Ásatrú in Iceland
Part 1: Our Custom Sacred Heritage
by Michael Strmiska,
with research assistance by
Baldur A. Sigurvinsson and Hjortur Smárasson
The Icelandic Ásatrú society is most simply defined as a religious organization dedicated to the pre-christian, pagan or heathen religious heritage of the North Atlantic island nation’s first Nordic settlers, but Ásatrú cannot be said to be a religion as this is commonly defined. It has no formal creed or dogma, accepts the validity of other faiths and offers neither salvation nor savior. Many members of Ásatrú do not “believe in” the ancient gods in the unequivocal, dependent way that “belief” in deity is commonly construed. By certain standards, then, Ásatrú is not a religion, and many of its members would surely agree with this assessment. Yet there is much in Ásatrú that is sacred to its members, and as an organization providing its members with an opportunity for shared participation in the Sacred, Ásatrú can indeed be called religious. The problem of defining Ásatrú is, then, also the problem of defining religion. The task of this paper shall be to describe Ásatrú within the Icelandic cultural context, analyze some particular aspects of the group and its activities, and discuss the significance of Ásatrú as an ancient-modern hybrid religion whose purpose, function and increasing popularity call into question many common assumptions of what a religion is or should be.
The Icelandic Context of Ásatrú
The first thing which must be understood about “Ásatrúarfélagith”, the Ásatrú Society, that it is an Icelandic cultural phenomenon, rooted in the history, texts and folklore of a particular place and people. In this it is to be distinguished from other groups elsewhere in Scandinavia and America employing the same name. All Ásatrú groups are united in attempting to reconstruct and reinterpret for modern times the myths, beliefs and folklore of pre-Christian Scandinavia, but they differ widely in the methods and assumptions which they bring to this enterprise. For members of American Ásatrú groups, their first encounter with Nordic myth is very likely to have been through the popular “Thor” comic book or outdated nineteenth century romantic reconstructions of Germanic-Nordic myth and religion.
For Icelandic Ásatrúarmenn, the textual and folkloric traditions from which they draw are neither exotic nor foreign, but are basic components of their national cultural heritage. A visitor to the Icelandic capital city of Reykjavík quickly discovers that the old gods--or at least their names--are everywhere. Street names include Ódinsgata, Thorsgata, Baldursgata, Tysgata, Freyjugata, Aegisitha and even Lokastigur. A short walk from the restaurant Ódinsve, we find the health food store named Yggdrasil after the great world-tree of Nordic myth, and many other examples could be cited. A very large number of Icelandic personal and surnames are formed from “Thor”, for example, Thorlakur, Thordís, Thora and Thorstein among dozens of others. Even Thorlakur Thórhallson (d. 1193), the bishop of Skálholt who was later declared the patron saint of Iceland, has a thoroughly pagan name, which was not considered any impediment to the bestowal of exalted christian status. This is one of many examples of how Icelandic Christianity is in many cases not so much anti-pagan as built upon the pagan, and shows how Icelandic culture has rarely applied an either-or, exclusionary logic to religious matters, but has often preferred to combine strength with strength, sacred with sacred. Though the establishment of Christianity in Iceland did entail a ban on the ancient gods such as Thor and Ódin, belief in christian saints and deities has never prevented Icelanders from continuing to revere the elves and other hidden folk and invisible beings which are believed to reside in the countryside, as will be further explored below.
From the time of Iceland’s formal adoption of Christianity as the official state religion in the year 1000, Iceland has never been a fanatically christian country nor particularly orthodox in what Christianity it did have. It would seem that the decision to accept Christianity was motivated more by economic and political considerations than any authentic christian fervor. When the Althing adopted Christianity in the year 1000, the christian establishment in Europe, consisting of both the church and kings and other leaders exercising their rule in close coordination with the church, had achieved a nearly monopolistic control of international trade and politics. It was evident that good political and economic relations with christian Europe depended on at least a semblance of christian conversion, and so this semblance was achieved and good relations secured. Iceland became “christian”, but not in the same way as in contemporary Europe or to the same degree as in modern America, with few persecutions and very little religious violence. The nation’s laws were altered to restrict the old pagan religion to private observance, and then later, with increasing christian control of legal and institutional authority, to ban it altogether, yet an enduring affection for the old ways remained embedded in the culture alongside knowledge of the Bible and the myths and doctrines of Christianity, as the Sagas, which were for long Iceland’s most popular literature, attest. A line was drawn against paganism, but not a very sharp or severe line, and in Iceland’s relatively high degree of tolerance as compared with Europe or America, we find the fertile field in which the seeds of Ásatrú were able to again take root some ten centuries after the supposed christianization of Iceland.
The everyday, pagan-derived nomenclature of streets and persons in Iceland is a mundane but significant indicator of how the lore of the ancient gods remains a living part of the Icelandic cultural memory as well as a source of national pride. The widespread use of the names of pagan gods does not mean that the Icelanders “believe in” these gods, only that they revere and enjoy their past tradition, including the bygone pagan deities and religion. Such reverence may reach a higher level of intensity and self-consciousness among Ásatrúarmenn than many other Icelanders, but the root emotions and attitudes are very much the same, with the difference more of degree than of essence. A number of distinguished Icelandic scholars and intellectuals whom I interviewed at the national university in Reykjavík expressed a barely muffled contempt for Ásatrú, but it was clear that they did in fact share Ásatrú’s strong devotion to the Icelandic past, especially its ancient literature.
It is the mythical Eddas and semi-historical Sagas, based partially on oral tradition and largely set into written form by clerical scribes and educated laymen in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, which are the most respected monuments of Iceland’s cultural heritage. They were focal points of the Icelandic nationalism which gained increasing momentum in the nineteenth century and eventually succeeded in winning independence from Denmark in 1944. Now, more than 50 years after the foundation of the modern nation of Iceland, the Eddas and Sagas remain staples of the educational curriculum and are continually revisited and revitalized in artistic and literary creation. One outstanding recent example is the celebrated 1987 novel Gunnlathar Saga (Gunnloth’s Saga) by Svava Jakobsdóttir, in which a woman falls into a reverie while gazing at the Gundestrap Cauldron in the National Museum of Copenhagen, and finds herself ‘unstuck in time’, to use Kurt Vonnegut’s phrase, and reliving the episode of Ódin’s love-affair with the giant’s daughter Gunnloth from the Eddic poem Hávamál. Neither novel nor novelist have anything to do with Ásatrú, but Svava Jakobsdóttir’s imaginative re-working of past pagan tradition draws on the same love of ancient heritage that also inspires Ásatrú.
A recent government-supported collaboration between Ásatrú and the Icelandic theater community illustrates the degree to which Ásatrú has become accepted within the Icelandic establishment. This is a theatrical performance dramatizing the Eddic poem Skírnismál that was first produced by Ásatrú in December of 1995 and has now become an annual winter pageant timed to coincide with the winter solstice on December 21 or 22.
Skírnismál is, most simply, the tale of the love of the fertility god Freyr for the beautiful giantess Gerth. Freyr sends his servant Skírnir to Gerth as a Cyrano de Bergerac-like emissary in the hopes of winning her hand, which Skírnir finally manages through an adroit combination of magical spells and threats. In the context of the production, Freyr’s passion for Gerth is seen as symbolizing nature’s desire for new life and vitality in the depths of winter, a theme with particular resonance in Iceland, where the shortest day of the year is very short indeed, with only a few hours of light separating the brief and fragile dawn from the all-engulfing darkness.
The original production in 1995 was funded both by Ásatrú and a grant from the national government, and was staged in the basement of the Reykjavík Ráthhús, the city hall, with a distinguished audience including the Prime Minister and the mayor of Reykjavík. The government funding, the staging of the pageant in a government facility, and the two government leaders’ attendance at the event illustrates how little discord there is between mainstream Icelandic interest in the country’s past cultural heritage and the Ásatrú agenda of reconstructing past pagan tradition. Such government involvement with an explicitly pagan theater production, based on an explicitly pagan text and sponsored by an explicitly pagan religious group would be unthinkable in the USA, with its markedly christian identity, the increasing influence of christian fundamentalists at all levels of the political system, and the tendency of candidates for public office to pepper their speeches with references to the Bible and “Judeo-Christian values”.
However, not all of Icelandic society is of one mind about the country’s past heritage. With Iceland having achieved independence and a high level of prosperity, asserting the uniqueness of Icelandic culture and celebrating its past splendors has become less of a priority for many Icelanders. Against the backdrop of the emerging tapestry of European economic and political union, internationalism has come to match nationalism as a driving force in the self-understanding of Icelandic identity. As Icelanders look toward the future and try to find their place at the table of European union, the general desire of Icelanders to understand themselves as Good Europeans has also affected scholars’ views of the Icelandic past, including the semi-canonical Eddas and Sagas. It has been the dominant trend in recent literary studies of the Old Icelandic texts to emphasize the influence of the medieval church and Latin learning, the European Union of medieval times, and to therefore show that from the very earliest times, Iceland was a European christian nation drawing on the best of European church-based culture. In this heavily biased reading of the past, the kind of ancient, pre-christian and pagan traditions celebrated by Ásatrú are viewed as embarrassing, incomprehensible anachronisms, and are accordingly rejected by many scholars as insignificant matters undeserving of exploration.
However, such highly emotional judgments are a matter of perspective and priority, of pride and prejudice, not fact. The very vehemence with which some contemporary scholars attempt to disprove or disinherit the pagan features of these texts calls to mind Shakespeare’s notion of the lady who protests just a little too much.
The Old Icelandic texts are a manifest blend of church-derived literary form and pagan myths and lore, and while scholars of medieval literature tend to be fixated on the medieval Catholic church as the mainspring of western civilization and to interpret early Icelandic history, culture and literature within this framework and this framework only, scholars of comparative religion have long detected in the Icelandic texts strong indications of archaic Indo-European influence far predating the christian determination of these texts assumed by medievalist scholars.
For the average reader unburdened by any scholarly baggage, it is quite plain to see that the pagan gods and myths are prominent and aesthetically pleasing features of these ancient texts. Without the colorful presence of the pagan gods, whether occupying the narrative foreground in the Eddas or performing more of a background, supporting role in the Sagas, the ancient Icelandic literature would be as lifeless and emasculated as the castrated rams whose singed faces and pickled testicles are standard fare for Icelanders during the winter feast of Thorrablót. Clearly, the pagan gods and myths and the texts which have immortalized them are vital and enduring elements of the Icelandic cultural heritage, however much this may displease medievalist scholars of the Euro-christian school of thought.
By highlighting the pagan, pre-christian aspects of the Icelandic past and attempting to reconfigure these to suit modern times, Ásatrú helps to preserve a link to cultural resources which some would prefer to abandon. That these cultural resources are also spiritual resources, and that Ásatrú is a religious group as well as a cultural heritage movement, will be made more explicit in the sections concerning Ásatrú rituals, ethics and sacredness.
Ásatrú in Iceland Part 2
“Ritual in Ásatrú”
Ásatrú ritual displays two marked features: (1) a conscious attempt to recreate or at least pay tribute to past tradition as this is known from ancient texts and folklore (2) an open invitation to ritual participants to innovate, omit, or alter ritual elements according to their personal taste and priorities. There is a constant tension between conservative and innovative impulses, but this is by and large a creative tension. Ásatrú rituals may be divided into public and private ceremonies. The main public rituals are the seasonal Blóts, organized by and for the Ásatrú community as a whole. These are sacred feasts in honor of ancient sacrifices timed to coincide with the summer and winter solstices and spring and autumn equinoxes in an annual ritual calendar.
The private rituals, usually performed by a family with the necessary presence of a Gothi or the Alsherjargothi, are weddings, name-blessings (christenings), coming-of-age (confirmation) rites, and funerals.
To the present time, weddings have been the most frequently performed Ásatrú private rituals. Because there is no manual of pagan ritual from ancient times, and because Sagas, Eddas and other early sources do not contain detailed descriptions either of weddings or of any other rituals, it has been necessary for modern Ásatrúar to creatively interpret and combine ancient texts to develop a suitable old-new ritual. In a description of the Ásatrú wedding ceremony which he kindly provided me, Alsherjargothi Jormundur Ingi Hansen discusses a number of sources from the Eddas.
The most important one is the marriage of Sigurdrífa and Sigurd [from Sigrdrífúmál (‘The Lay of Sigrdrífa’)], perhaps better known as Brunhild and Siegfried in Richard Wagner’s magnificent opera, The Ring of the Niebelungen. It contains most of the elements used, the Ring of Fire and the Sacred Mead given to the bridegroom by the bride. The marriage of Ódin or Wotan to Gunnlod in Hávamál mentions the second day of the marriage feast and the three drinks of the Sacred Mead. Then there is the marriage of Freyr to Gerd [in Skírnismál] which again mentions the Sacred Ring of Fire. The marriage ceremony preferably takes place outside, if possible under a tree and/or close to water, and there should be a Ring of Fire, “Vafurlogi” (‘surrounding flame’).
The outdoors setting is carefully chosen to represent pagan reverence for nature and specific natural features of sacred import in the Eddic texts, particularly the tree echoing the World-Tree Yggdrasil, the water reflecting the Well of the Norn Urth and/or the Well of Mímir, the fire speaking of ancient sacrifice.
The Gothi calls on a wide variety of gods to witness and bless the wedding, consecrating the occasion with the following formula from the Eddic poem Sigrdrífumál:
Hail to the Day, hail to the sons of Day
Hail to the Night and her Daughters
Look upon us with kindly eyes
And grant to us all victoryHail to the Gods, hail to the Goddesses
Hail to the bountiful Earth
Grant us speech and wisdom and
healing hands
As long as we shall live.This same formula is used in consecrating the funeral rite as well.The wedding proceeds with the Gothi reciting other selected passages from the the old mythological literature and also asks the blessing of gods and goddesses in a more straightforward manner. The Gothi invokes the world-tree Yggdrasil, the three Norns who rule mankind’s destiny, and the goddesses Frigg, “guardian of home and marriage”, Freyja, “Goddess of love and fertility”, and Vár, “protectress of all” pacts made between man and woman”. Turning to the groom, he quotes Hávamál 47:
Young I was and traveled alone
thus I lost my way.
Rich I felt, when another I found
man rejoices in man.And to the bride, the Gothi reads from Hávamál 50:
Withers the fir that stands alone
sheltered neither by needles nor bark
So is the one that no one loves
how long shall she live?The bride and groom each state their equal intentions and responsibilities to each other in the same words:
“I call upon all gathered here to witness that I (name) take this man/woman (name) as my husband/wife and fully understand the responsibility and solemnity of this my decision.”The Gothi then gives the bride a drinking-horn filled with sacred mead, echoing the Eddic marriage scenes, and she then pours libations to Frigg, Freyja and Thor, “guardian of all humanity”. After drinking a single draught from the horn herself, she offers it to the groom, quoting once more from Sigrdrífumál (v. 5):
Ale I bring you, you Oak-of-Battle,
blent with strength and brightest honor
mixed with charms and mighty songs,
worthy magic and merry runes.The groom then pours libations to Thor, Freyja and Frigg, invoking the same deities as his bride but in the reverse order. He drinks three times from the horn, recites a verse from Skírnismál expressing Freyr’s longing for his future bride Gerth (v. 42), then returns the horn to the bride that she may drink twice. Having each drunk three times from the sacred horn, they return this to the Gothi. He directs them to place their hands together over a ring or arm-band which he offers to them, and then ends the ceremony with the formula, “In the name of Vár I proclaim you man and wife.”
It is a simple ceremony that achieves a certain elegance and drama from its references to ancient literature and mythology, the use of medieval customs such as the drinking-horn and the arm-ring, and the beauty of the natural setting. The simplicity of the rite allows participants leeway to add or alter elements as they may desire.
The same mixture of elements are present in the most solemn rite, the funeral. I will save a fuller description for another publication, but will quote two passages from Jormundur Ingi Hansens’ text to illustrate how ancient heritage is selectively interpreted and applied on this very different occasion.
The first part of the ceremony takes place at the home of the deceased who is dressed in his/her best clothes or uniform if that is appropriate. The wife or husband, son or daughter places his grave-goods in the coffin, such as books, utensils of his or her profession, even food and drink. Favorite pets can also be buried in the coffin or beside it. This part of the ceremony is only attended by the closest family and best friends.The Gothi or family member speaks a few words of farewell and reads an appropriate section of the Edda or from other literature. The coffin is closed and marked with the sign of the deceased’s favorite god, and if there are no special wishes, the sun-cross is used. Singing and music can also be performed (Jormundur Ingi Hansen).
The second half of the funeral takes places at the burial-ground where the coffin is laid in the ground. Along with readings of the Edda and remembrances of the deceased by the Gothi, friends or family, Jormundur Ingi suggests the following meditation, drawing on the myth of the tree Yggdrasil:
All things are transitory. The growth of the Earth flourishes in the sunshine but just as unfailingly withers in the autumn. Note, however, it sprouts once more next year. So it is with all life, we are born and grow and mature but wither in the autumn of life like the vegetation of the earth. Life and death are eternally connected. Without life there would be no death and without death there would be no rejuvenation of life. In the center of the world stands the World-Tree, mighty Yggdrasil, the tree of life, ever green over the well of Urth. Our lives can be likened to the leaves on the Ash [tree]. As soon as one of the stags grazing on the tree bites a leaf, another bud springs to life. So, life is eternal though our allotted time in Midgard seems all too short (Jormundur Ingi Hansen).
At the conclusion of the funeral, the Gothi wishes the deceased well in whatever form of afterlife they were known to believe or feel an affinity for. Ásatrú has no official doctrine or dogma concerning the afterlife, which follows directly from the ancient texts which describe a variety of different options from the warriors’ realm Valhalla to the cold and dreary Hel of the Snorra Edda to ancestors feasting together within the local landscape as told in certain saga accounts. And then, everyone in turn casts earth on the coffin and those that so desire may also make sacrifices of small symbolic pictures of sun-crosses, Thor’s hammers or horses into the grave. The torches [set at the four corners of the grave] are kept aflame as everyone leaves to join in the funeral feast, where the eulogy is given by a friend or relative (Jormundur Ingi Hansen).
A fuller exposition is necessary to analyze the many meaningful details inherent in this funerary ritual, but what is most evident is the free interpretation and flexible adaption of ancient poetry, lore and customs without the intrusion of any dogmatic ideology. There is reverence for divine and sacred beings and above all, for nature, but neither fear of punishment nor any expectation of divine intervention or salvation.
Weddings and funerals and other private rituals are important but exceptional events. The regular ritual life of Ásatrú is the seasonal Blót. The one and only Ásatrú ritual I have experienced at first-hand is a Haust Blot (‘Autumn Sacred Feast’) in September of 1996, which was also my first meeting with members of Icelandic Ásatrú. My apprehension at being an intrusive foreigner interfering with another people’s sacred customs was eased by the kindness and immense personal grace of Jón Ingvar Jónsson, then the Lawspeaker, who had invited me to attend the event after we had exchanged several messages through e-mail.
On a Friday evening I rode with Jón Ingvar and about a dozen others in a chartered bus to a beautiful rural location about a half hour north of Reykjavík en route to Borgarnes, in the village of Kalnes. We walked a short distance from the road to a roughhewn stone circle nestled in the side of a dark, imposing ridge. Looking down from our spot halfway up the hill, there was a beautiful view of the sun setting over farmlands bordering the ocean.
A fire was built in the center of the stone circle as people greeted each other and others continued to arrive to a total of about 50, at which time it was growing dark. Most people came dressed in ordinary clothes, but some wore old-style, traditional-seeming garments. Another member of the Executive Board, Johanna Pálsdóttir, engaged in setting up several elegantly carved posts between which was stretched a plain green banner about 4’ high by 20‘ wide. Small lamps were placed here and there in the hillside around and above us, providing the light of myriad small fires to echo the large bonfire around which we gathered in a circle.
The Blót was officially inaugurated by a Gothi who recited a formula of consecration and read from the Eddic poem Voluspá. The Lawspeaker Jón Ingvar Jónsson chose to read a nineteenth century poem reflecting on the passing of the old gods and the importance of historical memory (“Saga”, meaning both ‘story’ and ‘history’). This poem, Ásareithin (‘the Ride of the Aesir’) by Grímur Thomsen, is translated in the Appendix. A drinking horn was then passed around the circle, and before each person took a drink, he or she made a toast to the god(s) or sacred being(s) of their choice. This activity fully illustrated the inadequacy of the term “Ásatrú”, as many chose to salute not the Aesir gods like Ódin and Thor but the Vanir gods Freyr and Freyja and other sacred beings such as the Landvaettir (‘land spirits’), the Elves and the Dísir (female spirits or deities). Some made very brief and perfunctory toasts, others more elaborate and poetic statements, some quoting from ancient literature, some offering their own compositions or spontaneous utterances.
Johanna played flute in the background as a man strummed a guitar or tapped on a small drum. At one point people began to clasp hands and sway together to the music, but this did not progress to the point of actual dancing. Hand-carved wooden drinking cups were distributed and continually refilled with Brennivín (‘Burnt Wine’), the strong, schnapps-like native Icelandic liquor affectionately known as the ‘Black Death’. The beautiful natural setting, roaring fire, gentle music, strong drink and easy camaraderie all contributed to a most convivial atmosphere. Hangikjot, a smoked leg of lamb which is a traditional Icelandic delicacy, was also available for each participant to carve into and eat. A collection was later taken up to pay for the food and drink.
The other main activity involved the green banner which had been set up by Johanna Pálsdóttir. She distributed paintbrushes and white paint and invited all in attendance to paint some symbol or design onto the banner. A wide range of white shapes appeared on the banner ranging from a tree, perhaps the world-tree Yggdrasil, to human-like figures, a viking-era ship, and runes, the pre-Roman written characters of the early Scandinavians.
When all those interested had applied their contributions, the banner was taken down and hurled into the fire as a sacrificial offering which contained something of each person present. After these activities, the gathering gradually dissipated into small groups of friends drinking and conversing. It was now about 10 PM and people began to leave, as my group soon did also.
According to my informants, this Blót is fairly representative of many others in recent years. The consecration, recital of poetry, toasting of sacred beings, and eating and drinking are standard features of Blóts. Most Blóts are also performed out of doors, except for the winter solstice Blót (Júlablót) which is often staged in a restaurant or other such facility on account of the often harsh winter weather. The improvised music the possibility of dancing, and the communal banner-painting are activities which have been the cause of some controversy in Ásatrú. At the risk of oversimplifying, my impression is that one faction within Ásatrú, led by Johanna Pálsdóttir, is eager to have more of these exuberant, participatory activities, and to move in a direction of more ecstatic and sensually exciting experience. Another faction, representing the Allsherjargodhi and other older members, prefer more staid and dignified procedures. For them, a cheerful evening of shared food, drink and heartfelt recitations of poetry in a consecrated setting is sufficient. The two factions have had difficulty reconciling their different needs and priorities, leading to the departure from Ásatrú of Johanna Pálsdóttir and Jon Ingvar Jónsson among others. I have the impression that these differences may in time prove to be more fruitful than fatal, resulting either in the creation of new structures within Ásatrú to allow more ecstatic pursuits, or perhaps the creation of one or more new groups outside the existing Ásatrú which will be similar in spirit but feature more spontaneous and experimental ritual activities.
The Blót which I attended impressed me on the most basic level as a friendly drinking-party with folkloric overtones, a group of sympathetic people enjoying a pleasantly inebriated descent into past tradition, but there was something more as well. The stark natural setting was a very important part of the evening, a greater-than-human presence literally looming over our tiny human forms gathered for warmth around the fire. The two most powerful values or ideals communicated by the Blót were reverence for nature and respect for past cultural and spiritual tradition, emphasized in many forms, including the old-style stone enclosure, the carved wooden drinking-cups, the use of fire and candles rather than electric light, the traditional Hangikjot and Brennivín, the wearing of traditional clothes, and last but not least, the reciting of ancient poems and myths.
Asatru in Iceland pt 3
Ásatrú Ethics
In the Old Norse religious and mythological literature, there is no single text giving a definitive statement of pagan ethics, but rather many different brief statements and observations scattered across the literature. The single text which contains the fullest discussion of ethical issues is the Eddic poem Hávamál (‘The Speech of the High One’, i.e. Ódin), a text prominent in Ásastrú ritual life, as we have seen, that is also a featured text in the Icelandic educational curriculum. Hávamál is a mixed bag of advice and mythology which scholars have judged to be drawn from quite various sources and time-periods, but this miscellaneous pedigree does nothing to diminish the high regard in which it is held in Iceland.
Icelanders revere the text as inspiring, human-based and humanly-meaningful literature, not as direct revelation from infinite deity. As elsewhere, the sacredness is given through the shared meaning of tradition, not imposed by dictate by religious authorities or “proven” by philosophers.
A large part of the appeal of Hávamál consists in its earthy, pragmatic wisdom, a code of ethics
grounded not in abstract notions of justice and order, but in the struggle to survive and enjoy life with friends and family despite the difficulties posed by enemies and nature. The core of Icelandic society for most of its history has been the farmer, and Hávamál gives us a hard bitten farmer’s kind of earthy wisdom, where wit, cunning and generosity are more highly prized than moral exactitude. Some characteristic maxims of Hávamál include:To his friend a man should be a friend
and repay gifts with gifts;
laughter a man should give for laughter
and repay treachery with lies (v. 42)A farm of your own is better,
even if small
everyone’s someone at home;
A man’s heart bleeds when he has to beg
for every single meal (v. 37)Averagely wise a man ought to be,
never too wise;
for he lives the best sort of life,
he who knows a fair amount (v. 54)Silent and thoughtful a prince’s
son should be
and bold in fighting;
cheerful and merry every man should be
until he waits for death (v. 15)Fire is best for the sons of men,
and the sight of the sun
his health, if a man can manage to keep it,
living without disgrace (v. 68)Cattle die, kinsmen die
you yourself shall die
I know one thing which never dies:
the reputation of each dead man (v. 77 )There is propounded here no absolute ethical standard, no aspiration to saintliness or moral perfection, but simply the attempt to live a life of enjoyment, accomplishment and integrity within an acceptance of human limitations. This down-to-earth, matter-of-fact view of life is profoundly humanistic without denying the importance of the sacred or the supernatural. Gods, elves and other supernatural beings are however conceived in largely human terms, as are relations with these beings and among them. The ethics of Hávamál and other ancient Norse texts are very much relational or relationship-centered: one seeks to be on good terms with other people, with the natural world and the supernatural world as well, while not shrinking from conflict and from defending one’s rights where the need arises. There is no “turning the other cheek”, no valorization of peace at any cost or meekness as an end-in-itself.
The Sagas in particular celebrate tough, shrewdheroes who fight on against the odds and do not back down, even at the cost of death. This reflects the attitude of the gods in facing the final battle of Ragnarok. They are fated to fall in combat against the giants, as Ódin learns in Voluspá, but prepare in full earnest and make their maximum effort nonetheless. The sense of living a dignified life without any hope of a miraculous “salvation” is central to the ethics and world-view of the ancient Norse texts, valued in Icelandic culture in a general way and also within Ásatrú, though members are always free to pursue their own interpretations and adaptions.
The Sacred and the Supernatural in Ásatrú
The classification of Ásatrú as a religion depends largely on how we define religion. If religion is defined as absolute belief and total emotional dependence upon a transcendent deity with the hope of future salvation, then Ásatrú is clearly not a religion. But if religion may be defined as the shared pursuit and cultivation of activities and attitudes which bring people into contact with something which they define as Sacred, then Ásatrú may indeed be so classified. For Ásatrúar, what is sacred is not so much or not only the ancient gods, but the historic traditions, cultural heritage and natural landscape with which the Nordic gods and other supernatural beings are associated. All of these things are indeed Vor Sithur, ‘Our Custom’, a source of pride and inspiration as well as amusement for Ásatrúar.
There are Ásatrúar who would reject the above characterization of Ásatrú as a religion. Former Lawspeaker Jón Ingvar Jónsson, for instance, in explaining in an interview his reasons for leaving the group, declared quite emphatically, “I believe in nothing.” No sooner had he made this dramatic announcement, however, then he began to tell me of different aspects of Ásatrú that were indeed highly meaningful to him: the closeness to nature, the old poetry, the respect for the past. What he did not “believe” in was the literal reality of the gods or other such beings, accepting them only as metaphors and guiding figures in cautionary tales. Jón Ingvar had come to feel increasingly uncomfortable in a group where others had a much more positive feeling toward the Aesir, Elves and the other supernatural beings of myth and tradition.
No member of Ásatrú spoke of a literal belief or direct experience of these beings, but a number of people mentioned knowing other people in or out of Ásatrú who did believe in Huldufólk, Elves and other spiritual beings dwelling in and protecting the landscape of Iceland. I developed the suspicion that some of the people I interviewed may indeed have had their own belief or experience of Elves or other hidden beings, but chose to keep their own feelings private by speaking instead of unidentified “other people”. Baldur Sigurvinsson interpreted this in terms of Icelanders’ desire to present themselves, especially to foreigners, as completely modern, sane and scientific, without any beliefs or ideas that might give rise to ridicule, and suggested that a longer and more intimate acquaintance with Icelanders might open the way to a more honest and open discussion of these hidden matters. Or perhaps not.
An objective illustration of the fact that many Icelanders regard Elves and Huldufólk as a reality is found in the government’s road-building policy. The public works administration employs one official for the sole purpose of routing roads away from locations where they might disrupt the dwellings of hidden beings. Psychics known to possess the ability to perceive the dwellings of hidden supernatural beings are consulted to make sure that a projected road will not trespass upon or disturb the Elves or Huldufólk. It is believed, based, I am told, on actual past experiences, hat interference with these beings is an extremely risky business, as they may retaliate by causing sickness, mechanical malfunction or other calamities. Treating them with kindness and respect will produce benefits or at least avoid conflict.
Assuming that some Ásatrúar believe or have experience of Elves and Huldufólk as do other Icelanders, such belief is another way in which the love of the land and respect for nature is expressed in Ásatrú. The Elves and their other invisible kin are not transcendent deities separated from mankind by an unbridgeable gulf, occasionally popping by to work a miracle or drop off a scripture. They are part of the natural landscape, and their primary concern is to preserve the land in which they dwell alongside mankind. The Huldufólk are in this way not so much “supernatural” as “ultranatural”, representing not an overcoming of nature in the hopes of a better deal beyond but a deep reverence for the land and the mysterious powers able to cause fertility or famine. The gods of the ancient myths are also associated with powers of nature: Thor with storm and lightning, Freyr with the growth of crops, Freyja with sexuality, fertility and death, and Njorthur with the fecundity of the ocean. The land is also where the ancestors are said to dwell, either in mounds or inside mountains, in certain passages in such texts as Eyrbyggja Saga and Landnamabók.
Again and again, the link with the land is reiterated, on multiple levels of meaning. Jormundur Ingi Hansen called my attention to a passage at the beginning of the medieval law book Grágas in which it is declared that ships approaching Iceland with dragon-heads mounted on the prow must conceal or remove such devices to avoid alarming the Land-Spirits. One can but sadly observe that the Landvaettir today must pass some very unhappy hours when they contemplate the growing pollution in Iceland caused by the total lack of recycling facilities, despite the increasing amounts of garbage that come with Iceland’s adaptation of modern consumer culture, and the almost total lack of sewage treatment facilities for human waste, most of which is simply dumped in the ocean untreated. It is possible that Ásatrú, as a group with a high level of concern for the integrity of the natural landscape, will play a special role in raising the ecological awareness of the nation in future times.
We see, then, that the Sacred in Ásatrú weaves together a number of diverse elements, ranging from myths, values and traditions associated with the ancient texts, to the history and cultural heritage of the nation going back to the earliest times, to a love of the land and a reverence for the forces of nature which may be imagined or experienced as supernatural beings. This is a very Icelandic Sacred, deeply rooted in the texts, traditions and earth of Iceland. It is also a very Post modern Sacred, with more diversity than dogma, with many beloved narratives but no monolithic meta-narrative, allowing a broad range of interpretations and experiences only loosely tied together with the thread of reverence for the pagan traditions of the past, “Vor Sithur”, ‘Our Custom’.
Michael Strmiska
© Marklander 1998