What is a Rune

by Collin Cleary

  The gods also build a world for themselves in the heavens: Asgard. A rainbow bridge, Bifröst, connects the domain of the gods to the earth. Also in heaven (presumably between Midgard and Asgard) is the realm of the “light elves,” Alfheim (or Ljossalfheim—“home of the light elves”). These beings are “light” in contrast to the “dark elves” or dwarfs. Snorri tells us that the dwarfs were born in the flesh of Ymir (i.e., the earth) through spontaneous generation (they “quickened in the earth” like maggots). Thus, they are indirectly the creation of the gods, who chose to endow them with “human understanding and the appearance of men.”22 The realm of the dark elves, under the earth, is Svartalfheim. And below this, at the furthest below of all, is Hel, the realm of the dead.

  So far we have surveyed seven worlds, including all those that lie along the vertical plane:

  Asgard

  Alfheim

  Muspelheim (S) Midgard Niflheim (N)

  Svartalfheim

  Hel

  Two more worlds remain to be discussed, both of which are to be found on the horizontal plane. West of Midgard is Vanaheim, home of the Vanir. These are chthonic gods, gods of fertility: Freya, Frey, Njord, Ing, and possibly others. Which of the Vanir actually live in Vanaheim is not clear, however. Freya is found among the Æsir in Asgard, while Frey is actually supposed to live in Alfheim. In the east, opposite Vanaheim, is Jotunheim (or Utgard): home of the Etins, or giants.23 (Although, as we have seen, giants are to be found elsewhere: in Muspelheim and in Midgard.)

  Now, in addition to the foregoing description of the nine “worlds,” our brief tour of the universe would not be complete without an account of the world tree Yggdrasil, which Snorri describes as an ash. (As we shall see, however, squaring Yggdrasil with the system of nine worlds presents some difficult problems.) First of all, Snorri tells us that “its branches spread out over the whole world and reach up over heaven.” The tree has three roots: one is “among the Æsir.” Under this root is the spring of Urth, where the gods hold their council of justice. The second is “among the frost giants where once was Ginnungagap.” Under this root is the well of Mimir, which Odin drank from at the cost of one of his eyes.

  The third root extends into Niflheim, and under it is the aforementioned well Hvergelmir.24 The great serpent Nidhogg gnaws at this root. In the upper branches of Yggdrasil sits a wise eagle and betwixt its eyes perches a hawk called Vedrfolnir (“weather-bleached one”). A squirrel called Ratatosk scampers up and down Yggdrasil carrying “words of abuse” between the eagle and Nidhogg. Four harts (i.e., deer) dwell in the branches of the ash, leaping about and eating its foliage. These harts and Nidhogg together bring great pain to Yggdrasil, and to ameliorate this the Norns (fates) sprinkle the tree with water from Urth’s well.

  2. “PROBLEMS” WITH THE GERMANIC COSMOLOGY

  Now, the above treatment of the Germanic universe omits a good deal, and glides over quite a few problems. The problems are basically of two sorts. One has to do with reconciling inconsistencies. The different sources actually give us conflicting information—and the conflicting information is sometimes to be found in a single source. The second problem has to do with concretizing or visualizing the information we are given. For now, I will give some examples of the inconsistencies in the accounts that have come down to us, restricting myself mainly to Snorri. I will note right away, however, that my view of all of these “problems” is actually positive. I will argue in the conclusion to this essay that we should view them as stepping stones in a kind of dialectic that will carry us beyond a wrongheaded, overly-literal approach to the cosmology of our ancestors, and closer to our goal of actually entering into and reappropriating how they saw the world.

  Let’s consider a few items, in no particular order. Snorri tells us at one point that one of the eleven rivers in Niflheim, Gjöll, is “next to Hel’s gate.” However, Niflheim is supposed to exist to the north of Midgard, on the horizontal plane. Hel exists on the lowest point of the vertical plane, below Midgard and the realm of the dwarfs. How can a river in Niflheim adjoin any part of Hel? Actually, the issue of the relation between Niflheim and Hel is fraught with difficulties. Some sources actually locate Hel in Niflheim. And sometimes Hel is a goddess (the goddess of death), sometimes a location that may take its name from the goddess. 25

  The information we have about Midgard is rather confusing as well. In some sources Midgard seems to denote our earth itself. In Snorri, however, Midgard is actually a “stronghold” occupying part of the earth, built out of Ymir’s eyebrows by the gods and intended to provide human beings protection from the hostility of the giants (who, as noted earlier, occupy the land closest to the encircling world ocean: Utgard, the “outer world” or “area outside”). There are problems with the nature of Asgard as well. According to Snorri, after creating humans and giving them Midgard to live in, the gods create Asgard for themselves “in the middle of the world.” And within Asgard is the hall known as Hlidskjalf, with Odin’s high seat.

  Snorri tells us that Midgard is built “round the world” but inland, away from the giant-occupied lands near the encircling ocean. This suggests that Asgard is in the middle of Midgard; a fortress within a fortress. The picture that emerges is one of concentric circles:

  However, later on when writing about what is to be found in heaven, Snorri tells us of a hall built by Odin called Valaskjalf (“Hall of the slain” = Valhalla). In this hall is the “high seat known as Hlidskjalf” from which Odin can survey the entire world.26 Earlier, however, we are told that Hlidskjalf is in Asgard “in the middle of the world” (again, presumably in the middle of Midgard). Snorri further suggests that the Æsir are in heaven, rather than on earth, when he speaks of the roots of Yggdrasil—though here the account is confusing as well.

  As noted earlier, one root is “among the Æsir,” the second is “among the frost giants,” and the third “extends over Niflheim.” However, just after mentioning all this (and what lies under each root), Snorri writes “the third root of the ash tree is in the sky, and under that root is the very sacred spring called the spring of Urth.”27 Now, this “third root” cannot be the one mentioned earlier, that “extends over Niflheim,” under which is the well Hvergelmir. In fact, the second mention of the “third root” must refer to what is earlier referred to as the first root, which is “among the Æsir.” This makes perfect sense, because Snorri tells us that it is at the well of Urth that “the gods hold their court of justice.” But if the root that is “among the Æsir” is in the sky, then the dwelling place of the Æsir would seem to be in heaven, not on earth.

  I might also mention that when Snorri speaks of the second root as being “among the frost giants” he specifies that this means “where once was Ginnungagap.”28 But earlier Snorri tells us that the gods created “the world” in the center of Ginnungagap, out of the parts of Ymir. This suggests that the universe itself occupies the space that once was Ginnungagap, and that this cannot thus be a distinct region inhabited by frost giants.

  I have already noted that when speaking of “heaven” Snorri mentions “a great dwelling called Valaskjalf owned by Odin.” In the same section of text he mentions Alfheim, the home of the light elves. Curiously, he then goes on to write:

  It is said that there is another heaven to the south of and above this one, and it is called Andlang [“outstretched”]; and there is yet a third heaven above these ones which is called Vidblain, and we think that this place [the hall Gimlé] is there. At present, however, we think that it is inhabited only by light elves.29

  One hardly knows where to begin. Is Andlang “south of and below” Asgard? Or Alfheim? Or are both Asgard and Alfheim here thought of as being in one heaven? And what of the third heaven?

  Let us now turn briefly to the difficulties surrounding Yggdrasil. At times, Snorri’s descriptions seem to suggest that Yggdrasil grows on earth (i.e., on Midgard). But, of course, this is impossible because it has roots in Niflheim and in heaven (in Asgard, presumab
ly). The location of the other root is problematic, as I’ve already indicated. In the Poetic Edda things are quite different: one root extends into Hel, another into the realm of the frost giants (Niflheim?), and the third into Midgard.30 In Snorri, the High One is asked, “Where is the chief place or sanctuary of the gods?” He answers: “It is by the ash tree Yggdrasil. There every day the gods have to hold a court.”31 This turns out to mean, however, that the gods hold court at the well of Urth, under one of Yggdrasil’s roots.

  On the other hand, Snorri also tells us that Yggdrasil’s branches “spread out over the whole world and reach up over heaven.”32 We are being told simultaneously that Yggdrasil’s branches reach up over heaven—and that one of its roots is in heaven as well. This is indeed a very strange tree. When we are told that Yggdrasil’s branches “spread out over the whole world” this cannot simply mean Midgard, for the simple reason that—as just noted—those branches reach up over heaven as well. So, “world” here seems to mean universe. It appears we are therefore supposed to imagine Yggdrasil stretching throughout all the different worlds.

  Questions now abound. Where is the base of Yggdrasil (the base, not the roots)? How was it created? There is nothing in the account of the creation of the world out of Ymir to explain how Yggdrasil comes into being. Was it created by the gods? If so, it seems strange that Odin would hang himself on his own creation in order to achieve runic wisdom. We’ve been given some basic sense of “where” the different worlds are vis-à-vis Midgard, but perhaps a better question would be what are the different worlds? Midgard is described as “round,” but this doesn’t mean that it is a ball. It is much more probably on the order of the ancient Greek conception of the earth as a kind of rounded plate with encircling ocean.

  Is Asgard a similar disc or plate hanging in heaven, somewhere within the foliage of Yggdrasil? Are Muspelheim, Niflheim, Jotunheim, and Vanaheim to the north, south, east, and west of Midgard in the sense of all lying on the same earth? Or are they (as they are often visually depicted) physically detached “worlds” lying in those four directions? Is Hel “under” the earth in the sense of being deep within it or, again, in the sense of being a detached world? Things get even murkier when we look back to the Titanic era that precedes the arrival of the gods. Where are Ymir and Audumla? The earth has not been created yet.

  And are there really “nine worlds”? We have seen that it is not entirely clear, for example, if Midgard is a separate world or an enclosure within a world. And it is not clear that there is a separate “world” of the giants, as the giants are sometimes spoken of as living at the outer edges of Midgard. Further, we have also heard talk from Snorri about multiple “heavens” (which might put the number of worlds at more than nine). We find frequent talk about “nine worlds” among followers of today’s Ásatrú movement, but perhaps this is mistaken.

  And yet the seeress in Völuspá clearly says, “I remember nine worlds.”33

  There are many more questions and problems that we could raise. Having raised them, two roads present themselves to us, and we have to decide which one we want to take. One is to dismiss these mythic accounts as “primitive,” and fraught with inconsistencies for the simple reason that they are the products of simple, primitive minds. I will assume I don’t need to spend too much time convincing my readers of the arrogance and foolishness of this approach. We must entertain instead the possibility that we are dealing with a form of “thought”—a way of looking at the world—which is extraordinarily different from our modern way. And that it is our modern way that generates the sort of “problems” discussed above. We must entertain the idea that the mytho-poetic thought of our ancestors is, in fact, an extraordinarily subtle, powerful, and significant way not just of looking at the world, but of being in the world—and that it has been largely lost to us. I will return to the nature of mytho-poetic thought in the conclusion.

  Recovering the worldview of our ancestors involves getting at it from within. Consider the following. Our ancestors stood on the same earth that we inhabit. When they gathered in clearings in the forest they saw (mostly) the same flora and fauna that we do today. Still, though virtually the same images were presented to them, they saw quite differently. For these images were interpreted by them in very different terms.

  For our ancestors, the trees were the hairs of Ymir. The rocks and pebbles at their feet were Ymir’s teeth and broken bones, the earth was his decayed flesh. And beneath the earth there was another world, that of the dwarfs. Looking up to the bright heaven, one saw Ymir’s brains floating by (the clouds), and above them—somewhere—one knew the elves were there. And, above them, the gods. After a rain, one could see Bifröst gleaming on the horizon—and one thought of the gods transiting back and forth between heaven and earth. At night one saw the sparks and embers of Muspelheim—the land in the distant south—hanging in the sky. And one hurried home through the forest, both fascinated and terrified by the possibility of encountering the one-eyed Wanderer.

  Was all this believed literally? Undoubtedly it was—but, as I will discuss in my conclusion, the concept of “literal belief” is trickier than most people assume it is, at least when we are discussing how our pre-modern ancestors thought and felt. Our ancestors could run their fingers through the soil and feel a chill, convinced they were handling the literal flesh of Ymir. But this type of experience was primarily a way in which things were given meaning, rather than literally “explained.” Their experience of the natural and human worlds was overlaid with these meanings, which were understood to be true—but not exactly in the sense of what we mean by “literal truth.” (Again, I will discuss this point more fully in my conclusion.)

  There is a deeper truth than the literal. The truth, as Heidegger argues, is what reveals the world to us; that which brings things out of concealment. Myth does this. It lights up the world for us and helps us to see fundamental truths. Myth, which is taken by moderns to be synonymous with “falsehood” (e.g., “that’s only a myth”) is thus profound truth—truer than “literal truth,” and truer than history.

  Obviously, to find our way back into seeing the world as our ancestors did—to understand their worldview from within—is no easy task. It requires an insight into the inner meaning of the nine worlds discussed in section one above. But that is an ambitious undertaking. The following represents only a first step.

  3. INTERPRETATION OF THE GERMANIC COSMOLOGY

  As Edred Thorsson notes in a number of places, the Germanic cosmology is dyadic: it consists of four pairs of polar opposites. These are:

  On the vertical axis (or world axis, Irminsul34):

  (a) Asgard and Hel

  (b) Alfheim and Svartalfheim

  On the horizontal plane:

  (c) Muspelheim and Niflheim

  (d) Vanaheim and Jotunheim

  (Only Midgard has no opposite.) Let us begin with the vertical plane and the two extremes of above and below, Asgard and Hel.35

  Asgard & Hel

  Hel, the bottommost point on the vertical world axis, is the place of death and total darkness. Its diametrical opposite is Asgard, which is the place of life, and total light. But light and darkness must, up to a point, be understood figuratively. In “The Fourfold” I argued that the bright sky reveals, and that the dark earth conceals. We live between unhiddenness, and hiddenness, or revealing and concealing. Our nature is to draw things, in multiple ways, out of concealment and “into the light”: we seek to understand, to know what things are, to “shed light” on things.

  In part, Asgard represents the ideal of total revelation or unconcealment, total presence, and thus total truth (where truth is understood, along Heideggerian lines, as unconcealment or presencing; see “Heidegger: An Introduction for Anti-Modernists”). This is an ideal that is sought, but never fully realized. By contrast, Hel represents the complete opposite: total concealment, total absence, and total mystery (i.e., total obscuration of the truth). “Hel” derives from the Indo-European root *kel-
meaning “to cover” or “to conceal.”36 (The real opposite of truth is concealment or mystery: “falsehood” is merely one particular form in which the truth may be obscured, as when I tell a lie or inadvertently draw a false conclusion; but much else may conceal truth.)

  The opposition of Asgard and Hel may also be understood along the lines of the “form-matter” distinction, which is famously associated with Aristotle, but is simply an expression of a kind of intuitive “lifeworld physics.” All things in “the terrestrial world” (i.e., Midgard) have both form and matter. All things are a combination of a form or pattern discernible by the mind, and some material substance or substances. Two desks have the same form, but in one instance the form may be enmattered in wood, in another metal. Similarly, setting aside inessential differences in coloration or size, we recognize that two cats possess the same form. In both cases, however, the matter is flesh and bone (and, unlike how it is with desks, the matter of cats can be nothing else).

  All forms have an ideal status, in two senses. First, we see that objects always only approach to realizing their forms, but never do so perfectly (some desks and some cats are better than others, but none is perfect). Second, the mind irresistibly conceives of forms and patterns as separable from matter, because we can separate them in thought. Hence, they are thought of as “ideal.” Again, this sounds like Platonic-Aristotelian philosophy, but that philosophy was rooted in a phenomenological description of how objects show up for human beings: always as exemplars of discernible patterns.37