Winifred Hodge Rose
What role does luck play in our orlog and in dealing with it? Some people today firmly believe luck is a factor in the events of our lives, some firmly don’t believe that, and others are somewhere in the middle. There’s no question that it played an important role in the beliefs and actions of Heathens in the past. In this article I’ll explore some connections and contrasts between luck, orlog, and ordeal.
The word ‘luck’ did not come into English (from Middle Dutch) until the 15th century, probably as a gambling term: ‘to chance, to happen by good fortune’ (Wiktionary etymology). The way ‘luck’ is used in modern English often pertains to something happening by random chance, or by the intervention of some kind of Great Power. Many people believe in good luck coming from blessings and good wishes, and bad luck coming from curses or phenomena like the ‘evil eye.’ Magical and folklore practices are and were believed to influence luck.
Some Differences Between Orlog and Luck
Orlog was in ancient times understood primarily as being the circumstances and timing of one’s death, set by the Norns or Wyrd when one was born. We can see that, at least in this conception of orlog, there is not much room for the ebb and flow of luck and unluck in our lives to have a great deal of impact on our actual orlog, if it is already set in motion at the beginning of our life. It is more likely to work the other way around. If the orlog laid down for us by the Norns calls for us to be afflicted by bad luck or blessed by good luck at a given point in our life, then wyrd will nudge the flow of circumstances to bring this about.
Orlog or wyrd in the sense of an individual’s death, as the ancients saw it, is ‘assigned’ to us; it is 100% certain and comes upon us in the time and way established by the Norns at the beginning of our lives. The circumstances of the life lived between the two points of birth and death was the domain of luck, and generally not as heavily influenced by the great powers. Rather, it was the smaller powers, the spirit beings such as the hamingja, fylgja, disir, alfar, and so forth, that guided the actions of luck and unluck in their lives. While they saw orlog as being certain and fixed, luck is complex, variable; the outcome of the luck or unluck is not entirely certain in any given circumstance. There are many influences upon each person’s luck or unluck, including the luck or unluck of other people with whom one interacts, which can have a strong impact on one’s own luck.
In older understandings, luck is something that can be gained or lost, and it is ‘contagious’. It acted as a kind of power that could be transferred between persons, for example by a luck-filled king or chieftain to his followers. This was a great source of the power and respect that a leader held: the power of their luck, their hamingja in Old Norse or ‘sped / speed’ in Anglo-Saxon, and the ability to share it and spread it around. Hence the word ‘Godspeed’ as a wish or prayer for luck from the Deity.
Many modern Heathens believe that we have a good deal more power and influence over our own orlog than was generally the case in ancient times, when the Norns or Wyrd were mostly the ones driving the train. Orlog is now seen not only as the time and manner of our death, and the crucial events that lead up to this, but also as a phenomenon that shapes our whole life-time, our Werold. As the idea of orlog has evolved in modern Heathen times, it seems to me it has converged more closely with the idea of luck than it originally stood. In the past, orlog was mainly the ‘big picture,’ the beginning and end with a few major events in between, while the various forms of luck flowed around in the middle, influencing the daily details of our lives. Now, with the more modern idea of we ourselves ‘laying orlog’ during the course of our lifetime, orlog becomes more easily confused with the luck whose playground is the details of our everyday lives.
An ancient Heathen would definitely strive to gather all the luck that he or she could: by associating with those who have greater luck; by obtaining lucky objects, land, etc.; by participating in fortunate enterprises; by listening to the rede, the good counsel, of humans, Gods, or spirits to guide them into the path of luck; by cultivating and propitiating spirit beings who could give luck or unluck. Though it was recognized that luck was given to each person — greater or lesser degrees and types of luck – yet there was always the effort to increase luck and avoid unluck.
Varieties of Luck
Ancient Heathens had more than one word for ‘luck’, and many compound words to show the different types and domains of luck. Sael, saell, saeld, saelig appeared widely in the old Germanic languages, and meant ‘luck, good fortune, prosperity, blessing, happiness,’ and related concepts. The Gothic word selei meant ‘goodness, kindness,’ and unselei was ‘evil, wickedness.’ These words are related to the seelie / unseelie terms that are used in Scots folklore for the ‘good’ and ‘harmful’ tribes of fae or elves, who may bring good or bad luck to humans they encounter. These Scots words derive from Old English saelig, and they reinforce the connections between ‘goodness / good luck’ and ‘evil / bad luck.’ Here are some examples of different kinds of saell luck that a person might have, based on Old Norse terms, as discussed in Grønbech’s chapters about luck:
Arsaell = luck with fertility of land, crops, and livestock.
Byrsaell = luck with seafaring and sailing weather.
Kinsaell = luck in one’s kindred: numerous, prosperous, frithful, of good reputation.
Sigrsaell = victory luck, battle luck.
Vinsaell = luck with friendships and patronage.
Heill was another Old Norse word for luck, and included the concepts of health, wholeness, haleness, luck, good fortune, blessing. An important type of heill one might possess is ordheill, the luck or power of using words to cause either good or harm, as in blessing or cursing. Grønbech describes ordheill as a “wish charged with power,” expressed verbally (p. 147, vol. 1). Another meaning for ordheill is that people speak well of the person who has it; he or she has the good luck of an excellent reputation. Mannheill is the good fortune of getting along well with others (mann means ‘person’ of any gender). Illa heill is bad luck generally.
Old English had the word sped (pronounced ‘speed’), still used occasionally in old-fashioned phrases such as ‘Godspeed’ or ‘God speed the work / journey, etc.,’ meaning good fortune and success in one’s endeavor: literally God’s luck or blessing on the work. ‘Speed’ meant luck, success, prosperity, wealth, abundance, opportunity. Its opposite, wansped (‘waning-speed’) meant poverty, misfortune, failure, lack. Of great importance was the King’s Speed and the good it could bring to battle success, land, fertility, prosperity, fortunate opportunities and so forth. The Germanic tribal king held an enormous amount of luck within himself, and could spread it around into many domains of action; this was, in fact, the basis for his power of kingship, and if his luck failed, his kingship might too. (Grønbech vol. 1, p. 138.) Other types of ‘speed’ that one might have include freondsped or friend-speed, and tuddorsped, which is good fortune with one’s offspring: many healthy children blessed with prosperity, good luck, and offspring of their own. And there are other terms related to luck in all the Germanic languages; these are just some examples.
Cat Heath in her book Elves, Witches & Gods provides a useful discussion of Heathen concepts of luck. She writes that there are “intrinsic lucks,” listed as gaefa, gipta, and heill in their Norse versions. The first two terms are derived from ‘gift.’ These lucks (or lack of them) are inborn as ‘gifts;’ in modern English we might use a similar concept and say ‘he has a gift for music; she has a gift for languages.’ These seem to me like ‘gifts’ from the Norns and orlog—or lack of gifts, if they are not laid in one’s orlog. The second category that she discusses is ‘extrinsic luck,’ hamingja and fylgja, lucks which can take on spiritual embodiment as separate beings closely connected with a person throughout their life. (Heath, pp. 92-95.) I discuss hamingja and fylgja in more depth in the next section.
The whole Germanic concept of ‘luck’ was complex, nuanced, many-faceted, with many words used to express these facets. There was no single word, like modern English ‘luck,’ that would have covered all these facets. In fact, Grønbech suggests it makes more sense to use the term ‘lucks,’ plural, because of the many types and characteristics of luck that were referred to in ancient sources, folklore and folk practices. His view was that these lucks were indeed of different kinds and sources, not all expressions of one single thing (p. 171-2).
The ‘luck’ I’ve described here is not at all random, nor does it come and go at the whim of some great power distant from earthly life. Instead, in this old Heathen understanding luck—both good and bad—is generated for us and by us through the processes of life, of actions and deeds, of relationships with other people, objects, land, places. It is also generated and given by the smaller spirits who inhabit the world around us: landwights, housewights, ancestral spirits, other types of spirits, and may arise from our relationships with our closest Deities. This form of luck is shaped within us along with our life and deeds: it’s the opposite of random chance, and shows much similarity to the process of orlog itself.
Luck and orlog are not the same thing, but they are linked in complex ways, and much of that linkage operates through luck-bearing spirits. There are a multitude of luck-bearing spirits in the folklore of all the Germanic lands and peoples, as well as many others. To describe the meaning of luck as an outgrowth of life and action, rather than random chance or the whim of a Power, let’s turn to the Norse concepts of the hamingja and fylgja.
Hamingja and Other Luck-Bearing Spirits
Norse hamingja is a complex concept. It can refer to an out-of-body spirit-shape that some people can take on—often an animal form—to engage in magical or shamanistic activities such as fighting with an enemy in similar form, or scouting ahead during a journey. As Winterbourne describes, “hamingja carries three main characteristics—shape-shifting abilities, ‘fortune’ as such, and the guardian spirit” (pp. 38-9). It is sometimes considered part of one’s own soul, other times as a more independent spirit attached to one. The term is used in similar ways to other terms for spirit-beings or shape-functions such as fylgja, kinfylgja, hamr, hugr, hugham, vordr. It can be challenging, and perhaps fruitless, to attempt to consistently distinguish one from the other among these various spirit-forms as they are described at different times and places in Scandinavian lore and folklore; we’ll focus here on the hamingja and fylgja and their connections with personal luck.
As the scholar Jan DeVries describes, the hamingja is the indwelling luck, in the form of a protective spirit that accompanies a person life-long. It also takes the form of a power or energy that can radiate out from a person or other kind of being, as well as from features of the land. When someone had a lot of this kind of power, for example a chieftain or war-leader, they could lend it, send it, or spread it around among their followers. The hamr—the afterbirth, caul, and the metaphysical ‘shape’ of a person—contains a soul or a soul-like being, that gestates along with a child, is born with them, and accompanies them throughout life as a protective and luck-bearing spirit, called the Hamingja and / or the Fylgja (meaning ‘follower’). These beliefs are widespread, and likely go back to Proto-Germanic times, before the Germanic peoples split off from each other, if not even earlier times. (deVries 1956, pp. 222ff.)
DeVries also notes the difference between this pattern of everyday luck versus the impacts of larger matters of orlog / wyrd in one’s life. He suggests that ancient Heathens would not assume that the details of their entire lives were controlled by fate set by the Gods. Rather, from the beginning to the end of life, there is an ‘inner lawfulness’ (innere Gesetzlichkeit) which determines its course, that lies in the inner being of the person. Here, deVries says, we can think of the hamingja and the fylgja, spirits attached to each person whose guidance leads to an inner consistency or logical course of life. But, outside of this realm, catastrophes and disasters can occur, breaking into this pattern of normal life, that were attributed to outside forces, to the powers of fate. (DeVries 1956, p. 268.)
Rather than ‘inner lawfulness’ per se, I would call the phenomenon deVries describes an ‘inner pattern’—a pattern that comes from the hamingja’s / fylgja’s rootedness in both orlog and luck. The ‘ground of orlog and luck’ that hamingja is rooted in comes from the larger environment of collective and ancestral orlog and luck, beginning with the environment of the womb and the child’s genetic structure—this is why it’s understood that the hamingja / fylgja is associated with the womb, placenta and caul.
If you search Wikimedia Commons for images of ‘fylgja’ you’ll find lots of photos of placentas. Note that a word for ‘womb’ in Anglo-Saxon was hama. In Germany there was sometimes a custom of burying the afterbirth and planting a tree over it, which then became the ‘life-tree’ or ‘fate-tree’ of the child. There were numerous afterbirth-related folk-customs in all the Germanic lands which indicated the belief that the afterbirth is connected with luck, fate, and soul. (See my article “The Shape of Being Human: The Hama Soul,” on this website.)
The personal, inner pattern of luck, having been established and attached to a person in the womb, continues to develop throughout their life. We are surrounded by patterns that shape us: inner and outer patterns, individual and collective patterns. DeVries’s suggestion is that the hamingja constellates the inner pattern that corresponds to our personal ‘luck,’ while major intrusions, disruptions, upheavals of that pattern are due to ‘fate’ or the Deities interrupting that pattern. Of course, such interruptions can be beneficial and ‘lucky,’ as well as ‘fateful’ in negative ways.
The Fylgja spirit gives not only luck, but can also offer intuitions that help protect and guide a person, enhancing their ability to take advantage of good luck and avoid bad luck. There are many small spirits of land, home, fields and crops, workshops, mines, spirits dwelling in land formations such as rocks, water bodies, certain trees, etc., and all of them are capable of giving one good luck when well-treated, and bad luck if they are not treated well. They are also known for giving advice, and important warnings or foretellings on occasion, to those with whom they’ve developed a relationship of trust. For example, they might warn of a forthcoming drought, or of an enemy’s intentions.
Similarities between Hamingja and Orlog
Grønbech, in his chapters on Luck, describes in much detail how hamingja and luck work. Possessions absorb hamingja (spiritual energy and character) and luck from their owners, though they do not lessen the owner’s hamingja and luck thereby—rather, they increase them, as long as the objects remain in good condition and in the possession of their owner. If the possessions are passed down in the family line, their hamingja and luck are enhanced by each generation, and can reach legendary proportions thereby.
If the possessions are stolen or damaged, the owner loses proportionally from his or her own store of hamingja and luck. If the loss is severe enough, it can even portend disaster or death. If hamingja-filled objects are shared as part of founding a relationship—marriage, friendship, alliance, partnership, patronage—then the relationship is strengthened and deepened proportionally to the hamingja and luck of the objects shared as gifts. Grønbech explains further about how hamingja works:
“Treasures and man are one; but the man has his time, and that done, another succeeds him; the treasure remains, handing on the luck to his successor. Man comes to his appointed day; by virtue of his luck he makes his way across into the other existence; but he does not take the whole sum with him; part, and that no insignificant part, remains in the things he leaves behind him, there to await the man who follows. With very good reason, then, weapons, clothes, household implements may be called bearers of life; not only is the sword a lasting thing, it is a well of life, whence a man may renew his store, through which he can draw up power from the primeval source. The settler struck his axe into the new soil to mark it as his property, and it (the axe) has hamingja enough to bring the whole piece of land under its will, making it (the land) to serve its owner, and guard him against aggression.” (Grønbech Vol. II p. 108)
Here we can clearly see imagery that leads us back to orlog. Through the process of worthy actions and a worthy life, we lay hamingja and luck as layers within heirlooms, land, possessions, and the intangibles we pass on to others. These layers of luck build upon each other, influence each other, and enhance the hamingja thereby.
Here is another example of the similarity between processes of hamingja and of orlog. The ancients considered it possible to give, sell or exchange a material object but fail to give the intangibles associated with it. Often such trickery was attempted, and many customs arose which had the purpose of ensuring that the new owner received all that they had bargained for, both the tangibles and intangibles. “It was demanded that the owner should lay his whole mind in the transfer, and give the soul as well as the externals; care was taken to prevent his sucking up the luck himself, before handing over the property.” (Grønbech Vol. II p. 78)
Thus, in an agreement based on trust and goodwill, the giver / seller would speak words that showed the intent to transfer the whole possession over. Examples are: “May you use this in good health,” or “I give you this sword, and I think it bears great luck with it.” This additional, spiritual value inherent in the object was laid into it in layers because of the worth of its owner and the owner’s use of it in worthy actions.
“The soul surrendered in the thing was…an individual actual mind or, as we should say, a psychological state, backed up by the whole, past and present and future power and responsibility of the hamingja. And in handing over his pledge, the giver could and would state in words what were the attitude of his mind in giving, if only he understood the—by no means easy—art of guiding words aright and driving the right hamingja into them. All that is said and promised, reserved and required, is ‘laid upon’…the thing and thus handed over to the opposite party.” (Grønbech Vol. II p. 80-81, italics mine.)
In this quotation from Grønbech I have emphasized phrases that apply equally well to orlog, hamingja, the actions of humans, and the work of the Norns. Orlog is spoken and laid by the Norns, and shapes what comes next. Hamingja is spoken—promised or pledged—and laid within the item being given or sold. In both cases, the significance, the value inherent in its totality of being and interconnectedness, is ‘fastened’ into the object or the layers of orlog by being spoken of in well-shaped words.
My thought is that hamingja-luck is more involved with the smaller events of our daily lives, outside of the broad scope of major orlog-events, and is more subject to change due to outside influences. Metaphysically, our luck is guided and influenced by smaller, more personal luck-bearing spirits like the hamingja, fylgja, and kin-fylgja, as well as by wights in our environment like house-wights and land-wights. Orlog is presided over by the great Powers, the Norns and Deities, though the luck-spirits are surely influenced by the great Powers and the orlog they mediate. The Norns might specifically shape episodes of good or bad luck to occur in our lives as part of our orlog or the ordeals they lay out for us, but those episodes are likely to involve the lesser spirit-beings as well. Luck and orlog are intertwined and have some influence over each other, but they are not identical, and orlog is unquestionably the greater, more overriding power.
Between Fire and Ice
Winterbourne suggests that “fate could be seen as what intervenes between chance and necessity” (p. 55). ‘Chance’ is the gamble, the toss of the dice; it happens, but it is random and has no intrinsic meaningfulness. ‘Necessity’ in this context equates to death, the end that must, in some way and some time, come to us all: the ultimate necessity of mortal life. Its occurrence is entirely fixed; there is no changing it. Fate or Wyrd, in contrast to chance, “orders events that would otherwise be random, and perhaps chaotic” (Winterbourne p. 55).
This idea shapes a vision for me: the view of a metaphysical spectrum where one end is totally random—call it Fire—while the other end is completely fixed—let’s say Ice. In between the two is the place where Life itself exists, and all that Life can be and do. This is where humans and all other life-forms, physical and spiritual, have their Being, and also where the Gods and Norns preside. Fate / Wyrd / orlog intervenes between the random chances generated by Fire on one end, and the fixed Ice of the necessary end of Midgard life on the other. The Norns influence the processes that cause events to occur in this space where Life is. Their influence creates an overarching order amidst all the seeming mess and confusion of Life: an ordering process which takes shape as the World-Tree, the shape of all that is, watered and nourished by the Well of Wyrd that lies at its roots and stores the orlog laid down over millennia of time.
Within this ever-evolving flow and mass of orlog, this subtle process of ordering what Life brings into being, luck and unluck have their own roles to play, as do ordeals. From our limited human perspective random luck and unluck may at times loom large in our lives. From where the Norns sit, the ordeals that form as knots within the weaves of wyrd are truly significant, while the small lucks and unlucks of our lives are insignificant threads amidst the multitude of strands that make up the great tapestry of orlog.
The Insignificance of Random Luck
Let’s explore that idea a bit further: that random luck and unluck are in essence insignificant when compared with orlog and true ordeals that are rooted in orlog. What is it that makes orlog and ordeals significant, and luck / unluck insignificant? I am not speaking of hamingja and luck-bearing spirits here, but rather ‘luck as random chance.’ The Norns are focused on what is significant, and their focus enhances, even defines, the significance of whatever they focus upon. If luck is a matter of ‘chance,’ then its origin is random, meaning that it does not arise from any significant workings of orlog. Its randomness distinguishes it from orlog, which is not random. Luck / unluck in the form of ‘chance’ comes from the Fire end of the spectrum that lies outside of orlog’s workings.
Now, once this random event of luck or unluck occurs in our lives, does it then take on significance? Does it help us grow our character, our wisdom, strength, our might and main, our moral fiber? Does it lead us to enact significant deeds, whether of good or of harm? Does it lead us to fall away from an ethical or productive path? Does it lead us to grow in good ways or turn to bad ways? Does it change our life in truly significant ways? Then this random luck is significant because of its outcome, because of what we do with it, not because of what it is in itself, sheer random chance.
Luck / unluck takes on significance by what it causes us to do or not do, not because of what it is: a random or chaotic ‘blip’ erupting into the relatively ordered systems of the Life-worlds embedded in layers of orlog. Something can’t be defined as ‘lucky / unlucky’ unless it happens to, or affects, someone who experiences it as ‘lucky / unlucky.’ Thus, its nature as luck / unluck is not significant until it interacts with beings or events that possess significance, and thereby the luck is swept up by those beings or events into the workings of orlog. How does this work?
The Mediating Role of Luck-Spirits
I’m suggesting that some random event that we call ‘lucky’ or ‘unlucky’ gets swept into the flow of orlog by humans who experience or interpret it as ‘luck,’ thereby perhaps becoming an event of significance. How does this happen? Based on my understanding of old Heathen ways of thinking, I’d say that personal luck-spirits—a long list including the hamingja, fylgja, housewights, landwights, and often ancestral spirits (especially Disir) as well—have the role of helping us weave strands of good luck into our lives in meaningful ways, ways that increase the good in our lives. They may also alert us to bad luck that is hovering about, and ward us from it to some extent, especially if the bad luck comes from ill-intentioned beings, whether human or spirits.
Without their help, we might not notice or realize the luck that comes our way, nor deal with it in good ways. We might waste it or fail to use it to best advantage. We might become greedy, exploitative, short-sighted, abuse the good luck that comes to us, ‘pushing our luck’ and turning it into bad luck for ourselves and others. Our luck-spirits weave our own small, personal lucks into our orlog the way that the Norns weave greater events and deeds into orlog of the Worlds. The luck itself may be a random event, but thanks to the luck-spirits we can use these random lucks to enhance our lives. Their work is part of the work that the Norns do: the wights hand the strands they weave over to the Norns, but those strands come through the hands of the wights first, reflecting their intentions, their will. Our luck is very much enhanced thereby, just as our responses to our luck give that luck significance it would otherwise not have. It’s thanks to the luck-bearing spirits and our interactions with them, I believe, that luck becomes a part of orlog: operative within orlog, influential and significant in that context.
Luck versus Ordeal
Let’s explore briefly the ancient belief that luck – the outcome of an event – demonstrates wyrd. This is the basis for the old practice of trial by ordeal in the form of a combat or contest between two or more people: whoever wins the ordeal proves that he or she is ‘right’ in the sense of being within the flow of both hamingja and orlog. Ordeals were often used to prove guilt or innocence: if the accuser won, the accused was guilty. If the accused won, that proved they were innocent and that the accuser was guilty of defamation. The loser in the ordeal has gone against the flow of wyrd, and has no luck in the matter pertaining to the ordeal. A trial-ordeal stands outside the realm of law and ethics; the sole determinant of luck, wyrd, and ‘right and wrong’ in the situation is: who wins, and who loses?
An ordeal is very different from a gamble. A gamble, on a metaphysical level, is sort of like a wind-sock: it simply tests which way the luck is flowing at that point in time, though many people will try all sorts of tricks, wishes and curses to try to alter it! A true ordeal is not a gamble or a matter of luck; its reasons for happening and its outcome are not random. The ordeal is a showing-forth of the hidden shaping of the Norns, bringing orlog into manifestation through the challenge of the ordeal. Luck in the sense of random chance has nothing to do with the ordeal itself, but one’s hamingja may shift later on, depending on what the outcome of the ordeal is. If one wins or succeeds in the ordeal, hamingja-luck is likely to change for the better, if one fails or loses, it likely changes for the worse.
This understanding of an ordeal as an event that brings orlog into manifestation for us to deal with can be applied to many of the difficulties and challenges in our own lives. When we are faced with a situation that feels like an ordeal to us, it’s important to try to understand the layers of orlog that went into shaping this ordeal—both orlog that we might have laid, and orlog laid by others and by circumstances outside our control. There are likely to be things we can change ourselves, and other things we can’t change but must respond or adapt to in the best way possible. An ordeal calls forth our great inner powers and our wisdom, rooted in our own orlog: it is presented to us as a challenge so we can use these powers and grow them to be even greater.
Hamingja as Legacy
Another similarity between hamingja and orlog is its way of linking luck, and even aspects of personality, from one generation to the next. Hilda Ellis Davidson writes “as used in the sagas then, the hamingja stands for an abstract conception, that of something belonging to an outstanding person which is partly a matter of character and partly of personality, and partly something more than either—that strange quality of ‘luck’ or ‘lucklessness’… It is something which can be handed on after death, and it usually remains within one family; it is usually connected with the name, so that if a child is called after a father or grandfather it is hoped he will inherit it automatically.” (Ellis pp. 133-4)
There is an old Norse custom called the nafnfestr, a gift to mark the ‘fastening of the name’ of a deceased ancestor upon a newborn baby, or occasionally the re-naming of an individual if they had terrible luck and sought to change it by taking the name of a luckier, though deceased, person. The name “was intended to allow the child to share in the deceased individual’s ‘capacity for luck’ (mattr ok megin),” their might and main (Lecouteux p. 162). I’m assuming that the nafnfestr gift would ideally have been an heirloom owned by the person whose name was being given. That way, both the name and the heirloom gift would bear the hamingja of the deceased person, thus amplifying the name-legacy and making more hamingja available to the baby.
The hamingja of a deceased person doesn’t always go to a newborn baby; it can transfer to an adult much the same as the kynfylgja or kinfylgja does—the guardian-spirit of the family line. For example, in Viga-Glum’s Saga Glum had a “great and remarkable dream” about a gigantic woman striding toward him:
“Vigfuss my grandfather must be dead, and the woman who was higher than the mountains as she walked must be his hamingja, for he was nearly always above other men in honour; his hamingja now must be seeking an abode where I am. (ix)” (quoted in Ellis p. 131).
This is an example of hamingja as a legacy, and there are other such examples in the sagas. Some of them indicate a transfer of ill-luck rather than good luck. (See Ellis’s section on “The Guardian Hamingja and Dis,” beginning p. 130).
Previously I talked about how hamingja is infused into material things: heirlooms, weapons, jewelry, land, tools, handmade items, etc., when they are made and used by people bearing strong hamingja. These objects can bring their hamingja with them when transferred in an appropriate way to another person. We can see a continuation of this idea in fantasy tales about mystically powerful swords that were forged by the greatest smiths or magical beings, and handed down from mighty heroes of the past to the present hero of the tale.
Hamingja is ‘passed on’ as a legacy from person to person, rather than being ‘reborn’ after going through an afterlife state, as a soul might do, even though hamingja does have soul-like qualities and carries aspects of personality with it. In a number of anecdotes, such as the one about Viga Glum, the hamingja, fyglja, kin-fylgja or other luck-spirit itself, in personified form, chooses where it will go after the death of its bearer.
I often wonder how much of the rebirth of Heathenry today is due to the hidden legacies of both reborn souls and of the hamingja / fylgja / other luck-spirits passed down from elder times, biding their time generation after generation until the conditions orlog has laid down are right for their re-emergence into our lives today. In this, I see again sköp Norna, the shapings of the Norns, as a deeply meaningful reference to our Heathen troth itself: their shapings yesterday, today, and beyond.
Notes:
For further reading about how the sharing of hamingja lays good layers of orlog and establishes good luck in marriage you can read my article “Heathen Foundations of Marriage: Bargain, Gift, Hamingja.”
For a ‘case study’ analysis comparing the roles of luck and wyrd in the conversion of Norway to Christianity, see my article “Webs of Luck and Wyrd: Interplays and Impacts on Events.”
For more information about the nature of hamingja and its relationship to the complexities of our inner Self, see my article “The Shape of Being Human: The Hama Soul.”
This material is included in my book “Orlog Yesterday and Today: The Shapings of the Norns.”
Book-Hoard
deVries, Jan. Altgermanische Religionsgeschichte, Band I. Walter de Gruyter & Co., Berlin, 1956
Ellis, Hilda Roderick. The Road to Hel: A Study of the Conception of the Dead in Old Norse Literature. Cambridge University Press, 1943. (Note: some editions of this book are published under the author’s married name, Hilda Ellis Davidson.)
Grønbech, Vilhelm. The Culture of the Teutons. Humphrey Milford, Oxford University Press, 1931.
Hall, J.R. Clark. A Concise Anglo-Saxon Dictionary, Fourth Edition. University of Toronto Press, Toronto, 1960.
Heath, Cat. Elves, Witches, & Gods: Spinning Old Heathen Magic in the Modern Day. Llewellyn Publications, 2021.
Lecouteux, Claude. The Return of the Dead: Ghosts, Ancestors, and the Transparent Veil of the Pagan Mind. Inner Traditions, 2009.
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