The Yew Tree

The sea is a mysterious domain, indeed an essentially hostile one in which humans cannot survive for long except by artificial means. Hence the mythology of the sea is often ambivalent, regarding it as a hostile environment inhabited by creatures and beings either harmful or indifferent to humans, though some may be helpful.

In order to understand why this is so, it is necessary to look at the social, technological, and cultural context in which the mythology was formed. Even today, many (if not most) fishermen cannot swim. This point was graphically illustrated for me recently when I went snorkelling. I emerged from the water and said hello to a man cleaning a boat on the shore. He said that like many coastal folk, he could not swim, and did not actually like the water. I remarked that many fishermen cannot swim, and he said there would not be much point, when with all the heavy gear they wear (seaboots and so on) they would sink straight to the bottom. His family had lived on the coast for at least the last three generations, as the boat he was cleaning had been found by his great uncle in 1924. Also, in the past, the technology available was much more limited. There were no wetsuits, snorkels or aqualungs; no radar or satellite navigational systems; no accurate maps or charts; even the compass was a relatively late introduction. However, there were methods of navigation; people used the stars to steer by at night, and by day there were landmarks, and various fishing grounds were delineated by landmarks and traditional nomenclature. When looking at attitudes to the sea, it is important to remember that ancient peoples were relatively powerless in relation to the sea. Therefore it was also seen as an unpredictable, sometimes hostile entity in the magical sense as well (not that the magical world view was separate from the general one, since magic was a part of the technology, not a separate activity, though there were magical specialists).

In Iceland, where Norse mythology survived the longest, indeed long enough to be written down by Snorri Sturluson and others, an ambivalent attitude to the sea remained embedded in the folklore of fishing. From the ninth century CE to the early twentieth century, metaphors of fish were prevalent in popular discourse. Modern Icelandic still contains a number of references to fish in its metaphorical usage. For example, if an idea or thing is of no value, it is said not to amount to many fish (uppa marga fiska); a person who keeps quiet is said to be 'silent as a fish' (þögull sem fiskur).

The sea was seen as a hostile force, beyond human control. On the other hand, fish were an important commodity in Iceland; they were the staple diet, and dried fish was for a long time the most important monetary standard. However, access to the fishing grounds, via the harbours, was restricted by the landowners, and the price of fish was kept artificially low to give precedence to agricultural products. Hence the technology of fishing never developed much beyond the open boat with individual fishermen using hand lines to catch fish, because there was no economic incentive to develop the technology. The mythology therefore retained the view that the sea was an otherworldly realm, innately hostile to humans. The view of the sea from an open boat (a relatively insecure position) differs radically from the view from a larger vessel, less likely to be inundated by the next wave.

The Icelandic world view appears to divide the world into two domains, the sea and the land. Some fish inhabited both realms (e.g. the salmon, which occurs in rivers and in the sea). In Snorra Edda, Loki changes into a salmon to escape the punishment of the gods, and has two choices: to head out to sea, or to go inland, up the river. The salmon is regarded as a creature of transformation, because it belongs to both the sea and the land. Incidentally, this may shed a new light on the Celtic view of the salmon as a creature of wisdom. (The Irish myth was that the Pool of Connla contained wise salmon, who fed on the nuts which fell from the hazel trees growing around the pool.)

In Icelandic folklore, the sea is populated with a variety of mythical creatures, as well as fish, seals, whales, and otters. Medieval manuscripts describe 'sea women' (saekona), protective beings that 'have the nature of fish while in the sea but look like humans while ashore'. They are sexually attractive, and sometimes have sailors' children. There are also mermaids (margýgur) with huge breasts, the hinder parts of a whale, and the head of a giant woman; they sing beautifully, but destroy ships and kill people. Seals are said to have 'human figures, natures, and qualities all complete, concealed beneath their coats of seal skin' (Davidsson , 1900). There is perhaps a connection here with the myth of the selkie, the seal woman of Scottish folklore. The selkie is an aquatic being with the outer appearance of a seal, but human inside. At full moon, the selkies come out of the sea and dance on the beach. A Scottish folktale relates how a man hid a selkie woman's sealskin, thereby compelling her to stay ashore and marry him; eventually, however, her children found the seal skin hidden in a cleft in the rocks, and she returned to the sea. In Iceland, the seal was regarded as lucky, ensuring good catches and bringing valuable things from the depths. Its eye was also a kind of talisman; if a hunter caught a seal and gave its eye to a less successful hunter, it was supposed to improve his luck. Sometimes seals warned people of danger. However, if a seal was harmed, it would bring bad luck; in the Laxdaela Saga (1934), it is related that a boat was destroyed in a storm because the crew attempted to shoot a seal. The otter was another mammal with mythical connections; in the Volsunga Saga there is the story of a man called Otur (Otter) who was a great fisherman. During the day, he appeared in the form of an otter, staying in the water and catching fish, but came ashore during the night in human form and slept in a house. Another mythical sea dweller was the öfuguggi, a species of fish wih reversed fins, which swims backwards, is poisonous and has red flesh because it eats the bodies of drowned sailors. Another malevolent fish was the hairy trout (loðsilungur), which was believed to have been created by giants as a punishment for human misdemeanour. These fish were also believed to inhabit certain lakes. There were also the illhveli (wicked whales), which were never mentioned by name because they knew their own name and would appear if it was uttered; hence they were always referred to as stórfiskar (big fish) instead. There were distinct species of illhveli. One of these was the stökkull (jumper) which had flaps of skin hanging over its eyes, preventing it from seeing anything unless it leapt out of the water, which lifted the flaps. Once it could see, it attempted to destroy anything that floated. Another of these was the horse whale (hrosshveli), which was said to look like a horse and neigh like a horse; it had a huge horse's tail which made huge waves on the sea, destroying men and boats. There were also strange water beings that attempted to drag humans into the sea or destroy their boats: sea men (hafmenn), water horses (vatnanykrar), sea dogs (saehundar), and flying fish (flugfiskar), amongst others. It can be seen from all this that most of the beings believed to inhabit the sea were hostile to humans. Going back to Norse mythology, the ultimate sea being of course has to be Jörmunganðr, the world serpent. In Snorra Edda, it is related how Thor went fishing one day and caught the world serpent on the end of his line (which was, incidentally, just such a hand line as was still being used in the nineteenth century to catch fish). The thrashings and writhings of Jörmunganðr threatened to overthrow the world, so Thor had to let go. Possibly this semi-humorous episode is a foreshadowing of the events at Ragnarök, when Thor's adversary will be the world serpent, described in the Voluspa. It is interesting that the existence of the world serpent is necessary to maintain the equilibrium of Middle Earth, since it acts as a boundary of the seas. It is an immensely powerful being, not necessarily malevolent, but not particularly friendly if disturbed.

In modern Paganism, we tend to regard Nature and Nature spirits as wholly benevolent, in dialectical opposition to the supposed orthodox Christian view that Nature is 'fallen' and sinful. However, the traditional view was more complex, and being older than Christianity, did not particularly take account of Christian orthodoxy (since most people did not have access to the Bible, a popular Christianity developed which was a hybrid of popular magic and Christian belief). In traditional thought, there is a creative tension between the view of humans as separate from nature and of humans as a part of nature. Western culture is beginning, with a growing ecological awareness, to recognise the value of the traditional world view. However, this world view does not necessarily regard nature spirits as entirely benevolent; they may be indifferent to humans or even hostile, though some are friendly and helpful. On the whole it is recognised that these beings are pursuing an entirely different agenda from our own, which is somtimes in accord with our desires, and sometimes not. In Scottish folklore, for example, there is a whole class of water beings (usually occupying freshwater lakes) which may be malevolent, though some are helpful. The kelpie was a water spirit usually seen in the form of a young horse running along a river bank. When tired, it would strike the water three times with its tail, so heavily that each lash of its tail sounded like a crash of thunder; it would then disappear like a flash of fire into a deep pool. The kelpie also possessed a magic bridle, with which it enchanted people by looking at them through the eyelets of the bit. A magician could undo such enchantments by looking through the eyelet holes in the opposite direction; the kelpie's bridle could also be used in this manner to see elves, fairies, and other spirits. A kelpie's bridle was obtained by Seumas MacGregor, who lost his horse by Loch Slochd, and mistaking a passing kelpie for his horse, mounted it, only to find that it was trying to carry him off into the depths of the loch. So he called on the Trinity to save him, whereupon the kelpie threw him off, and he was left holding its bridle, which was passed down in the MacGregor family as a magical heirloom. There are also legends of water bulls and water cows. These spirits are not helpful, and may even be malevolent, but their magical qualities may be harnessed by humans for helpful purposes.

The ancient Celts had a similarly ambivalent attitude to the waters. Supernatural beings that emerged from the waters were often hostile. In the story of Cuchulainn's conception, there appeared a flock of supernatural swans who were laying waste the plain of Emain. The Washer at the Ford (a manifestation of Badbh or the Morrigan) was an omen of impending death in battle.

Fresh water lakes, springs, and rivers were generally regarded as benevolent (except, as we have seen, in the myth of the kelpie), whilst the sea was an unpredictable force. Fresh water was the source of life and fertility; the sea was a source of fish, but also the abode of strange supernatural fish and monsters.

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