Odin’s Quest for Wisdom

At the very beginning of things, long before there was a world, or a sun, or a moon and stars, there were the giants. They were the oldest creatures that ever drew breath. They lived in Jotunheim, a land of ice and darkness, and their hearts were cruel.

After them came the gods, the Æsir, who were good. They made the earth, the sky and the sea, and they lived in Asgard, high above the heavens. Then came the funny little dwarfs, who lived deep underground in the caves of the mountains, digging in their mines for metal and jewels. Last of all, the gods made people and gave them Midgard to live in. That is the good world we know. Between it and the shining home of the gods stretched Bifröst, the bridge made of rainbows.

In those days, people say, there grew a gigantic ash tree called Yggdrasil. It was so huge that its branches shaded the whole earth and reached right up into heaven, where the gods lived, while its roots stretched down below the deepest depths.

A strange family of creatures lived in that tree. At the top sat a great eagle, wiser than any other bird, except for Odin’s two ravens. Their names were Thought and Memory, and they perched on Father Odin’s shoulders and told him the secrets they learned as they flew across the wide world. Near the eagle sat a hawk, and four deer with branching antlers nibbled the buds of the tree. Coiled at the bottom was an enormous serpent that was always gnawing hungrily at the roots, along with so many little snakes that nobody could count them.

The eagle at the top and the serpent at the bottom were enemies, and they were always saying nasty things about each other. Up and down the trunk between them scampered a little squirrel, a gossip and a tattletale. He carried every unkind word from one to the other, like a spiteful neighbor, and so he kept their quarrel going forever.

At one of the roots of Yggdrasil was a lovely spring called the Well of Urd. Here lived the three Norns, the maidens who knew what had happened, what was happening and what was going to happen. The water of their spring was magic. Every day the Norns sprinkled it over the great tree to keep it green, and it was so holy that anything dipped into it turned as white as the thin skin inside an eggshell. Right beside this well, the gods had their council hall, and every morning they galloped over the rainbow bridge to meet there.

But Father Odin, the king of all the gods, knew about another spring that was even more wonderful. His two ravens had told him about it. It too lay under the roots of Yggdrasil, at the spot where the sky meets the ocean. For ages and ages, a giant named Mimir had sat beside it, guarding it, because at the bottom of this hidden well lay a treasure of wisdom that could not be found anywhere else in the world.

Every morning, Mimir dipped his gleaming horn into the spring, drew out a drink of the wonderful water and swallowed it to make himself wise. Every day he grew a little wiser. He had been doing this since the beginning of things, so you can hardly imagine how wise he was.

It did not seem right to Father Odin that a giant should keep so much wisdom to himself. The giants were the gods’ enemies, and they mostly used their wisdom for wicked ends. Besides, Odin longed with all his heart to become the wisest being in the world. So he made up his mind to get a drink from Mimir’s well, whatever it took.

One night, after the sun had sunk behind the mountains of Midgard, Odin put on his wide-brimmed hat and his striped cloak. Staff in hand, he trudged down the long rainbow bridge to the place where it ended, beside Mimir’s secret cave.

“Good day, Mimir,” said Odin as he stepped inside. “I have come for a drink from your well.”

The giant was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chin and his long white beard spread over his folded arms. His head was nodding, because Mimir was very old and often dozed off while he guarded his precious spring. He woke up at Odin’s words, frowning.

“You want a drink from my well, do you?” he grumbled. “Ha! I let nobody drink from my well.”

“All the same, you must let me have one drink from your gleaming horn,” Odin insisted, “and I will pay you for it.”

“Oho, you’ll pay me for it, will you?” said Mimir, looking his visitor up and down. Now that he was wide awake, his wisdom told him that this was no ordinary traveller. “And what will you pay for a drink from my well? Why do you want it so badly?”

“With my eyes I can see everything that happens in heaven and on earth,” said Odin, “but I cannot see into the depths of the ocean. I lack the hidden wisdom of the deep, the knowledge that lies at the bottom of your spring. My ravens tell me many secrets, but I want to know everything. As for payment, ask for whatever you like. I will promise anything in return for a drink of wisdom.”

Mimir’s sharp eyes grew sharper still.

“You are Odin, of the race of the gods!” he cried. “We giants are ages older than you. Our wisdom was gathered in the long years when we were the only creatures in all of space, and it is very precious. If I give you a drink from my well, you will become like one of us, a wise and dangerous enemy. For a gift as great as that, Odin, I shall ask a great price.”

By now Odin was growing impatient for the sparkling water.

“Name your price,” he said with a frown. “I have promised to pay.”

“Then what do you say to leaving one of those far-seeing eyes of yours at the bottom of my well?” asked Mimir. He hoped Odin would refuse. “That is the only payment I will take.”

Odin hesitated. It was a terrible price, and one he could hardly bear to pay, for he was proud of his noble looks. But then he glanced at the magic spring bubbling mysteriously in the shadows, and he knew he had to have that drink.

“Give me the gleaming horn,” he answered. “I promise you my eye for a hornful of water filled to the brim.”

Very unwillingly, Mimir filled the horn from the spring of wisdom and handed it over.

“Drink, then,” he said. “Drink and grow wise. But from this hour there will be trouble between your people and mine.” And wise Mimir was right.

Odin thought only about the wisdom that was about to be his. He grabbed the horn eagerly and drained it to the last drop. From that moment on, he was wiser than anyone else in the world, except for Mimir himself.

Then came the payment, which was not so pleasant. When Odin left the cave, one of his fiery eyes stayed behind at the bottom of the dark pool, where it twinkled and winked up through the magic water like the reflection of a star. That is how Odin lost his eye. It is also why, ever after, he pulled his gray hat low over his face whenever he wanted to pass unnoticed, for his single eye would give him away.

The next bright morning, when the sun rose over the mountains of Midgard, old Mimir drank a draught of the wise water that bubbled over Odin’s eye. As he did so, he could see from his cave everything that happened in heaven and on earth, so he too grew wiser from the bargain. It looked as if Mimir had got the better of the deal. He had lost nothing he could not spare, while Odin had lost one of the windows through which his heart looks out at the world. But what happened next tipped the scales in Odin’s favor.

Not long afterward, the gods quarreled with the Vanir, a rival group of gods, and there was a dreadful battle. In the end, though, the two sides made peace. To prove that they meant never to fight any more, they swapped hostages. The Vanir gave the gods old Njord the rich, lord of the sea and the ocean winds, along with his two children, Frey and Freya. It was a generous gift, for Freya was the loveliest maiden in the world. In return, Father Odin gave the Vanir his own brother, Hoenir. And with Hoenir he sent Mimir the wise, whom he took away from his lonely well.

The Vanir made Hoenir their chief. They thought he must be very wise, since he was the brother of great Odin, who had lately become famous for his wisdom. They did not know the secret of Mimir’s well, or that the white-bearded old giant was far wiser than anyone who had not tasted its magic water. It is true that at their meetings Hoenir gave excellent advice. But that was only because Mimir whispered into Hoenir’s ear every wise word he said.

Without Mimir, Hoenir was helpless. He had no idea what to do or say. Whenever Mimir was away, Hoenir looked nervous and scared, and if anyone asked him a question, he always gave the same answer.

“Yes, oh yes! Now go and ask somebody else.”

Of course, the Vanir soon grew very cross at such silly answers from their chief, and in time they guessed the truth.

“Odin has fooled us,” they said. “He has sent us his foolish brother, with a wizard to tell him what to say. Well! We will show him that we see through his trick.” And in their anger they put poor old Mimir to death and sent his head to Odin as a present.

The old tales do not tell us what Odin thought of this gift. Perhaps he was glad that now nobody in the whole world could be called as wise as he was. Perhaps he was sorry for the danger he had put a poor old giant in, a giant who had never done him any harm, except to belong to the race the gods disliked. Perhaps he felt a little ashamed of his trick. Odin’s new wisdom showed him how to care for Mimir’s head with herbs and spells, so that it stood upright on its own and seemed alive. From then on Odin kept it close beside him, and it taught him many useful secrets it still knew.

So in the end, Odin came out better than unhappy Mimir, whose only real fault was that he knew more than most folk. That can be a dangerous fault, as others have discovered, but it is not one that most of us need to worry about being punished for.

About this story

This myth is retold from In the Days of Giants (1902) by Abbie Farwell Brown, an American writer who retold the Norse myths for young readers. She drew on the two great books of Norse myth from medieval Iceland, the Poetic Edda and the Prose Edda.

Brown presents the eye as a serious price for extraordinary knowledge, then follows the bargain with a story about Mimir’s vulnerability. Brown spells the giant’s name Mimer and the goddess Freia; this retelling uses the more familiar Mimir and Freya. The bargain at the well is mentioned in the Poetic Edda, while the exchange of hostages and the fate of Mimir’s head come from Snorri Sturluson’s Ynglinga Saga.

Read the original: Abbie Farwell Brown, In the Days of Giants (Project Gutenberg #44622)

Suggested for ages 9–12 with an adult: includes Odin giving up an eye, Mimir being killed and his severed head speaking through magic.

More knowledge is not the same as better judgment

Odin gains wisdom at the well, yet the hostage arrangement places Mimir in danger. Hoenir appears wise only while Mimir supplies the answers, and the Vanir punish the adviser when they discover the deception. Mimir pays for other people’s choices despite being the one who actually knows.

Brown’s narrator initially calls the gods good and the giants cruel, then describes Mimir as someone who has done Odin no harm. The story itself complicates its opening categories.

Compare three kinds of cost

Record what Odin willingly gives at the well, what Mimir gains from the eye, and what Mimir later loses without choosing it. Does the final balance look the same from both characters’ viewpoints? Use the hostage episode as well as the well scene.

Talk about it

• Why did Odin want Mimir’s wisdom so badly?
• How does the cost Odin chooses differ from the fate imposed on Mimir later?
• Who do you think came out better from the bargain, Odin or Mimir?

Related stories

• The Mead of Poetry — Odin goes on another daring quest, this time for the gift of poetry
• The Creation of the World from Ymir’s Body — how Odin and his brothers made the world
• The Death of Baldur — the saddest of all the Norse myths