Norse Pagan Temples and Hofs

Many kindreds today worship entirely in private homes, rented facilities, or public parks, and this is likely to remain true for some time. However, groups that can afford to do so may wish to think about acquiring land or buildings for the worship of our heathen Gods and Goddesses. In February 2006, the main Ásatrú organization in Iceland was granted a plot of land for building a temple, planned to be 700 square meters, along with other facilities. After years marked by assorted setbacks, the temple itself should finally be completed in 2022. Several Heathens in the United States have built hofs and other dedicated buildings on their own land, such as Troth Elder Gamlinginn’s hof in New Mexico, profiled at length in Idunna 112 (Paxson, “Thorshof,” pp. 18-23).

We know that the gods were worshipped in holy groves, stones, hills, springs, and fields all over the Germanic-speaking Heathen world. A kindred today could certainly aim to purchase a plot of undeveloped land—woodlands, meadows, or whatever is available—and dedicate it, or part of it, to the worship of the Heathen gods and goddesses, the landwights, and the ancestors.

Tacitus claimed that the Germans of his day did not worship inside buildings at all, but this was never true everywhere.

We know of Roman-style temples built to Germanic deities along the frontier, such as the temples to Nehalennia in the Netherlands (see Our Troth volume 2, chapter 13). At one end of the scale, the 8th-century Indiculus superstitionum et paganiarum describes some Heathen holy places (fanae) as casulae, “huts” (ed. Boretius, Capitularia Regum Francorum, p. 223) At the other end of the scale, Adam of Bremen described the great temple at Uppsala as magnificently built and adorned with gold (History of the Archbishops IV.26, transl. Tschan, p. 207).

We have archaeological evidence for Iron Age “magnate estates,” which featured large halls in visually prominent locations, trade goods brought over long distances, evidence for specialized crafts such as metal casting, and structures for ritual (Price, Ancient Scandinavia, pp. 266-281). The magnate estate at Uppåkra, Sweden, included what was probably a temple, estimated to have been two stories high. There is no evidence for everyday life activities in this building, but a fine glass bowl and metal beaker were found cached inside, and 111 gold foil objects (guldgubbar) had been deposited in the post-holes and wall trenches. Surrounding the building were deposits of fire-cracked stones, animal and human bones, and destroyed weapons (Larsson, “A Ceremonial Building,” pp. 189-199). Buildings with evidence for ritual use and animal sacrifice, but no evidence for ordinary human life activities, have also been excavated at Yeavering in England (Hope-Taylor, Yeavering, pp. 325-332).

The Old Norse word for a pagan temple is hof.

This word comes from the root *hufa- meaning “hill” (Kroonen, Etymological Dictionary of Proto-Germanic, p. 252), and in most old Germanic languages hof came to mean “hall; dwelling,” as in Old English, and later “courtyard; farmyard,” as in modern German. In Old Norse, however, it came to mean “temple.” The connection may be the Iron Age magnate estates, which were working farms that were also sites of ritual activity, and which were often located on hills or other visually prominent points. In the Icelandic sagas, powerful people are said to have hosted holy feasts on their own farms.

Archaeologists working in Iceland have long debated over whether certain archaeological sites represent temples or wealthy farms. The answer seems to be that they were both: working farms, but with special structures built for ritual use, along with evidence for public animal slaughter and lavish feasting (Lucas and McGovern, “Bloody Slaughter”).

There are a few descriptions of hofs in the sagas, although we have to reckon with the fact that they were written over 200 years after the end of public paganism in Iceland. Eyrbyggja saga 4 describes the hof that Thorolf Mostarskegg built (ÍF 4, pp. 8-9):

Þar lét hann reisa hof, ok var þat mikit hús; váru dyrr á hliðvegginum ok nær ǫðrum endanum; þar fyrir innan stóðu ǫndvegissúlurnar, ok váru þar í naglar; þeir hétu reginnaglar; þar var allt friðarstaðr fyrir innan. Innar af hofinu var hús í þá liking, sem nú er sǫnghús í kirkjum, ok stóð þar stalli á miðju gólfinu sem altari, ok lá þar á hringr einn mótlauss, tvítøgeyringr, ok skyldi þar at sverja eiða alIa; þann hring skyldi hofgoði hafa á hendi sér til allra mannfunda. Á stallanum skyldi ok standa hlautbolli, ok þar í hlautteinn sem stǫkkull væri, ok skyldi þar støkkva með ór bollanum blóði því, er hlaut var kallat; þat var þess konar blóð, er svoefð váru þau kvikendi, er goðunum var fórnat. Umhverfis stallann var goðunum skipat í afhúsinu. Til hofsins skyldu allir menn tolla gjalda ok vera skyldir hofgoðanum til allra ferða, sem nú eru þingmenn hǫfðingjum, en goði skyldi hofi upp halda af sjálfs síns kostnaði, svá at eigi rénaði, ok hafa inni blótveizlur.

He had a hof raised there, and that was a large building. There were doors on the side walls and near the opposite ends. Inside stood the high-seat pillars, and they bore nails; they were called god-nails. Everything inside was a frith-stead. Inside the hof was a section similar to the chancel in churches now, and a stalli stood there in the middle of the floor, like a [Christian] altar, and lying on it was a ring with no joining, weighing twenty ounces, and all oaths had to be sworn on it. The hof-priest had to have that ring on his arm at all meetings. On the stalli an bowl for the sacrificial blood had to stand, with a blood-twig in it, like an aspergillum, and he had to use the twig to sprinkle the blood from the bowl, which was called hlaut. That was the blood that came from the animals that were offered to the gods. The idols of the gods were arranged around the stalli in the chancel. Everyone was obliged to pay the toll to the temple, and obliged to support the hof-priests in all their travels, as thingmen are now obliged to chieftains. But the priest had to maintain the hof from his own resources, so that it did not become dilapidated, and hold sacrificial feasts inside.

In his essay “The Troth Hof,” Kveldúlfr Gundarsson envisioned a hof built along the lines of a Norwegian stave church.

These churches, masterworks of woodworking and architecture, began to be built before the year 1100 and are thought to preserve some features of pre-Christian architecture.

An ideal hof would have plenty of room for feasting, with a large kitchen, space for overnight sleeping, a respectable library, a sauna, and classroom and workshop space for teaching crafts and lore. While it would be wonderful if a kindred could pull off the feat of building a modern “magnate estate” someday, in all probability our first hofs will have to be repurposed houses, churches, or commercial buildings. Even this would be a major financial responsibility and require a high level of commitment from many dedicated Heathens.

The important practical considerations here are to make sure that the ownership of the land or the hof is clear.

If the kindred owns the land or building as a group, it will probably have to incorporate, and plans will have to be drawn up for what will happen if the kindred splits or dissolves. If one kindred member is the owner, that unavoidably gives the owner a great deal of power in the kindred, and members will have to decide whether they’re comfortable with that (although this is close to the old Icelandic model, where whoever was rich enough to build and maintain the hof gained the allegiance of his neighbors).

There is also the matter of paying property taxes (unless you have legal nonprofit status, which isn’t as easy to get as it once was). And there is the matter of getting appropriate insurance; if someone gets hurt during your naked Walpurgisnacht bonfire-jumping contest, you will want to have liability insurance. In Iceland, the goðar who built hofs were allowed to charge a fee (the hoftollr) to maintain the hof. Today, any group that builds or buys a hof will probably have to have its members pay regular assessments for maintenance, and/or charge rent for other groups to use it.

Finally, there is the matter of security. Trespassers can range from innocently curious passers-by, to bored teenagers with cans of spray paint, to crazed fundamentalists convinced they’ll find evidence that you’ve been sacrificing babies. Both outdoor pagan sanctuaries and pagan stores in urban areas have been targeted by vandals because of their religious affiliations (e.g. Correll, “New Pagan Site Vandalized,” p. 16; Greene, “Pagan ‘Metaphysical’ Shops Navigate Threats”).

And of course, there is always the risk of theft, vandalism, or other property damage inflicted by the merely thoughtless. Assess your area and your neighbors and decide what security measures you need to take. This could range from putting up clearly visible “No Trespassing” signs, to installing security cameras, to hiring guards or requesting police lookouts. You will also have to decide just how widely you want to advertise your presence, especially if you are located in an area whose residents are not noted for tolerance.