Hafgerdingar
or, “Masons & Mirages: Seeing What’s Not There”
‘…the sea ice presents the appearance of a vast amphitheatre, which is so disposed, that every observer, whatever may be his position, imagines himself to be in the centre of it…’
I don’t trust my sight anymore. Confidence in sight is spurious at best, which I first realized when I recognized my need for prescription glasses. Truth be told it was not I, but people around me, who recognized the need. The gradual deterioration of vision is difficult to objectively self-diagnose. For a fifth grader, suppression of general perception became just as prevalent an issue as loss of vision. I would ask to copy my friend Brandon’s notes, not to cheat or be lazy, but because I couldn’t read the board. After all, eyesight is intrinsic to our interaction with the world, and we have no external measure to gauge against. As mine slowly deteriorated, I had a harder time seeing things, but I never really questioned what was going on. How can you objectively evaluate your vision if you know nothing else, especially prima facie, before time and experience start to illustrate the deficiency? Sight means more than optical vision though, and without coincident interpretation and comparative analysis, I don’t trust mine.
Konungs skuggsjá is Old Norse for “King’s mirror”, and the term refers to an encyclopedic document from the 13th century. Perhaps the most interesting thing it mentions is the word “hafgerdingar”. Konungs skuggsjá is written in dialogue form between a father and son. The son, seeking wisdom and understanding, asks his father about the world. They discuss everything from morality to the wonders of far off lands. In a section on the “Marvels of Greenland”, the father describes mysterious “sea hedges”, which in the original language is rendered “hafgerdingar”. He explains:
Now there is still another marvel in the seas of Green-land, the facts
of which I do not know precisely. It is called “sea hedges,” [hafgerdingar]
and it has the appearance as if all the waves and tempests of the ocean
have been collected into three heaps, out of which three billows are formed.
These hedge in the entire sea, so that no opening can be seen anywhere;
they are higher than lofty mountains and resemble steep, overhanging cliffs.
In a few cases only have the men been known to escape who were upon the
seas when such a thing occurred. But the stories of these happenings must
have arisen from the fact that God has always preserved some of those who
have been placed in these perils, and their accounts have afterwards spread
abroad, passing from man to man. It may be that the tales are told as the
first ones related them, or the stories may have grown larger or shrunk
somewhat. Consequently, we have to speak cautiously about this matter,
for of late we have met but very few who have escaped this peril and are
able to give us tidings about it.
I’ve wondered sometimes if I’m alone in questioning my perception of things, or perhaps more importantly worrying about my penchant for self-deception. This weaves through every area of my life, whether driven by fear, insecurity, animosity or even the desire for good.
I recently discovered the song, “The Mason” by a band named Tossing Copper. The song centers on meeting someone who you are interested in, but building your idea of them on little to no factual experience. You are a mason eager to construct something beautiful, and you’ve seen a glimpse of potential which burns your very soul with inspiration. You take what you see and you start constructing:
See I, I’ll take a thought
And I’ll let it go until underneath its weight I’m caught
When all I saw was a glimpse
Of who you might be, and I lay down these bricks
Building walls so lovely and strong
There’s no way, no chance I am wrong
Our castle stands, and I know just where she’ll fit
She’ll be with me here in my arms
And I’m crazy in love with who I think she is
This is something I relate to, both specifically and generally. It can be called “letting your imagination run wild”. You see, the Mason has a sight issue. Sight must be broadened to assume responsibility for not only the things we see but the inferences we make. A complete picture of sight is comprised of both intake and interpretation. He has seen this girl, and is captivated by her, but he doesn’t know her. His interpretation is faulty, distorted by his emotional reaction. He has already started to build permanent walls, lovely and strong, without a hint of second-guessing his conclusions. The problem is, if you make incorrect assumptions based on your incomplete sight, your interpretations may be off, or even completely wrong. This is a major weakness of mine. I know what it is to “see” something, come to a conclusion and begin to act without perspective checking my original assumptions. I know what it is to see something which isn’t actually there.
Irmgard I. Schroeder’s interpretation of the “sea hedges” matches the description of a more common phenomenon — the mirage. “A Dictionary of Hallucinations” explains:
For a long time it was believed that in this medieval text the term hafgerdingar refers to a circular tidal wave or a single rogue wave occurring at open sea, caused by a submarine earthquake or a capsizing iceberg, and actually capable of putting a ship in grave peril. However, a re-examination of the hafgerdingar’s original description indicates that the phenomenon in question may well have been a superior mirage or “fata morgana”.
Without getting too technical, these mirages occur when temperature discrepancies cause light to arc over flat surfaces, which sends signals our brains can’t rightly interpret. Because our eyes are acclimated to what we consider “normal” conditions or situations, when faced with unique distortions they continue to submit raw data without prejudice. They don’t compensate for the oddities on their own. Unadjusted vision cannot stand up to the power of the mirage—in short, what we end up seeing isn’t actually there.
When you are wrapped in the tendrils of a superior mirage, nothing is more vital than firm footing. Firm footing allows you to stay steady and logically interpret. Our brains will attempt to fill in the information we’re missing but when a situation moves to fast or our balance is thrown off, logic has to contend with additional factors which can sully its results. Our brains try to “fill in” the missing information (usually through assumptions), so to minimize the margin of error we should attempt to reason and interpret away from both literal and figurative turbulence. The sailors who witnessed the “sea hedges” surely would have felt horrific fear. In the case of this hafgerdingar effect, the entire sea on all sides would appear to rise up on the horizon like some monstrous tsunami heralding impeding destruction. Against such a force of nature, what protection does a wooden ship offer? It is hardly a place of firm footing. Often when we perceive things, our instantaneous reaction is one of strong emotion, which can be an enemy of rationality. Surely if the sailors would stay calm and continue to watch, they would be able to interpret better—the waves remained on the horizon, and after some time would cease to pose any threat. Staying calm, cool, collected and, indeed, cautious to jump to conclusions helps steer us away from danger and consequences of rash interpretations. It helps you avoid seeing what isn’t there. The story of “The Mason” ends with realization:
But I cannot justify this small suspicion that slowly is creeping in
That the castle walls are shaking
I fight the fact that maybe I was mistaken
And I hate when I knew that nothing was real
In all that I had believed to be true
And the walls came crumbling down
I began with the quote “…the sea ice presents the appearance of a vast amphitheatre, which is so disposed, that every observer, whatever may be his position, imagines himself to be in the centre of it…” because it sums up the point I want to really emphasize. When I am caught up in a situation driven by little information and quick interpretations (in other words, situations where I rely primarily on the intake side of my sight), I sit in the center of a vast amphitheater constructed of substance-less walls that reality will eventually topple. The less information taken in, the weaker the ability to interpret well. Fact gives way to fantasy, and fiction fills in the remaining gaps. This fiction originates internally—the Mason looking to build the love he desires or the sailors responding to the creeping fear of isolation on the open seas. We are so easily self-deceived because we know what we want to hear, or at the very least we know what we expect to be true. Whatever our true position, with our incorrect assumptions and without good interpretation of sufficient information, we lose objective sight, and we become the center of the situation.
So develop the wisdom to seek out the truth in situations. Combine the faculties of your eyes and your mind to avoid building walls which look lovely and substantial, but only block your view until you can’t see what is really happening. And perhaps most importantly, pay attention to your assumptions. By no means do I mean to say the act of assuming is to be avoided, for assumptions are tools we use which allow us to act in situations where the information simply isn’t adequate. Rather, avoid relying on assumptions when there is more data to be had. I’m not saying it is easy to find this balance and introspect—if I couldn’t even tell my eyesight was failing when I was younger, how much more difficult is it to self-assess my interpretive abilities? But if you head off these situations at the pass, there will be a lot less hafgerdingars in life to scare you.
