Life in Early Spring

*This article was originally written by Sorn. It has been reposted here in an effort to collect all our resources on our new site.

Sometimes in thinking about the conversion and its accompanying destruction of life, knowledge, and culture, I’m filled with rage and sorrow. Because I believe it’s more important to solve problems than wallow in grief dwelling on them, and because I don’t think there’s anything inherently virtuous about being a victim, I don’t indulge myself often. Every now and again, though, I fantasize about a world in which Thorgeir Lawspeaker emerged from under the cloak and gave judgement against the new religion, in which the various scholars and scientists refused to recant, or the newly discovered peoples managed to unite and repulse their conquerors. I understand why many of the people involved made the decisions they did, however. The will to survive is a powerful thing. Beyond even that, though, is that sometimes surrender is necessary in order to continue the fight.

Olaf Tryggvason was a man of cruelty, ambition, and imagination, an unlucky combination for those who opposed him. He had the sons and other kin of many prominent Icelanders as “guests,” and he had already earned his well-deserved reputation for the evils he could create in his pursuit of the Christianization of the North. Additionally, his control of Norway mean that he could cause great hardship for the people of Iceland, allowing him to effectively lay siege to the island withought using much energy or manpower. By the time the decision had arrived at Thingvellier, any resistance would have been futile, and given the sort of man who was championing the new faith, the consequences of resistance would have been horrible. By converting peacefully, the people of Iceland helped something of the old ways to survive; they gave less excuse for the sorts of mass executions and obliteration of knowledge that had occurred during the conversion on the continent (though an obscene amount of wisdom was still lost).

Something that gives me hope, however (makes me inspired at times, in fact) is viewing the history of heathenry and the other Western religions as being something like the passage of the seasons, just spread out much farther. The Stone Age through the Bronze Age was a sort of Spring, during which we learned of various wights and how to interact with them in meaningful, beneficial ways. The Iron Age into the Migration Period and Vendel years were a sort of early Summer; growth was still occurring, but we were achieving a some fullness in our relations with the holy powers. The Viking Age was late Summer edging into early Fall; they were those hot and heady weeks where one hardly notices the days are growing shorter. Though things on the greater continent were already rather grim, in Scandinavia the flowers of the old ways were in full and vibrant bloom and the produce of the fields was ready for harvest. The conversion was late Autumn and early Winter, bringing death to the lands it touched with its frozen breath. The Dark Ages were a long and difficult Winter, though not without occasional reminders of the life that thrives the rest of the year, while the Renaissance and the Enlightenment finally began thawing the ground, removing the swords and the artificial shade that had kept much of the sun’s light from us for centuries. After a few nighttime frosts, the early days of a new Spring dawned. We learned that what was thought by many to be dead had merely been dormant. The bulbs began putting out new shoots, many trees assumed to be nothing more than tall stumps put out new leaves, and those other plants and trees that had long ago been chopped down or pulled up were seen to have dropped nuts, seeds, and fruit from which new seedlings and saplings could grow.

Modern heathens have the honor and the privilege to live in the first days of this new Spring, and personally, the early spring is my favorite time of the year, when green and life and light return boisterously to the world. Some of winter’s damage is irreversible, and cold snaps and chill nights are still a threat, but every week the weather is warmer and the days are longer. In not giving Tryggvason and his ilk reason to salt the earth, in acting to preserve what they could, our ancestors made it possible for what was left to live again when the conditions were no longer quite so harsh. Our ways are not the same as those that were killed years ago anymore than a new oak is the same as the one that dropped the acorn. Our ways are born of them, however, and they drink the same water, absorb the same light, and grow in the same earth. The new-ways-that-are-the-old-ways are flourishing again, and we get to witness the rebirth firsthand.

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