Luck

Whereas God's intervention is for the most part outside the normal narrative, luck is sometimes invoked as the explanation of important events. To Charles M. Radding the development of the concept of chance was one of the great advances of the intellectual revolution of the eleventh and twelfth centuries. People were now no longer, as before that time, forced to seek an inherent justice, sanctioned by divine powers, in everything that happened. This had the important consequence of weakening belief in ordeals, and—potentially, at least—of making historians less inclined to appeal to God's providence as the explanation of human events (Radding, 1985: 63 ff., 250 ff.).

Radding is probably right in regarding the more widespread use of fortuna as a kind of secularization, but he identifies it too easily with the modern concept of chance.^[53] In medieval historiography, fortuna appears as an active force, a kind of secular providence (Hanning, 1966: 126; Green, 1972: 116 f., Skinner, 1978: 97 f.). Or it is identified with the general tendency for things to change into their opposites, from success to failure and vice versa, as in the image of the wheel of fortune, derived from Boethius, which is found among others in Otto of Freising.^[54] Or it depends on astrology, which gave a rational and even predictable account of human events in which the actors' will and intentions play a subordinate part (Green, 1972: 33). Finally, fortuna often has the tendency to favor certain men and not others,^[55] that is, it represents the exact opposite of the concept of chance in modern statistics, according to which everyone in equal circumstances has the same possibility. The concept of luck is therefore not necessarily an anticipation of modern, secular thought but is rather to be regarded as an example of some kind of supernatural or at least nonhuman force in history that is not identified with the Christian God. Admittedly, it seems difficult from a modern point of view to distinguish luck from personal qualities on the one hand and God on the other. A logically consistent theory of such phenomena is hardly to be expected from medieval popular thought, nor from modern popular thought for that matter. But we can try to make some distinctions on the basis of the practical use of the various concepts.

Snorri refers to fate as an explanation, but only as one out of several.^[56] His reference to the power of soothsayers also implies the idea that everything is prearranged: Óláfr Tryggvason asks such a man of his future and receives an exact description of what is going to happen to

him immediately afterward (OT chap. 31). The same applies at least to some of his dreams, such as the ones prophesying the future of the dynasty (see Turville-Petre, 1972: 32; Glendinning, 1974: 25). The dreams and portents before Haraldr harðráði's expeditions to England all suggest disaster. Nevertheless, it apparently occurs neither to Haraldr nor to the other Norwegian magnates to cancel the expedition (HHarð . chaps. 80-82; see also chap. 90). The idea of an all powerful fate, which determines everything, occurs in a number of other passages in Old Norse literature, but it is difficult to tell how far this determinism really goes (Hovstad, 1948: 131 ff.; Maurer, 1965, vol. 2: 162 f.). In any case, it is not very prominent in Snorri's actual narrative. Men's decisions, ability, and so forth normally seem to be the most important factors in his explanations, whereas luck, or fate, serve to explain the aspects of events which men cannot control and which modern historians explain by chance or structural conditions. Snorri gives no precise definition of his concept of fate, nor does he connect it to astrology, of which he gives no explicit mention.

In most cases, luck or hamingja^[57] in Snorri, as in other Old Norse sources, is not an impersonal fate, governing human events, but rather a force inherent in particular persons, notably kings and great men (see Grønbech, 1955, vol. 2: 108 ff.; Gurevich, 1971: 44 f.). Except for his last days, Earl Hákon Sigurðarson is a great chieftain, distinguished among other things by his hamingja in defeating his enemies (OT chap. 50). During his Viking expedition in Finland, St. Óláfr's hamingja proves stronger than the Finns' magic (OH chap. 9). Starting his dangerous expedition to Sweden, Hjalti asks Óláfr to give his hamingja to himself and his companion.^[58] In their discussions, the petty kings of Opplandene refer to Óláfr's hamingja (OH chaps. 36, 74), whereas Óláfr himself boasts that his hamingja is superior to that of his adversary, Earl Hákon Eiríksson (OH chaps. 30, 180). In addition, hamingja/úhamingja can simply refer to the good or bad result of an action, as in modern terminology (Hallberg, 1973: 154 f., 156 f.).

According to traditional opinion, represented among others by Grøn-bech (1955, vol. 2: 108 ff.), the belief in luck was a central element in Nordic religion and mentality, which survived into the Christian period. More recent scholars, notably Walter Baetke (1951: 47 ff., 1973: 345 ff., 1964: 19 ff.) and Lars Lönnroth (1963-1964: 29 f. and 1986: 76 ff.) have pointed out that the idea of luck mainly occurs in late and Christian sources, whereas it is not to be found in the Edda and is very rare in the early scaldic poems. Consequently, this idea must be the result of Christian influence. A number of other scholars have attempted to defend the traditional opinion.^[59]

Baetke's approach has both the strength and the weakness of the

traditional source criticism. His demonstration of the late occurrence of the idea of luck is certainly worth careful consideration, and he shows convincingly that many of the great constructions of ancient Germanic royal ideology rest on shaky foundations. However, he does not really analyze the various sources and situations in which the idea of luck occurs, nor does he demonstrate the logical connection between these ideas and contemporary Christianity. Though these sources are late, we cannot exclude the possibility that they reflect general attitudes that may originate in traditional society, the less so as the authentic sources of the pagan period are so few that it is risky to exclude the possibility that ideas that are not found there did not exist. Both the references to popular ideas of luck as pagan superstition in Christian sources of the later Middle Ages (Gunnes, 1971: 32; Hallberg, 1973: 143) and Hall-berg's statistics, showing that the various terms for luck occur far more frequently in the secular literature of the high Middle Ages than in the typical clerical sources (1973: 161 ff.), make an exclusively Christian origin of these concepts unlikely.

The question of origin cannot be solved from an analysis of Snorri alone, nor is it very relevant in our context. However, we can and must address the question whether Snorri's ideas of luck are derived from the Christian doctrine of God's providence or they must be understood against a different background. There seems to be no logical connection between Snorri's idea of luck and Christian thought. As we have seen, there is a clear difference between Snorri's idea of charismatic kingship and the doctrine of kingship by the grace of God propagated by the contemporary Norwegian monarchy: whereas the former is based on the king's personal qualities, attractiveness, and so forth, qualities that are not specifically royal but in which the king is supposed to surpass other men, the latter emphasizes the radical difference between the king and all others. This also applies to the king's luck. Luck does not only belong to the king, nor necessarily to all kings, nor to one king all the time. By and large, however, the king needs more luck than ordinary men to be able to rule and easily loses his power if luck deserts him.^[60]

Though Baetke is right that the concept of luck is particularly prominent in the sagas of the two missionary kings, the Óláfrs, there is nothing to suggest that it is synonymous with God's providence. In the story of Óláfr's dream in which he is told to return to Norway (OH chap. 187), both concepts occur, and it is not easy to distinguish logically between them. In pondering over the difficult decision, Óláfr reflects on the fact that the first ten years of his reign have been successful, whereas afterward everything has gone wrong and the hamingja has been against him. He then asks himself whether it is advisable to trust the hamingja once more and finally leaves the matter to God. One might solve the difficulty

by assuming that God is ultimately behind hamingja/úhamingja or that the concepts in this case are only synonyms for success and failure. But there is no direct evidence for this in Snorri's text.

Snorri's explanation of the fall of Earl Hákon seems to imply a closer connection between God and the hamingja . The greatest úhamingja led to the fall of the great chieftain, says Snorri. And the principal reason for this was that the time had now come for pagan cult to give way to the true faith and right customs. Hákon seems to have been struck by God's providence and God thus to have been behind his úhamingja .

The comment on Hákon's úhamingja comes as a kind of modification after the description of him as a great and successful chieftain and is probably also intended as a further explanation of his fall, as told by Snorri immediately before.^[61] In this story, Hákon is extremely unlucky. His plan of enticing Óláfr Tryggvason to Norway to kill him, ought to have every chance of succeeding. Hákon's position in Norway is very strong as the result of his victory over the jómsvíkingar in Hjorungavagr^[*] the year before, according to Snorri's chronology. Óláfr has a small army and does not expect serious resistance. Then suddenly, a rebellion breaks out in Trøndelag and Hákon is forced to flee. Admittedly, Hákon himself has caused the rebellion because of his offenses against the women of the region, but Snorri hardly regards this as sufficiently serious to cause his fall. It is Hákon's bad luck that this happens just when Óláfr is on his way to Trøndelag. Hákon has to hide and would normally have saved his life but for the fact that he is killed by his own house-slave, a person one would normally be able to trust. Finally, Hákon is unlucky not only in being defeated and killed but in suffering such a shameful death, being killed by his own slave in a pigsty.

In one sense, this is just an example of how the hamingja works: even when acting prudently, one can never be certain of the outcome. But this story clearly is in conflict with Snorri's normal ideas on the matter. The hamingja tends consistently to favor some men, and it tends to accompany wisdom, courage, and so forth—the qualities that normally lead to success in the game of politics. For both reasons, it ought to have favored Earl Hákon, whose earlier career has been an example of the combination of luck and great qualities as a leader. There must be a special reason why the hamingja suddenly deserts him, and Snorri finds this in divine intervention. Such an intervention is clearly extraordinary, being confined to matters regarding Christianity in the stricter sense. God does not usually cause the fall of pagan chieftains, but in this case, he had decided that time had come to convert Norway to Christianity. It was Hákon's bad luck that he happened to govern the country just at this time. The general conclusion therefore seems to be that hamingja/úhamingja belongs to the normal working of nature, whereas God's providence intervenes on spe-

cial occasions. This is quite compatible with Snorri's general view and with contemporary theology and philosophy.

Another difference between Snorri's concept of hamingja and the Christian idea of providence is that the former has little to do with morality. Snorri's comment on the fate of Earl Hákon may serve as an example: his úhamingja was not the well-deserved punishment for his bad deeds, as in the clerical historians (Theod. chaps. 5, 10; HN: 111, 115; Ágr . chaps. 13-14), on the contrary, it is the explanation why this great man came to such an ignoble end.^[62] Thus, there is little to suggest that Snorri's concept of hamingja is derived from Christian thought.

Snorri's "law" that nothing succeeds like success probably has something to do with the belief in particular persons', notably kings', luck. The idea is among other places expressed in King Hringr's speech at the meeting of the petty kings of Eastern Norway: Óláfr's hamingja will decide his success or failure and has already been demonstrated through his capture of Earl Hákon and his other victories so far. Therefore, the best thing to do is to support him as early as possible to receive the greatest rewards. According to Mary Douglas, such ideas of luck are exactly what we should expect in a society like Snorri's, which is loosely organized, in which important positions are open to competition, and success or failure in this competition determines one's rank in society (Douglas, 1970:129 f.). We cannot tell from Snorri's text how old the idea of hamingja is, but there is every reason to believe that it reflects common attitudes in his society and is not only an imported literary idea.

Although chance is evidently a necessary and commonly acknowledged concept in modern thought, it is not very popular with historians, as it does not allow explanations. That is to say, it is satisfactory enough concerning mass phenomena, which can be treated statistically. Concerning individual events, however, one usually prefers deliberate action or structural conditions to such explanations as the sudden death of a particular king leading to defeat or change of policy or good or bad weather deciding the success or failure of a battle or a military expedition. We cannot exclude the possibility that such factors may be of decisive importance, but the prestige and importance of historiography as a science in some way or other rests on the assumption that there is an order and regularity in society and human behavior (see Koselleck, 1985:116 ff.). This idea of rationality is further confirmed by the assumption that chance in the long run is likely to be evenly distributed between the actors, so that skill, superior organization, or material resources and so forth will eventually be decisive.

In medieval historiography, the concept of luck, although no doubt having the merit of emancipating the historian from religion, seems even more of an obstacle to rational explanation. To have luck means to have

success. If luck is made the only explanation, every success is strictly speaking self-explanatory. As luck is not evenly distributed, it is moreover likely to be as decisive as human and material resources. Consequently, all that is left to the historian is to register the bare facts. In a similar way as in modern historiography, the rational element depends on the degree to which human thought and action are used as explanations, or more so, as modern historians much more frequently than their medieval counterparts use structural factors that do not depend on individual men's will.

Snorri's response to this problem seems to be some rationalization of the concept of luck. Though his law that "nothing succeeds like success" is clearly connected with the belief in luck, this does not prevent Snorri from explaining its existence in terms of psychology and social structure: most men act out of self-interest. They have few fixed loyalties in political matters and consequently shift their allegiance to the one who is most likely to be successful. In a similar way he assumes that luck normally accompanies intelligence, skill, personal attraction, and other qualities that serve to win the game. A general statement illustrates this. King Óláfr's mistress, Álfhildr, is pregnant and suddenly gives birth to a son, who is about to die. The king is asleep and has expressly forbidden his men to wake him up, for whatever reason. No one dares to do so. However, the child must be baptized, but who dares to give it a name without asking the king? Finally, the king's scald Sigvatr takes responsibility and names the child Magnús after Charlemagne. When the king wakes up, he is at first furious, but is finally appeased by Sigvatr's explanations. He then comments:

You are a very lucky man, Sigvat; it is not to be wondered that luck should accompany wisdom. But it is strange that, as sometimes happens, luck attends unwise men so that a foolish counsel turns out to be fortunate.^[63]

It is not quite clear whether King Óláfr regards Sigvatr as an example of both luck and wisdom and adds the last sentence as an afterthought, or whether he considers him an extreme example of luck in that even his foolish counsels turn out well. What is important in our context is the statement that luck normally accompanies wisdom, which is clearly Snorri's own view of the relationship between the two, as is amply brought forward in the narrative.^[64] As we have seen, Snorri generally explains success and failure in terms of his actors' wise or foolish decisions.

In a similar way he tries to give a rational explanation to the idea of the king's luck manifesting itself in good years. Admittedly, he describes without further comment both Hálfdan svarti, Hákon góði (HG chap. 11), and Earl Hákon as rulers who were known for bringing fertility to

the country. King Hálfdan was so famous for this that his dead body was cut into four pieces and buried in four different regions so that they could all take part in his power (HS chap. 9). Earl Hákon brought good years after the period of famine under his predecessors, the Eiríkssons, and continued to do so during most of his reign.^[65] However, when refering to the bad harvests during the reign of the Eiríkssons as one of the reasons for their unpopularity (HGráf chap. 2), which earlier historians mention without further comment (SagaOT : 3; Ágr . chap. 9; HN: 108; Fsk. : 53), Snorri attempts an explanation: the kings were numerous and each of them had his own hirð . They therefore had high expenses and needed great incomes, the more so as they were also greedy. Consequently, they appropriated so much of what the peasants produced that it lead to famine. Snorri uses a similar explanation in another context.^[66] Are these reflections "rationalistic" comments to ideas derived from an authentic pagan belief in a sacred king, who was held responsible for the fertility of the land? Or should they be understood in a Christian context, as a demonstration of the inadequacy of what learned Icelanders of the thirteenth century believed to be the ancient pagan religion, whereas the actual idea of the king bringing fertility to his country is of Christian origin?^[67] The fact that the otherwise fairly secular Snorri is the only historian to make such comments, whereas decidedly clerical ones do not, is to me a strong argument for the former position. Further, though Snorri clearly regards the missionary kings as specially favored by God, he never refers to their or to other Christian kings' influence on the harvests.^[68] Nor do such ideas seem very prominent in the contemporary clerical picture of the rex iustus .^[69]

Snorri's concept of luck therefore most probably corresponds to traditional Nordic ideas, whether or not they are derived from pagan religion, and is not an example of Christian influence. He may possibly be influenced by contemporary European thought, though there is some difference between his personal concept of luck and European historians' fortuna . This makes it even less adequate than fortuna as a means to rational understanding of history. Snorri's hamingja is rather to be classified with miracles and witchcraft as the expression of mysterious forces influencing human history. Snorri, however, goes further than his predecessors in linking luck to a rational interpretation of history, by emphasizing the connection between luck and intelligence and other qualities that normally lead to success in the game.