Eddic Constellations

by: James Ogier

Roanoke College

 

Ethno-Astronomy

 

The field of ethno astronomy or cultural astronomy, that is, the study of a society’s knowledge and cultural usage of naked-eye astronomy has in its relatively short life-span opened many doors to understanding ancient cultures, especially in the cases of Ancient Egypt and the Maya. Unfortunately, its application to medieval Scandinavia poses far greater obstacles than its application to the two cultures just mentioned. For one thing, the Viking age built no pyramids, no stone temples, no Stonehenge, in fact, very little in the way of the relatively permanent material culture that one finds everywhere in Egypt or Latin America. An ancient astronomical observatory on Esja or a even medicine wheel on the top of the Himmelbjerg would help mightily in determining the extent to which pre-Christian Scandinavians involved themselves with astronomical matters. Alas, the archeological record is spotty. For another thing, cultural astronomy as a field is painfully aware of the conjectural nature of its results, and frequently debates the meaning of “objectivity” and “rigor” in its application. One might thus fear that little of interpretive utility could derive from a discussion of Viking astronomy.

And yet, a culture that could navigate the North Atlantic must have had a fair grounding in astronomy, despite the Scandinavian climate. Zinner’s contention

The weather in the original habitats of the Germanic peoples … will hardly have been different from now. Mostly overcast skies and frequent precipitation permit only under exceptional circumstances the observation of the sky and its phenomena from night to night, except for such a bright and noticeable heavenly body as the moon. The conditions of observation were thus particularly unfavorable for the Germanic peoples than for the other cultures, with the exception of the Chinese…

 While perhaps meteorologically correct, fails to recognize that one does not need continuous nightly clarity to track planets, let alone constellations. True, climate plays a role in answering why the Maya developed Venus tables and the Vikings apparently did not, but the North sky provides sufficient opportunity to group stars into recognizable and culturally transmittable constellations. Apart from their use as a pedagogical device in the transmission of astronomical and hence navigational lore, the constellations also become grist for the mill of catasterism, that is, the assignment of mythic material to heavenly bodies.

If, as I shall claim, the mythology of the older Scandinavian cultures had an astronomical basis, one might expect to see signs of it in the cosmographic materials that incorporate its mythology. With few exceptions, scholarship has sidestepped the issue. From Sophus Bugge’s suggestion that RatatøskR the squirrel (that spreads discord along the world tree Yggdrasill, according to the Grímnismál) resulted from some medieval poet’s accidental observation of a squirrel running up a stone monument such as the Gosforth cross; through Pipping’s discussion of why Yggdrasill (i.e., the porous Milky Way) had to represent a yew tree; to de Vries’ tentative and half-hearted association of Bifröst with the Milky Way, there have been only sporadic attempts to align Eddic structures, which, as the poems explicitly state, are in the heavens, with actual visible celestial structures. However, the few works devoted to the idea are also to be enjoyed with caution. One, Reuter’s Germanische Himmelskunde, published in 1934 in Munich, has, as one might predict, an agenda, and the later, more thought-provoking work, Björn Jónsson’s Star Myths of the Vikings, too often sacrifices scholarship for inventiveness. But both works have much to offer and I shall refer to them in what follows.

Björn’s book especially points out a methodological problem within cultural astronomy: the tenuousness of the direct assignment of mythic figures to celestial phenomena. Individual assignments, e.g., Björn’s equation of Cassiopeia [with the four deer that nibble on the leaves of Yggdrasill, are by themselves of as little value as Walter Hansen’s mapping of Eddic features onto the Icelandic landscape unless they demonstrably stand in a systematic and recognizable relationship with other features described in the sources.

[With regard to sources I shall here largely confine myself to texts of the Poetic Edda, as belaboring Snorri or the sagas at this point would take us too far afield.]

Let us then ask what evidence exists for the claim that Nordic poetry contains references to a systematic description of the skies. Before displaying the Scandinavian evidence, I would like to cast a glance at a very different culture to demonstrate what such evidence can look like. Since Linda Schele’s 1993 Maya Cosmos, Mayanists have generally accepted the equation of the Maya World Tree (seen here on a Classic era ceramic piece) with the Milky Way. It would take too long to adduce the argument for this here, but the determinant features include the bird (Wukub Kaquix or Seven Macaw) at the top of the tree and the scorpion at the bottom. Like the Sumerians and, consequently, classical and medieval Europe, Pre-Colombian peoples saw a scorpion in the constellation Scorpio but interpreted the Big Dipper as a bird. Consequently, Schele claims that the scene depicted here shows the Big Dipper/Macaw being shot out of its tree by one of the Hero Twins, i.e., the Big Dipper/Macaw dipping below the horizon, which happens occasionally in tropical climes.

In order to ask the same questions of the northern sky, one must ask to what degree the medieval Norsemen saw roughly the same shapes in the constellations as those handed down by classical antiquity. First, as heirs to an Indo-European cultural system, they divided the zodiac into 12 sectors (as suggested by the Vafþrúðnismál), they associated Venus with a goddess of love (i.e., as the Friggjarstjarna) and they interpreted the constellation Orion as a male human figure, rather than, for example, as a turtle, as did the Maya. Secondly, as this audience knows best, the Norsemen had access to European culture through travel, trade and tribal ties. Yet, just as Scandinavian mythology differs from that of other IE groups, so too must one expect a Northernization of astronomical terminology. It should come as no surprise, for example, that the constellation Scorpio should turn into Niðhöggr the serpent at the base of the world tree, rather than a more southerly critter not native to northern climes. Finally, as Du Bois takes great pains to point out, one must not neglect the influence of the Finns, the Sámi and circumpolar shamanism, all of whom have their own version of, e.g., the world tree mythology which spans Eurasia and has been most extensively documented in Siberia.

So much for the framework. Now to the evidence.

In a justly famous passage of his Germania, Tacitus reports that the Germanic peoples worship Mercury, Mars and Hercules. Scholarship has normally understood this as an interpretatio romana and argued for an equation with Germanic gods on the basis of common Indo-European traits, with much ingenuity going into the identification of Hercules (Thor? Freyr?). Remembering the late Classic correlations of Mercurii dies with Wodansdæg and Martis dies with Tiwsdæg, I not only agree with the equation of Mercury with Óðinn and Mars with Tiw, but I go one step farther and take Tacitus’ assertion at face value; the Germanic peoples worshipped the planets Mercury and Mars and the constellation Hercules. We “moderns” (“post-“ or otherwise) tend to divorce mythological figures from their celestial namesakes and seek sociological parallels à la Dumézil or psychological ones à la Jung and Campbell. Let us not forget the ubiquity of star worship, the prerequisite for catasterism, among pre-civilized peoples and its concomitant shamanist rituals. I would posit that the mythology (Óðinn as the quickly moving “wanderer” who pops up unexpectedly, apparently erratically and furiously “woedend”) postdates the astronomical observations (Mercury with its quick and apparently erratic movement and its frequent and dramatic retrogrades). In fact, if one accepts this interpretation, one may take one more step and read Tacitus’ assertion as a pars pro totum, i.e., rather than merely Mercury, Mars and Hercules, the Germanic peoples worshipped planets and constellations in general. Tacitus further reports of another tribe which worships Castor and Pollux, by which he seems to mean the constellation Gemini rather than its two prominent stars, and again reports of a Germanic tradition of fixing meeting dates by means of lunation.

Given the debate over Tacitus’ sources and intentions, I am certain that the preceding has done little to counter anyone’s skepticism, but it does demonstrate an interest in astronomy among the Germanic tribes. I shall now present two examples based largely on the Grímnismál which will provide a firmer basis for the possibilities of this line of research.

First we turn to the description of the World Tree Yggdrasill. According to the Poetic Edda, it has inter alia the following features: three roots, each of which bears one of the three worlds; at the top, an eagle with a hawk between its eyes; at the bottom, a serpent that gnaws its roots; a squirrel that dashes up and down the tree sowing discord between the serpent and the birds; and, finally, four deer which nibble at the leaves of the tree. The only known MS representation of it comes from the 17th century (AM 738 4to) and contains all the animal features just mentioned. If we compare this image with a map of the Milky Way, a number of interesting parallels emerge. First, the constellation Scorpio lies at the bottom of the supraecliptic section of the Milky Way in exactly the position displayed in the MS for Niðhöggr the serpent. Corresponding to the spot where the squirrel RatatøskR climbs the tree , one finds a prominent curve in the western edge of the Milky Way that with little imagination resembles a squirrel surmounted by its tail and facing upward as portrayed in the MS.

The four deer that nibble the leaves of the tree present more of a problem, and point to a conflation of two traditions. The Grímnismál describes the deer as eating the shoots from below with their heads thrown back (gaghálsir), again as portrayed in the illustration. The names assigned to the deer (Dáinn ‘deceased’, Dvalinn ‘the loiterer’, Dúneyrr ‘downy ear’ and Dýraþrór ‘the waxing of deer’) suggest four moon phases. Granted, two of the names pop up in the “dwarf catalogue” of the Völuspá, but in a context strongly suggestive of celestial events (i.e., following the cardinal directions). Many cultures the world over see an erect quadruped in the shapes on the lunar surface; the Chinese, for example, see not our “man in the moon,” but rather a rabbit standing on its hind legs. [A Mexican colleague of mine assures me that not only was she brought up to see the rabbit, but that he also carries a plate of tortillas in his paws.] From this image it is a short step to interpreting the lunar features as a standing deer with its head raised to nibble on the shoots of the Milky Way as the moon passes over it in each of its four main phases (corresponding to “deceased,” “waxing,” “loitering,” and “downy eared”). Alternately, it is possible that the various tendrils of the Milky Way reminded observers of deer antlers, which would incorporate the deer into the tree much as we did with the squirrel. Because the lunar and stellar interpretations seem to me more compelling, I reject out of hand Björn’s identification of the deer with Cassiopeia.

Finally, the two birds at the top of the tree present an even larger problem. Björn’s emphatic equation of the eagle with the constellation Aquila and the hawk Veðrfölnir with Altair contains a number of blemishes, chief among them the fact that Aquila lies far from the top of the tree. If the base of the tree lies in Scorpio/Sagittarius, one should seek the top of the tree either 180° away in Taurus/Gemini or in the area around the pole star, where the constellations that we see as the dippers suggest themselves as candidates. Gemini has much to recommend it, especially in light of Tacitus’ report that at least one Germanic tribe saw it as a deity (named Alcis).

Even if the above held true in medieval Scandinavian culture, extending into the 17th century and our MS illustration, one must also expect a degree of polyvalence as regional traditions coalesce. The name “Yggdrasill” means ‘Óðinn’s horse’, and helmet iconography shows Óðinn astride his eight-legged steed Sleipnir, frequently, as in this example, with two birds above (I have a hard time identifying them as ravens) and a serpent appropriately placed below. Rather than contradicting the Milky Way / World Tree interpretation, this class of image strengthens it through the common links of Óðinn’s horse and the tree-name Yggdrasill. Furthermore, the Fjölsvinnsmál deliver yet another name for the tree (Mímameiðr) and another bird variant, this time a rooster (Viðofnir), suggesting that the images transmitted by the Edda were hardly standardized, but picked and chosen from a stock of common elements, where both tree and horse associate with some kind of bird. That at least the concept of the world tree comes from common Germanic and not exclusively Scandinavian tradition is evident also from Adam of Bremen’s tale of the Saxons’ Irminsûl, a sacred wooden column felt to “sustain everything” like the world tree, and which has cultural echoes across the centuries in the European Maypole. In sum, the Milky Way presented to the ancient Scandinavian the sustaining tree, the axis mundi that was also the horse of the principal deity, with a threatening serpent below (Scorpio, through whose precinct Mercury/Óðinn has to pass), various noxious fauna at its flanks and a bird or birds above (probably Gemini, through which Mercury would also have to pass).

One more example will, I hope, demonstrate the validity of this line of study. The Grímnismál give the following context for Valhöll:

 

                                             vargr hangir                                    a wolf hangs

                                             fyr vestan dyrr                                to the west of the door

                                             ok drúpir örn yfir                            and an eagle droops its head above it  

 

     

Björn equates the door of Valhöll with the constellation Ophiuchus, which does indeed have the shape of a door. More importantly, the constellation Sagittarius, which I take to represent Fenrir the wolf, hangs just to the west of it, and the constellation Aquila (and this time, I shall accept Aquila as the correct eagle) hangs its head just above it. Valhöll also has, according to the subsequent stanzas, 540 doors through each of which 800 warriors will pass at Ragnarök. Reuter offers two connections for these numbers. 540 has the factors 27, the length of the sidereal lunar cycle, that is, the time it takes for the moon to reach the same spot in the zodiac again (as opposed to the 29.5 days from new moon to new moon), and 20, the standard “score” used for bundling units. Furthermore, as both Reuter and Santillana have pointed out, multiplication of 540 and 800 results in 432,000, the number of years in the so-called Babylonian Great Year or the time it takes for the planets to cycle back into exactly the same position. It is also, according to Santillana, not coincidentally the number of syllables in the Rig-Veda. This non-arbitrary number, known to astronomers for millennia firmly establishes the poet of the Edda as knowledgeable in astronomical lore and the Edda itself as part of an ancient astronomic tradition.

Returning to Björn’s equation of Ophiuchus with the door of Valhöll, we can localize the goat Heiðrún, described in the Grímnismál as also nibbling at the tree’s leaves, as the constellation Capricornus which sits exactly opposite Ophiuchus on the other side of the Milky Way, resting its muzzle on the edge of it as if feeding on it. I suspect that the deer Eikþyrnir lurks somewhere in the vicinity, either as yet another lunar representative or as the constellation Andromeda.

Even if I have at least persuaded rather than convinced with these few examples, I hope that we can build on the groundwork of cultural astronomy to demonstrate a pattern of celestial imagery in the Nordic texts. Snorri’s Edda and the sagas contain much pertinent supporting material, as do, to a lesser extent, the kings’ lives. We must learn to see the mythological images such as Yggdrasill as systems of shapes that relate to observable phenomena. Even if one cannot decide among moon phases or galactic tendrils or Cassiopeia as the source of the leaf-nibbling deer, having narrowed the field and shown the relationship of other elements in the complex can count as progress.

Scandinavian studies has much to learn from the application of ethno astronomy to its texts. Much will perforce remain speculative, but, as I hope to have demonstrated, there are suggestive patterns that link the images of the oldest pre-Christian Nordic poetry with the western traditional constellations. Even a cursory investigation of the material, such as I have presented here raises myriad tantalizing questions. Why, for example, do the Æsir correspond to planets while the Vanir do not? Does the scene in the Hrafnkatla in which Hrafnkell’s horse Freyfaxi rolls over twelve times to purify itself represent the passing of twelve lunations and thus a return to its earlier, pure state? Did the goðar perform calendrical functions? To what degree did the connection between astronomy and mythology survive Christianization, e.g., in the images of our MS from ca. 1680? Since Scandinavia covers a wide territory and many peoples, to what degree do cultural syncretism and contradictory traditions color our evidence? Perhaps someday we can filter through these problems and arrive at a consensus on mapping the figures of Scandinavian mythology onto the skies. Doing so will necessitate a careful analysis of works such as Björn’s, which, even if one disagrees with the details and the methods, provide a broad platform for discussion.

 

 

 

Norse Constellations

 

 

Today it is difficult to appreciate the understanding earlier humans had of the world around them.  Tremendous power existed in the sky, the thunderstorm was a spectacle unrivalled and only periodic, less like the regular and predictable movements of the Moon and Sun.  People would not have been aware of the true scale of the Earth, but it was clearly a circular disk with a domical sky overhead that appears to surround it.  From this perspective everything was close, and the universe small, the Moon and Sun were same-size disks just beyond the clouds, the stars just up there in the heavens.  People would have rarely met people beyond their immediate vicinity, perhaps only a couple times a year.  A far-bound traveller could bring tales of far off places no farmer could visit.  Nature was dominant and powerful, yet appeared to hold a spiritual, personified and regulated power that could also be appealed to by humans.


 

 

Constellations of Northern Europe

 

Among the ancient people of Europe the night sky was a mysterious realm sometimes viewed as a magnificent World Tree that stretched across the sky, where the stars were fruit upon its spreading branches, and the Milky Way was its massive roots that extended down to the Earth.  This comprised their universe and their understanding of its powers.

 

There is an eagle sits in the branches of the ash, and it has knowledge of many things, and between its eyes sits a hawk called Veðrfölnir.  A squirrel called RatatøskR runs up and down through the ash and carries malicious messages between the eagle and Niðhöggr.  Four stags run in the branches of the ash and feed on the foliage.  Their names are: Dain, Dvalinn, Dúneyrr, Durathror. (Faulkes 1987:18-19)

 

Although the constellations here were known in the past, all but Thiassi’s Eyes and Niðhöggr play no role within Norse mythology.  Also it cannot be certain sometimes exactly which stars were the ones seen from those times (and this will continue unless a graphic depiction is located).  The constellations are largely based upon evidence from knowledge of Germanic mythology, but they are modern recreations based upon the suggestions of these sources.   The ones shown here are the only ones that are known to be genuine Nordic constellations.

 

(While it could be justified in saying that these are Norse constellations, it is not actually known if the Norse or Vikings knew they were constellations and not abstract concepts.  It is clear that by the time of the Eddas that the descriptions of the deer, squirrel, eagle and serpent were no longer linked to constellations.  Therefore, although they arise from Norse mythology, it is perhaps more proper to call them constellations from Northern Europe, to distinguish them from the Greek and Roman constellations known from Southern Europe.  In addition, there apparently was never one consistent set of “Norse” constellations, just as there are several representations of the Sun or Moon.  For this reason also it is possible that the constellations were identified outside of Scandinavia and then imported in at a later time, but without knowing which gods they were associated with it is difficult to hypothesize which peoples they might be associated with.)

 

Friggerock (Frigg’s distaff) – this consists of three stars making up a distaff, which is equated with the belt of Orion.  (Assuming the Orion constellation was also viewed as a figure in the sky, in this case the goddess Frigg, the belt of Orion is still a belt but the sword has a vertical orientation as does the spindle as it would have been known in a society where women were the spinners.)  "Though Icelandic writings do not contain this name, it has remained in use among the Swedish country-folk (Ihre, sub v. Friggerock).  The constellation is however called Mariärock, Dan. Marirock (Magnusen, gloss. 361. 376), the Roman Catholics having passed the same old idea on to Mary the “heavenly mother" (Grimm 2004: 270)  "The same three stars are to this day called by the common folk in Up. Germany the three mowers, because they stand in a row like mowers in a meadow" (Grimm 2004: 726).

 

Thiassi’s Eyes – this consists of two Gemini stars Castor and Pollux, that are side by side of equal brightness resembling two eyes, reaching their peak in the sky at midnight in January, which is why they were associated with Skadi (goddess of winter and presumed goddess of Skandza).

 

Dain (dormant) – one of the deer constellations in the branches of the World Tree, an elf name and here is associated with the smallest of the deer.  Consists of two stars along its back leg, two stars along its front leg, two for its trunk, one star on its neck, the bright star Vega is its eye, and the four Lyra stars form its antler.

 

Dvalinn (sleeper) – one of the deer constellations, a dwarf name and here is associated with the second smallest of the deer.  Consists of some of the same stars as Cepheus, with one star for each of its front foot and the North Star makes its rear foot, two stars for its trunk, one bright star is its eye, one star on its snout, seven stars make up its antlers.

 

Dúneyrr (drooping-ears) – one of the deer constellations, the name associated with the second largest of the deer.  Consists largely of the stars of the Great Bear, with two stars for its front leg, five stars for its rear leg, seven stars make up its body, two for its neck, one for its eye, and three for its antlers.

 

Durathror (sluggish beast) – one of the deer constellations, the name associated with the largest of the deer.  Consists of the Perseus constellation as its head and antlers and Auriga as its body, with one star for each of its three visible legs, six stars for its body, one star for its eye, one star for its snout, five stars make up its longer antler, three its shorter antler.

 

RatatøskR (gnaw-tooth) – the squirrel constellation.  Consists of the main stars in Cassiopeia, with one star for its head, one for each foot, one for its body, and two for its tail.

 

"Geirrod"– the eagle constellation, unnamed among the Norse but whose name here is based upon the eagle Garuda of Hindu mythology.[3]  Consists of largely the same stars as Cygnus the swan, with one star for its body, tail and head, its left wing being four stars and its right wing being five stars.

 

Veðrfölnir (wind-parched) – constellation for the hawk upon the eagle's head.  Consists of one star for its body and one for its head, two stars for its left wing, and three stars for its right wing.

 

Niðhöggr (poison biter) – constellation of a serpent at the foot of Yggdrasill’s root.  Consists of many of the same stars as Scorpios, four stars make up its head and 19 stars make up its body and tail.

 

 

Wagon – this constellation among the Germanic people is well-known, in England as Charles Wain, Denmark as Karlsvogn, Sweden as  Karlwagn, and Herrenwagen, meaning the "lord's wagon" and ultimately related by Grimm back to Wotan's wagon (Odin's wagon) (Grimm 2004: 151) while in the Netherlands it is known as the Hellewagen (Grimm 2004: 802).  Or Woenswagen. The same stars that comprise the Big Dipper, with four stars making up the wagon and three stars making up the tongue.  "We know that in the very earliest ages the seven stars forming the Bear in the northern sky were thought of as a four-wheeled wagon, its pole being formed by the three stars that hang downwards" (Grimm 2004: 151).[4]

Hellewagen – constellation of the wagon of the dead, that travels upon Hellweg or Frauen Hilde Street (the Milky Way) to the underworld.  There is good reason however to think that the constellation known as Pegasus was the original Hellewagen (perhaps also Odin's Wagon), consisting of four stars making up the wagon, with three stars making up its tongue.[5]

 

You can take the opportunity, on a clear night away from city lights, to locate these constellations yourself, which sometimes requires going out different nights or different times to see them all clearly.  It will perhaps help recall a time when the night sky held a significant place in the lives of humans.

 

 

[1] "Friggerock" and "Wagon" are identified by Jacob Grimm in his Teutonic Mythology while the rest arise from my own studies.  Although it is commonly held that Thiassi's Eyes are the Gemini stars and for a few that Niðhöggr is the constellation Scorpios, these were arrived at independently.  Attempts have been made of other constellation identifications, and it is possible that both the deer Eikðymirr and the goat Heiðrún are represented somewhere in the stars, but no reliable identification has yet been made (for more see Eddic Constellations on the Links page.  Most attempts to identify Norse constellations have been highly speculative and based upon unreliable comparisons or mere guesswork.  Valhöll has not been clearly identified in cosmological terms, but if it or the tree Laerad were representative of the night sky one candidate for Eikthymir or Heiðrún is the constellation Ursa Minor, which would represent the forepart of the animal, with Polaris as its head.

[2] There are internet sites that claim the Orion constellation was known among the Germanic people as "Freya's Gown" and the belt was known as "Freya's Girdle", but again I am unaware of the source of this information.

[3] The name Geirrod (aka Gerud) is the closest name in Norse myth to the Hindu eagle Garuda, which might be assumed due to the connection of Norse with Iranian and Indian myth.  The linguistic structure of the two names is the same: G-a/e-r-u-d-(a) and they might well link back to an eagle in prehistoric mythology.  (There is no evidence within Norse myth that the giant Geirrod, who contends with Thor, was at any point an eagle.)

[4] Grimm also identifies the plural term for the greater and lesser wagon, the latter, Ursa Minor, is called by Berthold the Wegelin (Grimm 2004: 724).  Neither Ursa Major nor Ursa Minor dip beneath the horizon as seen from northern latitudes.

[5] The Hellewagen constellation does not appear to regard the existence of the World Tree, which suggests that there was never any unified set of constellations in Northern Europe, so this speaks to the accumulation from different cosmological traditions (see the paper "Yggdrasill and Ymir's Skull: The Cosmologies of Nordic Myth" on the Mythology page).



 

 

Norse Stars

 

Aurvandil's Toe - Sometimes wrongly thought to be a Norse constellation is actually the Morning Star, the planet Venus.   Venus and Mercury never appear full from the Earth, they are either approaching or receding when they are on the same side of the Sun as Earth.  Mercury, however is not clearly visible and cannot be seen other than as a point with the naked eye.  Venus is sometimes the brightest object in evening after sunset or in the morning after sunrise (when the Moon is not out).  Often paired with the crescent Moon, both were very early associated with bear claws, Aurvandil specifically equivalent to Grendel in this regard.

Viðofnir - a rooster that is perched upon the highest branch of the World Tree.  Likely equivalent at some point to Veðrfölnir (the hawk perched upon the Eagle upon the World Tree).  The Otherworld was to have been to the north and down, which would place it at the North Pole, the tree would have had its height at the axis where the tree rotates, which would mean that Viðofnir is Polaris, the North Star.