Despite what some people believe, our ancestors were animistic. Their animism was not simply a “world view” but was fundamental to the relationships they formed with all beings whether they were considered to be living in a contemporary western medical sense or not. Not everyone requires a beating heart or measurable brain wave patterns to be alive—as any oak tree will testify. There are various ways to be animistic and express animism, for example from attributing human characteristics and behaviors to your pet to attributing personhood to all that is—from the broccoli on your dinner plate to the dinner plate itself! People sometimes take it personally and may curse their computers when it crashes. Others wear certain jewelry or amulets, as living fetishes, during ritual that “bring luck” or positive outcomes when worn. Those may be considered as forms of animistic expression depending on tradition and practitioner. But animism can go much deeper.
What exactly is animism?
Animism is derived from Latin meaning ‘breath’, ‘life’, or ‘spirit’. However, the sense of the word and how it is used today as opposed to what was intended by its usage in the past varies tremendously. Additionally, there is a contemporary drive to define animism either through its content (what it includes) or through its function (its intended purpose). But, embracing both content and function is vital in understanding animism. For as much as it may please the proponents of tight taxonomic classifications, at the end of the day reductionist assessments limit rather than reveal.
There is no generalized/systematized, “one size fits all” definition of animism. Graham Harvey’s explanation of animism is a clear and beautiful one that describes animism as the understanding that:
…the world is full of persons, only some of whom are human, and that life is always lived in relationship to others.1
The feature that stands out in Harvey’s definition of animism lies in the phrase, “life is always lived in relationship to others.” It is relationship that is key to animism. The term animism is an academic construct and for a complete history of the use of this term, please see The Handbook of Contemporary Animism 2013.
Many of these scholars believed animism was at best a nascent stage in spiritual/religious development and at worst a sign of “primitive stupidity” embraced by “savages” specifically and “women and children” in general.2 Additionally these ideas on the “primitive” nature of animism were supported by the prevailing Western epistemology of the time that saw a fundamental dichotomy between nature and culture, the former being a resource to be exploited and the latter the pinnacle of Western “civilization.”
This, among other problems, complicates the use of the word animism, with regard to any cultural practices.
The Case for Germanic Animism
Many religious cosmogonies, cosmologies, and daily practices have animistic qualities although their acolytes are unlikely to view them as such. Gods, angels, saints, and demons while not considered human are approached, interacted with, and may respond as “other-than-human beings.” This may be expressed for example through prayer, petitions, offerings, and cultural behaviors including language, forms of address, clothing, taboos, art, laws, teaching, rituals, and celebrations.
How and in what ways were the early Germanic peoples animistic? How did they perceive and interact with their world? Who did they recognize as “persons” and how did they engage with them? How can Runers use this information to lead fuller, richer, and more magically potent lives?
Did our ancestors learn about their cosmology as if it were an idea (a modern Western approach), or did they actually see in the sky vault and the rivers evidence of Ymir’s skull and blood? Many of us differentiate between nature and culture, viewing ourselves as outside of nature, but was that the case for our ancestors? Their cosmogony was not metaphoric and they did not see their land (sense of place) and the non-human things within as objects, unworthy of relationship. Origin myths give us clues as to how people view their worlds. The creation of the world through the dismemberment of Ymir may be considered as an act of regeneration demonstrating the power of all life and the profound recognition of that dependence. For the early Germanic folk, as for countless other tribal peoples the world over, the universe and everything within it was experienced as being full of life, vitality, will, love, fear, pain, yearning—in short, spirit. There are many examples of animism found within the folklore, sagas, and the Eddas of our ancestors. Rivers, trees, stones, earth, and wind all had animating forces and were recognized as beings “other-than-human” and outside of the ordinary. They were understood to act independently and had the ability to communicate with human people and conversely human people with them. Some of these were referred to as land spirits/wights (ON landvættir) and other beings as elves (ON álfar). While many of these relationships were highly valued, others were feared and avoided at all costs.
Trees
Trees were sources of wisdom, power, protection, communication, and sacrifice to our ancestors. Yggdrasil, the cosmic tree of life provides a template for the interconnectedness of this world and all the worlds through relationships with many persons, not all of them human including squirrel, eagle, deer, and snake. According to Tacitus the Semnones believed that human existence began in the sacred groves. It is a widespread Germanic belief that people originated from wood. The first humans were animated from ash and elm trees, Askr (man) and Embla (woman).3 In Alu Edred Thorsson refers to this as “psycho cosmology” an ancient Germanic doctrine teaching that both humans and the cosmos were shaped from trees.
The ancient sages are telling us that there is some metaphorical secret shared between the essences of what a tree is and what the world and mankind are. The tree forms another connecting link between the mind of the magician and events in the world. The key to accessing this flow of information is to realize—to make real—the fullness of the tree within the individual’s hyperbody (or psyche). Then those parts of the hyperbody that correspond to parts in the cosmos—or more correctly actually resonate with them—can be stimulated to cause changes in the outer world.4
Whether people were originally anthropomorphized from chunks of wood or from Yggdrasil herself, the world tree is alive within us all: potentiate magic.
We are familiar with the word áss meaning ‘god’ in ON, but it was also used to refer to, “a block of wood, a pole, beam or post.”5 What we might consider as objects today, were not so for our ancestors who clearly attributed subjectivity and great value to certain wooden objects and the trees they came from. Most recently, we have the Dream of the Rood, a 7th century poem dealing with Christ’s crucifixion where the cross is referred to as both syllicre treow “wondrous tree” and wuldres treow “tree of glory.” The rood or cross is able to speak which ties in with Germanic beliefs regarding the sentience of trees.6
Archeological evidence has shown that people were buried in tree trunks during the early Bronze Age in what is now Denmark. Individual trees were also important in the lives of our ancestors. Clive Tolley observes that it was a:
…common German belief that the fate of a child is bound up with that of the tree planted at its birth; sometimes the fate of a whole community was bound up with a communal tree, planted for example in the village square; this merges with the idea of the guardian tree (Värdträd).7
The Värdträd, part of a later Scandinavian tradition, was a special tree on the farm that watched over its inhabitants. Pollington mentions the widespread Northern European practice of offering drink to the “watchful” or “guardian” tree in ceremonies relating to birth.8 In Sweden two fir trees were planted in the church yard during a wedding. There were said to represent the “life-trees” of bride and groom, the health of the tree bound to the well-being of the couple.
In Grimismál we read that the animals living on Yggdrasil are slowly destroying it and in Vǫluspá we are told that the condition of the tree and that of the world are linked.9 The tree as we have seen is representative of the entire cosmos and is mythologically and literally tied in to the health of our world both individually and collectively. Since the Industrial Revolution our unsustainable growth and insatiable hungers have resulted in the systematic destruction of trees and their ecosystems globally. As the tree of life erodes, so do we. This is not metaphoric. Our greed and ignorance may well bring on Ragnarök.
To paraphrase the deep ecologist Thomas Berry, the tree is an expression of our organic unity with the earth and the universe.10 Whatever relationships we have left with the trees must be nurtured, and new relationships forged. We can begin to deepen and reconnect with a place through frequent intentional interactions. Harvey counsels that, “Places are not only environments and ecologies but persons, individuals, agents, active and relational beings, participants in the wider ecology of life.”11 In the words of Carol Cusack: The future of humanity is inextricably linked to the future of the trees. Myths assert that trees and humans are created together, are mutually constitutive of the cosmos, and perish together at the end of time. It is not too much of a risk to hazard that science, in the long run, will provide a more prosaic set of data in less poetic language, that nevertheless reinforces the same conclusion.12
The Vaettir
The “spirits of nature” have knowledge that our ancestors recognized and that we are able to see through the stories that have come down to us today. There are widespread legends regarding the unknown uses for certain plants including bracken root (Pteridium sp.). Generally speaking, a forest spirit or merwoman falls in love with or is captured by a man. The forest being offers the man knowledge about the secret properties of the bracken under the condition that he does not speak of it or kill her. Of course the man can’t hold to the agreement and the knowledge is lost. Variations of this story exist in the Baltic and in Sweden. In Germany it is wild sage (Salvia nemorosa) who is the person of interest instead of bracken.
Other Scandinavian legends speak of nature or forest spirits who teach people the various uses of herbs including mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris), daphne (Family Thymelaeacae), and valerian (Valeriana officinalis radix).13
Terry Gunnel has written extensively on the legends of the Icelandic álagablettir, literally the enchanted or cursed spots. These places are the residences of what he calls “nature spirits”—the álf or huldukona. The human people in these narratives feel the presence of the nature spirits but interact with them only in their dreams which may be a reflection of a post-Christian mind set and during the Iron and Viking Ages communications with these beings probably extended far beyond the dream state. Speaking to the Icelandic experience Gunnel states, “The legends are still alive today and have evolved their content to reflect modern times. Your cow may not die from your harvesting on a sacred site, but your bull dozer may catch on fire the night before you plan to flatten the sacred hill.”14
Dwarves or dvergar are other beings known to our ancestors. They were appreciated as skilled smiths and sought for their knowledge and wisdom but understood to be easily riled or offended. Interactions with dwarves were founded in balanced exchange and respect. Dwarves live in mountains, in the earth or under large rocks, and are associated with the dead. We have evidence of much ritual around these sacred standing stones.
The origin story of Dragney Island in Iceland, documented by Jacqueline Simpson, tells that once upon a time, two night-trolls caught out after dawn were transformed into rock stacks and their pregnant cow became the fertile island upon which they sit to this day:
Jon Árnson adds that in his own time (late 1800’s) there was a custom that every man sailing out to Drangey for the first time in the year must greet the island itself and its two rock stacks, saying to each, “Hail and good luck to you, and to all your spirits!”
It was largely kept up as a joke, but must have originated in the ancient belief well exemplified in medieval sagas and laws, that every part of the land had its guardian nature-spirits.15
In parts of Norway there were also some areas of farmland left untilled so as not to annoy the inhabitants whether they were seen as spirits of the dead or “nature spirits.” 16 Claude Lecouteux provides a detailed and thorough analysis of the central importance of land spirits to the Norse.17
Ancestors, Burial Mounds and their Inhabitants
Burial mounds were associated with powerful ancestors or individual spirits who one engaged with respectfully in the hopes of keeping the farm productive and safe. It is always a good idea to maintain proper relations with one’s neighbors whoever they may be. Grave mounds such as these existed all over Denmark, Norway, Iceland, Ireland and parts of Estonia and went by many names including rudningskarl (clearing man), haugtuse (mound spirit), gardvord (farm protector), and nisse (contemporary, Christmas spirit).18 In western Norway the mounds were still in use in the last century. In Scotland the brownie served a similar protective function. Evidence for these mounds and more importantly the relationships between the mound dwellers and the neighboring farmers is widespread. Within the sagas we have stories of a number of famous mounds connected to “other-than-human” persons including Helgafell (Holy Mountain) in Eyrbyggja saga, Krosshólar in Landnámabók, and Kaldbak from Brennu-Njáls saga.
There are five laws from Scandinavia that prohibit animistic relationships with other-than-human persons. The Older Law of the Gulaþing decreed that no one should sacrifice to a “pagan god” (heiðit guð), mounds (haugar), and pagan altars (hörgrar). The ecclesiastical Law of King Sverrir added an additional provision against sacrifices to “wights” (vættir) as in blota haeidnar vetter. The Later Law of the Gulaþing had no mention of gods, but was concerned with veneration of vættir, groves, mounds, and waterfalls. The Borgarþing Law sentenced one to permanent outlawry for sitting outside and waking up trolls—útiseta. The Law of Gotland made it illegal to invoke (pray to) groves and mounds, “pagan” gods, holy places and ”stave-yards.”19 Sanmark writes, “The verb ‘invoke’ (haita) is used with the preposition a which indicates that it was the groves, the mounds, the holy places and the ‘stave-yards’ themselves that were venerated. The same verb was applied to the gods. Cult sites and gods were thus ascribed equal standing.”20 Icelandic legislation focused on outlawing communication with other beings, gathering and performing ritual at sacred sites and engaging in folk magic practices.
The expression of dreams and dreaming to our ancient kin was varied. Our ancestors paid attention to the portents of dreams as is seen in the sagas. Therefore, if a deceased person (human or otherwise) is speaking to you in a dream, then it must be acknowledged that death is not final but rather a transformation of sorts. Historical evidence for sitting on a mound with the express purpose of consulting an ancestor suggests that our forebears had ideas about what constitutes life that were more broad and encompassing than ours. They acknowledged the existence of revenants, often taking great care during inhumation and cremation—although what they did and why they did it remains speculative.
If we can see an animistic nature to ceremony what about poetry and language? To our ancestors, words were as good as works, language being conjunctive in nature. Thoughts, words, and “things” (beings) were connected. Historically spoken words had great power. They were not just empty “tweets” but rather once said were expected to manifest.
In summary, our ancestors recognized their connection to and responsibility for maintaining and being in balance with co-dwellers in their shared environment. We see this through the well-attested veneration of groves, offerings to landveitter (land spirits), and seasonal fertility rituals involving sacrificing and the blót.
Why practice Animism?
As Odians, the runic search for the mysteries helps us to become more than what we seem. By adopting animist ethics, we are able to, as Harvey says, “…engage with a wide and diverse community of persons” and in doing so discover better ways of being human.”21 Our ancestors lived animistically, embracing the seeming polarities of life/death or man/tree for example by viewing their worlds in a fluid state much as we try to do in the Gild. Their focus was not solely on the rock on their field for example, but on their relationship to the living being that is the rock or that lives in the rock. Harvey explains that the goal of animist ethics is not focused on “transcendence of humanity” but rather a “fuller expression of it”—a way to further manifest the promise of Mannaz. At its core animism gives us an opportunity to engage more deeply with all of life. We in the Gild relate to this ideal.
Our ancestors enjoyed a rich pool of interpersonal connections to draw upon in their daily lives. As Abram summarizes, “Whether we allude to them as spirits, or powers, or presences (or even in keeping with local oral tradition—as gnomes, elves, fairy folk or other “invisibles”) it is only by addressing these unseen elementals that we begin to loosen our senses, waking minute sensitivities that have lain dormant for far too long.”22 We would not be ourselves if we were not simultaneously a part of something greater than ourselves.
Which leads to a vital question, “Why perform animistic magic at all?”
For people naturally attuned to an animistic approach to life and magic, the answer is already obvious. Interacting with other-than-human persons is just an extension of the relationships we have with humans. For the animist, not living in such a way would be like the average human deciding to become an anti-social recluse.
For those who are not so naturally animistic, the question and its answers can be a bit more complex and even confusing. Animistic magic, in many ways, requires greater commitment and responsibility. Every working the magician engages in with a wight brings with it a duty of some type. Perhaps it is just an offering of a horn of ale. Perhaps it is the creation of a poem or song. Perhaps it involves cleaning and caring for the physical location where the wight is found. Whatever the specifics it involves something that the magician owes to the wight in some way. This may be more responsibility than one is willing to take on and that is fine.
Working animistically may also not be necessary in order for the magician to achieve all of their sorcerous and magical goals. Perhaps the dynamistic styles of magic that the runes masterfully accomplish is all that is needed.
The larger answer relates to some of the key goals of the Gild:
- Expansion of consciousness (which also entails war against non-consciousness, embodied in the Thurses). The Thursic forces of the present world have fractured our traditions and culture in many ways and many don’t even think of the other-than-human persons as being allies in this struggle. By learning how to interact with these animistic beings that have consciousness that differs, slightly or greatly, from our own we also expand our understanding of consciousness in general which also aids in expanding the force of consciousness.
- Understanding the hidden workings of both consciousness and nature. This one is self-explanatory as to how it pertains to animism.
- Development of wisdom and knowledge of justice. For us to wisely address the problems we face in this overly Thursic world, and to understand what justice is for all of us, we need to work with all of the other Good wights of the nine worlds otherwise we only have a very limited part of the entire picture. We can only work with the wights who are also fighting against the Thurses and for the Good if we can remember how to communicate with them. We have much to learn from them, and if we are worthy, much to teach them as well.
One last point which applies to all three of those goals, and especially the last, is that many of those wights were literally demonized and exiled by Christian missionaries during the conversion. We need to bring justice to the wights that would be wealful and to bring them back into the warmth and fellowship of our halls and our hearts. No one should be left behind. Without them, part of the family is lost. Without them we limit our sources of wisdom, our understanding of consciousness, and justice will remain unrealized.
The lack of troth some of our ancestors showed after conversion to their other-than-human friends is something that only we can rectify. When we restore troth and the trust that comes with that, humans and other-than-human persons can all work together to rebuild the bridges and to re-forge the bonds of fellowship between all of the wealful wights that dwell in the nine worlds. Animism is not religion, it’s not even a world view. It’s about relationships. As our ancestors did before us, may we establish conscious dialogues with our forbearers including our gods as well as with the spirits of the animals, plants, rivers, stones, weather, and other natural forces upon which our lives depend. In this way, we can connect with our bioregional cultures as our ancestors did with theirs, respectfully engaging with all beings and bringing things back to life.
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L. Tuppan, San Francisco, US
1 Graham Harvey, Animism Respecting the Living World, New York: Columbia University Press, 2006.
2 Harvey, Animism, 2006, p.9.
3 Vǫluspá 17-18, Hollander, Lee M. (trans.), The Poetic Edda, second edition revised, Austin: University of Texas Press, 1962.
4 Edred Thorsson, Alu, San Francisco: Weiser Books, 2012, p.160.
5 Pollington, Elder Gods, 2011, p.93.
6 Pollington, Elder Gods, 2011, p.101.
7 Clive Tolley, Shamanism in Norse Myth and Magic, Volume One, Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia, Academia Scientiarum Fennica, 2009, p.349.
8 Pollington, Elder Gods, 2011, p.115.
9 Tolley, Shamanism, Volume One, 2009, p.366.
10 Thomas Berry, “The Viable Human”, pp.8-18, (ed.) George Sessions, Deep Ecology for the 21st Century, Boston Massachusetts: Shambhala Publications, 1995.
11 Harvey, Animism, 2006, p.109.
12 Carol M. Cusack, The Sacred Tree: Ancient and Medieval Manifestations, Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2011, p.174.
13 Bengt af Klintberg, “The Wonders of Midsummer Night: Magical Bracken”, p.191, (eds.) Valk and Sävborg, Storied and Supernatural Places, Studia Fennica Folkloristica 23, Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, 2018.
14 Terry Gunnel, “The Power in the Place: Icelandic Álagablettir Legends in a Comparative Context”, pp.27-41, 30, (eds.) Valk and Sävborg, Storied and Supernatural Places, 2018.
15 Jacqueline Simpson, Icelandic Folktales & Legends, Great Britain: Tempus Publishing, 1972, p.96.
16 Gunnel, “The Power in the Place”, p.34, (eds.) Valk and Sävborg, Storied and Supernatural Places, 2018.
17 Claude Lecouteux, Demons and Spirits of the Land, (trans.) Jon E. Graham, Vermont: Inner Traditions, 2015.
18 Gunnel, “The Power in the Place”, p.35, (eds.) Valk and Sävborg, Storied and Supernatural Places, 2018.
19 Janet Didur, In Search of Seiðr, Master Work Rune-Gild, in publication, 2017.
20 Alexandra Sanmark, Power and Conversion – A Comparative Study of Christianization in Scandinavia, Upsala University, Sweden: Department of Archaeology and Ancient History, 2004, p.159.
21 Harvey, Animism, 2006, p.172.
22 David Abram, “The Invisibles: Toward a Phenomenology of the Spirit”, p.132, (ed.) Graham Harvey, The Handbook of Contemporary Animism, New York: Routledge, 2013.