Chapter 1
Witchcraft and the Past
What sort of information is useful for the study of medieval witchcraft? More to the point, perhaps, what sort of evidence is not? Church statutes, amulets, court records, runic inscriptions, pictorial representations of witches, and so on all have their parts to play. Interpreting bygone cultures clearly requires us to have access to âdata,â the information-laden detritus that history capriciously bequeaths to us. Having collected it, scholars grandly organize these materials into what we trust are sensible taxonomies and refer to the results with all-too-obvious high hopes as âdatabasesâ and the like. And as we sift for meaningful patterns in what are more realistically called our âdata middens,â mounds of serendipitously preserved intelligence, what images of magic and witchcraft precipitate out?
Frankly, the very randomness of our information can create peculiar pictures. To take an example from our own world, how might a future group of scholars, many millennia from now, understand the state of Christianity in the twenty-first century if their âdata middenâ consisted solely of several fundamentalist hymnals, assorted Orthodox icons, a collection of papal bulls, a Christmas wreath, a recording of the Missa Luba, Thomas Aquinasâs Summa Theologica, a well-preserved cathedral, a King James translation of the Bible, a U.S. dollar bill with the legend âIn God We Trust,â Anton LaVeyâs The Satanic Bible, and a decorated Easter egg? Would our future colleagues not be tempted to force some contrived interpretation on these diverse and eclectic materials, torturing them into a harmonious narrative that might make sense to them (and appear to be consistent with the data), but strike any living observer today as absurd?
An impossible example? Perhaps, but the problem it presents very much resembles our situation in dealing with aspects of spiritual life in medieval Scandinavia. In the case of the present study, the resources available to us are not unlike the situation faced by our hypothetical future students of twenty-first-century Christianity in that, like them, we are dealing with a chorus composed of many different voices, with a far less centrally harmonized libretto in the pre-Christian era. Studies of medieval popular culture, and medieval popular religion in particular, frequently note different sociological layersâgenerally bifurcated into elite versus nonelite. Even this view, which sees, as one scholar summarizes it, âtwo distinct cultures, the one clerical and bookish, the other popular, oral and customary, the first accessible through traditional intellectual and spiritual categories, the second mainly through cultural anthropology and comparative religions,â fails to appreciate adequately the complexity of the systems under discussion.1 How then do the religious systems and demographics of medieval Scandinavia impinge on ourâand itsâunderstanding of witchcraft?
The Cultures, the Sources, and the Method
Given the monolithic stereotype of Scandinavia, it is important to underscore the rich diversity of the medieval Nordic world, an area that spanned much of Northern Europe, including Greenland, Iceland, and the Faroes, of course, but also Shetland and parts of insular and coastal Scotland; it also included modern-day Norway, Denmark, and Sweden, and Gotland to be sure, but also parts of coastal Finland and other areas around the Baltic littoral, and extended south into modern Germany. Complex not only in geography but also in cultural terms, late medieval Scandinavia possessed both Alpine and maritime economies, rich farmlands, mines, courts, international trading centers, remote valleys, and isolated farms, and the people, foreign-born and native, speakers of various Germanic, Finnic, and Balto-Slavic dialects, to go with them.2
In brief, the political history of Scandinavia in the later Middle Ages can be characterized as one in which a period of growing Norwegian influence becomes one of rapidly expanding Danish hegemony, followed by a century-long effort by Sweden-Finland to free itself from this arrangement, a feat finally managed in the 1520s.
3 By the late thirteenth century, a muscular Norway had control of Iceland, Greenland, the Faroes, Shetland, and Orkney and wrestled with Scotland over its continued possession of the Hebridesâit is indicative of the period that King HĂĄkon HĂĄkonarson died in Orkney in 1263,
following a mostly inconclusive invasion of Scotland over the very issue of the Hebrides. Marriages arranged between the various Scandinavian royal houses led to the birth of Magnus Eriksson, son of the powerful Swedish duke, Erik Magnusson, and Ingibj
rg, the daughter of King HĂĄkon of Norway.
Magnus thus technically became king of Sweden and Norway throughout much of the fourteenth century, followed by a brief period during which Sweden was governed by Albrecht von Mecklenburg. Growing German influence, especially from cities like LĂŒbeck through their role in the Hanseatic League, was an important factor in many of the political, linguistic, and cultural developments of late medieval Scandinavia, rivaled in significance only by the mid-fourteenth-century arrival of the Black Death. Through dynastic marriage arrangements, political upheavals, and a series of deaths, claims to all three Nordic crowns could be made toward the end of the fourteenth century by Margarethe of Denmark, under whose influence the so-called Union of Kalmar was forged in 1397, in theory creating a united political entity of Scandinavia under a single monarch. The history of the fifteenth century is largely framed by the struggles of Sweden-Finland to wrest its independence from the Danish crown, something finally accomplished under Gustav Vasaâs leadership in 1523.4
The impignoration to Scotland of Orkney in 1468, followed in 1469 by the similar mortgaging of Shetland, further diminished the Danish empire and removed from the Nordic world the last vestiges of its former possessions in the British Isles. By the end of the medieval period, the Nordic world thus consisted of a Swedish-Finnish kingdom and a still very impressive Danish kingdom, including Norway, Iceland, and the Faroes. Although certain provinces were hotly contested, especially border areas such as SkÄne and BohuslÀn, for the most part these areas did not take their present places on the political map until the seventeenth century; Gotland, traditionally a broadly autonomous region within the Swedish orbit, fell to Denmark in 1361 and did not come under Swedish rule again until 1645.5
Trade ensured lively communications between such increasingly important Nordic emporia as Bergen, Copenhagen, and Stockholm, and their Dutch, British, German, and other Baltic counterparts.6 With the conversion to Christianity came the rapid growth of a church infrastructure and religious houses, and Scandinavia too took its place among the recently converted in venerating local saintsâfor example, Saint KnĂștr and Saint KnĂștr Lavard in Denmark; Saint MagnĂșs in Orkney; Saint ĂorlĂĄkr in Iceland; Saint ĂlĂĄfr in Norway; Saint Sigfrid, Saint Botvid, and Saint Erik in Sweden; and Saint Henry in Finlandâas well the remarkable Saint Birgitta of Sweden (1303â37), who was officially canonized.7 The image of daily life that emerges from, for example, the original and translated (and almost always also transformed) literature of the Nordic Middle Ages is extremely rich and can give modern readers a vibrant sense of that world.8
For all the diversity apparent in the Nordic world, there exists a modern tendency to divide its population along simple lines into a ruling elite, on the one hand, and an unlettered peasantry, on the other, institutional versus noninstitutional entities (also often vicarial representatives for Christian and pagan, one suspects, and a host of other dyads necessary for the description of medieval Scandinavia, such as noninsular and insular). Although not without its advantages, this view of the Middle Ages tends to assume, for example, that a medieval fisherman believed in and practiced magic, whereas a monk did not. In all likelihood, both of them did.
This elite versus nonelite model of the medieval world has been criticized and challenged in recent years, and instead of a simple bifurcation between clerical and lay, elite and popular, and so on we should bear in mind that a more nuanced and synthetic image comes by envisioning individuals in terms of their relation to a number of factors, not just those two poles.9 The results provide a more rounded and realistic view of lived lives and do not automatically slot individuals into proscribed behaviors, allowing us to see from our materials that priests, princes, and wealthy merchants, for example, were just as capable of a âmagical worldviewâ as farmers, laborers, and prostitutes.10
In fact, the Nordic world is rich in resources for the student of medieval popular culture, perhaps especially where witchcraft is concerned: a wide array of nonnormative texts provide insights into how the image of the witch was constructed in the Scandinavian world, providing opportunities for us to see realities that go beyond condemnations of magic and its practitioners by authors representing church and state.11 Broadly speaking, we look to either material objects, such as paintings and talismans, or narratives, that is, texts and monuments in one sense or another, for our knowledge. About all of these materialsâlaws, literature, historical chronicles, synodal statutes, letters, skaldic poems, sermons, charms, prayers, the visual artsâthe same questions need to be asked: not just when and where they were written, but also for whom, to what purpose, under what sponsorship, and so on. Among the documents most influential in shaping attitudes toward witchcraft, of course, were those authored by, for, and within the church. Prohibitions against witchcraft and magic were developed and promulgated first and foremost by this tissue-thinâif deeply influentialâsegment of society, together with secular authorities, and it is overwhelmingly their views that inform standard visions of medieval Nordic witchcraft. But in addition to these institutional images of witchcraft, it is important to keep in mind opportunities to discover additional perspectives and attitudes, ones that reflect the full spectrum of society, not just its apex of educated elites.12
Despite modern assumptions about the uniform vision that Christianity had of witchcraft, ecclesiastical works are no more monolithic than other forms of narratives. Hagiographies, spiritual literature in the vernacular, homilies, miracle collections, prayer books, synodal statutes, and penitentials collectively suggest trends in medieval thinking about magic and witchcraft among learned ecclesiastics but do not present a uniform impression. For their part, legal texts represent an area with considerable overlap between church and state: the reticulation between these two poles of authority was great at the time the materials were codified, and many of the medieval Nordic law codes specifically include sections relating to religious life (e.g., kyrkobalker).13
An attractive nuisance I hope to have avoided in working with these materials is the assumption that the more official the source of our information, the more its data should be trusted. Scholarship has found this caution to be especially true of such presumed gateways to truth as court documents, whether ecclesiastical or secular, to which a modern audience naturally attaches significant probative value.14 In addition to these official narratives, a diverse network of unofficial sources of information exists, a designation not intended to deny the influence of the church, either direct or indirect, on the materials. Paramount among these sources are the Icelandic sagas, to which may be added a wide array of other resources, including runic inscriptions and other ...