Heroism in the Nibelungenlied
Final thoughts on how the medieval German saga compares to Tolkien's works
“You know who’s a real hero? Hiro from Heroes. That’s a hero.”[1]
Long ago, someone decided it was best practice not to start an article with a quotation, but that person had never heard this gem from the character Dwight Schrute on The Office (US version). At the time the episode aired on NBC, the show Heroes was enjoying its brief domination of popular cultural discourse. “Save the cheerleader, save the world!” was being uttered in all sorts of situations, a fact that I will never be able to appropriately explain to those who did not come of age during the “Aughts.”[2]
For those who cut their teeth in the 90s, the most famous pop culture consideration of heroism may be Mariah Carey’s 1993 hit song “Hero,” which urged us to look inside ourselves to find the one who would save us.
“And then a hero comes along
With the strength to carry on
And you cast your fears aside
And you know you can survive
So when you feel like hope is gone
Look inside you and be strong
And you’ll finally see the truth
That a hero lies in you”[3]
Sixteen years earlier, it was David Bowie who sang of a pair of lovers daring to become heroes.
“I, I will be king
And you, you will be queen
Though nothing will drive them away
We can beat them, just for one day
We can be heroes, just for one day”[4]
Of all these modern definitions of heroism, it is Dwight Schrute’s that is closest to the classical Western ideal. While Bowie finds heroism in a romance that defies cultural norms, and Carey views it as the strength within each human being to overcome adversity, Schrute depicts it as that courage or strength of character by which one person delivers another from peril. He had earlier in the episode used pepper spray to neutralize a physical attacker, whereas Hiro from Heroes was presumably attempting to save the cheerleader and/or the world. (I never actually watched the show.) While this may not quite map onto the definitions of a prior age, it would at least be more recognizable as heroism to our ancient ancestors.
In the Nibelungenlied, we see an understanding of heroism common in pre-Christian northern Europe. It is certainly a strength of character, but it is not only that. Strength of character for the peoples of northern Europe was inseparably linked with physical strength, even as physical disabilities were linked to a deficit of character.
The chief way to demonstrate character was therefore in physical combat. The justice of the conflict and even the way a warrior conducted himself within said conflict were of less concern than the simple ability to best one’s opponents. This was how a warrior won renown and was elevated to the realm of heroes.
Let us see how this concept of heroism is revealed within The Nibelungenlied.
Heroism in The Nibelungenlied
The prototypical hero of The Nibelungenlied is Sivrit (Siegfried), a human who is nevertheless imbued with the abilities of a god. Describing Sivrit’s winning of the Nibelung’s hoard, the narrator tells of a fierce and bloody battle in which the Nibelungs are cut down without mercy. “Like wild lions they ran to the mountain, where he afterwards gained the cloak of invisibility from Albrich. Then Sivrit, that fearsome fighter, became lord over the hoard. Those who had dared to fight there all lay slain.”[5]
The invisibility cloak becomes the first of Sivrit’s superhuman powers. The second comes when he acquires invulnerability to weapons, as related by the character Hagen, who later becomes Sirvit’s nemesis. “I know yet more about him: that hero’s hands slew a dragon. He bathed in the blood—his skin turned horny. Therefore no sword can cut him, as has often been shown.”[6]
Armed with the world’s greatest sword, in possession of an invisibility cloak, and with skin that cannot be penetrated by a blade, Sivrit achieves renown in battle and is only brought down when his sole physical weakness is revealed, allowing Hagen to take treacherous advantage. Both Sivrit’s life and death are the stuff of magic, thoroughly drawn from the ancient pagan sagas.
This is a bit odd considering that The Nibelungenlied was written in high medieval Germany, and not just any part of Germany, but that which had been Christian the longest. The tale is at pains to show how its characters adhere to the principles of courtly behavior…except when they ignore those principles. It is precisely these moments that reveal the mixed inspiration behind The Nibelungenlied, as I have been arguing throughout this series. While its characters see the necessity of courtly morality, they define heroism in terms that are entirely pre-Christian.
In the second half of the tale, which focuses on Kriemhielt’s revenge against the Burgundians responsible for her husband Sivrit’s death, it is ironically Hagen who is portrayed as the chief hero. This makes little sense to the modern reader, as Hagen has thus far in the story shown remarkable character flaws. First, there was Sivrit’s murder, of which Hagen was the chief architect. Then on the way to the land of the Huns, Hagen attempts to murder a chaplain to disprove the doom pronounced against the Burgundians.
Yet, when the Burgundians arrive in Hungary and the inevitable slaughter begins, Hagen is explicitly described as a hero. The immorality of his previous deeds is of little consequence, nor does it greatly matter if he is justified every time he kills another member of the Huns’ party. It is in slaughter itself that Hagen reveals himself to be a hero.
The difference between our understanding of heroism and that of the tale’s author is clearest in the murder of Kriemhilt’s son Ortliep, which occurs without possible moral justification. “Then Hagen, that worthy hero, dealt the child Ortliep such a blow that the blood shot back along the sword up to his hand, and the boy’s head flew into the queen’s lap. Grim and massive slaughter began then among those knights.”[7]
Hagen is described as a “worthy hero”[8] at the moment he slays the child Ortliep, and later as a “famed, worthy hero” [9] during the height of the slaughter. He and his companion Volker are “haughty warriors.”[10] We read that, “Bold Hagen’s valour was mighty and great,” [11] and he had “courageous hands.” [12] It is safe to say this is a version of heroism that neither Mariah Carey nor David Bowie would recognize, and probably not even Dwight Schrute.
Did the person dictating The Nibelungenlied really find such behavior heroic? It is difficult to say. There are times when the narrator seems almost offended by the characters’ behavior, but not those times we might expect. He is passing on an oral tradition with ancient roots, and he generally does so without moral commentary. Perhaps this is because, while medieval Europe was highly influenced by Christianity, its approach to violence did not always match that of the Sermon on the Mount. Instead, the medieval embrace of violence points to how far the influence of pre-Christian societies stretched, a fact we will see demonstrated in the Volsunga Saga and Poetic Edda.
Volsunga Saga and Poetic Edda
Unlike The Nibelungenlied, the related Scandinavian sagas provide an extensive family history for Sigurd (Sivrit/Siegfried). We read of his father, Sigmund, who had children with two other women in addition to Sigurd’s mother. These characters all possessed marks of heroism, including superhuman abilities. One key example is in a passage about Sigmund and his son Sinfjotli, the latter a half-brother of Sigurd. When Sinfjotli is injured, nature itself comes to his aid. “Sigmund went out and saw a raven flying with a leaf. The raven brought the leaf to Sigmund, who drew it over Sinfjotli’s wound. At once Sinfjotli sprang up healed, as if he had never been injured.”[13]
Part of being a great warrior in Scandinavian culture was having exceptional kit. One had to look the part of a hero as well as play it. Therefore, we read that, “Sinfjotli stood up, his helmet shining like glass on his head, his coat of mail white as snow, his spear in his hand adorned with a magnificent banner, and his shield rimmed with gold before him.”[14] This emphasis on externals is also seen in The Nibelungenlied, where the narrator goes to great lengths to describe the clothing and weaponry of the main characters.
But while Sigurd’s relatives are exceptional, he is the one who most clearly fulfills the role of hero. “And when all the most renowned men and kings in the ancient sagas are named, Sigurd must be counted the foremost in strength and accomplishments, in zeal and valor. Of these qualities he possessed more than any other man in the northern world.”[15] Note what the author considers marks of greatness: physical strength, courage, and achievement on the battlefield. The inner life of the person is of little consequence compared to their behavior. Noble blood is taken as proof of noble character.
“All Sigurd’s weapons were ornamented with gold and were brown in color since he far surpassed other men in courtesy, in noble bearing, and in most other things. When all the mightiest champions and the most famous chieftains are reckoned, he will always be counted the foremost. His name is known in all tongues north of the Greek Ocean, and so it must remain while the world endures.”[16]
Sigurd is also great because his destiny is woven up in fate. To use the terminology of that culture, he possessed a powerful doom. At one point, Regin prophesies about Sigurd,
“I must nurture the battle-brave prince;
now Yngvi’s offspring has come to us;
he will be the most powerful prince under the sun,
his fate-strands extent through all lands.”[17]
The Poetic Edda sums it up the best. “Sigmund and all his sons surpassed all men in strength and size and courage and all accomplishments. Sigurd, however, was the most remarkable of all, and in the old traditions everyone says he was the greatest of all men and the most redoubtable of war-leaders.”[18]
Strength, courage, success in battle, supernatural abilities, a great doom: these were the things that made a hero in pre-Christian northern Europe.
Heroism in Tolkien’s Legendarium
The fiction of J.R.R. Tolkien provides many examples of heroism, most of which align at least partially with the pre-Christian ideas of northern Europe in those great sagas Tolkien loved so well. Húrin displays tremendous strength as he hews dozens of orcs to bits. Who could be braver than Beren and Lúthien when they entered the fortress of Morgoth himself? Aragorn and Théoden overcome tremendous odds in battles at Helm’s Deep and Minas Tirith. Gandalf achieves great things by the power of his magical staff. Eärendil’s fate is wound up with that of the whole world.
But when it came time to choose the greatest hero in his most famous work—The Lord of the Rings—Tolkien did not choose Gandalf, Aragorn, or even Frodo Baggins. He chose perhaps the most ordinary of all the major characters in that work: a hobbit who was inspired by the simple folk Tolkien knew living in the English countryside and the young men who had served loyally in the trenches of the Great War. For Tolkien, the chief hero of The Lord of the Rings was Frodo’s dearest traveling companion, Samwise Gamgee.
In a letter to Milton Waldman, Tolkien wrote, “I think the simple ‘rustic’ love of Sam and his Rosie (nowhere elaborated) is absolutely essential to the study of his (the chief hero’s) character, and to the theme of the relation of ordinary life (breathing, eating, working, begetting) and quests, sacrifice, causes, and the ‘longing for Elves’, and sheer beauty.”[19] Elsewhere, Tolkien wrote about Sam,
“He is a more representative hobbit than any others that we have to see much of; and he has consequently a stronger ingredient of vulgarity—by which I do not mean a mere ‘down-to-earthiness’—a mental myopia which is proud of itself, a smugness (in varying degrees) and cocksureness, and a readiness to measure and sum up all things from a limited experience, largely enshrined in sententious traditional ‘wisdom.’…Sam was cocksure, and deep down a little conceited; but his conceit had been transformed by his devotion to Frodo. He did not think of himself as heroic or even brave, or in any way admirable—except in his service and loyalty to his master.”[20]
From these descriptions of Sam, we can piece together Tolkien’s notion of heroism. It includes courage, yes, but not necessarily the kind that rushes into battle. It has nothing to do with physical strength or mental acuity. Fame and fate do not enter the picture. Instead, it is the ordinary person who remains faithful to his or her charge that has the power to change the world for good. And why are they so loyal? Because they love the earth. They love life! The simplicity of their pleasures keeps them, in a certain sense, from overstepping the mark. They are called to action not by overweening ambition, but a love for those entrusted to their care.
Consider how Sam responds when Gandalf first announces that he must accompany Mr. Frodo on a journey to Rivendell: “Me go and see Elves and all! Hooray!”[21] Poor Sam. He has no idea what is about to hit him! Despite overhearing Gandalf and Frodo speak of grave danger and epic events, his mind is overcome by the simple wonder of being able to view something that, for him, must be the closest thing to heaven on earth.
Soon after the hobbits set out for Rivendell, they encounter the Black Riders: fearsome servants of Sauron who are seeking out the Ring of Power that Frodo bears. Frodo has a brief conversation with Sam in which the latter’s loyalty is already clearly demonstrated.
“‘Well, Sam!’ he said. ‘What about it? I am leaving the Shire as soon as ever I can—in fact I have made up my mind now not even to wait a day at Crickhollow, if it can be helped.’
‘Very good, sir!’
‘You still mean to come with me?’
‘I do.’
‘It is going to be very dangerous, Sam. It is already dangerous. Most likely neither of us will come back.’
‘If you don’t come back, sir, then I shan’t, that’s certain,’ said Sam. ‘Don’t you leave him! they said to me. Leave him! I said. I never mean to. I am going with him, if he climbs to the Moon, and if any of those Black Riders try to stop him, they’ll have Sam Gamgee to reckon with, I said.’”[22]
After narrowly escaping death on multiple occasions, the hobbits do make it to Rivendell, and there Frodo is selected to bear the Ring of Power to Mordor and destroy it in the fires of Mount Doom. Sam insists on accompanying his Master. Before they depart, Frodo, Sam, and Frodo’s uncle Bilbo have another meaningful exchange.
“[Bilbo:]‘Books ought to have good endings. How would this do: and they all settled down and lived together happily ever after?’
‘It will do well, if it ever comes to that,’ said Frodo.
‘Ah!’ said Sam. ‘And where will they live? That’s what I often wonder.’”[23]
Here, Frodo is perhaps the most practical. He senses that if the quest is completed—and that is a massive ‘if’—they may not return, or perhaps they will not return whole. But Sam is not only hoping for the happy ending: he is thinking about where they will live. He is desirous of a life beyond the quest in which he will engage in normal activities. His greatest ideal is having a home of his own where he can live with his wife and children, sharing stories beside a roaring fire, harvesting the fruits of the earth, and eating at a beautifully laid out table. The good life, for Sam, is the simple life, and he will fight to the death for it.
Near the end of The Two Towers, the second volume of The Lord of the Rings, there is a moment when Sam believes that Frodo is dead. He weeps beside Frodo’s paralyzed form, uncertain what to do. They have already entered Mordor. The sacrifice has been great, but the quest remains incomplete. Hope is hard to find, but Sam rededicates himself to the task.
“He thought of the places behind where there was a black brink and an empty fall into nothingness. There was no escape that way. That was to do nothing, not even to grieve. That was not what he had set out to do. ‘What am I to do then?’ he cried again, and now he seemed plainly to have the answer: see it through. Another lonely journey, and the worst.”[24]
Frodo is finally revived, and the hobbits begin moving across the dark plain of Mordor with Mount Doom in their sights, but Frodo is too worn down by the burden of bearing the Ring and the endless miles they have traveled with little food and water.
“‘Now for it! Now for the last gasp!’ said Sam as he struggled to his feet. He bent over Frodo, rousing him gently. Frodo groaned; but with a great effort of will he staggered up; and then he fell upon his knees again. He raised his eyes with difficulty to the dark slopes of Mount Doom towering above him, and then pitifully he began to crawl forward on his hands.
Sam looked at him and wept in his heart, but no tears came to his dry and stinging eyes. ‘I said I’d carry him, if it broke my back,’ he muttered, ‘and I will!’
‘Come, Mr. Frodo!’ he cried. ‘I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you and it as well. So up you get! Come on, Mr. Frodo dear! Sam will give you a ride. Just tell him where to go, and he’ll go.’”[25]
There are few moments in all of literature that strike me as powerfully as this one. It was memorably portrayed in Peter Jackson’s film The Return of the King, with Sean Astin delivering a performance whose brilliance was tragically unacknowledged by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. As he wrote it, I’m sure Tolkien was thinking of his fellow soldiers fallen in the mud: of men attempting to carry their wounded comrades back to the relative safety of the trench through a wasteland of cratered earth and barbed wire. Perhaps he was also thinking of Jesus Christ carrying the cross up Mount Calvary, for in this scene we see heroism redefined according to the words of Christ: “Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13)
When the Ring is finally destroyed and the quest achieved, Frodo says to his faithful companion, “I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things, Sam.”[26] For Frodo, it truly is the end of all things, not only because he doubts they will be saved from the exploding volcano, but because he senses in his heart that even if they make it back to The Shire, there will be no life there for him. Some time later, when the hobbits have indeed returned to their homeland and Sam has married his sweetheart Rosie, he accompanies his old Master on a journey to the coast, where Frodo shocks him by revealing that he intends to depart for the Undying Lands of Valinor, from which he will never return.
“‘Where are you going, Master?’ cried Sam, though at last he understood what was happening.
‘To the Havens, Sam,’ said Frodo.
‘And I can’t come.’
‘No, Sam. Not yet anyway, not further than the Havens. Though you too were a Ring-bearer, if only for a little while. Your time may come. Do not be too sad, Sam. You cannot be always torn in two. You will have to be one and whole, for many years. You have so much to enjoy and to be, and to do.’”[27]
Sam’s fate is tied up with Middle-earth. He will have the normal life that Frodo cannot possibly enjoy. It is the life Sam always wanted. Yes, he longed to see the Elves, but he never hoped to live with them forever. He became a hero to make his own normal life possible among the simple people he loved. The ending of The Lord of the Rings reveals that amid all the fantastical characters and locations, it was really this vision of domestic bliss in the green countryside that was at the heart of it all.
“But Sam turned to Bywater, and so came back up the Hill, as day was ending once more. And he went on, and there was a yellow light, and fire within; and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap. He drew a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m back,’ he said.”[28]
This is a version of heroism very much in line with the principles of Christianity. It is Tolkien’s great diversion from the pagan sagas of centuries past. Here, the weak triumph over the strong, not by might or by power, but by the Spirit of God. They do so not for their own glory, but simply to enjoy the blessings of life that have been lavished upon all people. Their goal is not to escape the earth, but to see it renewed.
This concludes the series. If you wish to visit Amy’s personal Substack page, Sub-creations, you may do so at this link.
[1] “The Negotiation,” The Office (US version), Season Three, Episode Nine, Written by Michael Schur, Directed by Jeffrey Blitz, originally aired 5 April 2007.
[2] For the uninitiated, the Aughts has become a popular term for describing the years 2000-2009.
[3] “Hero,” performed by Mariah Carey, written by Mariah Carey and Walter Afanasieff, from the album Music Box released by Columbia Records in 1993.
[4] “Heroes,” performed by David Bowie, written by David Bowie and Brian Eno, from the album Heroes released by RCA Records in 1977.
[5] Anonymous. The Nibelungenlied (The Lay of the Nibelungs), Trans. Cyril Edwards, Oxford World’s Classics edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010),13.
[6] Nibelungenlied, 14.
[7] Nibelungenlied, 178.
[8] Nibelungenlied, 178
[9] Nibelungenlied, 179
[10] Nibelungenlied, 182
[11] Nibelungenlied, 185
[12] Nibelungenlied, 186
[13] Anonymous. The Saga of the Volsungs, trans. Jesse L. Byock, Penguin Classics edition (New York: Penguin, 1999), 45.
[14] Saga of the Volsungs, 49.
[15] Saga of the Volsungs, 55-6.
[16] Saga of the Volsungs, 72.
[17] Anonymous. The Poetic Edda, translated by Carolyne Larrington (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 150.
[18] Poetic Edda, 138.
[19] Tolkien, J.R.R. “131 – To Milton Waldman” in The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, ed. Humphrey Carpenter with assistance from Christopher Tolkien (New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2000), 161.
[20] “246 – From a letter to Mrs. Eileen Elgar (drafts)” in The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, 329.
[21] Tolkien, J.R.R. The Lord of the Rings, single volume movie tie-in edition (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1994), 63.
[22] Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, 85.
[23] Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, 267.
[24] Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, 715.
[25] Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, 919.
[26] Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, 926.
[27] Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, 1006.
[28] Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, 1008.
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