Gardeła, INTO VIKING MINDS.pdf

I NTO V IKING M INDS : R EINTERPRETING

THE S TAFFS OF S ORCERY AND U NRAVELLING S EIÐR

Leszek Garde³a

written down long after the Viking Age itself, they still remain precious

accounts which enable reconstruction of certain aspects of pagan world-

views (McCreesh 1980; S³upecki 1998, 9–10; Price 2002, 53–54, but see also

general discussions on saga criticism in Jónas Krístjánsson 2007, 206–07, 213;

McTurk 2007). Those sources can provide details on a number of subjects and may

give an insight into spheres of life that are otherwise impossible to investigate, such

as individual approaches to religion, cultic practices, and beliefs (Price 2002, 67,

395; Jónas Krístjánsson 2007,113). However, such details are not always easy to

identify: in many cases it is necessary to read between the lines and interpret or

reinterpret the text several times to arrive at the most convincing or comprehensive

reading. As an archaeologist I thus consider it vital to compare our hypotheses

about past realities with research results from academic disciplines that lie beyond

our own field of expertise (cultural and physical anthropology, history, linguistics,

philology, etc.). Such an interdisciplinary approach to the studies of the Viking Age

is indeed difficult, yet can certainly give fruitful results (Price 2005a).

In this article, I present my latest research on the meanings and functions of the

so-called staffs of sorcery (a term first used by Neil Price in 2002). Such objects,

Challenges in the Academic Study of Religion’, which took place at the Södertörn University

College in Stockholm (19–22 April 2007). I would like to thank all the participants for their kind

Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 4 (2008) 45–84. 10.1484/J.VMS.1.100306

Contexts and Borders of the Viking Minds

A lthough the Old Icelandic sagas and the poems of the Eddic corpus were

I presented an earlier version of this paper at the conference ‘Religion on the Borders: New

Leszek Garde³a

known from a number of written accounts (for a detailed discussion of most of

those accounts see my MA thesis, Garde³a 2008c), might have once been the most

important attributes of seeresses and sorcerers in late Iron-Age Scandinavia.

Serious attempts to identify them in the available archaeological material began

several years ago (Adolfsson and Lundström 1993; Adolfsson and Lundström

1995; Back Danielsson 2001; Price 2002). This opened many new research

possibilities and allowed scholars to show the ‘subtlety and sophistication of the

Viking Mind’ from a fresh perspective (Price 2002, 93). Today, therefore, we not

only have the descriptions of the staffs in written accounts and possible icono-

graphic representations, but perhaps also authentic material examples which come

from a number of archaeological sites located in Norway, Sweden, Denmark,

Iceland, Finland, Eastern Europe, and the British Isles. The form of those items is,

in most cases, individualized, which suggests that they were personal and intimate

objects with which unique thoughts, memories, and emotions were connected

(Garde³a 2008c). We must also realize that the use of the staffs in practice

depended mostly on the decision of their bearers, and this too might result in the

reception of my paper, and extend my warm thanks to Olof Sundqvist, with whom I have discussed

my ideas and interpretations in detail. Professor Neil S. Price has read and provided valuable com-

ments on the paper which helped me to avoid inaccuracies. I would also like to thank Professor

Leszek Pawe³ S³upecki, who helped me to obtain some of the necessary articles and books and also

commented on several sections of this paper. However, the responsibility for the final version of

the manuscript is mine alone. My visit to Södertörn would not have been possible without the

financial support from the Dean of the Faculty of History of the Adam Mickiewicz University in

Poznañ, Professor Danuta Minta-Tworzowska, and my M A thesis supervisor Professor

W³odzimierz R¹czkowski. I wish to express my warm thanks to both. I am also grateful to the

anonymous reviewer who provided comments on how to improve my manuscript. The English

text was revised by Roman Garde³a, James Potter, and Alaric Hall — to whom I owe great thanks

for many valuable comments on its final version.

In a paper on cognitive archaeology, Neustupný makes the interesting argument that ‘the

specific, individualized shape, form, and decoration of each staff.

The borders of ancient mentalities are often very difficult or even impossible

to cross today. Nevertheless, despite the spatiotemporal distances between the loca-

tions of the archaeological sites where the staffs of sorcery have been found, we can

creation of every archaeological artifact might be considered as an event. Similarly, many other

points in the “life” of an artifact, including many cases of its termination of “death”, can be con-

sidered to be archaeological events [. . .]. Thus, by considering artifacts as events, archaeology

becomes a discipline occupied to a large degree with human individuality’ (2001, 32). For general

discussions on the role of cognitive archaeology and aspects of the ancient mentalities, see also

Renfrew (2000a; 2000b) and Fowler (2006).

INTO VIKING MINDS

find many striking similarities among the artefacts. This suggests that their creators

(the craft-workers who were responsible for making these objects or the ritual per-

formers themselves) often followed a shared pattern, shared similar world-views,

and operated within the same framework of symbols and myths. The detailed

multidisciplinary analysis of the staffs and their meanings can bring us closer to

unravelling some of the mysteries of Viking minds which these similarities imply.

What do the staffs mean? Does their shape recall the forms of any other objects?

Is it connected with other ideas and concepts and are these items a part of a larger

group or complex of symbolically interlinked ritual requisites? All these issues are

considered in detail in the following sections.

It seems impossible to discuss the symbolism of the staffs of sorcery without

attempting to understand the context in which they were used; by doing so, I argue

that they adverted to overlapping planes of the worlds of humans, gods, and other

supernatural beings. I present the staffs as complex, multidimensional metaphors.

However, we must begin with a short introduction to the art of seiðr .

The Art of Seiðr

The art of seiðr could be seen as a distinctive phenomenon of the Viking Age

(though it is quite possible that it had a much earlier origin, possibly already in

Antiquity, as suggested by S³upecki 1998, or in the Migration Period, as proposed

by Hedeager 1997; Hedeager 1999, 73–85; and Back Danielsson 2007, 94–98). 3

In the latest interpretations (Hedeager 1997; Hedeager 1999, 73–85; Price 2002;

Steinsland 2005, 306–26; Simek 2006, 199–200) it is seen as a very specific form

of shamanistic spiritual practices performed mainly by skilled seeresses (ON v 3 lva ,

(1939a; 1939b); Buchholz (1968); de Vries (1956–57, I , 330–33); Schmidt Poulsen (1986,

175–78); Clunies Ross (1994, 198–211); Hedeager (1997); DuBois (1999, 121–38); McKinnell

(2000; 2003); Price (2000; 2002; 2004; 2005a; 2005b; 2006); Solli (2002); Raudvere (2003,

89–170); Steinsland (2005, 306–26); Heide (2006a; 2006b). See also Andrén and Carelli (2006).

Some Polish scholars have also discussed aspects of seiðr ; however, detailed descriptions are to be

found only in the works of S³upecki (1998, 69–102; 2003, 91; 2004b, 223; 2007, 97). Seiðr was also

mentioned in a paper by Tomicki (2000, 459–62) and books by Kempiñski (2003, 145–49);

Urbañczyk (2004, 209); and Kulesza (2007, 10). Recently, I have published several articles con-

cerning seiðr and its different aspects (2007a; 2007b; 2007c; 2008a; 2008b; 2008c; forthcoming a;

forthcoming b; forthcoming c).

On various aspects of seiðr , see for example Strömbäck (1935; with others, 2000); Ohlmarks

Leszek Garde³a

a female staff bearer; plural v 3 lur ) or in some cases sorcerers (ON seiðmaðr , a seiðr

practitioner; plural seiðmenn ). 4

A careful analysis of Old Icelandic written accounts indicates that many of those

who practised the art of seiðr led the lives of wanderers (Garde³a 2008c). Eiríks saga

rauða (ch. 4), Laxdœla saga (chs 35–37), Norna-Gests þáttr , Örvar-Odds saga

(ch. 2), and other sources support this view and suggest that v 3 lur and seiðmenn

often traveled or operated in groups of several people (S³upecki 1998, 82). The

constant movement from place to place was in most cases a direct effect of the

functions which seiðr practitioners held in society; in some cases it resulted from

their unenviable status as outsiders and outcasts (Steinsland 2005, 313). Neverthe-

less, several written accounts relate that seiðr practitioners were treated with great

honour and respect ( Eiriks saga rauða , ch. 4, and Vatnsdœla saga , ch. 44, for exam-

ple). Yet people always felt somewhat uncomfortable among them.

In particular, men who performed seiðr were seen as controversial characters

(Price 2002, 122–24; Heide 2006c, 167; Garde³a forthcoming a). As a conse-

quence of the fact that this art had strong sexual overtones and by definition (see

Ynglinga saga , ch. 7) was attributed to women, male practitioners were referred to

as argr (Ström 1973; Ström 1974; Clunies Ross 1994, 207–11; Blain and Wallis

2000; Price 2002, 210–14; Solli 2002, 140–64; Steinsland 2005, 308–09). This

meant that they were perceived to belong to the same group as passive homosexuals

or ‘unmanly’ men. I believe that, to some extent, this ‘unmanliness’ could have

resulted from the fact that seiðr was metaphor for domestic activities such as the

processes of spinning and weaving (and those were strictly attributed to women).

The practice of seiðr was probably unsuitable for an ideal man who, in the common

belief of the Viking-Age Scandinavians, should rather fight and fulfil his destiny by

means of sword and not feminine sorcery (Solli 2002, 148–59). Because of that,

generally refer to them as v 3 lur and seiðmenn , but it is vital to be aware of the various kinds of

seeresses and sorcerers who appear in the written accounts. Their names could also imply their

specific attitudes towards their craft and the ways in which they were perceived by the late Iron-

Age societies.

In Bósa saga (ch. 2) the main hero Bósi refuses to learn sorcery ( t 3 fr ) from his foster-mother

Other names of seiðr practitioners appear as well (see Price 2002, 126–27). In this paper I will

Busla, because he does not want to be remembered as a trickster.

many actions undertaken by sorcerers often led to ostracism and resulted in falling

into disgrace and disfavour with rulers or landowners (see Haralds saga ins

hárfagra , ch. 34; Óláfs saga Tryggvassonar , ch. 62; Laxdœla saga , chs 35–37; Gísla

saga Súrssonar , ch. 6).

INTO VIKING MINDS

Expanding Earlier Interpretations

In most dictionary definitions (see for example Heggstad, Hødnebø, and Simensen

1975, 360; Cleasby and Vigfusson 1957, 519–20; Zoëga 2004, 353), seiðr is seen

interpretations and argue that the verb síða can even mean ‘to sing’ (Näsström

2006, 238). However, a closer look at seiðr ’s usage shows that such an interpre-

tation (although to some extent correct) is imprecise. Neil Price, for example,

comments on seiðr in these words:

more than anything else, seiðr seems to have been an extension of the mind and its faculties.

Even in its battlefield context, rather than outright violence it mostly involved the clouding

of judgment, the freezing of will, the fatal hesitation. (2002, 64)

Price — as well as several other scholars (Heide 2006a; Heide 2006b; Heide

2006c; Domeij 2006, 293–95) — suggests that the word seiðr could be mainly

associated with the symbolic binding/catching/capturing/summoning of spirits or

other beings (Price 2002, 64). S³upecki mentions that in Sigurðardrápa Óðinn

gains mental control over a woman named Rindr with seiðr ( seið Yggr til Rindar )

(1998, 77), which also supports the possible ‘magical binding’ applications of this

practice (see also Heide 2006c). This might correspond to the possible relation of

seiðr to domestic spinning and weaving practices. Eldar Heide follows this line of

reasoning, and argues that one of the fundamental meanings of the word seiðr is

simply ‘a thread’:

and practitioners. He also mentions the problem of ergi : ‘Óðinn kunni þá iðrótt, svá at mestr máttr

fylgði, ok framði sjálfr, er seiðr heitir, en af því mátti hann vita ørlög manna ok óorðna hluti, svá ok

at gera mönnum bana eða óhamingju eða vanheilendi, svá ok at taka frá mönnum vit eða afl ok gefa

öðrum. En þessi fjölkyngi, ef framið er, fylgir svá mikil ergi, at eigi þótti karlmönnum skammlaust

viðat fara, ok var gyðjunum kend su íðrótt’ which translates to ‘Óðinn knew the skill from which

follows the greatest power, and which he performed himself, that which is called seiðr . By means

of it he could know the futures of men and that which had not yet happened, and also cause death

or misfortune or sickness, as well as take men’s wits or strength from them and give them to others.

But this sorcery [ fjölkyngi ], as is known, brings with it so much ergi that manly men thought it

shameful to perform, and so this skill was taught to the priestesses [ gyðjur ]’ (text and trans. Price

2002, 70).

See also Simek’s dictionary (2006, 199–200, 280) which provides a more detailed definition.

Other interpretations of the word seiðr can be found in de Vries (1962, 467–68), Strömbäck

(1970), Fritzner (1973, 198), Lindow (2001, 265–66), Kempiñski (2003, 145–49).

as a magical practice involving reciting incantations. Some scholars follow those

In Ynglinga saga (ch. 7) Snorri Sturluson provides his own description of seiðr , its applications,

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: