kylec | Slow Havamal 67

The 67th verse recounts how Odin has been invited to friends’ houses for dinner only when he had no need for food, or could could fill the inhospitable host’s larder more than he emptied it.

I suppose as long as there’s something good exchanged between men, there will be someone who tries to take advantage of it. From this verse, we can gather that the Norse had well-established hospitality laws, and that people either followed them, or knew it was wise to look like they did. Miserly friends take their turn hosting when the guest is already full or well-supplied. In fact, there must be some obligation on the part of the guest to provide what he can to his host in exchange for hospitality, or else there would be no attempts to fill cellars by inviting over the wealthy.

What we see on the “inhospitable host’s” part is an attempt to game the flow of gifts to their own advantage. He sees the basic acts of hospitality such as extending a dinner invitation as something that exists in isolation, and fulfills a duty, rather than a complex matter of timing and context. Hospitality becomes an empty ritual, divorced from its original purpose. It isn’t important to invite others for a meal, but to give to those in need. We should wait until our friend is hungry, his resources depleted, to share ours.

In fact, many relationships are maintained by one party because of the ways they stand to benefit from the other, irrespective of true friendship. It needn’t stop at food. If my guest has social status that I lack, am I merely hoping to transfer to myself what I can’t possibly extend in return? Of course, I may have something else to offer if the friendship is genuine. But to the extent that I pump my relationships to meet my needs without returning anything, I’m not actually engaging in hospitality, but a farce. True hospitality requires that I search for the need of the other, and fulfill it to the best of my ability.

If I’m kind to my friend when he’s in a good mood but avoid him when he’s down and out, how much good am I doing? Of course, there should be reciprocity, but it doesn’t have to be an instantaneous transaction. Rather than only calling when it serves me, I should look for opportunities to best serve others, knowing that there will come a time when the tables will be turned. It’s natural to fear a loss when we extend ourselves generously. There’s always the chance we won’t be repaid in kind. But if we’re consistent, others will see our character. The cast of guests may shift, leaving the moocher high and dry, while the generous benefit from one another.

I know I’m guilty of avoiding a difficult invitation. It often feels like a certain person will just be “too much” right now. But that same careful consideration of the other person’s situation that allows the miser to profit can be turned to find their time of need. Alternatively, I can simply ask how things are going, or extend my hospitality on a whim. While buying dinner is great, we needn’t limit ourselves to a single type of exchange. It’s rare that a person is so impoverished of spirit that they can’t provide something—even if it’s a friendly word, a funny story, or the underrated act of giving our attention.

A simple litmus test is to ask what I stand to gain from this encounter, and what my friend might gain, in turn. If I’m only calling when I need to vent, or popping up when there are interesting opportunities brewing, I might be in violation of the laws of hospitality. If instead it’s clear how I can help this person, especially if I can’t see how they might reward me right away, I can be relatively confident I’m doing it for the right reason. We all have needs and gifts, and we all need to give and take at times. Hospitality asks that we do more than go through the motions—that we accomplish the purpose behind the practice: to share the best of ourselves where it’s needed most.