Slow Havamal: 4

[kylec]

In the fourth verse, we are told that the man arriving needs water and dry clothes. That a warm welcome from a friendly host will do him well. And beside his basic needs, it would be good to share our stories, and listen to his.

Odin once more reminds us to tend to the basic needs of the guest—apparently those dry clothes are worth a second mention. But the main thrust of this verse is the social aspect. The man at the door needs water. He’ll be parched from a long journey. From a physical standpoint, thirst is primary to all the other requirements while we still draw breath. I have no idea if the Norse had elemental systems the way that the Greeks or the Chinese did, but water meant more than just the cold liquid running over the cup in those latter. It also symbolized healing, and connection between things—whether a river to travel by, a meeting place, or the words people exchange. The emotional life and that which can be shared by two individuals would have all been “watery” to a number of past cultures.

So the host must be friendly. Hospitality requires more than a grunt of acknowledgment and a plate plunked down before a guest. He can continue if all he gets is a cup and a little food, but what he really needs is to feel welcome, like he belongs. Consider how you feel at a doctor’s appointment, or dealing with some government bureaucracy. Forced to wait, rushed through with little courtesy, and a final, short interaction that fulfills only the duties of the individual involved. Far be it that you might have individual needs beyond the scope of a stereotyped interaction.

This is true of literally receiving guests, and when we treat hospitality as a metaphor for entering into new endeavors. People are not machines, and we aren’t just looking for a binary yes/no input. Were you fed? Did you drink? Then what are you complaining about? Rather, hospitality functions as a whole system. If a guest feels he is imposing on the host, though he may be helped, he’ll spend the time in a state of low level anxiety, eager to be on his way. That’s no way to rest from a journey you’ll be resuming soon enough. The way that we say hello, seat the person, when and what questions we ask, our body language, the time it takes, and a thousand other subtle signals interact to create an experience that is radically different, to the point that no two guest experiences, even between the same host and guest at a later date, can be exactly the same.

Whether I’m entering into a new situation (guest) or taking in new experiences in a familiar one (host), the way all parties go about things will determine what everyone gets out of it. The intention behind the act matters as much as the act. While the basic needs are almost assumed in this verse, the willingness to tell your stories, and listen to the other person’s, is a treasure. In its healing capacity, this exchange of water eases a burden and cleanses the mind. It might be no great offense to go through the motions, but to do so is to remain in the same isolated state, barely affected, and unwilling to learn. Some folks are happy to tell their story and unload their joys and grievances. They dominate the conversation by imposing their own perspective and refusing an ear. But to refuse to encounter novel information or adjust one’s perspective is to refuse to learn. Sadly, that’s what often passes for human discourse. We prefer to browbeat another with our own narrow ideas, if we talk at all. So both parties leave as weary as they met, though probably with enough food to stagger on to the next such encounter.

Less common but equally inappropriate is one who listens but refuses to share. That would be me, if I’m supposed to believe the feedback of every friend and family member, ever. (And it’ll make you a popular target for the browbeater). All of these verses so far remind us that hospitality is an exchange, requiring something from both sides, even if it’s asymmetrical. The ideal isn’t one extreme or the other, but a balance. To the modern mind, balance means fairness, precise equality as determined by social actuaries. In Havamal, a balance is not two of the same thing, but fine-tuned complementary forces. You might think of it as a Norse yin and yang, requiring constant attention and adjustment.

From that balancing act, both parties are restored to homeostasis. Rather than the same one they one started at, though, this is one is new. It requires a little giving, a little taking, the willingness to learn, grow, and do it all again.