Rig's Wisdom: The Inner Torch
By Laure Lynch
(Note: This article was written in 2003 and published in Idunna in--I believe--2004. I present it here for it's historical value, as one of my earliest published Heathen writings, and alos because I believe it still has some valid points to make.)
At first glance, the Eddic poem Rigsthula seems to be a straightforward defense of the prevailing social order in ancient Heathen society. The poem tells us how “a powerful, mature and knowledgeable god” (referred to as Rig, and assumed by most Heathens to be Heimdall) established the three social classes. Venturing out into Midgard one day, He visited the dwellings of three separate couples in turn: Great-grandmother and Great-grandfather, who lived a very simple life dominated by hard labor, Grandmother and Grandfather, who were farmers and skilled in domestic crafts, and Mother and Father, who were much more well off and more socially adept. At each of these dwellings, Rig shared a meal with the couple, dispensed some advice, and then spent three nights in bed with them, ostensibly sharing the wife’s sexual favors. In each case, nine months later a baby was born, and these children of Rig—Thrall, Farmer, and Lord--became the progenitors of the three social classes.
However, there is much more to the Rigsthula than a reinforcement of the social order (although undoubtedly that would have been a nice side benefit of it, from the viewpoint of the ruling class). The poem is primarily about the evolution of human consciousness, and provides us with a roadmap for spiritual evolution. Rig’s first child, Thrall, represents the lowest level of spiritual evolution—our first emergence into any form of self-awareness. But it’s a self-awareness that is still very dependent upon physical needs and animal survival, ruled by necessity and constraint (Nauthiz). Such an enforced focus on day-to-day survival leaves no room for anything as ambitious as exploration of the mysteries. Nauthiz is shaped like a fetter, and that’s what it is; it binds and constrains, limiting our options and creating a state of oppression and hardship—need. But need forces us into action in order to relieve the discomfort it causes. In this manner, Nauthiz does force growth to occur, and eventually it leads into the next level of consciousness, symbolized by Rig’s second son, Farmer.
Farmer’s “parents,” Grandmother and Grandfather, still work hard, but they have had the time and experience to develop skills such as weaving and carpentry. Need has led to the growth of craftsmanship and artistry, which has resulted in their being able to enjoy some measure of comfort and leisure in their lives, as opposed to the necessity-driven existence of Thrall’s parents. It is obvious from the names of Farmer’s children—Thane, Yeoman, Smith, Soldier, etc.—that they are supposed to represent the middle classes of society, and symbolically I think they also represent the range of consciousness of the vast majority of the population, even today. Perhaps Mannaz would be an appropriate rune to assign to this level; at this point, consciousness is individuated, but has yet not reached its highest point. Mannaz is a complex rune, and can be analyzed in several different ways. It can be seen as a fusion of Ehwaz (partnership and cooperation) with Gebo (mutual exchange, contracts and agreements, etc.). Since Gebo can also be seen as two Kenaz runes facing point to point, this would also give Mannaz a connotation of the exchange of ideas and technology, put to use cooperatively in human society for the purpose of meeting the collective needs of mankind. Seeing Gebo as a fusion of two Kenaz runes also gives the sense of one torch lighting the next, as Odin says in the Havamal—the spread of ideas, one idea igniting another. Alternately, the Ehwaz rune contained within Mannaz could also be seen as combined with Dagaz (the dawning of consciousness), with the interpretation being that man, as a conscious animal, now has the means to meet his own needs. Finally, Mannaz can be seen as two Wunjos, facing point to point, and symbolizing the fellowship and communal spirit that is one interpretation of Wunjo, only on a grander scale, a tribal scale as opposed to a kinship scale. Mannaz would thus represent the mutual responsibilities and joys, and exchange of labor, knowledge and skills, that make up a tribe—or, on an even greater scale, that make up the tribe of mankind as a whole.
The intelligent application of skill and craftsmanship, and the further refinements of consciousness encompassed by Mannaz and personified by Farmer and his children, lead into the next stage of growth, represented by Rig’s third son, Lord. Lord’s “parents,” Mother and Father, have their basic needs for sustenance more than amply met, and can now enjoy leisure time. Artistry has become refined to the point where it can afford to be ornamental rather than merely utilitarian. Social interactions have evolved to permit extravagances such as romance between the couple, and chatting over wine with the visiting God. Such a climate encourages the flowering of consciousness, and Lord represents the first stage of that flowering, the development of higher mental disciplines, strategy, and sport—which is important, because play is necessary for creativity to flourish, and people who must struggle for their physical survival have no time for play. Lord’s skills, along with his generosity, increase even further when Rig reappears to inform him of his divine heritage, and to introduce him to the mysteries (the runes). This stage calls to mind Raido, a rune strongly linked with nobility, with taking charge of one’s own destiny, and with traveling the runic pathways themselves.
But the highest stage of consciousness depicted in the poem is represented by the last named descendent of Rig, Kon. There is a relationship between his name and the modern English “kin,” or blood relation, as well as the OE word for “torch” (cen), the German verb “to know” (kennen) and the OE word for “king” (cyning). Obviously, the rune for this stage would be Kenaz—enlightenment. Kon’s understanding of the mysteries is even more profound than Lord’s; he knows so much rune lore and can work so many charms that he earns the right to be called Rig himself—thus coming fully into the promise of his divine parentage. (As an aside, I also tend to think of Rig as being more likely Odin than Heimdall, as Odin is the God of consciousness and master of the runes. And as warder of Asgard, Heimdall would not usually be free to wander around Midgard romancing mortal women—something both the lore and UPG tell us Odin is famous for doing.) The name Rig is itself related to the Irish word for high king, Ri—which, of course, ties in with the Nordic, Anglo-Saxon, and Celtic belief in the king as the expression of consciousness of his tribe, and guardian of its maegenn and mysteries. It also demonstrates that the spark of divinity within us all can be fanned into a bright flame, the inner torch of awareness that we share consciousness with the divine.The higher destiny of mankind as a race, and of all of us as individuals, is to seek the enlightenment--symbolized by Kenaz--that will bring about recognition of the divine spark within, allowing us to grow closer to the Gods. Further thoughts about Kenaz are that besides being a torch of knowledge, it can be the tip of Odin’s spear as it pierces you, a shaft of light that literally brings about enlightenment—light within. This inner light also leads to a hunger to know and learn more, a hunger that can take on some of the abcess/sore/fever connotations of Kenaz if it rages out of control, just as a torch if uncontrolled can burn down a house. Kenaz is the initiation into the mysteries, which involves dying (“the house of rotten flesh”) to an old life in order to be reborn, like the phoenix, from the ashes of your former self. Placed sideways, Kenaz resembles a burial mound, symbolizing that each initiation is a death, whether literally or symbolically. Each initiation also increases the hunger, drive and need to know and learn more—which brings us full circle back to Nauthiz.
In this light, the Rigsthula can be viewed as a kind of map of spiritual evolution, not merely in the collective sense of human consciousness as a whole, but also as a never-ending cycle (Jera) we all move through many times during the course of our lives. Necessity leads to the development of skills and the seeking of fellowship and community, and the refinement of those skills and dedication to the Gods brings about the necessity climate for exploration of the mysteries--which leads to enlightenment and initiation. Initiation in turn creates a burning hunger to know even more, which leads us back to need. And once again, the seed is planted, and the cycle continues. But where does it lead next? What is the next stage of the journey? The original ending of the Rigsthula has been lost to us, but at the point where the poem breaks off, Kin, the descendent of Lord destined for kingship, is about to ride off and conquer new territories at the urging of a crow (perhaps a messenger of Odin). Is the message here that the next stage of growth for us, after winning enlightenment, is to go out into the world and share what we have learned? Considering that the first thing Odin did after winning the runes was to share them with the different races, I cannot think otherwise. When one torch lights another, the light grows. In this way, knowledge shared is knowledge increased. All of our lore points to this, and the Rigsthula reinforces this message.
(c) 2003
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