Transcription
Throughout history, Iceland has displayed an immense tradition of witchcraft. Within the horrifically oppressive landscape, magic was not just on the fringes of society; it was a tool for everyday survival. This tradition persisted through Christianization in ways unseen across most of the developed world. Events that should have stamped out paganism entirely only seemed to galvanize Icelanders' conviction in their native culture.
Today, pagan tradition lingers in Iceland and weighs both mundane and tremendously significant. As a result, we now have access to the contents of spellbooks, the names of famous sorcerers, and the step-by-step procedures of medieval Icelandic magic. This documentary will cover the entirety of witchcraft in Iceland, from its earliest inhabitants, blood sacrifices, and the contents of medieval spellbooks, to the surprising presence of pagan tradition in modern-day Iceland. The subject is dark, esoteric, and at times bizarre, but at the end of it, we can take away a tremendous lesson about how we look at history.
In the late 9th century, King Harold Hårfagre was looking to conquer all of Norway. With the political influence of Christian Europe, he had agreed to bring the nation under a Christian-style monarchy. Citizens were not entirely enthused by the idea, so a group of Norwegians left to seek political and religious freedom. These people, along with their Celtic slaves, sailed west to Iceland.
The society they set up on Iceland was rooted firmly in their native heritage. There's no single king on Iceland, but rather the land was ruled by local priest-chieftains. These leaders would meet annually at a great assembly called the Althing to settle legal cases and decide broader matters of governance. Even today, the Althing remains as Iceland's national parliament.
The early Icelandic government had very little central authority that could make rulings and disputes but had no ability to actually carry out these sentences. Instead, that was left to the family of the aggrieved party. Often, if someone was found guilty of a crime, they would be outlawed in the sense that the law no longer applied to that individual. They could then be harmed or killed without any legal repercussions. Alternatively, the guilty party could pay a set amount of money to the harmed individual, called *wergild*, to satisfy as punishment. Each crime was assigned a respective monetary value. It should also be noted that the government made no profit on any of these crimes or rulings.
Early Icelandic settlers practiced a religion they brought with them from Norway. It was an ancient Germanic-based sort of heathenism, that is, heathenism not as a pejorative, but just to say these people did not practice one of the more now widespread religions. This Icelandic pagan religion allowed a significant amount of individual freedom. Some Icelanders may have worshiped Odin, while some prayed to Freya or other Norse deities. Alternatively, some likely worshiped nothing at all. Meanwhile, the Celtic slaves they had brought probably had some ties to Christianity. This is all to say, Icelanders were very tolerant of religious differences, but still, paganism was the prevailing religion at the time, and within this paganism existed a strong tradition of sorcery.
By all accounts, Icelandic magic could be separated into two distinct types: *galdr* and *seiðr*. *Galdr* is generally a more honorable magic, whereas *seiðr* was considered shameful, essentially light and dark magic. These moral connotations, though, were not contemporary; rather, they seem to be added later on, possibly under a different framework of morality than would have been present at the time. So, take the "light and dark magic" labels with a grain of salt. More accurately, the differences between these two magics were technical in nature.
The practice of *galdr* seems more based in a person's consciousness; could perhaps say it is the more grounded of the two, for lack of a better term. In *galdr*, you would assume a sort of magical persona, an alter ego, whereas in *seiðr*, the practitioner would enter a trance-like state, seemingly possessed by something else entirely. It is similar to what other parts of the world may call shamanism, likely inherited from early Germanic practices.
Early Icelandic magic also sees the frequent use of runes, a sort of esoteric alphabet. Runic magicians would have been the most well-known. It was likely practiced by the most well-honored members of society. These were, perhaps unsurprisingly, mostly men. This male-dominated quality of Icelandic magic will again show its face later when we get to the Witchcraft Trials and executions.
The general technique of runic magic consisted of three procedural steps. First, the magician would carve the signs into an object. Then, it would be colored with the magician's blood or the blood of an animal. Finally, a verbal incantation would be spoken over the runes. This incantation was said to load the runes with their magical powers.
But these perhaps primitive, old-world ways of magic would soon be dramatically changed by increasing Christianization of Europe. By the year 1000, most of Northern Europe, including Norway, Denmark, Ireland, and England, had become officially Christian. Icelanders, though, were resistant to this change. By most accounts, Iceland accepted Christianity quite superficially. When the faith arrived, very little changed. Public sacrifices were forbidden, but there were no laws against the private practicing of the old faith. Pagan traditions continued with no real resistance. These traditions included the ceremonial sacrifice and eating of horse flesh. Icelanders also permitted the exposure of infants, this practice was a version of infanticide wherein a family left their unwanted newborn baby outside to be killed one way or another by the forces of nature.
Conversion to Christianity was a decades-long, quite gradual process, but it was accelerated around the year 1030. Around this time, Iceland entered the Age of Peace. Domestic conflicts were less frequent, and individual Icelanders became more open to investigating Christianity. Icelandic scholars began to travel abroad, return with Christian knowledge. Still, Icelandic Christianity was not exactly by the book. The Icelanders who joined the church did not renounce worldly pleasures. Old traditions like polygamy and witchcraft persisted, even among church members. These old practices mixed with the Christian ideas that were being imported by traveling clergymen.
This era of Icelandic witchcraft will forever be remembered as bizarre and self-contradictory. The Christian faith explicitly said that witchcraft was heretical, but Christianity began appearing all throughout Icelandic magical practices. Personalities from exclusively Judeo-Christian traditions began to appear in Icelandic spellbooks. Elements of Catholicism were incorporated into verbal incantations. Unfortunately, this era also represents something of a dark age in our knowledge of Icelandic magic. The works composed during this time depicted earlier Viking Age practices. Very few original magical materials were recorded during this era. Instead, we must rely on sagas and folk tales written after the fact. While not entirely true, Icelandic sagas are typically based in reality to a degree; they are essentially embellishments of true events.
Most significantly, they point to a priest named Sæmundr fróði. He is said to be the most magically learned man of his time, said that he attended a mysterious institute called the Black School of Satan, which was likely located in Germany or France. Despite this perhaps frightening resume, Sæmundr was regarded quite well as a good guy. Indeed, this Black School of Satan continues to reappear throughout ancient Icelandic magical texts. It was apparently quite a popular destination for those who wished to dedicate their whole lives to sorcery.
The Age of Peace began to break down around 1118. Other nations were wrestling for control over Iceland. These foreign pressures manifested in political conspiracies and corruption. This instability leaked through Icelandic society. Old patterns of domestic feuds and blood vengeance began to reappear. But it was during this time that Icelandic culture, specifically literature, went into a sort of golden age. Icelandic authors composed many now-famous national sagas. The poet Snorri Sturluson wrote the *Prose Edda*. The *Poetic Edda* was also committed to paper. It was a great time of cultural balance between the past and present. Icelanders sort of agreed upon a national Catholicism where indigenous traditions were allowed to survive alongside Christianity.
Unfortunately, this time would not last. The Protestant Reformation began in the early 1500s. In 1536, Denmark nationally accepted this Reformation, and as its property, Iceland was expected to follow suit. Once again, there emerged enormous pressure on Iceland to adopt European Christian tradition, and once again, Icelanders resisted. The country's isolation and cultural conservatism meant the Reformation did not exactly take quick hold in Iceland. There was effectively a low-effort war between the years of 1536 and 1550. The Protestants won and executed the Icelandic Bishop Jón Arason.
In 1550, the years that followed were marked by economic and political exploitation by the Danes in Iceland. In 1602, Denmark effectively prohibited Iceland from trading with whoever it pleased. The result was a period of intense economic hardship. Danish traders and clergymen, who were essentially Danish government agents, ruthlessly exploited Icelanders. One-fourth of church tithes in Iceland went directly to the Danish King. The death penalty was imposed for moral crimes, including heresy. The estates of anyone sentenced to death again went directly to the Danish crown.
Antiquarians, both Danish and Icelandic, seeing signs of a collapse, began a concentrated and intentional effort to save Icelandic literary heritage. Among these historical documents were spellbooks and magical manuscripts. And so, we have a lot of information about magic from this time. Later in this video, when we discuss the methods and techniques of Icelandic witchcraft, most of that will have been produced in this era.
Two Icelandic magicians serve as the bridge into the Protestant age in Iceland. One was Guðskálkur Nikulásson, the cruel. Guðskálkur had a reputation for black magic and was known to be a ruthless political schemer. The other was Hálfdan Árfísson. Little is known about Hálfdan other than he appeared to be a white magician, too. Guðskálkur's black magician status, the sorcerer Guðskálkur's spellbook was called the *Rauðskinna*, written in gold letters on red parchment. This book is said to include the darkest magic known to man, mostly sourced from earlier heathen times.
After Guðskálkur's death, a magician named Galdra-Loftur apparently became obsessed with the practice of necromancy, of raising the dead. He desperately tried to raise the ghost of Guðskálkur to get the dark sorcerer's personal spellbook, called *Galdra-Loftur's sin*. And the moral of the saga in which he appears is a sort of unending lust for knowledge and power.
From this era, there's also the *Gráskinna*. This book is supposed to have been compiled of two parts. First, written in the Roman alphabet, the second encoded runes intended to conceal the actual meaning of the text. According to the sagas, the souls of those who read the first part could still be saved, but if a person were to read the second, they were damned for eternity. Copies of these books did not survive. It would not be hard to imagine why. Protestant era crackdowns of magic in Iceland meant they would be immediately burned if and when they were found.
Indeed, Iceland eventually did crack down on the so-perceived threat of witchcraft. On October 12, 1617, King Christian IV of Denmark officially outlawed magic in all of his lands, which included Denmark, Norway, Iceland, the Faroe Islands, and Greenland. Non-sorcerer citizens, those who only casually practiced magic, would be punished by exile or through a fine. Genuine sorcerers, as the king said, could only be sentenced to death.
Immediately after the decree went into effect, witch trials appeared all across the Danish Kingdom, with the exception of Iceland. There, the law took 13 years to be published by local officials, and when it was published, the decree was met with confusion. This widespread European notion of witchcraft being evil had never really been introduced in Iceland. His confusion meant it was very difficult for Icelandic authorities to carry out the laws in an organized, effective way. People didn't really have protocols for imprisoning and executing a magician, nor did they really understand why these punishments were even necessary. The result was basically chaos.
Many of the suspected witches in Iceland were executed without a trial. Only after being executed were their crimes then reported to local councils. Between 1625 and 1683, a total of 170 Icelanders were accused of witchcraft. 21 people were executed. Notably, only one of these executed people was a woman. Icelandic witches were generally men. This is a significant contrast to witch trials throughout the rest of Europe, where victims were overwhelmingly women. Icelandic society was very much divided by gender at the time. Knowledge, like that required to carry out magic, was considered a masculine trait in Iceland. Women were believed to have less knowledge and therefore less understanding of magic. However, there were some exceptions. A handful of women were brought to trial for witchcraft. Certain genres of magic were, in fact, decidedly female, but they were generally looked down on by other sorcerers.
In addition to gender, Icelandic witch trials were drawn along class lines. Almost all victims of the trials were men in the lower classes. On the rare occasion that a person of higher status was accused, they would generally be acquitted of any charges. Most of the detailed records of these witch trials were lost, if they ever existed at all. Record-keeping within the courts wasn't as robust as it is today. Most accounts of witch trials would have come from first-hand witnesses casually writing down what they had seen.
That said, there is one major exception. One witch trial over a single man's grievances and claims of possession and demonic practice spanned the course of five years. This is known as the Kirkjuból Affair. It took place from the years 1655 to 1660. The story tells us the procedural workings of witch trials, but it also offers more than that. It provides insight into the cultural dynamics at play when one was accused of being a witch, more specifically, the power of these accusations when cast from the right person.
The affair centers around a reverend named Jón Magnússon. The reverend's life was wholly unremarkable prior to the Kirkjuból Affair. Born in 1610 in Northwest Iceland, his father was a priest, as was his brother, so Jón continued with that familial tradition. In 1643, Jón became the head of a parish. About a decade later, in 1655, he married, and his wife had a child. It was this year, though, that Jón's sufferings began.
Also in this town lived Jón Jónsson and his son, also named Jónsson, the younger Jón. At this point, the younger Jón asked the reverend for his daughter's hand in marriage. The reverend refused, which created a rift between the two families. One day, the reverend was walking through town. The Kirkjuból farm, where the Jónssons lived, was on his route. He approached the farm. The reverend claimed to have received a mysterious message in his mind; something told him to go visit the Jónssons, so he did. He spoke with them, ate dinner, and ended up staying the night at the Jónsson's farm.
During the night, the reverend woke up to the sensation of mice crawling all over his feet, but when he looked down beneath the covers, there were no signs of any mice. The next day, the elder Jón Jónsson drunkenly confessed to having used witchcraft on the reverend. He said that he sent a spirit to haunt the reverend while he slept, but the elder Jón claimed he was satisfied with the mischief and would never do it again. The reverend Jón believed him and went on his way.
Some days later, the town had gathered at church service. There, the Jónsson's servant girl complained to the elder Jón about his son. The younger Jón overheard and punched the servant girl in her face. Reverend Jón saw it all and made the younger Jón apologize. That night, the reverend was sleeping when he was again startled awake by the feeling of a cat walking across his feet, but when he looked down at his feet, there was no animal. Again, at this point, he said his mind was suddenly plagued with evil, demonic thoughts. The reverend began to pray desperately at his bedside. While praying, he felt a beast jump onto his body. He felt its claws rip through his clothes and into his flesh. The pain, he said, was so intense, so red-hot, and he believed himself to be in mortal danger. Again, though, there was no beast, only the feeling. These same sensations occurred for several nights in a row, apparently affecting other members of his family during this time.
Deciding that this could only be the work of sorcery, Reverend Jón traveled across the fjord to visit the town's sheriff. He reported his sufferings to the sheriff and several other town officials. The next day, as he was preaching in the church, Reverend Jón collapsed onto the ground, writhing in front of his parish in something of a mass spectacle. While this was happening, the Jónssons attempted to run out of the church but were ultimately stopped. They were brought into custody. The sheriff sent a man named Gísli to the Kirkjuból farmstead to look for evidence of witchcraft. As he walked to the farm, Gísli claims to have felt bizarre, searing pains throughout his feet. At the farm, Gísli found a book made from calfskin that was filled with magical symbols and spells.
With this evidence, the Jónssons were brought to court. The reverend testified that they were using witchcraft against him, invoking Satan to bring him suffering. Several other church attendees testified against the Jónssons. Ultimately, the Jónssons were made to renounce any further acts of witchcraft. They agreed, and both parties were satisfied with the outcome.
The very next night, the reverend experienced more of the same painful attacks. These attacks, in fact, continued to the following year. That same year, 1656, the Jónssons were once again brought to trial. The Jónssons were allowed some time to collect witnesses on their behalf, but that very next night, the reverend experienced pain like never before. He said the sound of whale blowholes shot into his ears, keeping him awake, giving him an excruciating, burning headache. The Jónssons were arrested.
The next day, the younger Jón confessed to having an increasing and continuing interest in sorcery. He also confirmed that he had basically hated the reverend since being denied his daughter's hand in marriage. Throughout the trial, the Jónssons both expressed a hatred for the reverend and treated him with animosity and hostility. The two Jónssons apparently confessed in private corridors to town officials. They were then forced to make their confessions public. The elder Jón told the crowd that he was responsible for most of the reverend's sufferings, that he had borrowed two spellbooks and enlisted the help of a sorcerer who lived near the town. The elder Jón confessed to a number of other pieces of witchcraft, too. He said he'd used magic to kill people's livestock. Jón claimed he owned a number of magical books and runes that he had used on the reverend.
Following his father's confession, the younger Jón admitted to several incidents of his own. The younger Jón essentially confessed to being a sorcerer. He'd use magic to hurt other townspeople. He said he'd harmed animals with magic and enchanted a girl to fall in love with him. The younger Jón claimed to regularly pour his own blood onto runic symbols. Ultimately, like the father, he too confessed to using magic on the reverend.
The penalty for using magic to inflict pain or death was, of course, burning at the stake. By confessing, the Jónssons had forfeited their lives in the eyes of the court. They were condemned to death, to be burned alive on April 10, 1656. As the father and son were being brought to the stake, the reverend offered them a chance to repent and to be forgiven by God. The elder Jón repented; he begged God for forgiveness. The younger Jón refused wholeheartedly. Instead, in his last words, he said only, "May God grant us a good night."
Two were tied to the stakes in front of a crowd. Quite ominously, it took officials three tries to get the father and son to burn, which many, the reverend included, took as an omen of evil. Eventually, though, the Jónssons were burned alive in front of the townspeople. Even after the burning, though, the reverend wanted more. He said he deserved compensation for the pain and suffering, as well as court costs and lost time at work. The reverend also claimed that the younger Jón hadn't paid his legally required church tithe for a year. He argued that this crime, along with the witchcraft, meant Jón's property should be forfeited to the church, more precisely, to himself. The reverend indeed was awarded much of the younger Jón's estate.
But Reverend Jón was still not finished. He also argued that because the elder Jón was responsible for most of the witchcraft, he owed compensation. So, town officials sold most of the farm Kirkjuból's assets and gave the money to the reverend. The reverend's symptoms eventually returned. Initially, he believed the continuing attacks were the work of the younger Jón haunting him from beyond the grave, but these attacks just got worse and worse. At one point, the reverend began having seizures.
There's also a sister in the Jónsson family named Þuríður. She lived on and off again at the Kirkjuból farm. She quite reasonably held a great deal of resentment towards the reverend for the execution of her family. The reverend believed that whenever Þuríður came to town, his sufferings became worse, so he accused her of practicing witchcraft to exact revenge for her brother's deaths. Worrying that this would develop from accusations into an actual trial, Þuríður left the town permanently. The reverend attempted to charge her with witchcraft in three different courts, all of which basically threw the charges out immediately.
Even after Þuríður was found innocent, the reverend did not let up. He kept accusing her of witchcraft, claiming in public that she was a demon. On one occasion, the two got in an argument, and he spat in her face. So, it was time for Þuríður to get her actual revenge. She basically countersued the reverend. She said he'd spent years hurling false allegations at her family and had caused the unjust deaths of her father and brother. Most of her family's estate had been given to the reverend over charges that she claimed were meaningless. At the trial, she said that the reverend had never showed mercy against her family, so why should the court show mercy against him?
Unfortunately, no one really knows the outcome of the trial. People generally believe Þuríður to have won. There was no evidence of her having ever practiced witchcraft. The sister was well-liked by the public, while they increasingly looked on the reverend with disdain. She also had very influential prosecutors on her side. It's likely she won, but we don't know what she won. Þuríður's name appeared in a 1703 census, showing that she lived to be at least 65. The reverend grew impoverished and likely disgraced as he aged. Though he eventually moved into the Kirkjuból farmhouse, there he died at age 86.
People have provided plenty of theories for different diseases that the Reverend Jón may have suffered from. No one really knows what caused his painful episodes, but most scholars agree that Jón was not mentally within full capacity. Regardless, his writings and the court records surrounding the Kirkjuból Affair provide a singular and detailed account on how witch trials operated in Iceland.
The historical contexts and consequences of Icelandic witchcraft are certainly interesting. However, now that we understand to a degree the era in which all of this took place, we can get into the technical details and methods of Icelandic magic. There are a number of Icelandic books that contain lore, spell work, or other forms of magical tradition. There are books from Jón Árnason, which contain spells and rune work. There's an Icelandic Physicians Manual from 1400, which contains distinctly magical remedies for ailments, invoking Odin, Thor, and Freya. There are dozens of such materials, which are mostly piecemeal and incomplete, just by virtue of time. But one spellbook does remain fully intact. Indeed, it is the most important and most famous of all Icelandic magical texts. Given the historical context of its time, it's truly remarkable that the *Galdrabók* survived.
Written sometime in the latter 1500s, this book is an index of 47 spells. It was likely assembled by a combination of Icelandic magicians and Danish scribes during the Protestant period. In 1682, the book was acquired by a Danish philologist before being transferred to Stockholm and included in the National Academy of Sciences. This is where it lives today. The book offers no editorializing or opinioning about magic, but rather just the specific incantations, spells, and theology of early Icelandic sorcerers.
The spells in the *Galdrabók* cover a diverse range of ends. The most common is that of protection. 18 of the spells promise protection from some harm, be that magic or man. Nine spells promise good fortune in one way or the other. Six spells offer protection against thieves, a concern which seemed quite important to the authors. One final spell provides invisibility. These spells together are pretty harmless; they are mostly positive in nature, I think.
But besides these, the *Galdrabók* offers darker forms of magic. These range from low-level mischief—there's a spell to make the victim fart—to more malevolent ones: kills another's livestock, another forces a woman to fall in love. There is also a surprising amount of Christianity in the spellbook. Nine of the spells have a paradoxically Christian framework, in that they cite Christian works or ask for assistance from Christian figures. Eight spells express some kind of Gnostic roots, and five still overtly mix Christianity with Germanic paganism.
When combined with other Icelandic sources, the *Galdrabók* also outlines a theology of pagan gods, goddesses, and demons. In Icelandic magic, a number of deities are specifically invoked: Odin, Thor, Freya, and Baldr, among others. Loki also makes frequent appearances. Many spells make references to trolls or elves that could be responsible for fulfilling magical spells. Giants are mentioned twice. Valhalla, the dwelling place for honorific warriors who die in battle, also appears in the *Galdrabók*. Interestingly, demonic figures from Christianity also find themselves invoked in the book. In spell 43, the invocation is: "Help me in this all you gods, Thor, Odin, Frigg, Freya, Satan, Beelzebub, and all those gods and goddesses who dwell in Valhalla." The fact that Satan has come to Valhalla is remarkable. It shows the increasing fusion between Christianity and the old pagan religion.
The true purpose of this, though, was to literally demonize old pagan gods. Traditional Icelandic pagan gods are not categorically good or evil; this dichotomy doesn't really exist in the way that Christianity offers it between Satan and Jesus. But as time went on, Christians began to assign pagan gods into these roles more specifically. The old gods found home among Satan rather than Jesus. Aggressive and dark magic would be more likely to invoke the name of pagan gods. On the other hand, Christian elements appeared overwhelmingly in protective spells. As ever in Iceland, this didn't take root as firmly as it did in other places. The Icelandic Trinity of Germanic pagan gods, Christian entities, and Christian demons remained in place. Pagan deities never became entirely evil, and Christian entities were never accepted as holy good.
We've talked at length about methodology and technique and even spellbooks, but there is one distinct question that comes to mind still: how did Icelandic sorcerers believe magic actually worked? Through what powers, forces, or entities did they believe their magical ends were fulfilled? Well, most likely, they didn't really think much about it. If their spell worked, it worked, and that was enough. But by reading between the lines of these spellbooks, we can kind of understand the causality to which Icelandic sorcerers attributed their work.
The most pronounced is willpower. Icelandic magic often seemed to function on a sort of uber-concentrated version of one's will. Really, willpower is something like the foundation for the entirety of Icelandic magic and much of other European brands of witchcraft. Many spells feature instructions to that point, telling the practitioner to have a strong faith or say what you desire with anger. Other spells implore the magician to skip prayers in the evening so that their day wouldn't have a sort of close, in this way, the practitioner's willpower and train of thought wouldn't be interrupted by any sort of psychological conclusion to the day. Other spells still required the user to fast or undergo physical hardship with the idea that discomfort could further concentrate one's emotions. This willpower would then be converted into something more mystical via runes, incantations, human blood, or a mixture of these things. These implements serve to transmit one's will from shallow desire into magic.
The historical aspect of Icelandic witchcraft is fascinating, undoubtedly, but just as interesting is the way early pagan traditions have persisted within Iceland today. It would be simply outlandish to categorize Iceland as even a remotely pagan society today. Christianity is the dominant religion, and in some surveys, Iceland ranks highly among non-religious nations. But early Icelandic traditions have persisted in ways rarely seen across other developed countries.
Icelandic Ásatrú is a neo-pagan religion that was founded in 1972 and still enjoys significant membership in the country. Indeed, it is the largest non-Christian religion in Iceland, though still a distant second. While not inherently linked to witchcraft or magic, really, in any way, the neo-pagan religion provides a fascinating bridge between ancient and modern Iceland. Before I proceed, there is unfortunately an elephant in the room of Ásatrú that I must address. Icelandic Ásatrú is a non-political movement; it is not a right-wing movement in any way, shape, or form. Outside of Iceland, certain people in America and Europe have stolen the name of Ásatrú to create their own hateful organizations, which have no relation to or basis in the Icelandic church. The church itself has condemned the use of Ásatrú in pursuit of any hateful, supremacist, or race-based ideology. On the contrary, Icelandic Ásatrú has been characterized by scholars as open-minded, and the church itself is involved in vaguely left-wing environmentalist causes. But again, it is not an inherently political organization.
In the early '70s, a group of Icelanders were increasingly dissatisfied with having to pay taxes to the Christian church. The group was interested instead in establishing a religion that was more in touch with traditional Icelandic culture and the natural landscape of the island. A group of like-minded individuals gathered around this idea, and in 1972, the religion was officially established. The following year, Ásatrú was officially recognized by the Icelandic government. The first meeting in 1973, there were 21 members. This number immediately began to grow, and today there are over 5,700 Icelanders practicing Ásatrú.
Modern Ásatrú cannot entirely recreate the old ways. For one thing, the ancient Nordic religious practices varied by time, place, and social environment. Moral attitudes have also changed. Human sacrifice is certainly unacceptable; animal sacrifice likewise. In Norse sagas, it was common to sprinkle blood over a group of people during ceremonies. Today, this would be messy at best and quite dangerous at worst. Today, Ásatrú we use together a tapestry of elements from pre-Christian Iceland. Though it is a religion with a temple and high priests and regular ceremonies, Ásatrú exists more within diversity than dogma. Participants don't worship a strict pantheon of gods, nor do they follow a meta-narrative of creation or eventual salvation. Instead, they find the sacred in values, traditions, and myths associated with the most ancient Icelandic texts. Also sacred are the history and cultural heritage from these times. Ásatrú further reaches a reverence for the forces of nature that have historically been imagined or experienced as supernatural. Together, these things comprise the Ásatrú idea of *forn siðr*, or "our custom," which is a foundation of pride and inspiration for the religion.
Ásatrú represents a small portion of the Icelandic population, and I should not overstate its relevance to modern Iceland. It's not hugely responsible to speak in such broad strokes to say that modern Iceland is an island of pagans, despite it once perhaps having deserved that title long ago. Within any nation, the experiences of individuals will vary. There are Icelanders who feel a deep connection to pre-Christian traditions, but others probably don't care at all or would be happy to forget about these traditions entirely. It is a fact, though, that Iceland's pagan history has survived into modernity in ways rarely seen throughout other developed nations. Through its reverence for pagan, pre-Christian aspects of Icelandic history, Ásatrú provides us with a profound link to this past and to this culture.
While the events discussed in this video certainly contributed to historical paganism and witchcraft within Iceland, there are other factors we should look at as well. Perhaps most foundationally, we should examine the landscape itself. Iceland is a dramatic, harsh, and unforgiving place. It is battered by the ice-cold waters and storms of the North Atlantic. It is a land of radical polarities. On the island, you can find both volcanoes and glaciers; quite literally, it is a land of fire and ice. Winters are long; summers, if you could call them that, disappear as quickly as they arrive. Spring and autumn are essentially non-existent. Farmable land is rare, and livestock struggles to find reasonable grazing space. Between earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, it is a place where the Earth regularly shakes and rumbles. These natural forces all compete for the lion's share of hardship and suffering inflicted on the island's population. Iceland squeezes and demands the most from its inhabitants.
In a time before modern technology, the idea of magic would have been very helpful in simply surviving. The spells outlined by Icelandic texts do not express any interest in the metaphysical or unlocking profound secrets to man's existence. Rather, they offer solutions to life's then-everyday problems. Here's how to avoid thieves; here's how to catch more fish; here's how to protect yourself from danger. These solutions would have felt incredibly useful to Old World Icelanders. Perhaps because of this necessity, Icelandic magic seems tremendously accessible. There were some particularly ambitious individuals who devoted their lives wholly to sorcery, but broadly, old Icelandic magic could be practiced by just about anyone. There was rarely ever mention for the need of intense training. The implements required by these spells were largely commonplace enough.
Iceland is also the only country where witch burning records reveal a significant possession of magic books among victims. Victims who, again, were almost exclusively of the lower classes. This further tells us that access to magical knowledge was not just the purview of some elite priestly people. Instead, it was uniquely widespread among common Icelanders.
It is not just magical knowledge that has a strong tradition in Iceland, but all knowledge. Iceland was originally settled by the cultural conservatives of Norway, that is to say, people who had great interest in preserving Norwegian, now Icelandic, cultural heritage. Christianity arrived; it brought opportunities to learn. People entered into formal scholarly pursuits through new churches, schools, or journeys abroad. The foundation of curiosity combined with this new opportunity for knowledge meant Iceland generated a remarkable level of national intellectualism. Even today, Iceland consistently ranks highly in literacy rate and education levels. The country boasts the highest rate of books published per capita of anywhere in the world. Of course, there are other factors at play here, but this love of academia can be traced right back to the country's founding.
Throughout its history, Icelandic people have demonstrated an intense resilience, whether that has been to the very nature of their landscape or external political forces. Many of Iceland's cultural values only seem to have been strengthened by forces that could have ripped them apart entirely. And indeed, we end up with a culture that has been actively explored, recorded, and preserved by its people. Today, we are shockingly well-informed about historical magic in Iceland.
But still, to truly understand Iceland's history of magic, perhaps any history of anything, there is one more thing we must be sure to keep in mind. As we examine history, especially when that history leans so heavily on stuff we don't really believe in anymore, we should remember perspective. It's easy for us to wave our hands dismissively at every mention of sorcery and witchcraft within our rational, science-loving society. We can look at the idea of magic quite casually, but context is important. In early Iceland, people did not believe magic was real; it was just real to them. It was not a matter of belief at all. Witchcraft wasn't something you believed in; it was fact, in the same way that today, this is red, and this is blue; this is the moon, and this is the sun. It's important to consider this context and look at these traditions through this lens. With this empathy, we can achieve a truly authentic view of our world as it once was.