In the early 13th century, so the story commonly goes, a man named Snorri Sturluson realized he was pretty well the last of the ancient skalds, the historians of the Saxon nations. He set himself to preserve the last of a vital and failing tradition. The result was a set of works known as The Prose Edda, the mysterious and sometimes confused lore of a people-group’s origins and adventures.
Sturluson made an assertion that his people were founded from the fall of Troy. It was a guess which has several interesting counterparts throughout European and British legend. What his particular reasons were, we’ll never really know.
What Makes a Legend Legendary
The legend of Thor’s Kingdom is just a legend. It amounts to one man’s belief about the past, undocumented, unverifiable.
Extant, there are four independent partial genealogies of the Saxon/Norse people, preserved in four independent people groups, which makes some parts of their history more authoritative. This is not one of those parts.
With history, we can’t go back and observe it; we can’t test it or repeat it, at least not scientifically, though there is that rumour about ignorance and repetitive doom. We can only look for supporting documents or other ancient artifacts, particularly those that show evidence of being independent sources.
In developing the story of Thor’s Kingdom, I chose to pick up on minor clues in the old narratives–the idea, for instance, that Odin dragged his magnificent self-deifying statue “back” to Byzantium. That was the single line that started me on this chase for a story.
“Back” to Byzantium? Really? Hmm.
And if Thor is older than Odin, why is he called Odin’s son?
The threads of myth suggest that Odin became considered the highest, though he wasn’t the first, in part because he separated from his originating culture and went into northern Europe. He’s called the Father of All because he and his wife had a powerful occult gift as seers, for which they were exalted above others in the pantheon.
One way or another, Odin stole someone else’s name: Allfather. Why isn’t Thor called father of all, though he’s listed farther back in independent genealogies, though Sturluson assigns to him the founding of the proto-Saxon people as a distinct nation?
It might mean something more than “founding father.” I suspect this curious name is restored to its true owner in Beowulf.
What Makes History Historical
It might be easy to view the mix of my Christian understanding and Norse legend as just a blend of two myths. The key difference between the two is in textual verification.
The discovery of the Qumran scrolls, inscribed approximately 200-150 BC to 60-70 AD, verified that in fact the Old Testament has remained essentially unchanged since at least that time. Archaeology continues to compare the ancient Hebrew text against the ancient records and evidences left by long-gone nations in contact with the Israelis.
The New Testament comes with a stunning level of support from extant manuscripts. Some of these texts were written from a position hostile to biblical faith. Nonetheless, they help to corroborate its existence and its consistency.
As Jackie put it recently, “…what’s also important is that the small treasures we hold, unbroken, remain precious and are acknowledged as our own.”
One of those unbroken treasures–the chief of all–is the verified and well-corroborated biblical text, and the verified, well-corroborated biblical faith. This is the pearl of great price.
Thor’s Kingdom is a wisp of mist, a whisper of things that may or may not have been. It’s a delight to play with in story form; but it is, in the end, unable to prove itself more than a fairy-tale.
Not so the faith from which I write about these things.
“For faith is the substance of things not seen, the evidence of things hoped for.”
~Heb. 11:1, KJV
In order to be the substance and evidence of anything, faith must have some substance and evidence in and of itself. We do not go blindly into a darkness of the mind and heart.
We evaluate what can’t be verified against what can; we evaluate legend by history. We continue to discover and probe, to examine relationships between doctrines and evidences, verifiable teachings and those which depend upon them.
And while we do, may those in disagreement continue to quote the Bible, in or out of context, with any and all viewpoints appended, and so independently establish the record of what this text consists of and what it’s doing in our time. In a historian’s view, there’s great strength in the corroboration of dissenting voices.
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others in this post series:
Random Thoughts on Christian Fantasy
Runestone
Of Dragons, Knights and Prehistory
The Educated Barbarian
“The legend of Thor’s Kingdom is just a legend. It amounts to one man’s belief about the past, undocumented, unverifiable.”
As you’ve shown, isn’t there a striking difference between Scripture and legend? Since this is the case, isn’t it odd that skepticism so often invokes the Flying Spaghetti Monster, Zeus, Thor, Santa Claus, leprechauns, ad nausem as defeaters, or parallels perhaps, for the genesis of Scripture when we know their origins with more than reasonable certitude?
That’s one side of the coin, yet the other–pink unicorns, orbiting teapots, fairies–are of dinstinctly non-veridical origins, and thus fail as comparatives with Scripture in their non-historicity. It seems to me that Scripture stands alone in the mid-point of this range. UGH, I think I just mixed a metaphor…
“One of those unbroken treasures–the chief of all–is the verified and well-corroborated biblical text, and the verified, well-corroborated biblical faith. This is the pearl of great price.”
Exactly, and such a stunning fact that I think we are often complacent with regard to just how startling it is. Your comparison brings that out well, I think…
“In order to be the substance and evidence of anything, faith must have some substance and evidence in and of itself. We do not go blindly into a darkness of the mind and heart.”
Glad to see you’re not given over to faith theology. I should capitalize it, I suppose, but I don’t respect it enough.
“And while we do, may those in disagreement continue to quote the Bible, in or out of context, with any and all viewpoints appended, and so independently establish the record of what this text consists of and what it’s doing in our time. In a historian’s view, there’s great strength in the corroboration of dissenting voices.”
Good point, and I think we can nearly reproduce the NT from consenting and dissenting voices near the time of its writing.
“UGH, I think I just mixed a metaphor…”
(chuckle) I know, it’s like realizing one has tied one’s shoe with one’s left ear. The startling onset of residual pain sometimes outweighs the accomplishment.
“Glad to see you’re not given over to faith theology. ”
As if. Sometimes I wonder what you take me for. Americans.
“As if. Sometimes I wonder what you take me for. Americans.”
Touchy? Note: for you French speakers that was touchy, not touche
Guy can’t even give out a compliment around here anymore. Oh well, I know you thank the Americans for the Monroe Doctrine when your fiends aren’t looking…no worries.
“Guy can’t even give out a compliment around here anymore. ”
It must be my feminist streak coming out. You religious patriarch, you.
“I know you thank the Americans for the Monroe Doctrine”
Where are my boots? I see your manifest destiny coming for you. Y’all should be thanking the Pax Britannica for looking out for your itty bitty nation back when it was shooting breeze it couldn’t stand up in. The tree doesn’t fall far from the apple, more fool we.
Anyway, we all know the Republic of Texas secretly wanted to be British.
Et nous pouvons voir la difference entre les deux mots, merci, p’tit chou. Mais je comprends si le mignon Americain doit le remarquer.[1]
Interesting comparisons. Not being versed in Norse legend, these are new characters to me. But I agree with and like your conclusion.
Hey, Violet!
*cough* Ignore the peanut gallery, I ate pepper for supper, and then a likely victim came along. Again. He seems to like braving the perennial running of the dragons.
“Where are my boots?”
Multiple lacerations…blood spewing from Quixote’s bitten tongue
“Et nous pouvons voir la difference entre les deux mots, merci, p’tit chou. Mais je comprends si le mignon Americain doit le remarquer.”
Pocas veces he sido insultado mas elocuente. Viva la Francia.
Quixote de La Mancha
“blood spewing from Quixote’s bitten tongue”
Well, that was effective of me. (sighing unrepentantly) Man, you make me miss my buddy Steve. He was a used-car salesman. Last time I saw him, he bemoaned how he missed the verbal abuse I regularly gave him.
“Pocas veces he sido insultado mas elocuente. “[2]
I know. Doesn’t it make up for the bleeding?
Cat Vendlameche[3]
[1] “And we can see the difference between the two words, thank you, little darling. But I understand if the cute American needs to point it out.”
[2] “I’ve rarely been insulted more eloquently.”
[3] Vendre la meche: Let the cat out of the bag.
Thank you for the translation a tthe end there–not knowing more than a smattering of Spanish and Polish I was bemoaning my lack of understanding.
And love the Norse mythology thing–I think it really is amazing how Christianity gets so easily muped in with mythologies with no backing up available. Head hurts (seriously–lovely migraine coming on) and my oldest keeps interupting what litle thought process I have left so I will leave it at that and just enjoy reading.
I love it: “BUT I ONLY SPEAK POLISH…!”
You’d lose us both in a hurry there, I’m sure. And for the record, Marc’s translation skills demonstrably leave something to be desired, and I have to look up Spanish verb conjugations.
Notre Quixote n’est-ce pas un tel malin, mais ce charognard-ci est au moins gentil.
(Our coyote’s not *that* wily, but this here scavenger’s at least well-mannered.)
For a bit, it felt like Goscinny and Uderzo had come waltzing in here.
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