The belief in a predetermined fate (part II) by F.E. Farwerck

The all-encompassing influence of fate meant that, with a few exceptions that will be discussed later, people generally did not resist it. In the Vatnsdæla saga, someone asked Grim what he thought of a particular journey. Grim responded that it would be futile to fight against a decree determined by fate. He accepted fate as something inevitable. In the same saga, Thorstein says: "After your death, there will hardly be anyone who will honor me, but everyone must seek their path according to the fate assigned to them." A phrase we frequently encounter in this context is also found in the Saga of the People of Kjalarnes, where it is said: "But now it must go as it is destined." When Thorarin, in the Njal Saga (ch. 13), wishes to marry a woman who had driven her first husband to his death, he is warned against it, but his response is: "There will likely be nothing to be done about it: it will have to come as it is destined."

Vatnsdæla Saga on a tapestry

This acceptance of fate, however, should not be interpreted as a kind of fatalism. The acceptance of fate shares with fatalism only the recognition of the inescapable nature of fate. However, while the fatalist simply gives up and allows fate to take its course, the attitude meant here is one of someone who, despite fate being determined, still does what must be done under the given circumstances. This difference in attitude depends not only on philosophical reflection but even more so on the character of the individual involved. The Oriental person is naturally a fatalist; the Germanic person is not. This is repeatedly evident in the Nordic sagas. For instance, in the Saga of King Sverrir Sigurdsson (ch. 16), we read the following: A farmer spoke as he accompanied his son to the warship and gave him good advice. He told him to be tough and brave in his trial as a man. "For a good name outlasts people by far," he added, "or tell me, how would you act if you went into battle and knew in advance that you were going to fall?" The son answered: "What else could I do but strike all around me with both hands?" The farmer continued: "But what if someone could tell you with certainty that you would not fall?"

The son answered: "How could I not give it my all to move forward?" The farmer then said: "In any battle in which you are involved, only one of two things can happen: either you fall, or you survive. Therefore, be brave, for everything is determined by fate. He for whom it is not determined that he must die, will not go to Hel (the ruler of the realm of the dead), and he who is destined to go there cannot escape it. But the worst thing is: to flee."

This conversation gives us a clear picture of the mindset that was apparently common in that time. Everything was determined by fate, but even if one knew that death was imminent and would strike in all circumstances, it was still not a reason to refrain from acting. The father, at the end, provides a rational argument for this: avoiding the fight would be dishonorable; but the son already intuitively responds from the beginning that he would fight to the utmost, even if there was no way out. However, the most remarkable thing is that we are not dealing here with ideas nurtured by a small circle of philosophers, but with a worldview that had permeated the entire society and was fully embraced even by the ordinary farmer.

People saw others as collaborators and executors of fate, but they also recognized themselves in this role. In the Laxdæla saga (ch. 58), Thorkel is attacked and defeated by Grim. Grim then says: "Things have turned out differently than you probably thought, for now your life is in my hands." Thorkel said he would not beg for mercy, "for fortune has been against me." Grim said: "I have caused enough misfortune, even if I leave this undone; a different fate is laid out for you than to die at this encounter of ours, and I will spare your life; reward me as you see fit." Grim apparently did not feel that it was he who granted Thorkel his life, but considered himself only the executor of Thorkel's, here favorable, fate. But the reverse also occurred, namely, that one allowed an unfavorable fate for someone else to be fulfilled by not intervening. In the same saga (ch. 49), Thorkel and his shepherd boy saw several men laying an ambush for Kjartan. The boy wanted to warn Kjartan, but Thorkel held him back, saying: "You fool, do you want to give someone life if death is destined for him?"

As mentioned, the inescapability of fate was felt most strongly at the hour of death, and for the state in which someone found themselves shortly before their death, there was an expression that has been passed down in Dutch with the word "veeg," which, although rarely used, still means "near death."

In the ancient North, the condition preceding death was called feigd. During this period, just before the moment when fate, which deeply influenced a person's life, became most apparent, powers of fate, such as the fylgjen (guardian spirits) and the valkyries, visibly appeared to people. This was a direct intervention of fate in human life, and although our ancestors did not have the widespread fear of the afterlife that is common today, the word feigd still had a sinister connotation. The one doomed to die lived in a peculiar intermediate state. It was believed that such a person was deprived of the guardian spirit that had accompanied them throughout their life and lived in a state of blindness, causing them to overlook all impending dangers. This blindness was also a clear sign by which someone destined to die could be recognized. Here we are apparently dealing again with an Indo-European concept, as the ancient Romans also had a proverb: "Whom Jupiter (the god of fate) wishes to destroy, he first blinds."

The belief that a vege (doomed) man must soon die is repeatedly found in the sagas. In the Reykdæla Saga (ch. 6), Askel says that things have turned out as he thought, and that the journey would have been better left undone. However, Vemund remarked that everyone must follow their fate; everyone could be content with their lot, and each must die if they were feigd. In Njal's Saga, Thord, the son of a freedman and the foster father of Njal's sons, kills Atli's murderer. When this becomes known, his foster son Skarphedin says: "He was surely already doomed to die, the one who fell at the hands of our foster father, who has never seen human blood before." We also find examples of the belief that a veeg (doomed) man no longer has a clear perspective on things. In the same saga (ch. 129), Njal and his sons are standing in front of their house as enemies approach for an ambush. The enemies consider that they will face a difficult fight if these three await them in front of the house, and Njal's sons also believe that it would be better to meet the enemy in open field. Njal, blinded by his veegness, prefers to defend against the enemy from behind the walls of his homestead. When his sons disagree with him, he laments: "Now it will happen that my sons will overrule me and no longer heed me. When you were younger, you did not do that, and you fared better for it." Helgi does not realize that his father is wrong and says, "Let us do as our father wishes; that will be best for us." But Skarphedin doubts it and replies: "I'm not so sure about that, for he is indeed veeg. But I would gladly give my father the satisfaction of burning with him, for I am not afraid of death." They then go inside, and the leader of the enemies remarks: "Now they are doomed, now that they have gone inside." Indeed, most of them perished in the burning homestead.

We also hear of other attitudes. There were people who tried to escape the influence of fate, and there are various indications that they sought to achieve this through magical means. These individuals apparently saw fate as an impersonal power standing above and beyond humans, and they evidently believed that they could become a counterforce to fate through magic. They likely thought that by invoking a law of cause and effect, even if not fully realized, they could introduce new causes that would cancel out the consequences of fate.

But outside of this exceptional group, people generally accepted fate as an untouchable force that, through its decrees, fulfilled the sacred order. They were so convinced of this that many statements in the North, as seen from the examples above, simply say: "It is determined," without mentioning the cause of this determination. These statements appear so frequently that we may regard them as expressions of a widespread belief.

The magical attitude towards fate undoubtedly stemmed from the often-felt tension between a fixed destiny and free will. But there are many indications that people sought the solution in a different direction as well.

Many apparently held the belief that what fate bestowed upon people belonged to them, that it was, by virtue of their nature, their share in the world's destiny. It was not a random fate striking them from the outside, but in every sense of the word, their own personal fate. Those who thought this way did not desire any other fate than the one that was theirs, as expressed in the words of Gisli in the Saga of Gisli the Outlaw, when he says: "A warrior seeks counsel, but nevertheless, I want what fate has allotted to me." And when Gisli must flee and leave his wife Ingjald behind, he composes (ch. 25):

Nevertheless, I gladly endure

the fate that comes to me...

...fear is entirely absent from me.

This willing acceptance of fate and the readiness to cooperate voluntarily in its fulfillment is also evident in the Frisian saga of Heriald Beroald, where it is said: "When matters stood thus, the sick Heriald suddenly noticed strength return to his arm. He rose from his bed, knowing that his time had come. He buckled on his armor, mounted his fiery steed, and entered the fray." The consequence of this was that he fell in battle. Here again, we see no attempt to escape the fate that was coming, but on the contrary, complete cooperation to fulfill it, even if it meant his own death.

This cooperation in carrying out fate was perhaps less a result of philosophical contemplation and more of a particular religious belief: that it was the duty of the gods and right-minded people to contribute to the unfolding of the sacred order of things. This, of course, also meant assisting in the execution of fate's decrees, and therefore cooperating in the fulfillment of one's own fate, regardless of how it might turn out.

In order to know how to act in certain circumstances to align one's actions with fate, a standard was naturally required, one by which actions could be judged. From the wealth of information available to us, especially from the saga era, it becomes clear that in the Old Germanic period, this standard was honor, though this concept did not fully align with our modern understanding. Honor commanded a specific attitude in all actions in life and was a factor that gave people significant influence in shaping their fate.

How important the concept of "honor" was in the old North is evident from the fact that the Old Norse language had more words for honor and its opposites, such as shame, than any other language in the world. For the concept of honor alone, there were no fewer than eleven synonyms; for the concept of shame, there were nine different words, and for concepts such as mockery, insult, and dishonor, there were no fewer than nineteen words available. Honor in the North, and likely among other Germanic tribes before Christianity, was not an abstract concept. It was not a factor that was sometimes considered and sometimes not; it had unconditional demands that were fulfilled to their utmost consequences. Even the death of the individual and their descendants was subordinate to honor, as evidenced by examples from Iceland and the Hildebrandslied.

The same compelling force of honor can be seen in Njal's Saga (ch. 129). When Njal had gone inside his house, the leader of the enemies asked to speak to him and his wife, Bergthora, offering them a safe escape. Njal's response was: "I do not want a safe escape, for I am an old man and barely capable of avenging my sons, and I do not wish to live in shame." When the leader then said to Bergthora, "Go outside, housemother, for I would not for anything let you burn inside," she replied: "I was given to Njal when I was young; then I promised that one fate would befall us." They both went back inside and perished in the flames.

Thus, honor was in all cases the standard for action, because a firm connection was seen between fate and honor. In addition to this, there were other means to determine what fate had in store for the future—not to escape it, but to consciously cooperate in its fulfillment. When in the Nibelungenlied, the river nymphs predict that none of the Burgundians will return from their journey, except the priest accompanying them, Hagen throws the priest overboard. But when he sees the man swim back to shore, Hagen realizes that the prediction will come true and that they are all headed for death. He does not turn back but, after crossing the river, destroys the ship to make any thought of retreat impossible, and rides with his comrades to their death.

Although over the last thousand years the concept of an all-encompassing, impersonal necessity has almost completely disappeared, the old view still occasionally surfaces even in modern times. Especially among poets, who live more from their inner selves than the average person, the connection between fate and the individual is often expressed. For instance, in Schiller's Wallenstein, we read the words: "The stars of fate are in your breast." In Hölderlin's Hyperion, the line appears: "To those whom fate speaks so loudly, they may also speak loudly back to fate." The heroic stance towards fate is evident in Geibel's words: "If there is anything greater than fate, it is the man who bears it unshakably."

F.E. Farwerck in Nehalennia, December 1956