Primal Myths

by Barbara C. Sproul

  Chaos, so-called, all ruse and lumpy matter,

  Nothing but bulk, inert, in whose confusion

  Discordant atoms warred: there was no sun

  To light the universe; there was no moon

  With slender silver crescents filling slowly;

  No earth hung balanced in surrounding air;

  No sea reached far along the fringe of shore.

  Land, to be sure, there was, and air, and ocean,

  But land on which no man could stand, and water

  No man could swim in, air no man could breathe,

  Air without light, substance forever changing,

  Forever at war: within a single body

  Heat fought with cold, wet fought with dry, the hard

  Fought with the soft, things having weight contended

  With weightless things.

  Till God, or kindlier Nature,

  Settled all argument, and separated

  Heaven from earth, water from land, our air

  From the high stratosphere, a liberation

  So things evolved, and out of blind confusion

  Found each its place, bound in eternal order.

  The force of fire, that weightless element,

  Leaped up and claimed the highest place in heaven;

  Below it, air; and under them the earth

  Sank with its grosser proportions; and the water,

  Lowest of all, held up, held in, the land.

  Whatever god it was, who out of chaos

  Brought order to the universe, and gave it

  Division, subdivision, he molded earth,

  In the beginning, into a great globe,

  Even on every side, and bade the waters

  To spread and rise, under the rushing winds,

  Surrounding earth; he added ponds and marshes,

  He banked the river-channels, and the waters

  Feed earth or run to sea, and that great flood

  Washes on shores not banks. He made the plains

  Spread wide, the valleys settle, and the forest

  Be dressed in leaves; he made the rocky mountains

  Rise to full height, and as the vault of Heaven

  Has two zones, left and right, and one between them

  Hotter than these, the Lord of Creation

  Marked on earth the same design and pattern.

  The torrid zone too hot for men to live in,

  The north and south too cold, but in the middle

  Varying climate, temperature and season.

  Above all things the air, lighter than earth,

  Lighter than water, heavier than fire,

  Towers and spreads; there mist and cloud assemble,

  And fearful thunder and lightning and cold winds,

  But these, by the Creator’s order, held

  No general dominion; even as it is,

  These brothers brawl and quarrel; though each one

  Has his own quarter, still, they come near tearing

  The universe apart. Eurus is monarch

  Of the lands of dawn, the realms of Araby,

  The Persian ridges under the rays of morning.

  Zephyrus holds the west that glows at sunset,

  Boreas, who makes men shiver, holds the north,

  Warm Auster governs the misty southland,

  And over them all presides the weightless ether,

  Pure without taint of earth.

  These boundaries given,

  Behold, the stars, long hidden under darkness,

  Broke through and shone, all over the spangled heaven,

  Their home forever, and the gods lived there,

  And shining fish were given the waves for dwelling

  And beasts the earth, and birds the moving air.

  But something else was needed, a linear being,

  More capable of mind, a sage, a ruler,

  So Man was born, it may be, in God’s image,

  Or Earth, perhaps, so newly separated

  From the old fire of Heaven, still retained

  Some seed of the celestial force which fashioned

  Gods out of living clay and running water.

  All other animals look downward; Man,

  Alone, erect, can raise his face toward Heaven.

  —Ovid. Metamorphoses. Rolfe Humphries (trans.). Bloomington Indiana University Press, 1973, PP. 3–5.

  NORTHERN EUROPEAN MYTHS

  Earliest (Inferred) Creed of the Celts The Celts emerged from the Rhinelands as a distinct group c. 500 100 B.C. and spread down and across Europe, the British Isles and Ireland. Because they had no written language of their own, information about their myths derives from archeological finds, Roman commentaries, and later secular literature. Much of what can be inferred about their religious beliefs bears resemblance to the attitudes of the warring Aryans who went into India and the Greek mainland. This reconstructed creation myth in particular is not unlike Hesiod’s Theogony with its successive revolutions of divine sons against their fathers.

  In the beginning, Heaven and Earth lay so close together that their children, the bright gods and dark Titans, were cramped. To relieve the situation, one daring Titan mutilated and killed his father; with his brothers, he then created the firmament out of the slain god’s skull and the seas from his blood.

  The identity of the Titan son is a complex one: giver of life and light on the one hand, he is also the lord of the underworld, king of darkness and death. This Janus-like character is a central figure in the Celtic cult, as are the mighty semidivine heroes who later wrest benefits for humanity from the hostile nature gods.

  IN THE BEGINNING Earth and Heaven were great world-giants, and they were the parents of a numerous offspring; but the Heaven in those days lay upon the Earth, and their children crowded between them were unhappy and without light, as was also their mother. So she and they took counsel together against Heaven, and one of his sons, who was bolder than the others, undertook shamefully to mutilate Heaven; nay, he and his brothers stayed not their hands till they had cut the world-giant their father into many pieces. Out of his skull they made the firmament, and the spilling of the blood of his body caused a great flood, which, as it settled in the hollows of the earth, made up the sea.

  Some of the children of Earth and Heaven were born bright beings or gods, who mostly loved the light and the upper air; and some were Giants or Titans, who were of a darker and gloomier hue. These latter hated the gods, and the gods hated them. The daring son of Earth who began the mutilation of the world-giant was one of the Titans, and he became their king; but the gods did not wish him to rule over them and their abode, so he was driven from his throne by his youngest son, who was born a god. The king, beaten in battle, sailed away to other parts of his realm; and after much wandering on the sea, he was at last received in the country of the happy departed, whence he was afterwards thought to bless the farmer’s toil and to help man in other ways.

  When the great flood caused by the mangling of the world-giant took place, all men were drowned save a single pair saved in a ship. He who made and owned the ship was not a man, nor did the gods own him as one of them; but he was a Giant or Titan who was kindly disposed towards the race; and when he had safely landed them where they were to dwell, he went away to the same place as the dethroned king. For he was of his kith and kin, unless perhaps those are to be followed who thought the two were but one and the same person, and that person no other than the ruler of the departed himself, the god of all beginning and all end. Viewed through the medium of the latter, he appeared to be the demon of darkness and horror and death, ever busily adding to the number of his victims; but through the former he was seen to be the first father and great parent of all; so it was ever a matter of piety to reckon darkness before light, the night before the day, and winter before summer.

  The new king of the gods was of a passing brilliant nature; so they called him Bright and Day and Father Sky. He was a mighty warrior; but he had terrible foes, who forced him
to take part in many a fearful struggle. When he fought in summer he always triumphed, but he fared ill in the winter conflicts. On one occasion he was badly wounded, and would never have recovered his former strength and form but for the timely aid of a man who was a cunning leech; and on another he and the other gods would have been hard beset had they not taken care to secure the help of the Sun-hero. This last was not a god, but the youthful son of a mortal. There was, however, no spearman anywhere to equal him, and his father was so wise and crafty that he had forced the gods to treat mankind far better than they had before been wont to do. For the good things bestowed on man were often begrudged by the gods, and most of all by the owners of the wealth of the nether world and the land of the happy dead. They hated this mortal, so kind to his race, and made him suffer untold pain and torture; but he always succeeded in the end in all that he set his mind on achieving, as when, for example, he cheated them of the dog that was to be the hunter’s friend and servant; also of the other animals he stole from them as likely to be of use to his kindred. It was from the same nether country that he likewise obtained by craft and falsehood the strong drink that was to cheer man, to give him the dreams of poets and the visions of prophets. These and other boons, too many to name one by one, made him very famous and beloved, more so in some lands than even the king of the gods himself.

  —John Rhys. Lectures on the Origin and Growth of Religion as Illustrated by Celtic Heathendom. 2nd ed. London: Williams and Norgate, 1862, pp. 669–672.

  From the Soothsaying of the Vala In this cosmological summary from Snorri Sturluson’s Poetic Edda (c. 1200), the primordial priestess (the Vala) recounts the history of the gods and of the world. When Ymir the frost-giant lived “long ago,” there was only a “grinning gap and grass nowhere.” The sons of Borr—Odin’s generation—built up middle earth and ordered the universe, its times and seasons.

  The gods were happy and productive in their courts until the Fates entered the world. “The fearful maidens from Jotunheim (home of the giants)” lived at the roots of Yggdrasil, the ash-tree of the world, which extended through Asgard (home of the gods), Utgard (land of the giants and elves), and Niflheim (the realm of Hel, goddess of death) and supported the universal structure. The power of these Fates to “lay down laws,” “choose out life,” and “speak the doom of the sons of men” was a central tenet of Scandinavian religion and, as is usually the case when fate is emphasized, led to an interest in divination and augury.

  The first man and the first woman were created from the trunks of ash and elm trees which the sky gods (Aesir kinddred) Odin, Honir, and Lodur found on the beach. Out of the same material that formed the essence of the world structure, the gods made the people with life and spirit.

  HEARING I ask all holy kindreds,

  high and low-born, sons of Heimdal!

  Thou too, Odin, who bidst me utter

  the oldest tidings of men that I mind!

  I remember of yore were born the Jötuns,

  they who aforetime fostered me:

  nine worlds I remember, nine in the Tree,

  the glorious Fate Tree that springs ’neath the Earth.

  ’Twas the earliest of times when Ymir lived;

  then was sand nor sea nor cooling wave,

  nor was Earth found ever, nor Heaven on high,

  there was Yawning of Deeps and nowhere grass:

  ere the sons of the god had uplifted the world-plain,

  and fashioned Midgarth, the glorious Earth.

  Sun shone from the south, on the world’s bare stones—

  then was Earth o’ergrown with herb of green.

  Sun, Moon’s companion, out of the south

  her right hand flung round the rim of heaven.

  Sun knew not yet where she had her hall;

  nor knew the stars where they had their place;

  nor ever the Moon what might he owned.

  Then went all the Powers to their thrones of doom—

  the most holy gods—and o’er this took counsel:

  to Night and the New-Moons names they gave:

  they named the Morning, and named the Mid-day,

  Afternoon, Evening,—to count the years.

  Gathered the gods on the Fields of Labour;

  they set on high their courts and temples;

  they founded forges, wrought rich treasures,

  tongs they hammered and fashioned tools.

  They played at tables in court, were joyous,—

  little they wanted for wealth of gold.—

  Till there came forth three of the giant race,

  all fearful maidens, from Jötunheim.

  Then went all the Powers to their thrones of doom,—

  the most holy gods,—and o’er this took counsel:

  whom should they make the lord of dwarfs

  out of Ymir’s blood, and his swarthy limbs.

  Mead-drinker then was made the highest,

  but Durin second of all the dwarfs;

  and out of the earth these twain-shaped beings

  in form like man, as Durin bade.

  New Moon, Waning-moon, All-thief, Dallier,

  North and South and East and West.

  Corpse-like, Death-like, Niping, Daïnn,

  Bifur, Bafur, Bombur, Nori,

  Ann and Onar, Aï, Mead-wolf.

  Vigg and Wand-elf, Wind-elf, Thraïnn,

  Thekk and Thorin, Thror, Vit, and Lit,

  Nyr and Regin, New-counsel, Wise-counsel,—

  now have I numbered the dwarfs aright.

  Fili, Kili, Fundin, Nali,

  Heptifili, Hannar, Sviur,

  Frar, Hornbori, Frxg and Loni,

  Aurvang, Jari, Oaken-shield.

  ’Tis time to number in Dallier’s song-mead

  all the dwarf-kind of Lofar’s race,—

  who from earth’s threshold, the Plains of Moisture,

  sought below the Sandy-realms.

  There were Draupnir and Dolgthrasir,

  Har and Haugspori, Hlevang, Gloin,

  Dori, Ori, Duf, Andvari,

  Skirfir, Virfir, Skafid, Aï.

  Elf and Yngvi, Oaken-shield,

  Fjalar and Frost, Fin and Ginar.

  Thus shall be told throughout all time

  the line who were born of Lofar’s race.

  Then came three gods of the Aesir kindred,

  mighty and blessed, towards their home.

  They found on the seashore, wanting power,

  with fate unwoven, an Ash and Elm.

  Spirit they had not, and mind they owned not,—

  blood, nor voice nor fair appearance.

  Spirit gave Odin, and mind gave Hönir,

  blood gave Lodur, and aspect fair.

  An ash I know standing, ’tis called Yggdrasil,

  a high tree sprinkled with shining drops;

  come dews therefrom which fall in the dales;

  it stands ever green o’er the well of Weird.

  There are the Maidens, all things knowing,

  three in the hall which stands ’neath the Tree.

  One is named “Weird,” the second “Being”—

  who grave on tablets—but “Shall” the third.

  They lay down laws, they choose out life,

  they speak the doom of the sons of men.

  —Olive Bray (ed. and trans). The Elder or Poetic Edda. The Mythological Poems. Part I. Viking Club Translation Series, Vol. 2. London: Viking Club, 1908, pp. 277–283.

  Kalevala: The Birth of Väinämöinen Finno-Ugric peoples of the West (the Finns, Lapps, and Magyars) came under the influence of the Christians so early that relatively little is known of their indigenous religious beliefs and practices. The Finnish national epic—the Kalevala—does contain traditional material, however. Although it was compiled by Elias Lonnrot in 1835, most of its fifty “songs” are much older.

  In this myth, there were only the chaotic waters (that which forms but is not itself formed) and the agent of creation, the beautiful t
eal, in the beginning. To provide a dry place for a nest, a spot of solidity in the shifting seas, the Mother of Waters lifted her knee out of the ocean, and the teal laid seven eggs on it. Only by their immersion in the primordial waters are the pieces of those eggs transformed into elements of the universe.

  SHORT the time that passed thereafter;

  Scarce a moment had passed over.

  Ere a beauteous teal came flying

  Lightly hovering o’er the water.

  Seeking for a spot to rest in.

  Searching for a home to dwell in.

  Eastward flew she, westward flew she,

  Flew to north-west and to southward,

  But the place she sought she found not,

  Not a spot, however barren,

  Where her nest she could establish,

  Or a resting-place could light on.

  Then she hovered, slowly moving,

  And she pondered and reflected,

  “If my nest in wind I ’stablish

  Or should rest it on the billows,

  Then the winds will overturn it,

  Or the waves will drift it from me.”

  Then the Mother of the Waters,

  Water-Mother, maid aërial,

  From the waves her knee uplifted,

  Raised her shoulder from the billows,

  That the teal her nest might ’stablish,

  And might find a peaceful dwelling.

  Then the teal, the bird so beauteous,

  Hovered slow, and gazed around her,

  And she saw the knee uplifted

  From the blue waves of the ocean,

  And she thought she saw a hillock,

  Freshly green with springing verdure.

  There she flew, and hovered slowly,

  Gently on the knee alighting,

  And her nest she there established,

  And she laid her eggs all golden,

  Six gold eggs she laid within it,

  And a seventh she laid of iron.

  O’er her eggs the teal sat brooding,

  And the knee grew warm beneath her;

  And she sat one day, a second,

  Brooded also on the third day;

  Then the Mother of the Waters,

  Water-Mother, maid aërial,

  Felt it hot, and felt it hotter,

  And she felt her skin was heated,

  Till she thought her knee was burning,