Volcanoes in Old Norse Mythology: Myth and Environment in Early Iceland 9781641892933

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VOLCANOES IN OLD NORSE MYTHOLOGY

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VOLCANOES IN OLD NORSE MYTHOLOGY MYTH AND ENVIRONMENT IN EARLY ICELAND by MATHIAS NORDVIG

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CONTENTS

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

Chapter 1. Old Norse Mythology between Environment and Literature. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5

Chapter 2. An Indigenous Theory of Volcanism in Iceland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 Chapter 3. Volcanism in Old Norse Cosmogony . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55 Chapter 4. Volcanoes in the Social Order of Old Norse Mythology. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 Chapter 5. Volcanoes as a Cosmological Principle in Old Norse Mythology . . . . . . . . 119 Bibliography. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137

Index. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153

INTRODUCTION

When Iceland was settled in the beginning of the ninth century,1 the migrating Scandinavians realized that the landscape was different from their places of origin. Their cultural background came primarily from pre-​Christian Norway. Only a handful of them were Christian. This means that the majority of early Icelanders probably would have made sense of their new lands in context of pre-​Christian Scandinavian mythology. If we are looking for early Icelandic conceptualizations of the environment, we should look towards Old Norse mythology in the Edda, in Eddic and skaldic poetry. Their perspective on the world did not fundamentally distinguish between nature and the human, in a spiritual sense. Our modern tendency to separate culture from nature has emerged with industrialization.2 This way of thinking about the world was only in its infancy in the medieval period, when Old Norse mythology was being written down. In Old Norse literature it is possible to detect two modes of thinking: one is based on an indigenous worldview, which can be characterized as holistic and integrative, another is based on the Latinate script-​world that arrives with Christianity and establishes a new hierarchy of knowledge. Snorri Sturluson’s Edda is a treatment of oral indigenous knowledge about life in Iceland in the knowledge hierarchy of the Latinate script-​world. On the one hand, it relies on older oral narration; on the other, it subordinates this narration to learned Christian philosophy. When its content is compared to similar indigenous narrations from other cultures, it is possible to discuss how early Icelanders conceptualized their environment through a coherent cosmology, which is tied to volcanism. I argue that the Edda is an expression of environment-​based narration in early Iceland. It establishes a mythology based on cultural material from Scandinavia, and devises a cosmology complete with social structures, which has been impressed by the experience of volcanism. The creation myth refers social structures based on group competitiveness to primordial volcanic processes. This group competitiveness is replayed in multiple myths. In the mead myth, the Ragnarǫk myth, and the myth about Þórr duelling Hrungnir, the pattern is realized in volcanic contexts. This locates my analysis in the realm of geomythology. Geomythology was conceived of by geologist Dorothy B. Vitaliano in her 1973 book Legends of the Earth. Vitaliano compiled a catalogue of myths and legends in which different peoples’ narration of environmental features are represented. Many of these 1  See recent news regarding the site at Stöðvarfjörður, which antedates the earliest settlement in Iceland to ca. 800 ad: Guide to Iceland; Agnes Stefánsdóttir and Ásta Hermannsdóttir, Yfirlit yfir fornleifarannsóknir, 76.

2  See Shaffer and Young, Rendering Nature, especially chap. 1, “The Nature-​Culture Paradox,” 1–​20.

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Introduction

narrate the experience of volcanism in terms of mythological and legendary dramas. Elizabeth W.  Barber and Paul T.  Barber have since devised a complimentary method for analyzing the vocabulary of myths as expressions of geologic conceptions in their book When They Severed Earth from Sky from 2004. While useful to my investigation of early Icelandic conceptualizations of the environment, both Vitaliano’s theory of geomythology and the premise for Barber and Barber’s method are flawed. In both cases it is assumed that there is an etiological relationship between myth and geologic phenomena. I disagree with that. Myths can incorporate geologic events but do not exist to explain them and cannot be said to originate in them. I argue that geologic phenomena may be included in mythologies in a reflective relationship as cosmologies are created. This is what my comparison between the Icelandic material and Vitaliano’s catalogue of volcanic geomythology demonstrates. For Old Norse mythology this means that the environment of Iceland must be taken into consideration when myths are analyzed. Iceland is geologically the most active region in the world. Multiple eruptions occurred from the beginning of the ninth century to the middle of the tenth century, the period that is called the settlement era.3 The most imposing ones were the Eldgjá eruption in 934–​940 and the one in Langjökull that created Hallmundarhraun in the middle of the tenth century. These eruptions had serious impact on life in Iceland and Eldgjá may even have contributed to the conversion to Christianity.4 From a comparative perspective of myths and legends from the Pacific Ring of Fire, not least Hawai’ian mythology, the notion that early Icelanders would formulate myths and cosmologies that included volcanism is straightforward. Our primary example is the skaldic poem Hallmundarkviða, which provides a full description of a volcanic eruption in a mythological language. When its vocabulary is compared with geomyths from the Pacific Ring of Fire and other regions of the world, a pattern for what I call an indigenous theory of volcanism emerges. This pattern is replicated in the creation myth, the mead myth, the Ragnarǫk myth, and the myth about Þórr duelling Hrungnir, including later folktales. This mythic pattern is a cosmology:  a system that makes sense of the social and physical world. Pre-​Christian authorities of the tradition, skalds and knowledgeable individuals, reinterpreted older mythic patterns in a way that was appropriate to their environment. They established a social memory about life in Iceland, which was later codified in literary form. This social memory was an expression of life-​situations in an animistic perspective, where the mind does not distinguish sharply between social life and environmental surroundings. Social life and environment in myth and legend were instead mutually supportive. Actions in the community had responses in the environment vis-​à-​ vis environmental actions having impact on social life. This is a mitigation of the trauma from experiencing environmental upheaval. The cosmology functions as relief for emotional stress and has taken form as a result of the migration to Iceland. 3  Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, “Iceland,” 571–​72.

4  Oppenheimer et al., “The Eldgjá Eruption,” 369–​81.



Introduction

3

Old Norse mythology is an expression of Icelandic social structures that rests on ancient Scandinavian and Germanic culture. This means that I  address the myths as a deep-​time perspective that understands medieval Icelandic literature as the latest expression of structures that can have persisted in Nordic culture for centuries before codification. This is a longue durée-​treatment of Old Norse mythology.5 I  address the texts in Old Norse literature as codified expressions of indigenous oral knowledge and discuss the implications of the foreign knowledge hierarchy in the Latinate script-​world from the point of view of indigenous scholarship. I  argue that Iceland’s pre-​literary narration of the world was centred around memory spaces, which often highlighted environmental features. I  suggest that this mode of thinking produced a cosmology based on the experience of Iceland’s volcanism in the early period of Icelandic culture.

Translations, References, and Special Characters

Unless otherwise stated all translations are my own. The references to primary sources in prose follow the chapters given in the standardized versions of the medieval texts. For primary sources in poetry the references in this book list the title of the poem and the stanza given in the standardized versions. For both prose and poetry, the standardized versions that I use are the ones that are considered the most comprehensive editions. For this reason, prose texts and poems are listed individually in the bibliography with reference to the standardized edition. In cases where I  discuss commentaries made by the editors of the standardized medieval texts, reference will be made to the page number in the edition. For references to secondary literature it is important to note that this study bridges multiple disciplines. Therefore, in accordance with the tradition of research in Old Norse literature, Icelandic scholars in this discipline are listed by their first name. Danish scholars, including some non-​Nordic scholars, in the cases where this is common practice, are listed by their middle name in the bibliography. In accordance with the tradition of research in geosciences, Icelandic geologists and volcanologists will appear in the bibliography in accordance with their patronyms or matronyms. Special Characters

All spelling of Old Norse follows the edition from which the text comes. This means that the characters “œ,” “ǫ,” “ø,” and “ö” will be used in this work. For modern Icelandic the “ö” is used consistently in accordance with contemporary Icelandic orthography. The use of contemporary orthography also applies to Danish, Swedish, and Norwegian in all cases where these languages occur in a context after 1800. In all other cases standardized spelling and characters are applied in accordance with the editions that I have used.

5  Braudel, “Histoire et Sciences sociales,” 725–​53.

Chapter 1

OLD NORSE MYTHOLOGY BETWEEN ENVIRONMENT AND LITERATURE

The sources that I use in this book comprise the core material of Old Norse mythology. These are the Edda, Eddic poetry, and skaldic poetry. The other narratives that I have chosen have been selected because of their relationship to this core material. In the following I will provide an overview of my view of Old Norse mythology in context of its research tradition. I argue that Old Norse mythology stands between two traditions: an indigenous oral tradition and the Latinate literary tradition of the medieval period.1 As an indigenous oral tradition Old Norse mythology constitutes social memory. The myths are rooted in the time before codification came to Iceland. With the book medium Old Norse mythology was included in the Latinate script-​world. Addressing Old Norse mythology as an indigenous oral tradition therefore requires attention to its current position in the Latinate script-​world. It also requires a discussion about what it means that the mythology is an indigenous oral tradition. To understand that I draw on indigenous oral traditions that express human-​environmental relationships. I compare Old Norse literature with instructive examples from North America and Papua New Guinea. I use these examples to explain the presence of animist thinking in Old Norse literature in a broad sense and more narrowly in Old Norse mythology. I argue that animist thinking lies at the root of a narration of the world that creates cosmologies, which express aspects of environmental conditions and allow a community that exists in a location with certain imposing features to conceptualize them. My argument is that animism sees the world imbued with the same kind of spirit that humans possess, be it animals, bodies of water, trees, or mountains. This anthropomorphizing of the natural world allows communities to negotiate their position in an environment in a way that has direct impact on the mythologies that they produce. The production of such mythologies relies on establishing a 1  Regarding the term “indigenous,” see Deloria Jr., Power and Place. The word often signals the complicated historical processes and political positions between colonizers and indigenous peoples. In this context I am not using the term to associate Old Norse literature with these processes and current political situations. I am using the term to signal Old Norse literature’s position between the Latinate script-​world and an oral culture that shares status with oral cultures among current indigenous populations. It is a culture that finds itself inserted into a foreign mental universe and must negotiate its position in relation to a literature that establishes foreign hierarchies for defining what is truthful, correct, and the norm. The term “indigenous” in that sense signals the aspects of Old Norse mythology that have been generated from reflections upon life in a certain locale, while its counterpart is a hegemonic belief-​system that arrives with Latin literacy and dictates the form of Old Norse mythology as it is being written in books.

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vocabulary that is specific to the location. Such vocabularies are easy to discern when the subjects of drought, water, heat, or cold are addressed, but when it comes to volcanism, analogies are more prevalent than directly discernible expressions. This is due to the difference in frequency between the naturally occurring phenomena. Therefore, cultures across the world use circumlocutions and analogies based on other natural phenomena when addressing volcanism. In the last section of this chapter I describe my method for analyzing this linguistic phenomenon.

Old Norse Mythology in a Comparative Perspective

I focus primarily on Snorri’s Edda as indigenous oral storytelling from Iceland in the 1220s. Indigenous in this sense means that the content of the Edda appears in a literary form as an expression of an Icelandic worldview. I see the Edda as an extension of the Scandinavian cultural community, which in Iceland gains its own social and environmental context. Eddic and skaldic poetry are perceived in the same way as indigenous products of their primary cultural context either in Iceland or Norway. I use this poetry as reference points to guide my interpretation of the mythology in the Edda. With this approach to Old Norse mythology, a source hierarchy that is strictly focused on the dating of manuscripts and earliest versions of certain myths is less relevant than one that contextualizes the mythology as social memory. Social memory is centred around the experience of the Icelandic environment and the human condition. Old Norse mythology is both a conceptual and literal language with which Icelanders from the settlement era to the medieval period have communicated about their world. This means that the mythology can have been a way for Icelanders to talk about volcanism since the early migrations in the landnám period, especially when the Eldgjá eruption occurred in 934–​940. Snorri Sturluson’s Edda is an ordered prose account of Old Norse mythology. It was probably written to explain the mythology to skaldic poets in the thirteenth century, whose knowledge of the pre-​Christian tradition was limited at the time.2 Some 200 years after the conversion the pre-​Christian tradition in Iceland was waning, but it still had cultural importance because it was used in skaldic poetry. In the Edda Snorri places the once oral Eddic and skaldic poetry in a literary frame with a Christian intellectual interpretation. He represents Old Norse mythology as a natural religion that had understood certain Christian concepts. This is a learned account of the origins of pre-​Christian religion that explains the circumlocutions in skaldic poetry.3 Skaldic poetry is in many ways 2  Concerning the problems of defining the Edda as Snorri’s original book with its original content, see Krömmelbein, “Creative Compilers”; Clunies Ross, “The Creation of Old Norse Mythology,” 233; Anthony Faulkes, “Snorri: His Life and Work,” 313.

3  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Prologus 1–​2 and 10–​11; Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Prologus 2–​10; Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál “epilogue”; Magerøy, “Aristoteles og Snorre,” 204–​5; Clunies Ross, “The Mythological Fictions of Snorra Edda,” 204–​16.



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a mythological poetic genre.4 Stylistically, it is distinguished from Eddic poetry by its hendingar (alliterative rhymes) and its end-​rhymes. Its complex diction and word order accommodate the rhymes. Its content is contemporary to its composers, whose main concerns were the lives of kings and chieftains. The use of skaldic poetry in Old Norse literature is one of the reasons for its preservation. In the prologue to Heimskringla Snorri writes that skaldic poetry (kvæði) can yield historical truths if the verses are composed properly and interpreted correctly.5 Ynglinga saga presents the skaldic poem Ynglingatal as historical events. It is in such contexts that entire poems or singular lausavisur (free stanzas) have been preserved in sagas and in Snorri Sturluson’s writing.6 The poem Háleygjatal, which is important to this book, has for instance been preserved in manuscripts with Snorri’s Edda. Háleygjatal and the skaldic poems that are used in this book will be presented in their appropriate context. Eddic poetry is anonymous.7 Its content is heroic legends and pre-​Christian mythology and it is preserved in written form from the thirteenth century. There is reason to assume that the form in which the poems have been transmitted is recent rather than ancient, medieval and literate.8 The primary collection of Eddic poetry is the Codex Regius GKS 2365 quarto from ca. 1270. It contains twenty-​nine poems, ten of which are concerned with mythology, while the others are Scandinavian and Germanic legends.9 It is possible that some of these poems lived in oral form alongside the manuscript versions. Just like skaldic poetry, Eddic poetry was recognized by medieval authors as a source for knowledge about the past. Snorri Sturluson used both in the Edda when he accounted for Old Norse mythology. Neither skaldic nor Eddic poetry developed in a cultural vacuum. The great corpus of Christian skaldic poetry attests to this. External influence on the genre extends beyond Christian adoption. Both Ynglingatal and Háleygjatal may have been inspired by pre-​Christian Anglo-​Saxon royal genealogies, while world-​body 4  A review of the genre as a source to history of religion is given in Marold, “Die Skaldendichtung als Quelle der Religionsgeschichte.” For a good overview of the reception of skaldic poetry see Würth, “Skaldic Poetry and Performance”; Jónas Kristjánsson, Eddas and Sagas, 83. 5  Heimskringla 1, Prologus.

6  Jónas Kristjánsson, Eddas and Sagas, 233. 7  Jónas Kristjánsson, Eddas and Sagas, 89.

8  Harris, “Eddic Poetry as Oral Poetry”; Harris, “Eddic Poetry,” 68; Kellogg, “The Prehistory of Eddic Poetry”; Gunnell, The Origins of Drama in Scandinavia. For a discussion and overview of the research history on the dating of Eddic poetry see Fidjestøl, The Dating of Eddic Poetry; Gunnell, “Eddic Poetry,” 93; It is a coincidence that this poetry came to be known as “Eddic poetry.” The Icelandic bishop Brynjólfur Sveinsson believed Snorri’s Edda was a part of a greater work created by Iceland’s legendary historian Sæmundr inn fróði. When he was presented with the Codex Regius collection of mythological poems he thought that this was a version of that work and called it Sæmundar Edda: see Lassen, Odin på kristent pergament, 309. See also Wimmer and Finnur Jónsson, Håndskriftet Nr. 2365 4to gl. kgl. Samling på det store kgl. bibliothek i København. 9  Gunnell, “Eddic Poetry,” 93; Meulengracht Sørensen, Kapitler af Nordens litteratur i oldtid og middelalder, 65–​66.

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imagery in skaldic poetry may originate in continental sources.10 Similarly, the Christian and literate influence on Eddic poetry is unmistakable. I treat this influence on Old Norse mythology as a cultural borrowing that does not need to be traced through manuscript genealogies. I see it as conceptual mingling rather than a top-​down process where literary concepts from the continent find their way into Icelandic literature.11 The cultural product that comes from the interactions with the European continent is one that is both indigenous and part of a Latinate script-​world. I seek to transcend the written form of the mythology and study it as a conceptual universe that has its root in pre-​Christian ideas.12 The Edda is an example of this. It can be problematic to make distinctions between indigenous and Latinate aspects of Old Norse mythology. To illuminate what I  am aiming at, Konungs Skuggsjá can be used as an example. Konungs Skuggsjá is a learned work written as a didactic instruction for the North Atlantic elite. It shows familiarity with Latin literature, including Ovid’s poetry, but it is fundamentally relevant to the population of the North Atlantic region, accounting for its geographic, geologic, biological, and demographic aspects. It is easily digestible for the modern reader because it renders the North Atlantic world through the Latinate script-​world. Konungs Skuggsjá and any other thirteenth-​century Icelandic literature has come into existence through the application of Latin literary forms to indigenous narratives with oral origins.13 This is instantly recognized in the prosimetrum in the saga literature, where older indigenous skaldic and sometimes Eddic poetry is emplaced in literature. An example of that is Bergbúa þáttr with its late medieval prose framing the much older skaldic poem Hallmundarkviða,14 which I treat in this book. Scholarly discussions about Old Norse literature, whether it is the saga literature or the mythology, often revolve around their authenticity.15 In Fortælling og ære Preben Meulengracht Sørensen suggests that it is methodically unsatisfactory to settle on an interpretation of Old Norse literature, in this case the sagas, as either history or fiction. Meulengracht stresses that interpretations must rely on a wider meaning-​complex, where it is recognized that Old Norse literature both represents accounts of a past culture as well as narrativized representations of that past. For that reason, Old Norse literature does not conform to a common source hierarchy.16 As a part of Old Norse literature the

10  Guðrún Nordal, Tools of Literacy, 273–​308.

11  See Frog, “Circum-​Baltic Mythology?”; Frog, “The Parallax Approach”; Frog, “Germanic Traditions of the Theft of the Thunder-​Instrument (ATU 1148b)”; Frog, “Snorri Sturluson qua Fulcrum”; McKinnell, Both One and Many; Nordvig, “A Method for Analyzing World-​Models in Scandinavian Mythology.” 12  For similar discussions, see Meulengracht Sørensen, “Om eddadigtenes alder,” 222, and Schjødt, Initiation between Two Worlds, 93. 13  Vésteinn Ólason, Dialogues with the Viking Age, 38–​62. 14  Bergbúa Þáttr, cciii–​ccv.

15  Meulengracht Sørensen, Fortælling og ære, 22; Schjødt, Initiation between Two Worlds, 85–​100; Meulengracht Sørensen, Kapitler af Nordens litteratur i oldtid og middelalder, 67. 16  Meulengracht Sørensen, Fortælling og ære, 23. For a similar view expressed in relation to broader historical research, see Stein, “Literary Criticism and the Evidence for History.”



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mythology must be treated similarly, considering that it only found a singular expression when it was codified. Prior to that Old Norse mythology existed in a universe of thought that incorporated variations in geography, social structures, cognition, psychological conditions, and many other factors.17 Studies in Old Norse mythology recognize this and suggest that it had relevance after the conversion to Christianity.18 Jens Peter Schjødt argues that there are two types of manifestations of pre-​Christian religion and mythology:  conscious assertions and unconscious assertions.19 Conscious assertions are influenced by the event of the conversion, while unconscious assertions can be understood as more genuine expressions of an older culture. This relates to the way the mind shapes myth and I  depart from that to develop a theory that explains how Old Norse myths were useful as conceptual models for the environment when Snorri wrote the Edda. Old Norse mythology as medieval literature represents a paradigmatic shift in Iceland and Scandinavia. Indigenous material is undergoing a transformation framed in the Latinate script-​world. It is defined by Mediterranean and Christian literary paradigms. In “Scriptworlds: Writing Systems and the Formation of World Literature,” David Damrosch explains the relationship between indigenous material and new paradigms.20 Entering a new script-​world means making a parallel shift from runes to the Latin alphabet and directing local lore towards Classical Mediterranean and Christian paradigms.21 Damrosch sees the creation of the Edda as a subjection of indigenous material to the Latinate script-​world. As literature Snorri’s Edda is comparable to the Mayan Popol Vuh from the mid-​1550s.22 Both the Popol Vuh and the Edda are catalogues of indigenous myth that underwent restructuring in another script-​world. The imposition of a non-​native script-​world on an indigenous tradition results in a new representational mode. Old Norse mythology can be understood as an indigenous worldview subjected to non-​indigenous representations. In his study Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages, Stephen Mitchell states that “myths are alive, and they resonate in the lives of the individuals who hear, tell, know and use them. In other words, they are more than just words on a page about the characters and tales from a society long since gone.”23 On a par with Clunies Ross’s approach to myth in Prolonged Echoes, volume 2, Mitchell states that it is myth “in this 17  Schjødt, “Hvad er det i grunden, vi rekonstruerer?”; Schjødt, “Diversity and its Consequences for the Study of Old Norse Religion”; Schjødt, “Reflections on Aims and Methods in the Study of Old Norse Religion.”

18  Clunies Ross, Prolonged Echoes, vol. 1; Clunies Ross, Prolonged Echoes, vol. 2; Lindow, Murder and Vengeance Among the Gods; Meulengracht Sørensen, “Freyr in der Isländersagas,” 734–​35. 19  Schjødt, “Teksten mellem kilde og litteratur.” 20  Damrosch, “Scriptworlds,” 210. 21  Damrosch, “Scriptworlds,” 209. 22  Damrosch, “Scriptworlds,” 213.

23  Mitchell, Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages, 117.

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sense of invented, renewed, actualized, and ‘narrativized’ dogma and Weltanschauung”24 that he articulates. Myths are evolutionary narratives that are constructed on patterns of cultural relevance. While their uses are multifaceted, they enhance the human experience of reality and make sense of the non-​human world. If a set of myths have social relevance they will live on.25 The Edda, Eddic poetry, and skaldic poetry were codified because Old Norse mythology had social relevance, primarily as historical knowledge. In part, I argue, this social relevance includes accumulated wisdom about the Icelandic environment. With the conversion to Christianity in Scandinavia and the establishment of churches and clerical infrastructure, literature was introduced.26 Before that time literary activity in Scandinavia was the production of short sentences and words in runes on artefacts and commemorative stones, representing a codified “tip of the iceberg” of a richer oral tradition.27 Runic writing was based on a conceptual universe, which revolved around ritualized practices and tradition. The codification of oral culture in the book medium became a selection process in which choices were made with regard to what was written, and methods were devised for the selection process. Naturally, church matters took primacy, then came legal matters, and then genealogic knowledge that would authenticate individual and family rights. For this purpose, authorities on history were consulted. Skaldic poetry was an important component in this process. Judith Jesch has suggested that both runic and skaldic commemoration allude to mythology as shared knowledge, which is assumed to be present with the audience.28 The skalds were not only poets but also rune carvers, and their social function was to record and preserve information for posterity. The Old Norse term for such authorities is frœðimaðr (knowledge-​man).29 The frœðimaðr ensures continuity of culture by transmitting knowledge in verbal acts and performance. Brian Stock has described this role in The Implications of Literacy, where he writes that knowledge in an oral society is: passed on in a series of face-​to-​face encounters. Such meetings are rich in gesture, ritual and ceremony: men communicate not only by what they say but by how they behave […] Meaning arises as a compromise between a standard set of rhetorical figures and an individual interchange to which they are adapted. The single great storehouse of meaning is memory. The mnemonic devices through which epic, legal and religious information is recalled help to structure the way in which the individual thinks about the facts transmitted.30

24  Mitchell, Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages, 117 and 258n1.

25  On the subject of the multifaceted use and application of myth see Honko, “The Problem of Defining Myth.” 26  Brink, “Christianisation and the Emergence of the Early Church in Scandinavia,” 622.

27  For an overview of runic script in the North, see Larsson, “Runes.” For a good recent study of the conversion of Scandinavia, see Winroth, The Conversion of Scandinavia. 28  Jesch, “Memorials in Speech and Writing,” 98–​99.

29  Jesch, “Memorials in Speech and Writing,” 99–​100. 30  Sock, The Implications of Literacy, 14–​15.



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Stock says that meaning, in terms of what is transmitted by traditional authorities, is a compromise between standard rhetorical figures and individual interchange. Snorri Sturluson’s Edda employs terms such as saga (tale), mál (speech), and frásǫgn (legend) for his narratives.31 These words are derived from concepts that associate with the oral nature of the narratives. There is an acute awareness in the Edda that its foundation is oral and associated with ancient authorities. In Heimskringla, Snorri expands on this awareness. He refers to the close ties between the historian Ári fróði and men and women with memory of the conversion in Iceland. After that he explains his method for using (skaldic) poetry: “En kvæðin þykkja mér sízt ór stað fœrð, ef þau eru rétt kveðin ok skynsamliga upp tekin” (And the poems, I think, will yield the most if they are properly composed and sensibly received).32 What this means is that the literary versions of Old Norse mythology are predicated on their oral background with an attention directed towards ancient authorities. In Gylfaginning in the Edda, the ancient authorities are the Æsir. The setting and style distances the Æsir’s rhetoric from Snorri. The exchange is an oral setting borrowed from the dialogic form in the Eddic poem Vafþrúðnismál. Arcane knowledge comes from Óðinn and Vafþrúðnir, who perform as frœðimenn. The prose commentaries in the Codex Regius function as reflections that distance the redactor from the material.33 The style represents the arcane knowledge through the frœðimenn. In recognition of this, the redactor has chosen to curate some assertions with medieval knowledge. The same is the case for the Edda’s prologue and epilogue. In the epilogue in Skáldskaparmál, Snorri warns against believing in the tales in any other way than they appear there. This suggests that they can appear in another way than he represents them. This is the way that medieval Icelandic literature negotiates its status in the Latinate script-​world. On the one hand it claims descendance from authorities in an oral context, on the other the authors distance themselves from the content in style and commentaries. They are in that sense the written expression of what Brian Stock calls a “conceptual filter for image formation and recollection, in which the ‘social group, together with its folk-​memory,’ determines the relationship of the new elements to the old. The past, whether conceived abstractly or concretely, can be present if relevant to ongoing cultural needs.”34 As a consequence I am treating Old Norse mythology as a socially relevant conceptual worldview in the thirteenth century, and as a tradition that cannot be considered literary alone.35 I argue that Old Norse mythology is social memory that has direct reference to the world surrounding the texts. In the thirteenth century Old Norse mythology could 31  See Clunies Ross, “The Mythological Fictions of Snorra Edda.” 32  Heimskringla 1, Prologus.

33  Gunnell, The Origin of Drama in Scandinavia, 195–​97. 34  Stock, The Implications of Literacy, 15.

35  See further Gunnell, The Origin of Drama in Scandinavia, 183–​235; Gunnell, “Eddic Poetry”; Meulengracht Sørensen, Kapitler af Nordens litteratur i oldtid og middelalder, 16–​22; Jónas Kristjánsson, Eddas and Sagas, 25–​114.

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still function as explanatory models for life, even if the tradition was waning. This is a long-​term perspective on Old Norse mythology that is similar to Margaret Clunies Ross’s in Prolonged Echoes, volumes 1 and 2, and Stephen Mitchell’s in Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages. I  consider Old Norse mythology as an indigenous expression of life in Iceland, which has been emplaced in a Latinate script-​world. To illuminate how an indigenous mythology functions in its environmental context I turn to comparable indigenous examples and the way key thinkers of North American traditions treat this relationship.

Indigenous Perspectives on Myth and Environment

For half a century now, indigenous North American thinkers have made their perspective on Western culture available.36 This resource on indigenous North American philosophy and theology demonstrates how colonial systems evaluate knowledge and place Western science at the top in a knowledge hierarchy that is ultimately derived from the Latinate script-​world’s classifications. In Power and Place Vine Deloria Jr. makes his perspective clear: For many centuries whites scorned the knowledge of American Indians, regarding whatever the people said as gross, savage superstition and insisting that their own view of the world, a complex mixture of folklore, religious doctrine, and Greek natural sciences, was the highest intellectual achievement of our species. This posture of arrogance produced some classic chapters in history of the Western Hemisphere: Ponce de Leon wandering around the southeastern United States vainly searching for the fountain of youth, Swedish immigrants on the Delaware River importing food for thirty years because they could not grow anything in this country, and the Donner Party resorting to cannibalism because of their fear of the local Indians.37

While polemical, Deloria’s delineation between Western and indigenous science in North America is to the point: it highlights that unless knowledge is packaged in a language that has been developed from standards set by the Enlightenment era, the direct descendant of the Latinate script-​world, it receives little attention. Oral history in indigenous myths in North America cannot be trusted from this perspective. This has led Europeans on the continent to reinvent the wheel, so to speak, often with irrational and dire consequences. Examples of European tragedy in the Americas due to this delineation between indigenous and European knowledge appear from the early era of colonization into the twentieth century, from the tropical regions to the coldest regions. There is, for instance, a startling difference between the European Arctic explorations that relied on indigenous knowledge and those that did not. Samuel Hearne’s journeys across the Barren Grounds in the 1770s proved fruitful in terms of European exploration, because he submitted to the guidance of the local Dene. In contrast, Franklin’s expedition in the same area in the years 1819–​1821 disintegrated into chaos, murder, cannibalism, and death

36  Deloria Jr., Custer Died for Your Sins. 37  Deloria Jr., Power and Place, 1.



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from privation.38 The sole reason for this was the colonial hierarchy in his expedition, which failed to recognize the expertise of the indigenous peoples. As starvation begins to threaten, it quickly becomes clear that those with knowledge of the land are taking care of themselves first, and those without that knowledge find themselves on the bottom of the hierarchy of survivors.39 While there are no reports on the stories, myths, and legends that the indigenous peoples on the expedition relied on, it is reasonable to assume that their knowledge must have been largely oral and formulated in stories that may be designated as myths. A myth that was part of the repertoire of the Inuit in the region is Kiviuq’s Journey.40 It describes the life of the hero Kiviuq, who “travelled far and wide, over water and land, through a hole in the water, through a hole in the earth, through a hole in the sky.”41 On his journey, Kiviuq encounters the hardships of the environment and there is a lesson in each instance. Nunavut Elders still see this connection today. Elisapee Karlik says: “What will we learn from Kiviuq’s story? We learn about hunting on land and sea, how and where to do it.” Another, Bernadette Patterk, adds: “If we listen carefully, we’ll pick up what we need, but many will not learn.”42 What this demonstrates is that myth, legend, and folktale can be instructive for understanding the environment. The lesson that indigenous oral history provides is that there is environmental knowledge to be gleaned from myths, legends, and folktales. This knowledge can be quite accurate, as biologist Robin Kimmerer describes: In the old times, our elders say, the trees talked to each other […] There is now compelling evidence that our elders were right—​the trees are talking to one another. They communicate via pheromones, hormonelike compounds that are wafted on the breeze, laden with meaning. Scientists have identified specific compounds that one tree will release when it is under stress of insect attack—​gypsy moths gorging on its leaves or bark beetles under its skin.43

Kimmerer’s book Braiding Sweetgrass underscores the principal difference between post-​Enlightenment European-​based investigations of environment and those of indigenous peoples. Indigenous mythology insists that trees talk, while European-​based science of nature can measure molecular changes. One anthropomorphizes trees, another breaks them down into molecular functions. In each case it is the same subject that is being talked about. Each of the above examples of indigenous knowledge about environment has its roots in myth. This form of environment-​based mythology may be universal.44 Examples of mythologies grounded in environmental conditions appear among such diverse peoples as the Daur Mongols in Manchuria, the Hohodene Baniwa 38  McGhee, The Last Imaginary Place, 216–​25. 39  McGhee, The Last Imaginary Place, 222. 40  Van Deusen, Kiviuq.

41  Van Deusen, Kiviuq, 18.

42  Van Deusen, Kiviuq, 349.

43  Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass, 19–​20.

44  Kelly, The Memory Code, 1–​33.

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of the Rio Negro in Brazil, the Caribou Inuit in the Hudson Bay, and the Anishinaabe by the Great Lakes.45 These mythologies often come into existence as a form of place-​ making, where a culture is making sense of its world and the environmental changes that occur in it. This has been recorded among the Western Apache by Keith Basso in Wisdom Sits in Places. Basso describes Apache place-​making as a way of constructing the past, constructing social traditions, and personal identities.46 His study shows how the Ndé generate environmental knowledge from places. Following his informants as they interpret place-​names, he notes: Place-​names can offer evidence of changes in the landscape, showing clearly that certain localities do not present the appearance they did in former times. More interesting still, some of this evidence points to major shifts in local climatic patterns, thus allowing inferences to be drawn about how—​and possibly why—​the environment of the ancestors differed in key respects from that of their modern descendants.47

Basso’s informant, Charles, interprets the site Tłiish Bi Tú’é (Snake’s Water), an inactive spring.48 He details how the ancestors first came to the spring and saw how there were snakes lying on the rocks by the water. A man spoke to the snakes “using words they understand and doing things correctly.”49 The man proceeded to give thanks to the snakes and the water. The people filled their jugs and went home. Charles then explains why the water is now gone, saying that people might have offended it by being wasteful.50 He describes the moment when the ancestors discovered that the spring had dried out: The people came again to get water and saw that there was none […] They are wailing as if a relative had died […] They are deeply frightened because of what they have done. “Our holy people must work on this for us.” This is what they are saying as they are walking away from Snakes’ Water. “Our holy people must help us make amends to Water. They must help us so we can live! They must ask Water to take pity on us! What if this happens everywhere!” This is what they are thinking. This is what they are praying. They do not understand. They are terribly afraid. The women are wailing louder as if a relative has died. Already they have started to pray.51

While there is no guarantee that the account offered by Charles is historically accurate, the story he generated at Snake’s Water is telling of how environment and myth intersect. It is an ancestral myth told by an Elder, an authority on the past. He knows a place-​name that refers to a long-​gone body of water. He recognizes that people before him related it to snakes and from that he produces a myth. This myth includes certain components:  environmental change, a cause, and a response. The implication is that environment is sentient and responds to human action. If humans commit transgressions 45  Grim, “Indigenous Traditions.”

46  Basso, Wisdom Sits in Places, 6.

47  Basso, Wisdom Sits in Places, 13.

48  Basso, Wisdom Sits in Places, 14–​15. 49  Basso, Wisdom Sits in Places, 15. 50  Basso, Wisdom Sits in Places, 16. 51  Basso, Wisdom Sits in Places, 17.



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of perceived universal ethics, the environment will react. This environmental space is infused with human-​like intent, and a geological process is explained as a reaction to human transgression. This is a local Apache example of making sense of place,52 and reflecting the environment in a cosmological order. In Papua New Guinea the Daribi have a more encompassing environmentally relevant cosmology. Their myth about the cosmogony and anthropogony is based on their experiences with the Genaa river that flows through their territory. In “Condensed Mapping,” Roy Wagner describes how it relates to place and environment: “Condensed mapping recondensed in the body, liquid space folded in and out of the body as the reflective surface of the lake folds and unfolds the figures and distances around it.”53 Knowledge about Genaa’s floods is expressed in terms of the human body and geology, analogically associated with the folding water surface. The specific conditions of the environment are reflected in a myth about creation, social order, and humanity. Another people in Papua New Guinea has a similar cosmology that reflects environmental conditions. Roy Rappaport has studied the Maring in a series of publications: Pigs for the Ancestors, “Ritual Regulation of Environmental Relations among a New Guinea People,” and “On Cognized Models.” In “On Cognized Models,” he describes how the Maring practice ritual war cycles related to the population of semi-​domesticated marsupials in their village. He focuses on the interplay between environment, meaning, and ritual activities (warfare), and describes parts of the Maring mythology. There is a cosmic separation between upper and lower spirits. The upper spirits, dwelling in the highest altitude of the forest, are called Raua Mugi (red spirits). They are hot, associated with war and the marsupials. Kun Kaze Ambra (smoke woman), also lives there and sometimes flies to the highest peak in the area, the volcano Oipor.54 The other class of beings, called the Raua Mai (antecedent spirits), is associated with the lower levels of the valley, with water, fertility (concepts of food and procreation are contained in the word mai), and with eels living in the river.55 Rappaport does not make note of it, but the Simbai valley, in which the Maring live, is a volcanic area. The Maring cosmology and ritual cycle of war points to a mythological complex that connects fertility, war—​and volcanism. The Apache place-​making is an example of ritualized myth-​making that relates to an important environmental feature: drought in the American South-​West. The Daribi observers have similarly noted the importance of the Genaa floods to their community, and the Maring have apparently incorporated volcanism in their cosmological structure, which provides reasoning for ritualized warfare. In each case an imposing geologic phenomenon is being treated in a mythology that conceptualizes the environment that surrounds the community. This would also be the case with Kiviuq’s Journey, and, as Vine 52  Malpas, Place and Experience.

53  Wagner, “Condensed Mapping,” 78.

54  Rappaport, “On Cognized Models,” 103.

55  Rappaport, “On Cognized Models,” 104.

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Deloria Jr. and Robin Kimmerer accentuate, such myths and cosmologies can aid existence in an environment. This kind of ritualized storytelling is not an accurate representation of the world in the sense of “factual” or “historical” knowledge. Instead it belongs to the realm of collective memory.56 It is a representation of life in conceptual schemas that express ideological history, which narrates the world through origin myths, genealogies, and technical knowledge.57 Examples of this type of narratives are plentiful in Old Norse literature, including the mythology.58 This type of narration is fundamental to a community’s existence,59 and I have chosen to call this orally transmitted narration “social memory.”60 The retention of social memory in oral societies is dependent upon authorities and, according to Jan Assmann, physical reference points: “The principle of ritual coherence is based on the media that make the sacred visibly manifest in the world. These media include holy places, trees, sources, stones, grottos, groves, but also and above all, images, statues, symbols, and buildings such as temples.”61 Features of the landscape, whether they are made by humans or appear naturally, if their characteristics are meaningful to a community, serve as mnemonic pegs for myths and rituals. Stefan Brink has brought this in play in Old Norse mythology in his article “Mythologizing Landscape. Place and Space of Cult and Myth.” He suggests that the Nordic landscapes can have functioned as topographic history. A landscape has memory spaces in which space and time fuse and history materializes in monuments.62 A memory space can be a specific location, region or entire landscape, which carries social memory through the combination of myth and ritual with reference to the environment. In Scandinavia and the North Atlantic, there are several examples of memory spaces. In The Origins of Drama in Scandinavia Terry Gunnell discusses memory spaces associated with ritual and drama, leikr (game, play).63 He mentions a compelling example of the memory of an ancient ritual that may have been preserved because of its

56  See Halbwachs, Les cadres sociaux de la mémoire; Halbwachs, La topographie légendaire des Evangiles en Terre saint; Confino, “Collective Memory and Cultural History.” 57  Le Goff, History and Memory, 55–​56.

58  Clunies Ross, Prolonged Echoes, vol. 1; Clunies Ross, Prolonged Echoes, vol. 2; Glauser, “The Speaking Bodies of Saga Texts”; Hermann, “Íslendingabók and History”; Hermann, “Concepts of Memory and Approaches to the Past in Medieval Icelandic Literature.” 59  Le Goff, History and Memory, 56.

60  It defines a form of memory that is primarily communicated orally in the same manner as “collective memory” or “cultural memory,” and has implications for people’s social life in pre-​literate societies. This term communicates better with the tradition of research on mythological and ritualistic response to volcanic events, see Zeidler, “Modeling Cultural Responses to Volcanic Disaster in the Ancient Jama-​Coaque tradition, Coastal Ecuador.” 61  Assmann, Religion and Cultural Memory.

62  Brink, “Mythologizing Landscape,” 79–​81. Brink uses the term “chronotope,” but I find it more suitable to call them memory spaces.

63  See for instance chap 1, “Dramatic Activities in Early Medieval Scandinavia:  The Evidence of Archaeology and Literature,” in Gunnell, The Origins of Drama in Scandinavia, 23–​92. For discussions about rituals in Old Norse literature, see Schjødt, Initiation between Two Worlds; Schjødt, “Myths as Sources for Rituals—​Theoretical and Practical Implications.”



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relation to environmental features: the cult wagons from the Scandinavian Iron Age.64 Eight cult wagons have been found in bogs in the Danish region: Kraghede, Fredbjerg, Dejbjerg, Dankirke, Langå, Husby, Giver, and Trompgård. The oldest account of them is by the Roman historian Tacitus in Germania from the first century ad. He describes a ritual dedicated to a deity called Nerthus, which takes place in southern Scandinavia.65 Two wagons were found in 1881 and 1883 in the Dejbjerg bog in western Jutland. The wagons are a century older than Tacitus’s account.66 At the time of discovery a folktale about a king’s wagon that had been sucked into the bog was circulating. The local population could hardly have seen the wagons, as they were covered with sediment. Our only explanation is that it is an oral account preserved in social memory for 1,800 years. The reason for this enduring preservation may be the topography of Dejbjerg and its place-​name. In Om Oldtidsminderne i Hardsyssel Storgaard Pedersen references the note made by the local mound examiner, J.  Kierckeby:  “Intetsteds saa jeg dog saa mange Høje samlede som paa Hedebakkerne i Dejbjerg Hanning Pastorat nordenfor Skjernaamundingen” (Nowhere else did I see so many mounds in one place as I did at the heath-​mounds in Dejbjerg Hanning parish north of the Skjern delta).67 The place-​name Dejbjerg seems to signal an involvement with the sacred and with ritual activities. It is originally recorded in 1340 as “Døthbyergh” (death-​mountain).68 There is no ritual context or written record to preserve the folktale; instead, the bog and the manmade burial mounds may have been the memory space that retained the myth in social memory. Another Danish folktale with a memory space relates to Lake Tissø.69 A troll annoyed with the church bells in the town of Kundby, north of the lake, moved from Sjælland to the island Fyn. Here, the troll met a man from Kundby and asked him to bring a letter to the pastor at Kundby church. The man travelled back to Sjælland with the letter. On his way he sat down to rest in a meadow and looked at the letter. Suddenly, water began to pour out, filling the entire meadow. The troll had intended for the water to consume the church, but: “Gud afvendte det, så at søen kom til at skylle ud i det store engdyb, hvor den nu flyder” (God prevented it, so that the lake poured out in the meadow where it is now flowing).70 Like Dejbjerg, Tissø is the site of ritual activity in pre-​Christian times, meaning “Tyr’s Lake.” The name refers to the Old Norse deity Tyr. At the banks of the lake a manor with 64  Gunnell, The Origins of Drama in Scandinavia, 30–​36 and 53–​60.

65  Gunnell, The Origins of Drama in Scandinavia, 54. On the relationship between Tacitus’s account of the Nerthus procession with the actual cult, see Lund, Nordens barbarer, 138–​40. 66  Storgaard Pedersen, Om Oldtidsminderne i Hardsyssel, 24. 67  Storgaard Pedersen, Om Oldtidsminderne i Hardsyssel, 24.

68  Lundberg, “Ortnamnet Dejbjerg,” 308. It is uncertain whether the place-​name in its later forms would have been meaningful. The vowel in “døth” changed some time prior to 1446 from “ø” to “e” (Dedbierg) and later, the consonant “th” changed from “d” to “j”/​“y” around 1532 (Deybierge). See Lundberg, “Ortnamnet Dejbjerg,” 308. 69  Thiele, Danmarks Folkesagn 2, 4–​5. 70  Thiele, Danske Folkesagn 2, 5.

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distinct evidence of ritual activity has been discovered, having existed there from the Iron Age into the late Viking Age.71 Considering the implications of the legend about the Dejbjerg wagons, and the long duration of oral narratives, it is not impossible that the presence of a pre-​Christian ritual site at Tissø has been a component in making this myth. Both instances combine myth, ritual, and the behaviour of water. The folktale about Torsvegen over Urebøuren in Norway is another example of an environmental myth.72 The troll Toer (Þórr) is a guest at two weddings in Telemark. Angry that he is denied beer, he hits a mountain with his hammer next to the farmstead where one wedding is taking place, causing a rockslide. This created the ridge Urebøuren. The folktale explains that he made a pathway through it and spared a single farm there, because there was one man who gave him beer. However, Toer lost the head of his hammer and had to go search of it. Both the motif of the destruction of the mountain and the motif of Toer searching for his hammer suggest a connection to Old Norse mythology. The destruction of the mountain has cognates in the tale about Þórr’s attempt to kill Skrýmir in Gylfaginning, where he is beating mountains with his hammer.73 A similar episode is also part of Þórr’s duel with Hrungnir in Skáldskaparmál.74 The motif of the lost hammer is reminiscent of the Eddic poem Þrymskviða, where Þórr’s hammer is stolen by Þrymr. Although the Norwegian tale mentions ritual in the form of weddings, it is unlikely that it was a tale that was told in relation to a wedding ceremony. Toer’s presence at the weddings is more likely a memory of an ancient cult or of the plot in Þrymskviða, than it is a living tradition in the nineteenth century. It is more probable that the ridge, as a memory space, preserves the myth in social memory. The Icelandic folktales Gissur á Bótnum and Hallgerður á Bláfelli also feature trolls that cause dangers in mountains.75 In both cases a “troll wife” threatens travellers in the rocky regions. The idea that rocks and mountains are alive is common in Icelandic folktales. The tales Sýslumannskonan á Burstarfelli, and the story about an elf-church in the folktale Tungustapi, suggest a general tendency to anthropomorphize the environment.76 This tendency is also observed in the tradition of taboo rocks: the landdísasteinar (land-dís-stones) in north-west Iceland. These rocks were connected to the landdísir (land-dís), protective spirits with origins in pre-Christian mythology and ritual. The tradition surrounding these rocks prevailed into the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.77 These are Danish, Norwegian, and Icelandic examples of anthropomorphizing the environment, and they are far from the only ones available. In Old Norse literature, there are other important examples. Aside from various tales of draugar (ghosts) who inhabit mounds and burial sites, the tale of Þórólfr Mostrarskegg and his

71  Jørgensen, “Manor, Cult and Market at Lake Tissø.” 72  Bø et al., Norske Segner, 89–​90.

73  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 45.

74  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 17.

75  Jón Árnason, Íslenzkar þjóðsögur og æfintýri 1, 161–​64 and 158–​59. 76  Jón Árnason, Íslenzkar þjóðsögur og æfintýri 1, 13–​15 and 31–​34. 77  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 185–​86.



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son Þorsteinn Þorskabítr, who upon death enter Helgafell, are examples of an Icelandic fusion of human spirits and the landscape. Eyrbyggja saga tells how the landnámsmaðr (land-​taking-​man) Þórólfr established an assembly site and temple on his land-​claim, where his ǫndvegissúlur (high-​seat pillars) with carvings resembling Þórr had drifted to. This land was called Þórsness. He revered a mountain that he called Helgafell (Holy Mountain) and believed that he and his family would live inside it when they died.78 Later in the saga, when Þórsteinn Þorskabítr drowns at sea, it is related how he entered the mountain and took seat next to his father.79 Along with various place-​names that are dedicated to the god Þórr (Þórsness, Þórsá), this tale also includes the description of ritual and ritual sites. It suggests that pre-​Christian worshipers of Nordic gods thought that their spirit would be absorbed by the holy mountain, Helgafell. A variation over this theme is Bárðr in Bárðar saga Snæfellsáss. It is said that Bárðr, who took land at Snæfellsness, a little farther to the west of Helgafell, eventually retreated to a huge cavern in the glacier on Snæfell. Being from Dófri, a site associated with witchcraft in medieval Nordic folklore, Bárðr had supernatural powers. When he vanished, people began to worship him as the guardian spirit of Snæfellsness.80 In later Icelandic folklore this pattern is applied to volcanism in the story about the witch Katla at Þykkvabæjarklaustur. Katla was a troll-​woman who owned a pair of magical breeches that could make her run as long as she wanted without getting tired. One day she was away and the shepherd Barði lost his sheep in the hills. He borrowed Katla’s breeches to run fast enough to catch all the sheep before nightfall. When Katla came back she realized this and killed Barði. When the murder was discovered, she put on her breeches and ran up on the glacier that covers the volcano Katla, where she jumped into a crevasse. For this reason, people call the glacier bursts Kötluhlaup (Katla-​run) in that region.81 Anthropomorphizing and animist tendencies are prevalent in the Icelandic material, and they originate in a genuine pre-​Christian worldview. In the saga literature the idea that humans and animals have a spirit, which can leave the body, is prevalent. This notion also extends to the later folklore recorded in the nineteenth century. The concept is called hugr (mind) in Old Norse.82 In Old Norse mythology hugr can be projected into a temporary guise called a hamr (skin-​case). Óðinn is principally associated with this practice, called hamhleypa (hamr-​run or hamr-​leap). He is able to let his hugr roam in the form of a bird, animal, fish, or serpent.83 This is a form of animism and similar ideas are expressed in other cultures in the circumpolar region. 78  Eyrbyggja saga 4. 79  Eyrbyggja saga 11. 80  Bárðar saga Snæfellsáss 6. 81  Jón Árnason, Íslenzkar þjóðsögur og æfintýri 2, 185.

82  Hedeager, “Scandinavia Before the Viking Age,” 13; Alver, “Concepts of the Soul in Norwegian Tradition.” 83  Heimskringla, Ynglinga saga 7.

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In Inuit mythology the concept of seal-​humans, the tuutaliit, is common. Seal-​humans also exist in Icelandic, Danish, and Norwegian folklore. It is a transgression against the tuutaliit that is the cause for Kiviuq’s journey. An envious hunter kills a tuutaliit living in the community and the revenge brings a storm that blows Kiviuq off course to a faraway land.84 Kiviuq encounters multiple examples of animism: his tuurngaq (helping spirit) is a polar bear, he marries a fox-​wife who takes off her skin when needed, and he interacts with a variety of animals on his journey.85 This reflects the Inuit idea that animals and environmental features possess inua, a “person” or “soul.”86 Scandinavian folktales reflect similar concepts of environment imbued with spirits with whom humans can interact. In Icelandic, Norwegian, and Danish folklore, the idea of giving either pants or mittens to a merman when at sea to gain his goodwill is prevalent.87 Ideas about spirit journey and interactions with spirits in the environment exist among the Sámi,88 too, and it has been proposed that the Sámi and pre-​Christian Nordic mythology have exchanged concepts about the soul and shamanism.89 This is a shared circumpolar conceptualization of human-​environment relationships.90 Óðinn is also able to open mountains and the earth with magic spells.91 This and his ability to perform metamorphosis between human and animal are the hallmarks of sorcery in medieval literature.92 What lies at the root of these ideas represented in Old Norse literature is the concept of spirit journey and a world imbued with spirits akin to the examples from other cultures. This ability to perform transformation is, according to Catharina Raudvere, indistinguishable from “the metaphorical metamorphosis found in poetry and myth.”93 This is what seems to happen with Bárðr, Þórólfr Mostrarskegg, and Katla: their spirits merge metaphorically with the landscape. Óðinn, as the god of poetry, is capable of moving between these spiritual worlds, and Old Norse poetry and myth has the capacity to metaphorically transcend physical boundaries. This means that myth, ritual, and memory spaces are closely linked in Old Norse mythology. The mountain Helgafell belongs to a tradition of creating place-​names imbued with numen (spirit) that is related to Dejbjerg.94 Helgafell is associated with

84  Van Deusen, Kiviuq, 19–​23.

85  Van Deusen, Kiviuq, 25 (polar bear), 32 (skin), 35–​37 (animals).

86  Rigby, MacDonald, and Otak, “The Inuit in Nunavut, Canada,” 97.

87  Strompdal, Norsk Folkeminnelag, 44. Gamalt frå Helgeland 3, 47–​48. 88  Beach, “The Saami,” 229.

89  DuBois, Nordic Religions in the Viking Age, 122–​37.

90  Price, “Sorcery and Circumpolar Traditions in Old Norse Belief,” 248. See also Flenup-​Riordan, “The Yupiit of Western Alaska,” 251; Bodenhorn, “The Iñupiat of Alaska,” 136; Caulfield, “The Kalaallit of West Greenland,” 172; Hovelsrud-​Broda, “The Isertormeeq of East Greenland,” 155; Schweltzer and Gray, “The Chukchi and Siberian Yupiit of the Russian Far East,” 21; Andersson, “The Evenkis of Central Siberia,” 63. 91  Heimskringla, Ynglinga saga 7.

92  See Lassen, Odin på kristent pergament.

93  Raudvere, “Popular Religion in the Viking Age,” 241. 94  Lundberg, “Ortnamnet Dejbjerg,” 313–​17.



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a Þórr-​cult, although the description of the rituals in the saga may be influenced by thirteenth-​century ideas about pre-​Christian rituals.95 In Torsvegen over Urebøuren there are known mythic connections, ritual associations, and an environmental feature. This is also the case with the folktale about the troll and Lake Tissø: an ancient ritual site and an environmental feature. Bárðr in Snæfellsness is also associated with ritual and an environmental feature, and this is also evident in the Katla folktale, where witchcraft hints at rituals. All these memory spaces consist of a place-​name, ritual connections, and notable environmental features. They are also locations that are subjected to mythic narration. These are not isolated incidents of human conceptual dialogue with spaces in the environment, neither in Scandinavia nor in other parts of the world. Seen in context of indigenous perspectives on myth and environment, the stories are in fact common. What is revealed in comparison between these cases from the North and the story about Snake’s Water, is that there can be close connections between features of the environment, place-​names, and myth. In each case, the driving force behind the myth about a memory space is how it represents an environmental problem: 1) Snake’s Water incorporates snakes, an animal that requires special handling in the story. It also incorporates the experience of fear of losing a water supply in a drought region. It incorporates rituals that mitigate this experience and fear. The place-​name is significant to the story but there is no mention of a spirit living there, except the implied spirit of the water and communication with animals. 2) Dejbjerg incorporates the environmental problem posed by bogs and lakes in a marshland area. It incorporates the experience and fear of being consumed by the marshes. It is archaeologically tied to ritual. The place-​name eventually stopped being meaningful and its association to dead spirits must have been forgotten, but persisted in the language until the fifteenth century. 3) Tissø seems similar to Dejbjerg. The place-​name lost its connection to the deity Tyr at some point, but a spirit (the troll) was still associated with it. 4) Urebøuren incorporates the environmental problem posed by rockslides. It also incorporates wedding rituals. The place-​name associates it with Þórr, but it is questionable how old that association is. 5) Bárðr in Snæfellsness is associated with the imposing glacier on the notable mountaintop on the peninsula. It includes worship of Bárðr. There is no clear association between the spirit, Bárðr, and the place-​name, but he is emplaced in it afterall. 6) Helgafell is associated with the notable mountain on Þórsness. It includes worship of Þórr. The place-​name is discernible as “holy mountain” even in modern Icelandic. Legendary land-​takers took residence there after their death. 7) Katla is an active volcano. Its place-​name is anthropomorphized in the witch Katla, who causes the glacier bursts. Ritual is hinted at in her witchcraft. 95  Hultgård, “Altskandinavische Opferrituale und das Problem der Quellen.”

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The Daribi myth about the Genaa river anthropomorphizes environmental features. The Maring mythology incorporates anthropomorphized environmental features and may attempt to mitigate threats to the population posed by eruptions: if the war cycle is connected with the population of marsupials and ideas of spirits involved with volcanism, it seems reasonable to suggest that this mythology and its ritual cycle is part of mitigating that environment. Kiviuq’s Journey supplies the information needed to mitigate the environment in the Arctic. These are examples of humans animating their world in mythologies in order to conceptualize their environments. Helgafell and Snæfellsness do not as such pose immediate environmental hazards, but both revolve around the universal experience of death. Katla combines both subjects. These examples bear witness to a tendency to animate our landscapes and project emotions onto environmentally significant features. In Religion Explained: The Evolutionary Origins of Religious Thought, Pascal Boyer argues that religious concepts are linked to our emotional systems, often tied to the experience of life-​threatening situations and fear. The emotional programs are the heritage of evolution and they influence religion.96 Religious narratives and myths are often bound to emotional states. This is explicated clearly in the story about Snake’s Water, and it can be detected in the other myths, too. The story about Tissø includes ideas about universal ethics insofar that it represents Christianity as good and the troll as evil. In Norwegian folklore the idea that old burial mounds are populated with ancient spirits, ghosts, is prevalent, and this concept is transposed to the Icelandic mountains. It is also present in Dejbjerg, combined with the bog environment. The primary emotion invoked in this instance would be apprehension, identifying the bog as a “death-​place.” In this instance the natural and cultural topography of the site have interacted with local social memory and retained narratives about the wagons. The natural landscape manifests itself in both mythologies and ritual practices, and it often changes them when a culture changes location. This has been documented by scholar of religion Åke Hultkrantz’s studies of the Shoshone on the Wind River Reservation in Wyoming, USA. Hultkrantz has shown how the Shoshone have adapted to the Wind River environment, and how this has resulted in changes to social structures and cultural habits.97 He has found that environmental change can have a lasting impact on a culture, and may explain religious and mythic restructurings.98 Myth and environment combine in a reflection of the environment: “The storyteller […] alters the details of the mythical picture to suit his listeners; or he reinterprets the tale unconsciously, to enhance its reality value.”99 An environment will, consciously or unconsciously, be reflected in the mythologies that are generated in it.

96  Boyer, Religion Explained, 22–​26.

97  Hultkrantz, “An Ecological Approach to Religion,” 132. Hultkrantz has based his theories of eco-​ religion on the theory of multilinear evolution and the impact of ecosystems by Steward, Theory of Culture Change. See also Hultkrantz, “Ecology of Religion.” 98  Hultkrantz, “An Ecological Approach to Religion,” 138. 99  Hultkrantz, “An Ecological Approach to Religion,” 144.



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If mythologies are a form of narrativized dogma or Weltanschauung (worldview), as Stephen Mitchell suggests, and they have intrinsic connection to landscape and environment, as is suggested by Assmann, Brink, and Hultkrantz, it should in fact be unproblematic to suggest that Old Norse mythology relates to the environmental conditions in Iceland, its memory spaces. I argue that Old Norse mythology is an expression of indigenous social memory that has found itself recorded in the Latinate script-​world. There are straightforward examples of how Old Norse mythology relates to the environment in Iceland and exhibits similar traits as Kiviuq’s Journey, the mythologies of the Daribi and the Maring, and the Apache place-​making tradition. Myths about the celestial space have been found in Old Norse mythology.100 Some examples are the myths about Mundilfœri, Skinfaxi, and Hrímfaxi in Vafþrúðnismál stanzas 12 and 14, and Árvakr and Alsviðr in Grímnismál 37. Gylfaginning mentions them too, adding what seems to be a myth about a celestial event: the story about Bil and Hjúki carrying a tub named Sœgr on the carrying-​ pole Simul from the well called Byrgir.101 According to Andreas Nordberg, these figures may be reminiscent of calendar myths detailing celestial events.102 If that is the case, this would be an example of how the sky is a memory space in Old Norse mythology. The idea about a world imbued with spirits is reflected in Snorri Sturluson’s Christianized explanation for the non-​Christian doctrine in his prologue to the Edda. Snorri frames this as a misunderstanding due to lack of (Christian) spirit, although it is based on reasoning: because people could see that the earth nurtures life and that the heavenly bodies had fixed courses over the sky, they reasoned that the earth was alive, and the cosmos had a controller. Then they told stories about it.103 Snorri’s attitude is that this is an erroneous understanding of God. However, it rests on the knowledge that pre-​Christian religion was based on anthropomorphizing the environment. The idea that the environment contains anthropomorphic qualities, and that metamorphosis between humans, animals, and environmental features can occur, was only weeded out of European thought with Malleus Maleficarum in the fifteenth century and the ensuing witch hunt. The first question the book addresses is the subject of transmutation and metamorphosis.104 With the introduction of the Christianized Latinate culture, this perspective on the world first became misconceptions in medieval times, then anathema in the age of witch hunt, followed by superstition in the nineteenth century. In the study of Old Norse mythology and the history of pre-​Christian Nordic religion, the ghost of the nature-​mythological strife still lingers.105 Émile Durkheim duly criticized the tendency to interpret myths as “lying fictions” about humanity’s attempt to 100  Gísli Sigurðsson, “Snorri’s Edda.”

101  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 11.

102  Nordberg, Jul, disting och förkyrklig tideräkning, 125–​30.

103  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Prologus 2. 104  The Malleus Maleficarum, 1–​3. 105  See Müller, Natural Religion.

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understand the non-​human world, arguing that myths are concerned with social life.106 This position has been supported by Jan de Vries and Lauri Honko.107 As a result, it is not an overstatement to say that most research in Old Norse mythology and religion is now predicated on the idea that it is a system focused almost entirely on social life, comparable to the tenets of structural anthropology,108 and devoid of consideration of human-​ environmental reflections. However, myths that incorporate the environment do exist and they are more than “lying fictions.” They have importance for social life in a community that is affected by certain environmental conditions. Myths that incorporate environmental conditions are narratives created to conceptualize that environment. This gives such myths a social function. What Durkheim, de Vries, and Honko have ignored is that environment, nature as it is, is part of human social interaction in an animist perspective.109 Considering the theoretical underpinnings of my view of Old Norse mythology as orally transmitted social memory that has found its way into the Latinate script-​ world, including the overwhelming amount of comparative examples, it is inconspicuous to suggest that environmental features such as volcanic activity can have had influence on the way that the mythology has been told in Iceland. With Hultkrantz’s examination of Shoshone mythology and religion, it is evident that an environment may influence myths accordingly. With the above-​described examples of how place-​ names, rituals, and environmental features can become the basis for mythic narration, it is possible to discuss a latent animism and anthropomorphizing of the Icelandic environment in Snorri’s Edda as indigenous literature that reflects life in Iceland, and establishes a conceptual universe, which talks about volcanism as an inherent component. In the process of talking about volcanism in Iceland, I  suggest that Old Norse mythology generated its own vocabulary for it. This vocabulary is predicated on existing mythology from mainland Scandinavia. In the following I will describe my method for analyzing it.

106  Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life, 100.

107  De Vries, “Theories Concerning ‘Nature Myths,’ ” 37; Honko, “The Problem of Defining Myth,” 45–​46. 108  See e.g. Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures, 5.

109  With this I am not intending on reviving the nature-​mythological (Oxford) school. While some theoretical and methodological aspects are similar, I  base my approach to Old Norse mythology on a comparative perspective, which is verifiable. Additionally, as will become apparent below, I only argue for a connection between myth and environment in certain contexts. These contexts are predicated on a variety of factors that extend far beyond the methods of the nature-​mythological school, which drew only on analogy and simile for their conclusions. Regarding the return of animism in religious studies, see de Castro, “Cosmological Deixis and Amerindian Perspectivism”; David, “ ‘Animism’ Revisited”; Ingold, “Rethinking the Animate, Re-​animating Thought,”; Harvey, The Handbook of Contemporary Animism; Henare, Holbraad, and Wastell, Thinking Through Things; Holbraad and Pedersen, The Ontological Turn.



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Interpretations of Old Norse Mythology in the Context of Environment Old Norse mythology is the product of the meeting between indigenous knowledge-​ forms in the Nordic region and the Latinate script-​world that permeates intellectual life in the North in the medieval period. Indigenous knowledge was transmitted by carriers of tradition, frœðimenn, prior to a Christian knowledge hegemony. Old Norse mythology should be considered indigenous social memory encased in a Latinate script-​world. What lies underneath the Latinate script-​world is a tradition that has survived due to its social and environmental importance. It has been reproduced in social memory in great part due to its relationship to memory spaces. Such memory spaces are found in the Icelandic landscape as well as the rest of the Nordic region, reflected in later times in folklore. One prevailing aspect of this social memory is the anthropomorphizing of environmental features. Old Norse mythology and folklore display similar anthropomorphizing of the natural world as is otherwise found in circumpolar traditions and elsewhere. The land, animals, trees, stones, and water bodies are believed to be inhabited by spirits. Based on comparative examples from other cultures of how myth and environment interface, my theory sees myth linked with its environment. The principles of interpreting environment may be understood as a mytho-​linguistic practice. This has been described by Elizabeth W. Barber and Paul T. Barber in When They Severed Earth from Sky: How the Human Mind Shapes Myth. Barber and Barber have found that the human mind linguistically processes environmental phenomena in a specific way. In myth, environmental events and phenomena are subjected to a set of principles for storage in memory. Barber and Barber suggest that a portion of myths seem “to stem from actual events and real observations of the world [more] than twentieth-​century scholars have commonly believed.”110 On this basis they have formulated a universal theory of mythogenesis in oral cultures.111 They provide an overarching theory that encapsulates four fundamental mytho-​linguistic principles. This theory is called the “memory crunch” and the principles are: 110  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 3. This statement may seem to hearken back to Friedrich Max Müller’s notion that myth is a “disease of language”; see Müller, Lectures on the Science of Language, 22. However, the method proposed by Barber and Barber is based on encompassing studies in linguistics and reflects very little of Müller’s attitude to myth and language. For a good post-​colonial critique of Müller’s theory, see Yelle, The Language of Disenchantment. I am employing Barber and Barber’s method because it is the best and most encompassing method available to describe the linguistic and poetic processes involved in creating a mythic language for environmental features. As I am doing so, I am also modifying their method based on realizations from my empirical studies. One notable modification is that I  only accept the application of this method to subjects that can be attached directly to environmental features. It is simply not enough to assume similarities based on superficial appearances. This should become clear in the following. 111  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 4.

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1) Silence: “What everyone is expected to know already is not explained in so many words.”112 2) Analogy: “If any entities or phenomena bear some resemblance, in any aspect, they must be related.”113 3) Compression: “Once the stories around something (e.g. a hero) achieve sufficient mass, that thing (or whatever) attracts yet other stories to him/​her/​itself, via any ‘significant’ point of event, same place, and same name or clan name.”114 4) Restructuring:  “Whenever there is a significant cultural change, at least some patterns will get restructured or reinterpreted. Successive changes on a given pattern will render the form of the pattern un-​understandable to its users—​it goes from a matter of logic to one of faith, and finally to a matter of disbelief.”115

The memory crunch theory is based on the observation that information may be passed on for thousands of years through what the authors call the “oral pipeline,” if the information is considered important, if it corresponds to something visible to the users of the myth (memory spaces), and if the information is encoded in a memorable way.116 What is encoded in language becomes the explanation for events. In oral societies without permanent accumulation of knowledge and stable recording of events that would otherwise demonstrate cause and effect, a primary tool for explanation becomes analogies.117 Within the framework of the four principles of the memory crunch, Barber and Barber have identified another forty-​four principles. It is beyond my purpose to give a detailed account of all these subsidiary factors. In the following I will provide descriptions of the four primary principles for the memory crunch. Silence

Silence is the basic aspect of shared cultural knowledge that needs no explanation. A culture will impose implicit ideas upon a narrative that are so ingrained in social life that nobody needs to have them explained. An example of this in Old Norse mythology is kinship structures. The foundational idea that every being is enrolled in a genealogic structure, which determines its role in the cosmology, is omnipresent in the material: a being that belongs to the Æsir acts according to an implicit teleology defined by their kinship. The same is the case for Jǫtnar, Vanir, Álfar, and so on. This reflects the social situation of Icelandic society from the Viking Age into the thirteenth century.118 As such it needs no explanation.

112  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 17.

113  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 34.

114  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 113. 115  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 138.

116  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 9–​10. 117  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 15.

118  Hastrup, “Cosmology and Society in Medieval Iceland”; Hastrup, Culture and History in Medieval Iceland; Hastrup, Island of Anthropology.



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Barber and Barber mention a case of the opposite, where silence is broken. Both in the Edda and in the prose post-​script to the Eddic poem Lokasenna, the imprisonment of Loki in a cave with snakes dripping venom above him is explained as the cause of earthquakes.119 According to them this is a situation where the writer divulges information that may not be available to the audience, because at that time people are culturally removed from the original analogy that established the myth. The original analogy is one that connects Loki with earthquakes in Iceland. Barber and Barber are not fully familiar with the Icelandic tradition that associates Loki with earthquakes. Without intricate knowledge of the historical circumstances associated with the creation of the Edda, including the codification of Eddic poetry, they interpret Ragnarǫk as a myth of volcanism and assume that the note on Loki causing earthquakes was an original feature of the narrative.120 While this may have been the case, and early Icelanders may not have needed an explanation from Snorri and the prose commentary in Lokasenna, it cannot immediately be taken for granted. The volcanic associations with Ragnarǫk are not entirely straightforward, and it may be an assumption on part of the thirteenth-​century writers that pre-​Christian Icelanders believed this.121 It is possible that it was not an original part of the myth, and that this may be the reason it has been relegated to a prose commentary in Lokasenna. However, if seen as a breach of the silence principle, it has an immediate report with the poem Hallmundarkviða in Bergbúa Þáttr, insofar as it contextualizes volcanism in pre-​Christian mythology. Hallmundarkviða is a poem composed in dróttkvætt (skaldic metre) that tells about an eruption. The narrative frame sets the composing of this poem by a bergbúi, a mountain-​dweller, in a cave that magically appears during a blizzard.122 This agrees with an idea that supernatural beings underground are responsible for geologic events in Iceland.123 This idea resonates with the folktale about Katla, too. Loki underground can therefore be immediately understandable as a figure responsible for earthquakes. The silence principle stipulates that when circumstances change, the mythic information may become meaningless or obscure to younger generations.124 In the Icelandic literary material there are conditions which may have generated a long transparent life of certain myths, while others may have become obscure. In terms of Old Norse myths, it is important to be aware that the migration from Scandinavia and the British Isles may have contributed to the obfuscation of some mythic information, while others have been kept alive and understandable because of this history. 119  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 20.

120  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 204.

121  Nordvig, “Creation from Fire in Snorri’s Edda”; Nordvig, “Nature and Mythology”; Nordvig and Riede, “Are There Echoes of the ad 536 Event in the Viking Ragnarok Myth? A Critical Appraisal.” 122  Bergbúa Þáttr 1.

123  I treat the whole story in Chapter 2.

124  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 22.

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The same is the case for the major cultural shifts represented in the conversion to Christianity, the inclusion of Iceland into the Norwegian kingdom, the Reformation, not least the emergence of natural sciences in the modern era. One can expect that culture-​ altering events in Icelandic, indeed Scandinavian, history have obscured aspects in myths. An objective in terms of analysis is therefore to investigate a possible principle of silence in both conscious and unconscious assertions in the material. Analogy

The principle of analogy alters the description of phenomena. The principle of silence is a function of culture, but the principle of analogy is a function of language employed to describe phenomena. If several phenomena bear resemblance in terms of form, behaviour, cause or significance, it is a common practice to assume relatedness.125 With analogical thinking, humans will assume that if “x” can be retrieved from “y,” then “x” resides in “y.” If fire can be retrieved from flint, fire must reside in flint.126 This appears to be the logic that is employed by the Maring, who associate the red spirits and the smoke woman with war, smoking, and the upper altitudes of the Simbai valley: if a mountain can create fire, it has the quality of fire and must therefore be associated with concepts that are attached to fire. If lava flows like water, it has the qualities of water. If the viscosity of lava resembles honey, a thick, yellow, slow-​flowing liquid, these fluids can be associated with one another and the substances are perceived to have similar qualities. If gold shines like fire, it may be designated in kennings such as “eldr allra vatna” (fire of all waters).127 What speaks in favour of a widespread use of analogies in Old Norse mythology, also in context of environmental features, is that the poetic language, Eddic-​type metre but especially skaldic metre, makes avid use of analogies in kennings. If a ship can be called, for instance, “ocean-​ steed,” it is evident that analogic thinking pervaded the primary artform in early Iceland. A ship is not alive, but a steed is: the simile for both is that they are means of transport, you ride them. The simile between “ocean” and a road is that both facilitate movement from point “a” to point “b.” A component in these analogies is binary opposites: ship and steed are opposites because one is non-​living and the other is living; ocean and land (road) are obvious conceptual opposites. The principle of analogy also works in the way that if a god is related to phenomenon “a,” and phenomenon “b” is comparable to phenomenon “a,” it is likely that the god in question will be associated with phenomenon “b.”128 If Þórr was associated with thunder, lightning, and the summer rain over arable fields in mainland Scandinavia,129 then he may be associated with the static electric discharges in phreatomagmatic combustion during

125  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 35.

126  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 38.

127  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 32. Compare with the Incan expression for gold: “sweat of the Sun.” See Lourie, Sweat of the Sun, Tears of the Moon. 128  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 62–​66.

129  Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum:  Scriptores Rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum ex monumentis germaniae historicis separatim editi. Magistri Adam Bremensis, 4, 26.



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an eruption in Iceland. The principle of analogy informs humans that the actions of the environment may be motivated by the same logic as that which governs them: when the water went away at Snake’s Water it was because people were being wasteful. The water withdrew because it was not appreciated, teaching humans a valuable lesson about not being wasteful, assigning human motivations to the water. This is animism. If something happens in the environment it must have been willed, and it may have been caused as a response to human actions.130 If an eruption occurs it is assumed that an entity caused it: a deity. The process of narrativization that employs analogies also seeks to make things interesting: explanations and descriptions are encapsulated in an interesting cultural form which is analogically referring to what it is narrativizing.131 In the story of Urebøuren the socially attractive setting is the wedding celebration. The willfulness that disturbs the otherwise merry celebration is the troll. Compression and Restructuring

Compression establishes metaphoric reality:  if the simile in the analogy is lost, there is nothing to separate the narrativized occurrence or phenomenon from the cultural form.132 Compression packs information in myth, erasing the distinction between two things that are combined through analogy. The simile of “y” draws it closer to “x” and eventually “y” partakes in “x” or simply becomes “x.” This principle of compression makes the culturally interesting form easier to remember and provides room for encoding more knowledge.133 The Dejbjerg folktale illustrates this principle: no one remembers the reason that wagons were put in the bog, but it is essential to tell the tale about the danger associated with marshes. Therefore the “something” that sank in the bog is a king’s wagon, a wagon that belongs to a socially significant person. Compression was at work in the mind of the scholar who initially recorded the information about the sunken king’s wagon: he simply recorded that there was a story about a king’s wagon. He did not record the actual story. He was economizing with information, choosing only to relate the culturally relevant aspects. Compression therefore poses an immediate problem in the attempt to identify the reference that establishes the simile in the analogy. Myths are distorted by “the peculiarities of our cognition,” and if the reference is lost, the information encoded in them can be unintelligible in later forms.134 This may have been the case with the story about Loki, which needed further explanation from Snorri Sturluson and the redactor of Lokasenna. It should be possible to access the reference for the simile through historical investigation of our “cognitive peculiarities.”135 Barber and Barber suggest that it is relevant to investigate the natural phenomenon underpinning a myth even if the factor of time has 130  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 41. 131  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 91. 132  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 97.

133  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 114. 134  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 163. 135  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 163.

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contributed to considerable restructuring. If time or spatial conditions alter the myth, “this doesn’t just allow changes in the myth, it speeds them. In time, the story needs revisions to make any kind of sense at all.”136 This may lead to post hoc fallacies: to be acceptably interpreted in context of its environment a myth should contain explicit signifiers associated with that environment—​it should be attached to memory spaces—​and must be located in reasonable temporal proximity to environmental events.137 If a myth has been removed from its memory space and enough time has passed, it becomes increasingly unlikely that it still has relevance in its initial environmental situation. The likelihood of interpreting the myth appropriately in an environmental context is decreased. The cases that I have presented above demonstrate that a critical component of connecting myth to environment is the myth’s relationship to memory spaces.

Mode of Interpretation

Unlike Barber and Barber’s pursuit, it is not my purpose to define environmental factors as etiological reasons for mythogenesis. I suggest that the myths that I interpret have been attached to memory spaces due to the cultural importance of their environmental features. As a society sees a need, it will generate myths reflecting its environment from previously existing cultural patterns. This means that multiple previously existing cultural elements may have clustered around restructured myths, which have been applied to the environment. In the cases of the creation myth and Ragnarǫk, it is most likely that they compound a multifaceted spectrum of culturally relevant components that can be traced in literary history to sources that do not relate to Icelandic volcanism. When Icelandic culture emerges from the Scandinavian migration, myths are told in new ways in relation to the environment, similarly to what Hultkrantz has observed. It is likely that the experience of volcanism actualized cultural components in new ways.138 The mead myth was in existence before the Scandinavian experience of the geology in Iceland. It may have received a new environmental context with the experience of volcanism. The same is the case for the myth about Þórr’s duel with Hrungnir. In a practical sense this means that analysis and interpretation is carried out as an investigation of narrative patterns, words, and expressions presented in the myths, which fit criteria for reference to the environment. This is a selection that drives the interpretation in a direction towards environmental features but understands that there is more than one option for interpretation. A word can carry multiple meanings and the choice of meaning relates directly to the choice of reference for the myth. My method of analysis depends on choosing a suitable reference, which is the result of recognizable features inherent to the myth. In other words, when hrímr (frost) is interpreted as soot in the creation myth, it is because other

136  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 138.

137  See Nordvig and Riede, “Are There Echoes of the ad 536 Event in the Viking Ragnarok Myth?.” 138  See Oppenheimer et al., “The Eldgjá Eruption,” 369–​81.



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factors in it relate more to fire than to ice. These factors are Surtr, Muspell, the inconsistency in the image of the river Élivágar freezing upon leaving the “eitr-​cold” (poison-​ cold) realm Niflheimr, and the inconsistent meaning of eitr in the context of an analogy made to cinder.139 When compared with reports from geologists, volcanologists, not least anthropologists, ethnologists, and scholars of religion, the inconsistencies in the Icelandic myths make sense. The comparative evidence demonstrates that myth is a vocabulary that can be activated in response to the environment and function as knowledge about it in a conceptual universe that relates to social structures. When performing interpretations these become contextualized bottom-​up interpretations based on analysis of individual components of myths. The individual components establish the reference that may be the cause for the simile. Through reference to comparative material the durability of the interpretation is checked. Barber and Barber do take some leaps in their interpretations: in my opinion they paint their interpretations with broad strokes and suggest that certain myths have relations to geologic events without reasonable support. I will avoid similar post hoc fallacies. I do not intend to claim that all aspects of Old Norse mythology are associated with environmental conditions. On the contrary, it is in the very specific contexts presented below, where I believe that volcanic interpretations are warranted, and only in these. I will therefore turn to a comparative analysis of known geomyths about volcanic activity and the Old Norse poem Hallmundarkviða, to outline an indigenous theory of volcanism, which can serve as my framework for analyzing the mythology in the Edda.

139  See Chapter 3.

Chapter 2

AN INDIGENOUS THEORY OF VOLCANISM IN ICELAND

An indigenous theory

of volcanism can be identified in communities in proximity to volcanoes. It is indigenous because it has developed from the cultural needs of a local community and is expressed in local vocabularies, yet it is phenomenologically predicated on the same terms across the world. It makes use of the same common human repertoire for understanding volcanism. This repertoire is based on emotional responses to hazards, which often result in social structures that mitigate trauma. The common human repertoire is based on analogical references, where observed geologic phenomena are translated to mythological concepts. The components of a community’s mythology are plotted onto the geological event and create a conceptual schema to understand and talk about the human-​environmental relationship. Existing social codes compound with new ones that are generated from the experience. Often the language that is applied in this situation is convoluted and ambiguous because there is a lack of vocabulary to fully express the geologic processes and experiences. It is a prevalent myth in scholarship on medieval Icelandic literature that volcanoes are not discussed. This is because there are few direct and coherent descriptions that are intelligible to contemporary readers. However, the Icelandic annals and auxiliary sources do talk about them in terms that are familiar to the modern observer. These accounts are the result of the hegemony established by the Latinate script-​world. Scholars who have been trained in the Latinate script-​world’s immediate descendant, modern science, can have difficulties discerning other types of descriptions. In a comparative perspective, however, it becomes clear that Iceland had its own indigenous discourse on volcanism, which was defined by the worldview that the Scandinavian migrants brought with them. This discourse can be deduced from a set of myths in Old Norse mythology, which make use of structures, poetic references, and concepts that were applied to volcanism in the early stages of social development in Iceland. The Old Norse poem Hallmundarkviða is an excellent example of this. It reveals an indigenous Icelandic theory of volcanism that functions on similar terms as mythologies from Hawai’i, New Zealand, North America, Indonesia, certain places in Asia, and on the European and African continents. Hallmundarkviða reveals that early Icelanders interpreted eruptions in terms of actions by anthropomorphized beings motivated by emotional responses that reflect social values. This is based on the animist worldview that I explained above. The actions of the anthropomorphized beings are violent in nature and involve imagery that is associated with flight, throwing, swift movements, and vessels that perform high speeds. To arrive at the indigenous theory of volcanism I will first treat the history of volcanism

34 An Indigenous Theory of Volcanism in Iceland during human habitation, then the Old Norse literature addressing the phenomenon, and finally the theory of geomythology in relation to Hallmundarkviða.

A History of Icelandic Volcanism

Situated on the mid-​Atlantic ridge with approximately thirty individual volcanoes, Iceland is geologically the most active region in the world. The Icelandic landscape exhibits nearly all types of volcanoes and eruptions.1 There are shield volcanoes, such as the infamous Eyjafjallajökull that erupted in 2010 and disrupted European air traffic. There are stratovolcanoes, like Hekla, whose eruptions in the medieval period created the myths about an entrance to Hell. There are spatter cones, calderas, scoria cones, tuff cones, lava shields, rows of tuff cones and maars, chasms, such as Eldgjá, and mixed cone rows, such as Laki.2 Icelandic eruptions are as complex as the types of volcanoes are plentiful, with both explosive and effusive eruptions, not least mixtures.3 Eruption styles range from Surtseyan to Phreatoplinian for wet eruptions and from Strombolian to Plinian for dry eruptions.4 Although the eruption types have varied effect on the geomorphology of Iceland, the most frequent lava-​producing eruptions generate rubbly pahoehoe, the hraun.5 Medium-​to large-​scale tephra-​producing events, like Eyjafjallajökull, are less frequent, but the impact of Icelandic volcanism ranges from local to hemispheric. Smaller eruptions can affect life in the vicinity of the volcano. However, they do not necessarily affect the life of people elsewhere in Iceland. Major eruptions have been known to disrupt faraway regions in Europe and Asia. Hazards from Icelandic volcanism include lava flows, ash clouds, ash depositions, debris flows, gas emission, lightning, and glacier bursts (jökulhlaup). Magma exposed to water or ice erupts more violently due to the rapid cooling process. This generates phreatic activity resulting in large emissions of ash, which will spread over a wide area. Jökulhlaups are generated from subglacial eruptions. These can be highly debris-​charged and lahar-​like.6 It is estimated that in the time of human habitation, from ca. 800, there have been some 250 eruptions in Iceland.7 From the settlement period until the middle of the fourteenth century Iceland experienced approximately fifty-​six eruptions. This means that nearly every generation in medieval Iceland was exposed to the phenomenon, either through personal experience or the possibility of engaging with people who had. 1  Thordarson and Höskuldsson, “Postglacial Volcanism in Iceland,” 199–​200.

2  Thordarson and Höskuldsson, “Postglacial Volcanism in Iceland,” 201. 3  Thordarson and Höskuldsson, “Postglacial Volcanism in Iceland,” 202. 4  Thordarson and Höskuldsson, “Postglacial Volcanism in Iceland,” 200. 5  Thordarson and Höskuldsson, “Postglacial Volcanism in Iceland,” 207. 6  Tweed, “ ‘Now That the Dust Has Settled …’,” 218. 7  Tweed, “ ‘Now That the Dust Has Settled …’,” 217.

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The most severe eruptions during human habitation in Iceland are the fissure eruptions Eldgjá in 934–​940 and Laki or Skaftáreldar in 1783–​1784.8 Eldgjá emitted 19.6 cubic kilometres of lava and dispersed tephra over some 20,000 square kilometres. The eruption may have lasted between four and six years. Laki emitted 15.1 cubic kilometres of lava and dispersed tephra across an area covering around 8,000 square kilometres, lasting for eight months.9 The Laki fissures opened in the 28-​kilometre-​long vent system that stretches from the south-​western part of the glacier Vatnajökull to the glacier Mýrdalsjökull, which covers the Katla volcano. Laki’s eruption column was between 12 and 15 kilometres high and the fire fountains reached between 800 and 1,400 metres.10 Eldgjá has been estimated to be at least at the same level, maybe worse.11 Laki posed a great threat to Europe when it erupted. It impacted climate and crop production, and caused both famine and respiratory problems in western Europe.12 The ensuing famine in Iceland during the eruption in Laki caused a mortality rate in some parishes of up to 25 percent of the population.13 The impact of Eldgjá must have been severe. During the eruption, historical sources from Europe, the Middle East, even China, reported crop failure, famine, and disease.14 This indicates that Eldgjá had a hemispheric impact that was greater than the one experienced in the Laki eruption. We can only guess what calamities Eldgjá caused in Iceland, but inferring from these events, the settlers coming from Scandinavia and the British Isles must have been terrified by the experience of fire fountains rising higher than the skyline of any modern city, roaring noises, which must have been audible across great distances, and an all-​engulfing darkness caused by ashes in the atmosphere, blocking out the sun.

Volcanism in Icelandic Literature

The earliest Icelandic sources to mention eruptions are Landnámabók, Íslendingabók, Kristni saga, Konungs Skuggsjá, and the Icelandic annals. Landnámabók mentions a couple of cases of local eruptions, including one that may refer to Eldgjá, where the settler Molda-​Gnúpr is reported to have been forced to leave his settlement due to an 8  Witze and Kanipe, Island on Fire; Zielinski et al., “Evidence of the Eldgjá (Iceland) Eruption in the GISP2 Greenland Ice Core,” 129. 9  Thordarson and Höskuldsson, “Postglacial Volcanism in Iceland,” 212.

10  Thordarson and Self, “The Laki (Skaftár Fires) and Grímsvötn Eruptions in 1783–​1785,” 233.

11  Zielinski et al., “Evidence of the Eldgjá (Iceland) Eruption in the GISP2 Greenland Ice Core,” 132.

12  Grattan and Pyatt, “Acid Damage to Vegetation Following the Laki Fissure Eruption in 1783”; Grattan, “An Amazing and Portentous Summer”; Grattan, Durand, and Taylor, “Illness and Elevated Human Mortality in Europe Coincident with the Laki Fissure Eruption”; Grattan et al., “Volcanic Air Pollution and Mortality in France 1783–​1784”; Courtillot, “New Evidence for Massive Pollution and Mortality in Europe in 1783–​1784.” 13  Vasey, “Population, Agriculture, and Famine.”

14  Stothers, “Far Reach of the Tenth-​Century Eldgjá Eruption, Iceland”; Fei and Zhou, “The Possible Climatic Impact on China of Iceland’s Eldgja Eruption Inferred from Historical Sources.”

Map 1: Icelandic Met Office 2019 | National Land Survey of Iceland 2019

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eruption.15 The interest in eruptions in Íslendingabók and Kristni saga is limited to the event that created Kristnitökuhraun, the lava-​field that is associated with the conversion to Christianity. Konungs Skuggsjá delivers explanations as part of an authoritative view of volcanism based on the Latinate script-​world. It makes direct reference to St. Gregory’s Dialogus: “og er mier suo sagt j dialogo at hinn helgi Gregorius hafi suo mællt at pijslar stadir sie j sikil ey j þeim elldi er þar er. Enn draga þo meiri lijkindi till þess. j þessum elldi er a islandi er at þar sie vijst pijslar stadir” (and I have been told in the Dialogus that St. Gregory has said that there are places of torment in Sicily in the fire that burns there. But there is thus more reason to assume that in the fires of Iceland there are certainly places of torment).16 The annals are simple reports on volcanic activity, interpreted as part of the universal principle of medieval chronicling, which is mostly concerned with matters of state and ecclesiastical subjects. This should not be mistaken for factual recording of history.17 Some aspects of more factual reporting of volcanic events are found in later Icelandic recording, such as the Eldrit (fire-​writing) literature. The Eldrit appear in the seventeenth century with Þorsteinn Magnússon’s report on an eruption in Katla in 1625. They are methodical reports that meticulously document eruptions.18 Such detailing, accompanied by lists of land, sheep, and cattle loss, may have been used as claims to recompense from the king in Denmark, whose knowledge of Icelandic geology was limited. Although the intricate detailing makes the Eldrit look very modern to scientists and historians, it may be that the interest shown in the details was less scientific and more directed towards economic loss. As a literary phenomenon that is largely matter-​ of-​fact oriented, the Eldrit have had a strong impact on what contemporary scholars and scientists of Icelandic eruptive history have been looking for in the medieval material. Kristni saga appears to be an example of a pragmatic discourse similar to the Eldrit. In his article “Perception of Volcanic Eruptions in Iceland,” volcanologist Thordarson has praised its pragmatic attitude, calling it “remarkably to the point and strictly matter-​ of-​fact.”19 Thordarson compares Kristni saga to the discourse in the Icelandic annals, arguing that early Icelanders had a pragmatic view of volcanism. He contrasts these reports with Herbert the Monk’s Liber Miraculum from ca. 1178–​1180, which he says is “overpowered by the religious overtone and insinuations.”20 According to Thordarson, “the pragmatic perception recurs consistently and prevails […] Even though the matter-​ of-​fact perception revealed by written sources may be biased towards the official or authoritarian view, the connotation is representative of the view held by the majority in Icelandic society.”21 15  Landnámabók 329.

16  Konungs skuggsjá 54. 17  Cooke, “ ‘Firy Drakes and Blazing-​Bearded Light’ ”; Thornton, “Locusts in Ireland?.” 18  Thordarson, “Perception of Volcanic Eruptions in Iceland,” 289. 19  Thordarson, “Perception of Volcanic Eruptions in Iceland,” 288. 20  Thordarson, “Perception of Volcanic Eruptions in Iceland,” 289. 21  Thordarson, “Perception of Volcanic Eruptions in Iceland,” 293.

38 An Indigenous Theory of Volcanism However, neither Kristni saga nor the annals are comparable to the discourse in the Eldrit or modern scientific pragmatism. Their discourse is as religious as the explanation for volcanism offered in Konungs Skuggsjá. The account of an eruption in Kristni saga takes place as the Christian and non-​Christian parties in Iceland had reached a deadlock in deliberating over converting to Christianity at the Alþingi (general assembly) in 999/​ 1000. Upon hearing that an eruption has occurred near the Alþingi, the non-​Christian party claims that this was because the gods were angry about the Christian presence in the country. Snorri goði, a legendary Icelandic magnate, who appears in Eyrbyggja saga, dismissed this as nonsense. Snorri’s response is what Thordarson interprets as a pragmatic view of volcanism. It is more likely that this is connected to the saga’s soteriological agenda, linking the creation of Kristnitökuhraun to God’s will in a similar manner as volcanism is seen as part of God’s creation in Konungs Skuggsjá.22 Snorri goði, who converts to Christianity, is likely to be a representative of the saga literature’s so-​called Noble Heathens: figures who have not received baptism but have some understanding of God’s order, and therefore are critical of pagan superstition.23 It is unlikely that Kristni saga, or the annals, represent any matter-​of-​fact perception of volcanism. It is even less likely that any nascent modern scientific attitude can be found in the Icelandic material prior to the modern age. Instead, the case of Kristni saga should be understood as an indigenous mode of expression with regards to volcanic phenomena, opposed by a continental Christian mode of expression. If the historical veracity of this account can even be trusted it is most likely that both parties understood the eruption as an act of supernatural beings, be they the Nordic gods or the Christian God.24 It provides evidence for a tendency in medieval Iceland to connect volcanism to Old Norse mythology. As I  will detail below the indigenous theory of volcanism attributes the phenomenon to anthropomorphized beings engaging in social dramas. The Christian concept of volcanism, evidenced in the reference to St. Gregorius in Konungs Skuggsjá, attributes the phenomenon to God’s omnipotence and role as supreme controller of the universe, expecting it to contain the regulatory features of the Christian cosmos. In that sense the two perspectives are the same, yet they disagree on the cause. The Christian moralistic concepts of subterranean fires regulating social action in Konungs Skuggsjá have been suggested by Oren Falk in “The Vanishing Volcanoes” to have been transposed to the imagery in Ragnarǫk in Vǫluspá and the short story Bergbúa Þáttr. According to Falk these sources may “represent a naturalising, or even paganising adaptation.”25 Volcanic imagery in Old Norse mythology has been recognized in passing by scholars of Old Norse literature. In 1905, Bertha Phillpotts investigated the imagery connected with Surtr and suggested that it was predicated on volcanism.26 This interpretation is

22  Falk, “The Vanishing Volcanoes,” 5.

23  See Lönnroth, “The Noble Heathen.”

24  See Oppenheimer et al., “The Eldgjá Eruption.” 25  Falk, “The Vanishing Volcanoes,” 9. 26  Phillpotts, “Surt.”

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still accepted by contemporary scholarship.27 Sigurður Nordal reproduced Phillpott’s interpretation in his analysis Völuspá, and Hilda R.  E. Davidson has compared the imagery in Ragnarǫk in Vǫluspá with Jón Steingrimsson’s Eldrit about Laki from 1783–​ 1784, noting that Ragnarǫk fits remarkably well with his descriptions.28 Bergbúa Þáttr and its twelve-​stanza poem Hallmundarkviða have been connected with the lava-​field Hallmundarhraun, in which the volcanic cave Surtshellir is located. This cave is named after Surtr. This was done by geologist Árni Hjartarson in “Hallmundarkviða, eldforn lysing á eldgósi.”29 Bergbúa Þáttr provides an encompassing description of an eruption. It explains it as a battle between Þórr, the Jǫtnar, Hallmundr, and Surtr. It has been treated by Heimir Pálsson.30 In his interpretation Surtr is connected to the Eldgjá eruption. Finally, the archaeologists Bo Gräslund and Neil Price have provided an archaeological perspective on Ragnarǫk in “Twilight of the Gods,” where they argue that a global volcanic event in 536 gave rise to the idea of the prolonged winter, the Fimbulvetr.31 This volcanic event, or “dust veil,” led to depopulation in central Sweden, Norway, and northern Denmark.32 However, the connection between the 536  “dust veil event” and Ragnarǫk has been contested.33 Research on the impressions that volcanism has left on immaterial culture in Iceland, the mythology in particular, is incipient, but it is receiving more recognition with the eco-​ critical turn in Old Norse studies.34 In the following I will outline the indigenous theory of volcanism in Iceland based on the poem Hallmundarkviða. I will demonstrate that it is comparable to indigenous theories of volcanism in Hawai’i, New Zealand, Indonesia, North America, and the European and African continents. The theory relates to the concept of geomythology, a term that describes myths that relate to geological phenomena. Before unfolding it, I will provide an overview of the research in geomythology.

Geomythology

In Legends of the Earth Dorothy B. Vitaliano explains how etiological folklore has given rise to stories about geological phenomena.35 She defines geomythology as “the geologic 27  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 303–​4.

28  Sigurður Nordal, Völuspá,100–​104; Davidson, Gods and Myths of Northern Europe, 208–​9. 29  Árni Hjartarson, “Hallmundarkviða, elforn lysing á eldgósi.” 30  Heimir Pálsson, “Surtur og Þór: Hallmundarkviða túlkuð.” 31  Price and Gräslund, “Twilight of the Gods?.”

32  The information on northern Denmark is currently being compiled. I have this information from Morten Fischer, biologist and senior researcher at the Danish National Museum (2019). 33  Nordvig and Riede, “Are There Echoes of the ad 536 Event in the Viking Ragnarok Myth?.”

34  See Taggart, “All the Mountains Shake”; Abram, Evergreen Ash. At the time of writing this book I have not yet had a chance to review Abram’s Evergreen Ash. 35  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 1–​26.

40 An Indigenous Theory of Volcanism application of euhemerism.”36 This is similar to Barber and Barber’s theory. Considering the preceding discussion of myth, the scope of geomythology is, however, too narrow. Myths that address the environment are not simply the result of a process where humans provide an explanation for a geologic phenomenon, which, through the course of time, becomes a religiously valid narrative. As Vitaliano’s own recording of geomythology shows, the tenets of myths about the environment, especially volcanoes, relate to a history of mitigation that results in the use of mythologies as conceptual schemas for living with volcanoes. Since Vitaliano’s book a multitude of studies have addressed geomythology in various ways. In a Greek historical context K. Walsh et al. have identified a relationship between the myth of Hercules’s labours, the cultural development of the goddess Artemis, and the environmental conditions at Stymphalos.37 Luigi Piccardi et  al. have identified mythic connections in Hesiod and Homer with the geochemistry at Delphi.38 In Hawai’i the integration of coastal geomorphology, myth, and archaeology has been investigated by Carson and Athens, and in Australia Hamacher and Norris have demonstrated the connection between myth and impact craters, and myth and astronomy.39 Reid et  al. have demonstrated that aboriginal Australians have retained memories of inundations along the continent’s coastline in myths for some 10,000 years.40 Myths about Merapi in Indonesia have been identified by Troll et al., and geologists and anthropologists are broadly recognizing the importance of religion and religious perspectives in volcanic risk perception and hazard mitigation.41 The significance of oral traditions in context of eruptions is now recognized as a component in contemporary geoscience.42 The most comprehensive publication on geomythology in recent years is Piccardi and Masse’s Myth and Geology, which explores the nature of myth and its role in science in context of Vitaliano and Barber and Barber’s theories.43 36  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 1.

37  Walsh et al., “Archaeology, Hydrology and Geomythology in the Stymphalos Valley.” 38  Piccardi et al., “Scent of a Myth.”

39  Carson and Athens, “Integration of Coastal Geomorphology, Mythology, and Archaeological Evidence at Kualoa Beach, Windward O’ahu, Hawaiian Islands”; Hamacher and Norris, “Australian Aboriginal Geomythology:  Eyewitness Accounts of Cosmic Impacts?”; Hamacher and Norris, “Australian Aboriginal Geomythology”; Hamacher and Norris, “Eclipses in Australian Aboriginal Astronomy.” For a mythologized celestial event in the Baltic area, see Haas, Peekna, and Walkner, “Echoes of Ancient Cataclysms in the Baltic Sea.” 40  Reid, Nunn, and Sharpe, “Indigenous Australian Stories and Sea-​Level Change.”

41  Troll et al., “Ancient Oral Tradition Describes Volcano-​Earthquake Interaction at Merapi Volcano, Indonesia”; Cashman and Cronin, “Welcoming a Monster to the World”; Chester, “Theology and Disaster Studies”; Chester, Duncan, and Dibben, “The Importance of Religion in Shaping Volcanic Risk Perception in Italy”; Merli, “Context‐Bound Islamic Theodicies.”

42  Cashman and Giordano, “Volcanoes and Human History”; Unjah and Halim, “Connecting Legend and Science through Geomythology.” 43  Piccardi and Masse (eds.), Myth and Geology.

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Although her book is not exhaustive, Vitaliano’s chapter on volcano lore in Legends of the Earth serves as a catalogue to establish the tenets of indigenous theories of volcanism for my studies. It is a catalogue of local narratives that provide a mythological context to volcanic phenomena, which can be compared to Old Norse mythology. Vitaliano dedicates the main focus in this chapter to the Hawai’ian goddess Pele, whose mythology is extensive. Pele’s story is one of migration from somewhere in the south, perhaps Tahiti. Her reason for leaving the south was a bitter quarrel with her sister Namakaohakai. Wherever Pele went she dug holes with her paoa (spade).44 When she settled at Maui and dug the crater Haleakala her sister saw the smoke rising and advanced to fight her. Pele was vanquished but her spirit hovered in the smoke and flames above Mauna Loa.45 As a goddess Pele is easily enraged, jealous, and punishes those who wrongs her. She engages in holua (sled) racing, a sport where athletes race down mountainsides in long wooden sleds.46 She was married to Kamapuaa, but the two fought so much that earthquakes and fire converged with floods from the sea and the sky.47 The Hawai’ian mythology associated with Pele combines multiple elements that are observable in volcanic activity, but require interpretation: 1) The geomorphology of the region is explained as actions taken by an anthropo­ morphized being. 2) The reasons for the changes in geomorphology are explained as motivated by their anger. 3) The changes in geomorphology are explained as Pele’s violent interaction with ancient kings, heroes, or supernatural beings. 4) Pele is associated with flying and high speed.

In New Zealand Vitaliano reports a story attached to the eruptions in the volcanoes Taranaki, Ruapehu, and Tongariro (Ngauruhoe), which provides jealousy as a context for the events. Taranaki and Ruapehu fell in love with Tongariro and fought over her. Taranaki thrust himself at Ruapehu, but he, in turn, sprayed boiling water over Taranaki. Taranaki responded with hurling stones at Ruapehu, which broke the mountain’s top. Ruapehu then swallowed the rocks, melted them, and spat them out at Taranaki. Wounded Taranaki fell back to the sea, taking a path through the Wanganui River Valley, and retreated up the coast, where the volcano is now visible.48 This story has similar contexts as Pele’s mythology: ) Geomorphology is explained as the actions of anthropomorphized beings. 1 2) Their motivation is jealousy. 44  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 105.

45  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 107.

46  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 112–​16. 47  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 117.

48  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 119–​20.

42 An Indigenous Theory of Volcanism 3) The changes in geomorphology are explained as a violent encounter between two giant warriors. 4) Taranaki and Ruapehu launch themselves and various material into the air.

The Maori story about two basaltic hills, Kakepuku and Kawa, similarly contextualizes the geomorphology as a narrative about love, desire, and a rivalry in which Kakepuku had to fight his enemies.49 Taboo is a stable component of how Maori conceptualize volcanism: the explanation for how fire came to the islands explains that the holy man Ngatoro climbed Tongariro and asked his followers to fast, so that he would have strength against the cold on the mountain. When Ngatoro did not return at the designated time his followers ceased fasting and he felt the cold in the high altitudes. He therefore prayed to his sisters in Hawaiki to bring him fire. The result was an eruption in Tongariro.50 Similarly, the 1886 eruption in Tarawera was interpreted as punishment for breaking a taboo: the villagers from Te Ariki ate forbidden wild honey from the sacred mountain. Another myth explains that a tohunga (holy man) called upon a human-​eating demon that his ancestors had imprisoned in the mountain, so that it could punish the people for the moral decay that they had fallen to in their meeting with the white man.51 A Klamath myth connected with Mt. Mazama and Mt. Shasta contextualizes an eruption as a battle between Llao, the chief of the below world, and Skell, the chief of the above world. It verifiably describes how Crater Lake was formed on the top of Mazama some 7627 years ago.52 In “The Day the Dry Snow Fell” Beaudoin and Oetelaar demonstrate how this eruption had widespread social and religious consequences for the First Nations on the Canadian plains, some of whom still remember the eruption.53 A  story that follows a similar pattern as the Maori story about how fire came to New Zealand is a Modoc story that explains an eruption in Mt. Shasta. It was caused by the chief of the sky spirits, who moved down into the mountain because the above world was too cold. As he lit up the hearth in the mountain, fire came out, but he eventually put the fire out and moved back up to the above world.54 It is normal that such stories involve the conceptual oppositions hot and cold. A story about Mt. Hood follows the pattern of battle and anger: the mountain was said to be inhabited by evil spirits, who would throw smoke, fire, and streams of liquid rock out when angry. A  chief battled them at the top but was eventually defeated.55 A Nisqually myth connects Mt. Rainier with an angry monster. This monster would suck any creature in until it was defeated by the trickster Changer.56 The Javanese volcano

49  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 122.

50  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 121–​22. 51  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 122–​23. 52  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 123.

53  Beaudoin and Oetelaar, “The Day the Dry Snow Fell.” 54  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 125–​26. 55  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 126.

56  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 126.

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Tangkuban Prahu was created in an oedipedian breach of taboo, where a queen and her son fell in love after having been separated for most of their lives. Upon discovering the truth, the queen tried to prevent their marriage by giving her son the impossible task of building a beautiful proa (boat) overnight. Her son prayed to the dewatas ([lesser] gods) and they provided him with a boat and dammed the river Tarum to create a lake for it. As the queen saw this, she prayed to Brahma to help her, and Brahma destroyed the dam, causing the proa to capsize and the son to drown. She threw herself into the capsized proa, creating Tangkuban Prahu: a mountain with a crater in the middle of it. Geologic investigation has shown that the Tarum river was dammed by landslides from Tangkuban Prahu in Neolithic times.57 Attached to the Virunga volcanoes in the eastern part of the Democratic Republic of Congo, close to the border with Rwanda, is the myth of the hero Ryang’ombe. He moved to the easternmost volcano, Muhavura, after his death. From there he would fight his enemy Nyiragongo, who eventually moved from Mikeno to the volcano that carries his name.58 Vitaliano also references the Greek myths about Zeus and the Titans, Talos, and the cyclops Polyphemus at Aci Trezza.59 The Titans represent violent natural forces and the cyclops is a human-​devouring monster similar to the one in Tarawera. Talos was a monster of bronze made by Hephaistos. He hurled rocks at the Argonauts, but he cut himself on a crag so that his blood flowed out “like molten lead,” and he died.60 These examples bear impressive similarities in terms of the principles on which the experience of volcanism is related. They include: ) Anthropomorphized explanations for geomorphology and eruption processes. 1 2) Emotional motivations: anger, jealousy, anguish, violence. 3) The anthropomorphized beings cause eruptions while they are battling out social dramas:  fighting over a lover, fighting over dominance, reacting to the breach of taboo. 4) Components of the narratives describe swift movements, speed, thrusts, flight, or hurling of objects. Sometimes they also describe how a figure moves from one place in the volcanically active area to another.

Vitaliano includes Icelandic material in her overview of volcano lore, but due to her lack of knowledge of Old Norse mythology, she has missed key examples: the ones that I am treating in this book. She includes the folktale about Katla.61 Katla kills the shepherd Barði (meaning “iron-​braced warship”) for using her magical breeches, which allow the user to run fast and never get tired. Katla is described as a vengeful person, but she suffers from remorse when she has killed Barði. This eventually makes her run to the 57  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 133–​34. 58  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 135.

59  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 138–​40. 60  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 140.

61  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 130–​31.

44 An Indigenous Theory of Volcanism glacier and jump in a crevasse, becoming the cause of the eruptions in the Katla volcano.62 This narrativization of eruptions in Katla applies the same features to volcanism as the other examples:  an anthropomorphized explanation for eruptions, emotional motivations, breach of social taboo as the initial cause of eruptions, swift movements, speed.63 The Icelandic tradition, however, has an even more impressive example of this type of volcano-​narrative in the poem Hallmundarkviða. The way Hallmundarkviða conceptualizes volcanism in Iceland is comparable to the above examples. It anthropomorphizes the cause of volcanism and contextualizes volcanic events in emotions that relate to transgression and taboo. The poem is my basis for understanding Icelandic conceptualization of volcanism in pre-​scientific times and it serves as my foundation for interpreting Old Norse myths as volcano-​narratives. Hallmundarkviða demonstrates an indigenous Icelandic theory of volcanism. This theory will be applied to Old Norse mythology throughout this book.

Hallmundarkviða: An Indigenous Icelandic Theory of Volcanism

Hallmundarkviða is preserved in the short story Bergbúa Þáttr found in the AM564, a quarto vellum manuscript.64 The manuscript is in poor condition, so the text has been reconstructed from paper versions that are no older than 1686. These paper versions were copied by Árni Magnússon from the Vatnshyrna manuscript that perished in the Copenhagen Fire in 1728. Suggested dating of the whole text ranges from the twelfth to the mid-​thirteenth century. The philologist Guðmundur Finnbogason has suggested that the eruption it describes occurred in Sólheimajökull in 1262.65 It is possible that the poem is older than the prose. This is normal for medieval Icelandic prosimetrum. Another suggested dating connects it with the eruption that created the lava-​field Hallmundarhraun in the tenth century.66 This idea is supported by geologists. The name Hallmundarhraun is first attested in 1844, but it may be older.67 Regardless of whether its creation is connected to a tenth-​century or a thirteenth-​ century eruption, it is clear that Hallmundarkviða draws on mythological imagery that continued to be important in medieval Iceland.68 It describes a volcanic event in the traditional authoritative language of Old Norse culture: skaldic poetry. It is fundamentally different in style, content, and perspective than the medieval view of volcanism 62  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 131.

63  I have analyzed the story of Katla in Nordvig, “Katla the Witch and a Medieval Icelandic Theory on Volcanism.” 64  Íslenzk Fornrit 13, Bergbúa Þáttr, 441–​50.

65  Íslenzk Fornrit 13, Bergbúa Þáttr, ciii–​ccv. 66  Íslenzk Fornrit 13, Bergbúa Þáttr, ccix.

67  Íslenzk Fornrit 13, Bergbúa Þáttr, cccvii.

68  Lindow, “Bergbúa þáttr and Skaldic Oral Poetry,” 208.

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in Konungs Skuggsjá. We can therefore see it as an indigenous Icelandic perspective. It creates an imagery of Æsir and Jǫtnar causing an eruption in a battle. The prose frame’s setting is contemporary to the medieval period. A Christian man named Þórðr and his servant are travelling from their home in Djúpafjörður to mass in another valley. On their journey they encounter a blizzard. Seeking shelter, they find an otherwise unknown cave under a cliff and enter. Before they go in, Þórðr carves a cross in the opening with a metal rod that he is carrying. In the first third of the night they realize that something is moving around farther inside the cave, coming closer towards them. The servant runs towards the exit, but Þórðr warns him against going out in the dark, “því at þat er hætt við villu, ok kann þat verða, ef menn hlaupa út um nætr, at þá sýnist annan veg en er” (because that is the danger of getting lost, and it can happen, if men run out at night, that one way seems different than this one).69 The two men make the sign of the cross in front of them and pray to God. Eventually, two huge eyes and a giant mouth appear before them. The eyes seem as big as moons to them, and the mouth is so large that they cannot see the whole part of it. It begins to speak the twelve-​stanza skaldic poem that comprises Hallmundarkviða:70 1. Hrynr af heiða fenri. Hǫll taka bjǫrg at falla. Fátt mun at fornu setri fríðs aldjǫtuns hríðar. Gnýr, þás gengr enn hári gramr of dökkva hamra. Hátt stígr hǫllum fæti

2. Hrýtr, áðr hauga brjóti harðvirkr megingarða, gnýr er of seima særi sáman, eldr enn kámi. Eimyrju lætk áma upp skjótliga hrjóta. Verðr of Hrungnis hurðir hljóðsamt við fok glóða,

3. Laugask lyftidraugar liðbáls at þat síðan, vǫtn koma heldr of hǫlda heit, í foldar sveita. Þat spretta upp und epla aur þjóð vitu jóða. Hyrr munat hǫldum særi heitr, þars fyrða teitir, heitr, þars fyrða teitir.

4. Springa bjǫrg ok bungur berg, vinnask þá, stinnar, stór, ok hǫrga hrærir hjaldrborg, firar margir. Þytr er um Þundar glitni. Þrammak á fyr skǫmmu, en magna þys þegnar

69  Bergbúa Þáttr 1. 70  Translating Hallmundarkviða is notoriously difficult. To provide an aesthetically appropriate translation that retains alliteration, while also conveys the original meaning and emotion of the Old Norse text, I have used Marvin Taylor’s translation: Taylor, “The Tale of the Mountain-​Dweller,” 444–​48. This translation is not perfect, and in a few cases, I have supplanted words and sentences in Taylor’s translation with my own translations of the meaning conveyed in a Danish synopsis from Guðbrandur Vigfússon’s edition from 1860: Guðbrandur Vigfússon, “Bergbúa Þáttr,” 123–​28. Taylor’s translation of Hallmundarkviða may be said to be the authoritative version in English. In the following I will address individual stanzas and verse lines with my own translations for a more accurate meaning, whenever it is necessary to the understanding of the Old Norse mythological discourse on volcanism.

46 An Indigenous Theory of Volcanism Hallmundr í gný fjalla, Hallmundr í gný fjalla. (Stones fly at the [Jǫtunn’s] step, steep cliffs tilt and teeter; little peace is to be found in the heath-​Fenrir’s hall. Round the high crags hastens the hoary one; echoes roar: Hallmundr through the rocks resounding, treads loudly, resounding, treads loudly.)

5. Þýtr í þungu grjóti þyrr eskinnar svíra. Undr láta þar ýtar enn, er jǫklar brenna. Þó mun stórum mun meira morðlundr á Snjógrundu undr, þats æ mun standa, annat fyrr of kannask annat fyrr of kannask. (The Earth-​neck’s raging streams rush in heavy rubble. One marvel more for men: to learn of glaciers burning. But the oak of battle knows an older wonder; greater far, its traces will always stand in Snow-​land, always stand in Snow-​land.)

hljóðsamt við fok glóða. (Dark flames drive and spit, split the mountain ridge, harshly rumble round the swarthy treasure-​strewer. Embers shoot, I say, rushing, black, straight upward. Round Hrungnir’s [doors] is heard the roaring of the spark-​ storm, the roaring of the spark-​storm.)

(Then the arm-​blaze bearer-​[ghosts] bathe in scathing water; none too cool, the currents that come upon the people. They know that river rises in the clay-​folk’s nation; flames could do no worse hurt to unsuspecting men, to unsuspecting men.)

6. Spretta kámir klettar. Knýr víðis bǫl hríðir. Aurr tekr upp at færask undarligr ór grundu. Hǫrgs munu hǫldar margir, himinn rifnar þá, lifna. Rignir mest. At regni rǫkkr, áðr heimrinn slǫkkvisk, rǫkkr, áðr heimrinn slǫkkvisk. (Dim cliffs break; the flame-​tongues blaze at faster paces. From the ground begins a strange new clay to flow. The heavens crack and split; [Jǫtnar] come to life. Twilight comes from torrents, till the world’s extinguished, till the world’s extinguished.)

7. Stíg ek fjall af fjalli. Ferk oft litum þofta. Dást ferk norðr et nyrðra niðr í heim enn þriðja. Skegg beri oft, sás uggir, ámr, við minni kvámu, brýtk við bjarga gæti bág, í Élivága, bág, í Élivága. (Peak to peak I stride between first light and sunset. Northwards I go farthest, down [in the third world. I’ll fight the mountain-​spirit, who often wears his beard dark, he who fears me], in Élivágar’s waters, in Élivágar’s waters.)

þeir hvívetna fleiri, þeir hvívetna fleiri. (Crags and boulders burst, bringing death to many; tremors rack the rockscape, resounding in the mountains. Thund’s hall echoes also: I’ve stamped across a stream bed, but others, too, are helping, quickening the quaking, quickening the quaking.)

8. Várum húms í heimi, hugðak því, svá er dugði, vér nutum verka þeira, vallbingr, saman allir. Undr er, hví ǫrvar mundi eitr hríðin mér heita, þó ef ek þangat kæma, þrekrammr við hlynglamma, þrekrammr við hlynglamma. (In the world of darkness we gathered, all together. I made sure the cave held, gave us sanctuary. This fire would have hurt me, heated me completely, though I can withstand a fair amount of fir-​ bane, a fair amount of fir-​bane.)

An Indigenous Theory of Volcanism

9. Dauðan mér frá morði, mun ván ara kvánar, handan hrímnis kindar hárskeggjaðan báru. En steinnǫkkva styrkvan stafns plóglimum grǫfnum, járni fáðan Aurni, auðkenndan, réðk senda, auðkenndan, réðk senda. (They brought him from the slaughter, the [grey-​ bearded chieftain of Hrimnir’s kin]; eagles are arriving. And I sent Aurnir a sturdy boat of stone. Iron-​braced it was, with ornamented bowsprit, with ornamented bowsprit.)

10. Sterkr, kveða illt at einu oss við þann at senna, Þórr veldr flotna fári. Felldr er, sás jǫklum eldir. Þverrðr er áttbogi urðar. Ek fer gneppr af nekkvi niðr til Surts ens svarta sveit í eld enn heita, sveit í eld enn heita. (Harm is done by [Þórr]. A warning often heard is: vex him, you regret it. The glacier-​kindler’s killed. Fewer are the rock-​folk. My spirits sink—​with reason—​on my way earth-​inward to black [Surtr’s] conflagration, to black [Surtr’s] conflagration.)

11. Veðk sem mjǫll í milli, margt er einmyrkligt, heima. Springr jǫrð, því at þangat Þór einn kveðk svá fóru. Breitt er und brún at líta bjargálfa, mér sjálfum. Heldr skek ek hvarma skjǫldu. Harmstríð, er ek fer víða, harmstríð, er ek fer víða. (World to world, like snowfall, I fly; the air is ashen. Thick rocks crack. [Þórr’s] moving; only he can cause this. Sorrow’s broadly written beneath the stone-​elf’s brow, my brow, when I travel; my sturdy eye-​ shields tremble, my sturdy eye-​shields tremble.)

47

12. Einn ák hús í hrauni. Heim sóttu mik beimar, fimr vark fyrðum gamna fyrr aldrigi, sjaldan. Flokk nemið it eða ykkat, élherðar, mun verða, enn er at Aurnis brunni ónyt, mikit víti, ónyt, mikit víti. (Alone in my stony home I live, without a visit. I never was adept at entertaining humans. Learn by heart this flokk, fighters! If you fail, punishment you’ll suffer. Aurnir’s well is dry now, Aurnir’s well is dry now.)

Stanza 1 describes sounds in the mountains and how rocks begin to fall. It sets the eruption in anthropomorphized terms with a grey-​haired Jǫtunn who stomps through the rocks. His name is Hallmundr (stone-​plenty), and he causes strife in the mountains. His grey hair is suggestive of volcanic ash. Stanza 2 proceeds to detail the eruption with fire and ash coming from a volcano. The Jǫtunn, Hrungnir (brawler), made of rock, is involved in the kenning “Hrungnis hurðir” (Hrungnir’s doors), indicating that an opening in the mountains, a caldera, may be referred to as Hrungnir’s door. The phrase “fok glóða” (ember blizzard) combines embers or sparks with “fok,” a term normally used for a blizzard. This establishes a commutable relationship between “ash” and “snow.” With this the poem describes ejecta, primarily ash. Stanza 3 adds another detail: hot water. The geothermally heated water, most probably in the form of glacial bursts, is described as “sveit foldar” (sweat of the earth). An explosive event is described in stanza 4: rocks leap and the vault of the mountain

48 An Indigenous Theory of Volcanism bursts. The mountaintop is called “Þunds glitni” (Þundr’s mountaintop), alluding to Óðinn under his name Þundr.71 Þundr probably derives from þytr, the word that is used for alliteration in that same line, meaning “loud noise.” Óðinn as a god making loud noises is placed on the mountaintop. The noise continues in stanza 5, where the glaciers are burning, undoubtedly referring to the loud hissing noises that accompany fire-​columns spewing from vents covered in ice, creating phreatomagmatic combustion. An important detail is that Iceland is called “Snjógrundr” (Snow-​land). This seems to be the only occurrence in Old Norse literature. This alludes to the hot and cold dichotomy in volcanic narration that also appears in the phrasing “ember blizzard.” In stanza 6 the eruption intensifies and “aurr tekr upp at fœrask undarligr ór grundu” (a strange clay begins to run from the ground). This “strange clay” refers to lava. The stanza also sees the awakening of the mountain-​spirits:  “Hǫrgs munu hǫldar margir” (Many [spirits] will come to life). This causes the sky to rip apart (“Himinn rifnar þá”) and rain with darkness (“At regni rǫkkr”) until the world is extinguished (“áðr heimrinn slǫkkvisk.”). In stanza 7 Hallmundr flies from mountaintop to mountaintop, proceeding northwards and down into the underworld, the third world. There “Skegg beri” (beard-​ carrier) shudders in fear, meeting this creature in a fight in Élivágar (stormy waves). Stanza 8 talks of a congregation in the world of darkness, suggesting that the mountain-​ spirits that have been awakened in stanza 6 are assembling, ready for battle. Hallmundr receives the dead Grey-​bearded One carried by Hrímnir’s family in stanza 9 (“Dauðan mér frá mórði […] handan hrímnis kindar hárskeggjaðan báru”). He awaits the eagle (“mun ván ara kvánar”), and he sends an iron-​braced stone boat to a Jǫtunn named Aurnir. It is unclear if the dead grey-​bearded figure is Óðinn or a Jǫtunn. The eagle and the iron-​braced stone boat may be cultural symbols associated with volcanism: the eagle as a bird of prey signifies death.72 In stanza 50 in Vǫluspá the eagle appears with an ash-​ coloured beak. The iron-​braced stone boat can reflect the ship Naglfar, also mentioned in Vǫluspá 50, as a harbinger of destruction carrying the hordes of Jǫtnar. In a tale in Landnámabók, which involves an eruption, a giant merman sails an iron boat into the inlet at Rauðasandur (red sand) in Kaldará (cold river). He proceeds on land and digs until lava comes up from the ground.73 Such images are strangely complex to the cultural outsider, but they are consistent with similar symbols in other cultures. The previous examples from Indonesia and Hawai’i include fast-​moving vessels, such as the proa and the holua. For maritime cultures in pre-​industrial times, the fastest moving vessels they know are sleds and boats. It may therefore fit the context to include an image of them in eruptions that feature fast-​moving objects. They can refer to ejecta and lava, and as harbingers of disaster. An example of this is the sighting of a “phantom” war canoe by eyewitnesses ten days before the Tarawera eruption in New Zealand in 1886. The war canoe, a harbinger of 71  Grímnismál 46. 72  See Meulengracht, Kapitler af Nordens litteratur i oldtid og middelalder, 112.

73  Ári fróði, Landnámabók 56.

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calamity, is one of the most enduring images associated with this eruption. Volcanologists K. Cashman and J. Cronin report: This warning signal was known to Maori before the event because Tarawera is related to local tribes within Maori cosmology; this “sign” can thus be viewed as vitally important to Maori understanding and acceptance of the event, illustrating the relationship of the Maori ancestors (and hence them [contemporary Maori]) to both the volcano and the eruption.74

It is likely that the Icelandic culture, given the prominence of maritime activities in the Scandinavian and North Atlantic region,75 could have used (spectral) warships in a similar manner. In the pre-​Christian culture in Scandinavia and Iceland ships were certainly connected with war, also death in burial rites.76 There even seems to be a remnant of this idea in the story about Katla. The shepherd’s name is Barði. This means “iron-​braced warship.” As Katla keeps repeating:  “Senn bryddir á Barða” (Soon Barði breaks out),77 while she is waiting for people to discover that she killed him. This seems reminiscent of the idea that a warship may lead, or be, the volcanic and glacial bursts. As I  mentioned previously, Icelandic conceptions of environment include similar examples of relationships between prominent geologic features, ancestors, and descendants as those seen in Maori culture. In Iceland the examples are Bárðr Snæfellsáss and Þórólfr Mostraskegg. Birds of prey, eagles in particular, have some prominence in volcano-​myths. Barber and Barber argue that Hesiod’s story about Zeus who chained Prometheus to a cliff in the Caucasus and let an eagle feed on his liver, is in fact a volcanic image.78 The Nart sagas from the Caucasus record the derived story about Nasran, who is bound by Paqua and has his chest torn open by a giant eagle. Nasran roars and moans, and the wingspan of the eagle reaches from mountaintop to mountaintop, darkening the valley below, until Pataraz shoots an arrow through the wing so that light shines through.79 This story relates to an eruption in Mt. Elbrus in the first centuries ad.80 The Yakama in Washington State also tell of eagles in an eruption in Mt. Pahto (Mt. Adams). The great spirit sent down a big white eagle with his son, a smaller red eagle, on his shoulder. This image is based not only on analogy to ashes and lava, but also on the fact that eagles will nest quite close to the top of Pahto.81 As eagles often nest in the high altitudes on mountains, they would be some of the first birds an observer noticed flying around the summit during tremors from an incipient eruption. 74  Cashman and Cronin, “Welcoming a Monster to the World,” 413. 75  Bill, “Viking Ships and the Sea.”

76  See Price, “Dying and the Dead.”

77  Jón Árnason, Íslenzkar þjóðsögur og æfintýri 2, 185.

78  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 219–​30.

79  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 224–​25. For the full story, see Colarusso, The Nart Sagas from the Caucasus, 158–​74. 80  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 223–​24.

81  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 222.

50 An Indigenous Theory of Volcanism In the Icelandic context images of birds appear elsewhere. They are recorded in the Flatey annals in relation to an eruption in Hekla in 1341. The story tells that some brave Icelanders “foru til fiallzins þar sem vpp varpit var […] þeim synduzst fuglar fliuga i elldinum bædi smair ok storir med ymsum laatum” (went to the mountain where the up-​throw [eruption] was […] it seemed to them that birds flew in the fire, both big and small with different bearings).82 A direct connection between eagles, earthquakes, and eruptions, is found in Konungs Skuggsjá: Grunduollur þess mun vaxinn med morgum ædum og tomum smugum edur storum holum Enn sijdan kunna þeir a(t)burdir at verda annat huort af vindum edur af afli gnyanda gialfurs at þessaR ædar edur holur verdi fuller af vindum suo miog at þær þoli eigi wmbrot vindsins. og kann þadann af þat at koma at land skialftar þeir verdi hinu storu sem verda aa þui landi.

The underground of this [land] must have been created with many indentations or caverns or large caves. Then it could happen either because of the wind or the might of the roaring water that permeates these indentations or caves were filled so much with wind without being able to bear it. And from that it may be that the great earthquakes come in that land.83

The eagle as a symbol and cause of earthquakes and eruptions has a long-​standing tradition on the European continent. Ovid makes use of the image in Metamorphoses, where Boreas Aquilo, the eagle of the northern wind, utters:  “Idem ego cum subii conuexa foramina terrae supposuique ferox imis mea terga cauernis, sollicito manes totumque tremoribus orbem” (It is also I who force my way into caves in the ground and ragingly put my back against the ceiling of the caverns, and with my great earthquakes bring terror to the worlds of the living and the dead).84 The interpretation of Hræsvelgr as an eagle beyond the North, who creates the winds with his giant wings in Gylfaginning 17 probably relates directly to this tradition. In Vafþrúðnismál 37 Hræsvelgr represents the wind and, by extension, the sea, with its treacherous whirlpools.85 In Hallmundarkviða the hastened winds occur already in stanza 1.  Hallmundr is heard stomping through the rocks, the winds howl in the mountains. Hallmundr enacts the same type of activities in the mountains as Boreas Aquilo, jumps from peak to peak, and flies to the north and down. In that regard it is probably no coincidence that the composer chose to call the mountaintop “Þundr’s peak,” suggesting a connection with Óðinn, who can appear as an eagle. The poem uses eagle-​wind symbolism that is comparable to examples from North America and the Caucasus region. These are phenomenologically comparable, while examples from learned Latin literature may arguably be related through literary genealogy or cultural exchange. In stanza 10 Hallmundr is defeated by Þórr. He descends “niðr til Surts ens svarta sveit í eld enn heita” (down into Surtr the black one’s company in the hot fire). Surtr is linked with volcanism here, just like in

82  Islandske Annaler indtil 1578, 401. 83  Konungs Skuggsjá 14. 84  Ovid, Metamorphoses 6.697–​99.

85  Jón Hnefill Aðalsteinsson, A Piece of Horse Liver, 28–​29.

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Ragnarǫk in Vǫluspá 47–​51. He seems to be the warden of the underworldly fire, which accompanies the volcano-​demon Hallmundr. In stanza 11 Hallmundr is chased away by Þórr, flying between dark worlds “sem mjǫll” (like snow), and in stanza 12 he sinks into the hraun (lava-​field) with sadness, compelling those who are listening to remember these words. According to the prose in Bergbúa Þáttr the volcano-​demon recited this poem three times during the night. When sunrise came Þórðr and his servant left. Before leaving, Þórðr put his foot on the cross that he made in the entrance. Þórðr remembered the poem, but the servant did not. Exactly one year later the servant died.86

Hallmundarkviða: Between Pre-​Christian and Christian Tradition

It is possible that the twelve skaldic stanzas in Hallmundarkviða are older than the prose frame. As mentioned above, cautious dating of the poem places it in the period from the twelfth to the thirteenth century. Both Sólheimajökull in 1262 and the tenth-​ century eruption under Langjökull which created Hallmundarhraun are candidates for its inspiration. Hallmundarhraun means “Hallmundr’s lava-​field” and could possibly be associated with the figure Hallmundr. Surtshellir in Hallmundarhraun has a prolific tradition in Icelandic social memory. The place-​name is mentioned already in Landnámabók, where Þórvaldr hólbarki is said to have gone to the cave and composed a drápa (skaldic poem) for the Jǫtunn that lived there.87 There is no way to verify if Hallmundarkviða is Þórvaldr’s drápa, but it is a compelling thought. Recent investigations by archaeologist Kevin P. Smith have indicated that the cave was the site of ritual response to the tenth-​century eruption. The ritual included the sacrifice of some 135 animals. In 1236, according to Sturlunga saga, the cave also formed the backdrop for the punishment of Snorri Sturlusson’s son Órækja, who was castrated and blinded by his enemies. The cave has also been the refuge for outlaws and heretics.88 This complex of signifiers, from pagans and Jǫtnar to the ritualistic punishment of Órækja, outlaws and heretics, heavily associates the cave with taboo. It is likely that this taboo originates in the eruption in the tenth century. Another story about taboo that may associate with this eruption is the tale in Landnámabók about a man named Bǫlverkr (evildoer), who dammed Hvítá with a “virki.”89 Hvítá runs from the plain where the lava from Langjökull created Hallmundarhraun. It is probable that the lava disturbed the course of the river. The term virki (creation, work, building) may be understood as a building, a dam, but the word is also used for sorcery.90 This would fit with Katla’s relationship to sorcery and the curious name Bǫlverkr, which is otherwise only used for Óðinn. 86  Bergbúa Þáttr 2.

87  Ári fróði, Landnámabók 175.

88  Smith, Guðmundur Ólafsson, and Wolf, “Surtshellir Archaeological Project.” 89  Ári fróði, Landnámabók 43(S) and 31(H).

90  Zoëga, Concise Dictionary of Old Icelandic, 495.

52 An Indigenous Theory of Volcanism In Bergbúa Þáttr the taboo was understood by the writer. The poem is heavily reliant on Old Norse mythology, including Jǫtnar and pre-​Christian gods such as Óðinn and Þórr, not least the worrying aspects of volcanism and death. For this reason, the god-​fearing man in the story, Þórðr, makes the sign of the cross at the entrance of the cave. This is a way for the narrator to relieve the tension of the taboo-​ridden content. The poem, unlike the prose frame, mentions nothing of Christianity and it may be presumed that the Christianized prose frame has been created after the poem was composed, in order to neutralize the pagan content. The answer to why a poem with such taboo-​ridden content would have been preserved is that it contains the details of eruptions. It was recognized by those who recorded Icelandic oral tradition as important information on similar terms as Kristni saga. The Christianized frame is the way in which the indigenous material can exist in the Latinate script-​world. As poetry dróttkvætt metre has been created to be highly memorable. Words are interlaced in an intricate relationship of meaning and sound, making it almost impossible to change them without changing the meaning of the poem.91 It is therefore likely that Hallmundarkviða, just like poems of royal genealogy such as Háleygjatal and Ynglingatal, may have survived orally from before the conversion. Hallmundarkviða may have been composed in dróttkvætt for the purpose of retaining the knowledge of a massive eruption, possibly the tenth-​century eruption in Langjökull. The importance of this was recognized by the person who undertook the writing of the prose frame: the poem implores the audience to remember it. Hallmundr says: “Flokk nemið it eða ykkat, élherðar, mun verða” (Remember this poem [flokk] or you will suffer punishment).92 This is taken seriously by the writer who finishes the prose frame with the tale about how Þórðr remembered the poem and the servant did not. The message is clear: death comes to those who do not remember the “wonders of Snow-​land.” Between the comparable material offered by Vitaliano’s catalogue of volcano lore and the content in Hallmundarkviða, an indigenous Icelandic theory of volcanism can be sketched. It functions largely on similar terms as those seen elsewhere in the world: 1) Hallmundarkviða exhibits a tendency to anthropomorphize eruption processes. 1a) Place-​names are evidence that geomorphology in Iceland is attributed to anthropomorphized beings who are considered responsible for changing landscape features, such as Surtshellir. 2) Hallmundarkviða exhibits emotional responses:  fear and sorrow. An underlying premise in the poem is anger. Anger is the premise for the interaction between Þórr and the Jǫtnar, ultimately referring to the expectation of Ragnarǫk. 3) Hallmundarkviða describes the eruption as violent interactions between anthropomorphized beings: a battle between Æsir and Jǫtnar. 4) Aside from descriptions of ejecta, flight and swift movements are components in Hallmundr’s actions.

91  Jesch, “Poetry in the Viking Age,” 297. 92  Bergbúa Þáttr, Hallmundarkviða 12.

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53

In addition to these phenomenologically common traits, the poem employs cultural symbolism that is comparable to other volcano-​myths in my survey of geomythology. The eagle and the boat are cultural symbols in an Icelandic context, just like boats are cultural symbols for the Javanese and Maori, sleds for the Hawai’ians. The indigenous theory of volcanism is based on a premise of interaction derived from the human context. It infers that spirit, person, or mind (anima, inua, hugr) is present outside humans, in the environment. It assumes that the motivations of spirits in environmental features are the same as human motivations. When the environment acts violently or denies humans resources, it is assumed that the environment is upset and that the root cause of this is human actions. The myth in Hallmundarkviða reconciles the human mind with the functions of its surroundings in Iceland. It provides an interpretive total image of the cosmos, which delivers explanations for volcanism as an environmental feature and reinforces the idea of group competitiveness that is present in Old Norse mythology: the hostility between Æsir and Jǫtnar. This reflects a moral order: kin-​groups are locked in a competitive state of existence. Ultimately, the poem can perhaps be said to emplace the human community in a cosmology that enforces the connections between humans and environment. In this myth humanity is faced with a fundamental problem of nature:  volcanoes. It therefore reflects conceptions that pertain to the worldview of the community. This incorporates the volcano-​myth in social memory as a functional narrative that relates to hazard mitigation as well as social structures. Turning to the example from the Maring, the cosmological ordering of their valley seems similar to the cosmological ordering in Hallmundarkviða. For Hawai’ians, this is found in Pele’s connection to the geomorphology of the archipelago. Just as Hallmundarkviða provides moral guidelines, the social taboo associated with Pele does that for Hawai’ians. For the Maori the centring of volcanoes in genealogic cosmologies provides similar ordering. Moral aspects occur in context of describing motivations for eruptions based on jealousy, love, even anger directed toward the white colonizers. A similar ordering may be in place in the Javanese example of Tankuban Prahu. The volcano-​myths are part of the central order of the cosmos in these cultures and therefore reflect social structures and worldview. The other Icelandic examples are hardly different. The folktale about Katla suggests foundations for a cosmological order, providing explanation and reasoning for the universe as it is (volatile). The social taboo appears in the breach of rules such as using witchcraft, stealing, and murder, ultimately these are the reasons for the glacier bursts. Hallmundarkviða and its prose frame notably exhibit a pattern where the myth details the cosmic connections between anthropomorphic beings and volcanism, it infers emotional reactions as lamentation of strife, it emplaces humans in relation to a volatile cosmology where supernatural beings fight for dominance. This is further enforced by the rich history that Hallmundarhraun and Surtshellir as memory spaces have in Icelandic social memory. These attitudes and social orders are also present in the creation myth, the mead myth, Ragnarǫk, and the Hrungnir myth. The creation myth devises a cosmogony that is based on group competitiveness and volcanism.

Chapter 3

VOLCANISM IN OLD NORSE COSMOGONY

In the creation

myth, as it was written by Snorri Sturluson in the Edda,1 there are multiple inconsistencies in the nature image that he presents. It is widely recognized that Snorri’s prose version of the creation myth, which is otherwise found in brief poetic stanzas in Eddic poetry, is wrought with medieval philosophy and theories about the pre-​Christian religion. However, underneath the surface of the Latinate script-​world, it is possible to detect a coherent natural image that corresponds with observable volcanic phenomena in Iceland. It seems that the inconsistencies in Snorri’s version of the myth relate to his attempt to reconcile older versions of the creation myth with the dominant Neoplatonic philosophy in the thirteenth century. When extracted from its learned entanglement, the older layer of the creation myth appears as an indigenous Icelandic myth, where inherited mythologies from Scandinavia intersect with the Icelandic landscape. The inherited myth from Scandinavia is presumably the story about how humans originate from a primordial chthonic being, who possibly also represented the cosmos, at least the earth. This is an ancient myth that can be traced back to Tacitus’s account of the myth of origin among Germanic tribes in the first century ad. Scandinavians may have reproduced the myth in various ways, but in Iceland it seems to have gained additional imagery from the geologic conditions there. It represents an aspect of an indigenous theory about the origin of volcanism. It describes volcanic phenomena in terms of analogies between lava, ash, glacial bursts, ice, water, poison, snow, and sand. Lacking a vocabulary with which to express their observations, the early Icelanders used analogies, metaphors, and metonymic circumlocutions to conceptualize the natural phenomena in social memory. Beyond delivering a context for a phenomenon with which the early Icelanders were not familiar, as no part of continental northern Europe has active volcanoes, the myth provides an explanation for the social order in early Icelandic society. With a grounding in observable natural phenomena, the creation myth also offers a perspective on the cosmos that states that the social order has been generated from the environment. In the Æsir’s attempt to create a habitable space, the social order of group competition was established, and identified as a cosmic strife between two mythological kin-​groups: Æsir and Jǫtnar. This has implications for how social life is understood in early Icelandic society, based on a reasoning that relates to volcanism. 1  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 4–​8.

56 Volcanism in Old Norse Cosmogony

The Sources of the Creation Myth There are four extant sources in the mythology from the thirteenth century that detail the creation of the world: the poems Vǫlsupá, Vafþrúðnismál, and Grímnismál, and Snorri Sturluson’s prose account in Gylfaginning in the Edda. Central to the creation of the world is the figure Ymir, a primordial giant whose body becomes the material from which the gods create an inhabitable world for humans. Vǫluspá only includes Ymir as a figure that is present in the beginning of time. Stanza 3 reads: “Ár var alda, þat er Ymir byggði” (In the beginning of time, there Ymir lived).2 The stanza continues to describe that the world was otherwise void of any features known to humans. Stanza 4 describes how the sons of Bor created the world but gives no details on how that occurred. Vafþrúðnismál 21 describes how the sons of Bor created the world: “Ór Ymis holdi var iörð um scǫpuð, en ór beinom biǫrg, himinn ór hausi ins hrímkalda iǫtuns, en ór sveita siór” (From Ymir’s flesh earth was created, and from the bones the mountains, heaven from the skull of the ice-​cold giant, and from the blood the sea).3 Grímnismál 40–​41 supplements this description, adding that Ymir’s brains became the dark clouds of the stormy sky, his hair became the trees, from his eyebrows the gods created Miðgarðr, the world of humans. Snorri’s description adds several details. Gylfaginning supplies vivid images of a process of fire and ice converging to create the primordial matter. It materialized into Ymir and eventually became the world, when he was slain by the sons of Bor. Snorri identifies the sons of Bor as Óðinn, Vili, and Vé. According to him the cosmos is polarized between an icy world called Niflheimr and a fiery one called Muspellzheimr. In Niflheimr the well of Hvergelmir is found in the far north. Muspellzheimr is also just called Muspell and it is guarded by Surtr.4 Snorri’s myth has been analyzed by Anne Holtsmark; she has suggested that the concept of Muspellzheimr has its origin in Christian teaching, specifically in the Elucidarius, which would have been available at least partly to Snorri Sturluson. The vocabulary in his narrative indicates familiarity with the duality of Heaven and Hell. The fire-​demon Surtr guards the fire-​world with a flaming sword like a cherub. This suggests a translation of Surtr into a Biblical figure. Holtsmark reached the conclusion that the convergence of heat and cold from the northerly and southerly realms must be a derivation of the widespread idea of the four elements.5 This notion is refuted by Klaus von See, who argues that the underlying premise is Neoplatonic philosophy of dualism between hot and cold. This theory was propagated by the medieval thinkers Guillaume de Conches and Lactantius.6 Jan de Vries has suggested that the fiery demonic Muspellzheimr is a contradiction to the otherwise commonly held understanding in northern Europe that the southern region was the origin of culture. He has therefore argued that placing Surtr in this region of the world is a non-​indigenous

2  Vǫluspá 3.

3  Vafþrúðnismál 21. 4  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 4.

5  Holtsmark, Studier i Snorres Mytologi, 29–​30.

6  Von See, Mythos und Theologie im skandinavischen Hochmittelalter, 53.

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concept.7 These three theories about conceptualizing the universe in Snorri’s Edda all seem plausible, but it is Holtmark’s analysis that deserves most attention. Holtsmark believes that Ymir is an indigenous concept in Old Norse mythology: “Myten om urjotnen er utvilsomt norrøn hedendom. Men Gylfaginnings nøyaktigere utmaling av hvordan det har foregått, bør stå for Snorres regning” (The myth about the ancient giant is undoubtedly Old Norse paganism, but Gylfaginning’s precise images of the process are Snorri’s own creation).8 In her view Snorri’s aim was to expose the original pre-​Christian creation myth as heresy. She notes that when Snorri quotes stanza 3 from Vǫluspá, he supplants the sentence “when Ymir lived” with “there was nothing.” This, she argues, is in line with contemporary thirteenth-​century Christian doctrine that stated that the world was created from nothing. Ymir is therefore fashioned as matter that comes from the ice in the river Élivágar that flows from Hvergelmir in Niflheimr. This ice is melted by the evil Surtr and the primordial matter is therefore a product of evil. This explains the creation of the world in a frame that recognizes it as pre-​Christian in Snorri’s version of the myth, with reference to skaldic poetry as one of his sources.9 Suggesting that the prologue to Snorri’s Edda is an argument for an anticipation of Christianity in the indigenous Icelandic tradition, Ursula and Peter Dronke argue that the pre-​Christian idea expressed in the prologue is a substrate of Neoplatonic philosophy.10 Anthony Faulkes identifies a body-​earth analogy in the myth, where the human body is perceived as a microcosm of the macrocosm of earth, a commonly held medieval idea. Faulkes finds this idea in the works of Guillaume de Conches, Peter Comestor, and Ovid.11 According to Faulkes, nature worship and the idea of the body as a microcosm is expressed in the prologue in the Edda, and this notion reaches back to Lactantius, Isidore of Seville, St. Augustine, ultimately Plato’s natural philosophy.12 This would provide a medieval philosophical background for Snorri’s creation myth, but it should also be noted that there is evidence for the conception of the world as the body of a giant in the Ṛgveda, and it is possible that it is as old as the first Indo-​Europeans.13 It can therefore also be an indigenous concept in the North, and it is possible that the dismemberment of the body of Ymir reflected sacrificial rituals.14 The most recent study of the Ymir myth has been delivered by Guðrún Nordal.15 She argues for the Neoplatonic influence and points out that skaldic poetry contains very few references to the creation myth as it is described by Snorri Sturluson:  “It is 7  De Vries, Altgermanische Religionsgeschichte, 2:374. 8  Holtsmark, Studier i Snorres Mytologi, 31.

9  Holtsmark, Studier i Snorres Mytologi, 28–​32.

10  Dronke and Dronke, “The Prologue of the Prose Edda,” 173–​74. 11  Faulkes, “Pagan Sympathy,” 288.

12  Faulkes, “Pagan Sympathy,” 289–​90.

13  De Vries, Altgermanische Religionsgeschichte, 2:367–​68.

14  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 377–​78. 15  Guðrún Nordal, Tools of Literacy, 273–​82.

58 Volcanism in Old Norse Cosmogony […] a fact that there is no trace of the story of Ymir’s role in the creation of the world in pagan skaldic verse outside of Snorra Edda, the oldest example being Arnórr jarlaskáld’s eleventh-​century stanza preserved only in Snorra Edda.”16 There are no early skaldic kennings reproducing the notion of the world being made from Ymir’s flesh (Ymis hold). The skaldic poet Eyvindr skáldaspillir refers to the earth as the corpse of Jǫrð (Earth) in one instance, and in another he uses the word “hold” as a heiti (circumlocution), though without including Ymir. Another poet, Ormr Barreyjarskáld, uses “Ymis blóð” (blood of Ymir) in one instance, but beyond that there are no references to Ymir in skaldic poetry.17 However, Guðrún Nordal does not entirely dismiss the possibility that the myth did exist in their time and before: The myth of the creation of the world out of Ymir’s body may have old roots in Scandinavian paganism, even though it left little trace in the skaldic diction of early poets, but its popularity with writers of mythography and skaldic poetics in the thirteenth century is well attested and was most probably induced by its analogy to current trends in philosophical thinking.18

Guðrún Nordal demonstrates how cosmological imagery and body imagery are intimately linked in skaldic verse in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. She cautiously suggests that this enduring simile between the human body and the world-​body is, if not generated by the influence from Neoplatonic philosophy, at least kept alive by its popularity. An argument for the idea that this myth reaches beyond Neoplatonic influence is the Germanic anthropogenesis recounted by Tacitus in Germania, where the primordial giant Tuisto grows from the earth and engenders the Germanic tribes.19 The prevalence of the image of the world as a human body throughout Indo-​European mythologies has Jens Peter Schjødt assuming that the Ymir myth is simply a Scandinavian variation of a more or less universal mythological phenomenon.20 Two trends can therefore be identified in Old Norse scholarship:  one points to obvious relationships between literary motifs in learned and indigenous Icelandic literature, while another makes a persuasive case for a deeply rooted phenomenological relationship between Ymir as a world-​body in Old Norse mythology and similar myths across the Eurasian continent. It is not inconceivable, as Guðrún Nordal suggests, that there is both an ancient strand of this myth alive in Old Norse mythology and a medieval one emanating from Neoplatonic philosophy. If this suggestion is accepted, it is no longer as important to ask how this myth came to Iceland as it is to ask why it was reproduced in the mythology

16  Guðrún Nordal, Tools of Literacy, 281.

17  Guðrún Nordal, Tools of Literacy, 282.

18  Guðrún Nordal, Tools of Literacy, 283.

19  Tacitus, Germania 2; de Vries, Altgermanische Religionsgeschichte, 2:262; Martin, “Ár vas alda,” 368.

20  Schjødt, Initiation between Two Worlds, 93. Concerning its prevalence, see de Vries, Altgermanische Religionsgeschichte, 2:364–​65; Martin, “Ár vas alda,” 369.

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in the thirteenth century. If the myth of the world-​body is older than the introduction of Neoplatonic philosophy in Iceland, why would it be reproduced in the fashion that Snorri chose?

The Volcanic Nature Image in Snorri’s Creation Myth

Snorri’s myth about the world-​body in Gylfaginning contains several inconsistencies according to Anne Holtsmark, Sigurður Nordal, and Margaret Clunies Ross.21 The three most imposing inconsistencies are the following: ) Why is Muspell or Muspellzheimr involved in the creation myth?22 1 2) Why is Surtr involved in both the creation myth and the myth of Ragnarǫk?23 3) What does the image of the poisonous drops (eitr) refer to?24

Each question relates to Ymir insofar as they explain his origin. If the Neoplatonic Christianized interpretation is loosened from the description of the natural processes, a volcanic image will emerge. To understand this, it is necessary to focus on the poisonous drops first, the eitr. Holtsmark wonders about the natural image describing the convergence of heat and cold. She questions why the process in which the poisonous flow (eitrár) from Hvergelmir quickens seems reversed. Snorri explains that eleven rivers flowed from the well Hvergelmir in Niflheimr. These rivers flow southwards to the great void, Ginnungagap, where they encounter the extreme heat from Muspellzheimr.25 This is where Élivágar quickens: Ár þær er kallaðar eru Élivágar, þá er þær váru svá langt komnar frá uppsprettunni et eitrkvikja sú er þar fylgði harðnaði svá sem sindr þat er renn ór eldinum, þá varð þat íss, ok þá er sá íss gaf staðar ok ran eigi, þá héldi yfir þannig úr þat er af stóð eitrinu ok fraus at hrímni, ok jók hrímnit hvert yfir annat allt í Ginnungagap.

These rivers, which are called Élivágar, when they had come far enough away from the source so that the poisonous flow that followed hardened like the cinders that run out of the smelter-​fire, then it turned to ice, and when this ice stopped and did not run, then the vapour that stood off the poison froze to rime on top of it in the same direction, and this rime increased in layers all over Ginnungagap.26

To make better sense of this image, it will be conducive to first examine the term eitr (poison), which causes some trouble for Holtsmark in her analysis. She finds it difficult 21  Holtsmark, Studier i Snorres Mytologi; Sigurður Nordal, Völuspá; Clunies Ross, Prolonged Echoes, vol. 1.

22  Holtsmark, Studier i Snorres Mytologi, 29; Sigurður Nordal, Völuspá, 100; Clunies Ross, Prolonged Echoes, 1:65 and 1:155. 23  Holtsmark, Studier i Snorres Mytologi, 29; Sigurður Nordal, Völuspá, 101–​3.

24  Holtsmark, Studier i Snorres Mytologi, 30–​31. 25  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 4. 26  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 5.

60 Volcanism in Old Norse Cosmogony to reconcile the terminology associated with eitr, the process of melting, quickening, and freezing. She writes: Naturbilledet er ikke slående: elver som fryser til is, frostrøk over isen som rimer, det går an; men rim over hele Ginnungagap som senere blir beskrevet som hlætt sem lopt vindlaust er merkelig; det spørs om isen og eitrdropar fra Élivágar ikke tar omveien om rimet bare for å forklare navnet hrímþursar. The nature image is not obvious: rivers freezing over, rime over the ice, that is reasonable; but rime over the whole of Ginnungagap which is later described as hlætt sem lopt vindlaust is strange; one wonders whether the ice and the eitrdropar from Élivágar did not take a detour over the rime only to explain the name “frost giants.”27

Holtsmark continues with an explanation for this inconsistency, where she scrutinizes the various meanings of the word eitr. Eitr does not just mean poison, it can also mean pus from a wound. It is used in a word for a special type of glacier in Norway and Iceland, which are called eitrár. In this context eitr can be explained as an image that refers to a frozen waterfall coming over a cliff.28 It would therefore seem that there is some reason for the use of the term eitr in Snorri’s nature image. She proceeds to address the idea of the cinders: Men der kommer jo motsetningen inn igjen, Élivágar er kalde, og en blåstermile er varm, og sindr størkner når det kommer i kaldere luft, mens eiter-​elvene skulle fryse til is når de kom fra selve kulden ut i det varmere strøk, i Ginnungagap.

But here comes the contradiction again, Élivágar are cold and the wind gust is warm, and the sindr quickens when it comes into colder air while the eitr-​rivers are supposed to freeze when they come from the cold into the warmer region in Ginnungagap.29

The image describes the eitrár flowing from a cold source and freezing when they have come far enough from it. Vapour rises from the eitr and turns to rime and builds layers across the primordial void. The rime persists in Ginnungagap despite the mild temperature in the region, it is mild as a windless sky. Interestingly, the eitr-​flow is not compared to water that is freezing over, but to cinders from a smelter. The nature image is full of ambiguity and seems to contradict itself on questions associated with well-​known and easily discernible natural processes of water and ice. The answer to these contradictions may be found in volcanic processes. According to Barber and Barber knowledge is continually transmitted in metaphors and analogies, especially in circumstances where there is no vocabulary to address a phenomenon.30 In mythogenesis analogy is one of the most active tools, and it is ubiquitously used in instances of seismic occurrences.31 Even today where a scientific or more matter-​of-​fact 27  Holtsmark, Studier i Snorres Mytologi, 30–​31. 28  Holtsmark, Studier i Snorres Mytologi, 31.

29  Holtsmark, Studier i Snorres Mytologi, 31.

30  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 97.

31  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 35–​40.

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vocabulary is available, human beings find analogies useful to describe geologic and other environmental phenomena. Barber and Barber recount how this works today:  “A woman who witnessed the great Alaska earthquake in 1968 from her house on a hillside reported that the ground opening in multiple furrows looked like something being raked open by an invisible giant’s claw.”32 When the simile in the analogy is lost, a new level of metaphoric reality appears. The distinction between representation and reference becomes blurred over time as a result of interpretation. It is in instances where people struggle to convey the experience that analogies become useful. Descriptions of the 1980 eruption in Mount Saint Helens abound with analogies: “It was like sticking your head in the fireplace and stirring up ashes”; “The blast sounded like artillery.”33 Adding a temporal lapse leaving future generations to interpret the initial analogy, descriptions like these become metaphoric reality: Then the eruption is artillery fire—​an enormous battle—​or the most horrendous of all storms (depending on what zone [of proximity] you are in). Add a dash of Willfulness and we find the Storm God engaged in an apocalyptic battle with some other, very ill-​willed force […] “It’s like, therefore it is”. Red liquid trails down a mountain “like red hair”, “like snaky locks”, “like blood”; presently it is the red hair or snaky locks or blood of a giant.34

As these examples show, human attempts to describe seismic events make use of analogies. The referentiality of these analogies will become blurred over time, creating a new metaphoric, or mythological, reality. A lava-​flow from an effusive eruption behaves like water freezing to ice. To understand this image, it is useful to consult a scientific description of the behaviour of certain eruption types. In explaining the process of lava shield formations in Iceland, geologists Thordarson and Larsen write: Lava shields are the principal representatives of low-​discharge (≤ 300 m3/​s) flood lava eruptions. These eruptions produce vast pahoehoe flow fields (up to 20 km3) that are fed by a lava lake residing in the summit crater. The lava cone of each shield is essentially constructed by fountain-​fed flows and overspills from the lake, whereas the surrounding lava apron is produced by tube-​fed pahoehoe where insulated transport and flow inflation enables great flow length (up to 70 km; e.g. Rossi, 1996; Thordarson, 2000). The high-​discharge (> 1000 m3/​s) flood lava events, such as the 1783–​1784 A.D. Laki and 934–​38 A.D. Eldgjá fissure eruptions, represent some of the greatest spectacles of Icelandic volcanism.35

The lava flows from a reservoir towards an area where it quickens, resulting in the creation of a hraun. It is the rubbly pahoehoe caused by pulsating discharges that characterizes the most common basalt flow types in Iceland.36 Thirty-​nine eruptions occurred before 1220, when Snorri wrote the Edda. Of these, four were effusive events, 32  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 36.

33  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 73. 34  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 97.

35  Thordarson and Larsen, “Volcanism in Iceland in Historical Time,” 131. 36  Thordarson and Larsen, “Volcanism in Iceland in Historical Time,” 131.

62 Volcanism in Old Norse Cosmogony an additional four were of mixed effusive and explosive character, and twenty-​four were explosive events. The other seven were “fires,” which could be either.37 In the period 1179 to 1200, during Snorri Sturluson’s younger years, there were an explosive and an effusive event in the Katla system, and in the period 1201–​1220 another two mixed eruptions and one explosive eruption were recorded somewhere in Iceland.38 In these eruptions there is sufficient material to inspire the imagination of Icelanders attempting to conceptualize the country’s geology. Notwithstanding the curious inconsistencies in the natural image in the creation myth, even if one is inclined to ascribe the content of the Edda to the creative genius of Snorri Sturluson, well versed in Neoplatonic philosophy, there is sufficient volcanic activity in his lifetime to suggest that an eruption could have inspired his description of the process in the creation. Strip Thordarson and Larsen’s description of a hraun from its scientific discourse and it may be reduced to this: a hot river flows from a well, freezes, and creates a hraun. Attempt a description of the hot liquid: it is poisonous (eitr), it flows (at renna) from a source (uppspretta), and it becomes hard like the slags (sindr) from a smelter (eldr). Vapour (úr) rises from the flow, it descends upon or freezes (at frjósa) on top of the ground, it becomes rime (hrím) that builds in layers. The old Icelandic vocabulary is poor when it comes to terminology for volcanism. There is no discernible word for a volcano as such, lava is hraun, a common Scandinavian word for a rugged stone-​formation, eruption is eldzuppkvama (coming-​up-​of-​fire) or jarðeldr (earth-​fire). Ash-​fall is commonly referred to as sandvetr (sand-​weather, sand-​winter) or aska (ash).39 If a lava-​flow that quickens is to be described, there is nothing except analogies of water and ice available in the language. The ambiguous term eitr refers both to poison and ice-​cold rivers, the eitrár. Holtsmark notes that it is not their cold quality that connects the frozen waterfall formations with poison. It is the fact that these formations often have a yellow colour. The common point of reference for both the yellow, thick eitrár and pus coming from an infected wound is the colour and viscosity of both substances.40 Eitr is poisonous and yellow, like lava.41 If the image of eitr in the myth of creation comes from lava, it is possible to reconcile the contradictions that Holtsmark was bothered by in her analysis. The eitr that flows from a well and freezes when it comes too

37  Thordarson and Larsen, “Volcanism in Iceland in Historical Time,” 134 and 137. 38  Thordarson and Larsen, “Volcanism in Iceland in Historical Time,” 137. 39  Torfing, “Volcanoes as Cultural Artefacts in Iceland,” 92–​98. 40  Holtsmark, Studier i Snorres Mytologi, 31.

41  The early Icelanders were aware of the poisonous qualities of volcanic emissions. Konungs Skuggsjá, chap.  14 mentions this, and the medieval Danish historian Saxo also gives an account of this in his description of Iceland:  “Illic etiam fama est pestilentis undę laticem scaturire, quo quis gustato perinde ac ueneno prosternitur” (It is also told that there are springs up there [in Iceland] with water that is so dangerous that if you taste it you die instantly, as if it were poison). Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum bk. 1, ch. 2. It should not be discounted that this may be a seminal understanding of the fact that volcanism can contaminate both vegetation and water. The highly acidic hydrogen fluoride gasses that occasionally emanate from volcanic eruptions may burn human tissue and damage the teeth and intestines of farm animals. See Gerrard and Peltey, “A Risk Society?,” 1054–​55.

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far from its source, even though it enters a warmer climate, corresponds to a lava-​flow that develops a crust. The eitr-​rivers described like the cinder from a furnace become analogous to lava. The vapour that rises, freezes, and turns to rime was not a notable problem in terms of a nature image in Holtsmark’s view. There is, however, a problem with this image: the rime builds in layers as if it were ice. Rime is an accumulation of already frozen moisture particles in the air, and it does not usually build multiple layers. Ice may do so and when one, like Holtsmark, interprets the rime as ice, it is easy to overlook this detail. It could be suggested that if Snorri intended to describe this image consistently, he could have used the image of snow building up in layers, but he did not, he used rime. There may be a reasonable explanation for this, namely that his use of the word hrímr is not to be understood as rime, but rather as soot or ash. The secondary meaning of hrímr in Old Norse is soot, and skaldic poetry is familiar with a Jǫtunn named Hrímnir whose name is translated to “sooty” or “the one that causes soot,” a heiti for fire.42 Hrímnir appears in Hallmundarkviða as a demon involved with the eruption. The poem also describes the ash-​fall as mjǫll, newly fallen snow.43 This confirms an indigenous analogy in the Old Norse language between ashes spewed from a volcano and frozen precipitation. Unlike rime, soot and ash build layers. Unlike snow, it is impervious to hot temperatures: it will cool down and become tephra once it has left the eruption. These analogies are not unique to Iceland. In their investigation of the Mazama eruption in Oregon, Beaudoin and Oetelaar have noted some important aspects of the story that compare to the Icelandic vocabulary.44 The First Nations in the Alberta and Saskatchewan provinces in Canada relate a story about this cataclysmic event, which had great impact on the interactions between the tribes in the region. The event is remembered as “the day the dry snow fell,” describing how a “dry snow” fell for days from a darkened sky. It built up in layers and when one walked in it, the dust would rise and choke you, until the rain came and turned it into a thick, slimy substance that eventually dried to a crust.45 The descriptions come close to the vocabulary used for volcanism in the Old Norse language:  dry snow—​hrímr, mjǫll (rime, snow dust); dust—​úr (vapour); choking—​eitr (poison); slimy, crust—​sindr (cinder), aurr (clay), íss (ice). This comparison may explain the inconsistencies noted by Holtsmark in the ice and rime that do not behave how they are supposed to. The creation myth in Gylfaginning draws upon analogies to ice and water because there is no Old Norse vocabulary to provide an independent description. This reflects the hot-​cold references in multiple other indigenous theories of volcanism that I detailed in the preceding chapter. In the same way that tephra became dry snow in the vocabulary of the First Nation peoples on the Canadian plains, the ashes from an Icelandic eruption 42  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 284–​85. 43  Bergbúa Þáttr, Hallundarkviða 11.

44  Beaudoin and Oetelaar, “The Day the Dry Snow Fell”; Beaudoin and Oetelaar, “Darkened Skies and Sparkling Grasses”; Oetelaar, “The Days of the Dry Snow.” 45  Beaudoin and Oetelaar, “The Day the Dry Snow Fell,” 41–​43.

64 Volcanism in Old Norse Cosmogony became hrímr and úr. This is how analogy works in reproducing the nature image of an eruption. The principles of compression and restructuring create a metaphoric reality that blurs the reference for the analogy. It becomes a reality in the story that ice and rime behave unnaturally. This shift from analogy to reality may be detected in the Élivágar. Snorri describes how they flow from the well Hvergelmir in the realm Niflheimr. Initially, it is not mentioned that Niflheimr is cold, but Snorri proceeds to describe how the southerly region Muspellzheimr is burning hot and guarded by Surtr. After this the Élivágar are introduced. Snorri writes: “Ár þær er kallaðar eru Élivágar” (These rivers which are called Élivágar).46 The idea is that the Élivágar must be the same as the rivers that flow from Hvergelmir in Niflheimr. While this may be the intention, it is important to note that Niflheimr is not yet described as cold, the Élivágar are not precisely located in Niflheimr, and it is not the original name for the rivers that come from Hvergelmir in Niflheimr. The names for the rivers that flow from Hvergelmir are presented in Grímnismál 27–​28. Their association with Élivágar is a construction in Gylfaginning.47 Élivágar seems originally to have been a designation for the stormy sea:  “stormy waves,” traditionally associated with extreme cold.48 They appear in the Eddic poem Hymiskviða as the icy sea in which Þórr catches the world serpent, and in the short story Þorsteins þáttr bæjarmagns. There it is a name for an extremely cold river that immediately freezes the limbs.49 In Hallmundarkviða Élivágar appear too, and they are conceived somewhat differently:  as a “bág, í Élivága” (fight in Élivágar).50 This would indicate that the Icelandic tradition allows for this ice-​cold sea to be transformed to a stormy pool of lava due to an analogy established between bubbling, gushing lava, and a stormy sea. The connection between the images of a stormy sea and a lava pool named Élivágar can be found elsewhere in Old Norse poetic tradition. In Vafþrúðnismál stanza 30, Óðinn asks Vafþrúðnir where the primordial Jǫtunn Aurgelmir came from. According to Snorri Aurgelmir is another name for Ymir.51 Vafþrúðnir tells Óðinn that “ór Élivágom stucco eitrdropar, svá óx unz varð ór iǫtunn” (From Élivágar sprang poison drops, so they grew until there came a Jǫtunn from them). Snorri quotes this stanza in Gylfaginning, but it is interpolated after he has designated Niflheimr as cold. This may be an interpretation that Snorri makes based on Vafþrúðnismál 33, which says that Aurgelmir’s hostile children are called Hrímþursar (frost-​ogres). Snorri seems to interpret hrímr as frost in this context, but, as mentioned above, it may mean soot and can have been associated with volcanism in an earlier tradition. 46  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 5.

47  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 73.

48  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 117. 49  Fornaldarsögur Norðurlanda, vol. 4, Þórstenns þáttr bæjarmagns 5. 50  Bergbúa Þáttr, Hallundarkviða 7.

51  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 5.

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If the secondary meaning of hrímr is applied to the Eddic poem, the image in Vafþrúðnismál changes. It is not an icy-​cold sea that generates a primordial Jǫtunn from poison drops becoming ice. It is rather a description of an effusive eruption gushing lava from a caldera. It coalesces and becomes a figure, much like the rubbly troll-​like shapes of volcanic rock in the Icelandic landscape. This image not only gives a better explanation for why the sea would be gushing “poison,” it is also an observable process. As the Icelandic landscape demonstrates, the fresh rock formations created by effusive eruptions can take shapes comparable to a human body. Vafþrúðnismál is one of Snorri’s most important sources to Gylfaginning,52 and it is most probably the oldest source to Élivágar, yet there is no indication in the poem that these stormy waves are cold. This is an association that comes later, possibly under influence from Snorri’s interpretation in Gylfaginning. Vafþrúðnismál 21 describes the creation of the world from Ymir’s body, and a notable aspect of this description is that Ymir is described as hrímkald, rime-​cold. This is an unequivocal association of Ymir with coldness, but there is not a similar unambiguous association of Aurgelmir with rime-​cold. In fact, the only one to associate Ymir with Aurgelmir is Snorri in Gylfaginning—​ nowhere else are they assumed to be the same figure. Margaret Clunies Ross has argued that Snorri attempts to introduce a “polarization of the giant race into representatives of hrímr [cold] and hiti [hot].”53 This agrees with Klaus von See’s theory that Snorri is attempting to reconcile aspects of the pre-​Christian myths with Neoplatonic theories.54 Snorri does this by stating in Gylfaginning that Ymir and Aurgelmir are the same, even though there is no evidence in his source. It is likely that the underlying myth of Aurgelmir in Vafþrúðnismál is one that makes use of volcanic imagery and indigenous terminology associated with that phenomenon at an earlier time. The first part of the name Aurgelmir appears to be aurr, wet sand or gravel.55 In stanza 29 it is said that Aurgelmir became the father of Þrúðgelmir, who fathered Bergelmir. The word þrúðr means “power,”56 and ber–​ either means “bear”57 or “mountain.”58 The last part of these names, –​gelmir, means roar-​er.59 This word also occurs in names for wells and rivers, such as Hvergelmir (from hverr, literally meaning “kettle-​ roar-​er”)60 and Vaðgelmir.61 If –​gelmir refers to the roaring rivers and wells in the underworld, the image of roaring, churning gravel in the name Aurgelmir is easily applicable 52  Snorri Sturluson. Edda. Prologue and Gylfaginning, xxv.

53  Clunies Ross, “Snorri Sturluson’s use of the Norse origin-​legend of the sons of Fornjótr in his Edda,” 51. 54  Von See, Mythos und Theologie, 52–​55.

55  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 24.

56  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 329.

57  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 44. 58  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 34. 59  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 24.

60  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 300. 61  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 587.

66 Volcanism in Old Norse Cosmogony to one of the most common features of Icelandic volcanism: a jökulhlaup (glacial burst). The three generations of Jǫtnar may then be: “gravel-​roar-​er” breeds “power-​roar-​er,” that makes “mountain-​roar-​er.” An accumulation of volcanic ejecta. This image, however, would be weak were it not for the appearance of another aurr–​name in Hallmundarkviða. In Hallmundarkviða the figure named Aurnir receives a boat of stone from Hallmundr. In the last stanza of the poem Hallmundr closes it, saying that Aurnir’s well is dry.62 The term “Aurnis brunnr” has been interpreted as the mead of poetry that generates the skaldic verses,63 but there is a metonymic relationship between the idea of the mead being the well for the poetry, and a well of gravel, clay, or lava. The term aurr is used in stanza 7, too. Here Hallmundr describes how “aurr tekr upp at fœrask undarligr ór grundu” (a strange new clay begins to flow from the ground). In this context aurr refers to lava, and it seems that the indigenous tradition already knows this through the figure Aurgelmir. The image of Élivágar is these “stormy waves” that flow from a source named Hvergelmir “kettle-​roar-​er.” They accumulate and freeze as they have come far enough from their source. Fumes rise from the rivers and tephra falls down. A figure is created from the ejecta. The original tradition knew this figure as Aurgelmir, “clay/​gravel-​roar-​ er,” in accordance with the natural image of volcanism. The processes of thawing and quickening ice become relevant when Snorri in Gylfaginning chooses to refashion this natural image into one that relies on Neoplatonic philosophy. Ymir and Aurgelmir, cold and hot, are fused in a Neoplatonic dichotomy, and the cosmos is split between these two elements: Ginnungagap, þat er vissi til norðrs ættar, fyltisk með þunga ok höfugleik íss ok hríms ok inn í frá úr ok gustr. En hinn syðri hlutr Ginnungagaps léttisk móti gneistum ok síum þeim er flugu ór Muspellsheimi […] Svá sem kalt stóð af Niflheimi ok allir hlutir grimnir, svá var þat er vissi námunda Muspelli heitt ok ljóst, en Ginnungagap var svá hlætt sem lopt vindlaust. Ok þá er mættisk hrímin ok blær hitans svá at bráðnaði ok draup, ok af þeim kvikudropum kviknaði með krapti þess er til sendi hitann, ok varð manns líkandi, ok var sá nefndr Ymir.

Ginnungagap, that part that faces north, was filled with the weight of the ice and rime and into it blew vapour and dampness. But the southern part of Ginnungagap cleared towards the sparks and embers that flew out of Muspellzheimr […] Just as there came coldness and everything evil from Niflheimr, so was that part facing Muspell hot and glowing, but Ginnungagap was as mild as a windless sky. And when the rime and blowing heat met, then it thawed and dripped down, and these quickening drops quickened from the power they were sent from the heat, and that became a man’s likeness, and he was named Ymir.64

In this description Muspellzheimr is assigned the role of bringing fire to ice. Muspellzheimr is introduced in the beginning as a fiery realm guarded by Surtr. In Eddic poetry, however, Surtr is only associated with Ragnarǫk. He appears in stanza 52 in Vǫluspá, and he is named as the only force that the gods will fight in the end in Fáfnismál 14. 62  Bergbúa Þáttr, Hallmundarkviða 12. 63  Íslenzk Fornrit 13, 450n.

64  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 5.

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Including Surtr and Muspell in the creation is Snorri’s doing. Muspellzheimr as a realm in the cosmos seems to have been invented by him, but Muspell as a name belongs to an older tradition. It has cognates in Old High German and Old Saxon. It probably originates in the Saxon gospel Heliand in the mid-​ninth century, where it is a term for the Christian apocalypse, muspilli. It appears in an Old High German poem fragment from the late tenth century with the same connotation. Eventually, it occurs in the Old Norse myths in Vǫluspá and Snorri’s Edda in the thirteenth century. It is a mythic image that relates to Christianity, but it is redefined once it enters Old Norse mythology. It is reinterpreted as Muspell, Muspellzheimr (Muspell-​world), Muspellz synir (Muspell’s sons), and Muspellz lýðir (Muspell’s people). The word and its association with apocalyptic fire are the aspects retained from its previous context. In the medieval North its meaning has evolved to designate a place with demonic beings, far removed from the myth of Elijah’s battle with Satan in the Old High German poem, and a fiery apocalypse in Heliand.65 Muspellz lýðir occurs in Vǫluspá 51 and Muspellz synir in Lokasenna 42. Snorri also uses the term Muspellz megir (Muspell’s powers) in Gylfaginning 14 and 51. In the commentary to his translation of the Edda Anthony Faulkes suggests that it was probably an abstract noun that was personified in Eddic poetry and was misunderstood as a place in the cosmos by Snorri.66 The Old High German Muspilli reads: Gotmanno, daz Elias in demo uuige aruuartit uuerde. So daz Eliases pluot in erda kitriufit, so inprinnant die perga, puom ni kistentit enihc in erdu, aha artruknent, muor varsuuilhit sih, suilizot lougiu der himil, mano uallit, prinnit mittilagart, sten ni kistentit, uerit denne stuatago in lant, uerit mit diu uuiru uiriho: dar ni mac denne mak andremo helfan uora demo muspille. Denne daz preita uuasal allaz uarpinnit, enti uuir enti luft iz allaz arfurpit, uaar ist denne diu marha, dar man dar omit sinen magon piehc? Diu marha ist farprunnan, diu sela stet pidungan, ni uueiz mit uuiu puaze: so uerit si za uuize.

God-​men (priests)[believe] that Elias in his battle will be injured, so that Elias’s blood on the earth drips, so the mountains burn, no tree stands back anywhere on earth, water dries up, the moor swells itself, slowly burns the heaven, moon falls, Middle-​Earth burns, no stone stands back during these signs in the land, during the day of judgement, it comes with fire to punish: then no person’s kin can help him before the muspille. Because when the whole existence is burned up, and fire and air sweep everything away, where is then the field that man fought for with his kin? This field is burned away, the soul stands there not knowing how to [make] amend[s]‌: so it will be punished.67

It cannot be proven that either Heliand or the Old High German poem Muspilli were known in Iceland, though the occurrence of the word in these German texts and in Old Norse mythology in Iceland indicates that it must have been widely known. Maybe the word was transported from the continent to Iceland through cultural exchange, maybe through missionary activities. This notion is strengthened by the fact that in both cultures, the word suggests an apocalypse. It is not unreasonable to assume that texts

65  See de Vries, Altgermanische Religionsgeschichte, 2:361 and 2:392–​93; Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 222–​23. 66  Snorri Sturluson. Edda. Prologue and Gylfaginning, 173. 67  Muspilli 88.

68 Volcanism in Old Norse Cosmogony like the Heliand and Muspilli were on the curriculum for Icelanders who studied abroad in Saxony and the Rhineland region. Such people included the second bishop of Iceland, Gizurr Ísleifsson, who died in 1118. He received his education in Saxony. The legendary first Icelandic historian, Sæmundr inn fróði, who died in 1130, is also known to have studied in “Frakkland,” the Icelandic name for France. The French realm at his time would comprise parts of the Rhineland.68 They and their peers could have become familiar with Muspilli in the continental schools and may have brought it with them to Iceland. However, it is also possible that it is much older, considering that Vǫluspá may have a date of composition around the late tenth century.69 Vǫluspá 51 does not associate Muspell’s people directly with Surtr, and Vafþrúðnismál 18 only mentions that Surtr will meet the gods on the Vígríðr plain. In the Hauksbók version of Vǫluspá 47 Surtr’s kin will swallow the road to Hel after the world tree Yggdrasill has collapsed.70 Vafþrúðnismál 50–​51 refer to Ragnarǫk as “Surta logi” (Surt’s flames), and Vǫluspá 52 describes Ragnarǫk as Surtr’s fire:  “Surtr ferr sunnan með sviga lævi, skínn af sverði sól valtíva; griótbjǫrg gnata, en gífr rata, troða halir helveg, en himinn klofnar” (Surtr comes from the south with branches’ harm, the sun of the war-​ gods shines off the sword; precipices crumble and troll-​women roam, men tread the Hel-​way, and the sky rips asunder). This image of Surtr is close to the description of the apocalypse in Muspilli. Surtr’s fire will sweep the world, he tears heaven asunder, the ground opens, trees will burn and collapse, mountains will fall. Mankind is caught in this: in Muspilli humans are punished for their sins, in Ragnarǫk they walk the Hel-​way towards punishment. Associating Surtr with Muspell is therefore conceptually unproblematic in Snorri’s version of Ragnarǫk, but it remains to be explained why Surtr appears in the creation.71 The conjoined image of Surtr-​Muspell appears to have been constructed with “fire” as reference. Both are images of fire. Therefore, they take part in the same concept, and therefore they can be said to be the same.72 In Snorri’s dualistic image of the creation from heat and cold Niflheimr is the source of cold, while Muspellzheimr is the source of heat. Both are qualitatively evil and grim, unfriendly to humans, while the middle of Ginnungagap is mild and good. Surtr, whose name translates to “swarthy” or “black one,” is the fire-​being that causes evil in Muspellzheimr. In her article “Surt” Bertha Phillpotts concludes that Surtr is a volcano-​demon.73 Surtr is associated with volcanism in numerous instances in Icelandic culture: Surtshellir is the name for the volcanic caves in Hallmundarhraun and the Old 68  Vésteinn Ólason, Dialogues with the Viking Age, 44–​45. 69  McKinnell, “Vǫluspá and the Feast of Easter,” 7–​9.

70  Edda. Die Lieder des Codex Regius nebst verwandten Denkmälern, 11, commentaries. 71  See Sigurður Nordal, Völuspá, 102.

72  See Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth and Sky, 34. 73  Phillpotts, “Surt,” 26.

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Norse word for lignite is surtarbrandr (Surtr’s fuel).74 Phillpotts interprets the stanzas about Ragnarǫk in Vǫluspá and Vafþrúðnismál as images of volcanism.75 She points out the connection between the poem Hallmundarkviða and Surtr, stating that “this poem may be said to set the seal of confirmation on the view of the volcanic nature of Surt.”76 Hallmundr in Hallmundarkviða relates how he journeys “niðr í Surts ens svarta sveit í eld enn heita” (down into Surtr the black one’s company in/​[of]-​the-​hot-​fire).77 Afterwards, the Jǫtunn bursts from the ground as an ash plume that darkens the world.78 The confluence with Surtr causes the eruption. This would make Surtr a consistent image of a volcano-​demon throughout the source material—​except for the creation myth in Gylfaginning. The image in Vǫluspá 52, where the sun shines off Surtr’s sword, finds a comparison in the natural image of eruptions: a bishop’s ring is a phenomenon where an intensely bright corona shines around the sun. This is a halo that appears in the veil of ashes in the atmosphere during an eruption.79 Snorri’s manufacturing of Muspellzheimr as a volcanic realm has thus become clearer: Surtr is placed in this world of fire and is the cause of the molten particles and sparks flying out from there. This is Surtr’s fuel. By including Surtr the creation myth is augmented with an explanation for the origin of the cosmos in volcanic fire combined with northern coldness to fit a Neoplatonic view in the Latinate script-​world. Snorri’s literary exposition in the Edda conforms the indigenous material to the foreign literary hegemony. It relies on an older image of volcanism as part of the creation, and it provides an explanation for how the social order came into existence through an environmental process.

The Indigenous Theory of Volcanism in Snorri’s Creation Myth

It has been a problem for scholars of Old Norse mythology to reconcile seemingly contradictory natural processes in Snorri’s creation myth: how can rime be of a mild temperature? How can presumably ice-​cold rivers flow from a cold source into a milder climate and freeze? If the analogical reference of water, rime, and ice to lava, ashes, and the formation of a hraun is recognized, this natural image is no longer so counterintuitive. Early Icelandic culture did not have a vocabulary for these processes, so an indigenous vocabulary employing analogies emerged: the poisonous rivers (eitr) of the stormy waves (Élivágar) are the lava that flow from a caldera in a low-​discharge, effusive eruption (Hvergelmir, “kettle-​roar-​er”), like cinder (sindr) from a smelter. It freezes like ice and forms a rubbly hraun with formations comparable to a human figure. The notion of a human figure emerging from lava is acceptable to a pre-​modern, 74  Phillpotts, “Surt,” 16–​18.

75  Phillpotts, “Surt,” 18–​24. 76  Phillpotts, “Surt,” 26.

77  Bergbúa Þáttr, Hallmundarkviða 9.

78  Bergbúa Þáttr, Hallmundarkviða 10.

79  Beaudoin and Oetelaar, “The Day the Dry Snow Fell,” 43.

70 Volcanism in Old Norse Cosmogony animistic mind, perceiving a volcanic landscape, full of fantastic shapes, as populated with spirits that appear in multiple tales about cliff-​trolls, witches, and ancestors.80 From the flow of the eitr rises vapour, gasses, dust, smoke (úr), and ashes are ejected. It falls in sediment layers on the ground like dry snow, rime, soot or sand (mjǫll, hrímr, sandvetr), covering the primordial void. The volcanic image based on analogies explains the contradictions in Snorri’s creation myth, and at the same time it explains why Gylfaginning insists that Ymir and Aurgelmir are the same figure. Behind the conjoining of these two Jǫtnar, who appear separately in Snorri’s sources, Vafþrúðnismál 21 and 30–​33, is the Neoplatonic dualism of fire and ice. Surtr is inserted as the warden of the world of fire, as an indigenous fire-​demon in Christian ideological terminology in the Latinate script-​world. Surtr is originally a wilful spirit of the underworld who causes “earth-​fire.”81 His fire breaks out of the ground, bringing molten particles and a poisonous flow of cinder and slags comparable to those coming from an iron smelting process. Vapour, smoke, and ashes—​sand or “hot rime”—​ rise from the ground, and this ejecta builds up in layers. The poisonous flow freezes over, the rime builds more ground, and new land is created. This is the creation process observed: eitr, mjǫll, and úr build up and create a landscape that is comparable to a roaring and hostile creature—​a barren wasteland that must be cultivated by milder powers. The hostile and unaccommodating figure Ymir or Aurgelmir must be refined in the hands of gods working as craftsmen. This cosmology based on volcanism is comparable to the previously described cosmology of the Maring in Papua New Guinea. Surtr and Muspell are phenomenologically comparable to the red spirits and the smoke woman inhabiting the upper levels of the Simbai valley, including the volcano Oipor. These are the fire spirits and their leader, who is associated with soot, smoke, and fire. The lower levels of the valley are inhabited by the ancestral spirits, who ensure fecundity and fertility. Surtr is contrasted in Ragnarǫk with the Æsir, who are “in sváso goð,”82 the mild (fertile) gods. The Æsir are the ancestors of humans and the builders of the world. They are therefore comparable to the ancestral spirits of the Maring. Surtr and his kin (Muspell) are associated with war and fire; the Æsir are sweet (sváss) and fertile. This is an indigenous theory of volcanism that implies its destructive and creative powers. Behind the Ymir figure there seems to be a common Germanic conception of creation from a primordial chthonic being. The earliest example of this idea is Tacitus’s Germania, but it also appears in later Old Norse sources, such as Hversu Noregr byggðiz and Fundinn Noregr.83 The chthonic giant Fornjótr engenders three sons in the form of the elements:  Hlér (sea), Logi (flame), and Kári (wind). Kári fathers Frosti (frost), who then fathers Snær (snow). Snær became father of Þorri, who gave name to the

80  See Simpson, Icelandic Folktales and Legends, 77–​104.

81  See Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth and Sky, 41–​44.

82  Fáfnismál 14–​15, Edda. Die Lieder des Codex Regius nebst verwandten Denkmälern.

83  See Clunies Ross, “Snorri Sturluson’s Use of the Norse Origin-​Legend of the Sons of Fornjótr in his Edda.”

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high-​winter month in the Old Norse calendar.84 This genealogy explains the origins of the winter season and pre-​Christian rituals.85 It agrees with the prologue to Snorri’s Edda in its explanation for pre-​Christian religion: it is the materialistic worship of natural processes.86 The cosmogony in Gylfaginning combines Eddic poetry with theories about pre-​ Christian Nordic religion, history, and the evolution of language, based on medieval Christian scholarship. With this, the indigenous myth is placed in the Latinate script-​ world while retaining its original functions as social memory in context of a volcanic environment. The tradition in Gylfaginning associates two known mythic concepts from poetry, Muspell and Niflhel, with the elements of fire and ice, and explains the cosmogony in a seemingly pre-​Christian context. This pre-​Christian context is consistent with the authoritative medieval theories. In Snorri’s creation myth, as well as in the prologue to the Edda, one can detect influence from eleventh-​and twelfth-​century philosophical discussions on creation from nothing (creatio ex nihilo).87 According to the prologue the pre-​Christian peoples reasoned that everything must have been created from a substance,88 but in Snorri’s creation myth, stanza 3 from Vǫluspá has been cited differently. Snorri seems to substitute the second line in the stanza, “Þat er Ymir byggði” (When Ymir lived), with “Þat er ekki var” (When there was nothing).89 It would seem, then, that Snorri is purposefully altering the tradition, and relegating an older Icelandic theory of creation from volcanism to a secondary position below one that agrees with thirteenth-​century Christian dogma. The underlying myth based on the nature image of volcanism recognizes creation through the process of lava that flows from a caldera, creating new layers of land. This land is eventually overgrown with shrubs and grass, becoming fertile fields and pastures. This is an environmental myth about the creation of the world. It accounts for the world as a living being governed by forces much greater than humans. These forces live above and below ground, and they have the capacity to be destructive and creative. The ones in the ground can be encountered in caves and mountains, where they linger in darkness, awaiting the time to manifest their powers. When they do, they are met with the force of the benevolent beings from the upper realm, who take it upon themselves to guard humans. The underworldly beings originate from the primordial Jǫtunn who came from this strange, burning clay. They are the Jǫtnar, the dwarfs, the rime-​ogres, the mountain-​dwellers, and the troll-​wives. In this indigenous Icelandic ordering of the cosmos there is a realization that volcanism plays an important role in the reasons for the social order. As the sons of 84  See Nordberg, Jul, disting och förkyrklig tideräkning, 56.

85  See Clunies Ross, “Two Old Icelandic Theories of Ritual.” 86  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Prologus 1–​2.

87  Dronke and Dronke, “The Prologue of the Prose Edda,” 170–​72. 88  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Prologus 2.

89  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 4.

72 Volcanism in Old Norse Cosmogony Bor—​Óðinn, Vili, and Vé—​have killed the primordial Jǫtunn,90 they have become responsible for a social state of competitiveness between kin-​groups. On a cosmic level this plays out between Æsir and Jǫtnar, but in the human world it plays out between families. The initial reason for creating this social order was a hostile environment. The Æsir created a habitable place for themselves and humans,91 causing the near destruction of the first race of supernatural beings, the Hrímþursar, who had emerged from Ymir’s body. This means that the cosmos is founded on the idea that the hostile environment needs to be regulated, possibly through ritual actions such as animal sacrifice. Ymir may reflect that notion. The effect of this is a constant struggle between the Æsir, as a force that regulates the environment and provides habitable spaces for humans, and the Jǫtnar, whose primary role is to deny humans and gods resources. They represent an environmental force that, in the form of volcanism or extreme cold, disrupts life in Iceland. As will become apparent in the following, the mead myth replicates this cosmic struggle with references to resource extraction, Æsir-​Jǫtnar hostilities, and analogical references to geological processes involved with volcanism. This means that the creation myth in the Edda follows the tenets of the indigenous Icelandic theory of volcanism in Hallmundarkviða, which resonates with other indigenous mythologies in the world. The social implications of the creation myth align it with explanations for the origin of kin-​groups and the reasoning behind feud systems. As social memory it reacts with memory spaces in the landscape:  it uses observable volcanic phenomena to deliver its social message. Ultimately, it demonstrates that a community’s environmental circumstances have an impact on the way myths are told.

90  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 7. 91  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 8.

Chapter 4

VOLCANOES IN THE SOCIAL ORDER OF OLD NORSE MYTHOLOGY

The cosmogony in Old Norse mythology is reflected in several myths. Some ref-

erence the primordial rift between Æsir and Jǫtnar in context of volcanism. The myth of the mead of poetry in Snorri’s Edda contextualizes this rift in a referential relationship to the creation myth and demonstrates the social-​cosmological order in the volcanic landscape. It suggests that the mead of poetry has capacities as a ritual item of social memory that also refers to volcanism. With referentiality to both the creation myth and to Ragnarǫk, it points to a connection between social and environmental collapse, and that volcanism is a foundation for group competitiveness in early Icelandic society. The myth about Þórr’s duel with Hrungnir further expands on this complex, yet in this myth it is Hrungnir who threatens the Æsir, representing both a volcanic menace and a competitive out-​group. Together with one another these myths suggest a cosmology in early Iceland that is predicated on environmental disruption from volcanism and group competition for resources. Each myth suggests geologic processes and points to risks of social collapse through group competition.

The Mead Myth

The mead myth appears in the Eddic poem Hávamál 104–​10, in multiple references in skaldic poetry, and in prose in Snorri’s Edda.1 Scholarly analyses focus on its role in relation to knowledge and alcoholic drink in Old Norse mythology and religion.2 This complex presumably has its origins in the distant Indo-​European background to Old Norse mythology.3 Jens Peter Schjødt has argued for a connection to cosmology in the mead myth in “Livsdrik og vidensdrik.” Carolyne Larrington has done the same in “Vafþrúðnismál and Grímnismál: Cosmic History, Cosmic Geography.”4 1  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál G57–​G58.

2  Drobin, “Mjödet och offersymboliken i fornnordisk religion”; Fleck, “Konr—​Óttarr—​Geirrǫðr”; Meletinskij, “Scandinavian Mythology as a System of Oppositions”; Schjødt, “Livsdrik og vidensdrik”; Schødt, Initiation between Two Worlds; Svava Jakobsdóttir, “Gunnlöð and the Precious Mead”; Quinn, “Liquid Knowledge.”

3  Dumézil, Le festin d’immortalité; Dumézil, Les dieux des Germains; McKinnell, Meeting the Other in Old Norse Myth and Legend, 170. 4  Larrington, “Vafþrúðnismál and Grímnismál.” In “Óðinn a medovina básnictví” Jan Kozák argues that the dualistic aspect of the cosmos is crucial to the understanding of the supposedly shamanic initiation aspects of the mead of poetry: Kozák, “Óðinn a medovina básnictví,” 191–​214.

74 Volcanoes in the Social Order Larrington notes that by ingesting the mead in Grímnismál, Óðinn gains the capacity to perform a mapping of the cosmos, which prescribes proper social conduct.5 In Grímnismál 45 Óðinn invites all the Æsir to join the feast and drink the mead. Larrington argues that this action “plots the boundaries of the human and the divine, laying bare the ritual and sacrificial structures which underpin both the worlds of Ásgarðr and Miðgarðr.”6 Schjødt points out how the spatial structures of the myth represent cosmic functions. The mountain Hnitbjǫrg functions as an axis through which Óðinn can access the chthonic realm and retrieve numinous wisdom:7 Dette bjerg er i denne myte at forstå som en axis mundi, der ellers i Norden symboliseres ved Yggdrasil, og det er i de nederste lag, at Gunnlød sidder og ruger over mjøden, for det er her, at Odin som orm når ind til hende. Det konstituerende træk ved en axis mundi er imidlertid, at den skaber forbindelse mellem de forskellige stokværk i kosmos, hvilket også udnyttes i denne myte, hvor Odin efter at have indtaget mjøden flyver mod Asgård og oververdenen. The mountain is in this myth an axis mundus, which in the North is normally symbolized by Yggdrasill, and it is in its deepest parts that Gunnlǫð is sitting, guarding the mead. It is here that Óðinn can reach her in the guise of a worm. The essential aspect of an axis mundi is, however, that it connects the different parts of the cosmos, and this is also utilized in this myth, where Óðinn after having ingested the mead, flies towards Ásgarðr and the upper realm.8

The mead is a cosmic substance in Schjødt’s analysis. In its human form as Kvasir it travels the cosmos from the home of the gods to the home of dwarfs and Jǫtnar. The mountain functions as an axis mundus, a conduit that facilitates movement from above to below, and the mead is placed below in the underworld. The underworld is the site for attaining numinous knowledge, associated with the dead and the feminine. Óðinn’s journey downwards is an initiatory pursuit.9 In Hallmundarkviða the mead of poetry has relevance to volcanism. The footnote in Íslenzk Fornrit 13 explains the last stanza where Hallmundr says “enn er at Aurnis brunni” (Aurnir’s well is [not yet] dry).10 The interpretation in the footnote translates “Aurnis brunnr” as “the well of (a) Jǫtunn,” that is: the mead of poetry.11 “Jǫtunn” is commutable with “Áss” and “Dvergr” when conceptual metaphors for the mead of poetry are composed in skaldic diction.12 However, “Aurnir’s well” carries more meaning in Hallmundarkviða as it has metonymic relations to the eruption. The verse implies that there will be further need for this type of poetry in the future.

5  Larrington, “Cosmic History, Cosmic Geography,” 73–​74. 6  Larrington, “Cosmic History, Cosmic Geography,” 74.

7  This is reiterated in Schjødt, Initiation between Two Worlds, 134–​72.

8  Schjødt, “Livsdrik og vidensdrik,” 92.

9  Schjødt, “Livsdrik og vidensdrik,” 94–​97; Schjødt, Initiation between Two Worlds, 163–​67.

10  Bergbúa Þáttr, Hallmundarkviða 12. 11  Íslenzk Fornrit 13, 450n.

12  Quinn, “Liquid Knowledge,” 224–​25.

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This can be understood as a metonymic link between mead and lava. This metonymic relation is, like in the case of eitr in the creation myth, established on basis of the colour of the liquids. The reference is “yellow liquid.” In the myth this connective point is recognized and the mead, which ranges from light golden to dark golden colour, takes its place in the bottom of a mountain, where experience has told Icelanders that lava comes from. This explains why Élivágar are the site of battle in Hallmundarkviða stanza 7. As a poem about volcanism Hallmundarkviða establishes a standard for the language that Icelanders have used when communicating about the phenomenon. This language relies heavily on comparisons between fire, lava, and the colour of gold. Hallmundarkviða 2 and 3 include similes between gold, fire, and lava. The volcano is called the “seima særi sáman” (swarthy gold-​dispenser),13 humans who become victims of jökulhlaups are “lyptidraugar liðbáls” (the arm-​fire’s [the gold-​ring’s] lifting-​ghosts [(dead) men]).14 Comparing gold to fire is common and it is explained in Skáldskaparmál.15 In the following I will address how Eyvindr skáldaspillir’s Háleygjatal associates the origins of the mead of poetry with Surtr’s subterranean dwellings, and seems to be the earliest example of an indigenous theory about volcanism in Iceland. Critical Review of Snorri’s Mead Myth

Háleygjatal is attributed to the Norwegian skald Eyvindr skáldaspillir in the time around 985. It was composed as a praise poem for Hákon Jarl, the ruler of the northern districts of Norway.16 Richard North has suggested that Hákon Aðalsteinsfóstri’s return to Norway from England in 945 as a Christian, baptized by King Æþelstān, prompted the Háleygjar to copy the West Saxon tradition of using Wōden’s name in regal lists in order to legitimize their position in Norwegian society.17 Eyvindr’s Háleygjatal was the propaganda tool of the Háleygjar. It is evident from its composition that it was deliberately composed as a response to the skaldic poem Ynglingatal, on which it is structurally dependent.18 Where Ynglingatal establishes the legitimacy of the genealogy of the Vestland rulers, Háleygjatal asserts the divine descent of the Háleygjar in the north on an equal scale.19 This ideological battle between the Háleygjar and the Ynglingar has left a strong impression on the historiographic and mythographic material in Iceland. According to Richard North, this tradition assigns Óðinn multiple roles as a “witch, shaman, patron

13  Bergbúa Þáttr, Hallmundarkviða 2.

14  Bergbúa Þáttr, Hallmundarkviða 3.

15  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 45–​47.

16  Steinsland, Det hellige bryllup i norrøn kongeideologi, 214. 17  North, Heathen Gods in Old English Literature, 13–​14.

18  Ström, “Poetry as an Instrument of Propaganda,” 446.

19  Ström, “Poetry as an Instrument of Propaganda,” 447–​48; Steinsland, Det hellige bryllup i norrøn kongeideologi, 219.

76 Volcanoes in the Social Order of poets, war-​god and All-​Father (Alfǫðr) of the Æsir whom he rules.”20 It was mostly Snorri’s achievement to assign Óðinn a central status in mythological works in the medieval period. By the thirteenth century Óðinn as a figure had achieved the status of a mythological symbol on the terms of Barber and Barber’s third mytho-​linguistic principle: compression. When narratives about a hero achieve sufficient mass, they will attract other narratives. This explains the figure’s prominence in the Icelandic material. The mead of poetry occurs in multiple references:  in the first two stanzas of Háleygjatal, in a stanza in Einarr skálaglamm’s Vellekla (ca. 990), and in the stanzas 104–​10 in Hávamál. These various stanzas, also known to the tradition in Skáldskaparmál,21 were the available literary references in the thirteenth century, except for the extended prose narrative in Skáldskaparmál. The components of the mead myth in Skáldskaparmál are the following: 1) Prologue: during the truce between the Æsir and the Vanir, the divine beings spit in a vat. From the spittle the wise man called Kvasir is created by the gods. 2) The Kvasir story: Kvasir journeys all over the cosmos. He visits the dwarfs Fjalarr and Galarr in the underworld. They murder him and drain his blood, mix it with honey and make mead. They pour the mead into two vats (ker) called Són and Boðn, and a kettle (ketill) called Óðrørir. They tell the gods that there was none among them wise enough to absorb Kvasir’s knowledge, he therefore drowned in his own wisdom. 2a) The Jǫtunn Gillingr and his wife visit the dwarfs. Gillingr drowns when he goes sailing with the them. Gillingr’s wife cries loudly from sorrow and because Fjalarr cannot stand her noisiness, she is killed with a stone. 2b) Suttungr, Gillingr’s son, hears about his parents’ deaths and demands compensation from the dwarfs. He sails out on the ocean with them and puts them on a rock in the water. They beg him to let them back on land and when they offer him the mead he accepts. He takes the mead and puts it in the mountain Hnitbjǫrg with his daughter Gunnlǫð as its guardian. 3) Óðinn enters the tale under the name Bǫlverkr. He goes to Suttungr’s brother Baugi, kills his slaves and agrees with Baugi that in turn for doing the harvesting that the slaves should have done before winter, he must help him get a drink of Suttungr’s mead.

20  North, Heathen Gods in Old English Literature, 14. The multifaceted Óðinn figure is echoed by a veritable horde of scholars: Dumézil, Les dieux des Germains, 46; Turville-​Petre, “The Cult of Óðinn in Iceland,” 9; Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 240; Kaliff and Sundqvist, “Odin and Mithras,” 212; Schjødt, Initiation between Two Worlds, 451; Lassen, Odin på kristent pergament, 77. See Lassen’s Odin på kristent pergament for the most extensive overview of Óðinn in Old Norse literature. See also Baetke’s critique of the “Odinstheologie” in Baetke, “Die Götterlehre der Snorra-​Edda,” 230–​44. Úlfar Bragason offers a concise and comprehensive discussion of the role of genealogies as a return to the past in the “Old Norse Renaissance,” ca. 1150–​1300, in Bragason, “Genealogies: A Return to the Past.” 21  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál G57–​G58.

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3a) Suttungr denies Bǫlverkr the mead, and he goes with Baugi up on the mountain where they drill in the rocks. Bǫlverkr blows into the hole to see if there is a passage, and rocks fall out. He realizes that Baugi means to trick him, but he orders him to drill again. Bǫlverkr transforms into a snake and slips into the hole, Baugi stabs at him with the drill. Bǫlverkr escapes. 4) Bǫlverkr sleeps with Gunnlǫð for three nights and takes three draughts of the mead, drinking all of it. 4a) He transforms into an eagle and flies out of Hnitbjǫrg. Suttungr follows him, also in the shape of an eagle. 4b) The two eagles fly to Ásgarðr. Óðinn regurgitates two of the draughts into two containers. The last third of the mead he sends out backwards towards Suttungr and manages to escape him. ) Epilogue: Snorri explains that the third part of the mead is the part that everyone 5 can have, and it is disregarded.

The various sections of the myth have been subject to scrutiny based mainly on the notion that Snorri has constructed the myth from older sources. Scholars have discussed Kvasir, the kettle Óðrørir, the mountain Hnitbjǫrg, the characters Fjalarr, Galarr, Gillingr, Gunnlǫð, and Bǫlverkr, and the relationship between Snorri’s prose and Hávamál 104–​ 10, including its reliance on skaldic poetry. Hávamál and Háleygjatal

In “Snorri and the Mead of Poetry” Roberta Frank argues that certain kennings and heiti were misinterpreted to create the Kvasir story.22 Skáldskaparmál says that the mead of poetry is called “Kvasis dreyri” (Kvasir’s blood) in Einarr skálaglamm’s Vellekla:  “Hugstóran bið ek heyra—​heyr, jarl, Kvasis dreyra—​foldar vǫrð á fyrða fjarðleggjar brim dreggjar” (The great-​minded I ask to listen—​hear, Jarl, Kvasir’s blood—​ guardian of the land, to the ale’s surf of the fjord-​bone’s men).23 Einarr’s kenning is the only extant example of “Kvasir’s blood.” Frank argues that this stanza is the foundation for the exposition on Fjalarr and Galarr’s murder of Kvasir. It originally referred to the intoxicating drink (as in crushed, fermented fruit),24 but the meaning “Kvasir” as a “wise man named Kvasir” has been constructed later.25 This means that the interpretation of the mead as “Kvasir’s blood” is the basis for the embodiment of Kvasir in the Edda. It is devised from river-​ and water-​kennings such as “sals dreyri” (the hall’s blood) and particularly “jarðar dreyri” (the earth’s blood).26 Frank assumes that these kennings allude to the Ymir myth and his blood becoming the sea. 22  Frank, “Snorri and the Mead of Poetry,” 157.

23  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 3.

24  Mogk, “Novellistische Darstellung mythologischer Stoffe Snorris und seiner Schule,” 25. 25  Frank, “Snorri and the Mead of Poetry,” 158–​60.

26  Mogk, “Novellistische Darstellung mythologischer Stoffe Snorris und seiner Schule,” 28.

78 Volcanoes in the Social Order Frank therefore suggests that the Ymir myth could have corroborated the Kvasir story as a model.27 This parallel is also recognized by Clunies Ross and Schjødt.28 According to Frank another misinterpretation occurs with Eyvindr’s kenning “Gillings gjǫld” (Gillingr’s ransom) in Háleygjatal:  “Vilja ek hljóð at Hárs líði meðan Gillings gjǫldum yppik, meðan hans ætt í hverlegi gálga farms til goða teljum” (Silence I pray for Hár’s ale while I raise Gilling’s ransom, while his kin in the kettle-​sea of gallows-​cargo we recount to the gods).29 Frank argues that this is not originally “Gillingr’s payment” but in fact “Gillingr’s draught.” Gillingr (noisy, resounding) is only attested in one other instance: in the list of river-​heiti in Grímnismál. She surmises that if Eyvindr intended to refer to the river name in his poem, his kenning could be a variation of Einarr’s “Lopts vinar vínheims Vína” (The river of Loptr’s Wine-​world) in Vellekla 12.30 She is also skeptical of the vats Són, Boðn, and the kettle Óðrørir.31 I will restrict my focus to Óðrørir, which Skáldskaparmál claims is a kettle.32 The word appears in Vellekla 2 with reference to water and the sea: “Eisar vágr fyrir vísa, verk Rǫgnis mér hagna, þýtr Óðreris alda aldr hafs við þes galdra” (The wave rushes before the prince, Rǫgnir’s deeds benefit me, the swell of Óðrørir pounds against the song’s skerry).33 Óðrørir may mean “that which stirs the soul”34 or something that “stimulates ecstasy.”35 It also occurs in Hávamál 107 and 140. In stanza 140 Óðinn receives the mead of poetry from Bǫlþor “ausinn Óðreri” (poured from Óðrørir),36 indicating that it is a vessel of some kind. In stanza 107, however, Óðrørir is synonymous with the mead of poetry:37 “Þvíat Óðrerir er nú upp kominn á alda vés iarðar” (Because Óðrørir has now come up to earth’s old sanctuaries).38 This eventually leads Frank to the conclusion that “the early skalds had as their base a single concept—​that of verse as an intoxicating drink—​and as their definer a single concept—​that of divine or chthonic existence.”39 Frank suggests that the core of the mead myth is Hávamál 104–​10. In Hávamál Óðinn retrieves the mead from the Jǫtnar under the ground, and leaves Gunnlǫð and her

27  Frank, “Snorri and the Mead of Poetry,” 160–​61.

28  Clunies Ross, Prolonged Echoes, 1:76 and 1:197–​218; Schjødt, Initiation between Two Worlds, 133. 29  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 3.

30  Frank, “Snorri and the Mead of Poetry,” 165.

31  Frank, “Snorri and the Mead of Poetry,” 161–​63. 32  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál G57.

33  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 3.

34  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 442. 35  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 250.

36  Hávamál 140; Edda. Die Lieder des Codex Regius nebst verwandten Denkmälern.

37  De Vries, Altgermanische Religionsgeschichte, 2:71–​72; Frank, “Snorri and the Mead of Poetry,” 162. 38  Hávamál 107.

39  Frank, “Snorri and the Mead of Poetry,” 170.

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father betrayed. The dwarfs, Frank argues, though missing in Hávamál, must have been introduced at an early point.40 The mead as a chthonic substance from the underworld may be the core of the myth. Originally it was the Germanic expression of a common Indo-​European mythic and ritual complex about alcohol,41 but something decisive happens when it is reflected in the environment in Iceland. The subject matter of Hávamál suggests that Óðinn marries a Jǫtunn and brings the mead of poetry to the human world. John McKinnell argues in Meeting the Other in Old Norse Myth and Legend that stanzas 104–​10 in Hávamál are from the twelfth century and echo Ovid’s Ars Amatoria.42 The Gunnlǫð story, which is scarcely mentioned in skaldic verse, serves the purpose of illustrating the sexual treachery of men. McKinnell compares the different examples of Óðinn seducing female Jǫtnar.43 He concludes that “within the Old Norse material, the motive of Óðinn’s seduction of Gunnlǫð looks unusual,”44 assigning the Gunnlǫð section to the very late pre-​Christian period. The reason McKinnell does not find it compatible with the rest of the Odinic seduction tradition is that there is no offspring from their union. The mead myth is polysemantic, its subject matter pointing in many directions based on a variety of older traditions that presumably have been assigned a frame of causality in the Edda.45 The Hávamál stanzas 104–​10 involve both the topic of Jǫtunn-​seduction and the retrieval of the mead. The mead myth in Skáldskaparmál includes the motif of seducing the Jǫtunn and the retrieval of the mead but supplies a cosmic dimension. This is realized in the mead as knowledge-​drink inciting the recitation of cosmic knowledge in Grímnismál, an exegesis on cosmology paired with proper social behaviour. The mead myth in Hávamál 104–​10 is an expression of the Æsir’s cultural dominance over the Jǫtnar. It is a narrative of social relevance. It expresses the tenets of negative social reciprocity between Æsir and Jǫtnar.46 Óðinn represents the Æsir and Suttungr represents the Jǫtnar. Negative reciprocity plays out between these two patriarchs, leaving the latter subject deception by Óðinn as he steals his property and copulates with his daughter without conceding to marriage. The gallery of names in Hávamál 104–​10 includes Óðinn in disguise as Bǫlverkr, Gunnlǫð, and Suttungr. Although contested by Schjødt47 it is possible that Suttungr and Fjalarr share identity in Hávamál. In stanzas 13 and 14 Óðinn describes how he found himself fettered by the feathers of the heron of forgetfulness “í garði Gunnlaðar” (in Gunnlǫð’s hall), and drunk “at ins fróða Fialars” (at the wise Fjalarr’s). This may be the origin of the dwarf name Fjalarr in the mead myth in Skáldskaparmál. Fjalarr is 40  Frank, “Snorri and the Mead of Poetry,” 168n.

41  De Vries, Altgermanische Religionsgeschichte, 2:68–​73.

42  McKinnell, Meeting the Other in Old Norse Myth and Legend, 164.

43  McKinnell, Meeting the Other in Old Norse Myth and Legend, 147–​71. 44  McKinnell, Meeting the Other in Old Norse Myth and Legend, 171.

45  Mogk, “Novellistische Darstellung mythologischer Stoffe Snorris und seiner Schule,” 33.

46  Clunies Ross, Prolonged Echoes, 1:103.

47  Schjødt, Initiation between Two Worlds, 153–​54.

80 Volcanoes in the Social Order mentioned in the dwarf list in Vǫluspá 16, but in the Þulur it is the name of a Jǫtunn.48 Coupled with Hávamál 104–​10 this indicates that Fjalarr and Suttungr are identical, but the figure has been split in two in Skáldskaparmál. The suggested meaning of Fjalarr as “hider,” derived from fela (hide),49 fits with Suttungr’s role in Skáldskaparmál. He hides the mead in Hnitbjǫrg. Galarr, who only appears in the mead myth and in the Þulur (again as a Jǫtunn’s name), seems to mean “the singing one,” or more probably “the screaming one.”50 Gillingr connotes “noisy.” Bǫlverkr means “evildoer” and aside from appearing in Hávamál 104–​10, it occurs in Grímnismál 47 as an Óðinn-​name. It also occurs in the Þulur but is otherwise not used in poetry.51 As mentioned earlier the name does occur in Landnámabók with a possible connection to sorcery. It is not possible to verify any direct connection between the mythological use of Bǫlverkr and Landnámabók, but the meaning, “evildoer,” and its connection to magic seems consistent between the texts. The figure Gunnlǫð is consistent between the prose version of the mead myth in Skáldskaparmál and the poem Hávamál. However, Gunnlǫð plays the role of a wronged woman in Hávamál, yet there is no trace of this drama in Skáldskaparmál. The name may mean “invitation to battle.”52 Baugi is possibly derived from baugr (ring [of gold]).53 In Hávamál 110 Óðinn is mentioned to have sworn a ring-​oath (baugeið) to marry Gunnlǫð, and this may be the origin of Baugi’s name. Hnitbjǫrg does not appear in any poetry. Sophus Bugge has compared Hnitbjǫrg with the Συμπληγάδες (Symplēgades) in the tale of Jason and the Argonauts.54 Interestingly, McKinnell connects Hnitbjǫrg with the landdísasteinar.55 Hnitbjǫrg also appears as a place-​name in Landnámabók, although it may be a misunderstanding of Hvítbjǫrg.56 The Mead Myth and the Southern European Tradition

It is likely that Snorri was familiar with another, possibly oral, tradition surrounding the mead myth. Gísli Sigurðsson has demonstrated that this is the case with another myth:  Þórr’s fishing expedition.57 If Landnámabók is any indicator of a pre-​existing Icelandic oral tradition, the occurrence of the names Hnitbjǫrg and Bǫlverkr, it may 48  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 84. 49  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 84.

50  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 168. 51  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 75. 52  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 124.

53  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 37. 54  Falk, “Om Svipdagsmål (fortsättning og slut),” 39.

55  McKinnell, Meeting the Other in Old Norse Myth and Legend, 106.

56  Ári fróði, Landnámabók 45(S), 33(H). See Íslenzk Fornrit 1–​2:  Íslendingabók:  Landnámabók, 2:471. 57  Gísli Sigurðsson, The Medieval Icelandic Saga and Oral Tradition, 6–​26; see also Meulengracht Sørensen, “Thor’s Fishing Expedition.”

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suggest an oral tradition outside skaldic and Eddic poetry, which made use of commonly known names. As a myth about the origin of skaldic poetry the mead myth has, as noted by Schjødt,58 cosmic proportions. Cosmology was important to skaldic diction,59 which recognized a variety of landscape kennings based on body imagery.60 With such a foundation for skaldic poetic activities, it is possible that the mead would have cosmic properties and be reflective of the landscape. The mead as a symbol of memory from which social knowledge is shared in the form of myth, connects to notions of cosmic origins. In fact, in Skáldskaparmál it may represent a parallelization of cosmos and body in the Kvasir figure, mirroring Ymir. Schjødt argues that conjoining the Æsir and the Vanir in the beginning of the myth is a sociogony.61 It is a foundation myth that provides an etiology for divine society.62 As a figure of the sociogony Kvasir parallels Ymir. Scholarship has focused on the comparable aspects of Ymir and Kvasir, primarily in their roles as victims of sacrifices.63 Kvasir’s role extends beyond that. He is the embodiment of cosmic knowledge dispensed between the realms. He permeates the cosmic body of Ymir. He is the microcosmic parallel to the macrocosm in Ymir. With this parallelization he becomes the carrier of cosmic wisdom, given to society, literally from the mouths of the gods. Ymir and Kvasir are both created from liquid held in a container. Ymir comes from the eitr in Ginnungagap, the cosmic container, while Kvasir comes from spittle in the gods’ vat, the socio-​cultural container. The associations of the Vanir with fertility and the chthonic realm,64 opposed to the culturally oriented Æsir, is an important dualistic aspect in the mead myth. In the Old Norse mythological conceptual schema, the Æsir have the cosmic role of improvers of nature. They give raw material shape and impose order. This is expressed in the creation myth. Ymir is the raw material, the hostile Jǫtunn who is refined through his sacrifice at the hands of the gods. The same action occurs in the Kvasir myth, where poetry becomes an agent in the oral delivery of culture.65 The creation of Kvasir is an inversion of the Ymir myth. Where Ymir was dismembered by the Æsir, Kvasir is assembled by them. Ymir came from a natural process, while Kvasir is the result of a cultural process: he is a cultural imitation of the natural process where the oral liquid of the constitutive powers of society becomes a man. This puts the culturally dominant Æsir in opposition to the chthonic and socially inferior Vanir.66 It is an imitation of the creation myth, where Niflheimr and Muspellzheimr function as a 58  See Schjødt, “Livsdrik og vidensdrik.”

59  Guðrún Nordal, Tools of Literacy, 280.

60  Guðrún Nordal, Tools of Literacy, 288–​95.

61  Schjødt, “Livsdrik og vidensdrik”; Schjødt, “Aser og vaner:  Historie eller struktur?”; Schjødt, “Relationen mellem aser og vaner og dens ideologiske implikationer.” 62  Schjødt, Initiation between Two Worlds, 167.

63  Consider Drobin, “Mjödet och offersymboliken i fornnordisk religion.”

64  De Vries, Altgermanische Religionsgeschichte, 2:203; Schjødt, Initiation between Two Worlds, 383. 65  Clunies Ross, Prolonged Echoes, 1:83.

66  Clunies Ross, Prolonged Echoes, 1:95–​102.

82 Volcanoes in the Social Order fire-​and-​ice duality, dispensing their qualities into Ginnungagap. The Æsir and the Vanir perform that same role when their saliva flows into the kettle. A qualitative difference in this respect is that when the gods create nature from Ymir, they need to destroy his body. When they create culture, they assemble an amorphous substance and create a person who can spread wisdom. Because Kvasir is a man, and his blood becomes the mead, interpretations tend to focus on his transformation.67 If the systemic aspect of Kvasir’s journey is examined, his journey “víða um heim at kenna mǫnnum frœði” (widely across the world to teach wisdom to men),68 is an act of spreading culture in the cosmos. Kvasir is in this sense a mythological frœðimaðr. His journey ends in the underworld. Since the dwarfs are chthonic beings, visiting Fjalarr and Galarr brings Kvasir to the underworld,69 and this represents structural death.70 The underworld is the antithesis to the world of the gods.71 This is realized in the explanation given for Kvasir’s death. He choked on his own human wisdom (mannvíti). There was no one educated enough to ask him any questions:  no one can absorb mannvíti in the underworld. As I  mentioned, the mead myth may be part of a common Indo-​European myth-​ complex about the origin of the intoxicating drink. A  comparable myth-​and-​ritual-​ complex is the Roman Liberalia tradition. In Rome Liberalia was celebrated each year on March 17. This ritual is described by Ovid and St. Augustine. Based on Varro’s descriptions St. Augustine delivers an extensive account of the Liberalia, which includes ritual processions through the fields with a phallus and representations of sexual organs in the temples.72 It appears that Liber and Libera, the divinities celebrated at the Liberalia, were associated broadly with fertility, but Liber also presided over the grapes and was associated with Dionysus. Liber was often paired with Ceres and it seems that his name, like Ceres, etymologically connected him with birth and harvest.73 Ceres had her own ritual, the Cerealia on April 19, but she was consistently associated with Liber-​Libera. From the late third century bc her cult was in competition with the Greek cult of Demeter. Eventually this resulted in the sacrum anniversarium Cereris (holy anniversary of Ceres) being celebrated in the summertime. This was the celebration of the reunion of Demeter and Persephone in the form of Ceres and Proserpina. Likewise, Liber was also gradually assimilated into a Greek form, namely Dionysus-​Bacchus as the wine god.74 67  See Schjødt, “Livsdrik og vidensdrik,” 90.

68  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál G57. 69  See Schjødt, “Livsdrik og vidensdrik,” 91.

70  Schjødt, Initiation between Two Worlds, 171; See also Turner, The Forest of Symbols, 95–​97. 71  Hastrup, Island of Anthropology, 31.

72  St. Augustine, De Civitate Dei 1.7.21.

73  Dumézil, Archaic Roman Religion, 2:377–​78. 74  Dumézil, Archaic Roman Religion, 2:380.

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In Metamorphoses Ovid75 gives an account of the myth of Ceres’s loss of Proserpina/​ Persephone. In book 5 he tells how she was kidnapped by the lord of the underworld, Tartarus or Saturnus. The giant Typhoeus had been buried with his head under the volcano Aetna “sub qua resupinus harenas eiectat flammamque ferox uomit ore Typhoeus” (under which Typhoeus lies on his back, spewing fires and ashes out of his mouth).76 Tartarus had left the underworld to have a look at the state Sicily was in.77 Cupido sent an arrow and made Tartarus fall in love with the first woman he saw. He found Proserpina playing in the grove and kidnapped her, taking her to his realm “perque lacus altos et olentia sulphure fertur stagna Palicorum rupta feruentia terra” (over the deep lake of the Palices and hot pools reeking of sulphur boiling up from fissures in the ground).78 In the following Ovid describes how the nymph Cyane rose from her bay and tried to stop Saturnus from taking Proserpina to the underworld, but he struck her with his sceptre and made a crater in the bottom of the ocean, all the way down to the caverns of Tartarus.79 Because of the kidnapping of her child, Ceres let her anger loose on the fertile lands of Sicily, causing droughts and heavy rain that left no crops standing.80 Liber/​ Dionysus does not appear in this myth, but the legacy of the Liberalia is present elsewhere. A variant of the Bacchanalia or Liberalia resurged in the medieval period. According to a tenth-​century Spanish penitential the wild man Orcus dances in intoxicated frenzy with Maia at the frivolous festivities that were once celebrated throughout Catholic Europe. Popular versions of Orcus survive in French (ogre), Italian (orco) and German (orke) during the medieval period, but also in an Anglo-​Saxon version as wudewāsan (frenzy-​being).81 This Anglo-​Saxon name connects with óðr (mad, frantic),82 in Old English wōd (zeal, ardour),83 and both the names Óðrørir and Óðinn. In early Roman religion Orcus is a relatively obscure figure, but Plautus assimilates him with Pluto,84 assigning him the same role as Tartarus. Ovid also aligns the realm of the dead with Orcus,85 and as a popular medieval term for the underworld Orcus appears in Gesta Normannorum:  “atque franciscae gentis laceros plagis horco detrusit” (and smote the mangled French people 75  Ovid was widely known in the early literary history of Iceland and Scandinavia. See Dronke, “Classical Influences on Early Norse Literature,” 146–​47. 76  Ovid, Metamorphoses, 5.352–​53.

77  Ovid, Metamorphoses, 5.361.

78  Ovid, Metamorphoses, 5.405–​6.

79  Ovid, Metamorphoses, 5.409–​24. 80  Ovid, Metamorphoses, 5.464–​86.

81  Bernheimer, Wild Men in the Middle Ages, 42–​43. 82  Zoëga, Concise Dictionary of Old Icelandic, 323.

83  De Vries, Altgermanische Religionsgeschichte, 2:416.

84  Dumézil, Archaic Roman Religion 2:369. 85  Ovid, Metamorphoses, 14.116.

84 Volcanoes in the Social Order down to Orcus).86 Maia, essentially the same earth-​goddess as Ceres, was associated with Volcanus in early Roman religion. This is deduced from the expression “Maia Volcani.” This formula belongs to an ancient tradition of uniting female deities with male ones based on a shared aspect or mode of action.87 At the Roman Volcanalia, celebrated on August 23, it was customary to make sacrifices to Volcanus to avoid fire in the crops and granaries.88 In the medieval period Volcanus is relegated to Orcus’s realm as a tormentor of souls in visionary literature such as Visio Tnugdali, known as Duggals leizla in Iceland.89 On the shoulders of this complex stand different Germanic and Scandinavian interpretations. Richard North makes a strong argument for a long-​standing tradition for a Germanic version of the Bacchanalia, realized in its earliest form in the Nerthus-​Terra Māter complex in Tacitus’s Germania.90 Possibly, the king with the epithet “Ing” was the embodiment of Nerthus and he was, according to North, deified. This perspective, North argues, has roots in Ovid’s version of the Bacchus/​Dionysus myth.91 North suggests that Freyr in the medieval Icelandic texts was in his early aspects analogous to the Liber figure.92 His cult, as described in the fourteenth-​century narrative Gunnar Helmings þáttr in Flateyjarbók, in which he was driven around the country in a wagon with a female consort, reflects the Roman Ceres-​Liber festivals.93 Freyr is alluded to as the progenitor of the Ynglingar in Ynglingatal. Þjóðólfr ór Hvíni, who composed Ynglingatal, wished to claim Freyr as the ancestor of the Ynglingar.94 The consequence of this allusion to Freyr as the ancestor of the Ynglingar is taken in Ynglinga saga, where it is claimed that Fjǫlnir is the son of Yngvi-​Freyr.95 The unfortunate Fjǫlnir tripped and drowned in the mead-​vat at a feast in the hall of the Danish king Fróði.96 Both Fjǫlnir and Fróði are, in the opinion of several scholars, associated with Freyr, not Óðinn, even though the name Fjǫlnir is applied to Óðinn in Grímnismál.97 Saxo’s story 86  Dudo de St. Quentin, Gesta Normannorum seu de moribus et actis primorum Normanniae ducum 40. 87  Dumézil, Archaic Roman Religion, 2:397.

88  Dumézil, Archaic Roman Religion, 2:321.

89  Malm, “The Otherworld Journeys of the Eighth Book of Gesta Danorum,” 163. 90  Tacitus, Germania 40.

91  North, Heathen Gods in Old English Literature, 32.

92  North, Heathen Gods in Old English Literature, 31. Freyr is suggested to be associated with Dionysus by Ursula Dronke; see Dronke, “The War of the Æsir and Vanir.” 93  North, Heathen Gods in Old English Literature, 33. 94  North, Heathen Gods in Old English Literature, 39. 95  Heimskringla 1, Ynglinga saga 11.

96  North, Heathen Gods in Old English Literature, 26.

97  Falk, “Odinsheiti,” in Skrifter, II, Hist. Fil. Kl., 9; Ström, Diser, nornor, valkyrjor, 64; Turville-​Petre, Myth and Religion of the North, 166 and 169–​71; de Vries, Altgermanische Religionsgeschichte 2:185–​86; Steinsland, Det hellige bryllup i norrøn kongeideologi, 192–​93.

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about Haddingus, a character who is modelled after Njǫrðr,98 reveals a tale that is analogous to the Fjǫlnir story in Ynglinga saga. Haddingus’s arch-​enemy, King Hundingus of Sweden, celebrates what he believed to be Haddingus’s death by brewing a large vat of ale and serving it to his guests. Because Hundingus got drunk, he drowned in the beer, just like Fjǫlnir. Saxo comments that this was “deditque poenas siue Orcho, quem falsa exequiarum actione placabat, siue Hadingo, cuius interitum mentitus fuerat” (to punish him for having with no reason celebrated Orcus, or perhaps because he had lied about Haddingus’s death).99 It may be entirely coincidental that Saxo chooses this wording, but on the other hand, Saxo’s pairing of vivid intoxication with a ritual to Orcus and drowning in the alcoholic drink may reflect the mythic complex that relates Orcus to the Liberalia and the Bacchanalia. In this complex the alcohol is associated with the underworld. The Ceres-​ Liber unification in the early mythology combines alcohol and the Earth-​mother, and this is reflected in the later medieval traditions. Saxo’s version of this is a worship of Orcus with beer and indecent intoxication. The drunkenness from the Bacchanalia survives both in Gesta Danorum and Ynglinga saga, but also in Hávamál, which also includes sexual aspects. The mead myth in Hávamál preserves all the features that are present in the Roman complex: in stanzas 13 and 14, where Óðinn is intoxicated, the drunkenness is recorded, in stanza 105 the drink and the unification of the male and female deities occurs, in stanzas 108 and 110 there is allusion to coitus or marriage, and in stanzas 106–​7 the myth’s chthonic association is preserved: Óðinn brings the alcoholic drink out of the underworld, just like Liber. It is therefore possible to see the mead myth in Hávamál as a Nordic analogue to the persevering European Maia-​Orcus/​Ceres-​Liber/​Dionysus-​Demeter unification. Óðinn’s connection to this tradition seems to be reflected in the Anglo-​Saxon tradition of the “wild man,” where an overlap in terminology is occurring: Óðinn, Óðrørir, Wudewāsan. This comparison between the Nordic mead myth and the southern European wine myth can explain why the mead is produced in the underworld, and why it must be retrieved by Óðinn underneath the mountain. As noted earlier, McKinnell points out that the mead myth in Hávamál is irregular in terms of fulfilling the pattern of Óðinn’s seduction of female Jǫtnar.100 Óðinn’s prominence in the pattern of female Jǫtunn seductions has been drawn into question. In “Det hellige bryllup og norrøn kongeideologi,” Steinsland does not accept the notion of Jǫtunn seduction as an original Óðinn-​tradition. Eyvindr skáldaspillir asserted in Háleygjatal that Óðinn and Skaði originally were married. Steinsland sees this as Eyvindr’s creation, using “det mytiske mønsteret som er latent til stede i Ynglingatal i Fjolnes skikkelse” (the latent mythical pattern that is present in Ynglingatal in the Fjǫlnir 98  Dumézil, Du mythe au roman; Turville-​Petre, Myth and Religion of the North, 215; de Vries, Altgermanische Religionsgeschichte, 2:175. 99  Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum 8.27.

100  John McKinnell, “Hávamál B: A Poem of Sexual Intrigue.”

86 Volcanoes in the Social Order figure).101 Against this background it is acceptable to contemplate whether the  mead myth relates to a tradition that did not, in its beginning, allot Óðinn a role in the mythic complex. The mead myth in Hávamál is generally different from the prose version in Skáldskaparmál. The reason for this is that Hávamál relates closer to the southern European tradition and the cults of the Liberalia and Bacchanalia, whereas Skáldskaparmál is integrated into an Icelandic environmental context. This integration occurs, if not prior to, then at the time when Eyvindr composed his stanzas in Háleygjatal. Eyvindr composed Háleygjatal some fifty years after the land-​taking ended in Iceland. In 934–​940 the settlement era volcanic activities culminated with the Eldgjá event and it was presumably one of the biggest eruptions in recent human history.102 With no experiential frame of reference for volcanic phenomena, the migrants coming from Scandinavia could have resorted to the cultural knowledge they brought with them from their places of origin to conceptualize the phenomena they saw. In Eyvindr skáldaspillir’s Háleygjatal it appears there is an example of this. The poem seems to transpose the myth of the intoxicating drink to the volcanic phenomenon and establish a relationship between Surtr and the mead. The Mead Myth and Volcanism

In the following the connection between the Skáldskaparmál version of the mead myth and volcanism will be explored. The important components of the myth—​the liquid, the boat, the mountain, and the supernatural beings—​will be compared as signifiers of volcanism with similar cases from other Icelandic narratives.103 These signifiers will then be compared with appropriate phenomenological examples from other cultures, and the case will be made for an indigenous Icelandic theory of volcanism in Snorri’s mead myth. In the second stanza in Háleygjatal the mead of poetry is connected with Surtr and the underground. The stanza reads: “Hinn er Surts ór søkkdǫlum farmagnuðr fljúgandi bar” ([The mead] which the Fierce-​journeyer flying carried out of Surtr’s sinking-​dales).104 Bertha Phillpotts has suggested that “Surtr’s sinking-​dales” indicate that Eyvindr had knowledge of a volcano-​Jǫtunn named Surtr in pre-​Christian Iceland.105 The kenning “Surtr’s sinking-​dales” is only used in Háleygjatal.106 “Surtr” in this kenning is usually interpreted as just “Jǫtunn,” suggesting that it is a kenning for valleys or mountains, or in Phillpott’s mind, a kenning for Iceland itself, as it would refer to the valleys of Iceland 101  Steinsland, Det hellige bryllup i norrøn kongeideologi, 219.

102  Thordarson and Larsen, “Volcanism in Iceland in Historical Time,” 137.

103  I have treated this subject in Nordvig, “What Happens when ‘Hider’ and ‘Screamer’ go sailing with ‘Noisy’?.” 104  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 2. 105  Phillpotts, “Surt,” 28.

106  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 547.

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that are inhabited by Surtr. This is a possibility, but it does not fit with a general typology for naming Iceland. In Landnámabók, Iceland is generally associated with ice and snow and was early on given the name “Snæland” (snow-​land).107 The related term “Snjógrundr” (snow-​earth) is used in Hallmundarkviða in direct association with volcanism.108 If there was a tendency in early times to associate Iceland with volcanism it seems reasonable that it would occur in Landnámabók, maybe even more so in Hallmundarkviða. In terms of referring to Iceland the snow-​and-​ice terminology is more common, and “Surtr’s sinking-​dales” must be rather specific. It seems likely that it refers to places of volcanism in Iceland. It is unlikely that the “sinking-​dales of the volcano-​Jǫtunn named Swarthy” would be chosen just to construct a kenning for valleys belonging to Jǫtnar as representatives of rocks and cliffs alone. It is more plausible that Eyvindr’s kenning refers to a deliberate association between Surtr and the mead through a meaning-​complex that is established by an older tradition that links alcohol with the underground. This would reflect the mead myth’s background in the southern European mythic complex. In the North Atlantic world this link between the mead and the underworld is applied to volcanism in Iceland. “Surtr’s sinking-​dales” include volcanic associations through Surtr’s unequivocal mythic function as a volcano-​ Jǫtunn. The søkkdalir of Surtr parallel stanza 10 in Hallmundarkviða, where Hallmundr sinks down into the underworld to Surtr’s company. Surtr’s underworldly abode could in this case be a magma chamber or a cave. Surtr’s association with the underworld and volcanism is realized in the place-​name Surtshellir in Hallmundarhraun. This is the memory space for the myth. In Hallmundarkviða the conceptual metaphor for the mead, “Aurnis brunnr” (Aurnir’s well), juxtaposes it with lava. The composition of the kenning is the same as “Surts søkkdalir.” Aurnir’s well gains volcanic association from its poetic context, but also from the prefix aurr–​ (gravel) in Aurnir, perhaps with reference to Aurgelmir in the tradition behind the creation myth. In Háleygjatal stanza 1 the mead is called the “kettle-​sea of gallows-​cargo.” The term “kettle-​sea” is explained in Skáldskaparmál with reference to the Kvasir story:  “Fyrir því at Kvasis blóð var lǫgr í Óðreri áðr mjǫðrinn væri gjǫrr, ok þar gerðisk hann í katlinum, ok er hann kallaðr fyrir því hverlǫgr Óðins” (Because Kvasir’s blood was liquid in Óðrørir until the mead was made, and then it was made in that kettle, and therefore it is called Óðinn’s kettle-​sea).109 It seems there is a conscious linking of Óðrørir to a kettle in order to explain hverlǫgr (kettle-​sea). Hvergelmir, meaning “kettle-​roarer,” as the source of the eitr that becomes Élivágar in the creation myth, can be compared with hverlǫgr. Hvergelmir may be understood as a caldera and hverlǫgr as its liquid, the lava. The terms “Aurnir’s well,” “Surtr’s sinking-​dales,” and the “kettle-​roarer,” all categorize under the theme of volcanism. This 107  Ári fróði, Landnámabók 3–​4(S).

108  Bergbúa Þáttr, Hallmundarkviða 5.

109  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 3.

88 Volcanoes in the Social Order draws attention to the kenning “lǫgr Hnitbjarga” (water of Hnitbjǫrg).110 Jan de Vries has suggested that this kenning refers to a well containing the water of life.111 This seems appropriate in the context of the southern European tradition, but with the volcanic element attached to it this kenning conceptually parallels hverlǫgr in the same way that “Surtr’s sinking-​dales” parallels “Aurnir’s well.” If hverlǫgr comes out of Surtr’s sinking-​ dales this “kettle-​liquid” is lava. The conceptual metaphors are all established on the commonplace association of lava with water and ice. The curious scene in the mead myth, where Fjalarr and Galarr sail on an underworldly ocean with Gillingr, may have greater significance to the story than simply being an explanation for how the mead ends up with Suttungr. With a relatively widespread concept of underground wells and water sources, placing a sea in the underworld is conceptually in line with the tradition in Old Norse mythology. However, it is important to take note of the names of the beings who sail this sea: Fjalarr, “hider”; Galarr, “screamer”; and Gillingr, “noisy.” Fjalarr is a chthonic figure who hides objects and people in the underworld, suggesting that he is an anthropomorphizing of death itself. This coincides with his role as instigator of Kvasir’s death. Galarr and Gillingr are associated with noise. As they sail in a boat on an underworldly sea, and the boat capsizes, it would seem that this would allude to disturbances in the subterranean realm. This is comparable to Hallmundarkviða 9.  Hallmundr says:  “En steinnǫkkva styrkvan stafns plóglimum grǫfnum, járni fáðan Aurni” (And I sent Aurnir a strong stone boat, its stern iron-​braced).112 In Landnámabók we have the image of the merman sailing an iron boat before an eruption (jarðeldr): Þá var Þórir gamall ok blindr, er hann kom út síð um kveld ok sá, at maðr røri útan í Kaldarós á járnnǫkkva, mikill ok illiligr, ok gekk þar upp til bœjar þess, er í Hripi hét, ok gróf þar í stǫðulshliði; en um nóttina kom þar upp jarðeldr, ok brann þá Borgarhraun.

Þórir was then old and blind, when he came out late one evening, and saw a man, big and evil, rowing out in Kaldarós in an iron-​boat, and he went up to a dwelling that was called í Hripi, and there he dug in the cowshed door; but during the night there came up earth-​ fire and Borgarhraun was burned there.113

This eruptive event, of which there is no scientific record in the area, is an act of revenge against Þórir for past mistreatment of the merman. Conceptually, it would seem that the Icelandic tradition links mermen and the sea with the underworld, and that these figures can have a role in eruptions. Based on the liquids in the underground the tradition incorporates a complex that posits a metonymic relationship between lava and water. This has also been explained in Konungs Skuggsjá with Boreas pressing winds and water into the caverns of the underground. The folktale about Katla and Barði also alludes to the involvement of boats in eruptions, as Barði means “warship.” Katla realizes that she has mistreated “the warship”

110  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 3.

111  De Vries, Altgermanische Religionsgeschichte, 2:70–​72.

112  Bergbúa Þáttr, Hallmundarkviða 9. 113  Ári fróði, Landnámabók 56(H).

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and therefore fears that it will come back with vengeance, just like the merman does. Ultimately, this confluence of seemingly opposing natural elements, water and fire, may find its logic in a tendency to conceptually align everything that takes place underground with everything that takes place in the ocean: it all belongs to the underworld that is hidden from humans.114 Additionally, it should be recognized that, as in the case of Katla, eruptions under glaciers in Iceland may bring water with them in the form of glacial bursts. Sometimes, these glacial bursts are the only signs of eruptions. Iceland also has its notable geysers. This explains why a merman can be involved in an eruption. These supernatural figures who are involved with eruptions use boats in their actions, appearing in the human world. The example with Þórir is a message that clearly states that the spirits of the ocean and land must be respected. As noted in Chapter 2, the boat and other vessels are not an uncommon image in context of volcano-​myths elsewhere in the world. They function as harbingers of terror, omens, or objects relatable to speed. In the Icelandic context the boats are often made of iron or stone. This accentuates the supernatural aspect of the vessels and highlights their geologic relevance. To the medieval and pre-​ medieval tradition, it seems that boats of iron would not be possible, so this certainly appears supernatural in these stories. When such supernatural figures act out a boating drama in the underworld, the noises and tremors are felt in the human world. Hnitbjǫrg means “clashing rocks.”115 The clashing rocks appear in connection with volcanism and seismic activity in Saxo’s Gesta Danorum. He describes volcanism in Iceland in the following manner: “Est et saxum, quod montium pręrupta non extrinseca agitatione, sed propria natiuaque motione perucolitat” (There is also a rock there that flies over steep mountains without external force, but only by its own force).116 This description of flying rocks aligns with a mountain of “clashing rocks.” It is a description of geologic processes, where explosive eruptions make rocks fly. The kenning “lǫgr Hnitbjarga” (liquid of the clashing rocks) generates the image of lava flowing from an eruption. Hnitbjǫrg is the centre of the cosmos in Skáldskaparmál. When Suttungr learns that his father and mother have been killed by Fjalarr and Galarr, he goes to the underworld and demands recompense. This scene re-​enacts the scene where Gillingr drowned. The dwarfs are once again at sea with the Jǫtunn, but now the mead is taken from them and it is placed in the cosmic centre: the mountain, representing an axis mundus. Gunnlǫð is put in charge of its safe keeping. Bragi, the narrator of the myth in Skáldskaparmál, tells Ægir that “af þessu kǫllum vér skáldskap Kvasis blóð eða dverga drekku eða fylli eða nakkvars konar lǫg Óðreris eða Boðnar eða Sónar eða farskost dverga, fyrir því at sá mjǫðr flutti þeim fjǫrlausn ór skerinu, eða Suttunga mjǫð eða Hnitbjarga lǫgr” (For this reason, we call poetry Kvasir’s blood, or dwarfs’ drink, or full, or some term for Óðrørir’s liquid, or Són, or Boðn, or dwarfs’ transportation, because the mead provided them deliverance from the skerry, or 114  Hastrup, Island of Anthropology, 31.

115  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 270. 116  Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum 2.7.

90 Volcanoes in the Social Order Suttung’s mead, or Hnitbjǫrg’s liquid).117 Ægir then comments that he thinks this is an obscure way to talk about mead. It is not strange that Ægir, who represents the student, would find these references obscure. They are not transparent loci in the poetic language because they rely on analogies that must be repeated in context to convey their meaning. This makes sense when the functions of silence and compression are taken into consideration. As I have accentuated before, the lack of a functional language for volcanism has generated analogies in the discourse. For social memory about volcanism to work, these analogies require continual reinterpretation. The breach of silence in this instance can be explained similarly to the instance with Loki causing earthquakes: the tradition is waning in the thirteenth century. This is especially realized in context of the mead of poetry, which is a facilitator of the oral tradition in the Old Norse culture. It is clear why the mead of poetry, beyond its metonymic relation to lava, is involved with social memory concerning volcanism: it facilitates retention of memory. If Snorri’s purpose was to retain knowledge about the skaldic tradition, it makes sense that there is an ongoing conversation in his material, set as a learning situation between Ægir and Bragi, in which those aspects of the older tradition that are giving way to the Latinate script-​world and its knowledge hierarchy, are explained. When Snorri is writing this, eruptions are being recorded in other types of literature, especially the annals, and they are largely using the format of the Latinate script-​world. In the meantime, an older way of speaking about this is present in Hallmundarkviða. It is a composition in skaldic meter, which fits with the pre-​Latinate authoritative language. If it was indeed a factor in the creation of the Edda to retain the poetic tradition, the retention of volcanic mythology is also part of this. There is a direct link between the mead and volcanism in Hallmundarkviða, but this is not explicated by Snorri in the Edda. It does, however, seem to appear in his version of the mead myth, maybe because he knows the mythic vocabulary from another tradition that does not appear in literary genealogies. As Óðinn enters the stage we should recall that Richard North remarks that the Icelandic tradition assigned multiple roles and abilities to him. Among these are the functions of witches and shamans. It is probably no coincidence that Óðinn in the mead myth, who comes to Baugi in the guise of Bǫlverkr, vaguely parallels his character Grímnir in Grímnismál. In the prose introduction to Grímnismál Óðinn disguised himself to visit Geirrøðr and ended up being captured. Later, in stanza 47, when it is time for Geirrøðr to die for his ignorance, Óðinn is called Bileygr, Báleygr, and Bǫlverkr: “blind eye,” “fire eye,” and “evildoer.”118 There does not seem to be a standardized disposition for the recitation of the Óðinn-​ heiti in Grímnismál 46–​50, but the names of each verse line are alliterative. Bǫlverkr is associated with the mead myth in Hávamál 109, but if Snorri in Skáldskaparmál wanted a name for Óðinn that signified his abilities as a sorcerer, the name Fjǫlnir (“he who can 117  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál G57.

118  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 47, 38, and 75.

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take on many forms” or “he who knows many things”)119 seems more appropriate and could have been chosen instead. The Old Norse tradition already associates Fjǫlnir with the mead.120 It would therefore be a very suitable name for Óðinn to take on this journey. This name, along with Grímr and Grímnir, is mentioned after Bǫlverkr in Grímnismál, and each of them seem to associate closely with Óðinn’s role as a sorcerer. It could be argued that Bǫlverkr is used in Skáldskaparmál because it also occurs in Hávamál, but on the other hand, the naming tradition in Skáldskaparmál does not seem to be coincidental. It seems intentional. Bǫlverkr is specifically useful in Skáldskaparmál because it fits Óðinn’s dual role. He is both a culture-​hero, bringing the mead to the gods,121 and the “evildoer” that causes an eruption. The name Bǫlverkr fits with Óðinn’s demeanour, almost worthy of Loki himself, as a sorcerer who comes to Baugi’s farm and makes the slaves kill each other over a whetstone.122 Afterwards, he performs the work of the nine slaves in the course of one summer.123 Annette Lassen has pointed out that this scene may be reminiscent of Clemens saga, where the sorcerer Simon magus can make his scythe cut grain at the same rate as ten men. Simon magus describes his magical abilities: “Ek má fliúga í lopti í eldslíki […] Ek má fara í gegnum fiǫll, hvars ek vil […] Stundum bregð ek á mik kykvenda líki ýmissa, fogla eða orma” (I can fly in the air in the shape of fire […] I can walk through mountains wherever I want to […] Sometimes I take on different animal forms: birds and snakes).124 This passage originates in Recognitiones.125 In medieval learned literature it is only people who commit bǫlverkr who are capable of such things: sorcerers. In medieval Iceland the shamanic aspects of Óðinn are often associated with otherness and outsiders, such as the Sámi.126 This appears consistent with the folktale about the Katla volcano, where the cause of eruptions is a witch. Phenomenologically, volcanism is consistently associated with environmentally and socially antagonistic figures and concepts. The choice of the name Bǫlverkr is also useful as a mnemonic device: there is an alliterative chain in Bileygr, Báleygr, and Bǫlverkr. Early scholarship has had a tendency to focus on interpretations of Óðinn as a sky god or a sun god,127 and in this complex, the single flaming eye (Bileygr/​Báleygr) was compared to the sun. That Óðinn’s one eye has 119  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 137. 120  Heimskringla 1, Ynglinga saga 11.

121  Schjødt, “Livsdrik og vidensdrik,” 93.

122  The volcanic associations of the whetstone are undeniable considering the myth of Þórr’s duel with Hrungnir. 123  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál G57. 124  Clemens saga 5.

125  Lassen, Odin på kristent pergament, 304.

126  Lindow, “Supernatural Others and Ethnic Others”; Lindow, “Cultures in Contact,” 100–​103.

127  Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie 1–​2; Eiríkr Magnússon, Yggdrasill. Óðins hestr; Much, “Der germanische Himmelsgott.”

92 Volcanoes in the Social Order a long-​standing tradition in Old Norse literature is quite evident,128 but in this case there is something to be said for an interpretation of the eye as a caldera. Finally, Bǫlverkr may allude to the man who dammed Hvítá with his virki, a feat that seems to be beyond the capabilities of early Icelanders. The image of eyes in Icelandic volcanism appears in Bergbúa þáttr. Before Hallmundr recites Hallmundarkviða, Þórðr and his servant see two giant eyes in the cave “þat, er þeim þótti því líkast sem væri tungl tvau full eðr törgur stórar, ok var á millum stund sú ekki svá líttil” (that to them looked like two full moons or huge shields, and they were not at all little).129 How may the alliterative chain “Bileygr, Báleygr, Bǫlverkr” function in this context? If it can be accepted that these three names are sequentially associated beyond their alliterative qualities, the chain may create a conceptual reference for a caldera. The first part of Bileygr, bil–​, is derived from bila.130 It may mean “failing eye,” and is often understood as “blind.” Bila means “to give way, break, crack”131 and “to fail.”132 The adjective bilgjarn means “weak.”133 The word blindr is more suitable to describe blindness and is most commonly used: Bileygr is thus as much, if not more, the failing, weak, and cracking eye, as it is the “blind eye.” Báleygr means “fire eye.” If a caldera is understood as an eye it is frail and may crack. When it does, it becomes the “fire eye.” When the weak eye becomes the fire eye it will turn into an evildoer: Bǫlverkr. This is a sequential causality that is comprehensible if one can accept moving beyond the typical images of Óðinn. This image of Óðinn is more in line with his role in Hallmundarkviða. Óðinn is not a one-​eyed sorcerer with a grey beard and a floppy hat, as he appears in the highly stereotypical konungasǫgur and fornaldarsǫgur, even in the Edda.134 Beyond the scope of the Latinate script-​world, there is another side to Óðinn as Bǫlverkr, a volcano-​spirit that comes to Hnitbjǫrg, much like Hallmundr who moves around in the mountains. His reason for being there is the social situation of early Icelandic culture: group competitiveness. He is there on behalf of his kin-​group to regulate the activities of another kin-​group and appropriate their resources. The associations of Óðinn with sorcery fall in line with the other indigenous material from Iceland. Hallmundarkviða, Landnámabók, and the Katla folktale connect volcanism with sorcerers. Hallmundarkviða is also quite explicit about the taboo-​ridden circumstances involved with the eruption, not least the prose frame in Bergbúa Þáttr. It is a consistent context for eruptions: they include taboos and supernatural elements. This is very similar to the ways that volcano-​myths have been recorded elsewhere, especially in New Zealand and Hawai’i. The tendency to associate volcanic activity with acts by sorcerers or out-​group figures like the Jǫtnar may be part

128  Lassen, Odin på kristent pergament, 49; Lassen, Øjet og blindheden.

129  Bergbúa þáttr 1.

130  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 47. 131  Zoëga, Concise Dictionary of Old Icelandic, 52.

132  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 46. 133  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 47. 134  Lassen, Odin på kristent pergament, 135–​77.

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of the reason that there are few aspects of similar stories in other types of Old Norse literature. Kristni saga’s dismissal of the non-​Christian reasoning—​that the gods are angry—​may be an attempt to dismiss the earlier tradition altogether. Snorri goði’s dismissal of the god’s anger is a dismissal of the traditional theory that the gods and Jǫtnar are battling out social dramas. The implied new theory is St. Gregory’s dictate that volcanoes demonstrate God’s cosmic order and its punitive functions. Bǫlverkr and Baugi move up the mountain and begin drilling in the rocks. Bǫlverkr needs an opening through which he can access the mountain in the form of a snake. Baugi drills with the auger Rati. It is understood that a Jǫtunn drilling into a rock must make an awful sound. The role of the snake in relation to volcanism must be considered. In “Livsdrik og vidensdrik” Schjødt addresses the snake form:  “At ormen og ørnen er repræsentanter for henholdsvis den chthoniske og den celestiale sfære er der en mængde eksempler på, både i religionsfænomenologien og i den nordiske mytologi” (That the worm and the eagle represent, respectively, the chthonic and the celestial sphere is evidenced in several examples, both in the phenomenology of religion and in Nordic mythology).135 In Initiation between Two Worlds Schjødt explains why Skáldskaparmál includes shapeshifting, while Hávamál does not. Skáldskaparmál is focused on the theft of the mead and Hávamál is focused on the relationship between Óðinn and Gunnlǫð.136 The snake, as Schjødt explains, is abundantly represented as a chthonic guardian of the underworld. Inside the mountain Bǫlverkr sleeps with Gunnlǫð and drinks the mead in three draughts.137 Schjødt points out that this is a visit to the realm of the dead and this makes Gunnlǫð a guardian of the underworld.138 The meaning of her name “invitation to Battle”139 fits with the conceptualization of volcanic activities as violent. Hallmundarkviða has multiple references to violence. In this case “evildoer” and “invitation to battle” meet inside the earth and literally mix fluids as they copulate. Bǫlverkr bursts out of the mountain, carrying liquid with him. The connection of birds to volcanic activity is realized in the Flatey annals and Konungs Skuggsjá, as detailed in Chapter 2. Ultimately, the idea seems to have its origins in Ovid’s Metamorphoses in the figure Boreas Aquilo, harkening back to Zeus and Prometheus in Hesiod, but phenomenologically it is a consistent image in European and North American traditions. The snake and the bird in this myth seem to suggest that the upper and lower realms are converging: a common volcanic image. When Bǫlverkr wishes to enter the hole, he blows into it and rocks fly out. It is tempting to see Bǫlverkr blowing into the hole in Hnitbjǫrg and flying out in the form of an eagle as an Icelandic version of Boreas Aquilo, suggesting affinity to Hræsvelgr, an 135  Schjødt, “Livsdrik og vidensdrik,” 100.

136  Schjødt, Initiation between Two Worlds, 155–​56.

137  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál G58. 138  Schjødt, “Livsdrik og vidensdrik,” 90–​95.

139  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 124–​25.

94 Volcanoes in the Social Order eagle beyond the North who creates the winds with his wings.140 In Hallmundarkviða one stones and cliffs rumble and tumble down as the Jǫtunn stomps through the mountains and the winds howl. Hallmundr represents the same phenomena in the mountains as Baugi, Bǫlverkr, and Boreas Aquilo. Additionally, the poem has a reference to Óðinn as Þundr howling from the mountaintops. These giant beings of flight send their winds into the caverns and cracks of the mountains, blowing through the cliffs, with loud noises and ejecta as the result. This complex of signifiers is relatable to stanza 47–​52 in Vǫluspá. Vǫluspá 47–​52

Vǫluspá has relevance to an image of volcanism. Surtr, in particular, has been recognized before by several scholars as a volcanic being. In that context it is relevant to analyze the stanzas 47–​52 in Vǫluspá. When compared with Hallmundarkviða and the mead myth, a complex of volcanism emerges. In stanza 47 Yggdrasill shakes (skelfr) because “the Jǫtunn” (Surtr) is loose. In the Hauksbók version of the poem, a half-​stanza describes that “Surtar sefi” (Surtr’s kin) swallow people on the Hel-​way. Yggdrasill’s shaking, considering the use of the word skelfr (as in landskjálfti, “earthquake”), seems to be the premonitory initial quaking that frequently occurs in eruptions. Such volcanic-​related quakes usually come in series or swarms rather than in one shock, as is the case with earthquakes.141 Stanza 48 directs the attention to the community of gods: “Hvat er með ásom, hvat er með álfom?” (What is there with the Æsir, what is there with the Álfar?). Like the shaking of Yggdrasill there is an ominous sound from Jǫtunheimar: “Gnýr allr iǫtunheimr” (All Jǫtunheimar groans). The gods meet in council at the assembly, in their cultural centre,142 to discuss what is going on. The poem directs attention to the dwarfs: “Stynia dvergar fyr steindurom, veggbergs vísir” (The dwarfs groan before the stone doors, princes of the mountain-​ wall). The dog Garmr barks and almost breaks his chain in front of Gnipahellir in stanza 49. The word “garmr” means “dog,”143 but it is notable that one kenning exists where garmr is connected to fire: “glóða garmr” (dog of embers).144 Gnipahellir is not explained further in Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog except for the suggestion that it is the opening to Hel.145 There is, however, a word in the Þulur for “fire,” gnipall,146 which may associate with the first word in Gnipahellir. In Dictionary of Northern Mythology Rudolph Simek refutes the traditional association of Garmr with the Hel-​hound that appears in the Eddic poem Baldrs draumar.147 He sees no connection between Gnipahellir

140  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 42. 141  Encyclopedia of Volcanoes, 1017–​19.

142  Compare with the Mazama event; see Beaudoin and Oetelaar, “The Day the Dry Snow Fell,” 37. 143  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 173. 144  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 173. 145  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 192. 146  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 192. 147  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 100.

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and Hel, either. Instead, he translates Gnipahellir to “overhanging cave,” but gives no reference for it.148 With this translation the first part of Gnipahellir, gnipa–​, would presumably be the word gnípa that means “mountain peak.”149 Without any more cognates or a stronger underlying philological tradition, it is hard to fully assess its meaning. However, regardless of whether or not the first part of the word is gnípa or gnipall, it is possible to interpret the name as a caldera. It can be interpreted as either “peak-​cave” or as “fire-​cave.” Both such caves may allude to openings from where volcanic ejecta emerge. If Garmr is associated with fire in the form “glóða garmr,” it would be a “dog of embers” that barks in front of the peak-​cave or the fire-​cave: volcanic fire and volcanic noise.150 The vǫlva (seeress, female staff-​bearer) relating the poem foresees catastrophe: “Fiǫlð veit hon frœða, fram sé ec lengra um ragna rǫc, rǫmm, sigtýva” (She has much wisdom, further ahead I see to Ragnarǫk, the victory-​gods’ destruction).151 After this warning a figure named Hrymr appears in stanza 50. Hrymr’s name is obscure.152 It may mean “ancient,”153 and associate with an ancient force, perhaps the earth itself, just like Ymir and Aurgelmir. Ymir is consistently called ancient, for instance:  “Hinn gamli hrímþurs, hann kǫllum vér Ymi” (The ancient frost-​Jǫtunn, we call him Ymir).154 Aurgelmir and his descendants are placed in a distant past: “Ørófi vetra, áðr væri iǫrð scǫpuð” (In ancient times, before Earth was created).155 The figure Hrymr drives from the east and holds a shield in front of him. Though the name is unresolved and does not have an immediate affinity to other figures in Old Norse mythology, beyond one that perhaps associates him with being ancient like Ymir and Aurgelmir, one may be reminded of Hrungnir and his shield of stone. Hrymr’s driving may relate to Sigrdrífumál 15, which mentions “reið Rungnis” (Hrungnir’s wagon), but this reference has no other comparison in Old Norse mythology. It is tempting to compare Hrymr with this image of Hrungnir:  the stone man, driving a rumbling wagon, holding a shield in front of him. It is, however, quite difficult to substantiate on basis of the sparse tradition available in the literature.156 148  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 114.

149  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 192; Zoëga, Concise Dictionary of Old Icelandic, 168. 150  Compare with the whimpering and barking dogs of the Mazama event; see Beaudoin and Oetelaar, “The Day the Dry Snow Fell,” 37. 151  Vǫluspá 49.

152  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 288; Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 163.

153  See Sigurður Nordal, Völuspá, 96.

154  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 5.

155  Vafþrúðnismál 29 and 35.

156  See further in Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 287; Dronke, The Poetic Edda vol. 2: Mythological Poems, 57.

96 Volcanoes in the Social Order Hrymr who comes rumbling with his shield in front of him may be compared to a pyroclastic flow.157 If Hrymr is a Jǫtunn with affinity to the ancient earth as it was created from volcanic processes, this may be the image of the ground rising in a column of ash and ejecta. Next, Jǫrmungandr disturbs the sea and an eagle with an “ash-​pale” beak shrieks and rips in corpses: “Snýz iǫrmungandr í iǫtunmóði; ormr knýr unnir, enn ari hlaccar, slítr nái neffǫlr, Naglfar losnar” (Jǫrmungandr writhes in giant-​rage; the snake churns the waves, and the eagle shrieks, the pale-​beaked rips the corpses, Naglfar loosens).158 The eagle is an image of death.159 The word for “pale,” fǫlr, is also the stem of the word for “covered with ashes,” fǫlskaðr, and “white ashes,” fǫlski.160 In this context the eagle’s ash-​pale beak may refer to tephra. It is notable that this stanza, just like the mead myth, includes an image of both a serpent and an eagle, suggesting a convergence of the upper and lower world in symbolic terms. The sky and the sea are converging. Stanza 51 relates that “Muspellz lýðir” advance on a ship with Loki as steersman. This image also includes the enigmatic figure Býleistr. The image of Muspellz’s people on a boat, in light of the boat complex that emerges in the mead myth, in Hallmundarkviða, in Landnámabók, and in the Katla folktale, can be interpreted in a volcanic context. In Hallmundarkviða it is a boat of stone and iron and in Landnámabók it is made of iron. In both cases the boat is directly associated with the Jǫtnar and supernatural beings in connection with an eruption. In Vǫluspá the boat is called Naglfar. It is associated with the underworld and is said to be made of human fingernails in Gylfaginning 51. The association of the boat with the underworld in Gylfaginning is consistent both with Hallmundarkviða, Vǫluspá, the boat in the mead myth, and the merman incident in Landnámabók, not least the warship in the vat in the Katla folktale. The idea that the beings of the underworld will assemble a ship from the fingernails of the dead is associated with the Devil in other Scandinavian and Finno-​Karelian traditions.161 The connection to fingernails, however, does not have to be the only association of nagl–​ in the ship’s name. Based on the association of the ship of the underworld with volcanism in Hallmundarkviða and the ship of the merman in Landnámabók, it is likely that it refers to nails made of iron. This seems to gain support from comparison with a word for “sword,” naglfari (studded with nails/​spikes) in the Þulur.162 The name can be interpreted as “the ship of spikes,” and this makes it comparable to the iron-​braced stone boat in Hallmundarkviða. Naglfar comes sailing with the “fire spirits of Muspell” and the god of earthquakes, Loki. Býleistr is a complicated name. Simek explains it as “the one who makes lightning in the storm” (from bylr “wind” and leiptr “lightning”) and lists the figure in accordance 157  Compare with Encyclopedia of Volcanoes, 945–​55.

158  Vǫluspá 50.

159  Meulengracht Sørensen, Kapitler af Nordens litteratur i oldtid og middelalder, 112. 160  Zoëga, Concise Dictionary of Old Icelandic, 157.

161  Krohn, “Das Schiff Naglfar.” It is unclear how old this tradition is. 162  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 422.

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with Vǫluspá as a brother of Loki.163 However, this interpretation overlooks the long “ý.” Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog convincingly interprets the name as “den der farer over bygder” (the one who rushes over dwellings) and explains the figure as identical with Loki.164 As in the case of Garmr in Gnipahellir, both interpretations of this name fit with volcanism, either in terms of the characteristic static electric lightning-​ storm that is frequent in phreatomagmatic eruptions, or as the pyroclastic flow, a flow of lava, or a jökulhlaup that threatens dwellings, such as Molda-​Gnúpr’s at Kúðafljót during the Eldgjá eruption. This image is comparable to Hallmundr, who strides from peak to peak, erupting with ashes, flying world to world in stanzas 7 and 11 in Hallmundarkviða. The people of Muspell with Loki and Býleistr, sailing the ship of spikes, therefore seems to be associated with an eruptive event through analogies and reference to a discourse about volcanism in other Old Norse literary sources. With Býleistr, Loki, and Muspellz’s people on a spike-​boat, a new dimension to Fjalarr, Galarr, and Gillingr emerges. Their sailing is foreboding the eruption. Gillingr’s wife, the hypostasis of the figure “noisy,” cries unstoppably when she learns that her husband drowned in the sea. Fjalarr cannot stand “óp hennar” (her crying/​shouting),165 so he sees to her murder by persuading her to go stand in the doorway and look out over the sea to find consolation. This is an image comparable to that of the dwarfs before their stone doors in Vǫluspá 48. Like the dwarfs, Gillingr’s wife is howling before the stone door of the dwarf dwelling in the underworld. She enacts the characteristic sound of effusion, the gushing of lava, or the venting of steam and gasses, perhaps the rumbling of an earthquake swarm prior to the eruption. In Vǫluspá 52 the eruption comes with Surtr: “Surtr ferr sunnan med sviga lævi, scínn af sverði sól valtíva; griótbjǫrg gnata, enn gífr rata, troða halir helveg enn himinn klofnar” (Surtr comes from the south with the enemy of branches, the sun of the war-​gods shines from his sword; stone-​mountains crumble and troll(women) roam/​ tumble, men tread the Hel-​way until the heavens rip asunder). This image may be one of an explosive eruption or a fire column. There is a complex of movement in these stanzas, which may be comparable to the journeys of Kvasir and Bǫlverkr, and Hallmundr. The stanzas in Vǫluspá refer to the risk of the Jǫtunn breaking loose and Garmr breaking his chain. When everything is set in motion, Naglfar is loose:  it journeys from the east, Hrymr journeys from the east, Surtr journeys from the south, and the trolls roam. These supernatural powers are approaching the dwellings of the gods. They are sweeping through the landscape, moving around, above and below ground. This seems to be echoed to some effect in the mead myth where the auger Rati (“roamer,” from rata)166 guides Óðinn’s underworldly journey in both Hávamál and Skáldskaparmál. It creates the passage in the underworld, thereby creating caverns in the ground for the god to enter. This accentuates the notion 163  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 51.

164  Ordbog over det norsk-​islandske skjaldesprog, 73. 165  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál G57.

166  Zoëga, Concise Dictionary of Old Icelandic, 329.

98 Volcanoes in the Social Order that volcanic phenomena were not fixed in one place but travelled the land. It can be compared with Pele’s journeys and her use of a magical spade. The mead myth and Vǫluspá make use of comparable imagery and symbolism: the underworld is populated with dwarfs that are making noise, openings in the ground appear and rocks are falling, dwarfs and Jǫtnar move in boats, a snake and an eagle appear. The various components of this imagery are found in context of volcanism in other types of Old Norse literature. I propose that the components of this imagery in the mead myth and in Vǫluspá incorporate a sequence of volcanism:

1) There is noise and rumbling in the underworld. Vǫluspá indicates that there is a seismic component to this as it mentions Yggdrasill’s shaking. As a representation of the cosmos the shaking world tree is indicative of seismic activity. Various noises are heard in relation to these tremors: Jǫtunheimar is in uproar, the dwarfs howl, Garmr barks. This may correspond to the sequence in the mead myth, where Gillingr’s wife is crying in the opening to the dwarfs’ house. The world tree represents the cosmic order,167 and this is also reflected in Hnitbjǫrg, and the drilling in the mountain. 2) Vǫluspá accentuates the impending calamity and the need for attention to the early warning signs: the vǫlva sees more destruction in the future, the gods assemble to discuss what is happening. A similar process is not detailed in the mead myth, but it does incorporate a search for Kvasir which begins with the dwarfs’ explanation for his death and Óðinn’s journey. In connection with his attempt to retrieve the mead, a warning to gather resources may be encoded in the harvesting of crops, just like his pursuit of the mead reflects the appropriation of resources from a competitive kin-​group. The multiple deaths in this part of the myth may further allude to an idea of catastrophe. Apart from Ragnarǫk itself, the mead myth has the highest death toll in Old Norse mythology: Kvasir and Gillingr are killed by the beings that initially alert the community of impending disaster. Bǫlverkr, as the being central to the eruption, is responsible for the death of the nine slaves.

Aside from the premonitions, both Vǫluspá and the mead myth incorporate the same cultural imagery with regards to the boat, the snake, and the eagle. The boat may be a symbol of speed and a vessel that signifies destruction. The snake and the eagle are representatives of the lower and the upper realms converging. In combination a mythic motif of volcanism can be rendered from the comparison between Hallmundarkviða, Vǫluspá, and the mead myth in Skáldskaparmál: Hallmundarkviða

Noise from Jǫtnar and/​or dwarfs

A supernatural boat

167  Hastrup, Island of Anthropology, 30–​31.

x

x

Vǫluspá x

x

The mead myth x

x

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Hallmundarkviða Eagles and flight

x

Alcoholic drink

x

The snake

Surtr

Vǫluspá x

99

The mead myth x

-​

x

x

x

x

(maybe Suttungr?)

-​

x

The pattern of this motif of volcanism has minor variations. The snake does not appear in Hallmundarkviða. The poem details the underworld with other images. The alcoholic drink is not present in Vǫluspá. Surtr, whose presence in the narrative is decisive for its relevance to volcanic activity, is not present in the mead myth. Instead, the figures Bǫlverkr and Suttungr have taken Surtr’s place. Unless Suttungr is derived from Surtr, this can be explained by the nature of the mead myth as a story about the retrieval of social memory in the form of the mead. Aside from this the various elements of the motif in connection with volcanism are corroborated by other Old Norse sources: the boat appears in context of volcanism in Landnámabók, birds and flight or the wind (from a bird) as a cause of volcanism appear in the Flatey annals and Konungs Skuggsjá, subterranean alcoholic wells associated with volcanism occur in Konungs Skuggsjá and Saxo’s Gesta Danorum. This symbolic connection may originate with Eyvindr skáldaspillir’s kenning in Háleygjatal:  “Surts søkkdalir.” The signifiers of the volcanic motif in the mead myth and Vǫluspá can be compared with similar signifiers in narratives from other volcanic regions. In terms of warning signs of an eruption, the image of the barking dog Garmr and the gods gathering in their cultural centre in Vǫluspá are comparable to indigenous reports of the Mazama eruption.168 The boat as a warning sign of impending eruption has, as mentioned in Chapter 2, appeared in Maori reports on the Tarawera eruption in 1886. As a symbol of speed and swift movements, not least the force of water, the boat appears in the Javanese story about Tangkuban Prahu, and the fast holua sleds of Hawai’i seem to relate to this concept too. Both the mead myth and Vǫluspá seem to refer to calderas in context of eye symbolism. In When They Severed Earth from Sky, Barber and Barber argue that Odysseus’s encounter with the Cyclops (round-​eye) called Polyphemus (wide-​known) is a myth about a volcanic event. The encounter begins with Odysseus seeing smoke in the distance and it ends with the Cyclops hurling rocks at the hero. During the visit the Cyclops eats several of Odysseus’s men. Barber and Barber compare it with their own experience of an effusive eruption at Mauna Ulu in Hawai’i in 1972: “You could well have said that we watched two terrible monsters, as alike as twin sisters, passing an eye back and forth between them.”169 If there is a recognizable connection between Bǫlverkr and Óðinn’s other names, Bileygr

168  See Beaudoin and Oetelaar, “The Day the Dry Snow Fell.”

169  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 108–​9. A willful interpretation on their part, nonetheless.

100 Volcanoes in the Social Order and Báleygr, it is notable that Bǫlverkr—​like Polyphemus—​is responsible for multiple deaths. Baugi may similarly be connected to a “fire-​ring” comparable to a caldera. The word baugr establishes metonymic reference to gold and gold rings on similar terms as stanzas 2–​3 in Hallmundarkviða, which connect arm-​rings to volcanoes and supply the description of a volcano in terms of a “treasure-​strewer.” Baugi and Bǫlverkr form an alliterative pair comparable to Galarr and Gillingr. In that respect Galarr and Gillingr may represent the seismic forces under ground, whereas Baugi and Bǫlverkr, with their activities on the mountaintop, represent perceivable phenomena above ground. Similar categorization of beings is present in other volcano-​ narratives. In the Klamath myth about Crater Lake, this is configured as a battle between the Sky and Earth: The Chief of the Below World was very angry. In a voice like thunder, he swore he would have revenge on the people of Loha, that he would destroy them with the Curse of Fire. Raging and thundering, he rushed up through the opening and stood upon the top of his mountain. Then he saw the face of the Chief of the Above World shining among the stars that surrounded his home. Slowly the mighty form of that chief descended from the sky and stood on the top of Mount Shasta. From their mountaintops the two spirit chiefs began a furious battle. In a short time all the spirits of earth and sky took part in the battle.170

Besides a conceptual pairing of above and below, there is also a pairing of observable phenomena:  Hallmundr (stone-​plenty) appears above, Surtr (swarthy) lives below, and Bǫlverkr–​Baugi appear above and cause stones to fly out, while Bǫlverkr–​Gunnlǫð (violently) copulate below where they mix liquids, just like Hallmundr meets Surtr in his company in the underworld. Bǫlverkr’s transformation to a snake that enters the mountain is comparable to how Barber and Barber see Medusa’s snake-​hair as an image of volcanism. They argue that it is the image of hissing lava streams running down a mountain side,171 providing a comparable example from a description of the Mayon eruption in 1928: “Lava poured out through the notches in the crater wall and followed the gullies, forming snake-​like trickles radiating from the summit […] There was a periodicity of three to five hours in the spells of roaring, hissing, cracking and tumbling noise.”172 When Bǫlverkr emerges as an eagle from Hnitbjǫrg, he is followed by Suttungr, also in the guise of an eagle. It seems there is a cross-​cultural tendency to use the image of eagles or birds as an analogy for the ash clouds and as harbingers of eruptions.173 This is also present in the Icelandic material.

170  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 6.

171  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 109–​11. A  willful interpretation on their part, too, which stretches the limits of interpretation too far.

172  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 112. From Jaggar, Volcanoes Declare War, 61. 173  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 219–​30.

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The Indigenous Theory of Volcanism in the Mead Myth The mead myth includes all components of the indigenous Icelandic theory of volcanism that I explained in Chapter 2. It features anthropomorphized beings whose actions have geologic consequences—​most obviously in connection with the drilling in the mountain and the emerging eagle, but also in the actions of supernatural beings in the underworld. There is no immediate connection with identifiable Icelandic geomorphology, a memory space, in this story, but the drilling in the mountain may explain its name: Hnitbjǫrg, “clashing rocks.” The myth uses supernatural beings to provide a context for an eruptive process. It also incorporates multiple layers of emotional motivations:  the creation of Kvasir is dependent on war, Fjalarr is motivated by jealousy, anguish befalls Gillingr’s wife, Suttungr expresses anger, violence is associated with Baugi’s actions and with the name of the guardian of the underworld, Gunnlǫð, Bǫlverkr causes multiple deaths. Social taboos are present in multiple instances: the dwarfs murder Kvasir and Gillingr’s wife, Óðinn resorts to disguise, trickery, and theft. There may also be an implied breach of sexual taboo and marriage in his interaction with Gunnlǫð. This is at least present in Hávamál and may be expected to have been known by the contemporary audience of Snorri’s Edda. Swift movements, flight, and flying objects are part of the narrative:  Óðinn and Suttungr fly in the form of eagle; the drilling in the mountain causes rocks to fly out. The myth uses the same or similar signifiers for catastrophe as those seen in Hallmundarkviða and Vǫluspá, and it is also aware of the broader discourse on volcanism in the creation myth. Finally, the signifiers seem to be local cultural expressions of various comparable elements in narratives from other cultures. An imposing question is why the mead is connected with volcanism. In the preceding the cultural and literary tradition that combines the mead with the underworld has been examined, but the reasoning behind this can be better explained. Kvasir and Ymir share qualities; this is realized in Frank’s interpretation of their kennings. Both figures have their origin in mixed liquids: Ymir comes from eitr and Kvasir from the spittle of the gods. As the spittle is mixed in the vat, the gods are performing the same creative act as the mixing of cold and hot in Niflheimr and Muspellzheimr in the creation myth. The mead myth alludes to the creation myth. Kvasir’s travels are mapping the creation. Kvasir’s journey establishes a sociogony comparable to the creation. Travelling the cosmos Kvasir dispenses social knowledge until he ends up in the underworld, which is the antithesis to the established social order. He dies at the hands of the representative of the underworld, Fjalarr, “hider.” The explanation for Kvasir’s death is acceptable to the gods since they do not expect their rules for the creation to function in the underworld. In this image the physical processes of the world are coupled with physical processes of the body, and analogies between alcohol and knowledge are being drawn in accordance with established tradition. This is a process of enculturation, an initiatory process of cosmic dimensions, which mirrors the world-​body complex. It can be understood in terms of the silence principle: that which is commonly understood by the culture is not mentioned. The underground is not populated by humans: it

102 Volcanoes in the Social Order is populated by creatures such as “hider” and “screamer,” those who kill and drain (liquefy) the gods’ creation, figures like Kvasir, and pour his dreyri in vats and kettles. As much as the destruction of Ymir by the gods is a process towards creating habitable spaces in nature, the building of Kvasir into a cultivated (wise) man from the amorphous spittle in a vat is a process of creating culture in habitable nature. The destruction of Kvasir by the dwarfs represents his return to nature in the underworld. He is absorbed and assimilated through death. The wardens of the underworld keep him in two vats and the kettle Óðrørir, which is perhaps rightly interpreted in this context as “rage-​stirrer.” In this light it can be explained why Skáldskaparmál is focused on Óðrørir as a kettle. The mead myth distinguishes between the two ker, Són and Boðn, and then the ketill, Óðrørir. There is a tradition for Óðrørir as a kettle. The early stages of making mead can include a heating process, where water mixed with honey is heated in order to purify the substance. In the mead myth there is an awareness of this in Óðrørir as a kettle and Són and Boðn as vats. First, the mead is kept in the kettle Óðrørir, in which it is boiled and purified, then it is poured into the vats Són and Boðn where it ferments. This may be connected to the generally agreed upon notion that the Icelandic underground produces or contains alcoholic liquids. As demonstrated earlier, this notion appears in Hallmundarkviða, Eyvindr’s Háleygjatal, Konungs Skuggsjá and Saxo’s Gesta Danorum. The silence principle seems to be in effect: it is assumed, based on the cultural context of alcohol, that one is familiar with its chthonic origins. The relation between the mead and volcanism is therefore apparent: the making of mead in the underworld is commensurate with the idea that the mead is boiled in the process of purification. The boiling, yellow substance in the kettle is a reasonably comparable substance to the gushing lava in an eruption. As Kvasir is killed by the dwarfs he becomes one with the cosmic liquids, the underground waters that burst out in geysers and jökulhlaups, not least the lava that runs from the ground in eruptions. In that respect it is interesting that the mead myth in Skáldskaparmál is so focused on explaining the kennings in terms of water. The name Gillingr does not have a strong tradition behind it in skaldic poetry, although it is used by Eyvindr. Probably a river-​heiti meaning “noisy, resounding,” it fits well in the parallel between water and lava that is commonly occurring in volcano-​myths. In the oldest version of the tradition Eyvindr combines Gillingr, the flying Farmagnúðr (Óðinn), and the “søkkdalir of Surtr” with the mead’s origins. This suggests an early idea of the mead as a chthonic substance that could, because of its association with the underground, be compared to lava. This could come from observable volcanic phenomena. When Fjalarr and Galarr go sailing with Gillingr, this boat-​scene may be interpreted in context of the volcanic boat references in Landnámabók and Hallmundarkviða, by extension in Vǫluspá. This interpretation is further augmented by occurrences of boats in volcano-​myths from other cultures. The boat is a warning sign. When Fjalarr and Galarr are visited by the Jǫtunn Gillingr and his wife, the underground is giving its first warning signs. When “hider” (death) and “screamer” sail with “noisy,” it should be understood on the same terms as when Loki, the cause of earthquakes, sails with Býleistr, he who rushes over dwellings, and Muspellz lýðir, the fire people. This is a mythic image of

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an earthquake swarm heralding the eruption. When “noisy” drowns, his wife begins to howl but she is killed with a stone by “hider.” The image of throwing rocks associates with volcanic eruptions, too. In the mead myth this encodes the understanding that earthquake swarms may happen sometime in advance of an eruption. It highlights the importance of being aware of the underground and the signs that will be recognizable: noises and tremors. Hnitbjǫrg is placed centrally in the narrative when Suttungr takes the mead there after a second sailing trip with the dwarfs. This makes the “mountain of clashing rocks” the focal point of the tale, directing attention to the natural features in the landscape, which create eruptions. The myth plays on the ambiguity of Óðinn as a sorcerer and a cosmic force, perhaps drawing analogies to medieval literary figures. Óðinn enters the narrative as Bǫlverkr, “evildoer,” and sets events in motion. This is not simply a story of a medieval wizard who cheats local farmers, drinks their good liquor, and runs off with their daughters, in the process transgressing the boundaries of human abilities: this is a story of how “evildoer,” the spirit with the “unstable eye” that became the “flaming eye,” made noise in the mountain in a social drama with a Jǫtunn. The myth explains how “evildoer” first blew into the holes of the “mountain of clashing rocks” and made it rumble, made stones fall. Then he slipped into it, while the giant stabbed at him, and continued to upset the mountain. Inside the “mountain of clashing rocks” evildoer mixed his liquids with “invitation to battle” and drank the golden liquid of the underworld. The reference to war in context of volcanism is commonplace. Hallmundarkviða has multiple references to war and battle, and the same is the case for Vǫluspá. The mead myth begins with peacemaking after a war, it incorporates multiple deaths, and it concludes with war-​references, such as Gunnlǫð’s name: Gunnlǫð, the spirit of battle in the underworld, and Óðinn, the war-​god himself, must meet in the “mountain of clashing rocks” for an eruption to happen. In the shape of an eagle “evildoer” bursts out of the “mountain of clashing rocks,” followed by a second eagle. “Evildoer” flies through the air as a firebird, bringing lava. He explodes in golden liquid, sending two-​thirds of it into the vats that the gods have put out for him in Ásgarðr. But the last third is sent out into the face of Suttungr.174 This carries the imagery of an explosive eruption with debris. Bǫlverkr has brought the wisdom of the cosmos and Icelandic volcanism back to the cultural centre. The knowledge of eruptions in Old Norse myths takes the form of a string of motifs. It combines fire spirits, noisy Jǫtnar and dwarfs with supernatural boats. It includes gods in the shape of birds and snakes, who retrieve knowledge from the underworld and fly out. This analysis shows how various elements of the mead myth in Skáldskaparmál contain references to volcanic themes, which can be identified in other narratives and supported by comparative material from other cultures. This volcanic interpretation of the mead myth is justified by aspects that are latent in the tradition prior to the time when the myth appeared in Skáldskaparmál. The factors in the pre-​existing tradition are a connection between mead and cosmic fluids, the knowledge of their behaviour, and of social behaviour. The common scholarly focus on the 174  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál G58.

104 Volcanoes in the Social Order mead of poetry is generally on its role in social life. Even interpretations that recognize a cosmic complex tend to be preoccupied with the social aspects of the cosmos, plotting the social upon the cosmic. If the social aspects are approached as a conceptualization of Iceland as a memory space, it is possible to see elements of volcanic imagery that refer to the poetic details in Eyvindr’s Háleygjatal and in Hallmundarkviða, where the mead is active in reference to volcanism. It is possible to trace the role of Óðinn as a Jǫtunn seducer in relation to the mead myth to Eyvindr’s poem Háleygjatal, which uses kennings for the mead that specifically refer to volcanism. Hávamál is focused on social interaction in the primary social space:  the hall. Skáldskaparmál mixes motifs that have puzzled some scholars. It involves an etiological explanation for the mead of poetry and the Odinic seduction of a Jǫtunn, confusingly wrapped in a cosmological packaging with reference to the creation myth. The myth appears as a pastiche of unrelated themes. Underneath, or alongside, the motifs there is a tradition of volcanic referentiality that may originate in Eyvindr’s kennings. These are the primary causes of confusion, because it is only in terms of volcanism that it makes sense to connect the different motifs in the myth. Hávamál and Skáldskaparmál give two very different versions of the mead myth. The variations in the versions cannot be reduced to differences in genre or oral transmission: they constitute essential functions of the myth. Hávamál displays aspects of certain cultural institutions, while Skáldskaparmál is focused on the natural space. The cultural institutions in Hávamál are, in accordance with the tradition of Óðinn and Skaði in Háleygjatal: the hall, marriage, oaths, power. Skáldskaparmál begins with the establishment of peace and Kvasir spreading knowledge far and wide. It transitions to features of the landscape: the dwarfs’ home (notoriously in stones, mountains, the ground), the sea, rocks in the sea, crops, the mountain, the underworld. Another striking dissimilarity is that in Skáldskaparmál, a wide selection of characters dies, while there is nothing to indicate the death of any character in Hávamál. Both narratives could be much older than their manuscript versions.175 Their structural dissimilarities are so great that they should not be considered two versions of the same proto-​myth. They are more probably different versions of the same motif:  the chthonic alcohol. They are two aspects of the same foundation myth: the one in Hávamál reveals itself as a foundation myth in the establishment of kingship and the etiology of the powerful cultural substance, the mead of poetry. The version in Skáldskaparmál includes these aspects but as a result of the Icelandic environmental conditions it incorporates volcanism and conceptualizes this phenomenon in relation to social structures. Skáldskaparmál inscribes the mead myth in the social landscape of Iceland, using its environmental features as a memory space. This is realized in the following manner: in Hávamál the mead myth takes place “í Suttungs sǫlom” (in Suttungr’s halls),176 where the acteurs are seated “á gullom stóli” 175  See Mogk, “Novellistische Darstellung mythologischer Stoffe Snorris und seiner Schule”; Frank, “Snorri and the Mead of Poetry”; Frog, “Circum-​Baltic Mythology?.” 176  Hávamál 104.

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(in golden seats),177 and the Jǫtnar come “Háva ráðs at fregna, Háva hǫllo í” (to ask the High One’s council, in the High One’s hall),178 because Óðinn left Suttungr and Gunnlǫð betrayed at the sumbl (drinking feast).179 The phrasing “Háva hǫllo í” is repeated in stanza 111, where Óðinn proclaims that it is time to speak from the þulr’s (reciter’s) seat in the “High One’s hall.” The setting of this myth is in the hall of a ruler: Suttungr or the High One. Only stanza 106 seems to indicate a translocation to a setting other than the hall, where Óðinn is digging his way out from his host’s hall. It may be inferred with reference to Skáldskaparmál that this is a scene of digging or drilling in the mountain. It is not, however, a verifiable connection to make. Considering the Orcus-​complex it makes sense to associate this with the chthonic aspect of the Latin tradition. This means that when stanza 107 proclaims that Óðrørir has come up to the human world, it can be the unification of Orcus (Óðinn) and Maia (Gunnlǫð) at the ritual feast, or the bringing of the alcoholic drink by Liber (Óðinn), as much as it refers to Óðinn retrieving the mead from the site called Hnitbjǫrg. Given McKinnell’s argument that these stanzas belong to the tradition in Ovid’s Ars Amatoria, it is not an unlikely thought. Spatially, Skáldskaparmál takes a different route. There is virtually nothing that associates it with the hall. The mead myth takes place in the landscape, in and below the human world, and buildings play only a peripheral role. This is the mythic scenery that Eyvindr is referring to when he lets Óðinn carry the mead out of “Surtr’s sinking-​ dales”:  he is referring to the volcanic landscape in Iceland. This is different from the bacchanalian fertility scene in Hávamál. Eyvindr locates the mead myth in the volcanic realm, relocating it spatially through the chthonic associations of the alcohol that already circulate. This is an example of Barber and Barber’s principle of compression, which they note in relation to the Klamath myth: “If the mountain smokes like a chimney, then it plausibly is the chimney of a supernatural creature’s home.”180 Normally, stones and rocks stay put, and mountains most certainly do not go up in flames. If that happens there must be agency behind it,181 and this agency is comparable to humans: their habits and habitations. Rocks that fly from the mountain are blown out of there by a creature that sends its winds into the caves: fire that comes from there must be from the fire god, the god of the underworld that lives there. From that we have a story about the fire god of the underworld who dances in a frenzied intoxication with the earth-​goddess. So, when the mountain opens, and a thick, yellow-​red substance pours out, it could be the beer or mead of these creatures. The first Icelanders and many of their descendants, like most pre-​industrial peoples, had a limited set of substances to which lava could be compared. Barber and Barber suggest that molten bronze being poured from the crucible is a good analogy for flowing lava. When it squirts out of the mountain, 177  Hávamál 105. 178  Hávamál 109. 179  Hávamál 110. 180  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 35.

181  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 41–​44.

106 Volcanoes in the Social Order a fountain of gold could work too.182 If the subject of drink carries weight in relation to volcanic activity through a pre-​existing tradition in social memory, non-​ingestible fluids like melted iron or gold are not favourable analogies, while beer and mead are.183 Kvasir, the source of the mead, carried wisdom from door to door in the cosmos, like a travelling frœðimaðr, before he was killed. His essence is still in the mead and this is why Bǫlverkr seeks it. In order to retain the knowledge of volcanism, it must be connected to the primary cultural substance that is the mead of poetry. This is a form of cultural response to the environment that allows its conceptualization in connection to a cultural artefact. The mead myth in Skáldskaparmál seems to be an extended narration based on older cultural paradigms. It is too reductive to state that it is the invention of Snorri Sturluson, because it carries considerable information in terms of environmental restructuring, and it contextualizes this information in the mead of poetry as a memory drink. It also has consistent referentiality to the creation myth, not just in the ways in which environment is conceptualized, but also in terms of reiterating the creation’s teleology for the cosmos: group competitiveness. The mead myth states that it understands the cosmos, in particular the fluids that permeate the world, be they water or lava. It can be understood as a complimentary narration to the creation myth. It suggests that the cosmos is created as a result of geologic processes and the Æsir’s attempt at ordering them. The mead myth adds a complimentary perspective to that, which suggests that the initial hostility from the environment is still part of the cosmos, and the ordering that was initiated by the gods is an ongoing process: the social dramas of the cosmic kin-​groups expressed in volcanism. The mead delivers knowledge about the cosmos as an organized social space and provides explanations when the environment directs its primordial anger at the human community. This anger comes to fulfilment when the volcanoes burst as part of the Æsir’s continual struggle to regulate the older environmental forces. In the cosmos the two kin-​groups, the Æsir and Jǫtnar, are locked in a constant battle for resources. As a micro-​macrocosmic reflection, the struggles for resources also take place between competitive human groups, be they kin-​groups or ethnic groups. The complementary narrative, which accentuates this competition between kin-​groups and sets it in reference to volcanism, is the story about Þórr and Hrungnir’s duel.

Þórr and Hrungnir’s Duel

Þórr and Hrungnir’s duel is found in prose in Snorri’s Edda.184 The Edda is also the source to the skaldic poem Haustlǫng, which appears to be the oldest version of the story. Kurt Wais has demonstrated that there is a greater pattern associated with the duel, which 182  Barber and Barber, When They Severed Earth from Sky, 107.

183  Volcanologist Kathy Cashman of Bristol University often draws analogies between honey and lava when teaching rheology, due to the similarity in the viscosity of the two substances (personal communication, 2013). 184  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 17.

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reaches through the Indo-​European tract to Persia, indicating that the motif of the stone-​ Jǫtunn Hrungnir may be quite old.185 Wais finds comparison between Hrungnir and the aforementioned titan Typhoeus.186 In “Die Geschichte vom Riesen Hrungnir” Hermann Schneider argues that the prose version of the story is most likely from the twelfth century.187 His argument rests on the idea that the narrative in Snorri’s prose expresses contempt for Óðinn:  “Der Vergleich mit diesem Spruch zeigt aber auch sogleich, was an dem Hrungnirroman jung ist:  die Geringschätzung Odins” (The comparison with this utterance, however, also immediately demonstrates what is young in the Hrungnir-​ roman: the contempt for Óðinn).188 Schneider argues that the prose is young due to its attitude to Óðinn based on a comparison with the Second Merseburger Charm. This evaluation relies on a particular idea about how humans perceive deities, and that an expression of contempt towards a deity cannot originate in the belief-​system itself: it must come from the outside, from a Christian attitude. This assumption does not necessarily have to be true. Óðinn does appear contemptible in the myth, particularly in its last part where he would deny an appropriate gift to Magni, Þórr’s son.189 However, considering the pattern of enmity between Æsir and Jǫtnar in Old Norse mythology, and group competitiveness in early Icelandic society, it is his role as the high-​god to enforce codes that disenfranchise the Jǫtnar. The suggestion that group competitiveness and resource appropriation lie at the heart of the duel has been raised by Margaret Clunies Ross in “Þórr’s Honour.” Clunies Ross argues that the original complication that causes the duel is Hrungnir’s theft of Þórr’s daughter Þrúðr,190 and that the immediate threat in the myth is that Þorr is cuckolded.191 The myth mirrors the complication in the mead myth, only the roles are reversed, and it is the Jǫtnar who are imposing on the Æsir. This provides a discernible context for the aspect of social memory in relation to volcanism. If volcanism in the early history of the Icelandic settlement has been a component in generating competitive patterns between kin-​groups, it is reasonable to suggest that a myth with a volcanic motif can be created from a narrative about territorial rights and resource appropriation. Þórr is charged with the primary role of protecting the Æsir’s resources and territory.192 In the mead myth we see an incursion into Jǫtunn territory by the Æsir, which results in a cosmic conflict that emulates an eruption. In the Hrungnir myth the same pattern is present, and it appears that it also alludes to volcanism. 185  Wais, “Ullikummi, Hrungnir, Armilus und Verwandte.”

186  Wais, “Ullikummi, Hrungnir, Armilus und Verwandte,” 237–​40.

187  Schneider, “Die Geschichte vom Riesen Hrungnir,” 210. 188  Schneider, “Die Geschichte vom Riesen Hrungnir,” 209. 189  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 17. 190  Clunies Ross, “Þórr’s Honour,” 52–​53. 191  Clunies Ross, “Þórr’s Honour,” 72.

192  Clunies Ross, “Þórr’s Honour,” 56–​57.

108 Volcanoes in the Social Order Declan Taggart develops the volcanic connections with Þórr in an Icelandic context.193 While he does not focus on Þórr’s duel with Hrungnir, he makes remarks about the Eddic poems Lokasenna, Þrymskviða, and the skaldic poem Haustlǫng, which is attributed to Þjóðólfr ór Hvini in the late ninth century or early tenth century. In the Edda Snorri Sturluson uses Haustlǫng as a referential source to his prose narrative about Þórr’s duel with Hrungnir.194 Taggart concludes that Haustlǫng may be the origin of an association of Þórr with seismic activity in Iceland: There is a logic to associating Þórr with volcanoes and earthquakes, though of course myth does not necessarily obey the dictates of logic. If the passing of a deity’s chariot has a synonymy in Scandinavia with booming thunder, the same production of noise could be understood as the root cause of the shaking of an earthquake or volcanic eruption. The truth of this is demonstrated by Haustlöng, which, without referencing a volcanic eruption (mainland Norway has none), trails an almost indiscriminate number of consequences in the wake of Þórr’s movement, a cacophony of natural calamities, including thunder and lightning but also an occurrence resembling an earthquake. Given that the landscape’s quaking is associated with Þórr in both Icelandic and non-​Icelandic literature, it is not difficult to imagine that the shaking motif, which appears to be attached to Þórr over a wide area (though non-​Icelandic sources are scanty), could become ascribed in Iceland to volcanism to fit the salient elements of its environment. As eddic texts are normally assumed to be mostly Icelandic, they testify only to the conceptual ecosystem of that island; thunder and lightning imagery may have died out in connection with Þórr in Iceland, even if it was significant elsewhere, as thunderstorms are a rarity on the island […] On the other hand, Lokasenna and Haustlöng attest that the idea of a fiercely shaking earth had continuity.195

This conclusion suggests that the connection that was initially made between Þórr and thunder in Scandinavia has receded in Iceland due to the low frequency of environmental conditions that produce this weather phenomenon. As I  demonstrated in Chapter 2 Þórr has a place in connection with seismic activity in Hallmundarkviða. This is also suggested by Taggart.196 However, Taggart does not address naturally occurring lightning that appears in phreatomagmatic combustion. This is largely due to his focus on poems, not the prose myths in Snorri’s Edda. The duel with Hrungnir is an example of Old Norse myth ascribes lightning and thunder to Þórr. Considering the environmental circumstances in Iceland, it may well be seen as a reflection of a phreatomagmatic combustion. The beginning of the myth relates how Óðinn rides Sleipnir into Jǫtunheimar. Hrungnir sees him and asks: “Hvat manna sá er með gullhjálminn er ríðr lopt ok lǫg” (What sort of person this was with the golden helmet riding sky and sea).197 After an exchange where Óðinn offends Hrungnir the Jǫtunn jumps on his horse Gullfaxi and races him to Ásgarðr. The name Gullfaxi (golden mane) indicates an association with

193  Taggart, “All the Mountains Shake,” 99–​122.

194  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 17.

195  Taggart, “All the Mountains Shake,” 115–​16. 196  Taggart, “All the Mountains Shake,” 110–​14. 197  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 17.

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gold. Óðinn riding “sky and sea,” wearing a golden helmet, is part of a complex of gold references in the beginning of the myth. There is no immediate reason to take for granted that these gold references associate with natural phenomena. The name Gullfaxi fits with the list of horse names that Snorri recounts in Gylfaginning 15. The various horses owned by the gods are recounted, including Glað (shining), Gyllir (golden), Glær (shining), Silfrtoppr (sliver mane) and Gulltoppr (golden mane). All associate with shining and precious metals. That Óðinn rides Sleipnir over sky and sea follows this pattern, since it is mentioned that the gods ride across Ásbrú or Bifrǫst “up there”: “Hvern dag ríða Æsir þangat upp um Brifrǫst” (Everyday, the Æsir ride there up on Bifrǫst).198 This information ultimately derives from Grímnismál 30. Skínfaxi, the day-​horse mentioned in Gylfaginning 10, may also be added to this complex, including the association of horses and chariots with the celestial bodies in Gylfaginning 11. As mentioned earlier, Andreas Nordberg has suggested that there is a connection to calendrical rites and sun-​myths in this section of Gylfaginning,199 where the Edda details the origin of the sun and the moon.200 Gísli Sigurðsson has done the same.201 From that perspective it is not without reason to suggest that the initial sequence in the Hrungnir myth relates to some phenomenon of light that may appear over “sky and sea” in context of Óðinn’s golden helmet. More conspicuous, however, is the notion that Gullfaxi could be a light phenomenon that follows Óðinn’s golden helmet on ground. The race between Óðinn and Hrungnir takes place on ground, not in the sky.202 The Jǫtunn does not seem to have the capacity to move through the sky like Óðinn. This places whatever light phenomenon that may be referred to in this myth—​if that is in fact the case—​on ground level. With Vǫluspá 52 in mind there may be a volcanic context to this image: Surtr moves on ground with his fire-​sword towards Ásgarðr. This movement includes a reference to the sun, which, as I mentioned earlier, has been interpreted as a corona caused by volcanic ash in the atmosphere. If Óðinn riding sky and sea with a golden helmet can substitute the image of the sun that, in another mythological context, is carried in a chariot across the sky by the goddess Sól (sun),203 this scene may express a similar idea as in Vǫluspá 52: a volcanic fire column or a bishop’s ring. This may be accentuated by the reference to speed in the race, a notion that follows the pattern of volcano-​myths, as seen in the previous analyses. This interpretation may be advanced further, when it is considered that Vǫluspá 52 describes the sun as “sól valtíva” (sun of the war-​gods). The sun, according to Gylfaginning 12, is being chased by the wolf Skǫll (mockery), who has been bred by a Jǫtunn in Járnviðr (iron forest). This image has been interpreted by Gísli Sigurðsson as a mythic representation of the 198  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 15.

199  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 10–​12.

200  Nordberg, Jul, disting och förkyrklig tideräkning, 125–​30.

201  Gísli Sigurðsson. “Snorri’s Edda.”

202  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 17. 203  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 11.

110 Volcanoes in the Social Order sun-​dog phenomenon called “úlfakreppu” in Icelandic.204 The origin of this term for parhelion, when an optical illusion makes it seem that there is more than one sun, is, according to Jón Árnason in Íslenzkar þjóðsögur og æfintýri, in fact Snorri’s myth about Skǫll and Hati following the sun and moon. Skǫll may be another name for Fenrir, whose task is to devour Óðinn in Ragnarǫk.205 The possibility for commuting Jǫtunn-​names or descriptors in skaldic poetry may also be brought into this. The opening line of stanza 1 in Hallmundarkviða uses Fenrir in a kenning for “Jǫtunn”:  “Hrynr of heiða fenri” (Noise comes from the heath-​Fenrir [Jǫtunn]).206 This means that there is precedence in Old Norse mythology for associating light phenomena in the sky, like the sun, with the Old Norse gods. There is also a tendency to associate light anomalies with the dynamic between Æsir and Jǫtnar, perhaps with reference to Ragnarǫk. Finally, with Vǫluspá 52, notwithstanding Hallmundarkviða, there is a tendency to associate volcanic phenomena of this sort with enmity between Æsir and Jǫtnar. Considering this tradition, it is worth giving an extra thought to the beginning scene in the Hrungnir myth as one relaying concepts of volcanism. This is further supported by the figure Hrungnir. Hrungnir: The Stone Jǫtunn

Hrungnir is a stone Jǫtunn. His name may mean “brawler.”207 It appears in the Þulur and in Landnámabók. Its appearance in Landnámabók is in connection with aforementioned Molda-​Gnúpr, who was forced to leave his settlement by the river Kúðafljót, because of lava flowing over it, possibly from the Eldgjá eruption in 934–​940.208 When he eventually settled elsewhere he had several sons, one of them named Þórsteinn hrungnir. In Skáldskaparmál the appearance of Hrungnir is detailed to an extent, which is not seen elsewhere in the mythology. Snorri writes: Hrungnir átti hjarta þat er frægt er, af hǫrðum steini ok tindótt með þrim hornum svá sem síðan er gert var ristubragð þat er Hrungnis hjarta heitir. Af steini var ok hǫfuð hans. Skjǫldr hans var ok steinn, víðr ok þjokkr, ok hafði hann skjǫldinn fyrir sér er hann stóð á Grjótúnagǫrðum ok beið Þórs, en hein hafði hann fyrir vápn.

Hrungnir had a heart that is widely known, made of solid stone and spiked with three points, just like the carving called Hrungnir’s heart which has since been made. His head was also of stone. His shield was also stone, wide and thick, and he held the shield before him as he stood at Grjótúnagarðr and waited for Þórr, a whetstone he had as weapon.209 204  Gísli Sigurðsson, “Snorri’s Edda,” 193.

205  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 292 and 80–​81.

206  Bergbúa Þáttr, Hallmundarkviða 1.

207  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 161–​63.

208  Ári fróði, Landnámabók 329; Nordvig, “Nature and Mythology,” 539–​40.

209  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 17.

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This description is overwhelmingly specific and underscores Hrungnir’s lithic connections. John Lindow notes that Hrungnir, as a huge stone Jǫtunn, is a special case in the mythology.210 There is nothing left for interpretation: Snorri wants his audience to understand that Hrungnir is the “brawler of stone,” who is going to duel with Þórr. The site that has been chosen is Grjótúnagarðr, “stone-​field-​enclosure.”211 Notably, it is not Hrungnir’s body that Snorri focuses on, it is the heart, head, weapon, and shield. In this myth, and in a broader cultural context, a heart symbolizes concepts of strength and courage. With a stone heart Hrungnir is to be understood as a very powerful adversary for Þórr and a serious threat to Ásgarðr. What accentuates Hrungnir’s connection to volcanism is the attention given to his head and weapon. Both are shattered in the battle against Þórr, the whetstone becoming the origin of all whetstones in the world.212 This gives the myth an etiological character, explaining the origin of a certain rock type that has cultural significance. This is also realized in the situation where Þórr gets half of the whetstone stuck in his head, leading to the edict about throwing whetstones: “Ok er þat boðit til varnanar at kasta hein of gólf þvert, þvíat þá hrœrisk heinin í hǫfuð Þór” (And for that reason it is wrong to throw the whetstones across the floor, because then the whetstone in Þórr’s head stirs)213 The focus on Hrungnir’s head in the myth, including the stone weapon that is intended to be used as a projectile, may tie him closer to conceptions of volcanism, seeing that the myth is describing: 1) the top of a stone figure that is being destroyed and shattered into fragments, and 2) a sizeable rock that is being hurled by this stone figure. The size of Hrungnir is also of essence: when he falls, his leg lands on Þórr’s neck, pinning him down. Only Magni, the son of Þórr and the Jǫtunn Jarnsaxa, is capable of removing Hrungnir’s leg. The implication of this is that Hrungnir is large enough to cause problems for one of the cosmic forces in the world: Þórr. Hrungnir may be considered a cosmic force himself, probably of the same magnitude as Surtr, and with affinity to Ymir, Aurgelmir, and Hrymr. This may also be understood from the beginning of the myth, where Hrungnir races with Óðinn towards Ásgarðr. Hrungnir enters the hall and begins to drink. He drinks from Þórr’s goblets—​another sign of his magnitude—​and, once he has gotten drunk, he threatens the Æsir: “Hann lézk skyldu taka upp Valhǫll ok fœra í Jǫtunheima, en søkkva Ásgarði en drepa guð ǫll, nema Freyju ok Sif vill hann heim fœra með sér” (He said he was going to lift up Valhǫll and take it to Jǫtunheimar but sink Ásgarðr [into the ground] and kill all the gods, except Freyja and Sif whom he would take home with him).214 Hrungnir threatens destruction upon the gods. By threatening to remove Valhǫll and place it in Jǫtunheimar, he is threatening to relocate the centre of power in the cosmos 210  Lindow, Trolls. An Unnatural History, 25.

211  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 17.

212  Consider the example of Bǫlverkr using a whetstone to kill the nine slaves in the mead myth. 213  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 17. 214  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 17.

112 Volcanoes in the Social Order to his realm, the antithesis to the ordered realm, to the realm of chaos and destructive environmental forces. It is notable that his threat to Ásgarðr stipulates burying it. He does not simply suggest destruction, leaving the world of the gods in ruins: he is saying that he will sink it under rocks and dirt. This is a threat that has no comparison in other myths: the threat posed by Þjazi in the myth about Íðunn’s apples suggests his entry into Ásgarðr, implying that he will wreak havoc upon the place. This myth reflects the mead myth insofar that Þjazi is chasing Loki in the same way that Óðinn is being chased by Suttungr.215 The same problem is the case with the master-​builder who was employed to build the wall around Ásgarðr.216 This is probably also the case with Loki’s offspring, the wolf Fenrir, Hel, and Jǫrmungandr.217 In most other cases Jǫtnar threaten the life of a particular god, such as in Hymiskviða where Hymir chases Þórr after their stand-​off,218 or in the myth about Geirrøðr, where the Jǫtunn and his daughters attempt to kill Þórr outside of Ásgarðr, as he enters their realm.219 Hrungnir’s threat to bury Ásgarðr is therefore unique. He poses a threat of seismic proportions like it is seen in Vǫluspá 52, where the precipices open and Surtr advances with a league of trolls. Aside from this Hrungnir also threatens to drink all the beer and take Freyja and Sif. This is a threat to the resources that the gods possess, and a direct reference to the mead myth. It is a threat to the Æsir’s cultural beverage and their reproductive capacity. He poses the same type of threat as those of an eruption: an eruption will threaten to destabilize the production of resources, it will threaten to intensify competition between opposing kin-​ groups, it will ultimately threaten the survival of a community. The giant figure Mǫkkurkálfi may also hint at volcanic connections. The name means “mist-​calf,” or “mist-​leg,” a name of some mysterious proportions.220 The focus on this giant’s lack of courage is important. He receives the heart of a mare, making him a less-​than-​helpful partner to Hrungnir. Mǫkkurkálfi was created with magic from clay in Grjótúnagarðr by all the Jǫtnar. According to Skáldskaparmál he was nine leagues high and three leagues broad.221 When he saw Þórr he wet himself, he was attacked by Þjálfi and fell with little glory. In comparison with Hrungnir Mǫkkurkálfi is his unstable sidekick. He shivers and urinates. If there is a nature image behind the compounding of Hrungnir and Mǫkkurkálfi it could be one of a volcano and associated ejecta. As the name Mǫkkurkálfi points at mist, this fits with associated fumes from volcanism, and since he is made of clay and wets himself, this may be compared with lahars or jökulhlaups. His opposer Þjálfi, Þórr’s servant, is closely associated with speed, especially on the journey to Útgarðaloki.222 In Þórsdrápa Þjálfi is shown to fly, too. His name has no relevance for

215  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 56. 216  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 42. 217  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 34.

218  Hymiskviða 35, Edda. Die Lieder des Codex Regius nebst verwandten Denkmälern.

219  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 18.

220  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 221. 221  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 17.

222  Eldar Heide, “Loki, the Vätte, and the Ash Lad,” 94.

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a volcanic interpretation, he is Þórr’s helper in the battle, possibly a human being.223 However, his association with speed and flight makes him suitable for a role in a volcanic myth. As the one who attacks Mǫkkurkálfi he is charged with the role of setting off a jökulhlaup, while Þórr is responsible for an explosive eruption that occurs, literally, in Hrungnir’s head. This connection between the quick Þjálfi and the jökulhlaup may reflect the same idea that lies behind Katla’s breeches and their association with glacial bursts. The connection to magic is also present. Þórr’s connection to volcanism in this myth is in no way vague. On their way to the duel at Grjótúnagarðr, Þjálfi runs ahead and tells Hrungnir that Þórr “ferr [hann] it neðra í jǫrðu ok mun hann koma neðan at þér” ([he] is travelling by the lower route in the ground and he will come at you from below).224 That Hrungnir falls for this trick can be considered an example of the stupidity of the Jǫtnar, but there is more to it than that. Considering Taggart’s interpretation of Þórr’s connection to earthquakes, it is not at all an unreasonable idea that Hrungnir will fall for this trick. It may reflect the same conception as the one expressed in Vǫluspá 47, where Yggdrasill shakes (skelfr) and everyone on the “Hel-​way” is fearful. The concept of a Hel-​way, an underground route, that can be taken by certain supernatural beings, suggests the idea that cosmic forces may travel above and below the human world, as much as they can appear on ground level. As Þórr is taking the road beneath our feet, it may mean that he is involved with seismic and volcanic activity. Hrungnir’s assumption that this is correct may therefore be commensurate with a tradition in Iceland that locates lightning in relation to the underground. However, Þórr appears above ground: “Því næst sá hann eldingar ok heyrði þrumur stórar. Sá hann þá Þór í ásmóði, fór hann ákafliga ok reiddi hamarinn ok kastaði um langa leið at Hrungni” (Next, he saw lightning and heard great thunders. Then he saw Þórr in an Áss-​rage, he was travelling fast, and he raised his hammer and threw it towards Hrungnir)225 This scene initially contradicts the notion that Þórr would travel by the underground route, but even so it connects with volcanism. If Taggart is correct that images of thunder and lightning from the sky died out with Þórr’s relocation to Iceland, yet the notion of earthquakes and shaking the land was still attached to him,226 the myth may be hinting at phreatomagmatic combustion. It suggests, then, that although it is plausible to assume that Þórr moves underground, he may appear with thunder and lightning in the sky during eruptions of a specific type—​the ones that occur in places with icecaps. This interpretation is reinforced by the figure Mǫkkurkálfi, who, as a geologic image, seems to compound the wet aspects of eruptions, in particular the glacial bursts that also happen under icecaps. The scene where Þórr and Hrungnir hurl their 223  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 44–​45. That he is human could mirror the relationship between Óðinn and Kvasir in the mead myth, suggesting attention to human-​god relations in these myths. 224  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 17. 225  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldskaparmál 17. 226  Taggart, “All the Mountains Shake,” 116.

114 Volcanoes in the Social Order weapons against one another may enact a feature of an explosive wet eruption with attached glacial bursts, the jökulhlaups. The Duel in a Comparative Perspective

In Hallmundarkviða Hrungnir appears in the aforementioned kenning “Verðr of Hrungnis hurðir hljóðsamt við fok glóða” (There will be noise in front of Hrungnir’s doors by/​in the spark-​storm).227 Þórr appears in stanza 10 and defeats Hallmundr and his host of Jǫtnar, who bring the volcanic calamity. As a supernatural figure it appears that Þórr is naturally inferred in the volcanic event in Hallmundarkviða. If Taggart’s interpretation of Þórr’s role in earthquakes is correct, Þórr’s connection to geologic activity is a well-​established concept in Icelandic culture in the early period. The poem does not pit Hrungnir and Þórr against each other in a duel similar to Snorri’s myth and Haustlǫng. Haustlǫng is the oldest source to the duel,228 and it mentions the site Grjótún (rock-​field) as its place. The connection between Hrungnir and the element of stone is therefore made already in the ninth century, when Þjóðólfr ór Hvíni composed the poem. The kenning in Hallmundarkviða is a natural choice: mountains belong to Hrungnir and their openings, caves, cracks, and caverns, can be considered “Hrungnir’s doors.” The verse line may be conceptually similar to the verse line in Vǫluspá 48, where the dwarfs groan before their stone doors. The dwarfs and the Jǫtnar are conceptually linked in context of volcanism. One may ask if the verse in Vǫluspá 48 then seeks to generate the image of fire, too. The term stynia, which is used in Vǫluspá 48, means “groan,” with an auxiliary meaning of “panting.” Panting, the activity of inhaling and exhaling in regular frequency, may have affinity to the sound of the oscillating gushing of lava in effusive eruptions. This noise should be well known in Iceland, where it will follow from lava being spewed from vents in regular motions. The “spark-​storm,” mentioned in Hallmundarkviða, may be a reference to that particular aspect of eruptions. The kenning using Hrungnir suggests a conscious allusion to both Vǫluspá and Haustlǫng in the establishing of a conceptual link to the brawler (Hrungnir) who inhabits the stone-​field (Grjótún). He duels with the thunderer, who controls both earthquakes and phreatomagmatic lightning. The conscious linking of Hrungnir with mountains accords with the tradition otherwise known from poetry about the figure. In Grottasǫngr stanza 9 Hrungnir is mentioned in the company of other mountain-​Jǫtnar, namely Þjazi, Iði, and Aurnir. Aurnir is, as related above, also featured in Hallmundarkviða, and Þjazi, along with his daughter Skaði, is a mountain-​dweller with his abode in Þrymheimr, “noise-​home.”229 In Hárbarðzljóð 14, Hymiskviða 16, and Lokasenna 61 and 63, references are made to Þórr killing or duelling Hrungnir. The situation in Lokasenna is interesting because it incorporates references to earthquakes. In Lokasenna 62 Loki taunts Þórr for not being

227  Bergbúa Þáttr, Hallmundarkviða 2.

228  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 162.

229  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 314–​15 and 330.

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able to supply food in his encounter with Skrýmir. This myth is only known in Snorri’s version in the story about Útgarðaloki, where Þórr, Loki, Þjálfi, and Rǫskva encounter Skrýmir in the woods.230 Þórr and his company find a cave to sleep in for the night and are woken by an earthquake.231 Later, in Gylfaginning 50, it is, as mentioned previously, explained that Loki is the cause of earthquakes. As punishment for his hand in Baldr’s death, he is tied up in a cave, and Skaði puts venomous snakes over his head. These would drip poison in his face, making him shudder, thereby causing earthquakes.232 It is interesting to consider that the Hrungnir myth, the mead myth, and these mythological references all seem to suggest that when gods enter the ground below, seismic events will follow. Loki’s punishment is reiterated in the prose epilogue to Lokasenna.233 It is curious that the closing stanzas of Lokasenna, including the epilogue in prose, seem to have such strong allusions to geologic concepts. However, when the poem is put in context of the mythic timeline and eschatology supplied by Gylfaginning, as John Lindow puts it: “The mythic future is Ragnarǫk.”234 Lokasenna takes place just before Ragnarǫk, and the ending of the poem alludes to that. Loki will come with Muspellz lýðir and the world will burn in Ragnarǫk, notably as a result of blood-​feud and enmity between the Æsir and Jǫtnar.235 In the last stanza in Lokasenna Loki curses Ægir, the host of the party, and says: “Eiga þín ǫll, er hér inni er, leiki yfir logi, oc brenni þér á baki!” (May fire play over all your belongings that are in here and burn your behind!).236 This seems to forebode the Ragnarǫk calamity and put it in context of previously established conceptualizations of volcanic disasters that allude to a mythic complex surrounding, among others, the figures Þórr and Hrungnir. In a comparative perspective with other volcanic myths the duel between Þórr and Hrungnir fits the standard. Supernatural beings cause geologic activity as they are fighting. The Maori myths about eruptions in Taranaki and Ruapehu set the events in a frame of competitive males battling over a female.237 Þórr’s motivation for fighting Jǫtnar also seems to come from a need to protect the Ásynjur (goddesses) and, by extension, his honour and reputation, especially in the duel with Hrungnir.238 This implies the breach of taboo: Hrungnir invaded Ásgarðr and threatened to take the women and the sun, and destroy the gods’ sanctuary. The narratives about the volcanoes Mikeno and Nyiragongo in the Democratic Republic of Congo are also comparable. Volcanic 230  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 44–​47.

231  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 45.

232  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 50.

233  Lokasenna “epilogue,” Edda. Die Lieder des Codex Regius nebst verwandten Denkmälern.

234  Lindow, “Bloodfeud and Scandinavian Mythology,” 59. 235  Lindow, “Bloodfeud and Scandinavian Mythology,” 59. 236  Lokasenna 65.

237  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 119–​21.

238  Lindow, “Bloodfeud and Scandinavian Mythology,” 59; Clunies Ross, Prolonged Echoes, vol. 1; Clunies Ross, “Þórr’s Honour.”

116 Volcanoes in the Social Order activity there is attributed to the demigod Ryang’ombe, the Ox-​Eater. His enemy was Nyiragongo, who resided in Mikeno, but left after Ryang’ombe split the volcano in two. After that, Nyiragongo took residence in the volcano that now carries his name.239 The appellative “Ox-​Eater” is presumably suggestive of the size of Ryang’ombe, a feature he shares with Þórr, whose appetite is incredible. In Hymiskviða stanza 16 Þórr gulps down three oxen, and he rips the head off a fourth in stanza 21. In Þrymskviða 24 he eats one ox and eight salmon, too. The theme in the Congolese myth is that of rivalry and duel between Ryang’ombe and Nyiragongo. This is also present in the myth about Hrungnir. A similar theme of duel also exists in the Klamath myth about Mt. Shasta and Mt. Mazama, where the chief of the below world and the chief of the above world fought each other by hurling rocks and flames from their respective peaks,240 framing volcanic activity as a meeting between the upper and the lower worlds.241 As noted earlier, a similar conception is part of the Maring mythology, which separates the cosmos of the Simbai valley in an upper volcanic zone and a lower ancestral zone. Þórr’s duel with Hrungnir follows a similar pattern of separating the cosmos in an upper and lower zone and having representatives from each zone meeting in a cosmic fight with geologic implications. This is also part of the conception of volcanism in Hallmundarkviða and Vǫluspá, not least in the volcanic underpinnings of the myth about how Zeus fought the Titans and buried Enceladus, Briareus, and Typhoeus under Aetna.242 Aspects of flight, speed and the hurling of objects through the air are represented in all of these myths, too. The Hrungnir myth suggests two aspects of volcanic hazards:  the actual geologic hazard involved with eruptions, and the threat to communities in competition for resources. This is also part of the mead myth, but here the threat from an outside group is explicated. Hrungnir is a representative of the antagonist out-​group and an environmental product of the early enmity generated in the creation. He threatens to appropriate the resources and women that belong to the in-​group, the Æsir. As a function in social memory the myth therefore underscores both environmental threat and threats from competing kin-​groups in early Icelandic society. It activates both an easily discernible volcano-​narrative, recounting features of volcanism and how they can trick you (the case of Þórr moving underground), and it activates the idea of needing to protect resources. The creation myth functions as a backdrop for the reasoning expressed in this myth. The reasoning is that, since time immemorial, there has been a social order that pitted the two cosmic kin-​groups, the Æsir and the Jǫtnar, against one another. This social order was established on the foundation of the Æsir’s attempt to regulate environmental hazards and create an inhabitable space. This is a cosmological principle. In the mead myth this social order plays out as a string of resource appropriations during environmental threat, where the Æsir appropriate the resources held by the out-​group. This is reflected in Grímnismál, where the mead activates the cosmological 239  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 135.

240  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 123.

241  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 125–​26. 242  Vitaliano, Legends of the Earth, 138–​39.

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mapping, which eventually results in a feast where the Æsir are invited. If you belong to their in-​group, you must share resources with them: if not, you will die. In the duel between Þórr and Hrungnir, the tables are turned. Here, it is the Jǫtnar’s attempt to appropriate resources from the Æsir, while threatening environmental destruction on the cultural centre. The myth therefore explicates the paradigm in Old Norse mythology, which declares that volcanism and its environmental hazards are the reason for a competitive social order, where kin-​groups fight over resources. The initial split that created this order also created a separated cosmos, which is structured in ancestral spirits who support human existence, and destructive, environmental spirits, whose role is to threaten subsistence. The mead carries the social memory of this cosmological principle. In the following I will explain the phenomenological context for narrating volcanoes in Old Norse mythology.

Chapter 5

VOLCANOES AS A COSMOLOGICAL PRINCIPLE IN OLD NORSE MYTHOLOGY

In the preceding

chapters I  have demonstrated how Old Norse mythology undergoes a reconceptualization in the Icelandic environment. Older structures in myths are applied in a new form, which appears to be impressed with the volcanic environment that the early Icelanders encountered. This is not surprising when one considers Åke Hultkrantz’s realizations in his study of the Shoshone religion. If a culture enters a new environmental setting, its mythology will adapt to it, just like subsistence strategies and other habits will. In Iceland we can see this process of adaptation developing from skaldic and Eddic poetry to Snorri’s myths in the Edda. At the time of writing there are two competing modes of conceptualizations of the environment: there is the traditional indigenous mode, which rests on a bedrock of oral narration that emanates from continental Scandinavia, and there is the literary narration, which rests on the Latinate script-​world. The literary treatment of volcanism in medieval Iceland has been perceived as a matter-​of-​fact attitude, leaving out emotions. I  have proven that this is not the case. There is a development of literary practices in the medieval period, where chronicles are used as means to record volcanism in context of that literature’s primary objective. Its primary objective is religious record keeping. Similarly, continental reasoning about volcanism adopted from religious texts is expressed in Konungs Skuggsjá. Kristni saga has been considered an example of matter-​of-​fact attitude in early Iceland, yet we understand that it is founded on religious modes of thinking and suggests that the previous religious attitude is unwelcome:  the pre-​Christian idea that supernatural beings are involved and that they cause eruptions in context of emotions. In the remnants of the oral narration of volcanism in Iceland we find Hallmundarkviða as the primary example. It is composed in dróttkvætt, the oral Icelandic artform that has the best potential for retention and long-​term preservation and is considered the authority on the past. In the medieval period it is placed in literary narration in accordance with the Latinate script-​world tradition. The poem unambiguously attributes volcanism to supernatural beings:  it uses indigenous cultural modes of expression, it makes use of artefacts that are culturally relevant, and it infers emotion in the event as a primary motivation. When Snorri’s myth about the creation is scrutinized it appears that these emotions have their origin in the primordial enmity between the Æsir and the Jǫtnar. The image of the cosmos before it is rendered inhabitable by the Æsir reflects volcanic processes. When the Æsir kill Ymir, they perform that violent act that is also iterated in Hallmundarkviða, which settles the environment and makes it habitable. The result of this, however, is a continual struggle between the two supernatural kin-​groups,

120 Volcanoes as a Cosmological Principle which is reflected in social structures in early Iceland. It is a conceptualization of the Icelandic environment that is predicated on this battle, which takes form as eruptions. This pattern is replicated in the mead myth, in the myth about Ragnarǫk, and in the myth about Hrungnir. The Icelandic example is phenomenologically related to similar mythologies in other parts of the world. In order to illuminate this and understand the phenomenon I will address risk perception and emotions in narration. This chapter will first treat research on risk perception in volcanic zones, then discuss emotion in relation to the myths that I have analyzed. This will reveal their relevance as social memory in early Iceland. In this regard it is important to understand that I am not suggesting that such myths are survival manuals similar to those you find in the front pocket at your seat on a plane, telling you exactly what to do in the event of a crash. These myths take part in a conceptual universe that has been generated from environmental experience. This is a commonly occurring response mechanism that comes as a result of a community’s accumulated experiences with a certain environment. It is never an accurate representation of the environment’s functions, but, in turn, it is helpful in mitigating the community’s existence with unpredictable geology. What this also demonstrates is that Vitaliano’s suggestion that geomyths are etiological euhemerizations of geology is erroneous. This is not nature mythology, neither in the form of the nineteenth-​century Oxford School, nor in the mid-​twentieth-​century sense of geomythology. Neither does this support Barber and Barber’s theory that analogical descriptions are valid based on any relatable simile. What I have demonstrated in the preceding chapters is that analogical descriptions are only valid once multiple factors occur simultaneously to drive an interpretation in the direction of volcanism. These factors comprise specific memory spaces for that environmental feature, analogies that make specific use of the environmental feature’s components, and a reason for integrating the environmental feature into the mythology, which stretches far beyond an attempt to describe an etiology for it: it must be encompassing and have direct social and physical impact on a community. This is the case with Icelandic volcanism.

Risk Perception in Volcanic Zones

Risk perception is, according to volcanologists, an important factor in hazard mitigation and the efficiency of response systems to volcanic events. If communities have accurate understanding of hazards and are capable of assessing features of eruptions, their likelihood of survival is higher. Authorities and local governments will have to rely on community networks for hazard mitigation in volcanic zones, since the nature of such hazards may extend beyond response time and rescue. As such, investigations of local populations’ perception of volcanic risk and associated notions, including response strategies, is helpful in this study, because whatever strategies, including narration, that are generated in that regard, are inherently specific to the community and the volcanic hazard in its vicinity. In order to understand what lies behind the tendency to mythologize volcanic activity, referring to how laypeople in non-​scientific communities, or

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communities with low-​level access to scientific information about volcanism, understand volcanic hazards, is a useful tool. There are plenty of studies of risk perception in populations living in the vicinity of volcanoes.1 Studies of risk perception and vulnerability are naturally of great importance to local governments to mitigate eruption impact. In his survey of risk perception López-​Vazquéz found that people in closest proximity to the volcano Popocatépetl in Mexico would, naturally, experience the danger of an eruption as more present in their lives than people living farther away.2 Armijos et al. have demonstrated that continual volcanic activity in an area and changes in the physical nature of hazards from volcanoes will have lasting impact on how a community structures its social interactions.3 Informal networks generated by a local population are more likely to promote adaptation to hazards. Adaptive practices of co-​management of environmental systems usually start with individual responses to a crisis.4 People living in the vicinity of the Tungurahua volcano in Ecuador have adapted to living with long-​term volcanic activity, allowing for continued farming in relative safety.5 They have also developed a shared vocabulary to refer to the volcanic hazards.6 Notably, from Turrialba in Costa Rica to Katla in Iceland, people seem to express notions of respect or fear.7 In context of Vesuvius in Italy Carlino et al. have found that younger people had a high level of knowledge about its eruptive history, but a low understanding of the volcanic environment. They are generally concerned about future eruptions.8 Sixty-​four percent believe that scientists would be able to forecast future eruptions, a rather optimistic perspective,9 and it appears that many respondents in the survey conflated ideas they had about other disaster scenarios with the risk from Vesuvius. Twenty-​nine percent of respondents rated the risk of tsunamis as the

1  López-​Vazquéz, “Risk Perception and Coping Strategies for Risk from Popocatépetl Volcano, Mexico”; Paton et  al., “Risk Perception and Volcanic Hazard Mitigation”; Carlino, Somma, and Mayberry, “Volcanic Risk Perception of Young People in the Urban Areas of Vesuvius”; Jóhannesdóttir and Gísladóttir, “People Living under Threat of Volcanic Hazard in Southern Iceland”; Donovan, Oppenheimer, and Bravo, “Social Studies of Volcanology”; Donovan et  al., “Risk Perception at a Persistently Active Volcano”; Mei et  al., “Lessons Learned from the 2010 Evacuations at Merapi Volcano”; Mercatanti, “Etna and the Perception of Volcanic Risk”; van Manen, “Hazard and Risk Perception at Turrialba Volcano (Costa Rica)”; Bachri et  al., “The Calamity of Eruptions, or an Eruption of Benefits?”; Eiser, Donovan, and Sparks, “Risk Perceptions and Trust Following the 2010 and 2011 Icelandic Volcanic Ash Crises”; Armijos et al., “Adapting to Changes in Volcanic Behaviour.” 2  López-​Vazquéz, “Risk Perception and Coping Strategies for Risk from Popocatépetl Volcano, Mexico,” 142 and 144–​45. 3  Armijos et al., “Adapting to Changes in Volcanic Behaviour,” 218.

4  Armijos et al., “Adapting to Changes in Volcanic Behaviour,” 219. 5  Armijos et al., “Adapting to Changes in Volcanic Behaviour,” 224. 6  Armijos et al., “Adapting to Changes in Volcanic Behaviour,” 225.

7  Van Manen, “Hazard and Risk Perception at Turrialba Volcano (Costa Rica),” 67; Jóhannesdóttir and Gísladóttir, “People Living under Threat of Volcanic Hazard in Southern Iceland,” 414.

8  Carlino et al., “Volcanic Risk Perception of Young People in the Urban Areas of Vesuvius,” 237–​41. 9  Carlino et al., “Volcanic Risk Perception of Young People in the Urban Areas of Vesuvius,” 241.

122 Volcanoes as a Cosmological Principle second-​most dangerous hazard, even though tsunamis have never been recorded in the Tyrrhenian Sea. This, the authors suggest, may be due to the imposing memory of the tsunami in the Indian Ocean in 2004, which killed more than 200,000 people and dominated European news for an extended period.10 What this suggests is that communities apply certain modalities in their response to volcanism:

1) Proximity determines volcanoes’ presence in the minds of a community, and this has an influence on the stories that are told. 2) Continued volcanic activity influences the structure of a community and its actions. 3) Communities in the vicinity of active volcanoes adapt to the risk of hazards and develop specific, local communication strategies. 4) Communities can maintain high levels of knowledge about the eruptive history of volcanoes, while still lacking appropriate understanding of a volcanic environment. 5) People may conflate geologic hazards and erroneously assume that one type of geologic activity may lead to another that is otherwise known to the community as a threat.

When condensed into a pattern of reactive mechanisms the above sketch of risk perception in volcanic communities can be compared with early Icelandic volcano-​myths. The history of Icelandic literature on the subject suggests that Iceland fits aspect number one:  the community’s proximity to volcanoes dictates how much people think about them—​therefore also how prevalent they are in cultural narratives. As a community Iceland also fits aspect number two in overall terms. The high frequency of volcanism in the country has, in various ways, impacted the structures of Icelandic society—​and still does. Adaptation is prevalent, letting Icelanders exist with volcanic hazards for more than a millennium. Notably, to aspect number four, the poem Hallmundarkviða suggests that Icelanders had a high level of knowledge about living in a volcanic hazard zone. This is understood from the fact that the poem mentions most aspects of volcanic hazards, from debris and ashes in the air to lahars and geothermally heated water. Hallmundarkviða may be understood as an example of how the Icelandic community in pre-​scientific times generated a vocabulary and discourse about volcanism akin to the way this is happening in contemporary communities. Knowledge of various volcanoes’ eruptive history, on the other hand, does not seem to have been prevalent in the sense that Icelanders would know exactly where eruptions occurred. Hekla is prominent in the annals, while others are missing.11 Certain notable volcanoes have been singled out as the responsible ones, even if they were not always the outlets for volcanic activity. For this reason, the literary tradition knows mainly Hekla and Katla as active volcanoes in the south-​eastern part of Iceland. That both are associated with witches or witchcraft, and that Hallmundarhraun north of Borgarfjörður is connected to the mythical figure

10  Carlino et al., “Volcanic Risk Perception of Young People in the Urban Areas of Vesuvius,” 238. 11  See Torfing, “Volcanoes as Cultural Artefacts in Iceland.”

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Hallmundr, while the caves of Surtshellir are associated with Surtr, further underscores the notion of a vocabulary about volcanism in Iceland connecting the phenomenon with evil forces, witchcraft, and the environmental chaos-​beings from pre-​Christian mythology, the Jǫtnar. Conflation of volcanism with other natural forces, calamities, and cultural concepts of destruction seems to occur on many levels. As I have demonstrated, there is an association of geologic activity with wind in Icelandic culture. This idea is probably derived from southern European theories. The framing of volcanism in terms of battles between gods and Jǫtnar may originate in a mainland-​Scandinavian context where Jǫtnar are associated with hazards from rockslides and, perhaps, flooding. On a mythological level the association of volcanic hazards with Muspell and Ragnarǫk occurs, suggesting influence from another perceived catastrophe: the apocalypse. The cultural context provides a frame of reference for volcanism that links up with known calamities. If the volcanic stanzas in Ragnarǫk actually did originate in the experience of Eldgjá, it is also possible to detect a conflation of one volcanic incident with another in Hallmundarkviða. The poem is reflective of Ragnarǫk, and this suggests that whichever eruption it is describing was conflated with Eldgjá. This agrees with Barber and Barber’s observation that when an object of narration achieves sufficient mass, it draws other, similar objects to it in social memory. Whatever has been present in the form of calamities in the minds of Icelanders in the early period of the country’s history has become associated with volcanism. This leads to the subject of mythologizing and narrativizing volcanism in social memory, which I will treat below.

Narration and Emotion

In his article “Life, Fiction, and Narrative,” Peter Goldie describes the four features of fictionalizing tendencies in narrative thinking.12 Goldie departs from Paul Ricoeur’s reading of Aristotle’s Poetics in Oneself as Another, describing the process of narrative thinking in Ricouer’s term “emplotment.” He extracts three components of narrative thinking: coherence, meaningfulness, and emotional import.13 He states: “In narrative thinking about people, the representation of the sequence of events, the episode, is a mental representation—​a sequence of thoughts that can have coherence, meaningfulness, and emotional import.”14 This is relevant to mythologizing volcanism. Goldie suggests that narrative thinking may provide causal explanation for events and aid the making of plots, plans, and hypothetical imperatives, commonly based on our past.15 These aspects of narrative thinking are the context for mythologizing volcanoes. In myth the eruption receives a causal explanation by being emplaced in a cosmic order, and the narration can serve both planning and the establishing of hypothetical 12  Goldie, “Life, Fiction, and Narrative,” 8.

13  Goldie, “Life, Fiction, and Narrative,” 9–​10. 14  Goldie, “Life, Fiction, and Narrative,” 10. 15  Goldie, “Life, Fiction, and Narrative,” 10.

124 Volcanoes as a Cosmological Principle imperatives. Goldie, for his purpose, is not focused on such narratives in his article, but is instead discussing narrative thinking about people.16 However, mythologized narratives about volcanism anthropomorphize eruptive events and are therefore relatable to narratives about people. The first fictionalizing feature, according to Goldie, is plotting our lives. When practising narrative thinking we infer a plot in our lives that defies the fact that life is not a narrative and that we, unlike an author creating a plot, do not have control over all of its events.17 The second fictionalizing feature is the tendency to find agency where there is none. Humans look for meaning in natural events or accidents, explain happenstance as the result of conspiracies, attribute symbolic meaning to natural features, and explain recurring misfortune as fated.18 This is also a feature of religion and mythology.19 Applying a critical approach to this, Goldie asserts that this fictionalizing feature is wrong because it misrepresents the way the world functions.20 The third fictionalizing tendency is the inference of a narrative thread and a desire for closure in our lives, thereby expressing agency.21 This is connected with emotions such as satisfaction.22 The fourth fictionalizing feature is to impose genre and character in our lives, categorizing individuals in terms of actions that will ignore their range of intent and capacities.23 Goldie labels this approach to life through narration as dangerous,24 but then he goes on to state the following: But perhaps there is a second, more recent explanation of our narrativizing hypertrophies, one which is to be found in the advancement of the scientific age. What we are today confronted with is what Max Weber has called the “disenchantment of the world,” which he traced to the development of the sciences in the Scientific Revolution. With the removal of numinous explanations by appeal to gods and monsters, we are left with the impersonal view of the sciences.25

What Goldie is suggesting is that narrative thinking in a contemporary context supplants narration of the “enchanted world” of the past (mythologies). The scientific age has disengaged the function of numinous explanations in the imaginary world of European cultures and consigned narration to the personal realm. This statement, turned around, implies that narrativizing the world and inferring numinous explanations by appeal to the supernatural would be the foundational pursuit of narratives before the scientific era. Seen in this light the fictionalizing features of narrative thinking may be applied to 16  Goldie, “Life, Fiction, and Narrative,” 10.

17  Goldie, “Life, Fiction, and Narrative,” 10–​11.

18  Goldie, “Life, Fiction, and Narrative,” 11–​12. 19  See Boyer, Religion Explained.

20  Goldie, “Life, Fiction, and Narrative,” 12–​13. 21  Goldie, “Life, Fiction, and Narrative,” 13.

22  Goldie, “Life, Fiction, and Narrative,” 15.

23  Goldie, “Life, Fiction, and Narrative,” 16–​19. 24  Goldie, “Life, Fiction, and Narrative,” 19. 25  Goldie, “Life, Fiction, and Narrative,” 20.

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environmental myths. This is what I  have addressed as animism and indigenous theories in Chapter 1 and Chapter 2. If the four components of volcano-​myths in indigenous theories of volcanism are addressed in this perspective, it would follow that eruptive events have plots inferred (feature one): there is a story to be told about the eruption. The event is anthropomorphized, becoming subject to feature two:  humans find agency where there is none (animism, willfulness). The volcano-​myth is further subject to fictionalizing: feature number three, insofar it is relayed in the constraints of a narrative thread that can offer closure. Finally, the narrativization of an eruption provides geologic features with characters that are cast in a mould of categories. In the myths that I have analyzed, this pattern creates good and evil characters from geologic events, geologic activity receives agency in narrativization, and a plot and a narrative thread is added to an eruption, providing a possibility for closure. Emotion plays an important role in this narration. This has been realized in my analysis of the structure of volcano-​myths in Chapter 2. Volcano-​myths tend to include emotions such as anger, fear, anguish, jealousy, and ideas about taboo. In Master Passions: Emotions, Narrative and the Development of Culture, Moldoveanu and Nohria suggest that “thinghood” is at the core of language and our sense-​making of the world, providing a comfortable basis for mitigating anxiety.26 They explain how this can be undone by poetry, satire, and parody. In context of poetry they assert that “the effect of the poetic moment is at once moving and unsettling because we see both how it could be otherwise and that it can be otherwise.”27 The mind seems to flee ambiguity and incongruence when experiencing that word and object does not go hand in hand. This leads to anxiety, and words provide a home base for processing our perceived inconsistencies in the natural world.28 Culture “is a collective therapy aimed at placating individual anxiety.”29 Moldoveanu and Nohria are discussing the psychological aspects of culture, but if what they are arguing is true for humans in the event of establishing culture, it could be said to be true for humans as they experience their world, too. They state that “culture and society provide cradles for the seedling narratives of the many, as well as unconditional endorsements of the idea of the narrative.”30 If that is the case it may follow that the intrinsic human need for narrating the self is reflected in narrating the world. The volcano-​myths that I  have treated revolve around the same emotions that Moldoveanu and Nohria treat in Master Passions: anxiety, desire, envy and jealousy, and rage.31 In a 1973 study of facial expressions and emotions Paul Ekman reached the conclusion that there are five basic emotions, which are shared cross-​culturally: happiness, 26  Moldoveanu and Nohria, Master Passions, 44–​45. 27  Moldoveanu and Nohria, Master Passions, 45.

28  Moldoveanu and Nohria, Master Passions, 46–​47. 29  Moldoveanu and Nohria, Master Passions, 49. 30  Moldoveanu and Nohria, Master Passions, 55.

31  Moldoveanu and Nohria, Master Passions, 35–​56 (anxiety), 57–​84 (desire), 85–​110 (envy and jealousy), 123–​30 (rage).

126 Volcanoes as a Cosmological Principle sadness, fear, anger, and disgust.32 Phenomenologically, then, it makes sense that one can find several of these expressed in volcano-​myths. Sadness, fear, and anger are emotions expressed in Hallmundarkviða. Fear and anger seem to be driving emotional categories in the volcanic sequence in Vǫluspá, and there is also an element of danger in the mead myth, which could be hinting at fear and anger, resulting in excitement in the audience. The Hrungnir myth includes rage, fear, and jealousy. With regards to the creation myth there are no immediately expressed emotions in its language, but the premise for the cosmic creation is one that conjures fear and anger. There is a monstrous undertone in the myth, one that pits the Æsir against the Jǫtnar, and creates a cosmic divide between the two supernatural kin-​groups, driving towards emotions of fear and anger.

Cosmology and Emotions

In the creation myth the cosmos that is generated before the Æsir create a world for humans is hostile. I have interpreted this as a volcanic creation, where Vafþrúðnismál 21 and 30–​33, and Grímnismal 40–​41, form the basis for Snorri’s version. The implied attitude to the creation process is negative. Stanza 31 in Vafþrúðnismál expresses this: “Því er þat æ alt til atalt” (Thus, it is all ever too terrible). In Gylfaginning 5 Gangleri asks if Ymir/​Aurgelmir may be considered a god and Hár says no: “Han var illr ok allir hans ættmenn” (He and all his kin were evil). Evil, anger, and fear are at the core of creation. The Æsir’s role is to fashion a livable space in a world of threats. Miðgarðr is created as the habitat for humans, but in this creation scenario the presence of that evil is not eradicated. Grímnismál 41 states that when Ymir was fashioned into a livable space his brain became the hard-​minded clouds:  “Ór hans heila vóro þau in harðmóðgo scý ǫll um scǫpuð” (From his brain were all the hard-​minded clouds created). Snorri’s version additionally plots the Jǫtnar’s living-​spaces in the periphery of Miðgarðr, explaining that they were given land on the beaches on the rim of the world, while the ramparts of Miðgarðr were created to ward off “ófriði jǫtna” (the threat of the Jǫtnar).33 The cosmos is ridden with danger and threat to humanity and the Æsir. This danger and threat to habitation is a constant logic that permeates the mythology.34 With a volcanic interpretation of the creation myth in Snorri’s Edda and Vafþrúðnismál this threat rests on the knowledge that the environment is not to be trusted: it will turn on you. Volcanism is not the only threat in this environment. Hard winters and storms are also a threat, something that is realized and mythologized in Vafþrúðnismál 37, where it is told that Hræsvelgr (corpse-​swallower), the Jǫtunn in eagle-​shape, is responsible for the winds.35 This is echoed by Snorri in Gylfaginning 18. The creation myth closely associates with the basic emotions, fear and anger: there is a constant fear that the environment

32  Ekman, “Cross-​Cultural Studies in Facial Expression.” 33  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 8.

34  See Clunies Ross, Prolonged Echoes, vol. 1.

35  This also suggests that Old Norse mythology addressed more frequent environmental threats in a similar circumlocutory way. The mythological explanations for weather are anthropomorphized, narrativized, and employ certain analogies. Obviously, the Old Norse language already had a

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turns against you, and anger is a prevalent emotion in the natural forces themselves, originating in the nature of the Jǫtnar and in their relationship to the Æsir. This original framework for environmental interaction is in place in the other volcano-​myths, too. The mead myth suggests a similar sense of hostility in the relationship between the Æsir and other supernatural beings. Kvasir is not safe in the underworld where he encounters the dwarfs. Fjalarr, who is associated with death, seems particularly motivated by hostility as the instigator of Gillingr’s wife’s death. Although it is not explicated in the narrative we could ask if Fjalarr, more so than Galarr, is the one responsible for Kvasir’s death. Suttungr and Baugi are hostile to Óðinn even though he is disguised as Bǫlverkr, with whom they presumably have no prior experience. Suttungr denies him the mead and Baugi attempts to kill him. When Bǫlverkr leaves Hnitbjǫrg Suttungr follows him, and it is implied that he is a threat. The narrative, with its prevailing hostility, suggests emotions such as fear and anger. Anger is the Jǫtnar’s response and it drives fear, excitement, and surprise in a sympathetic audience that associates with Óðinn as the hero of the myth. Emotions, however, are only implied in Snorri’s version of the mead myth, suggesting that its poetic counterpart in Hávamál was expected to be known by the audience of Skáldskaparmál. In Hávamál emotions are expressed on multiple occasions. In stanza 13 Óðinn talks about being captured by drunkenness, suggesting claustrophobic fear. Emotions are more explicated in stanzas 104–​10. Gunnlǫð is sorrowful in stanza 105, and stanza 106 suggests danger: “Svá hætta ec hǫfði til” (I thus hazarded my head). In stanza 108 Óðinn suggests that the Jǫtnar would not have let him come home unscathed: “Ifi er mér á, at ec væra enn kominn iǫtna gǫrðom ór” (I doubt I would have returned from the Jǫtnar’s halls). The myth replicates the negative reciprocal relationship between the Æsir and the Jǫtnar, where women are stolen from the latter. It also replicates the original anger and danger that the Jǫtnar represent in the cosmic order. Óðinn is under constant threat. The primordial threat and anger towards the Æsir are understood in Snorri’s myth, too, and the mead myth therefore reminds its audience that the environment is hostile. In Þórr’s duel with Hrungnir the narrative is driven by anger and resentment. This begins with the exchange between Óðinn and Hrungnir, where Óðinn wagers his head that his horse is faster: “Hrungnir varð reiðr ok hleypr upp á hest sinn” (Hrungnir was angered and jumped up on his horse).36 Hrungnir proceeds to threaten the Æsir and their home when he enters Ásgarðr. He poses a danger to their lives. When Þórr appears, he is described as allreiðr (greatly angered). As he enters the duel he is described as having ásmóði (Áss-​rage). The Æsir’s fear of Hrungnir and the anger expressed by both him and Þórr are ever-​present in the myth. The myth alludes to the primordial enmity and rage that has created a rift in the cosmos and pitted Jǫtnar against Æsir. The root of this divide should perhaps be found in the conceptual representations of these two supernatural forces: the word áss means “spirit,” and the Æsir represent the spiritual vocabulary for these phenomena, so there is not a similarly intense restructuring of the mythology in that context. 36  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Skáldkskaparmál 17.

128 Volcanoes as a Cosmological Principle infusion in the cosmos that allows for the creation of habitation for humans in a hostile world. This is realized in the refashioning of Ymir/​Aurgelmir from a hostile cosmoscape to a site of human habitation. In realizing that there is a constant threat from the environment in terms of volcanism, the memory of the hostile “first cosmos” is replicated in the myths. The fear of the volatile environment drives the narration of eruptive events to a cosmic level in Vǫluspá, where Ragnarǫk is framed in ominous emotions and threats to humanity. Stanza 45 reads:  “Brœðr muno beriaz oc at bǫnom verðaz, muno systrungar sifiom spilla; hart er í heimi, hórdómr mikill, sceggǫld, scálmǫld, scildir ro klofnir, vindǫld, vargǫld, áðr verold steypiz; mun engi maðr ǫðrom þyrma” (Brothers will battle and slay each other, sons of sisters will spoil kinship; it’s hard in the world, much whoredom, axe-​ age, sword-​age, shields split, wind-​age, wolf-​age, until the world tumbles; no man will spare another). It warns against the dangers from environmental calamity. Along with stanza 46 it prefaces the volcanic stanzas that end with Surtr bursting out. What stanza 45 suggests is that calamity will go hand in hand with the disruption of the kinship bonds that otherwise lead the Æsir to success. The bonds of kinship provide the basis for the Æsir’s success against the Jǫtnar, while the Jǫtnar threaten this structure, exemplified in the duel with Hrungnir. The fear of both environmental and social disruption is at the core of this reasoning. Hallmundarkviða alludes to Ragnarǫk.37 This indicates that the destruction and calamity brought by the eruption is understood in cosmic terms. It also suggests that if this poem is younger than Vǫluspá the poet thought of Ragnarǫk when he imitated the experience of an eruption in Hallmundarkviða. Wonder or surprise is explicated in stanza 5:  “Á Snjógrundu undr” (A wonder of Snow-​land).38 In stanza 7 anxiety is expressed: “Sás uggir” (He who is anxious).39 Sorrow and loneliness are expressed in the last three stanzas. What is interesting about this poem is that emotions seem tied to the perpetrators of the calamity, not its victims. The poem focuses on the inner life of Hallmundr and the emotions this figure experiences. It mentions threat to humans and their suffering once. I observed in Chapter 2 that Maori and Indonesian myths also attach emotions to the figures that are responsible for eruptions. The same is true for Pele in Hawai’ian mythology. This seems to indicate that the trauma experienced by humans in eruptions is transferred to the geologic element in the process of anthropomorphizing it. This is a way to externale emotions to mitigate trauma. Hallmundarkviða associates the volcanic event with the cosmic struggle between Æsir and Jǫtnar and infers emotions in that context. The poem sees the volcanic event as a result of the ancient enmity between the two cosmic forces. It displays the same cosmic logic that is established in the creation myth. This suggests that the volcanic event in mythological terms refers to the original trauma in the cosmogony: the killing of Ymir. The rootedness of trauma in mythology and social

37  Phillpotts, “Surt”; Sigurður Nordal, Völuspá. 38  Bergbúa Þáttr, Hallmundarkviða 5.

39  Bergbúa Þáttr, Hallmundarkviða 7.

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structure can be detected in other cultures. There are several examples from elsewhere in the world. In his article “Modeling Cultural Responses to Volcanic Disaster in the Ancient Jama-​ Coaque Tradition, Coastal Ecuador: A Case Study in Cultural Collapse and Resilience,” James A. Zeidler has presented a compelling case for cultural developments in the Muchique 1 and 2 cultures based on the social memory of volcanism. After a devastating Plinian eruption in the Guagua Pichincha volcano in ca. ad 90 the surviving Muchique 1 culture emigrated from the valley and left it abandoned for ca. 330 years.40 As their descendants, the Muchique 2 culture, returned they brought new survival strategies with them. Included in these strategies, Zeidler theorizes, were raiding and warfare. The archaeological material suggests the development of a hitherto unseen warrior solidarity, perhaps a warrior aristocracy.41 The formalization of such warrior aristocracies includes consistent ritualization. Roderick J. McIntosh has demonstrated how the social memory of climate change is embedded in religious structures among the Mande in West Africa. In the Mande culture social memory is “the agent for change as well as the instrument for deep-​time persistence in the process by which social perceptions of climate and landscape change are created.”42 Iron artefacts and masks are used in performances during times of ecological crisis.43 Zeidler theorizes that, although such artefacts have not been uncovered in the Jama-​Coaque region, it is possible that they had similar ritualistic processes in the Muchique 2 culture.44 Ritualistic performance and associated artefacts to mitigate environmental processes are certainly not an isolated phenomenon. Such practices are universal in human history. The Nordic pre-​Christian tradition is another example.45 In the North the gods are often relied upon for changing environmental conditions. Both Óðinn and Þórr are associated with rituals and prayer for favourable winds and seafaring. In the euhemerized account of Óðinn in Ynglinga saga his followers would call on him when in trouble at sea or on land.46 Þórr is closely associated with wind in Old Norse mythology. This is demonstrated by Richard Perkins in Thor the Wind-​Raiser and the Eyrarland Image, and by myself.47 The Norman historian Dudo de St. Quentin 40  Zeidler, “Modeling Cultural Responses to Volcanic Disaster in the Ancient Jama-​Coaque Tradition, Coastal Ecuador,” 80. 41  Zeidler, “Modeling Cultural Responses to Volcanic Disaster in the Ancient Jama-​Coaque Tradition, Coastal Ecuador,” 91. 42  McIntosh, “Social Memory in Mande,” 143. 43  McIntosh, “Social Memory in Mande,” 168.

44  Zeidler, “Modeling Cultural Responses to Volcanic Disaster in the Ancient Jama-​Coaque Tradition, Coastal Ecuador,”89. 45  Morten Axboe has theorized that gold depositions were ritual response in context of the cataclysmic event in 536; see Axboe, “Året 536.” 46  Heimskringla 1, Ynglinga saga 2.

47  Perkins, Thor the Wind-​Raiser and the Eyrarland Image; Nordvig, Of Fire and Water; Nordvig, “At fange havets ånd. Økoviden i den nordiske mytologi.”

130 Volcanoes as a Cosmological Principle explains that Vikings would sacrifice humans to Þórr for favourable winds.48 Perhaps this account is dramatized by a Christian French historian, but it speaks to the notion that environmental features were met with ritualistic behaviour and address to deities by pre-​Christian Scandinavians, similar to the Mande in West Africa. There are no remaining pre-​Christian artefacts from Iceland that can offer insight into whether the early Icelanders had ritualized practices for volcanism, except for the remains of the possible ritual sacrifice in Surtshellir. However, both the Old Norse tradition and later folk tradition in Iceland include taboos and prescriptions for ritualistic acts in context of land-​spirits. Most prominent is the stipulation from Ulfljótr’s early law of Iceland, mentioned in Landnámabók, that one should take off the dragon heads on the ship prow when approaching Iceland in order not to disturb the landvættir (land-​spirits).49 These land-​spirits were protectors of the land,50 and can therefore also be considered wardens of volcanism. As I detailed earlier, this taboo persisted in Icelandic folklore into the eighteenth and nineteenth century with landdísir (land-​goddesses) and landdísasteinar (land-​goddess-​stones). The landdísir were female protective spirits and the stones associated with them in north-​west Iceland were to be left alone.51 There is also an account from a Norwegian traveller in the late nineteenth century about Icelanders, who practised a taboo around Surtshellir. They refused to go inside the cave, because they “óttast bústað hans” (feared his living-​place).52 The ǫndvegissúlur that the early settlers brought with them to guide their settlement could be considered religious artefacts designed to appease the landscape by involving protective spirits, such as Þórr.53 The fact that these high-​seat pillars are intricately linked with the right to take land places them at the centre of religious notions associated with territory management. Margaret Clunies Ross has analyzed the land-​ taking ritual in context of gendered representations of social dominance, suggesting that such rituals and artefacts were part of an aggressive male display of dominance.54 This reinforces the notion that early Icelandic society was dominated by competitive kinship structures, social dominance, and appropriation of territory contextualized in a relationship to the environment. With the social dominance comes also resource appropriation in the form of marking land that belongs to the settler. Clunies Ross suggests that the land-​taking ritual is an aggressive male act of dominance because the phallic shape of the high-​seat-​pillar symbolically and physically penetrates the feminized land.55 Aggressive male acts of dominance are at the core of Old Norse culture in Iceland, demonstrated principally in kinship

48  Dudo de St. Quentin, Gesta Normannorum 2. 49  Ári fróði, Landnámabók 268 (H).

50  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 186.

51  Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology, 185–​86.

52  Sigurður Grímsson, Glöggt er gests augað. Úrval ferðasagna um Ísland, 256. 53  Eyrbyggja saga 4.

54  Clunies Ross, Prolonged Echoes, 2:122–​57. 55  Clunies Ross, Prolonged Echoes, 2:125–​30.

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structures and honour codes.56 Aside from the widespread tendency to attempt dominance over neighbouring properties and appropriate the resources of others, a central theme of the saga literature, early male Icelanders also seem to have practised dominance over one another by kidnapping women in raids.57 It is possible to conclude that this persistent level of male aggression in early Icelandic society is a reflection of resource scarcity and associated trauma. In the broad perspective of Old Norse literature, the subject of resource scarcity and the race for social dominance is realized in the foundation myths of Icelandic society. The story of Flóki’s failed settlement in the beginning of Landnámabók attests to the prominence of agricultural and pastoral resource scarcity. Flóki arrives and finds plenty of game. However, he fails to collect enough feed for his cattle, so the animals die during winter, and when he sees all the ice in the fjord he names the country “Iceland.”58 Appropriate management and protection of resources, including group competitiveness, are also part of the narrative about the first successful settler in Iceland, Ingólfr Árnarson. The pair Ingólfr and Hjǫrleifr are represented as a mythic duo similar to Romulus and Remus. Ingólfr is an exemplary first settler,59 but Hjǫrleifr’s settlement fails as he is killed by his slaves, who take all his possessions and women. The slaves had devised a plan to kill him because he made them drag his plow, since he had only brought one ox.60 The predicament comes down to being unprepared. Hjǫrleifr is unprepared for his settlement in Iceland and he is unprepared for the competition between social groups: masters and slaves. He also fails to complete the appropriate land-​taking ritual, which Ingólfr is the first one to do. Eventually, his possessions and the women of his family are raided by a competitive group. The significance of this pattern of land-​ and resource dominance in early Icelandic culture is further augmented by the prevailing myth about the reason for why the early settlers left Norway for Iceland. The íslendingasǫgur often provide a background story involving Haraldr hárfagri’s taxation and dominance in Norway as the reason for why new land was sought in Iceland. As Sayaka Matsumoto has demonstrated in her article “A Foundation Myth of Iceland:  Reflections on the Tradition of Haraldr hárfagri,” the discourse in Old Norse literature on Haraldr’s confiscation of óðal (inherited) lands, his appropriation of land and resources, reflects social processes in thirteenth-​century Iceland.61 What this means is that this discourse is perpetuating a trauma of resource scarcity and, in this context, accentuates the need for protecting property and resources from a competitive group. The trauma of resource scarcity seems to run deep in Icelandic society and was realized already in the beginning of the settlement. It is tied closely to the environmental 56  See Hastrup, Island of Anthropology; Meulengracht Sørensen, Fortælling og Ære. 57  Jochens, “The Illicit Love Visit”; Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, 18. 58  Ári fróði, Landnámabók 2.

59  Höfig, “The Legendary Topography of the Viking Settlement of Iceland.” 60  Ári fróði, Landnámabók 8.

61  Matsumoto, “A Foundation Myth of Iceland,” 18.

132 Volcanoes as a Cosmological Principle conditions as a realization that the hard winters offer little respite for an unprepared settler. The settler is poised to deal with the threat of having their land, property, and females stolen from competitive groups.62 Volcanic calamities such as the 934–​940 Eldgjá event would probably only intensify this pattern. Old Norse mythology reflects this pattern of competition. This has been revealed by multiple scholars in the field, the most prominent of whom are Kirsten Hastrup in Island of Anthropology and Margaret Clunies Ross in Prolonged Echoes, volumes 1 and 2. Old Norse mythology reflects a social structure of competition between kinship groups, ultimately derived from the Æsir’s killing of Ymir. As a result, the enmity between Jǫtnar and Æsir is ever-​present and takes the form of threats to the Æsir by the Jǫtnar. Just as Flóki realized in the early times of the settlement that the extreme climate was detrimental to his prospering there, Snorri Sturluson’s creation myth pits the Hrímþursar against the early gods.63 To rid the world of them and make it inhabitable, Óðinn, Vili and Vé are poised to kill Ymir and flood Ginnungagap with his blood to drown them in a first sacrifice of the cosmos.64 This may reflect a ritual response to environmental crisis comparable to the Mande. Realized in Snorri’s creation myth is also the presence of a menacing heat in the cosmic environment, represented in the area called Muspellzheimr and its warden Surtr.65 The myth of creation is an attempt to reconcile the two extremes of the Icelandic environment:  heat and cold. It further explains the origin of the competitiveness between social groups, setting it in cosmic terms as an eternal struggle for resources and territory between Æsir and Jǫtnar. This struggle consistently plays out in the myths analyzed here. The mead myth is centred around the struggle for dominance over the culturally vital mead, which ensures social memory. The Hrungnir myth is focused on the protection of property, goods, and females, while the myth of Ragnarǫk serves as a functional warning of what may happen in terms of loss, if the hostile environmental forces get the better of the community. This is explicated in the breakdown of social norms. Finally, Hallmundarkviða displays this cosmic struggle in volcanic terms. A common thread that ties these myths together is the aspect of an elemental negotiation of environmental features that revolves around geologic processes, from the creation myth’s detailing of how geologic matter is created, over Óðinn’s involvement with eruptive processes in the mead myth, to Þórr’s duel with two Jǫtnar made of clay and stone. As Ragnarǫk details cosmic destruction, it reflects creation as an inversion in which the natural (geological) elements of the world implode. This is a negation of the ordered extraction of cosmic elements that was made by the gods. This is what Hallmundarkviða refers to as it escalates from detailing volcanic features to associating them with a cosmic

62  I use the word ‘stolen’ here to refer to the abduction of women settlers in order to reflect that this society was a brutal, ruthless warrior patriarchy, where women were treated as property and sexual violence against women was used by males as a means to harm competing males. 63  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 5–​8. 64  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 7. 65  Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning 4.

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struggle between Æsir and Jǫtnar. The trauma of resource scarcity and in-​group-​out-​ group competition in the Icelandic environment is revealed in the emotions attached to this cosmic struggle. The emotions expressed in Hallmundarkviða, in particular, but also in the other myths, indicate a prevalent attitude of anguish that is felt as a result of competing, not only with the environment but also with your peers. This can be extracted from John Lindow’s examination in “Bloodfeud and Scandinavian Mythology.” He writes: Continuing the examination of mythology as feud, then, we are surely justified in taking Ragnarok as the a spectacularly realized and horribly final End Game. Lacking as it does the “Court of Good Men” which Boehm found typical of Montenegro and extrapolated to the theoretical level, the catastrophic conflagration of Ragnarok, in which nearly all the actors in the drama perish, clearly belongs more to the realm of imagination than that of social reality. It does, however, enable the mythology to complete the trajectory of a feud. Thus both the plan and the detail of the mythology find grounding in the background of feud.66

The initial mythologizing of volcanism in Ragnarǫk as a cosmic conflagration leads to a social practice in early Icelandic society. This practice is one that pits environment against humans and humans against each other. The ultimate fear in that regard is the notion that in the future, the cosmos will collapse upon itself and the temporal scope of the world will reach a climax in which the everyday enmity, exhibited on a smaller scale, bursts out in a full-​scale doomsday. The mythic encounters with volcanism that I have examined all mirror this calamity, and it is notable that both Hallmundarkviða and the mead myth represent the mead of poetry in context of volcanism. This suggests that the substance of social memory, the mead, is part of ritualistic mnemonic processes including volcanism. It points to a social memory of action in context of volcanism. Action, in that instance, is founded on ritualized behaviour, pointing to aggression and resource management. Óðinn, as he enters the realm of the Jǫtnar, not only causes multiple deaths, he is also involved with the appropriation of resources in a territory belonging to an out-​group: harvesting and stealing the mead. The Maring appear to have generated a similar type of worldview, possibly from volcanic activity. Like the Muchiqe in Jama-​Coaque, their resource extraction is diversified, including various species of animals and raiding their neighbours. Where there is no mythological foundation to refer to for the Muchiqe 2 culture, there is for the Maring. Their cosmic division between ancestral spirits in the wetlands and “red spirits” in the higher altitudes appears to be an ordering based on volcanic trauma. It has a ritualistic component of aggressive resource collection that relates to a culturally internal logic, associating the population of marsupials with a volcanic cosmos. This is an indigenous form of risk perception with associated language, social structure, and hazard mitigation strategies. Old Norse mythology exhibits similar patterns: the cosmos is divided between two types of supernatural beings. The Æsir are ancestral deities, while the Jǫtnar are largely 66  Lindow, “Bloodfeud and Scandinavian Mythology,” 59.

134 Volcanoes as a Cosmological Principle environmental forces. These two clans are locked in constant struggle thanks to the cosmogony in which the ancestral deities attempted to create a structured space that would be safe for habitation. They succeeded, but eventually found that the destructive environmental forces would impose on their creation. The ultimate imposition from the environmental forces are the high-​level eruptions that occur on occasion. The ancestral gods are needed for protection against such environmental violence. In the meantime, the kin-​group is poised to secure its resources as the struggle between the two cosmic forces plays out. Securing your stocks is the first pursuit, but if that is not enough, one may take to warfare or the appropriation of neighbouring groups’ resources. As I initially noted in this chapter, risk perception in a community reflects its proximity to active volcanoes. Continued volcanic activity influences the structure of communities and they will develop communication strategies to adapt to the threat. Such communities have a high level of knowledge about volcanic phenomena, but often fail to understand what this means in terms of living in a volcanic environment. Environmental disasters of greater magnitude may be conflated and understood on the same terms even if they have no causal connection. In the early period of settlement in Iceland the southern and western quarters were the focal point of some of the largest settlements, beginning with Ingólfr’s settlement in Reykjavík, indicating perhaps that this was the region for the first influential cultural production in Iceland. Certainly, in the medieval period, it seems that the southern and western quarters were the places for considerable literary production, including the literary centres Oddi, Skálholt, Reykholt, and Flatey. The Vatnshyrna manuscript, which originally included Bergbúa Þáttr with Hallmundarkviða, may have been produced at Stóra Vatnshorn. Haukr Erlendsson, who compiled large parts of Hauksbók, which contains a version of Vǫluspá, came from the western quarter before he moved to Norway. Snorri Sturluson grew up at Oddi and lived at Reykholt. These sites also found themselves encircled by the western and eastern volcanic zones. The communities that were producing literature in medieval Iceland were also, to varying degrees, volcanic communities. From close examination of Old Norse mythology recorded in these areas, it appears that certain myths include a highly specific language that these communities used to communicate their experiences of volcanic eruptions. This is a communication strategy that centres around mythologizing volcanic hazard, placing it in the cosmology, and mitigating emotions related to trauma from resource scarcity and competitiveness between population groups. This communication does not include intricate understanding of the volcanic environment, even if it does display a high level of knowledge about what volcanoes are. In medieval Icelandic literature it seems there is an echo of earlier pre-​Christian social memory, locked in a Latinized script-​world, which involved ritualization and religious response to volcanic and other environmental hazards on a par with social response structures identified in other cultures. In this case these are the Maring, Mande, and possibly the Muchiqe 2 culture in Jama-​Coaque, as related above, but also the Hawai’ians and the Maori. This cultural response structure is one that highlights the features of volcanic activity and the dangers associated with them, suggesting the need for aggressive reaction to resource scarcity in the form of group competitiveness.

Volcanoes as a Cosmological Principle

135

Seen in combination the creation myth, the mead myth, the myth of Þórr’s duel with Hrungnir, and the myth of Ragnarǫk can represent an indigenous Icelandic conceptualization of volcanism, if the language in the myths is compared with the indigenous theory expressed in Hallmundarkviða. Hallmundarkviða represents volcanism as a mythic expression that describes its features in detail. It augments the experience of volcanism with emotional commentary, eventually referring the volcanic event to the cosmic struggle between Æsir and Jǫtnar, mirroring Ragnarǫk. The myth of creation provides an explanation for why the cosmos is founded on a duality of ice and fire, and details this in an eruptive process. The cosmogony is represented as a creation that takes place in a sub-​Arctic, volcanic environment. The gods attempt an ordering of this environment with the purpose of creating room for life that requires a milder climate. This in turn generates a world order in which hostile natural forces and the ancestral forces fight one another in a series of cosmic battles. The mead myth takes a central position in this cosmic struggle because it revolves around the acquisition of the mead of poetry. The mead, as revealed in Kvasir’s journey, contains knowledge about the cosmos. Having access to this knowledge is of essence to the community, because it represents social memory. Social memory is structured around the understanding that the environment is hostile, and kin-​groups live in a constant competitive order, where the quest for acquiring resources precedes the integrity of out-​groups and their access to land and resources. This is revealed in the myth about the duel with Hrungnir. Hrungnir represents environmental threats to the community, expressed in cosmic terms. At the same time, he and the other Jǫtnar represent out-​group threats to the kin-​ group. Ragnarǫk is the ultimate expression of the fear that environmental calamity will break down the foundation of existence, the kin-​group. This is detailed in Vǫluspá when brothers turn on each other and communities begin to fight. The reason this happens is environmental disaster. Hallmundarkviða delivers the key to understanding this problem in context of high-​scale eruptions. This is at its core an indigenous theory of volcanism in Iceland, which exists to mitigate hazards, and reveals early Icelandic risk perception of environmental danger. There is high probability that this discourse has its origin in the experience of the Eldgjá eruption in 934–​940. This massive eruption that disrupted human life on a hemispheric scale presumably had a great impact on early life in Iceland. It is likely that the reason no medieval sources seem to record this eruption in any detail, even though geologic investigations demonstrate the incredible magnitude of the eruption, is that the available knowledge about this eruption is found in myths. It happened well before the Latinate script-​world reached Iceland. The land-​taking era also saw the eruption in Langjökull, which created Hallmundarhraun, possibly around 950. This was another massive eruption, which can have compounded with Eldgjá in social memory. This can be seen in the poem Hallmundarkviða and the prevalence of Surtshellir in social memory, driving ideas of taboo associated with the caves far into modern times. The experience of these eruptions in the early settlement period has driven a social order and a cultural frame for kin-​groups into the medieval period, long after Christianity began supplanting

136 Volcanoes as a Cosmological Principle the indigenous ethos. There are indications that this was in fact ritualized. Icelanders formulated myths to aid their conceptualizations of volcanism as a destructive phenomenon, and they also ritualized the way in which the “land-​spirits” should be treated, using ritualistic tools such as the “high-​seat pillars” to neutralize the environment. This is an indigenous Icelandic mode of relating to volcanism. Comparable examples exist in the mythologies of the Maring, the Maori, the Hawai’ians, the Mande, and possibly the Muchique 2 culture. As a case of a culture developing in a highly active volcanic region, Iceland is therefore not unique. It displays the same tendency to mythologize, ritualize, and mitigate both emotions and resource problems that arise in volcanically active regions. Unlike the aforementioned cultures, however, Iceland as a sub-​Arctic region has had to grapple with an already scarce resource situation. The prevalence of a colder climate was realized from the beginning of the settlement, and this also impacted the management of resources in the face of volcanic disaster. It is perhaps possible to say that early Icelanders may have been even more aggressive in their resource extraction through hostile appropriations from out-​groups. This can explain the prevalence of narratives focused on kin-​group hostilities in the early Icelandic culture. Ultimately, it may be possible that the origin of these competitive kinship structures should be sought for in another encompassing volcanic event, long before Iceland was settled by Scandinavians, the 536 “dust veil” event, which disrupted Scandinavian life on a massive scale, and became mythologized in Ragnarǫk as the three-​year-​long winter, the Fimbulvetr.

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153

INDEX

alcoholic drinks, 73, 85, 99, 105 analogy (concept), 24, 26–31, 49, 60–64 antecedent spirits see Raua Mai Ásgarðr, 74, 77, 103, 108–9, 111–12, 115, 127 Aurnir, 47–48, 66, 74, 87–88, 114 Æsir, 11, 26, 45, 52–53, 55, 70, 72–74, 76, 79, 81–82, 94, 106–7, 109–12, 115–17, 119, 126–28, 132–33, 135 Bacchanalia, 83–86 Barði, 19, 43, 49, 88 Bárðr, 19–21, 49 Baugi, 76–77, 80, 90–94, 100–101, 127 Bergbúa þáttr, 8, 27, 38–39, 44–45, 51–52, 92, 134 Boreas Aquilo, 50, 93–94 Bǫlverkr (man), 51 Bǫlverkr (Óðinn), 76–80, 90–94, 97–103, 106, 111, 127

compression (concept), 26, 29–30, 64, 76, 90, 105 corona (sun), 69, 109 cosmogony, 15, 55–72, 128, 134–35 cosmology, 1–3, 15, 26, 49, 53, 70, 73, 79, 81, 126, 134 cosmos, 23, 38, 53, 55–56, 66–67, 69, 71–76, 81–82, 89, 98, 101, 103–6, 111, 116–17, 119, 126–28, 132–35 Crater Lake, 42, 100 creation myth, 1–2, 15, 30, 53, 55–75, 81, 87, 101, 104, 106, 116, 119, 126–28, 132, 135 Daribi, 15, 22–23 Dejbjerg, 17–22, 29 dust veil event (536 AD), 39, 136

eagles, 47–50, 53, 77, 93–96, 98, 100–103, 126

Edda, 5–11, 23–24, 27, 31, 55–58, 61–62, 67, 69, 71–73, 77, 79, 90, 92, 101, 106, 108–9, 119, 126 Eddic poetry, 1, 5–10, 27–28, 55, 66–67, 71, 81, 119 eitr, 31, 46, 59–64, 69–70, 75, 81, 87, 101 eitrár, 59–62 Eldgjá, 2, 6, 34–35, 39, 61, 86, 97, 110, 123, 132, 135 Eldrit, 37–39 Élivágar, 31, 46, 48, 57, 59–60, 64–66, 69, 75, 87 Evildoer, 51, 80, 90–93, 103 Eyjafjallajökull, 34 Fimbulvetr, 39, 136 Fjalarr, 76–82, 88–89, 97, 101–2, 127 frœðimaðr, 10, 82, 106 frœðimenn, 11, 25

Galarr, 76–76, 80–82, 88–89, 97, 100–102, 127 Genaa, 15, 22 geomythology, 1–2, 34, 39–40, 53, 120 Ginnungagap, 59–60, 66–68, 81–82, 132 Grímnismál, 23, 56, 64, 73–74, 78–80, 84, 90–91, 109, 116, 126 Gunnlǫð, 74–80, 89, 93, 100–105, 127 Gylfaginning, 11, 18, 23, 50, 56–57, 59, 63–67, 69–71, 96, 109, 115, 126

Háleygjatal, 7, 52, 75–78, 85–87, 99, 102–4 Hallmundarhraun, 2, 39, 44, 51–53, 68, 87, 122, 135 Hallmundarkviða, 2, 8, 27, 31, 32–34, 39, 44–53, 63–66, 69, 72, 74–75, 87–88, 90–104, 108, 110, 114–16, 119, 122–23, 126–28, 132–35 Hallmundr, 39, 46–48, 50–52, 66, 69, 74, 87–88, 92–94, 97, 100, 114, 123, 128 Haustlǫng, 106–8, 114

154

154

Index

Hávamál, 73, 76–80, 85–86, 90–93, 97, 101, 104–5, 127 Helgafell, 19–22 hider, 80, 88, 101–3 Hnitbjǫrg, 74–77, 80, 88–93, 98, 100–105, 127 hraun, 34, 47, 51, 61–62, 69 Hrungnir, 1–2, 18, 30, 46–47, 53, 73, 95, 106–17, 120, 126–28, 132, 135 hugr, 19, 53 Hvergelmir, 56–59, 64–66, 69, 87 Hverlǫgr, 87–88 indigenous, 1–3, 5–6, 8–9, 12–13, 21, 24–25, 31, 33, 38–41, 44–45, 52–53, 55–58, 63, 65–66, 69–72, 75, 86, 92, 99, 101, 119, 125, 133, 135–36 Indo-European, 57–58, 73, 79, 82, 107 inua, 20, 53 Íslendingabók, 35–37

jarðeldr, 62, 88 jökulhlaup, 34, 66, 75, 97, 102, 112–14 Jǫtnar, 26, 39, 45–46, 48, 51–53, 55, 66, 70– 74, 78–79, 85, 87, 92–93, 96, 98, 103, 105–7, 110, 112–17, 119, 123, 126–28, 132–33, 135 Jǫtunheimar, 94, 98, 108, 111 Kaldará, 48 Katla (volcano), 19–22, 35, 37, 62, 89, 91–92, 121–22 Katla (witch), 19–22, 27, 43–44, 49, 51, 53, 88–89, 91–92, 96, 113 kettle(s), 65–66, 69, 76–78, 82, 87–88, 102 kin-group(s), 53, 55, 72, 92, 98, 106–7 Kiviuq, 13, 15, 20, 22–23 Klamath (myth), 42, 100, 105, 116 Konungs skuggsjá, 8, 35, 37–38, 45, 50, 88, 93, 99, 102, 119 Kötluhlaup, 19 Kristni saga, 35, 37–38, 52, 93, 119 Kristnitökuhraun, 37–38 Kun Kaze Ambra, 15

Kvasir, 74, 76–78, 81–82, 87–89, 97–98, 101–2, 104, 106, 127, 135

Laki (eruption), 34–35, 39, 61 landdísasteinar, 18, 80, 130 landdísir, 18, 130 landnám, 6 Landnámabók, 35, 48, 51, 80, 87–88, 92, 96, 99, 102, 110, 130–31 landnámsmaðr, 19 Langjökull, 2, 51–52, 135 latinate script-world, 1, 3, 5, 8–9, 11–12, 23–25, 33, 37, 52, 55, 69–71, 90, 92, 119, 134–35 Liberalia, 82–86 Loki, 27, 29, 90–91, 96–97, 102, 112, 114–15

Maring, 15, 22–23, 28, 53, 70, 116, 133–36 Mazama, 42, 63, 99, 116 mead myth, 1–2, 30, 53, 66, 72–107, 112–17, 120, 126–27, 132–33, 135 mead of poetry see mead myth memory crunch, 25–26 memory spaces, 3, 16–21, 23, 25–26, 30, 53, 72, 87, 101, 104 Metamorphoses, 50, 83, 93 Molda-Gnúpr, 35, 97, 110 Mǫkkurkálfi, 112–13 Muspell, 31, 56, 59, 66–68, 70–71, 97, 123 Muspellzheimr, 56, 59, 64, 66–69, 81, 101, 132 Muspellz lýðir, 67, 96, 102, 115 Muspellz synir, 67 Muspilli, 67–68 Mýrdalsjökull, 35 mythogenesis, 25, 30, 60 Nart sagas, 49 Nasran, 49 nature mythology, 23–24

155



Neoplatonic philosophy, 55–59, 62, 65–66, 69–70 Niflheimr, 31, 56–57, 59, 64, 66, 68, 81, 101 Nyiragongo, 43, 115–16

Óðinn, 11, 19–20, 48, 50–52, 56, 64, 72–87, 90–94, 97–99, 101–5, 107–12, 127–29, 132–33 Óðrørir, 76–78, 83, 85, 87, 89, 102, 105 Oxford School, 24, 120 ǫndvegissúlur, 19, 139

Pacific Ring of Fire, 2 pahoehoe, 34, 61 Papua New Guinea, 5, 15, 70 Paqua, 49 Pataraz, 49 Pele, 41, 53, 98, 128 Polyphemus, 43, 99, 100 Popol Vuh, 9

Ragnarǫk, 1–2, 27, 30, 38–39, 51–53, 59, 66, 68–70, 73, 95, 98, 110, 115, 120, 123, 128, 132–33, 135–36 Raua Mai, 15 Raua Mugi, 15 Rauðasandur, 48 red spirits see Raua Mugi restructuring (concept), 9, 22 26, 29–30, 64, 106 Ryang’ombe, 43, 116

Sámi, 20, 91 screamer, 88, 102 silence (concept), 26–28, 90, 101–2 Simbai valley, 15, 28, 70, 116 Skaftáreldar see Laki skaldic poetry, 1–2, 5–8, 10–11, 27–28, 44–45, 51, 57–58, 63, 66, 73–75, 77, 79, 81, 90, 102, 106, 108, 110, 119 Skáldskaparmál, 11, 18, 75–81, 86–91, 93, 97–98, 102–13, 127

Index

155

smoke woman see Kun Kaze Ambra Snake’s Water see Tłiish Bi Tú’é Snæfell, 19 Snæfellsness, 19, 21–22 Snorri’s Edda see Edda social memory, 2, 5–6, 11, 16–18, 22–25, 51, 53, 55, 71–73, 90, 99, 106–7, 116–17, 120, 123, 129, 132–35 Surta logi, 68 Surtarbrandr, 69 Surtar sefi, 94 Surtr, 31, 38–39, 47, 50, 56–59, 64, 66–70, 75, 86–88, 94, 97, 99–100, 102, 105, 109, 111–12, 123, 128, 132 Surtshellir, 39, 51–53, 68, 87, 123, 130, 135 Surt’s sinking-dales see Surts søkkdǫlum Surts søkkdǫlum, 86 Suttungr, 76–77, 79–80, 88–89, 99–101, 103–5, 112, 127 Tangkuban Prahu, 42–43, 99 Taranaki, 41–42, 115 Tarawera, 42–43, 48–49, 99 Tissø, 17–18, 21–22 Tłiish Bi Tú’é, 14, 21–22, 29 Torsvegen over Urebøuren, 18, 21 tuurngaq, 20 tuutaliit, 20

Þjazi, 112, 114 Þórólfr Mostrarskegg, 18, 20 Þórr, 1–2, 18–19, 21, 28, 30, 39, 47, 50–52, 64, 73, 80, 106–8, 110–17, 127, 129–30, 132, 135 Þórsteinn hrungnir, 110 Þórvaldr hólbarki, 51 úlfakreppu, 110 Útgarðaloki, 112, 115

Vafþrúðnismál, 11, 23, 50, 56, 64–65, 68–70, 73, 126 Vanir, 26, 76, 81–82 Vatnajökull, 35

156

156

Index

Vellekla, 76–78 Virunga, 43 Vǫluspá, 38–39, 48, 51, 56–57, 66–69, 71, 80, 94–99, 101–3, 109–10, 112–16, 126, 128, 134–35 well(s), 23, 47, 56, 59, 62, 64–66, 74, 87–88, 99 world-body, 7, 57–59, 101

Ymir, 56–59, 64–66, 70–72, 77–78, 81–82, 95, 101–2, 111–12, 119, 126, 128, 132 Ynglinga saga, 7, 84–85, 129 Ynglingatal, 7, 52, 75, 84