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Matheliende is published quarterly by the students and faculty of Anglo-Saxon Studies at The University of Georgia.
Matheliende welcomes any and all correspondence and articles. Such material should be addressed to Mr. Alex Bruce, Park Hall, The University of Georgia. Copyright 1995 Alexander M. Bruce
Our understanding of any meaning in our lives depends greatly upon what we perceive to be our ultimate concern. That is, our faith often affects how we consider our actions and purpose in this world; for example, if we believe in God and heaven, we are likely to act one way, and if we do not, we may act differently. Such a search for how to live one's life is perhaps as old as mankind; certainly the Anglo-Saxons pondered which perspective on life was most valid, wrestling as they did with Germanic and Christian philosophies. This search for faith and understanding comes out most strongly in those poems which describe the response of an individual when his entire world-view is shaken, when all that he believed in no longer offers comfort and support, when he must seek answers anew. Three particular poems offer strikingly different perspectives on this search to find new meaning in life "The Wanderer," "The Ruin," and "Resignation." Over the next year, essays in Matheliende will discuss each poem's presentation of that search; in exploring the doubts, beliefs, and questions expressed within those poems, perhaps we will be reminded that we, who so often question the meaning and purpose of our own lives, are not so different from our distant relatives.
By Alex Bruce
At the end of the sixth century, a cultural crisis arose among the Anglo-Saxons, a crisis which, even in the following centuries, would not be completely resolved. Roman Catholic Christianity, with its dogmas and doctrines, came to England. This Christianity represented perhaps the greatest threat to the Anglo-Saxons' traditional culture, for the doctrines of Christianity were "sadly at odds with accepted tenets of heroic society" (Swanton 41). This uneasy clash of philosophies is at the heart of "The Wanderer." In this poem, the speaker tries to balance in his own heart the pull of his pagan heroic traditions with the promise of Christianity.
To understand fully the speaker's inner turmoil, we must take note of his situation. He was once a member of a "comitatus," a man devoted to the service of his liege-lord; thinking back, the speaker imagines that
Yet this has all changed; he has lost his lord and the joys of the mead-hall, and with that a sense of identity and belonging. He now wanders "winter-cearig ofer wathuma gebind" searching his soul for answers (24).
Looking only at either the very beginning or end of the poem, one might assume that this "wraecca" drifting alone on an icy sea has embraced Christianity. The first five lines of the poem lead us that direction:
Oft him an-hage are gebideth,
Metodes mildse, theah-the he mod-cearig
geond lagu-lade lange sceolde
hreran mid handum hrim-cealde sae,
wadan wraec-lastas. Wyrd bith full araed. (1-5)
Yet notice that as the speaker turns to God, he simultaneously acknowledges the power of "Wyrd," that pagan acceptance of fate. Immediately we notice the intertwining of the normally distinct themes of Christian salvation and Germanic concession to "Wyrd"; this mixture suggests the revolving thoughts of a speaker who seems to be wrestling with the two philosophies to find some answer for why his life is dominated by pain and loss, and how, or even if, he can expect relief.
After expressing this spiritual dilemma, the speaker turns his thoughts to the events that have made him so mod-cearig. His ensuing lament over the losses he has experienced dominates the poem, filling 77 of the 115 lines, and brings the spiritual crisis of the speaker into greater focus. In these lines, he speaks longingly for lost earthly glory:
Likewise, he bemoans the loss of kinsman, fellow men, friends, and all earthly matters, as he summarizes near the end of the poem:
This lament over his losses reveals much about the conflict within the speaker. He regrets the passing of that glorious heroic culture he once knew, that culture which, ironically, made him the outcast wretch he has become.
As he so strongly laments the passing of the heroic pagan traditions, it becomes difficult for us to accept his conversion to Christianity as a complete conversion. In the final lines of the work, he speaks again of the potential consolation of Christianity, but those lines offer a mixture of beliefs, just as the first lines did:
Even at the end of the poem, the speaker cannot refrain from combining the description of the "frofre to Faeder on heofonum" with observations on how a warrior should best conduct himself. He cannot simply put aside the heroic traditions he once held so dear; nor, for that matter, does it seem he wants to.
"The Wanderer" is more than just a litany of self-pity; it is an exploration of one man's efforts to find answers to his deepest questions. His faith in the Germanic heroic code has been shaken, for it has forced him into a wretched existence. Yet even as he turns to Christianity for a new purpose and direction, he cannot help looking back fondly and sadly on the traditions that are a part of him. He is drifting, physically and spiritually, unclear about which direction to turn; in this sense, we are perhaps all the Wanderer, seeking constantly to find some answers.
Link to:Text of "The Wanderer"
THE ORIGIN OF THE GERMANIC RUNIC ALPHABET
By Lisa Stevenson
(Note: Presently, the runic characters cannot be reproduced in this format. Consult the bibliography for works that illustrate the runic characters.)
In the last issue of Matheliende, C. Tidmarsh Major explored particular problems involved in interpreting the Rune Poem. Yet that discussion really depended upon an understanding of what the runes were, where they came from, and what their role was in Germanic cultures. The actual details of the origins of the futhark are lost to history; scholars can only offer theories, theories which this essay hopes to articulate.
The runes are a set of symbols that make up the futhark, a Germanic alphabet used in Northern Europe through most of the first millennium. While they enjoyed widespread usage among the peoples of the area, there is no concrete agreement as to the origin of the writing system. Several theories regarding the alphabet(s) which influenced the creation of the runes have been proposed which can be generally divided into Greek, North Italic, and Latin.
Otto von Friesen posited that the Greeks were the primary source for the runic alphabet, noting that many of the rune finds were in southeastern Europe and not a more centralized location, as one would expect had the Etruscans or Romans had a key role in the development. According to the theory, the Goths first learned the writing as soldiers in the Roman legions; they then returned home to spread it through the center of the continent. This alphabet was based on the Greek cursive script of the early second century A.D. and aspects of the runes were specifically crafted to serve the needs of the Goths (Morris 26-27).
Von Friesen believed that runic "n+g" came from the Greek rendering of the sound value as a double gamma "gg." As it was a practice not to write out double consonants in the runic system, the doubling principle was incorporated into the symbol itself. The rune [O], in both form and sound value, aligned completely with Greek capital "omega" (Morris 21-23).
This evidence seemed strongly compelling; however, new evidence concerning the runes and the Goths raises questions regarding von Friesen's theory. Von Friesen believed the runic inscriptions to date from 300 A.D., but it is now known that there are finds dating as far back as 175 A.D. (Odenstedt 146). Also, it has now been established that the Goths did not make contact with the Roman world until 214 A.D., thus posing a serious obstacle to their being the vehicles through which the runic alphabet was spread.
Yet von Friesen's theory has not completely lost support. Richard Morris occupies a rare spot in academe as a recent supporter of the Greek theory. Morris believes that the runic forms were derived from ancient Greek letters and that the futhark was born perhaps as early as 500 B.C.
Carl Marstrander first put forth the North Italic theory, observing that the North Italic alphabets occupied a choice geographic spot for subsequent diffusion throughout the continent (Elliott 6). His theory might be better called "Celto-Latin" as this term reflects more accurately the fact that around the fourth century B.C., the Alpine region was overrun by Celtic tribes. The Romans added a subsequent layer to this cultural milieu with their arrival in the first century B.C. It is from this tapestry that Marstrander believes the runes emerged some time in the late first century A.D.
Likewise, Magnus Hammarstrom has acknowledged the tacit similarities between the Greek, Latin, North Italic and runic alphabets because the former three had descended from Greek. It was then simply a matter of determining which alphabet has the closest link with the runic one. Hammarstrom pointed to the fact that all alphabets go through stages of development, but Latin and Greek had refined their styles by the time of the runes' emergence and hence would not have imparted certain primitive, unrefined characteristics. To Hammarstrom, Etruscan remained a qualified candidate by virtue of its irregularity.
Both Marstrander and Hammarstrom strongly point out that some of the oldest runic inscriptions are written from right to left, as is the case with North Italic. It would seem to hold then that if the futhark were derived directly from Latin, that it would not so easily forsake the standard, ingrained Roman practice of writing from left to right (Elliott 4).
Yet the older runic writings are not consistent in the direction of their writing, as is quite common with alphabets at an early point in their development. Greek itself demonstrated an arbitrary streak at an ancient stage. Scholars agree that the exhibition of a right to left pattern as well as boustrophedon writing the lines in alternate directions are simply a sign of youth. Once the alphabet achieved some level of standardization, the direction settled on left to right (Morris 14-15; 23-24).
The North Italic theory held other weaknesses as well. Some runes could not be accounted for through the North Italic alphabets which had been subjected to heavy Latin influence. [F] and [T] were admitted to have been of Latin origin as there are no forms in the North Italic alphabets which could have given rise to those runes. Also, the bone fragment found at Maria-Saal, a key piece of archaeological evidence in Marstrander's case, was found to be a hoax, thus undercutting the whole case for North Italic origins. From a cultural standpoint, others find it intellectually dubious that a group of somewhat obscure tribes clinging to the rocky Alps would summon the resources to create the futhark (Morris 56).
A third camp approaches the futhark from a Latin standpoint. Ludvig Wimmer established the birth of the runic alphabet at the end of the second century A.D. He bases his selection of Latin on a series of runic derivations, particularly that of the Latin F to runic [F].
While the [O] rune is one that strongly points to a Grecian origin, Wimmer posits that it too comes from Latin O. According to him, the form was reduced to [O]. Then, to avoid a conflict with the "n+g" rune which already used that form, legs were added, resulting in [O]. Wimmer also derives runic [Z] and [Y] from Latin Z and Y, which brings the futhark's date of birth more into focus; Y and Z were not introduced into the Latin alphabet until the reign of the Emperor Augustus (30 B.C. to 14 A.D.) (Odenstedt 168).
Offering yet another perspective, Erik Moltke argues that the runic alphabet was created by a single person. He points to the fact that the futhark has "uneven letter heights and irregular lines, variable direction of writing, punctuation inconsistent or absent, a name for every rune," qualities possessed by Mediterranean alphabets only in their archaic eras; such qualities suggest a creator familiar with the Roman alphabet (Moltke 63). According to Moltke, that creator adapted several Roman characters in his efforts. As well, noting the numerous early inscriptions in southern Denmark, Moltke proposes that area as the birthplace of futhark.
Many others have taken up the Latin standard on the common ground that no less than three runes (F, R, H) must have come from the Roman alphabet, a fact which even the defenders of other positions shuffle to accommodate within their theories. The details of other rune derivations vary widely from scholar to scholar, but all point to the fact that the Roman civilization was the dominant influence not only in the Mediterranean but throughout the European continent during the historical period which saw the birth of the futhark.
The more specific place of the futhark among the Anglo-Saxons will be discussed in the next issue of Matheliende.
Link to:Viking Culture
Link to:Rune Typology
Link to:Rune Stones Project
929 years ago this very month, King Harold Godwineson, last Anglo-Saxon king of England, met his fate. The army of William "the Bastard" of Normandy overran the English forces on the battlefield of Hastings on October 14, 1066 (See Matheliende I.1 for more on the quest for the English throne). Yet though history emphasizes William's achievements that day, one other person ought to be given credit for the English defeat. Harald Hardrada, a Norwegian and another challenger for the crown, played an important role in the English loss. He led an army of invaders to York in September of that year, causing King Harold to pull his forces from the south of England. The losses King Harold suffered--both of men and of resources--certainly made William's task easier when King Harold, having rushed to York to defeat Harald, had to march back to the southern coast to fight a second major battle in just over two weeks.
But who was Harald Hardrada? King Harald's Saga from the Heimskringla of the twelfth-century Icelandic historian Snorri Sturluson has immortalized the deeds of this man whose cunning and aggressiveness mark him as one of history's more colorful characters.
As a youth, Harald fought his way across Europe, from Norway to Russia to the Byzantine Empire, serving now this lord and now that, always striving for greater power and rewards. He became the leader of the Varangians, a group of Scandinavian warriors, and used his wits to further his personal cause. Once when a leader of another army challenged Harald's authority, Harald agreed to let the matter be settled by drawing lots. Harald watched how his rival marked his piece, and marked his similarly. When the judge selected blindly from the two lots, Harald snatched the one the judge picked and cast it into the sea, claiming victory, for he said it was his lot that had been drawn. When challenged, he simply asked his opponent to check the remaining lot, which of course bore his rival's mark.
Harald's fame grew as he led his army to greater and greater victories. But often, might alone did not prevail. Once when besieging a city, Harald fell very ill. His foes learned of this, so they were not too surprised when Harald's troops came to them, asking that their leader, so recently taken by death, might be granted a proper burial in consecrated ground. The people of the city, eager for the payments that came with such a burial, allowed Harald's men to carry in his body covered by cloths. Much to their dismay, though, Harald miraculously recovered and led his men in the slaughter of the unsuspecting citizens.
Harald returned to his Scandinavian homeland and, having won great fame there, especially against Svein Ulfsson of Denmark, approached his younger kinsman King Magnus of Norway about sharing the crown. He did not wish to have poor relations with his kinsman, nor did Magnus wish to make an enemy of Harald. As such, Magnus made Harald king over half the country. Before long, though, Magnus died, leaving Harald as the sole king of Norway.
Not too unexpectedly, Harald's rule was not a peaceful one. Harald campaigned as far away as Iceland, extending his control far to the west. Mostly, though, Harald fought against the Danes. Svein, remembering past grievances, attacked Harald several times; Harald likewise ventured often south into Denmark. That enmity continued for many years, one king against the other, until the two made peace with each other. But even then Harald faced enemies; Earl Hakon of Gotaland, once an ally, turned against the Norwegian king. Harald brutally ended that rebellion.
At that point, the saga turns to matters in England. Harold Godwineson claimed the throne in January, 1066, after the death of King Edward the Confessor. Harald Hardrada considered that he had some claim to the throne, for he thought himself the proper heir based on a treaty between the previous king, Magnus, and Harthacnut, former King of Denmark and England. So when Harold's brother Tostig, stripped of his earldom and expelled from the land by Harold, approached Harald about invading, the old Norwegian felt he had a legitimate quarrel.
Though late in the campaigning season, Harald gathered his men. Despite several bad omens, including a warning in a dream from his own brother St. Olaf, Harald proceeded with his invasion. He landed near Scarborough on the east coast; from there he advanced toward York and defeated the small force of Englishmen at Fulford. That was on September 20, 1066.
By September 24, Harald had approached York. His presence was so threatening that the town had already surrendered; the leaders of the city wished to discuss terms with Harald at Stamford Bridge, some seven miles east of the city.
On September 25, Harald left his ships and took a small force to the meeting place. To his surprise, though, he was met by King Harold of England, who had marched his men some 200 miles in 3 days. Outnumbered, Harald had the worst of it that day; he and his men were slaughtered, and the Norwegian threat to England was ended.
Yet Harald's actions were felt after his death, for the English army, depleted by the forced march to York, the battle itself, and the return march to face William, could not stop the invading Normans. Certainly Harald wanted the glory for himself, but perhaps he would have taken some pleasure in knowing that though he lost, so did his enemy.
Exploring the Soul: The Wanderer's Search for Meaning
The Earliest English Poems. Translated by Michael Alexander. New York: Penguin Books, 1977.
Pope, John C., ed. Seven Old English Poems. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 1981.
Swanton, M. J. Crisis and Development in Germanic Society 700-800: Beowulf and the Burden of Kingship. Goppingen: Kummerle, 1982.
The Origin of the Germanic Runic Alphabet
Elliott, Ralph W. V. Runes: an introduction. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1959.
Moltke, Erik. Runes and their origin Denmark and elsewhere. N.p.: The National Museum of Denmark, 1985.
Morris, Richard L. Runic and Mediterranean Epigraphy. NOWELE Supplement Volume 4. N.p.: Odense University Press, 1988.
Odenstedt, Bengt. On the Origin and Early History of the Runic Script. Stockholm: Ekblad and Co., Vostervik, 1990.
Harald Hardrada of Norway: The Original Invader of 1066
Sturluson, Snorri. King Harald's Saga: Harald Hardradi of Norway. Trans. Magnus Magnusson and Hermann Palsson. New York: Penguin Books, 1966.
Our many thanks to Dr. Ruppersburg for his continued support of Matheliende.