Irminenschaft and
Ancestor Worship
By: Steve Anthonijsz
It
has often been pointed out in modern Heathen literature that “we honour our
ancestors, but we do not worship them like we do our gods”. Many Heathens are
uncomfortable with the term “ancestor worship”. Some go so far as to say
“ancestral reverence” or simply “honouring our ancestors” to avoid this term.
This is because it is true: we do not honour our ancestors on the same level as
we worship the gods. But neither do other cultures that practice ancestor
worship. There is no reason to have to apologize for our faith! Other cultures
look to their ancestors for inspiration and advice, just as we do. We toast to
our ancestors at Wintarnaht, Iulzît, and on any occasion in which we are
especially aware of our closeness to our forefathers. This is no different from
what other cultures do in their own ways. The term “ancestor worship”
itself—because of its implications—is problematic for many of us, although the
concept in and of itself is a comfortable one. Sadly, no other term is
available in our language. Therefore it is best that we clarify what exactly we
mean by this term and why it is important to us.
For
almost 96 percent of the world's population, ritual offerings and prayers to
deceased blood relatives are an integral part of everyday life. People of
Eastern cultures such as the Chinese, Koreans, Indians, Japanese, and Tibetans,
along with great segments of the populations of South America, Mexico, Cuba,
Indonesia, Polynesia, the Eastern Baltics, Africa, and New Guinea offer respect
to and seek guidance from their ancestors. This is true in
We have the ability to access
certain wisdom and comfort through the ritual of the “minnatranc” (“memory
toast”) and other methods of contact with our deceased family members. Like
many other cultures, our forefathers taught us that our essence comes back to
life in Mittigart through our descendents. This phenomenon is known in Old
Norse as aptrburðR (“back birth” or “rebirth”).
We are our altmâgâ.
Are
the gods also our Altmâgâ? Yes and no. Whilst this is not addressed in out
indigenous literature, to say that they are not our ancestors would be to
ignore a wide body of literature from the Norse, English, Goths and Romans. The
Anglo-Saxon kings knew themselves to be the scion of Wóden (Wodan). The Swedish
kings, similarly, knew themselves to be the descendents of FreyR (Frô). The
Goths referred to their ancestors as Ansis
(“sovereign divinities”) who are further described as semideos (<L “half-gods”).
On
the other hand the idea that any of the Ensi or Wanâ were at one time human
beings who were later deified by their fanatic followers would be insolent. The
Götter are forever Götter, and were never men. The gods are as real as the
rocks, the sun, and the trees, as real as the passion of love, hatred, and
cunning. The Götter may live in men. They may even on occasion appear as men.
But they are not, and have never been men.
Old Norse literature is rich
in sagas that involve the theme of rebirth. One of these is þórðar saga Hreðu. In this tale,
Þord battles a berserk named Barek. During the fight Þord is wounded on the arm
by Barek’s poisoned blade. Þord proceeds home and soon dies. A son is born to
Þord’s wife, Helga, during his funeral feast. The child has a scar in precisely
the same spot as his father’s fatal wound! Nine days later, at the child’s vatni ausa (water sprinkling) and nafn gefn (naming ceremony), the boy is
named Þord, after his father. At 12 years of age, the boy avenges his father by
killing Barek in single combat. It seemed to the younger Þord that he had grown
great by this act.
The
Anglo-Saxon kings demonstrated their belief in rebirth by their very names,
successive generations being named with similar familial roots, e.g.; Swefred,
Swebriht, Selred, Swithred, Sigeric, and Sigered; also Ælfrid, Ælfric, and
Æþelrede.
That
the Ensi themselves are subject to rebirth is evidenced by the prophesy of Godotuom
(Götterdämmerung). For example, we might consider Widar, who avenges the death
of his father, Wodan. This “god of vengeance” is considered by some to be the
rebirth of Wodan.
What
about all the classic conceptions of slain warriors living on in Walhalla?
It
is true that our literature discusses an afterlife in Walhalla. Odin holds
another hall for the dead as well, known as “Walafirst[1].”
Warriors are not the only ones to attend these halls, however, as evidenced in Egil’s Saga and Ynglinga Saga. Moreover, Wodan is
not the only god to hold halls for the dead. Walburga Frouwa has her own hall
for half the fallen warriors called “Folcwise[2]”.
And, of course, Hel’s hall, Na-Strand, is discussed in Völuspá, and is generally
thought of as part of Hellaheim.
References
exist to demonstrate that the folk attend the hall of the deity that best suits
them. A good example is in Hárbardzljoð (
“In
Valland was I and waged
battles,
urged
on the athelings, nor ever made
peace.
Begets
Odin all earls slain by edge of swords,
But
[Donar], the breed of thrælar.”
To which Donar replies:
“Uneven
would’st thou deal to
[Ensi] their followers,
if too great might were
given to thee.”
Does
this not contradict the idea of rebirth? Not necessarily.
Whilst
a variety of opinions exist to explain the coexistence of these afterlife
beliefs (as well as others mentioned in the sagas), one has gained favour in
many modern Heathen circles. There may be various aspects of the mind/soul
complex that are separated at death. Some of these—particularly the atum (luck, spiritual energy); lichamo (physical appearance), and the folga (totem spirit) are passed down the
tribal line.
Another
way to view this might be to borrow from other tribal traditions. For example,
the Yòrubá people of Nigeria--whose convictions have spawned such religions as
Santería, Macumba, and Candomblé--believe that when a person dies their emí (soul) goes to Ikole Orun (the Realm of the Ancestors). Later, the emí may return
to Ikole Are (Mittigart) in the body
of one of the descendants of the deceased. The Celts hold to a similar belief
in souls that live in the Færy Mounds--much like our howes in which the Alpâ
reside--only to return in the bodies of their progeny. So perhaps our time in
the halls of the Götter is temporary, lasting only until our rebirth.
I
leave it to the reader to decide his own belief in this area.
One would imagine that
everybody would be thrilled to have "proof," or a way to authenticate
knowledge, of an afterlife. If one were to ask a hundred "average" people
if they believe in life after death, one or two might say “yes”. Five or ten
will say “absolutely not.” But about 90% would say, "Well, I'd like to,
but I really don't know." Yet when Irminenschaft offers them a way to
"know," they still resist.
What is meant in this case by
Knowledge? Knowledge is what someone really realizes in his heart and gut. It's
not always logical, but it is totally real and true. A mother, for example,
knows that she loves her child. If a person or thing starts to hurt that child,
she will instantly, automatically, and without analysing the situation do anything
in her power to protect him. Even if the child misbehaves, or grows up and
ignores her, that love will not waver. Knowledge is derived from feeling and
experience. It is not quantifiable. One knows when one loves another
person. An individual knows when a book,
music, or a sunset moves him, knows when he feels peaceful or angry. Not
because somebody has listed all the good characteristics of the person loved or
explained the sentence structure in the book, the mathematical precision of the
music, or the light waves of the sunset, but because when experienced, it is
felt. Logic has nothing to do with it. In fact, knowing something in this
manner is much more powerful, accurate, and trustworthy than linear processes
of "learning" or "understanding."
Ancestor worship provides the knowledge
that life is a continuum by enabling the individual to actually communicate
with one’s departed family members and feel the profound feelings that it
engenders. This may not happen in a familiar form--you may not find your Opa
sitting on the edge of your bed--but it will nonetheless be real and true. It
is not a product of wish fulfilment or hysteria; it will come through as irrefutable
knowledge of the non-linear side of reality.
Why are we so afraid of this
knowledge? When we actually experience this access to other worlds, we are
forced to question the very foundations and premises upon which we have built
our lives--questions that invite change. And people are naturally resistant to
change.
Try
to imagine the kinds of decisions you would make if you knew you would continue
to live after your apparent death. Think about the number of short-term choices
you make now. After all, if you believe that this is your only time around,
than it makes sense to cram it with gratification and sensation. Growth and
development would seem less important than acquisition and indulgence.
Environmental destruction, pollution, the elimination of plant and animal
species, fast cars and fast food--all are products of our culture's fixation on
the current moment. But if you knew that you’d come back through your
descendents, you would be far less likely to cut down the rain forest, use
non-renewable resources, or poison the rivers and oceans with lethal waste.
Laws won't stop you from tossing a junk food bag out of your car window, but
understanding that you need a healthy Earth (Nirda) for your own long-term
survival might stop you from tossing the bag! Wouldn’t you also be more
interested in child education and youth activity programmes?
An
obvious question would be, then, how do we go about honouring our altmâgâ? The
Eddas and sagas tell us little. Beowulf mentions the rite of the mimmi
(minnatranc). And there are scattered references to individuals sitting on
burial mounds—but this is more for magical work than for ancestor worship.
Irminen must rediscover much of this, as the ways of worshipping our ancestors
(except for the minnatranc) has been lost. Some may wish to borrow from foreign
traditions, while others may wish to devise their own. Which is better? The one
that works, of course! If nothing else, our line has always been a practical
one. We need today to maintain this tradition of “whatever works” just as our
own ancestors did ages ago.
Through the honouring
of our ancestors—whether or not we prefer to use the term “ancestor
worship”--one is able to experience life as a continuum. And once one has,
nothing will ever be the same again. One does not have to die and be brought
back to experience it; ancestor worship is our connection to the past and our
road map to a better future.
Return to Irminenschaft
hopepage