The medieval Icelandic hymn 'Hear, Smith of the Heavens' is hauntingly beautiful. Yet the vision of God as a smith seems conflicted, echoing an ancient pagan understanding.
Today I bring you a short piece on Catholic 'inculturation' in a time of kings, demons, myths, miracles, and warring faiths. In exploring the Christianization of Iceland, I hope we might find lessons in how to better re-sacralize our own strange culture.
Heyr himna smiĆ°ur (literally "Hear, smith of the heavens") is a medieval Icelandic hymn. It was written on his deathbed by chieftain and poet Kolbeinn Tumason in the 13th-century, after his head was caved in by a rock during battle.
It is haunting, lamenting, and conflicted. It is perfectly Christian and yet laden with pagan imagery. You can listen here while you read this piece.
It begins:
Hear, smith of the heavens,
what the poet asks.
May softly come unto me
thy mercy.
So I call on thee,
for thou hast created me.
I am thy slave,
thou art my Lord.
God, I call on thee
to heal me.
Remember me, mild king,
Most we need thee.
Drive out, O king of suns,
generous and great,
every human sorrow
from the fortress of the heart.
The song bears the unmistakeable marks of the Catholic process of 'inculturation'.
Catholic doctrine asserts that no one culture has the mandate of heaven. "The Logos, the Divine Truth... exists in disseminated form throughout creation, and every human tradition perceives it darkly".
Thus missionaries should not seek to replace the cultures they encounter, but to bring them closer to perfection; to purify and restore them in Christ. Inculturation is the creative re-expression of the Gospels and the indigenous culture, without being unfaithful to either.
From the Theological Commission's declaration 'Faith and Inculturation':
All the great cultures include, as the keystone of the edifice they constitute, the religious dimension, the inspiration of the great achievements which have marked the ancient history of civilizations.
It is in fact cultures - language, history, general attitude to life, diverse institutions - which for better or worse receive us into life, form us, accompany us and survive our passing.
If the cosmos as a whole is, in a mysterious sense, the scene of grace and sin, do not our cultures have a similar role inasmuch as they are both fruits and seeds in the field of our human labors?
Thus ancient cultures must not be destroyed but transformed. It is this process of transformation - often violent - that we witness in the lamentation of Tumason. Ā
Tumason died in battle with another figure that perfectly embodies this unresolved cultural confliction: the great Bishop GuĆ°mundur Arason.
GuĆ°mundur is a near mythical figure in Icelandic history, occupying some liminal space between being a witcher and a saint.
His exorcisms had a heroic physicality to them; his excommunications were often targeted at strange creatures rather than men. The demons he battled were not purely spiritual entities, but corporeal monsters evocative of the trolls and beasts of older viking lore.
In this sense he personally embodied the transition from pagan to Christian Iceland - reflecting and purifying the true virtues most cherished by that people.
His greatest test was perhaps against Selkolla, the supernatural being that manifested as a fair woman, sometimes with the head of a seal.
Selkolla was born of a baby cursed by the illicit liaison of its parents. As they took the child to be baptized, they indulged in an āimmoral restā beside a large stone. Once they finished, they returned to the child, who they had set down, to find it "black, dead, and hideous".
The couple decided to leave the child behind and walk away, but as they did so they heard a cry. They returned to the child and found that it was alive, but was now so "terrifying that they dare neither touch it nor come near".
The sexual sin begot a sexually charged monster, a changeling.
Selkolla terrorized the people of the land. She was known for seducing farmers and then attacking them so mercilessly that their strength failed and sickness turned them into pitiful invalids, perhaps an outward sign of the debilitation caused by sin.
GuĆ°mundr ultimately trapped Selkolla, struck her around the head, called her a fjandr (a fiend), and commanded her to sink into the earth to join the hellish host.
In some sense, this demonstration of both physical and spiritual prowess marked the Christian superiority over the pagan past.
Marlene Ciklamini notes:
GuĆ°mundr was both a member of the community of saints, emulating holy predecessors in character and in the performance of miracles, and akin to a hero of old, delivering the community from monsters.
GuĆ°mundr was the agent of God, commanding a spiritual power that would, if necessary, manifest itself in corporeity, a physical force as potent and effective as the brawn of the hero.
The saint's weapons were words, signs and ritual hallowed by God, weapons as strong and powerful as the brute strength with which traditional heroes subdued and killed monsters.
Since his rites, spiritual in nature, emanate also physical strength that conquer or kill mankindās supernatural foes, his power is superior.
In the typoiogical thinking of the era, GuĆ°mundr's succession to the traditional hero is, hence, one of superiority.
Iceland went on to have an incredibly rich Christian history.
It is interesting to meditate on the form the inculturation of a post-Christian society like ours would take. What should be preserved? How should we best engage with and weaponize the myths of our people to distill true virtue from their confused current forms?
Or, perhaps, a clean break is needed - if such a thing is possible - to free us from the seductive gravity of our present degenerate order.
Regardless, I would encourage you to listen to Heyr himna smiĆ°ur - it really is beautiful.
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Sic transit imperium,
Johann
That hymn and your explanation of the story behind it makes my heart expand and heave (for lack of a better way to put it). I am undone. Thank you.
I was recently reading about the concept of a Smith of Heaven; it is certainly pre-Christian and so ancient that it first appears in the Vedas about 3000 years ago. But it was effectively adapted by European Christianity. Thank you for introducing me to such a beautiful poem.