for peace and good seasons, and the last one to the memory of dead ancestors.
It is from such sources that the modern day sumbel has evolved. Today, the sumbel has for some people become a strictly formalized ritual drinking of three toasts - first to a god, second to an ancestor, and the third a poem, song, oath, or boast. Others may basically start with a similar order for their first three toasts, but then continue to pass the horn until the mead is gone.
A formal three round sumbel often takes inspiration of tales from the Valkyrie in Valhalla and the story of Beowulf, and each individual who takes part in the sumbel has their own horn which is filled by a woman in the group as many of the feasts described in the sagas are held by noblemen whose wives or marriageable daughters poured the mead for their most honored guests.
Many sumbels today are far more relaxed, a circle around the campfire and a passing of a communal horn, with toasts made in any order that the spirit moves one. A communal celebration, the sumbel is a religious rite that includes all participants, gives them all a voice in the proceedings, and ties the whole group together as they each hail the toast each other has made, thus learning a little more about the group they are in and the gods they worship as Asatruar.
The Icelandic Sagas: Literature Classics or Reliable Historical Sources?
By Jim Silva
For those interested in the customs and religious practices of pre-Christian Northern Europe, a wide variety of sources can, for the most part, be easily consulted. A quick jaunt to the local library or book store, usually one which specializes in used copies, is likely all that will be needed in order to obtain books that detail many aspects of life in pagan Europe. Of course some of these will be better than others, but over time one can accumulate a rather extensive collection of very informative source material. Sadly, the best books are often quite expensive and difficult to find - as many professional and amateur historians have frustratingly found while on their quest for knowledge. With this in mind, the question of whether the Icelandic Sagas are worth exploring may arise. While they are entertaining and many of them are not hard to find, are they a good source of reliable historical information?
At first glance it might be easy to dismiss the various Icelandic sagas as a unique form of heroic literature designed to entertain readers with exciting exploits of Viking heroes and supernatural occurrences, similar to the modern sword and sorcery books that overflow from the shelves of most bookstores, but this is hardly the case. Many of the most well-respected authors on the subject of heathen Europe regularly reference the sagas in their works. One that quickly comes to mind, and who should be known to anyone who has researched pagan history, is H.R. Ellis Davidson.
Although a number of prominent historians, such as Davidson, frequently use the sagas in their research, this hasn’t always been the case. There are still a surprising number of modern historians and social scientists who see the sagas more as literature, and thus too inaccurate to be of much use as a historical source. This particular view of sagas solely as literature is mostly attributable to a group of nineteenth and early twentieth century Icelandic scholars who are now collectively referred to as the "Icelandic School." Their position first can be traced to the nineteenth century German scholar Konrad Maurer, then later to the early twentieth century Icelandic professor Bjorn M. Olsen. The position of these two men was that since the sagas were the product of a long oral tradition which, once written down, took on the form more resembling a novel than a chronicle (which were, at the time, highly regarded sources among historians), they were meant as works of fiction and therefore were extremely unreliable. This position was later strongly lobbied by Olsen’s protege, Sigurdur Nordal, and his contemporaries in the "Icelandic School." Because of the relentless efforts of the members of this group of scholars, the position of these men eventually became the predominant view of researchers. The acceptance of this view reached its pinnacle during the 1960’s, and is the reason there are still some scholars reluctant to use the sagas in their research today.
Even though the writings of the "Icelandic School" are largely responsible for sagas being ignored in some quarters, modern research - as well as recent discoveries in other fields such as archeology - have proven the prejudicial views of the "Icelandic School" to be narrow-minded. After all, debate over small issues, such as whether or not a particular love-triangle really occurred or whether certain characters were killed exactly as written, doesn’t significantly alter the overall picture of everyday life in Viking Era Iceland that can be obtained by reading the sagas, though these were the types of things scholars argued about at the time "The Icelandic School" was formulating and advancing their position. A more contemporary view of the sagas by researchers can be summed up by Jesse L. Byock, who states in his book, Medieval Iceland: Society, Sagas, and Power: "The sagas are indisputably a major literature. They are at the same time the indigenous social documentation of a medieval people and, as such, they contribute a wealth of information about the functioning of a tradition-bound island culture."
Classifications of Sagas
The tales that are collectively referred to as sagas actually consist of a collection of distinctive literatures that are organized into several sub-categories. Among these categories are the Icelandic or family sagas, the bishops’ sagas, the Sturlunga sagas, king’s sagas (konungasogur), and the legendary sagas (fornaldarsogur). Each type highlights various aspects of Icelandic life over different historical periods.
The bishop’s sagas focus on the lives of Iceland’s prominent Christian missionaries and religious figures. These sagas provide information on Iceland’s conversion to Christianity, the establishment of Iceland’s two bishoprics, and the role of priests in Icelandic society. The Sturlunga sagas were written by, and chronicled the stories of, the powerful chieftains of the Sturlung family, of which the famed writer Snorri Sturluson was a member. Both of these types of sagas are often referred to as contemporary sagas because the twelfth and thirteenth century events they describe took place at about the same time they were written, as opposed to the family sagas which tell of events from the Viking age (793 - 1066 c.e.). For obvious reasons, those researching heathen practices or life in a pagan society will find these sagas virtually useless in that pursuit, though they are full of historical information regarding the periods they cover and are routinely cited by scholars researching those particular eras.
A type of saga that would be of interest to researchers of the heathen age would be the fornaldar sagas (sagas of ancient times), or as they are sometimes called, the legendary sagas. These sagas tell of events that occurred long before the ninth century settlement of Iceland; events that were believed to have occurred, in some cases, as early as the fifth century and considered to be ancient even by the writers who compiled them. An example of this type is The Saga of King Hrolf Kraki, which contains many similarities to the Old English epic, Beowulf. Other examples can be found in the beginning sections of Sturlason’s Heimskringla (even though Heimskringla is technically considered one of the kings sagas), as well as the famous Volsungs Saga. Though these sagas can be informative, due to their age, the information in them is naturally going to be less accurate as a historical source.
Even though the beginning of the aforementioned Heimskringla (lives of the kings of Norway) blends ancient events with mythology in much the same way as the fornaldar sagas, it falls into the category of the kings sagas because it is a collection of individual sagas covering the lives of the Norwegian kings from ancient times up to the presiding king at the time when Snorri wrote and compiled this massive collection. Although there are other kings sagas in existence, Heimskringla is arguably the best example of the type.
The many tales classified as Icelandic sagas (Islendinga-sogur, "The Sagas of the Icelanders"), also commonly referred to as the family sagas, are by far the most popular, most translated, and for modern researchers of the pagan past, the most useful of the various forms of saga writing. For the most part, the family sagas concentrate on the period from the mid-tenth to the early-eleventh century, though many of them briefly include information from the time of settlement in order to give a backdrop to the events that will occur during the main part of the saga. As can be gleamed from their classification as family sagas, the focus of these sagas is on the lives of various families, whether they be ordinary farmers (Njal’s Saga) or chieftains (Hrafnkel’s Saga), and how they interact with each other, especially during turbulent times. The plots usually revolve around ways in which the characters react to overly ambitious or threatening characters, the legalities of various actions and the ensuing legal procedures brought on by these events, courting and marriage, and often the development of feuds.
Origins of the Sagas
The family sagas were written by various Icelandic writers, the identities of most of whom are unknown to us. They were written primarily between the early-twelfth century and the mid-fourteenth century in West Norse, the vernacular language shared by Iceland and Norway during that time. This dialect evolved from what, in medieval times, was called the Danish Tongue (Dansk Tunga), the common language spoken by all Scandinavians at the time of Iceland’s settlement.
The sagas served a dual purpose in Icelandic society at the time they were written. They were used as both a form of entertainment and education. Surprisingly, saga writing was even encouraged by the church as a form of entertainment, with hopes of supplanting other forms of leisure activities which it deemed sinful (such as dancing). Because of the social conditions in Iceland at the time, where there were no towns or villages, entertaining, especially in the winter, was done at home and the sagas became extremely popular. Many of the great oral traditions were transcribed into literature and, because Iceland was young enough to remember its origins rather clearly, the sagas contained many historical facts and details about everyday life. To quote Magnus Magnusson and Hermann Palsson, two writers whom have translated a number of the sagas into English, "That is how saga writing started: a unique blend of entertainment and learning, fact and fantasy, history and story-telling, literary endeavor and family pride, pagan past and Christian present."
The high literacy rate in Iceland at the time also contributed to the widespread popularity of saga writing. Literacy was not something reserved for the upper class; schools were set up throughout the country to benefit everyone. Records show that a school in Holar, in the north of Iceland, had amongst its students women and a carpenter, along with many farmers (who made up the largest segment of society in Iceland). In fact, the aforementioned carpenter was regarded as being highly proficient in Latin. This policy of public education produced a large reservoir of people with the capability of converting the oral traditions into literature.
The prevailing political conditions in Iceland during the period of saga writing also played a significant role in their popularity. During the thirteenth century the majority of power was held by five tyrannical and powerful chieftains who had the backing of the church and the crown of Norway. These chieftains ruthlessly imposed their will on the weaker Icelandic chieftains and even on the Althing itself. The people of Iceland, who had been free since the land was settled, were now, for the first time in their history, faced with a society that was becoming more feudal in nature. The threat of Norway encroaching on their sovereignty was very real. It was evident to many Icelanders that it was only a matter of time before they would be under Norwegian rule (which happened, in 1262). It was only natural that these people would look back to a time which they perceived to be freer and to romanticize it, along with the people of that era. After all, it was those ancestors who fled the oppression of Norway to carve out and settle a new nation; one that had no king or royal family, where everyone was nominally equal, and one where a man could become successful through his own efforts and hard work. The people who had the strength and courage to do this would naturally seem like heroes to their descendants, who were faced with losing everything their forefathers had built.
The Sagas as Historical Documents
Despite the wealth of factual, historical information they contain, we cannot forget that the sagas were also meant to be entertaining. Therefore, it stands to reason that some of the events described probably did not happen exactly as written. However, these discrepancies are usually matters of minor importance and do not alter the overall view of life during the periods covered. In the past it was not uncommon for scholars to debate such small issues as whether or not the Icelander Kjarten Olafsson had an affair with Princess Ingibjorg of Norway as described in Laxdaela Saga, or whether the skirmish at Vinheithr in Egil’s Saga was an accurate account of the tenth century battle at Brunanburh in England. To some, the accuracy of these details may be important questions, but when considered in the context of the general overview of life in that era provided by the sagas, possible fabrications of small details are almost a non-issue.
Usually the biggest discrepancies in the sagas involve the nature of various figures covered in the tales. It is not uncommon for some minor characters to appear in one saga as loyal and heroic, then turn up in another with an altogether different personality (i.e. Hrut, who is featured in Njal’s Saga and Laxdaela Saga). This can be attributed to the fact that the oral traditions of one family would naturally differ from those of another when describing an important event, especially if the two families were on opposite sides of a conflict. Despite these differences, it is clear that whether or not Hrut’s character was portrayed accurately in one particular saga as opposed to the other doesn’t greatly effect the information that can be obtained when reading about him. For instance, whether or not he was truly impotent due to a curse put on him by the queen of Norway, which in turn led to his wife divorcing him, doesn’t diminish the knowledge that modern readers can obtain about divorce procedures in tenth century Iceland from reading these accounts. To disregard this information simply because witchcraft is an element used in fictional tales is a gross injustice to historical research.
Two of the earliest examples of saga writing, both of which would be regularly referenced by the later writers of the family sagas, are the Landnamabok (The Book of Settlements), and Islendingabok (The Book of Icelanders). Though not written in the style of the later family sagas, the importance of these two works and their influence on the later classics cannot be stressed enough. Landnamabok, originally compiled at the beginning of the twelfth century, is a detailed account of the first settlers of Iceland, district by district. It was intended to be a record of Iceland’s settlement and as a genealogy of the settlers. Landnamabok served as a regular source of information for many later saga writers, especially those writing the many family sagas. It also provided them with a means of keeping the genealogical data of a particular protagonist or other characters they were chronicling accurate. Islendingabok is an overview of Icelandic history of the years 870 - 1120. Among the events described in Islendingabok are Iceland’s settlement, the adoption of Iceland’s first oral laws, the founding of the Althing, the subsequent reform of the laws, the settlement of Greenland and the discovery of Vinland (North America). It is much smaller than Landnamabok, but it is nevertheless an invaluable resource for historians.
One of the earliest family sagas is Greenland Saga, well known to many as part of The Vinland Sagas, which tells of the Norse discovery of North America. Many of the early sagas, though informative and entertaining, are considered to be rather raw and primitive examples of the genre in comparison to the later classics of the thirteenth century.
Njal’s Saga, Egil’s Saga, Laxdaela Saga, are great examples of saga writing from the later period, which is now sometimes referred to as Golden Age of saga writing (roughly 1230 - 1280 c.e.). These great sagas are regarded as literary classics worldwide and have been translated numerous times over the years.
There are close to forty family sagas surviving today. These sagas vary greatly in length; some, such as Hrafnkel’s Saga, are roughly twenty pages when produced in modern format, while a few, like Njal’s Saga, are more than 300. The family sagas are preserved in a wide variety of manuscripts, none of which are the originals. The earliest are believed to be from the mid-thirteenth century, although it is possible that some predate 1200. Most are dated from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries and are preserved in vellum books. Some of the later surviving examples, which are written on paper, are from the sixteenth century or later. Unfortunately, not all the sagas survived; Landnamabok, for example, names several that are now lost. Overall, however, the Icelanders did a commendable job of preserving their saga legacy as a large number of sagas have survived to be meticulously studied by present day scholars.
The fact that many of the sagas came to be recorded on a number of manuscripts has naturally presented problems for modern historians and translators because, as the sagas were re-transcribed over the years by different writers, each of them would often make slight alterations. Sometimes this was done with good intentions, and modern scholars are able to tell that these men were consulting other sources they felt to be more accurate. However, there are also known cases of writers making changes simply to portray one of their ancestors in a better light. Due to these discrepancies, there is often dissent among modern researchers as to which of the sources are closest to the lost originals.
Stylistic Devices of the Sagas
Another important aspect of the sagas that merits mention is the writing style. Many readers will notice stylistic differences which set the sagas apart from other similar genres. As the scholar W.P Ker states in his Essays on Medieval Literature, "The sagas differ from all other 'heroic' literatures in the larger proportion that they give to the meanness of reality." This can be seen in the harsh, direct style used to describe characters’ actions, particularly killings. This approach is also evidenced in that many of the characters who are mean, vengeful, and vindictive in nature are also highly regarded for their many successes. A good example of this is Snorri the Priest, a chieftain who figures quite prominently in a number of sagas.
The majority of the Icelandic sagas cover events that happened during the Viking age (some two to three hundred years prior). Naturally, most of the stories take place in Iceland, but it is a common re-occurrence within the sagas for the protagonist and some of the other central characters to make voyages to the royal courts of Norway or Denmark, where they gain fame through brave and heroic actions, eventually returning to Iceland as celebrities. Of course, this new found fame often leads to jealousy at home and, predictably, to greater conflict.
After reading a number of sagas two common themes, which are used quite often and effectively, can be noticed. The theme most regularly repeated in the sagas is that of one’s excessive pride leading them to tragedy. Njal’s Saga and Grettir’s Saga are two excellent examples of sagas eloquently detailing how a man’s unwillingness to compromise or bear attacks on his or his family’s honor leads to disaster. Another common theme in the sagas is the love triangle. In a number of sagas we see variations on the same theme, which can be summarized as follows: an Icelander travels abroad, leaving the woman he loves behind awaiting his return. Traveling with him is another Icelander who has his heart set on the same woman. Eventually, for various reasons, the woman’s lover must remain abroad while his companion returns home and steals the woman’s affections by use of lies and manipulation. Predictably, this leads to conflict once the other man returns home and learns what has transpired in his absence. The most notable saga utilizing this theme is Laxdaela Saga, which is considered to be one of the finest Icelandic sagas.
Another point of interest is that while action scenes in the sagas are usually described in subdued terms, great emphasis is often placed on detail when describing things such as terrain or the interior of a hall. However, upon analyzing this contradiction, it is not at all as odd a phenomenon as it may seem. It is necessary to keep in mind that these tales were written at a time when, even though hundreds of years after the Viking Age, killings were still routine and feuds similar to those described in Njal’s Saga were still occurring among the prominent chieftains. It is reasonable to assume that most Icelanders living at the time the sagas were written had seen people killed and therefore needed no graphic description in order to visualize the result of a violent death. That’s not to say that killings had become mundane to the Icelanders, but they certainly weren’t an extraordinary event either. In contrast, it would be the description of a rich farmer’s hall or the royal court in Norway that would have been of great interest to the Icelanders when the sagas were written, because these were the things many of them had probably never seen. For the same reason, vivid descriptions of terrain, such as that described in The Vinland Sagas, were eagerly read because so few people had journeyed to the new world and the saga writer knew readers would be titillated.
There are also certain phrases and manners of interaction that are unique to the sagas. After reading a few of them, one will notice that sexual encounters are regularly described, almost as an aside, with "...he enjoyed her company," or some variation thereof. Insults almost always come in the nature of innuendoes of a sexual nature, most commonly regarding acts of homosexuality or bestiality, which we know from other sources were among the most inflammatory of insults. A memorable example of this occurs in Njal’s Saga when Njal’s son, Skarp-Hedin, insults some chieftains at the Althing, one of whom he accuses of having had intercourse with a horse. The same kind of insult is featured in Ale-Hood Saga, where a man named Broddi makes the same insinuation about the chieftain Thorkel Fringe. Insults this severe in nature no doubt made for entertaining reading at the time the sagas were written. Such verbal attacks against one’s honor are featured often and usually lead to someone’s death. This can be readily seen in Egil’s Saga, Grettir’s Saga, and most notably, Njal’s Saga - where perceived slights to people’s honor led to a long and bloody feud.
One of the more amusing stylistic devices in the sagas is the often used comment, "Even though I know this will turn out badly for me, I will..." Of course, the negative outcome is a foregone conclusion, but the writer uses this phrase to add drama and suspense to the story. The statement, "Even though I know it will turn out badly for me," is so tantalizing that as soon as the reader sees it, they know something dramatic is going to happen and the suspense naturally builds until the climax of that particular scene. Although readers, both past and present, recognize these formulaic devices, critics can appreciate them because they often still have the effect intended by the writer and they help to set the sagas apart from other genres.
The saga as a whole is also set up in a distinct manner that may seem odd to modern readers. The beginning chapters serve as a prologue of sorts and usually briefly describe a variety of characters covering many generations. Once one gets into the main body of the text, the part that features the protagonist, it can be seen that the prologue served to describe some of protagonist’s relevant ancestors and those of his enemies. This background information helps us to understand some of the decisions made by the characters, as well as why some families may seem to hold hostilities toward others even though there appears to be peace between them. The last section of the saga usually serves as an epilogue and describes the aftermath of the conflict presented in the main body. In some of the longer sagas, such as Njal’s Saga, the epilogue can be quite lengthy and as interesting as the central text itself.
Modern Importance of the Sagas
Today the sagas still serve the same two purposes that they did when they were first written; entertainment and education. They remain today every bit as entertaining as they were to the Icelanders of the twelfth century and they can still be read for knowledge, although for a different type than that which was originally intended. At the time they were produced, the sagas were meant to serve as morality tales as much as they were meant to entertain. They showed how traits such as pride, jealousy, greed, and dishonesty could easily bring about the downfall of a man or entire family. While these truths are still as valid today as they were then, for educational purposes the sagas are better suited to modern readers for the insights they give into the everyday lives of people living in pre-Christian times. As Icelandic scholar Sigurdur Nordal (ironically, one of the leaders of the "Icelandic School") writes in his Historical Element, "Not only through their access to older written sources, but in certain other ways too, the writers of the Family Sagas were better off than might be expected when describing times so long past. The changes in the social and material conditions, in housing, clothes, weapons, seamanship, and so on, were not very remarkable from the tenth to the thirteenth century, and obvious anachronisms in such descriptions are rare. The writers were quite conscious of the distance in time, and they had a considerable historical sense."
Within the sagas lie vast amounts of information neatly tucked away in brief snippets, simply waiting for readers to come across. If one reads carefully, without getting too caught up in the story itself (which is sometimes hard to do), many interesting pieces of information can be discovered. For instance, by reading Grettir’s Saga we can learn about the interior of a burial mound (chapter 18). Hrafnkel’s Saga makes mention of Hrafnkel being a priest of Frey and infers that Frey was widely worshipped in Iceland (chapter 2), and in Eirik’s Saga we are able to read about the activities of a seer (chapter 4). These are but three short examples, from among hundreds, of information that can be pulled from the sagas. While it is true that some of this information may be flawed, most notably in some of the descriptions of sorcery and witchcraft, a great deal of it has been shown, when cross-referenced with other sources of information (such as findings in the field of archeology), to be quite accurate, especially when dealing with common activities like the making of coal, attending the Althing, feast etiquette and other similar matters.
It is fortunate that the prejudicial view of the sagas held by the "Icelandic School" is losing its grip on modern students of the genre. As acceptance of the sagas as a historical source which can greatly supplement established sources grows, more scholars will have the opportunity to discover what a rich source of information the sagas can be.
Snorri Sturlasson: The Legend Behind the Legends
By Jim Silva
Few men come along who have the ability to alter the course of events on an international level. Fewer still have existed whose actions have reverberated down through the centuries to influence the manner in which people view the world. Sadly, one such individual has become obscured over time even though his legacy, though largely overlooked, is widespread. His name is Snorri Sturlasson and in his lifetime he was known as a poet, writer, historian, and more significantly as one of the most powerful chieftains in medieval Iceland, and his life was every bit as interesting as the subjects he wrote about.
Snorri Sturlasson was born in 1179 in Hvamm, an estate in western Iceland. He was the third child of Sturla Thordarson and Gudny Boedvarsdottir, both of whom came from distinguished families. Snorri’s father Sturla descended from Snorri the Priest, a very powerful chieftain who was mentioned in many of the Icelandic sagas. Snorri’s mother was a descendant of the famous Viking-poet Egil Skallagrimsson, known to us from Egil’s Saga, which, perhaps not coincidentally, was written by Snorri.
When Snorri was three years of age he was sent to live at Oddi, where the powerful chieftain Jon Loftsson would raise him as his foster-son. This was a common custom among Icelanders and was often done to strengthen bonds between families, much in the same way that weddings were arranged. John Loftsson was the most powerful chieftain in Iceland at the time Snorri went to live with him. He was known to be very wise and his counsel was highly regarded throughout Iceland. As the scholar Einar Sveinsson states in The Age of the Sturlungs: Icelandic Civilization in the Thirteenth Century: "For all his ambition he was a man of moderation, and as he was also the most equitable of men, he was the great peacemaker in the country in his time."
Oddi was a large farming estate and, in a time when Iceland was already renowned for its educational centers, was well-known as a great center of learning. Jon Loftsson’s aristocratic family was descended from Saemunder the Learned, a powerful chieftain and scholar who was most responsible for the estate’s prestige. Reportedly, it was Saemunder who, after studying abroad in France at the "Black College," the forerunner of the present day Sorbonne, brought back many texts and established a sizeable library at Oddi. These works were primarily in Latin and Saemunder had them transcribed onto vellum pages. He also authored many works, including a Latin summary of the Norwegian kings, which is now lost. His reputation as a scholar, writer, and compiler was so entrenched in Iceland that in 1662, when the manuscript subsequently named the Codex Regius ended up in the possession of King Frederick III of Denmark, it was widely assumed, though most scholars now say mistakenly, that it was written by Saemunder. The Codex Regius is the source for most of the Eddic poems now in existence and thus the Poetic Edda is sometimes also called Saemunder’s Edda.
While living at Oddi, Snorri was surrounded by scholars and had access to the great library there. During this time he studied both classical and Christian mythology, as well as Scandinavian and Icelandic history - including the pagan past. It can also be assumed that, through his relationship with Jon Loftsson, it was then that that he first began to develop his political acumen. Snorri was apparently well liked by his foster family because he continued to live there after Jon Loftsson died in 1197, at which time Snorri was eighteen years of age.
At the age of twenty, Snorri’s caretakers found him a suitable wife. A marriage was arranged between Snorri and Herdis, the daughter of an extremely wealthy chieftain named Bersi who lived in Hvammur. Following the wedding, the couple returned to Oddi and lived with Snorri’s foster family until the death of Herdis’s father three years later, in 1202. After Bersi’s death, they moved to Borg and took over his farm. Their marriage, though not a happy one, produced two children before it ended four years later when Snorri took possession of Reykholt, a large estate in Borgarfjord in western Iceland. In the years following his failed marriage, Snorri had a number of romantic affairs. Three of these relationships produced illegitimate children – one son and two daughters.
Reykholt was bequeathed to Snorri by his uncle, Magnus Palsson, in 1206. Upon taking possession of the farm and becoming a chieftain, Snorri devoted his next twenty years to enlarging the estate and becoming one of the richest men in the land. He had many buildings erected on his property over the years, such as more barns, banquet halls, and a church. He also had a warm pool built, which was fed from a nearby hot spring through a canal. A tunnel led from the pool to the house so that members of his household wishing to bathe wouldn’t have to be exposed to cold weather. For protection, he eventually had a large wall built around the estate, as well.
He earned a reputation as a very shrewd and powerful chieftain, amassing large estates throughout Iceland, and many people were eager to have him as an ally. However, he also developed a reputation as greedy and opportunistic and routinely shifted alliances if it was in his financial or political best interests. Nevertheless, he was respected enough to be elected, in 1215, as Lawspeaker of the Althing, the annual gathering at which all the chieftains met, laws and lawsuits were discussed, and judgements rendered. The position of Lawspeaker was very prestigious and illustrates the regard with which Snorri was held among his contemporaries.
His primary literary interest in those years was skaldic poetry, a sophisticated style of poetry categorized by its use of "court-meter." He was well known as a poet, even though the art form was dying out, and had a large collection of skaldic poetry at his home.
After serving as Lawspeaker for only one three year term, he stepped down and accepted an invitation to visit the Norwegian court of King Haakon IV. While in Norway, Snorri got to know both the king and his powerful and ambitious half-brother Skuli. It was during this time that Snorri committed one of the most controversial and, some would say, treasonous acts of his life. King Haakon had been formulating a plan to bring Iceland under Norwegian rule and was, in fact, preparing to send over fleet of ships. Snorri persuaded him not to invade but, in exchange for a favorable position in the new power structure, Snorri agreed to help Haakon in his endeavor by convincing some of the more powerful Icelandic chieftains to ally themselves with the Norwegian crown and, in effect, forming a puppet-state under the control of King Haakon.
Once he returned to Iceland in 1220 and realized that convincing the other powerful chieftains, who were vital to the success of plan, would be more difficult than anticipated, he only pursued the scheme superficially in hopes of antagonizing neither his countrymen nor his ally King Haakon back in Norway. This plan met with predictable results; Haakon was thereafter suspicious of him and many Icelanders were angry that he had even considered in such a pact.
His popularity and political clout diminished, Snorri retreated to Reykholt to tend his estate and concentrate on his writings in the hopes that the animosity would eventually die down. It was at this time that he wrote one of the works he is most famous for – The Snorra Edda, or Prose Edda as it is now commonly called. The Prose Edda was primarily written as an instructional work on skaldic poetry. It was divided into three sections; Gylfaginning, which discussed pagan mythology; Skaldskaparmal, which detailed the use of kennings; and Hattatal, a list of 102 stanzas, in 100 different forms, with metrical commentary. He also began to delve into the world of saga writing. Inspired by his recent stay in Norway, he started writing the king’s sagas which would ultimately become the compilation known as Heimskringla. This ambitious work, which took many years to complete, would eventually chronicle all the Norwegian kings, from mythical times up to 1177, in seventeen separate sagas.
During this period Snorri began a relationship with a widow named Hallveig Ormsdottir, who was the wealthiest woman in Iceland at the time. She was much younger than Snorri and it was somewhat of a scandal when he moved her and her two sons into his large estate. Snorri’s reputation being what it was, the speculation was that they were only involved with each other for financial gain. In reality they were quite fond of each other and when she died, many years later, Snorri was heartbroken.
Eventually Snorri’s status returned and he was again named Lawspeaker in 1222. He served in that capacity for three terms, which ended in 1231. However, many of his countrymen never forgot his duplicity in King Haakon’s scheme and continually made it difficult for him whenever they saw an opportunity. Thus, he lost many cases at the Althing and gained even more enemies.
He also continued to write during those years and is generally credited with finishing Egil’s Saga around 1230. Egil’s Saga tells the story of Egil Skallagrimsson, an ancestor of Snorri’s who was a prominent poet and Viking. Egil also had a well-deserved reputation as a greedy, repulsive man, and the saga is considered to be one of the finest and most entertaining Icelandic sagas ever produced. Other works were completed in that period as well but, unfortunately, they are now lost. As the sixteenth century Annals of Oddi states, "He composed Edda and many other books of learning, Icelandic sagas."
In 1237, Snorri again traveled to Norway to visit the king’s half-brother, Skuli, whom Snorri had befriended on his previous trip to Norway seventeen years earlier. Not learning his lesson from the last visit, Snorri again immersed himself in royal intrigue. This time, however, it wasn’t with King Haakon that he plotted but rather with Skuli, who intended to depose his half-brother and seize the throne for himself. During this time, tensions were mounting between Iceland and Norway, which still wished to subjugate Iceland, and King Haakon ordered that all Icelanders in Norway were forbidden to leave. Snorri, believing the king would soon be overthrown, left anyway in the spring of 1239.
The following year Skuli’s coup attempt failed and he was killed, leaving Snorri once again in a precarious position with King Haakon, who had not forgotten Snorri’s failure in their previous venture. He suspected Snorri of collaborating with Skuli and sent a message to an Icelander named Gissur Thorvaldson, a man loyal to Haakon and one of Snorri’s chief rivals. The king informed Gissur of his suspicions and told him to bring Snorri to Norway. If Snorri refused, Gissur was told to kill him. Gissur, eager to eliminate the power of the Sturlung family, enthusiastically accepted the order.
Gissur, along with seventy men, rode out to Reykholt on the night of September 23, 1241, to carry out King Haakons wishes. They stormed the estate and Snorri, asleep and caught off guard, fled unarmed into the cellar. He was eventually found there by five of Gissur’s men. Snorri, doing the only thing he could under the circumstances, tried to bargain with them and requested to see Gissur. They ignored his pleas and one of them, a man named Arni, struck and killed Snorri.
Today, much of what we know about Norse mythology can be attributed to Snorri Sturlasson thanks to his seminal work, the Prose Edda. The systematic, scholarly presentation of Norse mythology in this work makes it, to quote Rudolf Simek, "…the most important source for Germanic mythology." It also preserved the lost art of skaldic poetry for future generations. The same can be said about the royal houses of Norway and, to a lesser degree, Denmark, Sweden, and England, which were chronicled in his epic volume Heimskringla. As stated by Magnus Magnusson and Hermann Palsson, "It is to the Icelanders, and particularly Snorri Sturlasson, that we owe our detailed knowledge of the history of medieval Norway." The colorful Egil Skalagrimson, along with much of what we know about the followers of Odin in that period, would also be a forgotten Viking if not for the brilliant presentation of him in Snorri’s Egil’s Saga. Granted, others wrote down the sagas as well, but none with the flair or historical sensibility that he did. Snorri was very selective when choosing which sources to consult and his literary masterpieces have helped us in our understanding of both the pagan past and in our knowledge of the events that ultimately shaped northern Europe.
By Jim Silva
Grettirs Saga, written around 1325, was the last of the great Icelandic sagas. Along with the classic sagas of the Golden Age such as Njal’s Saga and Laxdaela Saga, it rightfully sits near the summit of the large collection of sagas that were written in Iceland between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries. Unfortunately its author, like those of so many of the other sagas, is unknown but he was obviously a man of great knowledge and learning, as can be readily observed in his references to other sagas throughout this work. Sadly the author of Grettir’s Saga had access to many sources now lost to modern scholars, as is all too often the case. Nevertheless, Grettir’s Saga can stand on its own merits as it possesses all the qualities present in the classic sagas: strong heroes, travel to royal courts, feuds and tragedy, as well as the familiar traits of pride, arrogance, courage and vindictiveness that serve as catalysts to many of the events.
At first glance this saga may appear to be in the same unrefined class as the earliest of sagas from the twelfth century, with its regular use of supernatural creatures and fairly straight forward storytelling. But upon closer scrutiny this proves to be an erroneous assumption. It is with great skill and subtlety that the author lays out the tale of a character who appears simply to be an arrogant, bullying man whose pride leads him again and again to misfortune. In reality, however, it is the story of a man who simply wishes to live life as freely as possible, without the constraints imposed upon him by an increasingly rigid society. The fact that the protagonist’s whole life is lived following the conversion of Iceland to Christianity is of great importance to this underlying theme. At times it appears that the author is trying to portray Grettir as a man born in the wrong time; a man who, if he had been born a hundred years earlier, might have been a hero instead of an outlaw.
Grettir’s Saga begins, as do all sagas, with a prologue detailing how Grettir’s ancestors came to Iceland from Norway. This serves to show how certain characteristics of his were inherited from his ancestors. For example, we can see that Grettir’s poetic ability came from his great-grandfather, Onund Tree-foot. The prologue also defines how later characters are related, either by blood or marriage, which makes some of their later decisions more understandable.
The main body begins in Grettir’s youth, where he is described: "As a child he was self-willed, taciturn and harsh, sardonic and mischievous." Even this early in his life we are given a glimpse of what sort of man he will become through a variety of incidents in which Grettir continually defies his father’s authority and acts, at times, rather cruelly. By the time he is sixteen he has taken his first life and is sentenced to lesser outlawry, which means that Grettir has to leave Iceland for three years. He decides to go to Norway, where his half-brother Thorstein lives. While in Norway Grettir becomes involved in a number of conflicts, most notably with a draugar (an animated corpse) in a burial mound and then against a group of marauding berserkers, which bring him great fame in Norway. As is often the case with Grettir, however, this fame is short-lived and, due to another killing, he is soon forced to leave Norway. Grettir then returns to Iceland, where his reputation has preceded him. There he quickly begins to alienate people with his pride, quick temper, and violent behavior. Even though his stay at home is short, he makes a long list of enemies and soon decides to leave again. He sails to Norway, where King Olaf Haraldsson has just taken over the throne. Since the two are distant relatives Grettir hopes to become one of the king’s retainers. While traveling there an accident occurs and some men are killed in a fire. Grettir is unfairly blamed, and he is again forced out of Norway. To make matters worse, the men who were burned to death were the sons of a powerful chieftain in Iceland, who then has Grettir legally declared an outlaw. When Grettir arrives in Iceland he is told the news of his status. With nowhere to go and with few options, Grettir head strongly chooses to remain in Iceland. For the rest of his life Grettir remains on the run, hunted like an animal. Throughout this period his actions range from heroic - as when he saves a woman’s farm from a giant troll - to criminal, as he often survives by robbing innocent people. After nineteen years on the run, fate finally catches up to him and he is killed.
The epilogue details what happens after Grettir’s death and centers around his killer, a man named Thorbjorn Ongul. Thorbjorn, himself declared an outlaw for the manner in which he slew Grettir, flees to Norway. There, he is eventually tracked down and killed by Grettir’s brother, Thorstein.
Upon reading Grettir’s Saga, readers may notice certain similarities between it and Egil’s Saga or, at the very least, between the two central characters. Certainly the two men had much in common. Aside from the fact that Egil drank heavily, the two were very similar in demeanor and appearance. Both were described as being strong-willed and mischievous as youths who then grew to be large, strong men. They both first killed at relatively young ages and they both continued, throughout their lives, to kill whosoever had the audacity to provoke them, however minor the offense. The two men are, without a doubt, the two most dichotomous protagonists in all the saga literature and probably the most controversial.
There are also examples in both sagas of each man carving runes. Although Grettir, unlike Egil, doesn’t do it for any magical purpose, it is likely the author made mention of this to highlight yet another similarity between the two. Being that Grettir was raised after the conversion the author probably felt Grettir would have been viewed negatively had he used the magical properties of the runes. Yet in no other saga are there as many references to using the runes phonetically. It is doubtful that this is mere coincidence.
It is also interesting to note that following their respective deaths the hardness of their skulls, which break weapons, is commented on in each of their sagas - the only two such instances that this occurs (for an interesting scientific hypothesis on this subject you might want to go to Jesse Byock's website and read the essay Egils Bones -ed.).
Probably the most striking similarity between Egil and Grettir, however, is their poetic nature. Both men spout verses throughout the length of their stories. It will be remembered that Egil saved himself from the gallows by composing a poem to King Erik Blood-Axe. In similar fashion Grettir gets himself out of a potentially serious situation when, confronted by the man whose horse he had stolen, he recites poetry. Both Grettir’s Saga and Egil’s Saga contain extensive amounts of poetry; far more, in fact, than any of the other family sagas.
It’s hard to imagine that a writer as knowledgeable as the author of Grettir’s Saga didn’t see these parallels or, for that matter, place them in the saga purposefully. Examined from this perspective, there is ample evidence to support the argument that the author of Grettir’s Saga was trying say that men of the previous age - one even as renowned as Egil, who was portrayed as a heroic, yet tragic, figure in Egil’s Saga and who was something of a legend in Iceland - would simply be considered outlaws in the more oppressive post-Christian age in which the sagas were written. Viewed in this context, Grettir’s Saga leaves a strong impression and it is only fitting that this saga is considered one of the greatest.
By Jon Orr
In today’s modern civilization, honor is a virtue which can scarcely be seen. Instead, the honorable man entering into our dog-eat-dog society may even be scorned and made the object of ridicule. The proud man of honor is not seen as fit to swim in the same waters as the successful men of our times – capitalistic sharks awaiting the smell of fresh blood in hopes of pouncing on the hapless victim simply to elevate their own status.
However, this was not always so. In traditional times, amongst our ancestors, the concept of honor was unsurpassed as a noble trait. It was inseparably bound up with the idea of duty; Duty to family, to caste, and to tribe. It is in this connection that we understand Houston Stewart Chamberlain when he wrote in his magnum opus, The Foundations of the Nineteenth Century, "Our Teutonic culture is a result of toil and pain and faith – not ecclesiastical, but religious faith. If we go lovingly through those annals of our ancient forbears, which tell us so little and yet so much, what will strike us most is the almost incredible strength of the developed sense of duty; for the worst cause, as for the best, every one yields up his life unquestioningly."
This sense of self-sacrifice was, many times, the catalyst of our evolution as a people. If we recall, such notable men as Bacon, Galileo, and Copernicus who, even when faced with excommunication, imprisonment, and death, still valiantly elevated science to a whole new level. In virtually every segment of life, Aryan man has listened to his inner nature, tackled the most insurmountable odds, and risen to more advanced stages of knowledge. This is the reflection of our Faustian spirit, manifest in the realm of matter. Our honor compels us to attempt moving forward – no matter the cost. It is in this vein that Frederick The Great, in the eighteenth century, professed, "I will never accept disgrace. The honor which in war made me place my life at stake a hundred times, has allowed me to defy death as an event of lesser importance."
With such ample evidence as exists today concerning our heroic past, we may wonder how we have fallen to such a degenerate state. To discover the answer we must delve into the unnatural, alien doctrines that have plagued us for far too long. Wherever our ancestors fared they conquered the indigenous tribes, set up elaborate cultural centers, and imposed their way of life on the native inhabitants. However, over great spans of time the feminine principles of humanitarianism and equality (both representative of non-Aryan ways of thought) eventually triumphed and, combined with the mixing of the ruling strata with the inferior groups, caused the subsequent decline of each civilization.
When we look at India today, we are given no clue to it’s great Aryan progenitors. When our ancestors swept down over the Afghanistan hill country in the second millennium B.C.E., they subdued the entire area and instituted their own religion, as recorded in the Hindu Vedas. This was a strong, virile tradition, which was eventually watered down and reinterpreted, precisely in the fashion described above – i.e., they bred themselves out of existence and the lesser classes tailored the extant religion to suit their nature. Some of the texts (the Upanishads, for instance) have been supplemented as late as the seventeenth century. These additions miss the mark completely, with such proverbs as "Nothing exists which cannot be accomplished by gentleness." We can observe this digression by contrasting it with one of the earlier texts.
The Bhagavad Gita is one of these ancient compositions and, as such, is a prime example for examination. In this text the Aryan Warrior, Arjuna, is on the battlefield preparing to wage war against half of the members of his own family. He resists doing this and comes up with several excuses to avoid his duty. The supreme godhead, KRSNA, convinces him of his obligation, as a member of the warrior caste, to overcome his Earthly desires and achieve the transcendence allotted to his station. The following is an excerpt from the Bhagavad Gita (versus 2:31-34), in which Lord KRSNA states: "Considering your specific duty as a Ksatriya (warrior elite), you should know that there is no better engagement for you than fighting on religious principles; and so there is no need for hesitation. O Partha, happy are the Ksatriyas to whom such fighting opportunities come unsought, opening for them the doors of the heavenly planets. If, however, you do not perform your religious duty of fighting, then you will certainly incur sins* for neglecting your duties and thus lose your reputation as a warrior. People will always speak of your infamy, and for a respectable man, dishonor is worse than death." Apparently, some things do exist "which cannot be accomplished by gentleness."
The various religions of the Indo-Europeans, throughout history, have always proven to be distinct from the rest of the world’s religions. While a much different soul pleaded with us to "turn the other cheek," "resist not evil," and "worry not for the morrow," our own traditions commanded us to live by Nature’s decrees and to cultivate our own spiritual treasures.
Whereas in alien traditions the meek and the poor in spirit are venerated, our ideals revolve around the heroic virtues of strength, honor, courage, and freedom. Others believe they were born in sin and are naturally bad, while we trace our ancestors directly back to divine origins. In the Christian Bible (Matthew 11: 29-30), Jesus counsels, "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." The Poetic Edda is the complete antithesis of this, in that only the truly heroic man may enter Valhalla. It is shameful for a man to take the easy road, as one must always strive to overcome his inward and outward limitations.
Over time, the majority of our people have succumbed to their lower nature and have taken the easy way out. However, there is a certain number of us who are still trying to revive, and breathe life into, our bygone ways. Some have even taken on the task of inventing new forms, while yet retaining the unique Indo-European essence. To be successful in this endeavor, we must cast away any, and all, foreign influences. When we read, as we do in Proverbs 15:33, that "…before honor is humility," we need to recognize this as an alien mindset and discard it. When we see our age-old institutions, such as the Freemasons, declare – as they did in the constitution set forth in 1722 – that "Masonry is a humanitarian league for the spreading of tolerant and humane principles, in striving for which the Jew and Turk can have as great a share as a Christian," we must point a finger at this decadence and tear it out by the roots. Finally, if we are to have a positive effect on our evolutionary goals (i.e., Nietzsche’s "Overman"), we must follow our true will as a folk, retaining all elements that have reaped our previous successes. Above all, honor must be our guiding principle to insure that we fulfill our duty to our future generations – regardless of the consequences.
As a shining example of all that is noble, heroic, and honorable, I would like to leave you with a fragment of Lord Macaulay’s historical epic of a great man named Horatius. In this rendition of Rome’s early history, an enormous army led by Lars Porsena is on its way to sack Rome. The Roman’s only hope is to level the bridge into the city before the invaders can reach it. Should they fail to cut the bridge down in time, Rome is doomed. Valiantly, Horatius and two companions volunteer to hold off the army of thirty-thousand men - by themselves - while their comrades destroy the bridge from the other side of the Tibus River. Before embarking on this deed, he announces:
"To every man upon this Earth
death comes soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his Fathers,
And the temples of his Gods."
[* Sin, in this context, refers to Karma and not the Semitic conception of the word.]
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