_________________________________________________________________
Record: 22
1805180036563719970901
Title: Islendingabok and myth.
Subject(s): MYTHOLOGY, Norse; CHRISTIANS; MIDDLE Ages
Source: Scandinavian Studies, Fall97, Vol. 69 Issue 4, p454, 11p
Author(s): Lindow, John
Abstract: Discusses the myth 'Islendingabok,' and focuses on the
relationship between the myth and Norse mythology. Speculation
regarding the origins of Icelandic society of the Middle Ages; How
'Islendingabok' shares concerns with the mythology from the Eddas;
Analysis of the myth; Reasons that medieval mythology reflected the
traditions of oral history.
AN: 180518
ISSN: 0036-5637
Full Text Word Count: 4478
Database: Academic Search Premier
ISLENDINGABOK AND MYTH
IN ONE OF HER MORE INTERESTING but perhaps less successful articles,
Kirsten Hastrup ("Presenting the Past") once juxtaposed Ari
Porgilsson's account of the Conversion in Islendingabok to a Mataco
myth explaining the foundation of the poor relationship that obtains
between the Mataco and the Christians. Her purpose was to attack the
problem of the relationship between myth and history as modes of
representation of the same goal, the linking of past and present, and
although she concedes differences, these are largely contextual, for
myth is the history of oral culture, while history is the myth of
cultures that depend on writing. "Myth," she concludes, "embeds the
past in the present, while history embeds the present in the past"
("Presenting the Past" 266). Following Gerd Wolfgang Weber
("Irreligiositat und Heldenzeitalter"), she accepts that the Icelandic
sagas passed from one mode to the other.
For their time (12th-13th century), they were history, but later they
assumed the proportion of myths, dealing with sacred origins of
Icelandic society.... As for Islendingabok.., it has not quite been
redefined yet, but on the whole it could be an example of history
turning into myth under impact of time and of changing "historical"
conventions. (262)
Obviously such a statement requires defining myth in the
"anthropological" sense of a foundation narrative set in some more or
less distant past and explaining how the "world'-- this can be defined
very locally-got to be the way it is. Such a definition is just as
valid as one requiring gods to act at or around the beginning of time,
and in that sense Islendingabdk was a kind of myth from the very
moment of its writing, as I shall argue below. That this sense is
applicable to the earliest Icelandic history is suggested in an
article by Hermann Palsson on Porir Grimsson's landtaking, which
Hermann uses alongside Cadmus's founding of Thebes and Aeneas's of
Rome to construct an archetype of foundation. His conclusion, namely
that the incident in Landnamabok depends on foreign learning rather
than native tradition, does not necessarily reflect on the semantics
of the term myth.
Beyond this kind of myth, however, it is interesting and significant
that IsIendingabok actually shares concerns with the mythology as we
know it from the Eddas. These turn on the understanding of froeoi as
knowledge of the origin, extent, and details of the space in which
events play themselves out: Iceland on the one hand, the mythological
cosmos on the other. In his Prologue, Ari referred to the contents of
his little book as froeoi, and Snorri later verified that usage in the
Prologue to Heimskringla.
Ari prestr inn frooi Porgilsson, Gellissonar, ritaoi fyrstr manna her
a landi at norroenu mali froeoi, bqoi forna ok nyja. [Ed. Bjarni
Aoalbjarnarson 5] [1]
The priest Aft the Learned, the son of Porgils, the son of Gellir, was
the first person here in this land to write learned matter [froeoi],
both ancient and recent.
Thanks especially to Preben Meulengracht Sorensen and Hastrup, we have
a fairly good sense of the meanings and connotations of the term
froeoi in relation to history and narrative. What has been omitted
from their discussions is the use of the term in the mythology as
well: of the seeress in Voluspa, for example, who recounts the entire
curve of the mythology, the refrain goes "fiqlo veit hon froeoi" The
adjective froor is used of both Ooinn and Vafpruonir as they pit their
cosmological knowledge against each other, and in the heroic poems
Fafnismal and Gripisspa, the terms are used in connection with
prophecy, a realm similar to myth.[2] Ooinn, Vafpruonir, Saemundr,
Ari-each was froor by virtue of his possession and control of
knowledge.
In the following brief survey of the contents of Ari's Libellus, I
will develop several themes that relate to myth in one way or another:
migration, law, and the ordering and structure of the cosmos.
The opening sentence of the first chapter of Islendingabok establishes
the settlement of the island as a migration from Norway. The focus of
the rest of the first part of the chapter is chronology, and this
serves immediately to distance the discourse from our usual notion of
myth. Ari uses a kind of chronological triangulation, siuating the
first settlement against Norwegian royalty (Haraldr harfagri), an
English martyr (Edward the martyr), and the crucifixion of Christ.
Despite its appeal to the linear thinking of history, however, this
triangulation draws on the metaphorical thinking of myth, for it
associates Icelandic society not only with its proximate source,
Norway during the reign of Haraldr harfagri, but also with its
ultimate sources, Christian Europe on the one hand and the Christian
foundation narrative on the other. When Ari later in the chapter
mentions the presence of the papar and discusses the evidence for
their Irish provenance, he again blends linear and metaphoric
thinking. The first settlers, who were pagan by necessity, came to a
land that was fertile with now vanished forests and had already been
inhabited by men made holy in the religion the new society was
ultimately to adopt.
Furthermore, in both the Prologue to his Edda and in the early
chapters of Ynglinga saga in Heimskringla, Snorri Sturluson tells of
the settlement of the Scandinavian mainland, whence the Icelanders
emigrated, as itself the result of a migration. This emigration from
Troy was led by the prescient King Ooinn, who foresaw that his future
lay to the North. Snorri's use of this Learned Prehistory is in both
works bound up with his project of the Euhemerization of the gods, but
added to the notion of the Icelandic emigration from Norway it also
provides a link in an otherwise broken chain attaching peripheral
Iceland to the center of the known world. Here, then, the "cultural
myth" of the migration over the sea, which in the Anglo-Saxon case at
least may have had figural meaning, as Nicholas Howe has argued, is
combined with a Euhemerization of the older Scandinavian mythology.
The focus of the second chapter of Ari's Libellus is the establishment
of law, that is, the specifically Icelandic Ulfljotslog. However, the
chapter begins with the enumeration of a single important first
settler in each of the four quarters of Iceland, and law arrives only
after the island is fully settled. This beginning suggests the
ineffable connection, argued eloquently and persuasively by Hastrup in
several places and to be found also in proverbial language and such
place names as the Danelaw, between law and society. To put it another
way: without law there can be no society. What Ulfljotr does, then, is
what Ooinn and his brothers do early on in the mythology: create an
ordered cosmos in a place where the narrative subjects have already
been living.[3] In the mythology, the AEsir and Ymir have,
paradoxically, been living in some central space before the cosmos has
been created. In the Icelandic cultural myth, the settlers--who are
not yet Icelanders (Hastrup "Establishing an Ethnicity") --have been
living in a space not yet made whole by law. I would read the
exploratory efforts of Grimr geitskqr, undertaken at Ulfljotr's
initiative at the end of the chapter, as creating together with the
information about the primal settlers of the four quarters a chiastic
structure in which spatial knowledge bookends the legal knowledge with
which it must be joined to create a society.
Chapter three goes on to discuss the formation and location of the
Alpingi, the sacred center of Icelandic society, the place to which
leading men repaired each year to enact law and justice, to meet with
others from all over the island and thus to affirm their identity
within the society as a whole, rather than on their farms or in their
districts or quarters. A curious aspect of this chapter is the account
of the creation of common land that all could use during the duration
of the Alpingi as a place to gather firewood and to graze their
horses. This land had once belonged to one Porir kroppinskeggi, who
had murdered a thrall or leysingi, and Porir's grandson, Porvaldr
kroppinskeggi, had traveled to the east and burned in his brother. It
was Porir's land that was seized to make the commons. Thus the
foundation of the Alpingi depended in part on the murder of a person
of low social status--perhaps even a thrall--and Ari chose to report
in connection with the common land there that its previous owner had
killed his own brother.
It is also a fact that in the mythology, the cosmos is created by
means of the murder of a being of low social status; Ymir is one of
the jqtnar, and the entire system of the mythology depends on a
hierarchical distinction between AEsir and jqtnar. It is also a fact
that this action involves a slaying within a family, for Ooinn and his
brother are related to Ymir through their mother, Bestla, who is of
jqtunn blood. These primeval murders are related to the murders
surrounding the foundation of the Alpingi not because Ari was thinking
of the mythology, or because the mythmakers were thinking of the
Alpingi, but because both narratives grow out of a society that used
feud to try to manage disputes. This is a matter I have treated
elsewhere (Lindow "Bloodfeud"), and I will not tarry here.
In Voluspa, after the AEsir have created the universe there is still
work to do. Earthly fertility seems to have got underway (strophe 4),
but the order of the celestial bodies is still missing. As the seeress
says:
sol pat ne vissi, hvar hon sali atti stiqrnor pat ne visso, hvar par
staoi atto, mani pat ne vissi, hvat hann megins atti. (Voluspa 5)
The sun did not know where she had her dwelling, the stars did not
know, where they had their abodes, the moon did not know what strength
he had.
The gods solve the problem by giving names to such times as day and
night, morning, the waning moon, and so forth, "arom at telia;'
according to the poet. In other words, they make possible a time
reckoning system.
Moreover, in chapter four of Ari's Libellus, Porkell mani and other
wise men create a specifically Icelandic time reckoning system which
is taken into the law and thus made a part of the social fabric. That
Porkell's performance at the Alpingi is in part the result of a dream
suggests a connection with a knowledge that is not wholly of this
world. Here I would argue not that Ari was thinking about Voluspa, but
that there are situational parallels.
The division of society into four quarters is a prominent feature of
the extant Libellus. The presentation in chapter two of four primal
settlers, one per quarter, is paralleled in the first genealogical
appendix with four sets of genealogies, one per quarter, each leading
to a bishop. More important, the origin of the division is the subject
of chapter five. It was triggered by a legal dispute that began at a
local ping and carried over to the Alpingi, where Poror gellir argued
in a speech at the law rock--the conceptual midpoint of the sacred
center--that the old (quarterless) system was untenable. Thereupon the
division into quarters, each with a certain number of local
assemblies, was enacted. Here again the fundamental identity of law
and society is clear, and here the organization that began in Ari's
eyes only after the island was fully settled has now reached its
conclusion with respect to the space that society inhabited. Four
parts were required for a complete whole.[4]] Ari goes to some length
to explain--perfectly objectively and on the basis of geography--why
the number of ping districts is not twelve, a common number in many
arenas, including the mythology, but thirteen, and that the
recalcitrant quarter is the north, which was in general a charged
direction in the social semantics of medieval Scandinavia (Lindow
"Social Semantics"). Again, however, I would simply note the presence
of a feud at the origin of the Icelandic concept of law and society
inhabiting a space.
The ordering of space is not yet complete, however, for in the next
chapter Ari tells about the settlement of Greenland, that is, spatial
arrangement of the periphery. In my view this chapter should be read
against chapter one, for here, in chapter six, the emigration from
Norway is continued, thus placing Iceland not on the western periphery
but somewhere on a line leading to that periphery. The parallels
between these chapters bear out the idea of a continued migration and
add an interesting further detail removing Iceland from the periphery.
Ari begins each account by telling where the settlement originated,
Norway in the case of Iceland and Iceland in the case of Greenland.
The first settler is identified, Ingolfr and Eirikr rauoi
respectively, followed by their places of first settlement (Reykjavik
and Eiriks fioror). Furthermore-- and this is crucial-- in each land
the settlers find traces of previous inhabitants and draw conclusions
regarding the identity of those who preceded them. For Iceland these
are the papar, whose identity is suggested by the religious relics
they left behind and whose presence serves to make of Iceland a land
with a Christian past linked to its Christian future. What is found in
Greenland is the opposite, namely human encampments, fragments of
boats and stoneworks, from which it can be discerned that the people
who had gone before were the kind who inhabit Vinland, and whom the
Greenlanders would call Skrolingar. Along with the Sami and Finns,
these are the only true pagans to inhabit the Scandinavian North when
Ari was writing. Once again, then, Iceland is situated inside a
Christian area, surrounding which, to the north, east, and now west,
there are pagans. There is also an obvious myth of cultural
superiority here, and the mention of Vinland, where relations with the
Skralingar were decidedly hostile, indicates a feeble end point of the
migratory track and moves Iceland even closer to the Norwegian center
and away from the wild pagan periphery.
The next chapter of the Libellus is devoted to the conversion to
Christianity. This is the heart of the text, its weighted center, in
some sense the goal of Ari's narrative migration. Ari devotes nearly
800 words to this chapter in a work that is less than 4000 words
total. Following it he is able to turn increasingly to a mode of
enumeration, both of lawspeakers and of bishops. The last narrative
moment, before the chronological summation with which the book ends,
is the establishment of the bishops Jon Qgmundarson at Holar and
Porlakr Runolfsson at Skalholt. The only other business settled in the
chapters following the account of the conversion is the establishment
of the fifth court and a small change in the manslaughter provisions,
but these are dealt with almost in passing. They should, I think, be
read in light of Svend Ellehoj's understanding of the entire text as a
demonstration of cooperation between sacred and secular authority
triggered largely by the contemporary conflict between Haflioi Masson
and Porgils Oddason (80-4; cf. Bjorn Sigfusson 39-41 and Jakob
Benediktsson xviii-xx). Some English usage would permit the term myth
for such an authorial claim, but it falls outside the parameters I
have set for this essay.
One of the most striking features of the extant Islendingabok is its
compactness. One can read this compactness either as a kind of
authorial humility--Aft included nothing that he could not verify-- or
as the result of a process of extreme authorial selectivity, perhaps
with rhetorical intention, as Ellehoj and others (e.g., Halldor
Hermannsson 37-40, Hagnell 103-5, Bjorn Sigfusson 39-41 have
suggested, but the effect is the same. In this foundation document,
every detail must count for a great deal. Many of these details, as I
have just shown, create a cultural myth shedding the best possible
light on Iceland's pagan past, and-perhaps paradoxically--some also
have analogues or parallels in the mythology of the AEsir and jqtnar.
How are these to be understood?
To some extent, they grow out of the situation in which Ari was
placed, namely describing the settling of a nearly empty land and the
building of a society there. In such a case there will quite naturally
be parallels with mythologies that, more or less by definition, deal
with events set in illo tempore, at the time when the cosmos was
created and subsequently ordered by the powerful beings who preceded
those who live now. In that sense Ari's whole project was a
mythological one. One might speculate that as inhabitants of a terra
nova, Icelanders took a keener interest in the older mythology, which
focused on such matters, than those who stayed behind, and even that a
memory of this "sacred history" may surreptitiously join with the
semantic realm (first attested use of the term Islendingar, as opposed
to donsk tunga) and historical realm (a "shared history" to which the
term Islendingar can apply) that Hastrup shows were created first by
Islendingabok ("Establishing an Ethnicity").
Such speculation is only enabled by the lucky coincidence of the
maintenance in Iceland of some of the poems that dealt with or
depended on that mythology and the even more lucky coincidence of the
recording of these poems and of Snorri's extraordinary authorship
several generations after Ari had written his work. What I wish to
undertake now, in my concluding remarks, is an assessment of the
relationship between Ari and Snorri and the materials they chose to
write about.
Above I adduced the Learned Prehistory in connection with the
migration from Norway with which Ari began his work. As I mentioned,
with its emigration from the center of the world the Learned
Prehistory provides not so much a parallel to the emigration from
Norway as a previous stage, a link back to the beginning and the
center. We cannot know whether the Learned Prehistory itself, or
Snorri's use of it, was actively intended to be joined to the
Icelandic emigration from Norway so as make this link, but that is its
effect. A similar link is to be found in Gylfaginning. I refer here
not to the parallel of the ordering of space and time which the AEsir
undertake, although that is as I have said relevant to the situation
of Ari's topic. Rather I refer literally to the deluding of Gylfi. My
understanding of that delusion is based on the reading of Siegfried
Beyschlag, which grew out of the influential study of Walter Baetke.
According to Beyschlag, Gylfi's deluding consisted of his taking as
true the tales told him by the AEsir wizards. He was disposed to do so
because of their (and his) disposition toward natural religion. Thus
Gylfaginning would represent an attempt to account for the paganism of
Snorri's forebears, a paganism for which Christian Iceland of the
thirteenth century had to account just as much as Ari's Iceland of the
early twelfth century. What I am arguing here is that Snorri provided,
with Gylfaginning, a link of precisely the sort that he provided with
the Learned Prehistory of the Prologue to his Edda and the early
chapters of Ynglinga saga. In this case, however, it is a religious
link. Snorri tells how early Scandinavians, and therefore the
Icelandic settlers, came to have a pagan religion of the sort they
had. Ari tells how they exchanged it for the Christianity they took up
only after the settlement had long been completed and law had joined
Iceland into a society.
"Islendingabok er saga" So Bjorn Sigfusson began his doctoral
dissertation on Islendingabok (9). By this he meant of course that
Islendingabok is history. To be sure it is, but it is also to some
extent a saga, that is, a narrative about the past with a more or less
self-effacing author careful to establish an aura of even-handedness
and source criticism but drawing on and furthering certain cultural
myths. [5] I have argued that these include the establishment of
Iceland as a land once hospitable to Christians and itself the source
as well as the result of emigration, that is, a land not located on
the very periphery of the known world but conceptually closer to its
center. As a product of the society that also consumed the myths about
the AEsir and jqtnar recorded in the thirteenth century, it shares
concerns of those myths. As a narrative about origins, Islendingabok
naturally addresses concerns also to be found in those myths. Finally,
I have argued that Snorri Sturluson's presentation of those myths may
be understood as filling gaps left by Islendingabok, gaps which when
filled attach Icelandic society to the Christian center and shed light
on the conversion episode that is so important to Ari. Here, in a
sense, the two kinds of froeoi-history and myth--are joined.
If these remarks suggest paths of scholarship that will take us into
the next century, one such path would lead through a willingness to
examine and question modes of narrative. Since our field, unlike many
others, possesses mythic materials, and these were demonstrably of
great interest to the people who recorded and consumed them, myth-in
many of the senses of the word-- must be one of the modes that merit
scrutiny. Recent scholarship in Scandinavian mythology has been able
to show the clear relevance of myth to society and history (e.g.
Clunies Ross), especially in Iceland. What I have undertaken is an
attempted inversion of that paradigm, by seeking mythic elements
within the "leioarstjarna islenskrar sagnaritunar" (Sigfusson 9) [the
guiding star of Icelandic historiography]. But my larger question
leads to a more commodious future scholarly path, along which we will
seek new ways to ask how Icelanders made sense of themselves, of their
identity and their society, within the wider geographic and historical
world in which they lived.
1 Besides froeoi, Snorri used several terms in this passage: doemi,
(stor-)tioendi, and sogn.
2 In Gylfaginning Snorri too was capable of using the terms in the
way, although ordinarily he has Gylfi/Gangleri and the three wizards
refer to the narratives being told as tioendi. That they could qualify
as froeoi, at least in Snorri's view or presentation of the ancient
Sweden where the deluding of Gylfi took place, is suggested by two of
Har's exchanges with Gylfi. In the first, Gylfi exclaims that knowing
the explanation of Ooinn's many names would be "mikill frooleikr," and
after providing the beginning of an explanation, Har admonishes
Gylfi/Gangleri: "ok muntu eigi mega froor maor heita, ef pu skalt eigi
kunna segja fra peim stortioendum" In the second, which occurs after
Gylfi/ Gangleri has asked whether Porr did not extract some vengeance
for his humiliation at the hands of Utgaroa-Loki, Har answers
disparagingly that even those who are not froeoimenn know that Porr
set off for vengeance after his return from his visit to utgaroaLoki.
3 The narrative pattern of the Ulfljotr story recalls a common one in
the mythology: something is needed (in the mythology it may be missing
or stolen), and a character sets forth on a successful voyage of
acquisition. However, I do not regard this parallel as particularly
powerful, since the voyage of acquisition in the mythology is founded
in the agonistic relationship between AEsir and jqtnar, and that
aspect is wholly missing in the story of Ulfljotr's journey, who is in
fact identified as Norwegian. Certainly it is possible to relate Ari's
account of Ulfijotr's acquisition of law to the interests of
chieftains acquiring power around Ari's time, as does Sigurour Lindal
("Sendifor Ulfljots"). But when Sigurour advances the possibility of
Ari's wishing to include Iceland in the list of peoples with a
founding law-giver, following the example of Moses and Judaic law, the
realm of myth is again close at hand.
4 It may not be a coincidence that Vafpruonismal 21 mentions precisely
four parts of Ymir that are used to make the cosmos: from his flesh
the earth, from his bones the mountains, from his skull heaven, and
from his sweat or blood the sea. On the other hand, Grimnismal 40-41
enumerates seven parts.
5 Another similarity with saga narrative is the reliance on speech
acts that occurs in the crucial moments in chapters 4-, 5, and 7. Of
course this too bore a relationship to social reality; see Bauman.
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~~~~~~~~
By John Lindow, University of California, Berkeley
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