That term has finally been linked to the more recent Old Norse title of jarl “high rank chief, duke, count,” which refers to someone with a high social status, but it raises phonological concerns. It should be noted that in the Poetic Edda, the Rígsþula poem narrates the formation of the social hierarchy in ancient Scandinavia. It says that Rígr (Heimdall) taught rune-smithing to one of his three sons, Jarl, forebear of the noble class (str. 33–36).187 According to Anders Hultgård, the expression ek erilaR could be interpreted as theophany formula, which implies a situation where a divinity manifests itself to a man or a group of men.188
19
Óðinn and the “Divine Origin” of the Runes
“There is one and only one thing Nordic tradition is unanimous about: the runes are God-made. A human inventor is never mentioned,” writes Lucien Musset.189 There are indeed multiple inscriptions that describe the runes as “birthed by the gods” or “came from the gods” (reginkunnar). The Noleby runestone reads Rūnō fahi raginakudo “I paint the runes that come from the gods,” and the Sparlösa runestone (Sweden, early 11th century) reads runaR þaR ræginkundu “those runes that come out of the gods.” The runes are also described as reginkunnr (of divine origin) in the Edda (Hávamál, str. 80) which indicates that they were created by the ginregin, “almighty gods” (str. 142).190 The Old Norse word regin is a collective designation for the gods, which means in the proper sense “decisions, sentences,” a bit like numina deorum. The appellative ginregin adds to the neutral plural regin the reinforcing prefix gin- that can be found in the name of the original abyss of Scandinavian cosmology, the Ginnungagap.
But the “divine” character of the runes is above all else related to their discovery by the god Óðinn, as narrated by the Poetic Edda in one of the most famous passages of that great poem named the Hávamál (the “tales of the Most-High” = Óðinn). The text dates from the 12th or the 13th century, but most of of the work, which is split into verses, was most likely written before 950, from much older traditions and using much older materials, since the first and older part of the Hávamál is already quoted by the skald Eyvindr Skáldaspillir in 980.191 The verses 138–145, which form the fifth part of the poem, are called Rúnatal (Rúnaþáttr Óðinns), meaning the (count of the runes.) This is Óðinn speaking:
For nights all nine,
I know that I hung
on that wyrd and windy tree,
by gar wounded
and given to Odin,
myself to myself I gave,
on that mammoth tree
of which Man knows not
from where the roots do run.
Blessed with no bread,
nor brimming horn,
down below I looked;
Runes I took up,
roaring I took them,
then back unbound I fell.
With mighty songs nine
from that much-famed son
of Bestla’s father Bolthorn,
a draft I drank
of the dearest mead,
from the Stirrer of Poetry poured.
Then fertile I became
and full of wisdom,
and I grew and greatly thrived.
A word got a word
by a word for me;
a work got a work
by a work for me.
Runes you will find
and readable staves,
very strong those staves,
very stiff those staves,
which were painted by the mighty priest,
and rendered by the high rulers,
and risted by the rulers’ invoker.192
So, it is in that famous text that Scandinavian tradition attributes the discovery of the runes to Óðinn. It should be emphasized that it’s a discovery, not an invention, because the text implies that the runes existed prior to the story being told. Every word must be carefully considered. It is after having hanged for “nine full nights” (netr allar nío) from a “windy” tree and having looked down (“down below”), that the god could “take up the runes” (nysta ek niþr, nam ek upp rúnar). Then he learned from the giant Bölthorn nine “mighty songs” (fimbulljódh níu), meaning nine magical songs filled with energy, which enabled him to “become fertile,” to “become full of wisdom,” to “grow,” and to “thrive.” The “windy” tree is Yggdrasil (Yggr’s horse), the world tree, the cosmic tree of the ancient Germanic people. Sometimes described as a yew tree (Eibe in German), sometimes as an ash tree, it protects the world it supports and it is the main residence of the gods. It could correspond to the rune thirteen (4), which is called * īwaz “yew” (īwa in Old High German, īo in Anglo-Saxon, ibe in Danish, jubhar in Irish, etc.). The “very strong staves” or “very stiff staves” could have been used for divination or magic. We should note the allusions to the “high rulers” and “rulers’ invoker” (hroptr rögna, Hroptatýr), which is one of the aliases of Óðinn.
That initiatory hanging which enabled Óðinn to discover the runes has often been used as a pretext to attribute “shamanic” traits to him, and we should exercise caution when it comes to that interpretation because “shamanism” explanations have been overused, and that term should be handled more carefully than it usually is. Fraçoise Bader rightly underlined the visual character of that acquisition, by reminding us that the same Indo-European root *weyd- expresses both notions of “seeing” and “knowing.”193 Óðinn, who left one of his eyes in the Mímir’s well does indeed have a great “vision.”
Like Varuna for the Indians or Ogmios for the Celts, Óðinn embodies night sky, the dark aspect of cosmic sovereignty (in opposition to Týr), and he patronizes magic in this respect. He can also be compared to Ouranos for the Greeks or Jupiter Stator for the Romans. “Oðinn is a runesmith,” writes Bernard Sergent, “because he is an extension of the kind of gods who master magic.”194 Sovereign magician, “binding” god, but also “shouting” god, like Indra for the Indo-Aryans he has the power of metamorphosis. God of war, patron of “bestial warriors” (Berserkir), father of the dead, master of the wild hunt, he is also the god of drunkenness and ecstasy.
Óðinn is called Othinn in Old Swedish, Wōden in Anglo-Saxon, Wodan in Old Saxon, Wotan or Wuotan in Old High German. All those forms are derived from the primitive form *Wōdan(az) or *Wōdinaz, which is probably also related to vates (uātēs) in Latin and ouateis in Celtic. The etymology of the term take it back to ód “fury” (Old Norse óðr), hence Wut in German (from Old High German wuot) and woede in Dutch, same meaning. The fury in question is both a fighting fury and a “spiritual elation that is almost ecstatic,” which can be expressed by a “visionary vaticination” (Edgar C. Polomé). Adam of Bremen writes: “Wodan id est furor.”
The hanging described in the Rúnatal explains some of the aliases of Óðinn, like Geiguðr (“he who hangs”), Hangi (“the hung one”) or Skollvaldr (the “lord of oscillation”). In skaldic poetry, gallows are often called “the hung’s horse.” Óðinn is indeed the god of the hung (hangatýr, Handagud), the “lord of gallows” (galga valdr) and “hanging seems to have been a typical way to offer him sacrifices.”195 In the Hávamál (str. 157), he is also said to have the power to bring back to like the hung by inscribing and coloring runes for them (svá ec ríst oc í rúnom fác).
20
Runic Magic in Sagas — The Runesmith
Icelandic sagas mention runic magic several times. Grettir’s Saga (Grettis saga Ásmundarsonar) narrates how the old witch Þuríðr engraved evil runes: “She took her knife and engraved runes in the root [of the tree], she colored them red with her blood and performed incantations” (Chapter 79).
Egill’s Saga (Egils saga Skalla-Grímssonar) which is usually attributed to Snorri Sturluson narrates that its hero was not only versed in the art of skalding, but also knew the secrets of the runes and used them for magical, preventive or therapeutic purposes. In Chapter 72, Egill Skallagrímsson finds a young girl on a farm who suffers from lethargy. A young man h
ad unsuccessfully tried to heal her by clumsily engraving “love runes” (manrúnar) on a baleen that he put under her bed. Egill sees that the runes were poorly written and gently scratches them, burns the chips and declares: “None shall engrave runes / If one can’t discern them” (Skalat maðr rúnar rista, / nema ráða vel kunni). Then he picks up his knife, cuts his palm and engraves some other runes, which enable the sick girl to quickly lose her lethargy: “I engrave the rune in the whalebone. / I color the characters red with blood / I choose my words / To engrave them in the whalebone.”196 “Other Norse works,” writes François-Xavier Dillmann, “are just as rich in stories involving magic or divination.”197
Egill Skalla-Grímsson is introduced in the saga that bears his name as a true “runesmith.” That term is present as is in several runic inscriptions, like the one on the Björketorp Runestone (Sweden, 6th century): haidRrūnō ronu falhk hādra ginrūnaR, “I, runesmith, hide here powerful runes.” The runesmith (rúnameistari in Icelandic medieval sources) is quite evidently the one who has the knowledge of the Fuþark, which isn’t necessarily the case of the person actually engraving runes (runristare in Swedish, Runenritzer in German). But we know very little about his social status, his exact function or the circumstances he intervened under. It is possible that he had a sacerdotal function. “The vast majority of the twenty-five runesmiths whose names are mentioned in writing is made of magicians, consecrated beings, even priests,” notes François-Xavier Dillmann.198 Runesmiths could also be women. For that matter, Egill Skalla-Grímsson was raised by a woman versed in magic, just like the power of the runes was revealed to Sigurdr by the Valkyrie Sigrdrífa. Lastly, runesmiths could be poets: for instance, the Hillersjö stone (11th century) reads “The skald Torbjörn engraved runes,” which is also the case of Egill Skalla-Grímsson. “The mastery of the runes gave the runesmith godlike powers […] so the runesmith appears to be acting in the name of Odin himself, who invented the runes and gave them their magical powers,” underlines Ludwig Buisson, citing the Noleby runestone.199
Runesmiths engrave “power runes.” But even if several authors easily acknowledge that runes were used to engrave magical inscriptions, as we’ve seen, they readily claim that they aren’t inherently magical. Yet, if we go by the Poetic Edda, it seems like the opposite. The Rígsþula poem, for instance, specifically maintains that mastering runic writing grants specific powers. In the Sigrdrífumál (the “Tales of Sigrdrífa”) the Valkyrie Sigrdrífa gives to Sigurdr, who just woke up from his magical slumber, directives on how to use the runes: “If you need to know the fighting runes / If you want to be smart / You must engrave them in the pommel of the sword / Across the whole blade / and close to the tip / And mention Týr twice (ok nefna tysvar Tý).”200 Then, in verses 6 to 19, she lists a whole set of runes (she calls them “true letters”) responsible for powers: victory runes (sigrúnar), healing runes (bótrúnar), power runes (meginrúnar), saving runes (bjargrúnar), beer runes, backwash runes, memory runes, speech runes, limb runes, birthing runes, runes protecting from adultery, etc.201 All those runes seem to actually hold a power within themselves.
The major runic sites in Scandinavia.
Map of the sites where most of the oldest known runic inscriptions have been found. It’s easy to notice that they are concentrated in northern Europe, especially in Denmark and in southern Sweden.
Part III
21
The Three Phases of the Moon
The symbolic or magical character of the runes tend to confirm that they were used for divinatory purposes before writing purposes, but it doesn’t entirely explain the peculiar order of the Fuþark nor grouping the runes into three ættir. In order to better understand either one of those issues, we can only rely on theories. The theories we will expand on in this section, which are based on a number of consistent clues, in that the three sequences of eight runes originally corresponded to the three phases of the moon. The Fuþark is made of twenty-four signs partitioned into three eight-sign sequences, just like the Moon cycles through three sequences of eight nights (ascending moon, full moon, descending moon), and five moonless nights (or “black moon” nights). Is that similarity only a coincidence? We don’t have to think so. It is only a theory, but many signs tell us to dig deeper.
Diodorus Siculus reminds us that, “in ancient times, when the Sun’s motion was not understood, the year was counted thanks to the Moon’s journey” (I, 25). There is also a consensus that the Moon’s cycle was used by human societies to record time in the beginning, not the Sun’s, since the former is simpler to track.202 A solar year is 365.242 days, a lunar year is 354.367 days. A solar month is 30.436 days, a lunar month is 29.530 in average (the variation is the result of the orbit of the Moon around the Earth not being circular). Since a lunar year is about eleven days “late” compared to a solar year, the only way to correct the gap is to align the lunar year with the cycle of seasons and use leap days or months. That is the origin of the “twelve holy nights” (Weihenächten, wihen nechten in Middle High German, see Weihnacht “Christmas” in German), following the winter solstice for the Germanic people, or which correspond to the twelve days spent by Zeus (diurnal Sky) at Poseidon’s (in “Ethiopia”) for the Greeks, and to the twelve days of creative slumber of the R̥bhus at Savitar and Agohya’s for Vedic India (see also the Brahman ritual called dvādaśāha “the twelve-day sacrifice”).
Alexander Marshack’s work in America and Boris A. Frolov’s work in Russia203 have established in a parallel but independent way that the astronomical tracking of the Moon goes back to the Upper Paleolithic (30,000–10,000 BC). The Venus of Laussel, which is associated with the Gravettian Upper Paleolithic culture (approximately 25,000 years old), holds in its right hand a cornucopia decorated with thirteen vertical lines indicating the number of lunar circles that take place in a year. A Neolithic calendar discovered in the village of Slatino, Bulgaria, also displays a table with rows of vertical lines that indicate the phases of the Moon. It has been confirmed by archaeology, iconography and its role in winter nights that the cult of the Moon was present in Scandinavia in the Mesolithic.204
Thanks to microphotography and the use of binocular magnifying glasses, Alexander Marshack has been able to decipher marks and notches on several hundreds of prehistoric objects that go back to the Aurignacian and the Magdalenian (around the middle of the last Würm glaciation). Those marks and notches were until then considered to be “kill notches” or simply decorations, but they actually correspond to lunar phrasing notated with all its subdivisions. Among those objects, there is a 35,000-year-old small fragment exhumed from the Blanchard shelter in Dordogne, which bears sixty-nine round or crescent-shaped incisions which represent the phases of the Moon. Similar marks have been found on a reindeer antler from the Magdalenian period in the cave of La Marche, in Lussac-les-Châteaux, on bone and stone objects from the Lartet shelter (Dordogne), Niaux, Cougnac and Rouffignac in France, El Castillo and La Pileta in Spain. Marshack writes that
it seems that as far back as 30,000 BC, during an ice age, the western-European hunter used an already evolved and complex notation system, whose tradition could have gone back several thousand years. […] [Those notations] weren’t a writing like we understand it to be yet. Nonetheless, it does seem like we could see in it the roots of science and writing, insofar as we have archaeological testimonies which indicate in all likelihood the presence of cognitive processes which will show up later on in science and writing.205
He also notes about a lunar calendar engraved on the mattock of Urgerlöse (Denmark):
That calendar could explain the presence of a tradition of notation and observation in northern and central Europe at a time when the faraway agricultural cultures of the South had a different regional tradition. It could explain the origin of calendar sticks and runic calendars found in northern Europe in the modern period.
The coincidence between women’s menstrual periods and the length of the lunar cycle has of course bee
n noticed very early on. It explains why the (full) moon has often been considered to be a symbol of fecundity. The words for “month” and for “moon” are related in many Indo-European languages, including English and Monat and Mond in German. See also arma- “moon, month” in Hittite, mañ “month” in Tocharian A, mēnsis “month” in Latin, mí (derived from *mensos) “month” in Old Irish, amis “month” in Armenian. In Homeric Greek, the word for moon is meí, mès in the Dorian dialect, and mèn in classical Greek, which also means “month.”206 See also the names of the Greek goddess Mēnē, the Gaul goddess Mene, the Armenian goddess Amins. All those words are derived from the Indo-European *me(n)s-.207 “Comparative philology shows than in Indo-European languages, the terms that designate the month and the moon are identical, with possibly some small different suffixes, so we can deduce that at the time of the first Aryans, the month was determined by the moon.”208 That lunar month is split into three eight- or nine-night periods corresponding to the phases of the moon.
“Like many other Neolithic peoples,” writes Jean Haundry, “the Indo-Europeans started counting years with twelve lunar months (they could even have initially started with ten-month years!).” Lokmanya Bāl Gangādhar Tilak notes that Indo-Europeans “made offerings every morning and evening, every new and full moon.”209 Tacitus relates in Chapter 11 of his Germania that the Germanic people gathered at the beginning of lunar cycles or when the moon was full:
unless an untimely and sudden event happened, they gathered on specific days, during new or full moons (quum aut inchoatur luna aut impletur), because they believe that there can’t be a better influence to deal with matters at hand.210
He adds that unlike the Romans, the Germanic people don’t measure time in days but in nights because to them, nights are more important than days: “Moreover, they do not count time with days, like we do, but with nights, and that is that principle that guides their appointments and summons, because for them, days begin after the end of the night,”211 Bede the Venerable also writes in 725 in his De Temporum Ratione that the Anglo-Saxons counted time according to the course of the Moon: “antiqui autem Anglorum populi […] iuxta cursum lunæ suos menses computauere.”212 Traces of that period can still be found in German expressions or terms like Sonnabend, heiliger Abend, Weihnachtsabend. The German word for “week,” Woche (wiko in Gothic, weka in Old High German, wika in Old Norse, wike or wuku in Anglo-Saxon, wike in Frisian) originally means change (Wechsel), that is going from one phase of the moon to another. The word heute “today” is derived from *hiu dagu meaning “this day” in Germanic, singular instrumental case of *hi- dag(a), but there’s also hinaht, “this night” in Old High German.213
Runes and the Origins of Writing Page 7