When I was invited to take part in the Seminar of the Provincialists, I somehow started thinking of the Kensington Stone in Minnesota. The stone probably came to mind, because it can be looked upon as a token of the outer limit of Scandinavian cultural influence in the Middle Ages. It was discovered near the town of Alexandria, Minnesota in the late 19th century, in an area where many Scandinavians had recently settled. The stone has a runic inscription carved on it, along with the date 1362, and tells the story of eight Swedes (from Gothenland) and 22 Norwegians. They are said to have made a voyage of exploration from Vinland, the place on the east coast of North America where Scandinavian seafarers had founded a colony around the year 1000 AD. According to the runic inscription the explorers had set up camp on two rocky islands a day's march from the location of the stone. One day, they had gone fishing, and when they returned to camp they found ten of their comrades lying dead in their blood. I quote: 'May holy Mary protect us against evil! Ten men watch our ship by the ocean, fourteen days journey from this island.'
Many books have been written about the Kensington Stone. But scholars now question its authenticity. They doubt that there could have been Scandinavians living in the old Vinland colony as late as 1362, and they doubt that they could have travelled all the way to the prairies of Minnesota and left evidence of their visit on a carved stone. For the people of Minnesota, however -- the descendants of Scandinavian settlers who arrived in the 19th century -- the inscription on the Kensington Stone is a truth. For them, it is a sacred foretoken of times to come, an omen of the flourishing settlements that would be established by Scandinavians on the prairies of North America. Accordingly, they have given the stone a place of honour in their memorial museum, and thousands of visitors come to see it every year.
We can speak of a myth in this case. The Scandinavians of Minnesota believe in this myth. It helps them appreciate their heritage and their rights in the new country, and it encourages them to look with optimism to the future. This, in fact, is the role of a myth: it helps people accept their lot and destiny. It is therefore very important to preserve it and believe in it, no matter what learned and sceptical voices say. The people on the periphery of Scandinavian culture, on the outer limit of Scandinavian influence, on the remote prairies of Minnesota, found in the stone what they needed to strengthen their identity, to reinforce their position vis à vis their countrymen, not only in the new land, but also in the old country, the old centre of their culture.
The runes were the instrument of Odin, the chief Scandinavian god. They are associated with supernatural powers, wisdom and poetry. The medieval Scandinavians told many stories about Odin. At the beginning of his Heimskringla, Snorri Sturluson tells us very interesting things about this chief god and his fellow deities and family members. Odin came from the southeast (in his Edda, Snorri is more specific, telling us that Odin came from Troy, a city that can be termed a centre of civilization). Odin left his home city because of warfare and unrest. He travelled north to the outer limits of the inhabited world -- to Scandinavia -- and became the ancestor of the people who now live there. It might be added that on his way, he left some of his sons in Saxland (Northern Germany) to rule over those lands. And one of his sons founded the line of Danish kings. Odin himself settled in Sweden according to the Heimskringla account. He granted land to his most powerful relatives and followers. Even before his death, Odin was worshipped as a god; and after his demise he became the chief god of the Scandinavian peoples.
The myth of Odin and his move to the north performs the same function as the Kensington Stone. It tells Scandinavians that their home in the far north is a sacred place, and that they are of noble origin with roots in the cradle of Western culture. This myth gave Scandinavians an identity they could be proud of, and it also provided assurance of a happy future and divine protection.
There are similar stories about the British people. Its noblest ancestors are also said to come from the south, from Troy, as we read in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain. And turning to the Icelanders, we can see the same type of myth: the settlers of Iceland are very often described as individuals of noble origin. One account in the old Book of Settlement (the original text dates from the 12th century) relates the story of the aristocratic woman Audur the deep-minded. This account seems to have had a great impact on the people of Iceland through the centuries, both men and women. A close reading shows many similarities with the above-mentioned narrative of the chief god Odin. In other words, we are dealing with a myth, or, to be a bit more specific: a historical repetition of an archetype. And of course it has to be taken literally, it has to be believed, because it is an essential part of the identity of the nation concerned.
What is the tale of Audur the deep-minded about? With a little exaggeration we can say that she is the ancestress, not only of some of the mightiest Icelanders of old, but also of the people of the Orkneys and the Faroe Islands. In that sense, this myth is a parallel to the above-mentioned myth of Odin, the god who left some of his sons behind on his journey to the land of his destiny.
The tale goes like this: Audur's father was descended in part from trolls (which is also the case with Odin). Ketill flatnose came from Northern Norway, and the nickname may hint at a Lapp connection: in the Scandinavian tradition, Lapps are associated with sorcery, and in that sense, they resemble Odin. Ketill flatnose, was sent by the king of Norway to subdue the Hebrides. That he did, but he kept the taxes for himself, instead of paying tribute to the king. In retaliation, the king seized all of the Ketill's Norwegian properties. That is why Audur, Ketill's daughter , was brought up in the Hebrides, where she became a Christian and later married the warrior king of Dublin, Olaf the white. She lost her husband in a battle in Ireland. Her son, Thorstein the red, became king of half of Scotland; but the Scots betrayed him, and he was killed in battle. Audur then had a ship built at a secret location in Scotland and set course for the north around the year 900 AD. She made a stop in the Orkneys and gave one of her granddaughters in marriage to the chieftain of those islands. Then she left for the Faroes, where she married another granddaughter to the most powerful man in those islands; becoming the ancestress of the noble family of Gata. She then headed for Iceland. After visiting two of her brothers who had already settled there, she claimed land for herself and became the most powerful individual in her district of west Iceland and the ancestress of the chieftains in that area. She had converted to Christianity, but there was no church or Christian graveyard in the area, so she ordered her servants to bury her body in an estuary, because she did not want to lie in unhallowed ground.
The myth of Audur the deep-minded tells us that she came from a fiercely independent family that refused to submit to anyone. She married a king, she was clever, and she could actually foretell the destiny of her people. In that way she is like Odin himself. Many important people in the islands north of Scotland are her descendants, and the status of her Christian descendants in Iceland is further reinforced when the myth tells us that she became Christian long before the rest of the nation. We are talking about a woman with roots in many places and many cultures, a woman who – like Odin himself – travelled from land to land before she settled on the edge of the world. Her name, Audur, means happiness, good fortune, riches. It is interesting to note that Snorri tells us that this name (the masculine variant of it) is etymologically related to the name Odin. In my opinion, this strengthens the close connection between the Audur-myth and that of Odin. But even without the association provided by the names, the parallels are fairly obvious, almost striking, once you put the two myths side by side.
Both of them connect the people of the north with the civilization of the south. Unrest and warfare in the south bring these people to the north where they can live in peace and prosperity. They both depict the chief of the group (Odin/Audur) as ancestor/ancestress of different nations, some of these peoples living on islands. The two myths are concerned with religion and rites, and they describe arrangements made by the chieftain immediately before his or her death. They depict the chieftain as a seer, telling family members and friends their destinies.
The myth of Odin can be taken as a universal myth, because it applies to a huge geographical area and several large nations in the north. The myth of Audur is more a local version or historical repetition of the Odin myth as it concerns smaller settlements – even a specific district in a 'promised land.' Another obvious difference is gender, not only that of the main character but also his or her offspring, who are left behind along the way to the final destination.
Every nation needs its myth of origin, a myth that can elevate the spirit, make people proud of their origins, and give them hope for the future. If this myth is lost, if the connection with the origin and roots of your civilization is lost, the result is a nation in crisis.
I would like to conclude with an example that clarifies my point. There is a beautiful work of art that takes a place of honour in the National Museum of Iceland. It is a carved wooden church door dating from about 1200 AD. (If we compare it to the Kensington Stone, we can see that it is ca. 160 years older than the stone claims to be). The door was brought from Valthjofsstadir in east Iceland to the city that was then the capital of Iceland, Copenhagen, in the year 1851. In 1930, on the 1000th anniversary of the Icelandic Parliament, the door was returned to Iceland. This Danish act of restitution was a token of friendship and good will toward a former colony, given by a country that had once been its overlord.
The carvings on the Valthjofsstadir door are among the most valuable works of art ever created in Iceland and clearly show the influence of European chivalric culture. There are two circular images: the lower picture shows four dragons, each biting its own tail. These intricate forms have been compared to the complicated verse form dróttkvætt, the metric form used in the court poetry of the Icelandic and Norwegian skalds. This poetic form is characterized by irregular word order and concentrated metaphors derived from Norse mythology.
The upper image depicts the story of an equestrian, a knight, who kills a dragon, thereby freeing a lion from its claws. In gratitude, the lion becomes the knight's faithful follower; and when his master dies, the lion mourns him, lying on his grave. There is a rune inscription on the grave: “[See the] mighty king buried who killed this dragon.”
The chivalric tale of a knight who saved a lion was not well known in Iceland at the time the images were carved on the door, as the story was not translated into Icelandic until several decades later. So the artist may have heard it for the first time in a foreign country. At any rate, he was very skilled at his craft and acutely aware of the cultural currents of his time. This was not the case 640 years later. The pastor at the farm where this valuable relic still served as a church door was not in a position to read the tale of the knight and the lion. He did not realize that the story began at the bottom right and moved upwards in a clockwise direction. This could, as I implied, be seen as reflection of the deteriorating situation of a nation that had long been under foreign domination: even the learned people of the country were incapable of reading the old 'myths,' the old symbols of Iceland's important connection with the culture of the south, the creative culture of our golden age. They let the treasure be taken away, because they did not know how important and precious it was. They belonged to a nation in crisis, a nation that had lost its independence and its connection with a significant part of its cultural heritage, and which was therefore threatened with isolation.
In conclusion, I would like to say: be it the Kensington Stone, be it the tale about Odin or Audur – or the carving of the knight on the door in the east of Iceland -- all these things remind us that if you are going to prosper on the periphery, in the provinces, at the outer limit of civilization, you have to remain in touch, not only with the centre, but also with the past. And you have to believe in the myth.