CONTENTS

 Introduction

PART I  EVIDENCE FOR A COMMON FOUNDATION

1.  The Indo-Europeans

2.  Dumézilian Comparative Mythology

PART II  HISTORY AND ARCHAEOLOGY

1.  The Indus Civilization

2.  Germania, Scandinavia and Iceland

PART III  THE LITERATURE

1.  The Vedas

2.  The Eddas

PART IV  SYNTHESIS

1.  Aryan Invasion Theory

2.  Conclusions

Bibliography

 

 

In 1915, the German geophysicist Alfred Wegener published the world’s first treatise on the theory of continental drift.  He had merely noticed what better maps had made obvious -- that the continents of the world fit together like puzzle pieces.  Similarly, those who have read a variety of European mythology have felt much the same notion tugging at their consciousness; namely, that the myths of most of Europe appear to have once been united.  Similarities run throughout, so that even the casual observer notes the pervasiveness of certain themes.  It appeals to the “common sense” to believe that these myths, sharing substantial commonalties, are the offspring of like parents. 

Comparative mythologists set out to determine if the various mythologies of the European continent were indeed related, and immediately the question grew more complex.  No one is certain of where, when or by whom most of the myths have been composed, and these details can be impossibly difficult to trace.  In addition, mythology, unlike temples, cannot be studied in anything approaching isolation.  It reflects the fundamental ideology of a people, and as such is related to every aspect of the society.  Influenced by factors as various as language, social structure, physical environment and foreign contact, it cannot simply be read in the bricks.  When one does attempt to read ideology into physical artifacts, the results cannot help but be speculative. 

Particularly inviting to such comparisons are the mythologies of the Indic Vedas and the Norse Eddas.  Separated by a minimum of two thousand years and four thousand miles, one might expect them to bear little resemblance to one another.  While superficially correct, it is also true that in certain ways they are remarkably similar, particularly when one considers their great temporal, linguistic and geographical distance from one another.  They also serve well as temporal bookmarks in the history of religion. 

The Indic Rig Veda has been dated by contextual evidence to approximately 1500 BCE, but there is reason to believe it may have been composed far earlier.  Today the Hindus recognize four Vedas, of which the Rig is the earliest.  While their written heritage dates only to about the 3rd century BCE, the Vedas are certainly much older.  Sages known as rishis maintained an exacting oral tradition which ensured that the Vedas would be faithfully carried through time; held to be shruti, or divine revelation, their contents were not to be altered.  They may well contain the earliest documentation of Indic polytheism known to modern scholars.   If it can be said that the various mythologies of Europe are indeed sprung from the same ancestral mass, then the Rig Veda may be closest in age to that body. 

The Norse Eddas, by contrast, are of comparatively late origin.  Yet they hold the unique distinction of having survived what was generally the death blow of Christianity.  As such, they are some of the only existing testaments to the state of European heathenry just before and during the Christian era.  While the pagan works of the Greeks and Romans still stand, the Eddas are a valuable link to the Germanic tradition which, together with these classics, form the spine of our own.   Viking in temperament and dated in a range from the eighth to the fourteenth centuries of the Common Era, they represent perhaps the “last stand” of European polytheism. 

“Edda” means “grandmother,” and scholars have been unable to explain why the works bear that name.  While many suggestions have been offered, the simplest has been all but overlooked:  that the Eddic composer Snorri was simply invoking his wise grandmother, who may have told him the tales he transcribed.  “Edda” itself may be derived from the Sanskrit veda, or sacred vidyä, both of which are terms for “knowledge;” cognates include the German wissen, the Swedish veta, and the old English wit, for “to know” (Titchenell, p. 20).  Therefore it is fitting that a grandmother should convey knowledge.  Together the Eddas and Vedas  represent bookends on the shelf of European religious history; the further apart they are set, the more knowledge can be placed in between. 

 

PART I -- EVIDENCE FOR A COMMON FOUNDATION

1.  The Indo-Europeans

It has long been obvious to scholars that certain mythological themes appear cross-culturally.  One finds remarkably similar characters and stories throughout the diverse folklores of Europe and, indeed, the world.  For centuries scholars have noted like elements in Vedic and Norse lore.  Perhaps most emphatic in his views was the Swedish scholar Fredrik Sander, who in 1890 published his Rigveda-Edda, wherein he asserted that the mythology of the Norse is a direct descendant of the Indic Vedic tradition.  He was quite convinced that the Eddas had succeeded in preserving the spirit of the Hindu myths even more faithfully than had the Greek and Roman traditions (Titchenell, p. 22). 

The well-known comparativist Max Müller believed that the Eddic tradition actually preceded that of the Vedas, which seems incredible considering the great antiquity of Vedic society.   Despite their problematic dating, the content of the myths is similar enough to encourage the speculation that they share a common parentage.   Alternative hypotheses do not stand up to even the beginnings  of scrutiny.  The contention that the two mythologies arose independently to develop such striking correspondences invites the revivalization of Spencerian notions of “psychic unity.”  Diffusionist arguments, too, seem to pale in the face of the great distance between India and the Scandinavian countries.  Literary and linguistic evidence combines to suggest that a single body of ancient lore has grown and divided, transforming over time into a multitude of traditions which have traversed a significant part of the globe. 

The beginnings of this hypothesis lie in the year 1767, when James Parsons published The Remains of Japhet, being historical enquiries into the affinity and origins of the European languages.  Despite this early work, it is Sir William Jones, who, due to his academic credentials, is credited with the “discovery” in 1796 of the Indo-European family of languages.  Both men, noting sweeping similarities in lexicon, proposed the hypothesis that the languages of Europe, Iran and India were all related through a common ancestor.   That ancestor, they claimed, could be traced back in time to a point no earlier than Noah’s ark, from whence they were convinced all modern humans originated. 

Despite the limits of their vision, the basic point is sound.  There are indeed characteristics present in the family of Indo-European languages that suggest its members are united by common ancestry.  One great proto-language is imagined to have grown and splintered, producing branches as different from itself and from each other as they are removed in space and time.  These languages have been carried across the continent by the people who spoke them, who in some cases may be as close genetically as they as linguistically. 

The linchpin of this theory lies in the fact that reliable and systematic phonological shifting can be demonstrated to occur between the languages, as with the Greek g and the Germanic k:  Greek gyne, Old Norse kona “woman”; Greek genos, Old Norse kyn “family”; or Greek agros, Old Norse akr “field’” (Mallory, p. 13).  Simple correspondences are also abundantly present, such as the Sanskrit devas, the Latin deus, Lithuanian dievas, Old Irish dia and the Old Norse plural tivar, which are all words for “gods” (Mallory, p. 128).  Of particular interest to the present paper is the following set of correspondences: 

                                                     sky                               father

Sanskrit                                         dyaus                          pita 

Greek                                            zeu                              pater

Latin                                              Ju                                piter

Umbrian                                         Iuve                             patre

Illyrian                                            Dei                              patyros

Hittite                                            ^DSius                 -----

Proto-Indo-European                       *dyeus                        pEter 

(Mallory, p. 128) 

While J. P. Mallory is not willing to deduce the role of the divinity he has named here for us, it has nevertheless become a distinct possibility that the speakers of these related languages share a related mythology.  For if all of them have a term for the “Sky-Father,” then surely they must all have an explanation for who he is; he must be provided with an underlying mythological base.  Since they all refer to him in the same terms, the various mythologies must have common elements.  While it is true that myths appear to diffuse more readily than languages, some of these shared elements may in fact date to a time when the language, too, was shared. 

Language, without writing, is nearly impossible for the archaeologist to trace.  The migration of a pre-literate people leaves no linguistic clues in its wake, and when a site of occupation is discovered, it is difficult to determine its linguistic identity.  While we may know where they went, how they made their pottery and what they ate for dinner, we can rarely know where they came from, who they were related to or what language they spoke.  Archaeologists plod on despite this: 

"The linguistic identity of archaeological cultures more distant from the historical record may be thought to lie beyond reasonable inference.  This is not, however, an option open to the archaeologist engaged in the Indo-European homeland problem, and we will have to follow the archaeological evidence as best we can."  (Mallory, p. 165) 

When there is no system of writing, information can still be maintained and transmitted by an oral tradition.  If the circumstances are right, eventually the body of knowledge will be preserved as text.  In the case of mythology, as old as culture itself, that preservation occurs at an exceedingly late date.  A body of lore having its origin at the time of linguistic unity would not have been written down until well after the language had undergone significant change.  Linguistic change, along with thousands of years of culture, likely had profound effects on the resulting mythos.  Whatever similarities remained must have been truly fundamental. 

2.  Dumézilian Comparative Mythology

It was the brilliant comparativist Georges Dumézil who first pointed out the tripartite division of Indo-European society.  While this was not immediately apparent from the archaeological evidence,  it was clear from the surviving mythologies.  There is ample textual evidence to indicate that the ancient communities of the Indo-Europeans were characterized by a tripartite social class system and a tripartite religious ideology, as is readily exemplified by the three “Aryan” castes of medieval and modern India.  He discussed three fundamental principles around which this tripartite ideology revolved.  Distilled simply, they are:  “(1) the maintenance of cosmic and juridical order, (2) the exercise of physical prowess, and (3) the promotion of physical well-being” (C. Scott Littleton, in his introduction to Dumézil, p. xi).  Dumézil called these “functions.” 

The first function embraces sovereignty, and at the top of the social hierarchy stands a class of priests and shamans, such as the Indic Brahmans, to serve as administrators.  Responsible for contracts both with the gods and between people, their tasks lie in different realms.  Fittingly, the function is typically fulfilled on the divine level by a pair of sovereign gods such as Mitra and Varuna in Vedic India, Jupiter and Dius Fidius at Rome, and Óðinn and Týr in ancient Scandinavia.  While one god concerns himself only with the divine, the affairs of humans are left to the other.  The two of them rule together at the top of the divine hierarchy while the priests enjoy primary status among mortals.  

The second function is characterized as military.  It is expressed and fulfilled by a warrior class which is often the ruling class.  Their duty is to defend the society against enemies as well as to promote its economic well-being through conquest and raiding.  Examples include the Indic Ksatriyas, the Roman milites and the Norse Vikings.  They are paralleled on the cosmic level by great warrior divinities such as the Vedic Indra, the Roman Mars, and the Norse Þórr (Thor).  Of particular interest in this set of deities is the ambiguity inherent in the role of aggressor-defender.  Þórr, smasher of Giants, while no one to antagonize, is also the warder of Miðgarð and the protector of human-kind.  Both he and Indra possess a kind of potent power which is not always kept in check, and it is best to remain in their favor. 

A third function embodies the concepts of fertility and sustenance, embracing the herder-cultivators or “common” people, i.e., the Indic Vaisyas.  Concerns at this level include the fertility of humans, animals and land, and the well-being of the people.  While ranked below the first and second strata, the third is the level upon which the other two depend for their existence.  It is the herders and cultivators who feed and clothe the priests and warriors, and it is their labor which provides the surplus of goods necessary for the maintenance the class structure. 

The divine representatives of the third function also tend to occur in pairs, but usually as twins (e.g., the Greek Dioscuri, the Vedic Ásvins) or close relatives.  The Norse pair, Njörð and Freyr, are thought to be father and son.  They are intimately associated with horses (the Indic Ásvins, “horsemen,” or Nasatyas), and they are accompanied by a goddess who is either a sister or wife of one of them.  The Indic Ásvins, for example, are tied to the goddess Sarasvati, the Greeks Castor and Pollux to Helen, and the Norse Njörðand Freyr to Freya.  The Roman case provides an exception, where the god Quirinus stands alone as the divine ambassador of the third function.  (Mallory, p. 132) 

Either the tripartite division of society is reflected in its cosmology, or the ideology is dictating the social structure.  It is a chicken-and-egg riddle; perhaps the best guess is that reality shapes the myth, and then the myth perpetuates the reality.  In India, the modern caste system was preceded by a classificatory scheme dating back at least to Vedic times.  While it is true that the Indic scheme is divided into four classifications, it is clearly conceived of as a system of three-plus-one.  While the first three classes are deemed “arya-,” the sudras are “an-ärya -,” “non-Aryan,” or simply, “others.”  The sudras, held to be outsiders, are not fully integrated into the society of the Aryans.  Thus Vedic society “proper” is divided into Brahman intellectuals (bráhman- originally meant “effective verbal construct,” “formula,” or “prayer”), Ksatriya warrior-administrators (ksatrám meaning “rule,” or “dominion”), and Vaisya workers (vis- designating the “[tribal] village,” and vésa- meaning “household”).  (Puhvel, p. 45) 

Citing the fact that the Sanskrit term for “caste,” “várna-,” means “color,” it has been suggested that the phrase “an-ärya,” or “non-Aryan,” refers to the darker-skinned Dravidians, who are thought by some to have been the indigenous population of the Indian subcontinent.  Such arguments fail to consider the possibility that the word may not have been intended quite as literally as it has been taken.  In a society rich in ritual and symbolism, a literal interpretation may be misdirected.  Colors themselves have symbolic value, and have traditionally been associated with social status.  Thus, communists were once “Reds,” while American liberals were “Pinkos.”  Green is commonly associated with nature (third function), red with blood (second function), and white with purity (first function); witness the flags of countries as diverse as Italy, Hungary, Bulgaria, Lebanon, Iran, India and Ireland.  Perhaps the word várna- was meant to be understood in this context, as the three “colors” of Aryan society. 

The Norse Lay of Ríg, or Rigsþula, provides solid evidence for the social tripartition of ancient Scandinavia.  It recounts the ancestral tale of the god Ríg (also known as Heimdallr), who fathers three sons by three different mothers.  These three men in turn come to father three types of people.  The first son, Thrall, is born with dark hair, a dark complexion and dull eyes.  His nasty nails, gnarled knuckles, thick fingers and ugly face do not prevent him from finding a wife, Thír (“Drudge”), and fathering a brood of dullards with names such as Bastard, Paunch, Stumpy, Stinker and Lout.  These are the ancestors of the “race of Thralls,” or slaves.  (Hollander, p. 122) 

Karl, the second son, is born with a ruddy complexion and swift eyes.  A builder and a farmer, the hard-working Karl marries Snœr (“Daughter-in-Law”). 

 

In their homestead, happy,                     they had a brood,

hight Man and Yeoman,                          Master, Goodman,

Husbandman, Farmer                             Franklin, Crofter,

Bound-Beard, Steep-Beard                   Broad, Swain, and Smith.

By other names                                     were known their daughters: 

Woman, Gentlewoman,                          Wife, Bride, Lady, 

Haughty, Maiden,                                   Hussif and Dame: 

thence are come                                    the kin of carls. 

 

(Hollander, p. 124) 

Earl is born last. He is blond and fair of skin, and his blazing eyes are a mark of nobility.  Only he is of high enough birth to merit any further attention from his father, Ríg, who returns to teach him the runes and take him as an heir.  Earl becomes a great warrior and a generous sovereign, and the father of many children including Boy, Bairn, Heir, Squire, Son and Scion.  (Hollander, p. 127) 

While Vedic lore describes priests, warriors and cultivators, Eddic lore speaks of nobles, freemen and slaves.  Class in both traditions was ascribed at birth, but the Norse system was far more fluid.  Priests could be either nobles or freemen, and even slaves could be warriors.  The emphasis seems to have shifted away from function to status.  The comparativist Jaan Puhvel relates these shifts in ideology to shifts in phonology.  He explains that the Germanic languages are, on the whole, 

"subject to wholesale yet systematic and structured slippage in phonology ( the so-called sound shifts that made English father out of *pater) and extreme stylization in verbal morphology (with “principal parts” like sing, sang, sung)."  (Puhvel, p. 191)

He suggests that the entire mythos, having been constructed at some earlier time, has undergone a sort of transposition.  Just as morphemes undergo slippage and shifting,  so do mythos, ideology and social structure.  With the loss of the priestly class among the Germans, the tripartite social system seems to have “slipped a notch.”  Puhvel continues,

"Caesar noted (De bello Gallico 6. 21. 1, 6. 22. 1) that the Germans had no equivalent to druids and cared little for ritual.  Hence, instead of priests, warriors and peasants, early Germanic legal sources speak of nobiles, ingenui, serviles, thus aristocrats, freemen and slaves, more like a decapitated Vedic system (minus the Brahman) of räjanya, vaisya, and sudra."  (Puhvel, p. 191) 

Despite the general pre-eminence of the priestly class, kingship is usually associated with the warrior class.  In India, the king (raja) was of the Ksatriya caste, while the Germanic king’s reputation was staked almost entirely on his success in battle.  As warriors invade and become kings over the land, warrior divinities become kings of the gods.  But while Indra, king of the Indic gods, was conceived specifically to be the champion of the gods (a soma-intoxicated bersirk, as it were), Óðinn, king of the Norse gods, is a different type of warrior.  He is more General than Infantryman, directing the operations by the guidance of his shamanic vision.  This requires further elaboration. 

Among the Vikings, war was a constant theme.  A reading of Hávamál reveals the prevailing philosophy that fame was all-important.  Nothing was more ignoble than dying without renown, and death itself was scorned:

"Deyr fé     en orðstír

deyja frændr     deyr aldre

deyr sjalfr it sama     hveim er sér góðan getr. 

Cattle die, kinsmen die, oneself dies the same; but fame alone will never die for him who gains a good one’."  (Einarsson, p. 32)

Men desired most of all to earn fame through bravery and conquest.  They cared little about death, and thought little about killing even a friend when vengeance was called for.  Such a murder could be forgiven by the payment of Wergild, a sum regarded by the victim’s family as equivalent to his worth.  This practice is also seen in Vedic society, where Wergeld was paid in proportion to the victim’s status (Tyler, p. 50). 

As the desire for fame grew eventually to achieve the status of raison d’etre, the Norse warriors sought access to the magico-religious.  If one is to be continually successful in battle, one must then acquire divine and magical power.  A magical sword such as Sigurd’s, a runic spell, the assistance of a Valkyrie -- all are to be sought after and plentiful in the lore.  The rage of the bersirkir, too, is divine, and sacred to Óðinn.  

Óðinn himself, already a warrior, becomes a shaman, too.  An extremely complex god, he is an administrator- warrior; he does not personally experience the rage of the bersirk so much as he imparts it to others.  Cunning and wise, he is not a fighter but a devious and manipulative magician, an “orchestrator of conflict rather than a combatant” (Puhvel, p. 193).  Warrior-king of the gods despite his lack of participation in battle, he gains shamanic wisdom by voluntarily undertaking a personal ordeal.  Sacrificing himself to himself, he hangs himself, wounded, upon the world-tree Yggdrasil for nine nights until the secrets of the runes come to him.  (Hávamál, st. 138) 

Among the Norse, the first two functions of priest and warrior appear to have merged.  Visionary fighters and magical heroes were likely more valuable to them than the maintenance of a separate class of religious practitioners, so the categories were integrated.  The result is a redefined tripartite hierarchy which has opened up its classification to include bondsmen and slaves. 

Combined evidence strongly indicates that the ancient Indo-Europeans had a unified conceptualization of human society as being properly composed of three classes:  priests, warriors, and herder-cultivators.   Slaves have probably always been part of the reality, but as they were usually taken from enemy populations, they were easy to dismiss as outsiders to the classificatory scheme.  Perhaps when two of the Norse categories merged, they were recruited into the scheme to maintain the tripartition.  Perhaps this tripartition came as naturally to the Norse as it does to us, and their social structure did not feel solid without it. 

Georges Dumézil has argued that early evidence for the tripartition of Indo-European society can be found in a treaty between Matiwaza, King of Mitanni, and the king of the Hittites.  Dating to about 1380 BCE, the agreement invokes the Indic gods Mitra, Varuna, Indra and the Nasatyas.  According to Dumézil, the first two names usually occur paired in the Vedas, as “Mitra-Varuna.”  They represent, as discussed above, the two distinct aspects of sovereignty encompassed by the first function; while Mitra handles matters between humans, Varuna concerns himself with the magico-religious, attending to covenants with and between the gods.   Indra, the warrior-god, represents the second function, while the Nasatyas, divine twins who are associated closely with horses, livestock and people, represent the third.  (Mallory, p. 131) 

This tripartite conception of the order of human society has served as a lens through which the Indo-Europeans have viewed the world.  Consequently there are repeated instances of tripartition in the mythology, and the number three itself appears with great frequency.   Even today people speak of three fates, three tenses (past, present, and future) and three bears.  A sentence such as the previous one does not feel complete if it does not contain three examples. 

One recurring theme in Indo-European mythology is the “three sins of the warrior,” wherein the warrior figure commits an offense against each of the three functions, including the one he represents.  In opposition to the first function, the warrior will defy or cause harm to come to his sovereign.  In opposition to the second function, of which he is sovereign, he will display either cowardice or dishonor, thusly discrediting and disgracing himself.  Finally, he will commit an assault, usually sexual, against a representative of the third function.  (C. Scott Littleton, in his introduction to Dumézil, p. xi) 

Indra is the classic “triple sinner.”  His first offense is the slaying of Trisiras, the triple-headed dragon son of the Brahman god Tvashtar; the murder of a Brahman by a warrior is an offense against the first function.  Later, when the demon Vrtra threatens to overpower Indra, the god sues the beast for peace.  He then breaks the truce and murders him.  By doing so, Indra acts in opposition to two functions:  breaking a covenant works against the first function, while Indra’s cowardice in the beginning and unwarranted force in the end oppose the warrior principle, or second function.  Stripping himself of his last shred of dignity, he acts in opposition to the third function when he disguises himself as the husband of a beautiful woman and has sex with her. 

While a ready parallel exists in the offenses of Herakles, one must stretch considerably in the search for a Norse example.  Winn Shan offers the tale of Starkad, as told in the Gesta Danorum of Saxo Grammaticus and the Icelandic Gautreks Saga.  Both sources are exceedingly late and the theme seems to have undergone substantial reconfiguration, if indeed it is related at all.  While the hero does commit three offenses, they appear to be unrelated to the three Dumézilian functions.  They are, as was Norse society, more concerned with treachery and cowardice. (Winn, p. 197)  The original theme, an expression of the ambiguities inherent in the warrior role, is not found intact among the Norse, perhaps because the Vikings saw no such ambiguity. 

The number three makes appearances when Indra slays a three-headed monster, and when the Norse Æsir attempt to burn their nemesis three times but she is “thrice reborn”  (Voluspá st. 21, Hollander).   Indra’s faithful ally, Vishnu, is often referred to as “three-stepper” or “wide-strider” in the Rig Veda.  The name recalls his primordial deed of propping apart the Universe with three strides, thereby creating the two-part dwelling of both gods and mortals. 

"Let me now sing the heroic deeds of Visnu, who has measured apart the realms of the earth, who propped up the upper dwelling-place, striding far as he stepped forth three times.  They praise for his heroic deeds Visnu who lurks in the mountains, wandering like a ferocious wild beast, in whose three wide strides all creatures dwell."(Rig Veda I. 154. 1-2)     (O’Flaherty, p. 226) 

The Norse god Viðarr provides an interesting parallel; his very name contains the exhortation ‘Wider!’  (Puhvel, p. 56)  At Ragnarök it is he who will stride forward to defeat the wolf Fenrir by planting one foot on his lower jaw and then ripping his mouth open.  It is characteristic of Norse mythology that this great and defining deed occurs in an eschatological context, as is the case with Þórr’s slaying of the Miðgarð serpent.  The Indic episode, by contrast, is an act of creation.  (Puhvel, p. 204) 

The number three is also of significance to what J. P. Mallory has called “The Threefold Death” of the Celts and Germans.  Among these peoples, evidence has shown that human beings were sacrificed or executed in one of three ways, each being representative of one of the three Dumézilian functions: 

"The ancient Gauls, for example, made offerings to three gods -- Esus, Taranis and Teutates -- by recourse to hanging, burning and drowning, respectively.  This pattern is replicated in the pagan Germanic punishments of hanging, stabbing and drowning, each technique correlated to the crime for which the victim was convicted."  (Mallory, p. 139) 

It appears that hanging was the appropriate punishment for a violation of the first function, while stabbing and drowning are associated with the second and third functions, respectively.  Drowning in general has sometimes been construed to indicate a sacrifice to “Mother Earth,” as opposed to “Father Sky.” 

This apparently omnipresent tripartite ideology actually functions within a dualistic framework, as Dumézil and his colleagues were quick to point out (Mallory, p. 140).  Both the first and third functions are typically expressed through a pair of gods, and the underlying theme of all of it seems to be a battle between good and evil, or darkness and light.  This dualistic undertow is reflected in a mythological “War of the Functions” which pits the representatives of the first two functions against those of the third, thus reducing the three strata to two, and finally to one.  As Michael and his angels battle Satan and his cohorts in the Biblical Revelation, so too battle the Suras and Asuras in the Rig-Veda, and the Æsir and Vanir in the Eddas.  Theosophist Elsa Brita Titchenell suggests that the two sides of the duality "belong to different levels of existence, one superior to the other; they may also parallel the Hindu kumäras (Skt.  virgins) and agnisvättas (those who have tasted of fire), respectively gods who remain unmanifest and those who have imbodied immaterial worlds."  (Titchenell, p. 42) 

 The Norse “War of the Æsir and Vanir” begins with an unsuccessful murder attempt and ends with an exchange of hostages.  The Vanic gods Njörð, Freyr and Freya go to Asgarður live among the Æsir and in return, the Vanir are sent Mímir, whom they promptly behead, and Hœnir (Hollander, p. 9).  Unfazed, Óðinn makes priests of the three Vanir and the gods are unified. 

The Indic version of the divine “War of the Functions” has as its cause Indra’s contempt for the Nasatyas, also known as the Ásvins, whom he holds to be unworthy of receiving the soma sacrifice.  Soma is particularly important to Indra because it is the beverage which enables him to defeat Vrtra and become king of the gods.  As healers of the people, the Asvins are polluted by their contact with humans.  Such intimate involvement in the affairs of mortals is enough to earn Indra’s disdain and foment his reluctance to share any offering of the sacrificial beverage. 

The priest Cyavana challenges Indra by invoking the Asvins during a performance of the soma ritual.  Indra responds angrily by attempting to launch a thunderbolt at him, only to find that his arm has been stayed by the mighty seer.  Cyavana then produces the powerful Asura, or demon, Mada (“Drunkenness, Intoxication”), whose gigantic mouth threatens to swallow up Indra whole.  Overcome with fear, Indra is coerced into admitting the Asvins and peace is made (Winn, p. 67; Puhvel, p. 61). 

The creation of Mada is reminiscent of the Norse figure Kvasir.  In the Skäldskaparmäl of the Snorra Edda, a truce is effected between gods when the two parties spit into a crock.  Óðinn saves the stuff and fashions out of it the wise man, Kvasir, who is killed by dwarfs.  Mixing his blood with honey, they produce the mead of poetry.  In India, Mada is the monster that forces the resolution of the conflict, whereas in Iceland, Kvasir, in a manner of speaking, seals the bargain.  Puhvel points out that in India, alcohol came to have negative connotations, whereas in Iceland, those who partook of the sacred mead of poetry were granted wisdom and poetic power.  (Puhvel, p. 210) 

The Indo-European “War of the Functions” may have served, among other things, as a reminder to the lowest stratum of society that they were to be subservient to both priests and warriors, a “situation divinely chartered by a mythical war which their ancestors lost” (Mallory, p. 139).  It may be an expression of the oft-stated culture versus nature dichotomy; while the first and second functions are concerned expressly with the individual acting in society, the third is occupied primarily with the natural rhythms of life.   Some have even argued that the war represents actual battles that occurred in the ancient past between migrating populations and the peoples they encountered.  None of these hypotheses can be substantiated.  

In addition to commonalities of structure, Indo-European mythology displays some regularity in personage.  While some deities can be recognized by their names alone, as in the previously mentioned case of the “Sky-Father,” others can only be identified by the pattern of interest they display in the affairs of humans.  In general, the similarity between Þórr and Indra is striking, but there are of course differences.  Indra has much wider scope as a warrior deity than does Þórr; much of the role that Indra plays in Indic mythology is relegated to Óðinn in the Norse conception. 

Rig Veda Book 10, Hymn 153

1          Swaying about, the Active Ones came nigh to Indra at his birth,

            And shared his great heroic might. 

2          Based upon strength and victory and power, O Indra is thy birth:  </