In the modern Western world, we think of the self as having two or three components: a body, a mind, and perhaps a “soul” that may or may not be identical with the mind. These few parts form a tightly coherent single whole that can be clearly and cleanly separated from its “environment.” The line that separates self and other is absolute and unalterable.

In the worldview of the pre-Christian Norse and other Germanic peoples, however, the self is a much more complex entity. It’s comprised of numerous different parts that are all semi-autonomous and can detach themselves from one another at will, and the border between the self and its “environment” is highly porous and ambiguous. Precisely what constitutes the self at any given moment is a matter that’s constantly being negotiated and re-negotiated between various factions.

The pre-Christian Germanic worldview has never placed much value on a uniform set of official doctrines, and, accordingly, it contains no comprehensive, systematic account of the parts that comprise the human self, to say nothing of other species. This present article makes no attempt to do such a thing either, and instead presents descriptions of six of the most important and commonly mentioned parts of the self in Old Norse literature: the líkamr (“vital processes”), the hamr (“shape/form/appearance”), the hugr (“thought”), munr (“desire”), the fylgja (“follower”), and the hamingja (“luck”).

The Líkamr and Hamr

The pre-Christian Norse had two distinct concepts for what speakers of modern English call the “body.” One is the líkamr (pronounced “LEE-kam-ur”), the set of vital processes that every human has. The other is the hamr (pronounced like the English word “hammer”), which literally translates to “shape” or “skin.” The hamr is one’s form or appearance, that which others perceive through sensory observation. Unlike in our modern worldview, however, that which is perceived by the senses is not absolutely and unalterably true or fixed. In fact, hamr is the most crucial word in the Old Norse lexicon of shapeshifting. The Old Norse phrase that denotes the process of shapeshifting is skipta hömum, “changing hamr,” and the quality of being able to perform this feat is called hamramr, “of strong hamr.”

The Hugr and Munr

Two other closely related parts of the self are the hugr (pronounced “HOOG-ur”) and the munr (pronounced “MOON-ur”). Both are often translated as “mind,” which is problematic because the speakers of Old Norse had no true equivalent of the modern English concept of the “mind,” just as there was no true equivalent of the modern English concept of the “body.” “Soul” is even worse; the Old Norse word for “soul,” sál, was invented only after the Norse were converted to Christianity, which demonstrates the prior lack of any such concept.^[1] (Various parts of the self were, however, perceived to live on after death or be reincarnated. See below and Death and the Afterlife.)

Hugr can be most satisfactorily translated as “thought.” It’s the part of the self that intuits, analyzes, and plans. It takes in information and contemplates it to foster understanding. It sets goals and develops strategies to achieve them.

Munr can best be rendered as “desire” or “will.” The munr is the seat of one’s likes and dislikes, love, sorrow, fear, hatred, happiness, and other emotions. The word munr is closely related to the verb munu, which expresses intention in the same way as the English verb “will” (as in “I will go into town tomorrow”).

There’s clearly a large degree of overlap between the hugr and the munr, particularly with regards to a person’s will and intentionality, but the differing tendencies are equally apparent.

The Fylgja

Remember the cats, ravens, and other familiar spirits who are often the companions of witches in European folktales? These are fylgjur (pronounced “FILG-yur”) in the plural and fylgja (pronounced “FILG-ya”) in the singular. The fylgja is generally perceived in an animal form by those with second sight, although human fylgjur aren’t unheard-of. It’s an attendant spirit whose well-being is intimately tied to that of its owner – for example, if the fylgja dies, its owner dies, too. Its character and form are closely connected to the character of its owner; a person of noble birth might have a bear fylgja, a savage and violent person, a wolf, or a gluttonous person, a pig. In a sense, this helping spirit can be seen as the totem of a single person rather than of a group.

Fylgja literally translates as “follower,” but, as often as not, it’s depicted as traveling ahead of its owner, arriving at the intended destination before its owner or appearing in the dreams of someone who will meet the owner the following day. Intriguingly, the term is also applied to the afterbirth,^[2] but the connection is mysterious and unclear.

The Hamingja

While there are countless entities that are considered parts of a human self in various places in Old Norse literature, the sixth and final one that we’ll be considering here is the hamingja (pronounced “HAHM-ing-ya”). The word is often used in an abstract sense to signify “luck,”^[3] but the pre-Christian Germanic understanding of luck is very different from our own. In Bettina Sommer’s fitting words, “luck was a quality inherent in the man and his lineage, a part of his personality similar to his strength, intelligence, or skill with weapons, at once both the cause and the expression of the success, wealth, and power of a family.”^[4]

Luck, the hamingja, is a personal entity in its own right, is part of the self, and can be split off from the other components of the self in certain circumstances. When a person dies, his or her hamingja is often reincarnated in one of his or her descendents, particularly if the child is given the name of the original owner of the hamingja.^[5] Sometimes, as in Viga-Glum’s Saga, the hamingja bequeaths itself to a relative of its original owner of its own accord, without any special naming having to take place.^[6] The hamingja can also be lent to others during life to assist them in particularly perilous missions where luck is needed especially badly.^[7]

The Animist Self

In any animistic worldview, including that of the pre-Christian Germanic peoples, the self is comprised of numerous parts that can go their separate ways when they choose to do so. This precludes the monadic individuality of the modern Western worldview as well as a bland “oneness” wherein there is no self at all. Instead, the indigenous northern European view of the self accords extremely well with anthropologist Nurit Bird-David’s concept of “dividuality.” A dividual is “a person constitutive of transferable particles that form his or her personal substance.”^[8] The ancient Germanic parts of the self are just such “transferable particles,” subject to the same growth, change, separation, and recombination that we find throughout the ecological world of which each of us, in turn, is a “transferable particle.”

If you’ve enjoyed this article and want to learn more about Norse mythology, I recommend picking up one of the books listed in this guide: The 10 Best Norse Mythology Books. And if you’re particularly interested in the worldview of the pre-Christian Norse and other Germanic peoples, you might want to take a look at my own book, The Love of Destiny: The Sacred and the Profane in Germanic Polytheism.

References:

^[1] Raudvere, Catharina. 2002. Trolldómr in Early Medieval Scandinavia. In Witchcraft and Magic in Europe, Volume 3: The Middle Ages. Edited by Bengt Ankarloo and Stuart Clark. p. 101-102.

^[2] Price, Neil S. 2002. The Viking Way: Religion and War in Late Iron Age Scandinavia. p. 59.

^[3] Ellis, Hilda Roderick. 1968. The Road to Hel: A Study of the Conception of the Dead in Old Norse Literature. p. 132.

^[4] Sommer, Bettina Sejbjerg. 2007. The Norse Concept of Luck. In Scandinavian Studies: Volume 79, No. 3. p. 275.

^[5] Ellis, Hilda Roderick. 1968. The Road to Hel: A Study of the Conception of the Dead in Old Norse Literature. p. 138-147.

^[6] Víga-Glúms saga 9.

^[7] Ellis, Hilda Roderick. 1968. The Road to Hel: A Study of the Conception of the Dead in Old Norse Literature. p. 132-133.

^[8] Bird-David, Nurit. 1999. “Animism” Revisited: Personhood, Environment, and Relational Epistemology. Current Anthropology 40: S67-S91. p. 68.