My reasons for this reaction require some background. To Richard Wagner, composing his operas in the 19th century, the god was Wotan, brooding on destiny and the ring of power. To Snorri Sturlusson, writing in the 13th with one eye on the priests and the other on the poets, he was the All-father, patron of kings and the skjalds who sang their praises. To the writers of the sagas, he was the untrustworthy Lord of Battles, giving victory or harvesting heroes for Valhalla. Who would choose a god like that for a teacher?
But in the collection of poems called the Elder Edda, another image emerges. There we see Odin the seeker after knowledge—rune master, spell singer, whose eight-legged steed Sleipnir bears him even to the land of the dead. When Snorri continued his attempt to euhemerize the gods in the Ynglingasaga, he portrayed Odin as a master of a very particular kind of magic.
Odin was many things to the Teutonic peoples, but before anything else, he was a god of ecstasy. He is accompanied by two ravens who bring him knowledge from all over the world. He won the runes and the mead of poetry. For a drink from the well of wisdom, he traded one of his eyes.
Odin's gifts to humankind are the gifts of an expanded consciousness. For those with the courage to learn his lessons, Odin is the great teacher of magic.
The exact nature of this knowledge must be deduced from the somewhat elliptic references in the Eddas (the Poetic Edda, a collection of early poetry, and the Prose Edda, a mixture of poetry and prose summaries written by Snorri Sturlusson to explain them) and sagas. Norse literature features a kind of poetic shorthand of metaphor and allusion that assumes that the listener already knows the stories to which they refer, not all of which have survived.
According to Snorri, Odin's warriors went into battle intoxicated by battle frenzy. Those who fought joyfully received their reward in Valhalla. Those who tried to deny the god the lives they had dedicated to him came to sticky ends. Perhaps the kings who found Odin untrustworthy did not understand the kind of commitment the god requires and the kind of help he is able to give. Perhaps this is what happened to the Nazis, who took (and perverted) what they wanted from the ancient tradition, sent those rune masters who did not agree with them to the concentration camps, and eventually perished in their own Ragnarök. That is the fate of all who try to bend the god to their own purposes and to use his magic for their own advantage instead of for the good of the world.
I believe that this is, finally, the secret of Odinic magic—its attraction, and also its terror. The story of Odin demonstrates the truth that those who would follow his path can hold back nothing, must be willing to sacrifice themselves for the sake of wisdom. This is Odin. This was the power—whether you want to call him the archetype of the Wise Old Man or a god—who had chosen me . . .
Knowing this, I faced him.
The raven is sitting on one of the stones, watching me as a mother watches her child begin to walk. Am I willing to suffer what Odin may require? I fear him, but I understand him. The Runes speak to me. The culture from which he comes is the closest parent to my own.
I know that if I refuse this, I'll lose her as well.
The god looks at me. “Why have you come here? What do you want of me?”
“I want to learn Northern magic—”
He lifts his spear.
Through all the years of patient practice in meditation, visualization, and the rest, I had yearned for something unexpected and overpowering to happen to me. When it did, I was grateful for every discipline I had ever learned. My perception was that the spear stabbed through my solar plexus and with it came a great flood of light. Physical tremors surged through my body. I lay twitching and whimpering, almost beyond thought, consciousness clinging to the steady beat of the drum.
When the drum speeded up to bring us back to the world of sensory reality, it was a battle to return. I managed to control the rhythm of my breathing and used it to calm and relax my body. When I was able to open my eyes, I had to spend more time grounding before I could walk well enough to go get some food. A turkey-and-cheese sandwich completed the process of linking spirit and body again.
Since then, I have found other people who have encountered Odin's spear, some stabbed in the solar plexus and some through the heart. What I didn't expect was that once installed in my head, the god would stay there. He does not object to my contacts with other gods; indeed, through me, he seems eager to meet them, but he is my fulltrui, the fully trusted one, with whom (or perhaps I should say for whom) I have now worked for thirty years.
What do I mean when I say that I work with a god? Today the word has a variety of meanings, some of them mutually exclusive. In Christian theology, God with a capital G is a supernal being who is omni-everything. For an excellent discussion of the problems with traditional monotheism, see A World Full of Gods by John Michael Greer. Any human words we can use to talk about this Being inevitably limit it. Except when we are in a highly altered and abstract state of consciousness, connection with the divine requires us to filter our perception through a concept of personhood that we can understand. The polytheist solution to this problem is to subdivide divinity into separate gods.
Thus, Odin, despite the magnificence of some of his titles, is not all-powerful. He knows more, and differently, than we do, but he is not omniscient. When he speaks through seers in trance, it is clear that he has his own opinions and agenda. His true nature may extend into dimensions we can scarcely imagine, but for useful contact to take place, that immensity must be channeled through our human perceptions. We experience him as a person.
There are certain questions that get discussed late at night around the fire at Pagan festivals. One of them is whether the gods create us or we create them. Most people seem to feel that the answer is “yes.” Odin and his companions may not have literally shaped humans out of logs of wood, but I believe that divine energies “created” us by influencing physical matter to evolve and grow. At the same time, our changing cultures provide us with images through which to express the ways in which we perceive the divine. We associate the image of an older man with a gray beard with wisdom, so when we try to visualize the god of wisdom, that is how he appears.
A related question is whether the gods are immanent, located within us and our world, or transcendent, having their being in a dimension beyond ours. The answer to this question is “yes,” as well. They are “out there,” in the sense that we move into an altered state of consciousness to contact them, but we also sense their presence within.
We humans cannot even fully know one another, so how can we expect to fully understand a god? In the discussions that follow, remember that what we are talking about is neither the totality of the divine energy nor even the entire part of it that is Odin, but rather the aspects of his nature that serve his purposes and meet our needs.
This book does not aim to be the definitive scholarly analysis of Odin. For that, you should go to the work of scholars such as H. M. Chadwick, Jan DeVries, Karl Hauck, or, more recently, Neil Price's The Viking Way and Stephan Grundy's The Cult of Odin. I will, however, try to include enough background to put you on a solid footing regarding his nature and function. We call Heathenry “the religion with homework” for a reason. You may want to pick up copies of the Eddas so you can look up the references and read further. I recommend Andy Orchard's translation of the Poetic Edda and Anthony Faulkes's translation of the Prose (titled simply Edda) for clarity. For more depth, explore the other sources in the bibliography.
You can, of course, simply read this book straight through. But reading only speaks to a part of the psyche. To understand Odin in your heart and soul, you need to seek him in the world and to open the doors of your spirit through spiritual practice. If you choose to go deeper, skim through to the end, then return to the beginning and work your way through the chapters, one per month. At the end of each chapter, you will find suggestions for things you can do. A selection of songs and rituals are included in the appendices.
Approach these chapters as
an introduction to Odin's nature and the ways in which he acts in our world, both in the lore, the primary sources from the past, and through the testimony of those who work with him today. Inevitably, a great deal of the content is from my own perspective. But over the years, I have met many others who have encountered Odin, and they have allowed me to share some of their experiences.
A term that has become popular in the contemporary Heathen community is “UPG”—“unsupported personal gnosis”—which refers to insights and opinions derived from meditation, dream, or logic for which there is no explicit evidence in the lore. If other people independently come up with the same idea, it may acquire the status of a “community gnosis,” and if after several centuries it becomes generally accepted, it might even qualify as lore. Scholarly conclusions drawn from old texts and archaeology provide a valuable baseline from which to evaluate contemporary inspiration, but Odin is a living Power, and we can also learn from those who encounter him today. As long as we distinguish clearly between these kinds of knowledge, both have value.
As we shall see, no single view of this god is entirely wrong—or right. Odin is complicated. The aspect you encounter will depend on your background and perceptions, what you are looking for, and what you, or the god, thinks you need.
In kindness to the reader, I have dropped the nominative endings of Old Norse words, giving us Frey instead of Freyr. I have also used modern English spellings, thus instead of Óðinn, we see Odin. The Norse letter ð, “edh,” is represented by “dh.” The letter “thorn,” þ, by “th.” In pronouncing the name of the god, the “o” sound should be somewhat drawn out—“aow,” and the “dh” in the second syllable pronounced as a hard “th” sound, as in “them,” clipping the name off short after the final “n.”
Odin and Odinism:
From time to time the media mentions “Odinism,” often, unfortunately, in connection with a crime. This term for Heathen religion is popular in prisons and groups that require European ancestry. This attitude is not shared by all in Heathenry. In the lore, Odin insists that the other gods also be honored, and I have met people from all races and genders who clearly have strong and productive relationships with this god.
King Gylfi Visits the Hall of Hár
This is an excerpt from a play I wrote based on Gylfaginning, presented by Hrafnar kindred at PantheaCon in 2009.
The room is arranged theater style. In front, three seats of varying height have been arranged, one above the other. Three cloaked figures are sitting there. Gylfi (a king disguised as a poor traveler) knocks on the door frame.
Steward: Who's there? (she pulls open the door)
Gylfi: My name's, um, Gangleri. I've come a long way.
Can you give me a lodging for the night?
Steward: I suppose we can do that. There's room and to spare in this hall.
Gylfi: (comes into the room to stand before the three figures,
sitting one above another on stacked chairs)
I believe you. I see people eating and drinking,
Playing games and fighting with swords.
There's a little of everything here.
Who's the master of this hall?
Steward: I can take you to him and you can see for yourself.
Gylfi: (aside) I'd better look sharp. Like the old verse says,
When you go through a door
Look round with care,
Don't know what foes
Wait for you there.
Gylfi: (looks at the figures and whispers to steward) Who are they?
Steward: The one on the lowest throne is called Hár, the High One. He's a king. The next is Jafnhár, Just-as-High. He's a king as well.
Gylfi: And the third?
Steward: Is the Third, Thridhi. He's—
Gylfi: I can guess, he's a king too.
Hár: Now that you know who we are, do you need anything else? If not, sit down and have some food . . .
Gylfi: Well actually, I do have a few questions. Is there a well-informed man in this hall?
Hár: (laughs) Unless you're even better informed, you won't leave this hall alive.
While you ask, stand forward please,
The answerer shall sit at ease.
So—what would you like to know?
Fig. 1: Ritual banner depicting Odin, embroidered by Diana Paxson
CHAPTER ONE
Will the Real Odin Stand Up, Please?
High One, Just as High and Third
These are his names as we have heard,
Wide of Wisdom counsel gives,
Odin, Oski, Omi lives,
We call on Wodan, Vili, Vé,
to All-father, Sigfather, Gandfather pray.
—“Namechant,” by Diana L. Paxson
The man was in a blue cloak, and called himself Grimnir (the masked, or hidden one); he said nothing else about himself, though he was asked.
—Grimnismál, prologue
Those who have grown up with the straightforward definitions of gods that you find in Dungeons and Dragons manuals may find themselves frustrated when they try to explain Odin, who is “the god of . . .” a lot of things. One place to start is by looking at the names and titles he has been given over the years. The “Namechant” quoted above gives a few of them (for the music, see appendix 2 at the end of this book).
In Neil Gaiman's American Gods, Shadow asks, “Who are you?” His companion offers “Mr. Wednesday,” since it is his day. When Shadow insists on his “real” name, Mr. Wednesday answers, “Work for me long enough and well enough . . . and I may even tell you that” (Gaiman 2001, 22). For many who work with, or for, Odin, that is indeed the goal.
In “The Lay of Hárbard,” Thor, worn out from fighting giants, arrives on the shore of a fjord and calls to the ferryman to come over and take him to the other side. Apparently he is too far away to realize that the man at the ferry is his father. Odin seems to be in a quixotic mood. When the exchange of pleasantries works its way around to introductions, the god replies, “I am called Hárbard, I seldom hide my name . . .” (Hárbardhsljódh 10).
This may be the only joke Odin makes in the entire body of the lore. The point, of course, is that Odin has more names than anyone else in Asgard, and never gives his own name when a byname will do. He is the ferryman Hárbard (“Hoar-Beard”) when he teases his son at the shore. As the wanderer Vegtam, he conjures the seeress from her grave-mound to give him answers, and as Grímnir, the Hidden One, he withstands being “roasted” by King Geirrod. Still other epithets, bynames, and hypostases may be found elsewhere. In The Viking Way, Neil Price lists 204 names used for Odin in the lore.
Why does he have so many names? In the section of the Younger Edda called Skáldskaparmál, Snorri Sturlusson, writing for young poets, explains that in poetry you can call a thing by its name, substitute another word, or use a descriptive kenning. Given that kings needed praise poems to spread their fame, poets had to find a lot of terms for the patron of kings. The other reason, of course, is that Odin is interested in a great many things. Those who work with him today may refer to him as “the Old Man,” or sometimes, “You bastard.” How many names Odin really has ranks with his last words to Baldur as one of the great unanswerable questions in the lore.
Some years ago, my friend Lorrie Wood got a post from someone who was trying to understand the relationship between Odin's many aspects. This is how she replied:
The aspects of Odin that are in one or another “name clump” may resonate more with me, and others with another, but none of them aren't Odin. The aspects of Lorrie that might be collected under the aspect of “lwood”—the parts of me that directly pertain to having been a systems administrator for fifteen years—have friends to whom that's the way they know me. The folk who know me as “Clewara,” a community organizer for a certain poly-MMORPG gaming guild primary based in EVE Online, see a different side of me. Our enemies within that game see me and my alternate characters, which only means to them I'm a target, or I'm
gathering reconnaissance on them because THEY are—well, we are to one another, ultimately. That's another group of folks who know me after that fashion. Both of those me's aren't the same me as the Lorrie who's been chugging along in service to the Troth for a decade and a half. That's another batch. The Lorrie that stands at Diana's side running Hrafnar isn't the same and hasn't the same friends as the foregoing either.
They all intersect and overlap: the Linux administrator learned how to handle groups of people and both know how to do a good turn in desktop publishing and so on. They all gather data and see patterns and weave threads and tease sense from them and all that happy fun stuff. Those are all me!
So how much less could Odin be Odin, whether I'm calling him Vegtam or Valfodr? Those address the god in different places, but they're the same god. Who is the Far-Crier? Who is the Way-Tamer? Who is the Hooded One? Who is the Old Man? Who is Frost-Beard and Horsehair-Mustache and Fire-Eyed and Dead-Eyed? Who is Woe-Worker and Desired One?
Yes.
In this chapter, you will encounter a summary of Odin's names and history that will give you a context for the more detailed discussion of his major aspects in the chapters that follow.
Aliases and Aspects
The name by which we know Thor's father best is Óðinn, anglicized as “Odin.” In Old English, he is Woden, in German, Wotan, or the archaic Wodanaz. The root word can be translated as “frenzy,” “voice,” “poetry,” “vision,” “excitation,” or “mind.” As you shall see in chapter 10, these terms derive from a state of mental exaltation that can indeed manifest as either inspiration or berserk fury. To me, the fervor of excitement one feels in the throes of creative achievement of any kind captures the essence of Odin's primary name.
Odin Page 2