All-father

Odin: Ecstasy, Runes, & Norse Magic - Diana L. Paxson 2017


All-father

Gylfi: “Who is the highest and most ancient of all gods?”

High: “He is called All-father in our language, but in Old Asgard, he had twelve names.”

Gylfaginning 3

Actually, as we have already seen, for Odin, twelve names is barely a beginning. But among his bynames and epithets, “All-father” is one of the most popular.

We may have met Odin first as the wanderer or the wizard, but a search of his images will show that he is most often portrayed as the ruler of Asgard, greatest and most glorious of the gods. When Odin is not wandering the world, he watches over it from Asgard. In the old days, the chieftains were as fathers to their people. The title “All-father” expresses Odin's protective relationship to men and gods.

Kings and Skalds

Names like Fimbultyr (Mighty or Awesome God), Godjadharr (God Protector), Ítrekr (Splendid Ruler), Jörmunr (Mighty One), Fjölsvidhr (Much Wise), Forn-Ölvir” (Ancient Holy One), and Haptagudh (God of the Gods) convey an image of might and majesty.

As Snorri says, “When he sat with his friends he was so fair and noble in looks that all were joyful” (Ynglingasaga 6). When to this you add the descriptive names that refer to his long, grey beard and bushy eyebrows, you get a figure reminiscent of the Emperor from a Tarot deck, the archetype of the Wise Old Man. Tyr may have been the original monarch, but over the centuries, Odin has grown into the role.

Pictures from the 19th century, especially, show him presiding over the feast in Valhalla from his richly carved throne, often wearing the inaccurate but picturesque winged helmet, with his spear leaning against the chair. An eye patch may cover one eye, but the glance of the other is eagle keen. He is cloaked in the deep luminous blue of the evening sky just after sunset. As the torches flicker, light flares from his armor. His ravens perch on the high back of the great chair, and at his feet two great gray wolves gnaw on the bones of the offerings.

In the opening to the Younger Edda, Snorri portrays Odin as a monarch of supreme wealth and power who rules the world because of his might and because of the part he played in creating it. The Younger Edda was written as a handbook for poets, who were supported by the great lords and the kings. It was a mutually advantageous arrangement. Until conversion to Christianity had provided men who could chronicle the deeds of the kings in Latin, the only way for a ruler to win undying fame was to have his deeds recorded for posterity in elegant poetry.

One particular service which Icelanders performed was that of court poet (skjald) whose task was to compose poems in praise of his lord. . . . This poetry was therefore a very important element in Icelandic culture and greatly influenced the Icelanders' ideas about their past, powerfully reinforcing their interest in kings, especially the kings of Norway. (Sawyer 1982, 14)

Snorri himself had traveled to Norway in the hope of serving the young King Hákon in this way. The Hattatal, later incorporated into the Younger Edda, consists of 102 stanzas analyzing different poetic meters. The examples are taken from praise poems written by Snorri for King Hákon and his regent, Earl Skuli. Many of the stanzas celebrate the military prowess of the king and his army, but a number paint a picture of the king in peace and prosperity.

The leader is eager to distribute fen's fire [gold]—

the hand tends to act in accordance with custom.

The punisher of plundering gives Rhine's amber [gold]—

princes become famous among men.

The ruler greatly trusts his men's experience—

a gift looks to its recompense.

The king has power over men for the future—

each man gains from companionship.

Hattatal 26

The words in brackets give the meanings of the “kennings,” which are phrases that describe what something is like or does, rather than giving the actual name. For instance, a king is a “hater of gold” because he gives away the gold he wins to reward his followers. In Beowulf, written five centuries earlier, the people praise the valor with which the king protected them, and cry “that he was ever of the kings of earth of men most generous and to men most gracious, to his people most tender and for praise most eager” (Tolkien 2014, 2663—5).

In addition to the Younger Edda, Snorri compiled the Heimskringla, The Lives of the Norse Kings. This begins with the legendary history of how Odin led his people from old Troy to establish his kingdom in the north, and recounts the biographies of those who ruled Scandinavia all the way to the reign of Magnus Erlingson, who died in 1184, shortly after Snorri was born. The focus is on battles and victories, but even for a Christian king, the greatest praise is that “the land was prosperous during his rule, for there were both good seasons and peace” (Sturlason 1932, “History of Sigurd the Crusader,” 41).

However, a reading of Heimskringla shows that there were limitations on the power of Norse kings. Even after conversion to Christianity had given the Scandinavian kings a claim to Divine Right and a literate civil service in the form of monastery-trained clerks, their subjects clung to a sturdy independence. The people who settled Iceland were fleeing royal power and resisted Norwegian attempts to reclaim them until social and environmental pressures overwhelmed them in the 13th century.

The fundamental Germanic political structure, as seen not only in Scandinavia but also on the Continent and in Anglo-Saxon England, seems to have been to have a king chosen from among the men within the eight degrees of royal kinship, who was supported by his sworn warriors and advised by a council of the leading men of the community.

Was Odin actually the kind of king that Snorri praised? In the Eddas, he does not seem to exercise even that much authority. During the war between the Æsir and Vanir, the most holy gods meet to discuss their response at their rökstóla (seats of destiny), the judgment seats that are by the Well of Wyrd (Völuspá 6, 23, and 25). This is a phrase we find in several places in the Eddas when a decision has to be made. Odin casts his spear above the foe to begin the battle, but going to war is a joint decision.

I see his role more as that of a CEO with a board of directors than as that of the president of a company. This makes sense, since if his job were to run the world, he would hardly have time to wander through it. As we see in chapter 7, in the literature of the saga period, the area in which Odin does exercise sole leadership is in preparing for Ragnarök; and when the last battle takes place, he is the one who will lead the gods and heroes to the field.

By the time Richard Wagner was writing the Ring operas, Europe had had an additional seven centuries to develop the concept of absolute monarchy, and scholars reinterpreted Odin's role as leader of the Germanic gods. In Das Rheingold, Wagner portrays the god as one of the young hero kings beloved of the skalds, hungry for wisdom but even more eager for glory. The “Entry of the Gods into Valhalla,” with which that opera ends, is a musical portrait of the fortress that will be the physical manifestation of his power. In Die Walküre, we see Wotan as a reigning king, his power constricted by the laws he himself has made. In Siegfried, he abandons his role as king to become the Wanderer, manipulating events but not controlling them, and in Götterdammerung, he has given up even trying and retreats to his fortress to wait for his mortal children to bring the old world to an end.

In the 20th century, Odin's character continued to evolve. As we saw in chapter 2, Tolkien's Gandalf bears a striking resemblance to Odin as the Wanderer. As the writing of The Lord of the Rings progressed, the figure of Gandalf, like many other elements in Tolkien's story, evolved. Eventually, the wandering wizard is revealed as one of the Maiar, a lesser god who is a servant of Manwë, in whom we find a figure evocative of Odin as Sovereign of Asgard.

In Tolkien's Silmarillion, Manwë is chief of the Ainur, the godly beings who have created Middle Earth. He reigns from the top of a heavenly mountain. Robed in blue, he is the Elder King and Lord of the Winds, and the great eagles are his servants.

The most recent version of Odin as king of the gods comes from Marvel Comics. In 1962, Odin appeared in Journey into Mystery # 86 and became a regular character in the comics as the ruler of Asgard and father of Thor. After evolving through a convoluted series of story lines in comic book form, in the current Marvel film series, he has had a new incarnation, played by Anthony Hopkins. Of course the Marvel version of Norse mythology only follows the actual lore when convenient, but Odin, in his aspect as All-father and sovereign of Asgard, is a commanding figure there.

Maker of Midgard

Odin's role in Asgard is not his only claim to the title of All-father. Whatever stories might have been told about the creation of the world in earlier times, by the time the Eddas were being written, the role of primary mover and shaker had been given to Odin.

He is not, however, the ultimate source. In Völuspá 3—4 and Gylfaginning 4—8, we are told that the universe was born from the collision of the elements of ice and fire, a Norse equivalent of the “Big Bang” theory. They met in Ginnungagap, the Abyss, and from the resulting yeasty ferment came a primal being, Ymir, whose limbs, rubbing together, generated the frost giants. Ymir was nourished by the supernatural cow, Audhumla, who licked away the salty rime to reveal a being called Buri, the first of the gods. Buri's son was Bor, who married Bestla, daughter of the frost giant Bolthorn. Their sons were Odin, Vili, and Vé.

How are we to interpret this story? My feeling is that this triad, born of the union of the god essence with one of the beings generated by the manifestation of matter, represents the beginnings of consciousness. The Proto-Indo-European forms of these names would have been *Wodhanaz, *Weljon, and *Weixan (Orel 2003, 453). As I interpret them, Wod (the root of “Odin”) is the ecstatic passion of creation. Vili is “will,” or focused intention. is the name for a holy place or sanctuary and thus can stand for holiness manifest in the material world. If the earlier phases of the creation story record the interactions of barely personified forces, with the appearance of Odin and his brothers, Mind begins to act on Matter.

Its first act is to dismember the primal being, and from Ymir's parts to construct the world. “They took Ymir and transported him to the middle of Ginnungagap, and out of him made the earth, out of his blood the sea and the lakes. The earth was made of the flesh and the rocks of the bones, stone and scree they made out of the teeth and molars and of the bones that had been broken” (Gylfaginning 8).

Ymir's other bits and pieces were used for the rest of the world, including a palisade to protect Midgard that was made from his eyelashes. Similar stories are found in a number of mythologies. The fact that the Hindu version, in which the primordial being Purusha is sacrificed to create life, comes from the oldest Vedic scriptures suggests that the motif was already present in Proto-Indo-European religion.

When I contemplate this process, I see the Power that we now know as Odin focusing what had been a diffused cosmic consciousness in separate modes more powerfully and precisely, because “he” is aware of them. One of the primary ways of differentiating elements so that one can work with them is to give them names. Thus, I propose that Odin's association with communication developed during the process of creation. The visual image that comes to me is of the god ranging through this evolving environment, fixing and shaping the emerging entities through words.

But he does not do this alone. He works with his brothers to build the world and cooperates with the Ginn-heilög Godh, the highest, most holy gods, to organize the workings of the heavens and the wheel of the year. We do not know the names of these other gods. Perhaps they are other children of Bor and Bestla, an earlier generation of deities, or the evolving forms of the gods whom we find in the mythology. What they do, however, is establish a template for civilization with temples, technology, and entertainment.

This poem by Fjolnirsvin expresses one perspective on Odin's role as creator.

I. Odinn

Before I made the world from Ymir's body

with my brothers, Villi and Ve,

who may or may not be me

(that's the trouble with hypostases),

the first giants said:

“There is only ice and fire and the place they meet.

That's all there is,

the only conceivable order.”

Now the earth flowers in all its complexity.

So, know. When dead Yggdrasil grows new shoots

and Baldur returns,

in whose ear I whispered

(no, I won't tell you what),

and from the riven trunk,

the parents of future descendants emerge,

blinking at the new sun,

there will be not just reiteration

but transformation

and an unfolding order, unimagined.

The Tree People

After the story of creation, the next section of Völuspá (9—16) lists the names of the dwarves. Creating them seems to have been a group effort. In stanzas 17—18, we come to the story of the creation of humankind. Here we find another opportunity for Odin to be considered as All-father.

One day, as they are walking along the shore, three gods find two logs of wood. In the Younger Edda (Gyrlfaginning 9), Snorri simply calls them the sons of Bor, but in Völuspá, we are told that the three who found the logs were Odin, Hoenir, and Lódhur.

One log is of ask, ash wood. The other, embla, is interpreted as elm, or sometimes as a vine (Lindow 2001, 63). Other spiritual traditions say that humans were created from mud, but I have always enjoyed the idea that we are actually related to the trees. This does, however, give us a special responsibility to take care of our relatives.

The first thing we know about Ask and Embla is that they were örløg-lausa, “without örløg” or “unfated.” Not only were they not yet human, but they were also not even living. They were pure potential, ready to be shaped. To understand what the gods did to them, we need to look at who they were and what each of them gave.

We know Odin (or think we do). Hoenir turns up several times in the mythology. In addition to his role in the creation of humans, at the beginning of Skaldskaparmál, he appears as the companion of Odin and Loki in the journey that leads to the kidnapping of Idunna.

There may have been other stories in which these three traveled together; as in the poem Haustlong, Loki is referred to as Hoenir's friend. In Ynglingasaga 4, Hoenir is one of the hostages sent by the Æsir to Vanaheim after the war between the Æsir and Vanir. He looks good but refers all opinions to his fellow hostage, Mimir. The disappointed Vanir behead Mimir (about whom we hear more when we discuss the Well of Mimir in chapter 10) and kick Hoenir out of Vanaheim. Hoenir is also one of the few first-generation gods who is destined to survive Ragnarök (Völuspá 63), after which he will perform divination with the “wooden lots.”

The third deity, Lódhur, is even more enigmatic. One kenning for Odin is “Lódhur's friend.” John Lindow (2001, 212) points out that another Odin kenning is “Lopt's friend.” Lopt is a name for Loki, and some have identified Lódhur with him.

Perhaps we can get a better sense of what is going on by comparing the versions in the Elder and Younger Eddas.

Image

In both versions, Odin provides önd, the breath of life, the spirit that is taken in with the first breath and released with the last. It is a term that has much the same weight as the Hebrew ruach and the Greek pneuma. Breath brings us the oxygen that catalyzes all other bodily processes. Without it, the other gifts would be useless. Breathing is a process, just as the combustion of breath in our blood is a process. Odin is a process, which is why he is so hard to pin down.

Meditating on this brings an understanding of Odin as a dynamic force, source of the breath that carries communication and the wind that is the breath of the world. This poem by Paul Edwin Zimmer (1979) expresses some of its meanings.

With breastbone and brain, breathe the sky!

Allow your lungs long to fill:

Weighted with wisdom, wind in the lungs

Reddens blood with rust, that rushes through the body

And the brain, bearing breath everywhere;

Blowing in the blood, blithely stirring life,

Let wind awake wisdom in your mind!

Ódh is the gift of Hoenir, which seems odd, given that it is the root of Odin's name. It is also one of the most difficult Norse words to translate. In their monumental dictionary, Cleasby and Vigfusson (1874) offer a translation for it as an adjective meaning “mad,” “violent,” “frantic,” which fits with Adam of Bremen's 11th century definition of “Wodan id est furor.” However, Cleasby and Vigfusson follow this with an entry for ódh as a noun, in which its meaning is given as “wit” or “mind” with a secondary meaning of “song” or “poetry.” Most translators of this passage prefer to interpret it as the noun. For a deeper exploration of the meanings, see chapter 10.

In the Younger Edda, however, the gift is listed as “wit and motion,” which could be said to incorporate both senses of ódh. Today we tend to think of mental activity as detached and controlled, but my own understanding of ódh is something like “creative fervor,” the act of thinking agitated into passion. This does not fit particularly well with what we know of Hoenir, but it might work for Vili if we view it as “fervor focused by the will.”

The third gift is a collection of qualities that enable the human being, already possessed of the ability to move and think and feel, to live in the world. The senses enable us to give and receive information. I take the gift of a face as the equivalent of “good looks,” the final sculpting that gave Ask and Embla the forms that humans wear today.

The identity of the Power who gives this third gift is even more puzzling than that of the second. In a fourteenth century poem, the Thrymlur (a retelling in Icelandic rimur form of the Eddic Thrymskvidha), Lódhur appears as another name for Loki. This, when combined with the inclusion of Loki as a traveling companion for Hoenir and Odin in the Younger Edda story in which the trio encounter the giant Thiazi, inclines me to favor Loki/Lódhur as the third deity involved in the activation of Ask and Embla.

The gift of the third god, whoever he may be, is external—the shape of the body and the senses. As such, it fits well as a gift of Vé, transforming a thing of the physical world into something holy. Speculating further, I could make a case for Loki, source of so many tools and devices, as the giver of the means by which our bodies interact with the world.

At this point, perhaps I should say a few words about Odin and Loki, who is not Odin's son but with whom he has a complex connection. As I see it, between the boundaries of the creation of Midgard and the final battle of Ragnarök that will end the world we know, the gods exist in an eternal present from which they move in and out of our chronological time. Thus all the myths, including Odin's sacrifice at the Well and his ordeal upon the Tree, are simultaneously occurring. Although a time will come when Loki is the enemy, in the Younger Edda he is always listed among the gods. In Lokasenna 9, Loki reminds Odin that they are “blood brothers,” and that Odin promised that if he had a drink, he would share it. The story of how this happened is lost, but the relationship is clearly an important one. For this reason, even in kindreds where Loki is not explicitly recognized, some Heathens will sprinkle a little of whatever is being offered to Odin on the candle or into the hearth.

When we contemplate Odin as All-father, we need to realize that his role in creation was not that of a clockmaker who sets up his machinery and leaves it to run. He is an active force in our development, inviting us to participate in the coevolution of the world. Michaela Macha's poem “Who Started It All?” (2004) expresses the relationship.

So who

started it all

did you begin

with Ask and Embla

or did we shape you, Shape-Shifter?

a mirror reflecting a mirror

anyone's guess

but do we need you? Or you us?

To survive

love isn't needed,

nor laughter, friendship nor gods

but to live

dearly we need them.

Did you call me, or did I

visit you uninvited?

Do I follow, or do you

watch me from behind?

It is no matter

as I bring you my sacrifice

I don't know who started it all, but

let's finish it

together.

Father of Gods and Kings

In Gyrlfaginning 19, Snorri (1987) tells us, “Odin is highest and most ancient of the Æsir. He rules all things, and mighty though the other gods are, yet they all submit to him like children to their father.” Personally, I tend to doubt that the other gods are always that submissive—I can imagine some pretty heated discussions at those judgment seats by the Well.

Whether the relationships are part of the original stories or were assumed as gods from different Heathen tribes were amalgamated into the mythology, at various points in the lore, Thor, Heimdall, Tyr, Baldr, Hermod, Höd, Váli, and Vidar are all said to be Odin's sons.

Thor

Thor, god of storm and thunder, is Odin's son by Jordh, a giantess whose name means “earth.” Her importance is indicated by the fact that Thor is often identified as “Son of Earth” rather than as “Son of Odin.” We have no story about how this happened, but to me, the fact that Bjorn, “Bear,” is given as a byname both for Thor and for Odin is suggestive. Decorated bear skulls found in Paleolithic burials indicate an ancient reverence, and the bear was held to be sacred to the goddess of the earth in a number of cultures. I imagine the two of them meeting in the form of bears.

Odin's byname of Raudgrani, “red moustache,” explains how Thor came by his red hair, but by the time they meet in Hárbardsljodh, the only story describing their interaction, Odin is Hárbard (“Hoar beard”).

There is yet another way in which we can view the birth of Thor. In general I avoid interpreting the myths as explanations of natural phenomena, but when I was doing some research on Thor, I found a fascinating meteorological analysis of the cause of lightning and thunder. Translating it back into mythic terms produced the following description of Jordh's encounter with Odin from her point of view.

Well, you have to understand—it was a long time ago, and we were different then. Talking to you humans, we've learned to see ourselves in different ways. But back then . . . we were forces, we were feelings. And the worlds were in flux—we acted and reacted as the situation changed.

In those days, I did not have a name. I knew that I was. I felt the impact of stones from the sky that vaporized my rock and released the water that had been locked within. I felt the explosions of heat from within. Heat and Cold . . . Fire and Ice . . . and as they warred, the first teasing touch of the wind . . .

Oh . . . that wind . . . and the Voice that called my name . . .

The wind touched me, courted me, coaxing the moisture from my cracks and hollows until the droplets of water swirled upward and became clouds. As the wind shaped them, I could sense a tension growing between the warmer foundations of the clouds and the chill towers that reached for the sky. The energy in those lower areas repelled me. I felt my own tension growing. I wanted . . . something . . . and I could feel that something was changing in the upper air.

The clouds were moving, creating a channel of energy. Once more I heard that Voice, calling, compelling, crying out my name.

And I reached out, up, with all my might. My Power touched His and completed the connection. And then . . . human words cannot convey the glory, the ecstasy as I received the discharge of His Power in an explosion of incandescent air.

The shockwave that was the joining of our voices reverberated in the first clap of thunder, as Thunder, the Son of Earth, was born. And as the echoes faded, I felt the cool kiss of falling rain.

Heimdall

Heimdall, whom we know primarily as the god whose supernatural sight and hearing enable him to guard Asgard, is the son of nine mothers. They are giantesses, and according to Snorri, the nine waves are the daughters of the giant Aegir, who rules the deeps of the ocean. However, their names are unfortunately not the same as the names listed for Heimdall's mothers in the Shorter Seeress's Prophec (Orchard 2011).

It is, however, possible to speculate on how Heimdall might have been begotten. In Harbardsljodh, Odin boasts that he slept with seven witchy sisters in a distant land. To connect with Aegir's daughters, however, he would have had to give himself to the waves, which seems to me just the kind of expansion of experience Odin would have sought in his wanderings.

In the poem Rígsthula, Heimdall, under the name of Rig, is also said to have sired the three social classes: thrall (serf or slave), carl (farmer), and eorl (ruler). Presumably, this was during a period of wandering before he settled down as watchman of Asgard. It is a story that in general seems more typical of Odin, especially when we see that Kon (king) the youngest son of Eorl, turns out to be a master of rune lore, rivaling Ríg himself. Kon is either the grandson or the great-grandson of Odin. As he is out hunting, a crow counsels him to seek the warrior path, and according to a note in Hollander's translation of Rígsthula (1986), he eventually becomes the founder of the royal line of Denmark.

Tyr

As with Heimdall, the claim of Tyr to be a son of Odin rests on a simple statement by Snorri in the Younger Edda. The only surviving story that mentions Tyr's parentage is Hymiskvidha, in which Tyr and Thor journey to the hall of Hymir, who is either Tyr's father or grandfather, to obtain a cauldron big enough for Aegir to brew sufficient ale for all the gods. Tyr's mother is a “golden girl,” perhaps a goddess, who is not named.

Although only two stories about him survive in the Eddas, unlike Heimdall, Tyr is a god who has been known since Roman times. His name, coming from the same root that gave us the names of Zeus and Jupiter, suggests that he may have been the original sky god. Given that Odin himself is the son of a giantess, the jotun parentage ascribed to Tyr in Hymiskvidha may itself be evidence of his antiquity.

Baldr and Hermod

Other than Thor, Baldr is the best known son of Odin. In Gylfaginning 22, Baldr, Odin's only offspring by his wife Frigg, is portrayed by Snorri as “so fair in appearance and so bright that light shines from him. . . . He is the wisest of the Æsir and most beautifully spoken and most merciful, but it is one of his characteristics that none of his decisions can be fulfilled.”

Fortunately, Baldr's own son, Forseti, is much more successful as a mediator. To balance this rather Christ-like portrait of Baldr, it should be noted that in the Gesta Danorum of Saxo Grammaticus (1905), Balderus and Hotherus are rivals for the hand of Nanna (Baldr's wife in the Younger Edda), and Hotherus slays him in battle.

The Icelandic version of the story, pieces of which appear in several places in the Elder Edda and in full in the Younger, begins when Baldr starts having bad dreams. Odin responds by riding to the gate of Hel, where he uses his necromantic spells to summon up the ancient Völva who is buried there and ask her what's going on. Complaining, she rises, and proceeds to tell him not only that Hella is brewing the beer and decorating the hall to welcome Baldr, but also that Baldr's killer will be his own half-brother, Höd, and his avenger another son of Odin, Váli, who has not yet even been begotten.

The great mystery is why Odin, returning with this information, does nothing to stop the tragedy. Frigg does better, wandering the world to take the oaths of all beings not to hurt her son, but for some reason she tells the first person who asks that there is one being that did not swear, the insignificant mistletoe. When the gods, in a fine display of Viking humor, test Baldr's protection by throwing things at him, Loki attaches a dart of mistletoe to an arrow and guides the aim of the blind god Höd.

Baldr drops dead, and everyone gathers for a magnificent funeral. Frigg promises to reward Hermod if he will ride to Hel and beg Hella to release her son. Baldr greets him as a brother, but it is unclear whether Hermod is a son of Odin or a human hero in the service of the gods. Hella's condition for releasing Baldr is that all things must weep for him. One giantess refuses, so until Ragnarök, Baldr must stay where he is.

The story goes that as Baldr lay on his funeral pyre, Odin bent over the body to whisper in his ear. The nature of that message becomes the most famous trivia question in Norse literature, revealing Odin's identity and giving him victory in more than one riddle contest, since he is the only one who knows the answer.

This has not stopped people from speculating. One popular interpretation is that Odin's farewell to his son is a promise that Baldr will be safe in Hel until Ragnarök releases its inhabitants, when he will return to reign over a world that has been reborn.

But the price both of them must pay is that unless they pass on the road to Hel, Baldr—among all of Odin's offspring—is the one child All-father will never see again.

Höd, Váli, and Vidar

Saxo's Hotherus is a mighty human warrior with a magic sword who kills his rival Balderus in battle. In his Eddic incarnation as Höd, he is a son of Odin and he is blind. We are not told the identity of his mother. He, too, ends up in Hel, and after Ragnarök is destined to return with Baldr to rule over the new world.

The god who avenges Baldr is called Váli, specifically begotten for that purpose by Odin on the goddess or princess Rind, possibly against her will but in accordance with the Völva's prophecy. We will take another look at this incident in the chapter on Bölverk. The newborn, Váli, is transformed in one night into a warrior who goes unshorn and uncombed until he has killed Höd.

Vidar, often paired with Váli for purposes of alliteration, is Odin's son by the giantess Grid. Kennings for him given in Skaldskaparmál include “silent god,” “owner of the iron shoe,” “enemy and killer of the Fenris wolf,” and “vengeance-god of the gods.” His destiny is to avenge his father after Odin has been killed by Fenris, either by killing the wolf with a sword or by ripping apart its jaws. Along with Höd and Váli, he will survive Ragnarök.

Brünnhilde

The most powerful portrayal of Odin as a father is not in the Eddas, but in Wagner's opera Die Walküre. Brünnhilde, leader of the valkyrie daughters borne to Wotan by the earth goddess Erda, is his favorite, his confidant, the mirror of his soul to whom he can open his heart as a lifetime of marital warfare prevents him from doing with his wife Fricka.

Brünnhilde, caught in the middle of their sparring, defends Wotan's mortal son Sigmund, which is what she knows Wotan wants, rather than protecting Hunding, whom Wotan's own laws force him to support.

Furious at himself as much as at her, Wotan pursues and condemns Brünnhilde with a godly wrath. The end of act 3, in which she begs him to give her to a hero instead of leaving her the prey of a common man, is one of the most soul-wrenching scenes in opera, more profoundly moving than most operatic love scenes I have seen. As Wotan and Brünnhilde sing their pain and their love, the tension mounts, until at last he breaks and becomes the loving father once more. The past cannot be undone, but Wotan has forgiven her and leaves her surrounded by a wall of flame that only the greatest of heroes can cross.

Humans

In her famous analysis of Wagner's Ring operas, musical comedienne Anna Russell observes that Wotan fathered the twins Sigmund and Sieglinde “under the singularly appropriate name of Wolf!” Apparently, Odin's encounters were not limited to giantesses.

However it was accomplished, in the Germanic countries, Odin, or Woden, appears at the top of a remarkable number of royal family trees. In Scandinavia, his offspring include Sigi, ancestor of the Volsungs (Volsungasaga); Scyld Scefing, ancestor of the Danish royal line (Ynglingasaga); the Geats and the Amelung Goths (Jordanes' Getica); and Sigrlami, king of Gardariki (Hervararsaga). In Ynglingasaga 8, we learn that after separating from Njord, Skadi took up with Odin and bore him several sons, including Saeming, ancestor of Jarl Hákon.

In volume 1 of his Teutonic Mythology, Grimm (1966, 165) includes the genealogies of the Anglo-Saxon kings. In England, Woden was listed in genealogies compiled during the 7th to 9th centuries in Bede's Historia Ecclesiastica, the Historia Brittonum, and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. Anglo-Saxon kings claiming descent from Woden who are mentioned in both the prologue to the Younger Edda and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle include Wecta, ancestor of Hengest and the kings of Kent; Beldeg, ancestor of the kings of Wessex; Wihtlæg and Casere in Anglia; Winta, in Lindisfarne; and Seaxneat in Essex. All of these give Odin a good claim to another of his names, Veratýr (“God of Men”).

In “An Eye for Odin? Divine Role-Playing in the Age of Sutton Hoo,” Neil Price and Paul Mortimer discuss a number of archaeological finds, starting with the famous Sutton Hoo helmet, in which the left eye of an image, mask, or helmet has been crafted or altered so that it appears to be missing. Experiments with a replica of the Sutton-Hoo helmet have shown that “seen indoors by the flickering light of the fire, the wearer of the Sutton Hoo helmet was one-eyed” (Price and Mortimer 2014, 522). They conclude that a resemblance to Odin was intended to support the mystique of kingship.

Image

Fig. 11. Reproduction of the Sutton Hoo Helmet

Odin's Godchildren

Identifying oneself as a child of Odin is not the sole prerogative of kings. Many of those who are drawn to work with him today characterize their relationship as that of a child to a parent,, although not necessarily an obedient one, as we see in this poem by Laurel Mendes.

All father, my father, old friend new found.

The chosen now chooses to be daughter once more.

Not obedient, but most obstinate,

Shared among many, not singular, not solemn.

Such will my dedication be to you.

Yet I will do what I can for your children's aid.

When am I able I will walk with you.

Thor give me the strength in my limbs to move forward,

Freya give me grace and truth in my heart

Sif give me kindly words for my lips to utter

Frigga lend my will your steely resolve

This is the service that is now mine to offer

So, tell me, old man, do we have a deal?

James Hodur describes his relationship with Odin thus:

I thought I'd share how I view Óðinn, the All-Father. To me, Óðinn is a grandfather figure. He's a grandfather who has a past. He has seen war, tragedy and has those scars in him. He doesn't let those scars rule him. Like any grandfather or family member, he can be kind and loving. But he can also be cruel and uncaring. It's a part of life and any familial relationship. I also see Óðinn as a teacher. He inspires and rewards me with many ideas and thoughts. But he can be a challenging taskmaster and present me with problems to solve. And I must show my work.

To say my relationship with Óðinn is an easy one is far from the truth. To say I haven't experienced other aspects of Óðinn in my life is an understatement. Our relationship is as varied and complex as he is. It takes on many facets and probably will continue to as we grow together.

When a Power has as many names and as many masks as Odin, there are obviously going to be many ways of working with him. The relationship of child to parent is one of the most positive. Many Heathens refer to the gods as our Elder Kin. To call ourselves children of Odin is not a claim to divinity but rather a recognition that we have a lot to learn. Being willing to accept the god's lessons can be another matter.

A person may have a number of reasons to relate to Odin as his child. Those who had good relationships with their fathers might seek in him a spiritual parent who will continue and extend the support and instruction they remember from childhood. Those whose fathers failed them may be seeking the love they never knew. However, one responsibility of a father is to encourage and, if necessary, to force his children to grow. Odin never asks of us more than he demands of himself—of course what he asks of himself is a great deal. If what we get at first is “tough love,” we have to believe that beneath it is a boundless compassion. All-father may not take the hard tasks and choices from us, but he will share the pain.

Practice

1. Breathe

Breathe in to a count of four, hold for four, breathe out to a count of four, and hold again. Continue that rhythm, returning to the count if you become distracted. Fill your lungs, let air expand your chest, fill every part of your body, and then, still counting, let it go. As you continue to breathe, feel the oxygen you draw in energizing every cell. As you breathe out, intone the syllable “ond.” Repeat this practice regularly as a preparation for meditation.

2. Engage in cocreation

Choose an environmental project and support it with money or, better still, with physical action. Join in a local creek-cleanup day, or a tree-planting project, or take a trash bag on your next hike and clean up the trail as you go along.

3. Adopt a tree

This may be a tree in your own yard or in a park. Choose one that is well grown, vigorous, and healthy. Hail it as your kin. Pour out offerings of water. Put your arms around it and send your awareness inward to sense the life flowing upward and downward through the trunk. Then sit down with your back against the trunk.

Now close your eyes and visualize that day when the gods came walking along the shore. See Odin standing before you. Sit up straight and breathe slowly in and out, paying attention to the movement of air through your lungs. Feel the oxygen in your blood, singing through your veins. Let that energy awaken the awareness of your own spirit. Verbalize the syllables of your own name. Who are you? What does that mean? Then let awareness flow outward into your limbs. Feel the limits of your body, touch your face to relearn its contours. Listen to the sounds around you. Then open your eyes and rejoice in the world.

4. Fourth Night Meditation: All-Father

Set up your altar as usual and light a gold candle. You may also want to set out a glass of red wine. Then say:

Odin, by these names I call you:

Alfadhr (All-father)

Fimbultyr (Mighty or Awesome God)

Godjadharr (God Protector)

Ítrekr (Splendid Ruler)

Jörmunr (Mighty One)

Fjölsvidhr (Much Wise)

Forn-Ölvir (Ancient Holy One)

Haptagudh (God of the Gods)

Veratyr (God of Men)

In the word of the king is wisdom,

In the eye of the king is inspiration,

From his high seat comes protection,

and holiness from his hall.

In the mood of the king is might,

In the hand of the king is healing,

At his table abundance,

And bright blessings for all.

Odin is our king, who rules over Asgard,

Odin, our father who made for us this world,

Odin's gift, the way to glory

If we will but heed his call.

Visualize yourself standing at the door to Valaskjalf, Odin's hall. It is roofed with silver that blazes in the sun and glitters beneath the stars. Inside, torches burn in their sockets on the carved pillars, casting a flickering light on the weapons and jewelry of the men and women within. As you start forward, you feel a breath of air and a great raven swoops above you and onward.

Your gaze follows it to the high seat at the end of the hall. Another raven calls a greeting from the post that supports the chair back, all its wood carved in an interlace of figures that seem to move. Two wolves lie before it, gnawing on bones.

But your attention is fixed on the figure sitting in the high seat, a drinking horn in his hand. A deep blue cloak, edged with silver, drapes his shoulders. Silver also are the clasps and fittings of the dark tunic below, and silver threads glint in the brindled beard and the hair that flows from a silver band around his brow.

He sits straight, keen eye fixed on something beyond the walls of the hall, and you know he is watching Midgard. The other eye is shadowed. You do not know what that eye sees. As you gaze, the light grows brighter, catching on each point of metal, surrounding him in a golden glow.

Will you bow before him or try to withstand that piercing gaze? Act as your heart bids, and honor him. Perhaps he will turn and speak to you.

When the time seems right, return to the door. Breathe deeply, return to awareness of the here and now and open your eyes to the place from which you came.

In Gunnlödh's Bed

Who are you?

Who dares this darkness,

slithering like a serpent, seeking my bed?

Long have I waited at Worldheart, warding my secret.

Who dares draw near to me now?

You hiss in the shadows, or is it laughter?

It has been lonely here; I would be glad to laugh . . .

Ah, I see you now, one eye of light and one of darkness,

and a breath of air follows,

a breath of life from the world beyond these walls.

Well, I am sick of secrets and shadows.

Speak to me, serpent, what have you to say?

Tell me a tale; how you traveled in man form,

tricked the thralls, won Baugi's help with your labor,

and as Bolverk made him bore a hole through the belly

of the world.

You were strong then, and cunning.

Do you mean to trick me?

Serpent coils spiral runes around me,

and serpent tongue whispers a spell.

Do you think thus to trance me?

Now it is my turn for laughter.

Indeed, I admire your transformations,

but if you would win me,

you must make another magic.

What, I wonder, would you have here?

An hour in my bed, or two, or three?

Do you draw back from that suggestion?

Perhaps my appearance is not quite what you expected . . .

You will have to be cunning indeed to cozen me.

I am as old as the rocks or the running water.

I am of the race of Ymir,

more ancient than any woman you have known—

Now I see you smiling.

So . . . you know a way to win me after all.

Come closer. Please me . . .

Show me that your lips know more than spells.

Will you put at hazard even your manhood,

surrendering your power?

If you plan to possess me, you are wrong—I will engulf you,

but you cannot stop now, can you?

You must give everything, having thus begun.

I wind you in my arms, all your wisdom lies within me.

My lips are like honey . . .

Drink deeply, wanderer.

Ecstasy fountains upward, filling me, filling you . . .

Then rest, for you have pleased me well.

For a night of the world, you may sleep in my arms.

What, are you not yet ready to leave me?

Perhaps you are learning—

I begin to see beauty mirrored in your eye.

This time, Desired One, it will be easy.

Come once more to my bed

while a second night strides across the world.

Kiss my breasts, and taste honey;

for you I am all golden.

Devour me! Consume me entirely,

drink deeply from the cauldron at the heart of my life.

All that I am I will give to you,

for your love has made me lovely.

Embrace me, my beloved,

as we build the world anew.

Now, in my arms you lie exhausted.

You would sleep for an age of the world.

But the third night approaches, and there is more,

you know there is more.

Do you want it, Old Man?

Have you the will to seek it

even when your flesh is weary and your spirit quails?

You have no lust for it now, have you?

You look at me and wonder how you could have desired me;

it would be so easy now to withdraw

and slink homeward with what you have won.

But you will never rest if you leave me now . . .

Come then, and I will call you Wise.

Though spirit quails and flesh is unwilling,

let us seek together through the shadows.

Sink into my arms, not knowing if death awaits you.

Now . . . now you are come where Need compels you.

This vessel is filled with a dark mead,

bitter to the tongue, but in the belly, sweetest of all. . . .

The third night is past.

Wanderer, Beloved, Wise One, I release you,

for you possess me now entirely,

and wherever you go, I am there as well.

Swiftly then, let love grow wings.

Suttung roars, reaching out for the eagle—

The jealous ones pursue and attack you.

Let them lap up the drops spilled by your passing,

not knowing that what you have won from me

is a prize they never dreamed.

Will they say you have stolen my virtue?

It is not so, for I remain hidden in the heart of the mountain,

and my cauldrons are always full.

Those who will give what you have given,

those who can pursue the path you traveled,

shall find through your gift, Galdorfather,

the way to my arms.

—Diana L. Paxson

Image

Fig. 12. Oski

Image