In the medieval world, strange signs in the sky were rarely ignored. In AD 536, when the sun seemed to lose its light and the climate turned harsh, that catastrophe may have been remembered in the terrifying Norse legend of Fimbulvetr.
By Andrea Maraschi
In our medieval past, the sky was thought to be tightly connected with the landscape. Historical sources show a deep sense of fear caused by celestial phenomena such as comets, meteors, bolides, and even the aurora borealis. Lights in the sky were interpreted by Christian intellectuals and historians as ominous signs that were sent by God to mankind to forewarn it of major future calamities concerning both man and land. Drawing upon their knowledge of the Bible, medieval chroniclers interpreted signs from the sky as the words through which history unfolded according to God’s plans, but often their words betrayed worries that were probably not too far removed from the emotional reality of the common folk — and with good reason.
Fimbulvetr and Ragnarøkr in Old Norse Tradition
Fenrir and Odin (1895) by Lorenz Frølich
The connection between celestial phenomena and terrestrial events was not exclusive to Christians. There is at least one fundamental example from Old Norse mythology: Fimbulvetr (“the Mighty Winter”), that is, the major catastrophic event that precedes and introduces Ragnarøkr (“the Twilight of the gods”). Interestingly, scholars have convincingly argued that the story of Fimbulvetr refers to a specific phenomenon that occurred in the sky: the so-called “dust veil” of AD 536. In that year (and in the following years), “a cluster of very large volcanic eruptions triggered exceptional cooling and possibly drought across several parts of the globe”, leading to “a pronounced but short-term demographic contraction in several regions of the world”.
Many contemporary sources hinted at (or deliberately described) the ominous event, and addressed the dramatic consequences accompanying it (cooling of the temperatures, darkening of the sun, bad harvests, etc.). It is still not clear where the volcanic eruptions occurred, but it is fair to assume that their impact was almost worldwide and lasted from about twelve to eighteen months.
The bulk of Old Norse mythological tradition is found in 1) the Elder Edda (a collection of anonymous poems which were passed down orally for centuries, and which relate to facts and characters dating back to the migration period), and 2) the Prose Edda, compiled by the Icelandic Christian scholar Snorri Sturluson (1179–1241) around 1220, and heavily based on the Elder Edda. The description of Fimbulvetr in the Elder Edda is not as rich as Snorri’s, but presents interesting elements. In Vǫluspá (“The seeress’s prophecy”), a vǫlva (“seeress”) prophesies the future: Ragnarøkr, which would be ushered in by Fimbulvetr: “sunshine becomes black all the next summers, // weather all vicious”, the seeress recites. Many gods would be killed. Óðinn would be slain by the wolf Fenrir.
The poem Vafþrúðnismál (“The lay of Vafþrúðnir”) suggests that the wolf would also devour the sun, while Vǫluspá hin skamma (“The short prophecy of the seeress”) describes violent snowstorms and harsh winds that destroy the land and even kill the gods. Snorri Sturluson based his version of the story on this poetic and mythological tradition. “Snow will drift from all directions”, he begins in Gylfaginning.
All in all, Fimbulvetr is characterized by specific calamities: the sun turns dark, the moon and the stars disappear, the weather gets considerably worse, temperature drastically decreases, society collapses, the landscape is destroyed by massive earthquakes and floods. Eventually, the series of winters without summer is disrupted by a new sun, which emerges to replace the former.
AD 536 and the Dust Veil: When the Sun Went Dark
Olaus Magnus’ Historia from 1555: This woodcut illustrates the hard cold at the sunset. It is “fuming” from the open water. The men are dressed in coats, hats and boots of fur.
Such severe consequences are rather consistent with the 536 dust veil event, and it is no wonder that contemporary witnesses wanted to record it. The thick ash veil screened sunlight, and had a dramatic impact on the landscape. Dendrochronologists have demonstrated that tree rings in the northern hemisphere, from Ireland to Siberia, show basically no signs of growth in the year 536, and considerably limited growth in the whole following decade.
The impression that the wolf Fenrir may indeed be a poetic representation of the thick ash cloud that spread all over Europe is supported by many contemporary sources. Irish annals, for instance, report failures of bread for the year 536. Most interestingly, Roman scholar Cassiodorus (485–585), who in those years was serving the king of the Ostrogoths Theoderic the Great (454–526), proves very concerned about the mystery cloud.
He writes that a certain sign coming from the sky threatened to disrupt the otherwise harmonious order of all things planned by God. The sun and the moon lost their usual brightness, the sun turned blue, shadows on the ground were faint, and the temperature was dampened. Most interestingly, he notes that this was not the temporary consequence of an eclipse, but of another phenomenon that had started a year earlier. Cassiodorus describes the people as terrified, as the seasons seemed to have lost meaning: winter without storms, spring without mildness, summer without heat. The perfect balance of elements accorded by God to mankind was subverted:
…perpetual frost, and unnatural drought. The seasons have changed by failing to change.
The obvious consequences on the agricultural landscape were dreadful: the crops were devastated, the soil was barren, fruits did not ripen. He also reports that the snow was particularly enduring, for it was not melted by the sun’s warmth, and that, “in other times, too”, similar things had been observed as a consequence of a cloudy sky.
At least five contemporary Western written sources make reference to the event in very similar fashion (not to mention others from China and Japan). They report that the sun and the moon lost their brightness, that many birds died, and that extreme weather conditions ensued, along with the destruction of pastureland in Asia which caused the migration of thousands of people. In other words, it is undeniable that “something atmospherically and climatologically unusual” happened during and after 536.
In this sense, the social and cultural role of the Fimbulvetr myth should not be underestimated. Such a series of natural changes and catastrophes may well have led witnesses to compose poems and stories where said event was crystallized in metaphorical form. In this way, they could record the event, pass its memory down from generation to generation, perhaps with the intention of reminding the community (and future generations) that human existence is constantly threatened by events which are beyond mankind’s control. From this perspective, the story of Fimbulvetr seems to work as a lesson to learn about the infinitesimal power of man in comparison to nature. How does this relate to us now, though?
It definitely does. Only a few years ago, in 2018, an unseen meteor exploded over the Bering Sea. The explosion was as powerful as ten nuclear bombs: had it fallen into the sea or over the continent, the consequences would have been dramatic. It is fair to assume that the Eddic poets understood that life could be swept away in a moment, and it was necessary to teach this lesson to those who would inhabit the planet in the future. Unfortunately, as everyday news reports suggest, man does not seem to be an apt pupil.
In the medieval world, strange signs in the sky were rarely ignored. In AD 536, when the sun seemed to lose its light and the climate turned harsh, that catastrophe may have been remembered in the terrifying Norse legend of Fimbulvetr.
By Andrea Maraschi
In our medieval past, the sky was thought to be tightly connected with the landscape. Historical sources show a deep sense of fear caused by celestial phenomena such as comets, meteors, bolides, and even the aurora borealis. Lights in the sky were interpreted by Christian intellectuals and historians as ominous signs that were sent by God to mankind to forewarn it of major future calamities concerning both man and land. Drawing upon their knowledge of the Bible, medieval chroniclers interpreted signs from the sky as the words through which history unfolded according to God’s plans, but often their words betrayed worries that were probably not too far removed from the emotional reality of the common folk — and with good reason.
Fimbulvetr and Ragnarøkr in Old Norse Tradition
The connection between celestial phenomena and terrestrial events was not exclusive to Christians. There is at least one fundamental example from Old Norse mythology: Fimbulvetr (“the Mighty Winter”), that is, the major catastrophic event that precedes and introduces Ragnarøkr (“the Twilight of the gods”). Interestingly, scholars have convincingly argued that the story of Fimbulvetr refers to a specific phenomenon that occurred in the sky: the so-called “dust veil” of AD 536. In that year (and in the following years), “a cluster of very large volcanic eruptions triggered exceptional cooling and possibly drought across several parts of the globe”, leading to “a pronounced but short-term demographic contraction in several regions of the world”.
Many contemporary sources hinted at (or deliberately described) the ominous event, and addressed the dramatic consequences accompanying it (cooling of the temperatures, darkening of the sun, bad harvests, etc.). It is still not clear where the volcanic eruptions occurred, but it is fair to assume that their impact was almost worldwide and lasted from about twelve to eighteen months.
The bulk of Old Norse mythological tradition is found in 1) the Elder Edda (a collection of anonymous poems which were passed down orally for centuries, and which relate to facts and characters dating back to the migration period), and 2) the Prose Edda, compiled by the Icelandic Christian scholar Snorri Sturluson (1179–1241) around 1220, and heavily based on the Elder Edda. The description of Fimbulvetr in the Elder Edda is not as rich as Snorri’s, but presents interesting elements. In Vǫluspá (“The seeress’s prophecy”), a vǫlva (“seeress”) prophesies the future: Ragnarøkr, which would be ushered in by Fimbulvetr: “sunshine becomes black all the next summers, // weather all vicious”, the seeress recites. Many gods would be killed. Óðinn would be slain by the wolf Fenrir.
The poem Vafþrúðnismál (“The lay of Vafþrúðnir”) suggests that the wolf would also devour the sun, while Vǫluspá hin skamma (“The short prophecy of the seeress”) describes violent snowstorms and harsh winds that destroy the land and even kill the gods. Snorri Sturluson based his version of the story on this poetic and mythological tradition. “Snow will drift from all directions”, he begins in Gylfaginning.
All in all, Fimbulvetr is characterized by specific calamities: the sun turns dark, the moon and the stars disappear, the weather gets considerably worse, temperature drastically decreases, society collapses, the landscape is destroyed by massive earthquakes and floods. Eventually, the series of winters without summer is disrupted by a new sun, which emerges to replace the former.
AD 536 and the Dust Veil: When the Sun Went Dark
Such severe consequences are rather consistent with the 536 dust veil event, and it is no wonder that contemporary witnesses wanted to record it. The thick ash veil screened sunlight, and had a dramatic impact on the landscape. Dendrochronologists have demonstrated that tree rings in the northern hemisphere, from Ireland to Siberia, show basically no signs of growth in the year 536, and considerably limited growth in the whole following decade.
The impression that the wolf Fenrir may indeed be a poetic representation of the thick ash cloud that spread all over Europe is supported by many contemporary sources. Irish annals, for instance, report failures of bread for the year 536. Most interestingly, Roman scholar Cassiodorus (485–585), who in those years was serving the king of the Ostrogoths Theoderic the Great (454–526), proves very concerned about the mystery cloud.
He writes that a certain sign coming from the sky threatened to disrupt the otherwise harmonious order of all things planned by God. The sun and the moon lost their usual brightness, the sun turned blue, shadows on the ground were faint, and the temperature was dampened. Most interestingly, he notes that this was not the temporary consequence of an eclipse, but of another phenomenon that had started a year earlier. Cassiodorus describes the people as terrified, as the seasons seemed to have lost meaning: winter without storms, spring without mildness, summer without heat. The perfect balance of elements accorded by God to mankind was subverted:
…perpetual frost, and unnatural drought. The seasons have changed by failing to change.
The obvious consequences on the agricultural landscape were dreadful: the crops were devastated, the soil was barren, fruits did not ripen. He also reports that the snow was particularly enduring, for it was not melted by the sun’s warmth, and that, “in other times, too”, similar things had been observed as a consequence of a cloudy sky.
At least five contemporary Western written sources make reference to the event in very similar fashion (not to mention others from China and Japan). They report that the sun and the moon lost their brightness, that many birds died, and that extreme weather conditions ensued, along with the destruction of pastureland in Asia which caused the migration of thousands of people. In other words, it is undeniable that “something atmospherically and climatologically unusual” happened during and after 536.
In this sense, the social and cultural role of the Fimbulvetr myth should not be underestimated. Such a series of natural changes and catastrophes may well have led witnesses to compose poems and stories where said event was crystallized in metaphorical form. In this way, they could record the event, pass its memory down from generation to generation, perhaps with the intention of reminding the community (and future generations) that human existence is constantly threatened by events which are beyond mankind’s control. From this perspective, the story of Fimbulvetr seems to work as a lesson to learn about the infinitesimal power of man in comparison to nature. How does this relate to us now, though?
It definitely does. Only a few years ago, in 2018, an unseen meteor exploded over the Bering Sea. The explosion was as powerful as ten nuclear bombs: had it fallen into the sea or over the continent, the consequences would have been dramatic. It is fair to assume that the Eddic poets understood that life could be swept away in a moment, and it was necessary to teach this lesson to those who would inhabit the planet in the future. Unfortunately, as everyday news reports suggest, man does not seem to be an apt pupil.
Andrea Maraschi teaches Anthropology of Food at the University of Bologna and is a postdoctoral researcher at the University of Bari. He also teaches the online course The Magical World of the Early and High Middle Ages.
Top Image: Photo by Peter Stenzel / Flickr
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