When do you push the inevitable?
You must know victory-runes. If you want to know victory. Carve them into your sword’s hilt, on the blade guards and the blades, invoking Tyr’s name twice. — Sigrdrífumál
I love mythology. All forms, all cultures. The effect these stories would have had with the people of that era evokes great interest in me. There are lessons, parables, and reflections that can help us better understand our world, better analyse our actions, and ground us in a world unbound.
What is life but a series of inevitable occurrences? Our planning, execution, and vision fall meaningless in the macrocosm of existence. Meaning is something we derive for ourselves trying to make sense of our limited perceptions employing our organs, language, and actions. Were these anymore than rationalising our emotional puzzle is something no one has an answer for. Least of all, I.
Inevitability is a strange concept. You know something is going to occur. You know there is nothing you can do to stop it. You are well aware of its slow march, permeating through everything you can ever perceive. And yet you linger, near the perceived end of what you hold dear, around the fables you narrate to yourself, and the falsehoods you convince of yourself.
Inevitability. Even the gods are not free. As a person interested in mythology, inevitability doesn’t go unnoticed in the many legends. Like Krishna who goes to establish a kingdom knowing he will bring about its downfall. Like Athena who couldn’t impart her wisdom to the very ones she gained it from. Like Tyr who stood in front of the proverbial wolf who would devour the very heavens.
It is the last one that fascinates me most. Tyr. One of the most enigmatic characters in the Norse pantheon. Did you know that the origin of the name, Tuesday, is actually Tyr’s Day? I didn’t. We’ve all heard of Thor, Odin, and Loki. Tales of valour, heroism, and sheer grit. And yet, the most beautiful story that showcases all these traits with foresight is the one with Tyr. I guess it was inevitable.
Tyr is a fascinating personality. He is the Norse God of War. The Norse, who are famous for their warrior-like mythology, have none of the triumvirate as their leader but instead, rely on Tyr, who is also sometimes equated with the God of Justice. For war was the best way to receive justice in their pantheon.
Fenrir, the mythical wolf is born, who is destined to devour the gods and end the cycle of existence to begin things anew. When Ragnarok occurs, Fenrir will rise up to devour the celestial heavens once he has finished killing the gods themselves. Tyr is famous because he sacrifices his arm to Fenrir while he is being bound by divine chains. This is a beautiful story with great courage, will, and sacrifice. This story got me thinking a lot. For the poems that describe it and the translations derive its meaning are too short.
And so I set about thinking about this, constructing a fable around the verses. As a world-builder myself in the many tabletop games I conduct, I cannot help but think there’s more than what is recited.
Here’s Fenrir, a puppy who has no idea what he is destined to be. Destruction is his own inherent nature. In a world just a couple of meals away from anarchy, eons in this case, it’s impossible to change. What should he do? So he grows. In strength, in aggression, and rage. The eyes a pair of clear ponds grow cracks, like the very earth split from within, the irises once playful globules now turn red with fury. The teeth playing fetch with unmatched glee become fangs with a savage sharpness. The yelps of joy turn into growls of menacing hate as it slowly evolves into the very reason for its existence.
Here’s Tyr, a God who brings peace amidst the heavens. A god who speaks every language ever conceived, communicating with creatures that existed from before the gods arrived. His justice the very paragon of trust, his valour the epitome of courage, and his foresight the farthest reaching among the gods. His very existence a balance between gods and men, worlds and realms, duty and morality. A truly incorruptible being, an unstoppable force among the gods.
As Fenrir grows older and more aggressive, the gods start fearing for their existence coming to an inevitable end. And they try various things to tame the wolf. They tell Fenrir that they will use many binding techniques just to test its strength. The wolf happily obliges, passing every one of them with remarkable ease. The gods try chains, gates, and barriers to attempt to bind Fenrir. But they cannot. Not easily done.
They finally go to the realm of dwarven smiths and get divine chains crafted by the fabled smiths. But when the time comes, who would be brave enough to stand in front of the beast is a question that lingers?
Who indeed, you ask? No one but Tyr, say I.
When the gods bring the divine chain to bind him, the unsuspecting wolf takes a look at the light weight of the chain and instantly goes on guard. And so, Fenrir places a condition to the gods to undergo a test. One of the gods must stand in front of the wolf as a show of faith. So that if the gods are truly to be indulged, it shall be so with a bet of their own existence.
The gods hesitate. But Tyr does not. He stands in front of the majestic wolf and as he witnesses the binding, he realises that Fenrir cannot break free. He feeds the wolf while the gods bind him. He pats the head as it eats from his hands. And Fenrir eats patiently. The trust between them absolute, for a moment both achieve perfect harmony while the universe holds its breath.
The chains grow tighter. The wolf struggles violently, its fangs blaring, paws flailing, its eyes a maelstrom of agony and pure rage. In an instant it reaches out with all its might, one last time. And in that instant, Tyr holds out his arm as a show of faith. And it descends upon him, bites off his arm with its mighty fangs, and leaves his arm dripping with blood. A brutal bite. Tyr stands. In silence.
Both of them stare at one another. No words are exchanged for the divine barter is complete. A hand for freedom.
No part of Tyr is screaming. Like a man who has concluded a simple transaction, he stands. No pain in his eyes, no agony in his breath, no satisfaction at the outcome of what transpired. Yet he stands. In silence.
The gods erupt in joy. They know that Fenrir was bound for eons to come. As they rejoice at their extended lives, they ask Tyr about his silence. Tyr responds, “I’ve only pushed the inevitable.”
Folklore as a parable for real life
Life gets to us in many ways. We procrastinate, we end up making our lives miserable, we sometimes push what will definitely come to pass. Why do we do this? Why do we push what is bound to happen? Why do we push the inevitable?
Don’t worry. I’m not a self-help author and I have no tips to improve your life. You can trust me. I respect you enough to know that you will deal with your own challenges. Inevitability haunts every individual. And there are many instances where inevitability haunts the whole world. If you observe, all the questions I asked point to Why.
What could Tyr have done differently, I wonder. Refuse to step up? He couldn’t, for justice would lose its meaning. Advise the gods to make amends with Fenrir? No, for it was Fenrir’s nature to eventually destroy the gods. Could he have run away? Maybe, but the end was still inevitable.
The world today hangs on a precipice. Humanity’s foundations are being shaken. Technology’s march is faster than our brains can process it. Information is rife, exceeding amounts far beyond collective human ability. The world order is turning into a self perpetuating hamster wheel. Where existence is merely the means to an end, where ideas are mere placeholders for absurdity, and things exist without any purpose. All the while the earth gets plundered, our value for life keeps decreasing, and every semblance of meaning goes hidden behind an indecipherable wall of pretend progress. Everything has a definitive outcome, but we are busy delaying the descent, perpetuating the destruction, pushing the inevitable.
Only here there are no gods, no masters. Justice is an eloquent dream, fairness a distant memory, and betrayal just a norm. Everybody accepts, everybody concedes, everybody concurs. We are both destructor and the chain. Only the chains are no longer binds to leash a beast, but a means to establish dominance over both man and beast. With false promises of salvation, false premises of freedom, and delusions of sacrifice for the weak.
What can we do differently? Refuse to step up? We cannot, for the trapdoors have forever been triggered. Allow our hubris to make amends with peace? No, for it is our nature to stay on top of everything else. Could we run away? No, for there is nowhere to go.
The horncall has already been sounded. Will we revel in our limited history while dooming the rest of future? Will we be remembered for our plunders which we cast as progress? How long will we push against the relentless march of time and entropy?
How long can we push the inevitable?
