[In the following essay, Hollander examines the problem of dating the Eddic poems and considers their relation to paganism and Christianity.]

"Concerning the mythological poems of the Edda, it follows from their very contents and their relation to paganism that they were composed in heathen times. Precisely this fact is an excellent point of departure for dating them."

I quote this assertion from Finnur Jónsson's (shorter) 'History of Icelandic Literature';¹ but with more or fewer reservations this is, indeed, the sentiment of practically all scholars who have ventured opinions on this vexed question of the date and provenience of the Eddic lays.²

So far, neither the study of metre, of language, of legendary form, nor of specific references, or any other philological method known to us, has rewarded scholars with tangible criteria acceptable to all, or even a majority, of scholars. Under such conditions the only good chronological hold for approximately dating at least a few lays has seemed—and the above quoted remark illustrates this faith—has seemed the conversion of Western Scandinavia accomplished about the end of the tenth century.

To be sure, the having to rely solely on this all too broad fact only tends to converge our attention on its precariousness and the dubiousness of the results gained there-from.

With this in mind I shall here bring together the evidence available, and also offer some general considerations, with the professed intention to demonstrate the unreliableness of this criterion.

The Scandinavians were the last of the Germanic tribes to be Christianized. Their first contact with the new faith was had in Viking expeditions—increasingly from the eighth century down—along the shorelands, both of the Carolingian empire and of the British Isles, where the rich churches and cloisters lured them with expectations of booty. After the establishment of Scandinavian kingdoms in the littorals and archipelagoes of the West, inter-marriage with natives—all Christians by this time—is frequent, and generally followed by the conversion of the conquerors or their settled offspring. It has been doubted³ whether the effects of this process ever made themselves distinctly felt in the homeland—with small reason, I believe. For the fact remains that many returned, bringing news from these parts. From the West came King Hakon the Good, fosterchild of kthelstan, who made a valiant but unsuccessful attempt (936) to convert his Norwegians. The failure was due no doubt quite as much to the active political opposition of the nobles as to a general unreadiness to absorb the new ideas. Thanks, possibly, to fear of missionary endeavor on the part of the sons of Eirikr, who had also been subjected to Christian influences while in England, Earl Hakon Sigurosson, a crafty, uxorious tyrant zealous for the old faith, succeeds to the royal power, if not title. He is overthrown by Olaf Tryggvason (995) who, in an hour of defeat had been converted in the West and who now in a surprisingly short time, "with the energy of a Viking and the fanaticism of a recent convert," manages to Christianize Norway, however superficially.

However, all in all, a more solid influence, both by continued political and spiritual pressure, was exercised on Norway from the South, by way of Denmark which had been Christianized some two generations earlier, under Harold Bluetooth. It is of him the Large Jællinge Runestone boasts that "he made the Danes Christians." And for all the apostasy of his son, Svein Forkbeard, the ground won there was never wholly lost. Most of the missionaries and emissaries of the Hamburg-Bremen archiepiscopate take their way to the farther North through Denmark; and we may safely assume that most of the new cultural and religious thoughts of the time percolated to the North through the medium of its closest racial and geographical neighbor; just as, centuries before, the Cult of Othin had thus come.⁴

Obviously, with such century-long and multifarious contacts on two sides, it would be strange if West Scandinavian lays that came into being during, say, the tenth, or even the ninth, centuries, showed no influence of the new religion. It is to be observed, nevertheless, that the number of indubitable references to Christianity in the Edda is exiguous. There certainly are none in the mythological lays, barring the Gróugaldr; and very few in the heroic lays. Is it safe, herefrom to infer, as has been done,⁵ that the bulk of these lays originated in pre-Christian times?

Let us examine the cases of certain or possible references first.

The only direct occurrence of the word Christian in the entire Eddic corpus is to be found in Gróugaldr, stanza 13, in the eighth 'galdr,' or magic spell, communicated by the volva to Svipdag:

Pann gelk pér átta       ef Pik úti nemr
           natt á niflvegi: made themselves
at Pví mipr megi      pér til meins gorva
            Kristin daup kona.

(This eighth heed thou,   if without find thee
          a misty night on the moors:
lest ill o'ertake thee,   or untowardness,
            from the wraith of a Christian wretch!)

The poem is found only in Paper MSS. But all agreeing, there is no call for violently emending the reading kristin dau, b kona to kynstr ('magic'; this is a word occurring only in prose) dauprar konu, or kynstrdjorf C strong in magic') kona, as Gering proposed; or, still worse, to kveldripur koma, as did Vigfuisson. Finnur Jónsson, while admitting that the lay is not particularly old, infers from this reference that the poem must date from the very last times of paganism, or else the very first times after the introduction of Christianity;⁶ and similarly Mogk.⁷ But already in 1893 Falk⁸ convincingly argued that the reference appears, rather, the attempt of a much later age—the 13th century—to stamp Gróa a heathen witch; a view which is further supported by the great dependence of this lay on other Eddic poems in point of vocabulary, and also by the evident sophistication and polish indicating conscious and recent authorship.

Few are, at present, inclined to deny a Christian tinge in the preparations for. Atli's burial in the Greenlandish Atlamol. But then, this lay shares with Gripisspo the distinction of having practical unanimity as to provenience and date.

All other occurrences are at best doubtful if not wholly negative.

At first blush, Guthrzunarkvitha III would seem to be a clear case of Christian influence: Guthrun, Atli's wife, clears herself of the suspicion of adultery with Thiothrek by successfully undergoing the ordeal of boiling water. We know that the ketiltak was introduced into Norway by Olaf the Saint. Unfortunately, however, this nevertheless does not furnish the eleventh century as the date a quo. On the one hand, as was pointed out by Maurer,⁹ the ordeal is in the poem itself implied to be foreign, or still imperfectly known in the North, since it is still best managed by 'Saxi, the Southron lord,' stanza 7.¹⁰ On the other, Guthrun declares herself ready 'to swear all oaths' as to her innocence 'by the white, holy stone'; by which, not improbably, is meant one of the phallic symbols so frequently encountered in the North. Still more rankly heathen would this reference be if we adopt Th. Petersen's recent suggestion¹¹ that the jarknasteinar which she fetches up from the bottom of the kettle (stanza 9) are identical with the phallic symbols of marriage by which she has just sworn. Nor need this naive mixing of Christian and heathen rites surprise us in early Christian times. Also, the punishment of the calumniatrix Herkja—she is cast into a foul swamp—certainly harks back to an age-old Pan-Germanic custom which supposedly disappeared with heathendom.¹²

However, we would be mistaken for these reasons to attribute the lay to the end of the heathen period, with Finnur Jónsson;¹³ for it has all the ear-marks of a much later time. Not only is the spirit of Guthrun unbelievably conciliatory for an earlier period—she is deeply concerned about Atli's despondency although she lays her brothers' death at his door; and Atli is unfeignedly overjoyed at her cleansing herself of suspicion—but the very presence of Thiothrek at Atli's court is sufficient to establish late origin. On the other hand it is true that the mere fact of the lay not being made use of by Snorri or in the Volsunga saga should not be taken as evidence for very late origin. Its legendary form is so much at variance with the other lays treating of Guthrun and Atli that later authors may have chosen to disregard it.

Among the mythological poems, Voluspá is by some scholars supposed to be profoundly influenced by Christian ideas, whether directly or, as a whole, conceived as a counterblast against them; others as stoutly maintaining that its basic conception is purely heathen. In another connection¹⁴ I have thrown out the suggestion that even this noble poem was, conceivably, didactic in purpose. Pondering deeply on the origin of all things, the past and future of the world, the poet wove together the shreds and wisps of cosmogonic and eschatological conceptions fluttering about from of old in myths and magic lore into a coherent whole which need not shun comparison with the Hebrew and Vedic accounts of Creation. He may have added a touch, he may have colored it with his own views of life, he may have contributed figures from his own mythopoetic, austere imagination—with what view in mind, no one will ever know for certain. Whether or no the apocalypse is dependent on Christian lore is purely a matter of opinion. At any rate, and that is the point here, it will never yield any chronological hold.

No doubt, a number of interpolations were made in his work and are plainly discernible as such; but I look with distrust on the vaticinations of Mullenhoff and Boer who, with enviable self-assurance, have shown us how to take the thing apart. I go still further in calling in question the wisdom of the greater number of editors who calmly omit the supplementary lines of the Paper MSS. in stanze 65 (komr enn ríki etc.):

semr hann dóma        ok sakar leggr,véskop setr        Paus vesa skulu.

(he settles strife,  sits in judgment,
and lays down laws    which shall last alway.)

because, forsooth, they do not agree with their a priori views as to non-Christian origin. And yet it is quite conceivable that Voluspá was composed a century or two after the introduction of Christianity.

In the case of Havamal, however, I readily grant that much of it may be classed among the oldest intellectual possessions of the North whose ethnic and ethical idea conceptions it bodies forth so admirably. As to stanzas 139, 140, few will at present be inclined to follow S. Bugge in his contention¹⁵ that the conception of Othin as the "hanged god" (hangatyr) necessarily is dependent directly on the Crucifixion; especially since Sir James Frazer has shown the deceptiveness of such similarities.¹⁶

My reasons for thinking Vafpfrriknismal and Grimnismal—both generally, assigned to the tenth century—and especially Alvissmal, considerably later, in fact, productions of the Icelandic Renaissance, I have set forth elsewhere.¹⁷ The argument that the eschatological speculations such as fill the minds of these poets, as well as that of the Voluspá poet, betray the period of approaching Christianity and are meant to demonstrate the power and wisdom of the gods,¹⁸ is of course worth considering, but far from compelling.

That Skirnismal cannot belong to the oldest lays seems evident from the fact pointed out by Mogk,¹⁹ though not by him made use of sufficiently, that the ring Draupnir mentioned in a passage above suspicion of interpolation, belongs distinctly to later Baldr myths. Neither can the vafrlogi, vaguely referred to as established around a maiden of giant kin, be accounted old. It may be also pertinent to remember Neckel's observation²⁰ that the peculiarly erotic nature of the Gerth motif singles it out as foreign to the North.

The Hárbarpsljóỗ yield no definite hold whatever; for the suffixed article found in them sporadically, and supposedly indicating late origin, might easily have been added by the late copyist or the collector, no firm metrical structure interposing. If Finnur Jónsson²¹ asserts considerable age for this lay because of its masterly dialogue and characterization, and finds corroboration for this view in the (supposedly) many accretions added in the course of time, this is in consonance with his general, distinctly Romantic, attitude of, like wine, "the older, the better," and vice versa. The present case aptly demonstrates the possibilities of this in circulo reasoning. Mogk's observation²² on the poem: "Dass man die Götter zum Gegenstand solcher mannjafnaỗr macht, zeigt, dass der alte Glaube in Verfall geraten.…" is by all means a non sequitur; for it postulates for Germanic antiquity a rigid orthodoxy and implied reverence such as is true of no polytheistic religion. If the analogy of Lucian be thought of who pours scorn on the old gods, certain Homeric episodes come to mind, too, which immediately destroy its force. In Prymskviỗa, regarded as unquestionably heathen, certainly no reverence is shown to Thor, dressed up in woman's weeds!²³ In other words, there is no cogency in this reasoning, either way.

Very nearly the same is true of the argument afforded by Lokasenna which Finnur Jónsson²⁴ insists was composed during times when the old faith in the gods was as yet unshaken. According to him, the poet wished to depict the demoralization and irreligiosity of his own times—personified in that enemy of the gods, Loki—about to destroy the good old faith and morals.… wished to show that all this wickedness would in the end subside; that the disbelief of the times would give way to the truths of the old faith etc. etc." "In Christian times," he says in another place, "the composition of such a poem would be simply unthinkable, unless there was the express purpose to ridicule the old gods and heathen beliefs." "On the other hand, (still quoting), if the poem had a Christian author, then the conclusion would needs be altogether different—Thor, too, would then have been made to come off second-best, instead of saving the situation." But, as was pointed out by Sijmons,²⁵ it is hard to believe that so witty a poet would allow sheer physical force, represented by Thor, to have the last word against the superior vituperative powers of Loki. Nor does he, in fact: in the end, after all, the whole company of gods, including Thor, sit there shamed and sullied, even though Loki has been shown the door. The lay is ajeu d'esprit, a chronique scandaleuse of the Northern Olympos, irresponsible and bitter, and written with an abandon such as one is not accustomed to seek under the grey skies of the far North, but which yet is by no means without parallels there. Witness, not only the Gallic Kielland (and many others) of the nineteenth century, but the superbly Heinesque Skíþaríma of the fifteenth.

As to the two lays celebrating Thor's exploits, þrymskviða and Hymiskviða, I confess to a feeling that they, too, are conscious art to a far greater degree than is generally thought to be the case; though a considerable difference in their relative age is to be admitted. Concerning their relation to the new faith, about the same holds true as of those already discussed: from their complete silence about it nothing can be safely inferred.

Neither Baldrs draumar nor Hyndlulióð will alter our conclusion that in no mythological poem can the mere absence of direct or indirect reference to Christianity be sufficient proof of pre-Christian origin.

And now, to view the problem from another angle: does silence about the new faith necessarily imply unacquaintance with it? By all means the possibility is to be reckoned with that the entirely 'heathen' viewpoint of various lays may be due, not to unadulterated paganism, but to the fact that Christianity was already regarded as a matter of course, a thing no longer debatable; or at least as a condition of affairs which may be reasonably assumed and does not need to be particularly mentioned, in a lay.

Just as we should expect, there is plentiful and significant blending of heathen and Christian elements in the poems of the skalds who were contemporary with the great upheaval.²⁶ Thus the talented Hallfrøðr vandræðaskáld, the faithful follower of Ólaf Tryggvason, specifically mentions his regret at having to exchange Othin for the White Christ—Othin who yet has given him his gift of song!²⁷ In other skalds, such as Eilífr Goðrúnarson, there is an odd mixture of Christian and pagan elements in the kennings. He and others plainly show the confusion, and at times, mental anguish, attendant on the great change. A century or so later, and the Icelander had no more squeamishness about composing on purely heathen themes than, say, a Christian Esthonian or Finnish runo singer in the nineteenth century about inditing a new song to Väinamöinen.

Specifically, we have to recall, in this connection, the singularly apathetic or tolerant, almost enlightened, attitude of the Icelandic community as a whole with regard to adherence to the 'older manner.' They kept their convictions in fairly separate compartments—much as we do. At one and the same time, clerics penned the Postola sogur, the Maríu sogur, and both clergymen and laymen amused themselves with the Fornaldarsogur—some of which reflect or, better, resuscitate, the spirit of the Viking Age with remarkable fidelity; and skalds composed not only spiritual lays like Harmsal and Placitúsdrápa, but also others which, like Krakumal and the poems in the Orvarodd saga and Hervarar saga, vie with the Helgi lays of the Edda in glorifying the slaughterous deeds of sea-kings. If we were wholly dependent on internal evidence we should class some of these as typical productions of the Viking Age. In Krakumal, e.g., neither language nor versification nor kennings would prevent assumption of, say, late tenth century origin.²⁸ As Finnur Jónsson himself says concerning the last stanza of that fine lay: "Than the author of these lines, none has expressed more tersely, more clearly, and more truthfully, the essentials of the old heathen conception of life and of death and of the life after death in Valholl with the god of war."²⁹ Would it be safe to infer that, hence, these lays are pre-Christian?

Again, the whole literary activity of men like Ari, Snorri, Saxo, and the many unnamed authors of sagas and Eddica minora, when dealing with subjects of the mythical age shows that they were able to project themselves with remarkable success into the spirit of heathen antiquity. In fact, most of them exhibit a decided lack of interest in Christian lore, but all the more in native myth and ancient history.³⁰ In other words, however slender this movement in extent, in scholarship, in great works, we are bound to class it properly as a Renaissance movement; and its products as, culturally, equivalent to those of the Renaissance proper and of eighteenth century Classicism. Like them it was essentially reminiscent, an upper class movement in ideals and presuppositions.

Granted that Goethe's 'Iphigenie,' Racine's 'Phédre,' Thorvaldsen's 'Jason' are not true Greek art: Yet are they, considered purely as works of art, fully equal, and probably superior, to many genuine works of antiquity unthinkingly vaunted to the skies. With respect to Old Norse lays we lack, as stated, the certain criteria to distinguish work of the Renaissance period from that of earlier times—lays of the ninth and tenth centuries, handed down by word of mouth, from poems of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries directly committed to parchment. It is not a detraction from any merit they may possess to surmise that a number of Eddic poems belong to the later date: they may be good though not old.

However, I do not wish to be understood to imply that all of the Eddic poems mentioned are late; only, that the nimbus of antiquity must be dispelled from poems that are, supposedly, "pagan in spirit."

¹Den Islandske Litteraturs Historie, 1907, 35; no such categorical expression is given it in his comprehensive 'Den Oldnorske og Oldislandske Litteraturs Historie' but the viewpoint is the same. Cf. especially pp. 37-54. In the following I quote from the second edition (1920 f

² For the literature, see Sijmons, Einleitung, CCVI ff. Nothing of incisive value on the point here mooted has since appeared.

³ Strongest, by Finnur Jónsson, Norsk-Islandske Kulturog Sprogforhold i 9. og 10. Arhundrede, chap. 1-5, who dwells too exclusively on the negative evidence of language.

⁴ Cf. Chadwick, the Cult of Othin, chap. 3.

⁵ E.g. Sijmons, loc. cit., CCLXII.

⁶Lit. Hist. I, 220.

⁷Grundriss, 53 (607).

⁸Arkivfn. Fil. IX, 357.

⁹ Z.f d.phil. II, 443.

¹⁰ Again, the abolishment of the ordeal by Hákon Hakonsson in 1247 is hardly a safe date ad quem because the very news of this act may have stimulated interest in it on the part of an Icelander.

¹¹Festschrift für Mogk, 496 f.

¹² Cf. Detter-Heinzel, Anmerkungen, 510; Halfs saga, ed. A. LeRoy Andrews, note p. 89.

¹³Loc. cit., 220.

¹⁴The Germanic Review, I, 85.

¹⁵Studier over de Norrcene Gudesagns Oprindelse, p. 29 1ff.

¹⁶ The Golden Bough, Pt. IV, vol. 1, chap. V.

¹⁷Loc. cit. 74.

¹⁸ Boer, Die Edda, II, 59; Finnur Jónsson, Lit. Hist. I, 44.

¹⁹Loc. cit., 46 (600).

²⁰Die Überlieferungen vom Gotte Baldr, 138.

²¹Loc. cit. I, 154.

²²Loc. cit. 37 (591); cf. also Finnur Jónsson, Lit. Hist. I, 83 ff.

²³ Cf. Neckel, Beitrdge zur Eddaforschung, 49.

²⁴Loc. cit. 1, 186 f.

²⁵Loc. cit. CCCXLV.

²⁶ Cf. Kahle, Das Christentum in der altwestnordischen Dichtung, Ark. f. n. Fil. 1901, p. 3 ff.

²⁷Lausavisa 7. (Finnur Jónsson, Den norsk-islandske Skjaldedigtning, B. 158.)

²⁸ The single suspicious kenning odda messa = 'the mass, or song, of the swords,' i.e. 'battle' would not militate seriously against comparatively early origin.

²⁹ Loc. cit. II, 152.

³⁰ This was observed by R. Keyser, Efterladte Skrifter, Nordmwndenes Yidenskabelighed etc., I, 531.