The Problems are Solutions

Norse Mythology: The Treasures of the Gods

‘So now you know: that is how the gods got their greatest treasure.  It was Loki’s fault.  Even Thor’s hammer was Loki’s fault. That was the thing about Loki.  You resented him even when you were at your most grateful, and you were grateful to him even when you hated him the most.’

Thor awakes to find that his wife is bald.  Sif’s beautiful hair had been cut off by Loki.  Why?  ‘It was funny.  I was drunk.’  The usual.  Thor threatens to break all of Loki’s bones, every day for the rest of his life.  Loki promises that he can get the Dwarfs to make golden hair that will grow naturally.  Short story:  Loki goes to the sons of Ivaldi, and tells them that everyone is talking about how their rival workshop, the brothers Brokk and Eitri, are the better craftsman.  ‘They’ve challenged you’, he lies.     Three treasures for the gods of Aesir, to be judged by the gods themselves.  Best treasure wins…  Oh, and one has to be beautiful golden hair that must be able to grow naturally.  Loki then goes across the mountain to see the other Dwarfs, Brokk and Eitri.  They said this, they said that.  Brokk is a little more suspicious of Loki.  So he demands Loki’s head as a prize if they win challenge.

Loki tries to disrupt Brokk working the bellows, by turning into a black fly and bighting his neck.  It works, as the handle of Thor’s hammer is much shorter than intended.  But, although the gods love the sons of Ivaldi’s treasures (and Thor is delighted with his wife’s new hair), Brokk and Eitri win. 

‘Thor’s hammer is better even than my wonderful spear and my excellent arm-ring,’ said Odin, nodding.

‘The hammer is greater and more impressive than my ship and my boar,’ admitted Frey.  ‘It will keep the gods of Asgard safe.’

Loki’s quick and cunning mind gets him out of having his head cut off, by pointing out to the gods that the terms of the agreement didn’t include losing any part of his neck; and because it would be impossible to take off the head without a bit of neck, he wriggles out of the contract.  But Loki gets his mouth sewn up tight instead! 

‘So now you know: that is how the gods got their greatest treasure.  It was Loki’s fault.

Loki’s drunken folly is the catalyst for a cunning deception that ultimately leads to the creation of the greatest treasures in Norse mythology.  Loki is both problem and solution.   

There are so many paradoxes to the god Loki worth exploring, but this story highlighted to me a seemingly contradictory truth: the problems are solutions.  In fact, I had no idea that this was going to be the theme of this post until I had finished summarising the story above.  I had in mind to write about the wisdom of chaos or folly or something.  But it wasn’t really flowing.  It was proving slightly problematic to be honest.  Hmmmm, perhaps this will be a problem post.  And then I saw the connection to the story.  Something unlocked.  And the treasures started to emerge (not quite magical ships that can fold-up into tiny bits of cloth, or flying Boars, or powerful hammers… but little nuggets of meaning none-the-less).

According to Carl Jung, ‘Depression is like a woman in black. If she turns up, don't shoo her away. Invite her in, offer her a seat, treat her like a guest and listen to what she wants to say.’  In this light (or rather darkness) depression is not seen so much as the problem, but a voice that needs to be listened to.  She carries an important message.  That’s why she has shown up (of course, some forms of depression clearly need a professional medical diagnosis and treatment).  For Jung, the depression is a symptom, not the problem.  And it is the symptom that carries that diagnostic clue: the solution.  Something is out of balance.  Something has been pushed down (de-pressed).  Something wants to emerge and be seen and heard.  The psyche is rebelling.  It’s withdrawing its approval.  It’s as if the soul is protesting in the most effective and disruptive way it knows. 

Jung’s advice to welcome disruptive problems is beautifully expressed by the 13^th century mystic, Rumi, in his poem ‘Guest House’:

This human being is a guest-house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
Who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture.
Still, treat each guest honourably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Looking back, I have been visited by many such guests.  And more often than not I have not welcomed them in.  I have run away.  Much of my self-sabotaging and life-diminishing behaviour can be traced to avoiding these visitors; through escapes-routes such as alcohol and daydreaming!  But perhaps because there are fewer options left to explore now; or because I have lived long enough to collect some good data for proper analysis; or may be because I have simply run out of steam… I have started to be a little less hostile and a little more hospitable to the ‘dark thought, the shame and the malice’.  I’m nowhere near the laughing at the door stage, but I’m not slamming the door in their face as often as I was.  I haven’t had a drink for over five years.  Which for me, is one way of letting those guests take a seat in the house.  They’re actually turning out to be my best friends.  They encourage me to write and make music.  They love it when I take risks and fail.  They smile when I’m open and vulnerable.  They seem so proud when I simply sit down and feel their presence, rather than hurry-off into the next piece of work.  They care about my dreams and desires.  They ask difficult questions about my fearful and lethargic choices.  They remind me of my passions.  They point to neglected parts of my personality.  They dare me to connect with others.  They tell me the truth.

And yet, I still view them as problem guests.  I draw the curtains.  Turn off the lights.  Hide under the duvet.  But they don’t go away.  They get louder.  More annoying.   Even a little volatile…

But when I do let them in.  Sit with them.  Listen.  I see Loki:  the problem-solution.  And I feel the paradoxical resentment and gratitude that comes from encountering such a god.

‘That was the thing about Loki.  You resented him even when you were at your most grateful, and you were grateful to him even when you hated him the most.’