An Esoteric Commentary on the Volsung Saga, Part XVII

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1. What Kind of Hero is Sigurd?

The previous installment offered a summary and interpretation of Julius Evola’s writings on alchemy. This was to prepare us for what we will begin in this essay: an alchemical interpretation of the dragon slaying episode in the saga, as well as related events.

Before we can develop such an interpretation, however, we should take account of the larger context in which Sigurd’s exploits occur. We shall do so by asking a very basic question: exactly what kind of hero is Sigurd? First of all, Sigurd is clearly a favorite of Odin, who guides his career up until the dragon slaying and then mysteriously disappears, reappearing only at the end of the saga.

In the very first installment of this series, I made a basic distinction between two kinds of warriors in old Germanic culture. There were warriors who functioned as defenders of their tribe, but there were also rogue “warriors”: pirates, bandits, raiders, and gangs of all sorts. In the world of the Germanic tribes, such activities were not condemned, so long as these men did not victimize their own tribe and kin. Instead, raiding other tribes or killing and robbing strangers was admired and thus enhanced reputations. (This was also true of other Indo-European societies, including the archaic Greeks.[1]) The saga’s depiction of Sigmund and Sinfjotli’s “wilderness years” offers a dramatic instance of this.

Essentially, we are presented with two options. The warrior’s prowess can be channeled into defending his tribe and preserving social order—or the warrior life can be pursued for its own sake. The latter way is always extremely attractive to men. The former sort of warrior acts essentially as protector of women and children, and thus as a servant of nature. However, the male spirit is characterized by the desire to disengage from natural ends and to create something noble and fine for its own sake.

In other words, for the second kind of man the warrior life—and masculine virtue generally—are cultivated as ends in themselves. In this case, the warrior judges himself based on the degree to which he has achieved honor within the Männerbund, through demonstrating his prowess and loyalty to the Bund, rather than in terms of how effective he is in protecting the tribe. It is obvious that the modern conception of the warrior, who is solely concerned with “defense” and with “peace-keeping,” is a degraded and feminized form.

One suspects that our male ancestors had more admiration for the warriors who operated outside society, fighting and conquering for their own sake. There is a very good reason for this. It is these sorts of warriors who, after all, founded new tribes and kingdoms, making themselves new jarls and kings. By contrast, the warrior who functions as protector fights only to preserve what already exists, which he did not create, and always in the service of someone else.

Now, I contend that Odin’s Einherjar represent the archetype of warriorhood in its highest expression. Those who are already dead need not fear death, so they are absolutely fearless. Further, they are loyal to no tribe. They are loyal only to each other—to the warrior band—and to Odin. They live only to fight each other on a daily basis, and, eventually, to do battle at Ragnarok. As a result, they most closely resemble the second sort of warriors described above: those that live independently of the tribe, devoted to the warrior life itself and the warrior code. The fact that the Einherjar were regarded as the ideal, as the paradigm of the warrior band itself, confirms my claim that it is the second sort of warrior who was most admired, not the tribal protector.

As my readers know, Odin cultivates certain promising warriors then, at a certain point in their careers, withdraws his support and protection, allowing them to die violently. Those warriors then join the Einherjar in Valhalla. Odin is building an army, in short, of “super warriors.” The males of the Volsung clan are the greatest warriors of all, and Sigurd is the greatest of the clan. He is the Germanic Achilles—the paradigm of warriorhood itself. He is the “imaginative universal” (to borrow some language from G.B. Vico) who represents, to the mytho-poetic mind, what the rational-conceptual mind calls “the warrior.”

If the Einherjar most closely resemble the “rogue warrior” described above, it follows that when Odin cultivates the Volsungs he will act to create conditions that will make them into warriors of that type. Thus, we repeatedly see his interventions into the lives of the Volsungs placing them outside the bounds of societal order. This occurs with the very first of the clan, Sigi, who is outlawed. It occurs with Sigmund and his son Sinfjotli. Even where others in the clan do not literally leave society and enter the wilderness, they do so figuratively through moral transgression. Throughout this series I have drawn the reader’s attention to how the Volsungs continually violate moral norms—both the men of the clan and its women. The incest of Sigmund and Signy is only the most notorious example of this. There is something “overmanish” in the way the Volsungs continually go beyond good and evil.

Sigurd will be no exception to this. In order to make Sigurd truly great among men, and worthy of a place at the table in Valhalla, Odin must remove him from society. Sigurd must cease being a warrior in the service of an existing social order and become his own master, a lone wolf who will go on to create his own world. Sigurd will be returned to the state of nature, and will create a new sort of honor, an honor not only disconnected from the social role of warrior as “protector,” but one which stems from his vanquishing of a foe that is greater than any man. Indeed, Sigurd will create a new self. Like Sigi, the first of the Volsung line, Odin must place Sigurd in a primal situation: the struggle with the dragon Fafnir on Gnitaheith.

2. The Detachment of the Solar Hero

Julius Evola would describe Sigurd as a “solar hero.” He explains this term in The Hermetic Tradition after telling us that “Sun ☉ and Moon ƒ☾ is the fundamental hermetic duality.”[2] The sun symbol, Evola remarks, “takes on the meaning of a center that manifests in the heart of chaos.” This is “the One,” which is a masculine principle of form, individuation, and stability. What the One overcomes—the chaos it emerges from, which is pure “undetermined possibility”—is now represented in the Hermetic symbology by the lunar symbol, ☾ ƒ.[3]

Bear in mind that ☉ is also the alchemical symbol for gold. The “lunar principle” is represented, furthermore, by “Woman, Dragon, Mercury, the Waters.”[4] Evola then tells us that “The dragons (like the Bulls) become those which the solar heroes—Mithras, Hercules, Jason, Apollo, Horus, etc.—fight against.” Evola does not mention Sigurd, but there is little chance he would dispute our classification of Sigurd as just such a solar hero (at some point, we will have to explore some of the very interesting parallels between Sigurd and the Greek hero Jason). Evola also does not mention Thor, though the god’s battle with Jormungandr, the Midgard Serpent, clearly qualifies him as a solar hero as well. Most often Evola refers to Mithras as a paradigm of these heroes.[5]

As noted in our last installment, Evola states that the very first step of the alchemical opus involves a “mortification.” This is the step known as “nigredo.” It involves the suspension of desire, which has the effect of nullifying the conventional or vulgar ego. This is the state from which all further progress in the work will be made. In the career of Sigurd, this stage is achieved through the prophecies of his uncle, Gripir. The encounter with Gripir is described in the saga in one of its shortest chapters. We are told simply that, after some initial hesitation, Gripir tells Sigurd his entire future. In Gripisspa (“Gripir’s Prophecies”) in the Poetic Edda, however, the prophecies are summarized in some detail. Gripir reveals to Sigurd his entire future, including his tragic death. As I have pointed out in an earlier essay, knowing his fate in detail allows Sigurd to achieve detachment.

Thanks to his uncle, he is aware in advance of every significant event in his life, including his death, but all he can do is to carry on and act out his fate. He does so almost as if he is an actor playing a role, exemplifying the spiritual virtue of amor fati, “love of fate.” Fundamentally, he desires nothing, for he knows exactly what will and will not come of his deeds. There is no point any longer in investing himself in hoping, wishing, and striving. And there is no point in worrying about the future. He can only surrender himself to whatever hoping, wishing, and striving he is fated to do. Sigurd can now act with complete detachment, free of concern for the outcome of his actions.

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He now says “yes” to the conflict, brutality, and tragedy of what fate will bring him. This is the standpoint that is taught to Arjuna in the Bhagavad-Gita—the standpoint Evola has referred to as the “Aryan Doctrine of Battle and Victory.”[6] On the eve of a great battle, Arjuna surveys the two armies and feels he cannot fight. The enemy are, after all, his cousins. He loses heart, seeing no point in participating in the coming carnage. But his charioteer is in reality the God Krishna, who proceeds to instruct him. These men, the god says, are already dead. They are fated to die—and many are fated to be killed by Arjuna himself. The teaching Krishna imparts to him is this: do your duty, without thought for the fruits of your action.

In just the same way, Sigurd proceeds with his adventures, acting as the Norns have fated. In Gripisspa, Sigurd says, “My fate will be what it will,” then parts company with his uncle. Sigurd’s standpoint also mirrors that of Odin. Odin has heard the prophecy of the Volva and knows that he and the other gods will die in Ragnarok. Odin does not recruit his army of the dead to try to prevent this. He recruits an army because failing to fight is not an option. And Odin’s resistance, utilizing the forces of the Einherjar, is itself something that is prophesied. Odin knows his fate, accepts it, and watches it unfold, as if he were a detached observer.

Like Arjuna, Sigurd proceeds to do his duty. He first avenges his father by killing the sons of Hunding, then he sets about honoring his promise to Regin: he and the dwarf go to Gnitaheith so that Sigurd may slay the dragon.

3. Phallic Imagery in the Saga

As noted in the last installment, the alchemical opus involves the achievement of what Evola calls “spiritual virility.” In beginning to discern the hidden subtext to the dragon slaying, we must note that there is, for lack of better terms, a “virility dynamic” or “phallic dynamic” to the saga. Within this dynamic, there is a movement from what we can call “physical virility” to spiritual virility. “Physical virility,” in case it is not obvious, refers to anything having to do with the male sexual organ and sexual potency—but it also refers, more broadly, to physical prowess, power, and domination.[7]

Early in the saga, we are introduced to Rerir, who is described as “already a large and accomplished man at a young age.” Despite this, as I argued at length in part two, the saga clearly implies that he is sexually impotent, a problem he tries to cure through the old custom of sitting on a burial mound. Odin, as we know, has a keen interest in the continuance and cultivation of this clan, so he decides to intervene. He summons the Valkyrie Hljod and gives her a magic apple. She then turns into a crow and flies to Rerir, dropping the apple in his lap as he is sitting on the mound. Rerir returns home to his queen and then eats some of the apple. A short time later, the queen is pregnant. Presumably, this means that they succeeded in having intercourse, thanks to the magic apple.

I also argued that with the apple we can understand Odin to have once more injected his own seed, as it were, into the bloodline to further strengthen it. In eating the apple, Rerir would thus be impregnating his queen with Odin’s seed, not his own. (In another installment of this series, I argued that something like this occurs again at the wedding feast of Signy and Siggeir, when Odin appears and plunges a sword into the tree Barnstokk.) Rerir’s queen becomes pregnant, but, in the customary tradition of mythological pregnancies, the gestation lasts “a very long time.”[8] In fact, it lasts for six years! This suggests that something very special is growing in the queen’s womb, something great. Indeed, she gives birth to Volsung, and it is significant that the entire clan takes its name from this character.

There is a general scholarly consensus that the name “Volsung” comes from a word meaning “stallion phallus.” I discussed this in an earlier installment, but it is important to remind the reader of the origins of this name. Once again, I will cite Jackson Crawford’s explanation:

Old Norse names ending in –ung are typically designations for families and not for individuals, so it is likely that the original name of the individual Volsung was Volsi, and that his name was extended later to match the name of the family named for him. This is supported by the fact that his son Sig(e)mund is called a Wælsing (= Old Norse Volsung) in Beowulf, as well as simply “son of Wæls,” an Old English cognate of the Old Norse Volsi. The name Volsi occurs in one place in Old Norse literature, in a story about the Norwegian king Ólaf Tryggvason in the manuscript Flateyjarbók. There, the name is applied to a stallion’s preserved phallus that is worshipped by a pagan family. “Phallus,” perhaps specifically “stallion’s phallus” may well be the name’s original meaning (the same root is found in other words for cylindrical objects), and the name of Volsung and his family might then have evoked the virility of a stallion.[9]

Stephen Flowers notes that “Volsi” is a heiti that is shared by both Odin and Freyr.[10] That the latter should be referred to as “Stallion Phallus” should not surprise us. The bronze Rällinge statuette, discovered in Södermanland, Sweden in 1904 and dated to the Viking Age, has an erect phallus and is widely assumed to depict Freyr. Famously, Adam of Bremen reported that Freyr’s statue at the Temple at Uppsala featured an erect phallus. Freyr is, of course, a third functional god of peace, prosperity and abundance.

It is interesting that Freyr and Odin should be connected through sharing the name Volsi. Edred Thorsson argues in Runelore that Freyr is present in the Sigurd saga in a concealed form in his “warrior aspect.” Thorsson points out that in Thidreks Saga Sigurd is suckled by a hind (a female deer). Later in the Volsung Saga, Gudrun has a dream about a stag, which represents Sigurd (because of which, Thorsson holds, plausibly, that Sigurd’s fylgja is a stag). Thorsson points out that there is a well-known association between Freyr and stags, given that in the only substantial myth concerning Freyr the god kills an etin with a stag’s antler. Stag’s antlers are, of course, perennially understood as phallic.

If Crawford is right that the original name of Volsung was Volsi, then, in accord with what we understand of Norse naming customs, this character must be understood as a “rebirth” of Odin, specifically in his phallic aspect.[11] (Indeed, as I suggested above, he may be Odin’s son.[12]) This suggestion should be uncontroversial, considering that Odin is the progenitor of the entire clan. It is also entirely possible that Odin’s phallic aspect is identical with Freyr. At least, there is a close connection in the character of Volsung to both Odin and Freyr.

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Note the striking contrast between Volsung and his father: the impotent Rerir sires the hero who bears the name “Stallion Phallus.” Volsung certainly is virile: he produces eleven children. Ten of these are sons, and there is one daughter. The eldest son, Sigmund, is also the twin of the daughter, Signy. The proliferation of males also seems to be an expression of Volsung’s virility. The mother of Volsung’s children is none other than the Valkyrie Hljod, who had delivered the magic apple to Rerir.

Now, flash forward to the wedding of Volsung’s daughter Signy to the loathsome King Siggeir. The wedding feast takes place in Volsung’s hall, which is built around an apple tree called Barnstokk. Into the feast suddenly walks a stranger, described in such a way that we know him to be Odin. From his cloak he draws a sword and plunges it into the tree trunk “up to the hilt.” The stranger then says that whoever can draw the sword out of the tree will receive it as his gift, and he will find that there is no better sword. The old man then swiftly leaves the hall.

Swords are, of course, universally understood as phallic[13]–however, that fact alone would not constitute convincing evidence that this sword (called Gram, “wrath”) should be seen as phallic. However, in discussing this episode in the saga, H.R. Ellis Davidson mentions the Scandinavian custom of plunging a sword into a tree or post in wedding celebrations. She notes that “in Norway there was a custom surviving into recent times for the bridegroom to plunge his sword into the roof beam, to test the ‘luck’ of the marriage by the depth of the scar made.”[14] The sexual connotations of this are obvious. The sword is phallic and masculine; that into which it is plunged is feminine.

This suggestion becomes still more plausible if we simply ask why the sword is plunged into a tree. Barnstokk plays absolutely no role in the saga other than to be that into which the sword is thrust. So why did the poet insist that Odin stuck the sword into a tree rather than, say, a large post or a stone (as in the possibly related “sword in the stone” motif)? The answer must lie in what the tree represents. Its name, Barnstokk, may be translated as “child tree.” The tree is, furthermore, described as an apple tree, linking it to the magic apple, delivered by the Valkyrie Hljod, which made possible the conception of Volsung. The tree thus seems to represent feminine fecundity; that out of which life comes.

We should also note that Flowers, drawing on other Icelandic materials such as Víga-Glúms saga and Hallfredr saga, argues that the sword likely communicates the hamingja (“luck”) or ættarfylgja (“family fetch”) of the Volsung clan itself. The lines of demarcation between these Norse “soul concepts” are unclear, but apparently both can be passed down from an ancestor.^[15] Flower’s entire book Sigurðr: Rebirth and the Rites of Transformation is devoted to the topic of “rebirth” through the inheritance of the hamingja–fylgja (thus he argues that Sigurd is the rebirth of Sigmund). It is highly significant that the object carrying the luck of the Volsung clan (the clan of “stallion phallus”) is contained in, and symbolized by, a phallic object.

The reader will recall that all the men present at the wedding feast fail to free the sword from the tree except for Sigmund. Esoterically, we may understand this event on multiple levels. As I have already argued in part three, referring to old Scandinavian wedding customs, when Odin appears at the feast with the sword he is in effect providing Signy’s wedding gift to her husband. When Sigmund proves to be the only one capable of receiving the sword, by pulling it from Barnstokk, this effectively identifies him as Signy’s husband. It is, of course, through the incestuous union of Sigmund and Signy that the next great hero of the Volsung line, Sinfjotli, will be produced.

There is another level, however, on which the sword-pulling episode can be understood, drawing on Evola’s interpretation of the alchemical opus. By detaching himself from the body and all its manifestations the hero achieves “spiritual virility.” The spiritually virile man is the ultimate hero, the ultimate warrior who has triumphed over himself and all his desires, and over nature itself. As a result of his own will-driven consciousness (a masculine principle) a new self emerges from the chaos of carnal preoccupations (the feminine principle). Shiva detaches from Shakti. Esoterically, this is what is represented by the withdrawal of the sword from the tree.

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Though Sigmund is a great warrior, like his father Volsung his prowess is entirely physical, and his power entirely worldly. If Odin’s plunging the sword into the tree represents an invitation to Sigmund to withdraw from the chaos principle and forge a new self, he does not seem to perceive its significance. We know that Sigurd is supposed to represent an advance on both his father and grandfather. Flowers notes that in the sagas generally it is often later generations of a family that exhibit real greatness, and he certainly maintains that this is the pattern in the Volsung Saga.[16] But in what way is Sigurd greater than those that went before?

A later chapter in the saga will describe him as physically powerful and implausibly large, but the one major event of Sigurd’s life that is not somehow matched by his forebears is the dragon slaying. (Though we must note that Beowulf credits Sigmund with the slaying of a dragon, who is either Fafnir or some other.) I wish to claim that the real significance of Sigurd slaying Fafnir, and how it constitutes an advance upon previous generations, can only be understood esoterically. My suggestion is that with Sigurd, an advance is made beyond pure physical virility to what Evola calls spiritual virility. It is, in other words, a choice by Sigurd of the “heroic path” or “warrior’s path” of divinization, as discussed in the preceding installment.

When Odin shatters that very same sword, withdrawing his protection and leaving Sigmund to die, this can be understood, esoterically, as signaling the necessity of a transformation of the Volsung line. Recall that Gram is effectively the phallic emblem of the clan itself, carrying the seminal “luck” of the Volsung clan. For it to be shattered is for that luck to be “broken,” or cut off from being passed along to later generations. This is the end of the line for the Volsungs, as they have hitherto lived and conceived themselves. Hjordis does, of course, pass the sword along to Sigurd, but it is in fragments.

The sword must be reforged—and, figuratively speaking, the luck of the Volsungs must be reforged as well. It must be transformed. It is important to always keep in mind that the reason Odin continually intervenes in the lives of the Volsungs is that he is trying to breed a race of super warriors to join his army of the dead in Valhalla. Sigurd is the greatest of these warriors—the greatest of the Volsung race, and the greatest in Germanic myth. But what makes Sigurd greater than all who went before? Again, I suggest that it consists in the fact that he becomes a new kind of warrior; a spiritually virile “solar hero.” He will be the man who has not just mastered other men and beasts but mastered himself to the point of becoming the equal of the god.

In our next installment, we will discuss the dragon slaying as Indo-European mythological motif, the evidence that Fafnir is an alchemical Ouroboros, and the symbolic significance of the powers conferred by the dragon’s blood.

Notes

[1] See Kris Kershaw, The One-Eyed God: Odin and the (Indo-) Germanic Männerbünde (Washington, D.C.: Journal of Indo-European Studies monograph No. 36), 16.

[2] Julius Evola, The Hermetic Tradition, trans. E.E. Rehmus (Rochester, VT: Inner Traditions, 1995), 34. (Henceforth, “HT.”).

[3] Evola, HT, 33.

[4] Evola, HT, 34.

[5] Mithraism was, of course, a Roman mystery cult, popular among Roman soldiers. Stephen Flowers in The Magian Tarok reports that there was considerable Mithraic activity along the northern border of the Empire. He writes, “Many members of the Mithraea certainly belonged to Germanic tribes from either side of the imperial borders. There is no reason to believe that synchronization between Mithraic and Germanic religious conceptions did not take place in these regions, just as it had in the Italic, Egyptian, or Middle Eastern regions. In fact there is strong graphic evidence for this. For example, in the Mithraeum at Dieburg in Germany there is a depiction of Mithras riding a horse and carrying a spear, instead of being in his customary chariot armed with bow and arrow. This depiction is clearly one drawn from the image of Wodan, the magical God of the contemporary Germanic tribes of that region.” See Flowers, The Magian Tarok (Smithfield, TX: Rûna-Raven, 2006), 105.

[6] See Julius Evola, “The Aryan Doctrine of Battle and Victory,” in Tyr 2 (Atlanta: Ultra, 2003-2004).

[7] Note that the Latin term virtūs (virtue) comes from vir meaning “man,” and that virtue originally referred to male qualities of excellence, or what is virile or manly.

[8] The Saga of the Volsungs, trans. R.G. Finch (London: Thomas Nelson, 1965), 3.

[9] The Saga of the Volsungs with the Saga of Ragnar Lothbrok, trans. Jackson Crawford (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing, 2017), x. Other scholars agree. Mindy McLeod and Bernard Mees note that volsi is slang for “penis,” derived from vǫlr meaning “rod.” This is in turn related to Modern Norwegian volse “thick, long muscle, thick figure,” Icelandic völstur “cylinder,” dialectal Swedish volster “bulge,” Old High German wulst “bulge,” and the English dialectal word weal meaning “penis.” See McLeod and Mees, Runic Amulets and Magic Objects (Rochester, NY: Boydell Press, 2006), 104: For information on the story in Flateyjarbók see: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Völsa_þáttr

[10] Stephen E. Flowers, Sigurðr: Rebirth and the Rites of Transformation (Smithfield, TX: Rûna-Raven, 2011), 72, 124.

[11] I have avoided using the term “reincarnation,” given the baggage this term comes with. Taken literally, however, the term is appropriate.

[12] Flowers agrees with this hypothesis. See Flowers, Sigurðr, 106.

[13] “Vagina,” we may note, comes from the Latin vāgīna which can mean “scabbard.”

[14] H.R. Ellis Davidson, “The Sword at the Wedding,” Folklore 71:1 (March 1960): 1-18; 3.

[15] Flowers, Sigurðr, 52.

[16] Flowers, Sigurðr, 70.