by David King
True to form, two weeks after the great fire had ravaged three-fourths of Uppsala, Rudbeck entered the council chamber with drawings of plans to rebuild his beloved town.
EPILOGUE
IN SEPTEMBER 1702, only a few months after the great fire, Olof Rudbeck fell ill and died peacefully in bed. His death passed without a proper memorial, as the university was too strapped for funds and preoccupied with rebuilding the town. When a public ceremony was finally held, a year later, authorities raised a plaque over his tomb that read, “This testifies to Olof Rudbeck’s mortality, but Atlantica his immortality.” By this time, however, Rudbeck’s theories were enjoying their last days of acceptance in the scholarly community.
Their demise did not, ironically, result from proven deficiencies in the theories themselves. Confidence in Rudbeck’s lost civilization seems rather to have suffered more from the fall of the Swedish empire. Off to a roaring start in the Great Northern War, the last of Sweden’s warrior kings, Charles XII, had won some spectacular victories, humiliating Russian armies against sometimes staggering odds. The battle of Narva in 1700, for instance, saw a heavily outnumbered Swedish force, probably about four to one, trounce Tsar Peter’s Russian army. Yet, as Napoleon and Hitler would also later experience, Charles XII’s invasion of Russia would ultimately bog down under the harsh attacks of General Winter and General Famine.
By the end of the Great Northern War in 1721, Sweden had been crushed, and Russia had gobbled up most of its Baltic territories. Other European neighbors, particularly Prussia, still a relatively minor power, came in for the kill. The Swedish empire was eagerly carved up, and only a few lone places were left, including a reduced Finland and a slice of Pomerania. Sweden would never again be a military power in the way that it had been in Rudbeck’s lifetime, and its sudden collapse would in time make his views of ancient Sweden look absurd.
Along with these largely unforeseen military disasters, Rudbeck’s once lauded theory suffered from changes in the craft of history. Historians in the Enlightenment turned increasingly to written evidence of books and documents, making Rudbeck’s methods look peculiar at best. By the early eighteenth century Atlantica had fallen into the realm of parody. Rudbeck’s name was becoming synonymous, at least in some circles, with wild theorizing—the author of Atlantica living on, for a time, in a new verb coined to describe such bold, uncontrolled speculation: att Rudbeckisera, or “to Rudbeck.”
Yet, given advances in the study of history, we can now see how pioneering Rudbeck’s work actually was. Despite the many etymological derivations that were indeed outrageous and hopelessly far-fetched, some of his conclusions were years ahead of his time. He correctly deduced, for example, the central importance of rivers in the rise of civilization, outlining his impressive discussion in Atlantica some fifty years before Isaac Newton’s celebrated theory. Likewise, his insights into the interconnectedness of languages were later developed and proven true when scholars discovered the Indo-European roots of many ancient and modern languages (though of course this root wasn’t even close to Swedish).
Perhaps most visionary, however, were the extraordinary ways in which he advanced his search. Unlike the authors of previous efforts to locate lands relegated to the realm of myth and legend, Rudbeck was not content to speculate or theorize within the cozy confines of a library. Rather he set out to find his lost world, and chase down any remains that might have escaped the ravages of time. As he would later put it, it was the difference between sitting on a beach wondering about the mysteries of the ocean and actually hopping into the waters to find out for yourself.
Growing up between Galileo and Isaac Newton, Rudbeck also knew the value of the new scientific method for revolutionizing our knowledge and reached the conclusion that traditional historians had scarcely harnessed its potential. Painstakingly calculating, measuring, and adopting an exceptional empirical approach that stressed direct observation, Olof Rudbeck would indeed be a pioneer in using the scientific method for interpreting evidence of the distant past.
No longer could one only sit comfortably in a warm cottage, his nose in a book, and think up arguments. Rather, a true and more accurate knowledge could be obtained only with physical labor—hands blackened by experiments, back aching from closely examining plants and minerals, and eyes weary from gazing at distant stars in the night sky. This comment shows very much Rudbeck’s approach to the ancient past, seeking clues wherever they might be found.
Characteristically, as Rudbeck chased Atlantis, each new discovery sparked another, and this in turn led him to undertake even bolder measures. He put his postal fleet and commercial transportation service to use in testing the possibility of an Argonaut voyage in the Baltic—a brilliant development that inaugurated what we today call experimental archaeology. But Rudbeck’s most startling contribution was probably his invention of an early archaeological dating method. Field archaeologists all over the world still rely on measuring distinctions in rock and soil layers, now called stratigraphy, to determine the approximate age of objects found in the ground. Almost two hundred years before such an important method of investigation would be borrowed from geologists, Rudbeck had put it to good use on Swedish burial mounds and standing stones to date the remains of his lost civilization.
Absolutely convinced as he was of his theory, Rudbeck applied his ingenuity and enthusiasm to overcome the many difficulties he encountered. Nothing stood in his way, at least not for long. And that, essentially, is one of the main problems with his work. He had very little sense of limit and virtually no ability to accept a fact—any fact—that conflicted with his theory. Rudbeck was very much the victim of his own problem-solving talent. He succumbed, too, it must be said, to the power of his own instinct, his imagination, and his love for his country.
So, in the end, this is a very human story—the story of a dreamer whose passion took him to great extremes. His curiosity, creativity, and resourcefulness made him a great pioneer, yet all his talents and expertise, combined with his scientific methods, only took him further into the realm of fantasy. The more pioneering he became, the farther astray he went—and the more ingenuous his solutions, the more it all descended into delusion. But what a spectacular and beautiful vision, and what an adventure!
For me, the story of this adventure closes in our own backyard. In many gardens and meadows grows a lovely flower called “black-eyed Susan.” This plant belongs to the family Rudbeckia, named in honor of Olof Rudbeck and his son. Appropriately, it is a hardy flower, capable of surviving great stress and thriving in an impressive array of conditions. This flower stands today as a cheerful reminder of Olof Rudbeck and his remarkable search.
Notes
Frequently cited works in the notes have been identified by the following abbreviations:
Atl.
Olof Rudbeck.
Olf Rudbecks Atland eller Manheim … Olaus Rudbecks Atlantica, svenska originaltexten.
Vols. I–IV. Uppsala, 1937–1950.
Bref
Claes Annerstedt, ed.
Bref af Olof Rudbeck d.ä. rörande Uppsalas universitet.
Vols. I–IV. Uppsala, 1893–1905.
Gylf.
Snorri Sturluson.
Edda Gylfaginning.
KB
Kungliga biblioteket.
KVHAA
Henrik Schück.
Kgl. Vitterhets historie och antikvitets akademien. Dess förhistoria och historia.
Vols. I–IV. Stockholm, 1932–1935.
LUB
Lunds universitetsbibliotek.
RA
Riksarkivet.
RS
Royal Society.
ULA
Uppsala landsarkiv.
UUÅ
Uppsala universitets årskrift.
UUB
Uppsala universitetsbibliotek.
UUH
Claes Annerstedt.
Uppsala universitets historia.
Vols. I–III. Uppsala, 1877–19
14.
For readers wanting to know more about Olof Rudbeck’s life, Gunnar Eriksson has written an excellent scholarly biography, Rudbeck 1630–1702: Liv, lärdom, dröm i barockens Sverige (2002). Its balanced analysis and rigorous treatment make the book a landmark study, and I only wish it had been available for me during the first seven years of my work. Eriksson’s Atlantic Vision (1994) is also of great importance; special thanks to Eriksson for giving me a copy back in 1995, when I first started to be fascinated with this subject. Claes Annerstedt’s Bref is a gold mine of information, both for its collection of primary documents and for Annerstedt’s insightful commentaries. Annerstedt’s history of Uppsala University, UUH, was also helpful, as was P. D. A. Atterbom’s overview of Rudbeck’s achievements, Minne af professoren i medicinen vid Uppsala universitet Olof Rudbeck den äldre (1850–51). Henrik Schück’s history of Swedish antiquities, KVHAA, and Sten Lindroth’s Svensk lärdomshistoria. Stormaktstiden (1975) were likewise as indispensable to my work as they were inspiring in their scholarly expertise.
Among the many other secondary sources that have helped me understand Olof Rudbeck are Nordström’s De yverbornes ö. Bidrag till Atlanticans förhistoria (1930), Strindberg’s Bondenöd och stormaktsdröm. Studier över skedet 1630–1718 (1937), Nelson’s commentaries to the latest edition of the Atlantica (1937–50), Johannes Rudbeckius’s Bibliotheca Rudbeckiana (1918), and Per Dahl’s dissertation, Svensk ingenjörskonst under stormaktstiden: Olof Rudbecks tekniska undervisning och praktiskaverksamhet (1995). Michael Roberts, David Kirby, John Greenway, Eli Heckscher, Ingvar Andersson, Kurt Johannesson, Peter Englund, and Gunnar Broberg are also outstanding. It was John Greenway’s provocative discussion of seventeenth-century Sweden that first caught my interest in Olof Rudbeck’s search: Golden Horns: Mythic Imagination and the Nordic Past (1977), 71–82.
In addition to Atlantica I–IV and its accompanying Atlas volume, the present work draws on a number of primary sources housed in Scandinavian archives. The National Library (also known as the Royal Library) in Stockholm has Rudbeck’s own handwritten notes about the early history of Sweden, as well as a copy of his maps with notes in his own writing (Atland tabulae med anteckningar av O Rudbecks hand F.m.73). Some of Rudbeck’s other miscellaneous notes, including library loans, are found in Olaus Rudbecks autografsamlingen and Olof Rudbeck den äldre collectanea (F.e.16). The Swedish Riksarkivet (National Archives) has many of Rudbeck’s letters in the De la Gardie collection, especially the material relating to Uppsala University (Kanslers embetets handlingar för Uppsala universitet Arkiv E.11:5–E. 11:8). The Swedish National Archives also has Rudbeck’s letters to King Charles XI (Karl XI) and the Regency Government (6459.52, vol. 14; 1133.10, vol. 32), as well as his letters to other prominent Swedes.
Uppsala University has a wonderful survival of Rudbeck’s quest—one of his own notebooks, found in Olof Rudbecks collectanea (R 13)—and material, too, on various aspects of Rudbeck’s life: Olof Rudbeck d.ä. (X 240), Rudbecks biografi (X 208), as well as Bibliographia Sveo-Gothica XV Palmsköld samlingen 344, Virorum illustrium Suec. litterae No. XVI litterae Palmsk. samlingen 370 (W 848). Rudbeck’s handwritten notes on many other matters, ranging from old runes (R 551) to astronomy, including observations of comets (A 312), are also here. Claes Annerstedt donated his notes about the history of Uppsala University (for Rudbeck, see especially U40:4, U40:5, U40:6, and U40:63). Lund University also had a sizable collection of Rudbeck’s original letters to Chancellor de la Gardie in the De la Gardiska släktarkiven: Magnus Gabriel de la Gardie (93:1). Some of Rudbeck’s other letters, particularly from later in his life, are found at Uppsala länds arkiv (Länsstyrelsen i Uppsala län. Landskansliet biographica I. D.IV.A, 63 and 64, as well as Landskansliet skrivelser från akademiska konsistoriet och rektorsämbetet D III 1). The Royal Society in London has preserved copies of its letters to Rudbeck (LBC 3.253, LBC 4.386, LBC 4.49), his letters to them (LBC. 8.273), and the actual copy of Atlantica sent to the society in the autumn of 1681.
A note on Swedish spelling: I have not changed or modernized Rudbeck’s words. Also, some words appearing in his etymologies no longer exist in modern Swedish.
INTRODUCTION
The Uppsala fire is described in many sources, particularly Eenberg’s En utförlig relation om den grufweliga eldzwåda och skada, som sig tildrog med Uppsala stad den 16 Maii, åhr 1702 (1703), published when the city was still in ruins. Eenberg reports the especially dry spring that year (6–7), the chaos prevailing as the fire erupted (16–17), the damage to the cathedral (27ff.), and the devastation afterwards. Two of Rudbeck’s letters to Chancellor Bengt Oxenstierna reveal his own perspective on the catastrophe; both are often cited as valuable eyewitness reports (17 May 1702 and 26 May 1702, published in Annerstedt’s Bref IV, 387–90). The image of fire raining from the heavens comes from the first letter, as does Rudbeck’s other personal contributions, such as loaning his horses to neighbors.
Eenberg also notes how much Rudbeck suffered from the fire, including the loss of his house and the works he had kept in the cathedral (24, 31, 41). The legend of Rudbeck climbing atop a burning building is found in many of the older secondary accounts, including Atterbom (1851), 115–17. The literal accuracy is questioned by Annerstedt, Bref IV, cclxxviii–cclxxix, commenting on its absence from the oldest accounts, though he notes the well-known oral tradition of Rudbeck’s action and comments on how it is not contradicted by known facts. This uncertainty is why I have used the word legend.
Rudbeck’s words on so many “unbelievable” findings come from his letter to Count Magnus Gabriel de la Gardie, 28 December 1674, Bref II, 98–99. The rapid pace of the discoveries was still surprising Rudbeck, with the words about uncovering “unbelievable things” found in a letter dated 3 December 1676 (RA, Kanslers embetets handlingar för Uppsala universitet arkiv E.11:5). Deep into the project at this point, the discoveries were coming so quickly that he hoped to publish a “small addition” or “another book.” See Rudbeck’s own words, for instance, in Atl. I, 408, or Atl. I, 428, and the phrase itself, Atl. II, 15. At about this point in the printing of the first volume, the references to future continuations become more and more frequent (Atl. I, 458, 460, 476, 490).
The phrase “oracle of the north,” one of the many ways readers praised Rudbeck’s contributions, comes from Engelbrecht Kempfer’s letter to Rudbeck, 20 February 1683, printed in Auctarium testimoniorum de Cl. Rudbeckii Atlantica (1685), reprinted in Nelson’s edition of Atl. IV (1950), 48. Isaac Newton’s letter requesting Rudbeck’s Atlantica was published by A. R. Hall in “Further Newton Correspondence,” Notes and Queries 37 (1982).
The conflicts Rudbeck faced in the course of his search were enormous. Strindberg reads Rudbeck’s Atlantis theories as a “romantic compensation” for his struggles and misery, Bondenöd och stormaktsdröm (1937), 246ff. One reason for the lack of general knowledge about Rudbeck outside Sweden is the fact that Atlantica has never been translated into English, German, French, or any language besides Latin. Moreover, there are surprisingly few accounts about Olof Rudbeck in languages other than Scandinavian, and works in English are especially few. Apart from a couple of short studies in academic journals, Eriksson analyzes Rudbeck’s methods as an experimental natural philosopher in his scholarly Atlantic Vision (1994), and John Greenway treats him in the context of the various images of the Nordic past in his Golden Horns (1977), 77–82.
Sten Lindroth notes that few printers dared to publish a work of over six or seven printer sheets in length (Stormaktstiden, 73–74), Atlantica, by contrast, with almost 900 pages on some 225 printer sheets, was a massive undertaking.
CHAPTER 1: PROMISES
Information about the intellectual and social environment of Uppsala University in the middle of the seventeenth century is found in Rudbeck’s letters about Uppsala University, printed in Annerstedt, Bref I, xxvii ff. and Annerstedt’s UUH I, 378–80; II, 101ff; III, 335; in Lindroth’s Uppsala universitet 1477–1977 (1976), 41�
�44; and in Lindroth’s sweep of Swedish history of science, Stormaktstiden, especially volume III, 19–21, 38ff. The selected pages discuss Gustavus Adolphus’s contributions to the university, as well as document the riotous student life that flourished at the time.
When Rudbeck arrived at Uppsala in February 1648, rumors of the peace ending the Thirty Years’ War had been circulating for some time. They were soon confirmed when the first of many treaties, collectively known as the Peace of Westphalia, was signed in the fall of that year. The phrase “drunk with victory and bloated with booty” comes from Michael Roberts, Essays in Swedish History (1966), 233. Rudbeck’s youth, including his attempts to follow his older brothers to Uppsala, is described in many sources, though see especially Eriksson (2002), 17–32. Another valuable discussion is K. W. Herdin’s “Olof Rudbeck d.ä:s födelse och tidigare ungdom,” in the collection of scholarly articles published on the three hundredth anniversary of Rudbeck’s birth, Rudbecksstudier: Festskrift vid Uppsala universitets minnesfest till högtidlighållande av 300-Årsminnet av Olof Rudbeck d.ä:s födelse (1930).
Even though disciplines were not rigidly fixed, and polymaths moved relatively freely among them, few would argue that Uppsala’s medical school in the 1650s was the best place for Rudbeck’s work. His first teacher, Professor Johannes Franckenius, was busy in the alchemy lab (Lindroth, Stormaktstiden, 176–77). Rudbeck’s work under him is discussed in Eriksson (2002), 46–47, and Lindroth, 416. Another one of Rudbeck’s medical teachers at Uppsala, Olaus Stenius, was famous in his day, though trained originally as an astronomer. Rudbeck would make his discovery of the lymphatic glands with “almost no instruction” from the medical faculty, according to Eriksson (1994), 1.