It's also identical to the command key on Apple keyboards. First and foremost, many Norwegians know it already as a square, looped knot (⌘ ) used to designate points of interest on maps and road signs. However, the name was taken from Norwegian valknute, which specifically refers to an entirely different range of symbols and ornaments that appears in textile- and woodworking. This this not to say that the valknut isn't a real term. The term was arbitrarily applied to the symbol in modern scholarship, but the historical precedence is non-existent. However, the elephant in the room is that the word * valknútr does not exist in the Norse language at all. While iconography is sometimes cited, the interpretation is mainly based on the etymology, which assumes that it comes from an Old Norse term meaning "knot of the slain". My arguments lean heavily on his groundwork.Īs mentioned, I assert that there is no sound evidence to support claims that the valknut was primarily a symbol of fate, sacrifice, death and binding.
His “ Valknútr”: das Dreiecksymbol der Wikingerzeit, is a solid piece of work that would have been earth-shaking, had it only been written in English instead of German. * Valknútr and Valknute, same but differentĬredit goes out to the research of Tom Hellers who wrote an entire book on this. I will still make the case that the valknut is a great example of spiritual idiosyncrasy drawn from faulty reasoning, which consequently brings more darkness than light to our understanding of pre-Christian religion. Rather, I hope I am adding something to public discourse that should have been said a long time ago. Obviously, I cannot argue with personal ideas and connotations, and I didn't write this article to burst any bubbles. Actually it's quite the opposite! I believe source criticism matters: It is not the enemy of fanciful speculation. I don't believe academic nuance has damaged my relationship with the symbol. If anything, the connotations have developed and matured with me. Regardless of source-critical status, it worked as the personal reminder I intended it to be. While I no longer accept this as the be all and end all interpretation of the symbol, it still retains a personal significance to me. By permanently fixing it to my skin, it showed my appreciation for the things in life, both good and bad, that are beyond our personal agency and control. My teenage self would say the valknut was an odinic symbol of sacrifice and fate. In retrospect, I suppose my perception was pretty standard. This younger, less discriminating version of myself went down to my local tattoo parlor, and asked for a dotwork valknut on my forearm, which I got. You may find some solace from my iconoclastic rampage in the fact that I am one of you.Īt the age of 18 I found myself in the blissful and rare situation of having few financial commitments, yet an abundance of spare cash. This demographic makes for a significant chunk of my reader base, and if you are one of these people, then please bear with me. The uncountable masses who wear it as a pin on their jacket. Who sold t-shirts, and those who bought them. This may be a shocking and provocative statement to make in the face of the thousands of people who have the so-called valknut symbol tattooed, even branded, or carved into their skin.
More importantly: No evidence connects the name to the symbol pictured above. The valknut, a staple not only of the study of Norse religion, but of modern heathenry and neopaganism as well, is actually an entirely spurious term: There is no evidence for a “knot of the slain” in any Norse source whatsoever.
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