from History and Memory Volume 12, Number 1Þingvellir
An Icelandic "Lieu de Mémoire"Guðmundur Hálfdanarson
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On 17 June 1994 around 60,000 people, or a quarter of the Icelandic population, assembled at Þingvellir (pronounced Thingvedlir, Parliamentary Plains in literal translation) to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of the Icelandic Republic. This was the fourth time in the twentieth century that these rocky grounds, situated about fifty kilometers to the north-east of the capital of Iceland, Reykjavík, had been the scene of a major celebration of this sort: the millennium of the Alþingi (the ancient high court and assembly of Iceland, which is also the name of Iceland's Parliament today) had been celebrated in 1930, the foundation of the Republic of Iceland--in 1944, and the eleventh centenary of the settlement of Iceland--in 1974.1 The commemoration of 1994 demonstrated once more the symbolic value of this "sacred place," where "the heart of the [Icelandic] nation beats," to quote the Icelandic prime minister, Davíð Oddsson.2 Indeed, Þingvellir--the meeting place of the Alþingi for almost nine centuries, from the early tenth century to the end of the eighteenth--is a national symbol for Icelanders, utilized to celebrate what the nation deems it has in common, while at the same time demarcating Icelanders' difference from other groups; that is, Þingvellir defines what sets Icelanders apart from "others," us from them.
The words of Vigdís Finnbogadóttir, the former president of Iceland, describe well this dual role that Þingvellir plays in the Icelandic nationalistic mythology:
Þingvellir is an enchanting place. Everyone who pays it a visit is bound to experience a strong sensation. It charms foreign travelers with its magnificent nature, but in the heart of an Icelander, all of its nature is interwoven with an eventful history, and the mind wanders to encounter the people who once inhabited the country, struggling century after century toward an uncertain future. This people never gave up, never forgot their language, their stories, their memories.3
In other words, according to Finnbogadóttir, while Þingvellir's natural beauty, majestic and challenging at the same time, is evident to everyone who pays it a visit, its spiritual beauty is only accessible to Icelanders. Through its rich historical associations, Þingvellir is the perfect embodiment of the experience that has shaped the Icelandic nation. Icelanders who visit Þingvellir perceive instinctively the invisible bond between the struggles of their ancestors and the nature of the place; it is engraved in their hearts, and has thus become a part of their own character.
Memory and history play an important part in all national constructions, which are generally based on the idea that the modern nation is the final outcome of a long historical process.4 "A nation can therefore be defined as a named human population sharing an historic territory, common myths and historical memories," writes the British sociologist Anthony D. Smith, placing common myths and memories at the center of his definition of the modern nation.5 In nationalist ideology, the cohesion of modern society is shaped by the experiences of past generations, and these experiences are therefore crucial for understanding what unites a nation in the present and divides it from its closest neighbors. However, memory and national construction always live in an ambiguous alliance. First, it is difficult to sustain historical memories in times of rapid social and economic change. Nations are not self-contained entities, but are fluid and under constant influences from outside. Thus, immigrants, often coming from distant parts of the world, bring new sets of myths, memories and beliefs into every national community. Moreover, the most pervasive myths of modern society are not based on legends or memories of each particular nation but originate in universal (or, to a large extent, Anglo-Saxon) popular culture. Second, memories are a source not only of cohesion but also of internal strife. Although nationalists tend to interpret the history of their group as a united fight against foreign intrusion, historical evidence reveals discord and unequal opportunities in the struggles for life among all nations of the world.
Iceland is a particularly good example of the tensions between national unity that is desired and divisions that are experienced. What sets Iceland apart in this respect is the fact that nationalist rhetoric still pervades all political discourse in modern Icelandic society. Therefore, the myth of a unified nation, with one interest and one destiny, is very much alive in Iceland today. There are obvious reasons for this situation: it is easier for a small, prosperous and culturally homogeneous population to imagine that it forms a unified community than it is for the larger and more complex nations of the world. In this article I shall consider the Icelandic celebration at Þingvellir on 17 June 1994 as an expression of the alleged unity of the Icelandic nation, relating it to the role of memory in the forming and maintaining of Icelandic national identity. The past played a crucial role in defining the Icelandic nationalist agenda in the formative period of the Icelandic nation-state, but how will the stories of our ancestors fare in the postmodern world of the future? How can a collective group remember times that it does not understand, and if memory is erased, will the bonds that unite the group ultimately break?
National celebration at a sacred place
The celebrations on 17 June 1994 for the most part followed very closely a pattern set by earlier commemorations of the same type on the parliamentary plains of Þingvellir. As in 1930, 1944 and 1974, the centerpiece of the ceremony was a public session of the Icelandic Parliament, Alþingi, held in the open, with the encircling mountains serving as a backdrop. Unlike most parliamentary meetings, this was a display of unity, of order. In this commemorative session, a conscientiously chosen legislation, offensive to no one, was passed unanimously by members of the various political parties, representing all corners of the country.6 On the hallowed grounds of Þingvellir, where "the foreigners who gradually settled this country became Icelanders," to quote a former minister of education and culture in Iceland,7 people of the left united with those on the right in one patriotic voice. Thus, they set aside for a moment the political discord that characterizes ordinary sessions of the Icelandic Parliament. In this carefully choreographed ritual, the modern, democratically elected Alþingi pledged its unity with the medieval Alþingi, maintaining the myth that these two institutions have something in common other than their name.
In essence, the celebration at Þingvellir can be seen as a complex drama with two subplots. First, in this public meeting of parliament, to which the entire people had been invited, the two partners in the social contract acted out their contractual relationship in a tangible way. Second, by staging the drama in the place which is so often seen as the symbolic center of the Icelandic nation, the place where history meets nature, people and parliament declared openly their union with the past. Around this central core of the celebration, the organizers offered a variety of other activities. First, the heads of the four other Nordic states, the kings of Norway and Sweden, the queen of Denmark and the president of Finland, congratulated Icelanders with brief diplomatic statements. This underlined both the acceptance of the Icelandic nation-state in the international arena and Iceland's special ties with its Nordic neighbors. Second, various cultural activities, all with alleged reference to the history of the Republic, were staged around the grounds of Þingvellir and on the surrounding slopes. On the central stage, professional artists and amateurs performed patriotic songs and plays, concluding with everyone present singing the national anthem. Around the grounds there was a variety of light entertainment, designed to evoke the flavor of the past--women demonstrating the use of antiquated tools for hay making, young men dressed up as the Icelandic painter Jóhannes S. Kjarval capturing the beauty of Þingvellir on his canvas, a romanticized presentation of a herring fishing season in the 1960s, and an exhibition of old cars, to mention just a few examples.8
That so large a proportion of the Icelandic population actually attended the commemoration is a clear indication of the fact that the dual unity, between representatives and those represented on the one hand, and between past and present Icelanders on the other, is very much alive in Iceland today. Certainly, most of the large audience that gathered on the grounds of Þingvellir did not come for the entertainment that was offered. Royal speeches and patriotic plays and songs are hardly diversions of choice for generations raised on American movies and Anglo-Saxon pop music--it is hardly surprising that the flight of a flock of swans over the area was one of the most memorable moments of the day.9 The celebration at Þingvellir was, therefore, clearly a national commemoration or a public manifestation of the determination to keep the Icelandic "imagined community" alive.
Memories of unity and discord
"When each of us looks over his shoulder," wrote the French nationalist writer Maurice Barrès early in the twentieth century, "he sees a succession of indefinable mysteries, which in recent times have come to be called France. We are the sum of a collective life that speaks in us. May the influence of our ancestors be permanent, the sons of the soil vital and upstanding, the nation one."10 According to Barrès, a nation is a bounded community of citizens that is constituted through history, in which the past and the present are linked in one collective group--in other words, it is a two-dimensional group, operating simultaneously in the past and the present. The first of these dimensions is maintained through what can be termed as the "mystery of the daily plebiscite" or the "mystery of the volkgeist," depending on our understanding of the national community, and the second through the "mystery of collective memory" or "collective ancestry."11 The first set of these "indefinable mysteries," to repeat Barrès' phrase, pertains to the idea that the nation forms a metaphorical individual, almost an organic person, with one soul, and one will to act.12 The second set legitimizes the first; that is, just as all persons remember their past and are formed through their individual experiences, nations trace their collective development through time in order to explain their alleged characteristics and peculiarities in the present.
The celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the Republic of Iceland in 1994 was a public demonstration of the two-dimensional character of the nation. There, people relived the foundation of the Republic half a century earlier, in the same place and at the same time of the year, because it had been one of those fleeting moments when the nation had seemed to act in unison--as one person rather than as a collection of individuals with conflicting interests and diverging wills. In the words of Kristinn E. Andrésson, at the time one of the intellectual leaders of the pro-Soviet Socialist Unity Party, the referendum preceding the foundation of the Republic in 1944 was a "splendid testimony of Icelandic vigilance" as
there was no Icelander, neither young nor old, neither in town nor country, who did not understand that the referendum concerned the honor, freedom and future of Iceland.... How enjoyable it was to experience the unanimity expressed in the referendum.... People of all parties worked together, everybody with the same enthusiasm. All party strife was forgotten. The nation had one interest, one will, one soul. Therefore, the victory was complete.13
These words, more reminiscent of Johann Gottlieb Fichte than Karl Marx, well reflect the patriotic mood of 1944. People on both the left and the right interpreted the foundation of the Republic in the same manner: "The nation [had] come home, at last, with all of its belongings, sovereign and independent."14
This splendid moment did not last very long, however, because the socialist-bourgeois unity disintegrated rapidly when the cold war began to intensify in the aftermath of World War II.15 In 1946 the Socialist Unity Party resigned from the coalition government it had formed in 1944 with the conservative-centrist Independence Party and the Social-Democratic Party, accusing their former political partners of peddling the country to the enemies of the Soviet Union. With a defense treaty of 1946 between the governments of Iceland and the United States, the bourgeoisie "handed over Icelandic national rights, undermining the Republic it had taken part in resurrecting two years earlier," Andrésson wrote in reaction to the return of the American military to Iceland in 1951.16 Moreover, the most haunting images of the post-World War II years in Iceland came from violent demonstrations that broke out in front of the parliamentary building in Reykjavík to protest Iceland's entry into NATO in 1949. Once again the "foulest filth in Icelandic society ... its best-known traitors, the most fanatical enemies of Russia, the pure rabble from the innermost ranks of a degenerated upper class," as one socialist described the Icelandic NATO supporters, had betrayed their nation into the hands of foreign capitalists.17
These explosive issues had been thoroughly erased from the collective memory at Þingvellir in 1994. The representations of Icelandic history and culture the organizers chose for the celebration carefully avoided all mention of military alliances or political debates. In the eyes of the organizing committee, isolated glimpses of old farming customs, an idealized reconstruction of a herring fishing season in the lava fields of Þingvellir, and "mountain women" in colorful dresses were appropriate representations of the history of the Republic. Even a special "national" costume for men was designed for the occasion, thus allowing Icelandic men to express their patriotic sentiments in the same way as the women had been able to do since their "traditional" costume had been invented for that very purpose in the late nineteenth century.18 All of this served to emphasize both that the nation had historical roots and that its way of life had been totally transformed in the last few decades; that is, these reminders of the past reassured those present that while Icelanders lived in a technologically advanced society, their modernity had somehow been shaped by the peculiar traditions and economic practices of their ancestors.
The most obvious example of this quest for national roots, and of the difficulties in adapting them to modern realities, was the choice of Þingvellir as the center for the celebration. Where else than on this site of memory par excellence could the Icelandic population merge into one national community? It was there that modern society sought its origins, as can be read on the English section of the home page of the Icelandic Parliament on the World Wide Web: "The Althingi is both the oldest and greatest national institution. Its establishment, as an outdoor assembly held on the plains of Thingvellir from about the year 930 ad, laid the foundation for an independent national existence in Iceland."19 On the day of the celebration, the ideal of ancient origins clashed, however, very visibly with Icelandic modernity. Þingvellir had been chosen as a meeting place for the Alþingi at the time when "heroes rode through the regions," to quote a line from one of the best-known patriotic poems of nineteenth-century Iceland.20 In the tenth century, when horses and people's feet were the primary modes of transportation in Iceland, Þingvellir was easily accessible to those attending the annual fair and festivities related to the meeting of the Alþingi of the Saga Age. Today, however, Þingvellir lies outside the main lines of transportation in Iceland and is therefore ill suited to modern traffic. Thus, in the early afternoon of 17 June 1994, when people flocked from Reykjavík toward the celebrations at Þingvellir, flaunting the symbol of the modern family, the family car, the biggest traffic congestion in Icelandic history was formed. At its height, the line stretched for almost forty kilometers from Þingvellir to the center of the capital, and a drove of excited Icelanders, dressed in national costume and waving the flag, had to spend most of the day in their cars, some reaching the destination only when the festivities were more or less over.21
The ambiguous nature of national traditions and collective memory is a well-known feature in the theoretical literature on nationalism.22 Thus, unlike Ernest Gellner's imagined country of Ruritania, which developed nationalism in response to industrialization,23 Icelandic nationalism predated the modernization of Icelandic society. Throughout the nineteenth century, Icelandic national sentiments were fueled by a mixture of pride in the Icelandic cultural achievements in the Middle Ages and a conservative reaction to a growing economic liberalism in Copenhagen, defending the traditions and social norms of Icelandic peasant society.24 The common thread in the nationalist movement was, therefore, the emphasis on the particular nature of Icelandic culture and society. As it turned out, however, Icelandic society was totally transformed in the early twentieth century, adopting the same political and economic structures as the neighboring countries. The relation between the nationalist politics and modernization is not clear, but it is fair to say that Icelanders politicized their difference from other groups only at a time when this difference was disappearing and their society and culture were developing in the same direction as other western European societies.25
To a certain extent this paradox is solved through historical imagination. Thus, the uniformity of modern culture is counteracted by remembering a time when Iceland was fairly isolated from foreign influences and therefore in many ways very different from other countries. This national remembrance is, of course, a reconstruction of the past and certainly not a "scientific" rendering of historical development. "To forget and--I will venture to say--to get one's history wrong are essential factors in the making of a nation," Ernst Renan claimed as early as 1882 in a classic statement on the nature of nationality.26 With his remark, Renan underlined that even if "the possession in common of a rich heritage of memories" is an essential part of the national formation, this collective remembrance is never a purely spontaneous or automatic process. In fact, nation and collective memory live in a constant interaction, with the nation constructing memory at the same time as memory constructs the nation; that is, a nation as a collective group is constituted through its heritage of memories, but this source of memories is interpreted to serve the nationalist cause. Hence, it is carefully weeded in order to rid the group of recollections that could jeopardize the national cohesion. A nation also has to cultivate its memories, to construct and reconstruct them to fit the present, because the past rapidly loses its relevance as it becomes more distant. Thus, a modern Icelander has to believe that he or she is somehow more related to odd-looking Icelanders of the past than to his or her contemporaries in neighboring countries.
So far, this effort seems to have been successful, and most Icelanders view the history of their nation-state as destiny, desired by all Icelanders throughout the history of their country, rather than as historical contingency. "We all welcome a good guest, especially if he has been awaited for a long time," Prime Minister Davíð Oddsson claimed in his commemoration speech at Þingvellir in 1994. "The seventeenth of June 1944 had been awaited for almost seven centuries. That long-desired event will always be understood as one of the highest points in Icelandic history."27 That the foundation of the Republic was a major event in Icelandic history is not to be doubted, but the rest of Oddsson's statement finds little support in history. Icelanders had certainly not awaited the Republic for centuries because the idea of political autonomy had hardly occurred to them until the mid-nineteenth century. Moreover, when it became the center of Icelandic politics around the mid-nineteenth century, that happened rather as a response to changing attitudes in Denmark to the role of national identity in the function and composition of the monarchy than as a manifestation of a slumbering national spirit in Iceland.28 This may be viewed as a conflict between history and living memory, or at least it clearly demonstrates that national construction is usually based on belief rather than on historical research.29
The past as political tool
In her ceremonial address to the Icelandic nation at Þingvellir on 17 June 1994, President Vigdís Finnbogadóttir pondered the question of what it was that set Icelanders apart from other groups: "Icelanders have long been recognized as a proper nation in the community of nations," she asserted,
But on this day ... we must bear in mind that through the centuries the Icelandic nation had primarily one justification, one argument to support its demand to be heard in international assemblies: It had a separate language and in this language preserved its memories, its stories, its poems, all of which differed from the memories, stories and poems of other nations. That legacy provided its legitimacy.... We should not forget that there is one duty superior to all others; to preserve the memories of the people and the country.30
Finnbogadóttir is not alone in singling out memories and language as the most significant markers of Icelandic nationality because these factors have always played a vital role in legitimating Icelandic claims for nationhood. This emphasis on the past served Icelanders well in their struggle against the Danish "oppression" because Danes themselves valued Icelandic medieval culture very highly. Indeed, when the influential Danish Lutheran minister, politician and commentator N. F. S. Grundtvig sought consolation after the Danish defeat during the Napoleonic wars, he found the roots of the "original Nordic or Danish mind" and "the true but lost core of Danishness" in Icelandic sagas and Eddic poetry preserved in Icelandic manuscripts.31 He had a deep admiration for Icelandic medieval society, which he called one of "the great wonders of medieval times," expressing his belief that it was there that the "Nordic Spirit" had reached its pinnacle. On this isolated island, "the enlightenment was sought in the only correct and natural way," he wrote in his Haandbog i Verdenshistorie (Handbook on the history of the world)--in fact, Iceland was, in his words, practically "the most colossal university in the whole world."32 Moreover, similar ideas seem to have influenced some members of the Danish royal house in the nationalistic age of the mid-nineteenth century. One can, at least, detect traces of romantic idealism in King Christian VIII's resolution of 1840, where he established a regional estate assembly for Iceland. Thus, he asked a commission of royal officials that was to meet in Iceland in 1841 to reflect on the question "whether this type of an assembly should not bear the name of `Alþingi' and, in the same way as the former Alþingi, meet at Þingvellir and also have the same organization as the old assembly."33
For Icelandic nationalists in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, this idealized version of their past was an indisputable proof of the "true" worth of Icelanders and thus a perfect argument for political autonomy. "In these centuries, the well-being of the nation was at its peak," wrote the historian Jón Jónsson Aðils in an elated description of the Commonwealth Period in Icelandic history: "Wherever we look, we find evidence of a society so rich, so beautiful, so splendid, that it compares to no other society in former times but to the one of ancient Greece at its highest stage of development...."34 In other words, although this had never been common knowledge in Europe, Aðils thought that European culture had two cradles, one in ancient Greece and the other in medieval Iceland--no wonder that he was the first historian to be appointed to a teaching position at the University of Iceland upon its foundation in 1911.
The lesson most Icelanders have drawn from history mirrors this interpretation of their past. The Middle Ages, from the time of the settlement in the late ninth century until Icelanders entered a union with Norway in the late thirteenth century, are usually viewed as an Icelandic golden age.35 According to this nationalistic perception of history, foreign rule was the cause of the slow deterioration of the Icelandic economy and culture from the fourteenth century until the beginning of the national revival of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. This vision of Icelandic history quite naturally led to the conclusion that political independence was a prerequisite for material development in Iceland as elsewhere.36 Just as the individual requires personal freedom to prosper, the nation has to be independent from foreign yoke to fulfill its destiny. To prove this contention, the leader of the parliamentary group of the radical People's Alliance remarked in his speech at Þingvellir on 17 June 1994 that the "nation's remarkable success during the century that is now coming to a close is, among other things, the result of the fact that Icelanders regained their confidence and ceased to let politicians on the European continent, many thousands of kilometers away, rule over them and think for them."37 It is not surprising that the same politician is a vocal opponent of Iceland's entry into the European Union.38
This version of Icelandic history was, for decades, carefully cultivated in the Icelandic school system. With the constitution of 1874, "a new chapter began in Icelandic history," wrote the politician and educator Jónas Jónsson in the immensely influential primer that was to form the historical perception of generations of Icelanders from its first publication in 1915-1916 until it finally ceased to be used in the 1970s. At that time, he continued,
the country was in ruins after many centuries of oppression and an erratic Danish government. But since Icelanders gained more influence over the government of the country, the nation has improved more in one generation than it did in all the centuries combined, during which foreigners directed Icelandic national affairs.39
This nationalist inculcation not only reflected the mood at the conclusion of the struggle for Icelandic independence but also shaped Icelanders' memories of their past well beyond the foundation of the Icelandic Republic in 1944.40 This was a conscious effort because, as stated in a description of a historical exhibition that was organized in 1944 to commemorate the newly founded Republic of Iceland:
The generation that is now growing up has itself no experience and little knowledge of the national struggle for independence. It seems likely that the thread of our fight for liberty will break in this generation unless every effort is made to reinforce it, to keep the tradition of the struggle alive, to make the past generations' exertion and striving for liberty an important part of the life and consciousness of the young generations.
With the exhibition, the organizing committee wanted to demonstrate that the "longing for liberty" was the gist of Icelandic history and to underline that there was no difference among its many manifestations, be it the revenge for the execution of the last Catholic bishop in Iceland, Jón Arason, in the sixteenth century, or the romantic poetry of Jónas Hallgrímsson in the nineteenth.41
Historical revisionism and the postmodern nation
The nationalist edge of history teaching in Iceland has been blunted considerably in recent years. Gunnar Karlsson, professor of history at the University of Iceland and the author of the most widely used history textbooks in Icelandic elementary and secondary schools today, has, for example, asserted that his writings express "responsible nationalism ... well-disposed toward all nations ... and without unfounded glorification of the [Icelandic] nation."42 We need a new history, he maintains, because "for some reason, we don't believe that Icelanders of former times were as excellent, as clever, as self-sacrificing and as unselfish" as they are portrayed in the textbooks from the first part of the century--"and at the same time, that so many Norwegians and Danes were brutes of the worst kind."43
The new approach in history teaching in Iceland has certainly not gone unnoticed or uncontested.44 For example, Arnór Hannibalsson, professor of philosophy at the University of Iceland, has protested vigorously against it, warning that "our life here in Iceland has to be regarded in the light of our struggle for national rights, both in the past and in the present"--anything else is to "betray ourselves." The reason for this, he argued, is the fact that
the prerequisite for the existence of a small state is its everlasting struggle for sovereignty and independence. The chief task of the state is to unify the entire nation in that struggle. The state must direct its energy to cultivate in Icelanders not only knowledge and understanding of their national history, but also their will to preserve the cultural society we have created. The struggle for independence never ends.45
From time to time since the foundation of the Icelandic Republic serious concerns have been raised about the collective memory of the Icelandic nation.46 Thus, in 1984 the historian Guðmundur Magnússon cited a recent survey which demonstrated that "only 13.1 percent of Icelanders between 16 and 20 years of age knew the name of the first president of the Icelandic Republic. This is not good news," he continued, "and confirms that worries that some have harbored about the inadequate teaching of Icelandic history in elementary schools are not unfounded."47 These periodic pangs of anxiety have not had many tangible results, however, partly because no agreement has been reached on how to construct the national memory--should the national history be inclusive or exclude all but prosperous males? Should it be analytic or narrative? Should history be taught as an isolated subject or in conjunction with sociology and geography? This discussion reflects, however, two important factors in the recent developments of Icelandic nationalism and, to a certain extent, in the development of nationalism in general. First, since memory is crucial for the construction and reconstruction of national identity, it is the process of remembering rather than what is remembered that is of greatest importance. Second, national collective identities face serious challenges in modern societies as it is becoming ever more difficult to maintain the myth of an unbroken bond with the past or to retain the strict boundaries between "us" and "them."
The commemoration of the fiftieth anniversary of the Icelandic Republic is a good example of the first factor mentioned above. During the preparation for the festival at Þingvellir concerted efforts were made to inform children about the "history of country and nation" in order to increase "their understanding of the Icelandic Republic."48 When it came to the actual festival, however, not much real history was left in the program, and no effort was made to stimulate a critical discussion of the past. In the end this did not matter much because people came to Þingvellir not to remember something in particular but to experience that there was something to be remembered, although it was not quite clear what that was. Eric Hobsbawm has voiced the same thought in a different manner, remarking that "the crucial element" of the symbolic practices of modern patriotism "seems to have been the invention of emotionally and symbolically charged signs of club membership rather than the statutes and objects of the club."49 The nation that gathered for the festivities of 1994 seemed, at least, to be perfectly happy with the bland representations of its history that were on offer, as we can see from this elevated and sentimental description of the communal singing of patriotic songs at Þingvellir:
It was at this moment, when these songs sounded from the windpipes of tens of thousands in the fresh and clear summer air after a shower, that some strange and sacred national atmosphere was created at Þingvellir; spirit and national force left no one untouched. All over one could see tears in people's eyes that could not be explained by recently fallen raindrops. The people on the slopes joined in a common song that resounded in the fields. And at this moment something strange happened in the hearts of all those who were present.... Maybe it happened because the tens of thousands of people who stood on their feet on the slopes ... disarmed by this spirit of unity, suddenly realized how important the Republic and liberty are to us Icelanders. How united we are and close, despite daily quarrels, disputes and differences among us.50
The second strand of my argument is more complex, but it is related to the place of national collectivities in this "postmodern" age. Nations, in the modern sense, date back to an era when the collective group of citizens inherited sovereignty from the monarch--or God-- beginning with the French Revolution. For the French historian Ernest Lavisse, the symbolic birth of the French nation, which he claims to be the first modern nation in European history, took place on the Champ de Mars in Paris on 14 July 1790. At the "Fête de la fédération" a crowd of equal citizens, representing all the geographic, ethnic and social diversity of France, united in commemorating the storming of the Bastille the year before.51 According to the British social anthropologist Ernest Gellner, the nation is also closely linked to the advance of industrial society and the dissolution of traditional systems of stratification that characterized agrarian societies of the past.52 In other words, the nation symbolizes modernity both in political and economic terms, and the nation-state has become the prevalent form of state structure in the modern world. Hence, when sociologists study "societies," argues Anthony Giddens, "they think of quite clearly delimited systems, which have their inner unity. Now, understood in this way, `societies' are plainly nations states."53
In spite of their success, modern nations are based on an obvious paradox. Thus, their political function is primarily to serve as repositories for sovereignty; they are "a corpus of citizens equal before the law," to quote the French historian Pierre Nora.54 In this sense, nations are founded on universal ideals because democratic sovereignty and human rights are supposed to be identical all over the globe. For this reason, believers in theories of modernization saw the formation of nation-states as only the first step on the route toward "an ultimate integration of all societies."55 In practice, however, modern nations tended to be bounded communities, tied to a certain territory, a homeland, "the land of past generations, the land that saw the flowering of the nation's genius."56 The desire for this land, and the identification with it, served as the basis for national solidarity and definitions of national collectivities. In this historical sense, Nora maintains, nations are "human collectivities united by continuity, past and future."57 This definition of limited communities of citizens, constituted through a lengthy historical process (as in the case of France) or cultural affinity (as in the case of Germany), emerged in the wake of the Revolution and the ensuing Napoleonic expansion. In part, this happened because the idea of a universal state had little support in Europe in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, as was clearly demonstrated when the countries neighboring on revolutionary France vehemently resisted the liberating ideals of the revolutionaries, but also because the economic and social realities of the period hardly allowed for larger states than actually emerged in the nineteenth century. Thus, Europe was gradually divided into nation-states, all espousing the same principles of citizen rights but jealously guarding their national "characters" and distinctive features.
As time passed, necessity became virtue and the territorial definition of national communities has totally overshadowed the universalist ideals of democratic liberalism. The reason is, at least partly, functional since the idea of common destiny has proven, on the one hand, to be a very pervasive principle of legitimation for state power and, on the other, it has served as the most powerful source of cohesion and identification in modern societies.58 This is the psychological side of nationality, and it should not be ignored. Therefore, although most serious students of nationalism of today reject primordialist nationalism,59 it is clear that a large part--if not the great majority--of Europeans take their nationality for granted and deem it to be a part of their nature.60
Few national communities have preserved the myths of the primordial nature of their nationality as well as the Icelanders. This reflects, of course, the peculiar conditions of the Icelandic nation-state, as the cultural and linguistic homogeneity of a small and isolated population has given credence to ideas of common ancestry and cultural uniformity. But this is also the result of a strong emphasis on the links with the past that have characterized Icelandic nationalism from the beginning. This is, of course, true of most nationalist movements in the world, but in nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Iceland history played an even larger role than was usual in similar cases. As a small and poor nation, it seemed unlikely at least until the end of World War I that Iceland could survive without strong links with a larger and more prosperous country. The logic of Icelandic nationalist discourse, emphasizing the golden age of the Middle Ages, directed Icelanders toward political independence, however impossible those dreams appeared to outside observers.61 This need to trace their origins, the golden age of the sagas, has prompted Icelanders to "Icelandize" their modern institutions. Thus, the "founding fathers" of the Republic portrayed their actions in 1944 not as the foundation of a democratic republic in Iceland but as the resurrection of the republic of the Saga Age, pretending that the modern republic was not an Icelandic variant of a western idea but a fulfillment of a medieval promise.
The idea of historical origins, or at least its politicization, both served as a legitimation of and was legitimated by the struggle for independence. It defined and demarcated the boundaries of the Icelandic ethnic group vis-à-vis the Danes, giving them the cause and justification for demanding "national liberty." During the struggle itself, there were few who doubted the factual basis of the nationalist myth; in a sense, the basis for Icelandic human sciences was, for a long time, to verify the nationalist perception of Icelandic history. In recent years, however, this notion of continuity has suffered serious setbacks in Iceland. To a large degree, this is a natural result of the radical transformation of Icelandic society in the last decades. For example, it is difficult for a young Icelander of today to imagine that he or she has more in common with a peasant of the nineteenth century than with the contemporary youth in neighboring countries. This is why Icelandic ethnic boundaries are not as self-evident as they were earlier in the twentieth century, a development that has been further intensified by technological changes that have revolutionized all forms of communication in recent years. Scholars may decry the emergence of "a global culture ... forever pursuing an elusive present,"62 but it is certainly here to stay. It is not clear, however, that a global culture will automatically eradicate national identities in the world because these identities are not ultimately based on "living memory" or organic ties to the past. Nations survive because they form the most important frame of reference for people's identities, and they have become an essential part of how we position ourselves in the world. It took a concerted effort to turn "peasants into Frenchmen," as Eugen Weber demonstrates masterfully in his study of the making of modern France,63 and it will take a similar effort to make them into something else. States have created or fortified national sentiments through national school systems, military service, national health service, symbolic actions, and the eradication of regional cultures, inculcating the idea that all their citizens have something in common. Moreover, people constantly exercise their nationality by belonging to national organizations, rooting for their national teams in competitions of various kinds or voting in national elections.
Although national identities are still very much alive, their future seems very uncertain indeed. In addition to rapid social change, factors such as increased migration, growing respect for the civil rights of oppressed groups, and the emergence of multilevel polities in world politics (the European Union, in particular) have challenged the vision of unified nations with a collective past.64 For this reason, students of collective identity have called for the construction of "new memories as well as new identities better suited for the complexities of a post-national era."65 These new forms of identity have not emerged, however, and therefore the ideological foundations of nation-states seem to be withering away without any working alternatives to replace them. As a result, it is difficult to decide if we are heading toward a future of large empires or an increasing fragmentation of ever-smaller states. So far, Icelanders seem to be able to ignore these challenges, renewing their pledge to unity in the present and with past generations. This is because they have been able to maintain a strong sense of collective memory and cultural unity in spite of intensified relations with the outer world and history's declining role in the construction of national identity. For how long Icelanders can uphold the myth of a homogeneous nation or, in Giddens's words, how long "the discourse of national solidarity [will block] off other possible discursive articulations of interest" remains to be seen.66 There is, however, not much to indicate that the bonds uniting the Icelandic nation will break in the near future, and if so, what type of community will replace it.
Þingvellir: the perfect national symbol
Þingvellir is, in many respects, a perfect national symbol. Unlike most sites of memory or other symbols that are deemed to represent national unity, this meeting place of the old Alþingi is not connected to internal strife or class struggles of the past. By contrast, Versailles is not only a symbol of the glorious history of the French nation but also an ever-present reminder of royal oppression and excess.67 The recent troubles of the British royal family, to take another example, have tainted its symbolic value, casting doubt on the unifying role of the House of Windsor in Britain. Even the constitution of the United States, which convinced generations of Americans of the infinite wisdom of their founding fathers, has been dragged into fierce debates on constitutional rights to privacy, abortion rights and gun control. Unlike these symbols of national unity, Þingvellir is a neutral symbol because no one group of Icelanders can claim more right to it than another. Moreover, it plays no other role in Icelandic society than to serve as a national symbol, and as a national park it is the collective property of the Icelandic nation. Finally, Þingvellir is viewed as a place of exceptional natural beauty, representing the forces of nature that are still shaping the country. In this way it symbolizes nature as well as history, thus combining the two main sources of national pride in modern Iceland.
This is why Þingvellir has played an active role in maintaining the myth of national unity in Iceland. At regular intervals Icelanders meet on these hallowed grounds to renew their pledge to the nation, thus embodying a concept for one brief moment. That the nation actually bothers to attend its ritualistic embodiment is a clear demonstration of the fact that the imagined national community is still very much alive in modern Iceland, while these rituals are also crucial for maintaining the imagination. Thus the symbol becomes an active agent, replacing in a sense memory as a foundation of national identity. In other words, although the Icelandic nation may forget the details of its common past, when it meets for national commemorations at Þingvellir it is at least convinced that it has something in common in the present.
Notes
1. The Alþingi served throughout the centuries as Iceland's highest court and a place where the leading men of Icelandic society assembled to discuss various issues of importance to the country. In the end, it lost all its prestige and was abolished without any protest in 1800. See Guðmundur Hálfdanarson, Historical Dictionary of Iceland (Lanham, MD, 1997), 14-15.
2. Prime Minister of Iceland Davíð Oddsson, introduction to Ingólfur Margeirsson, Þjóð á Þingvöllum (Nation at Þingvellir) (Reykjavík, 1994), 7.
3. Vigdís Finnbogadóttir, introduction to ibid., 6.
4. "It is the magic of nationalism to turn chance into destiny," argues Benedict Anderson in his Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London, 1983), 19.
5. Anthony D. Smith, National Identity (Harmondsworth, 1991), 14 (original emphasis).
6. Two measures were decided upon: first, to establish a research fund to support studies on marine life around Iceland and actions to preserve the Icelandic language, and second, to revise the clauses on human rights in the Icelandic constitution, although Parliament had been unable to agree on these changes before the celebrations at Þingvellir. See Alþingistíðindi: Umrúður (Minutes from Alþingi: Discussions), 117th Legislative Assembly, 1993-1994 (Reykjavík, 1994), col. 8731-36 and 8897-916.
7. Gylfi Þ. Gíslason at a meeting of the Alþingi at Þingvellir, held to commemorate the 1100th anniversary of the settlement of Iceland, Alþingistíðindi: Umrúður, 95th Legislative Assembly, pt. B (Reykjavík, 1974), col. 23.
8. For a description of the celebrations, see Margeirsson, Þjóð á Þingvöllum, and Morgunblaðið, 19 June 1994. The name of Kjarval, the Icelandic national painter par excellence who painted his most famous painting at Þingvellir, is strongly associated with the place.
9. See, for example, "Oddaflug svana tignarlegt" (Swans fly in a graceful V-formation) and "Tvær þingsályktunartillögur samþykktar á Lögbergi" (Parliament passes two proposals at Lögberg), Morgunblaðið, 19 June 1994, 4 and 10.
10. Maurice Barrès, Scènes et doctrines du nationalisme, vol. 1 (Paris, 1925), 94.
11. This analysis owes much to Ernest Renan, who said that the nation originated in "the possession in common of a rich heritage of memories" on the one hand and "the desire to live together, and the will to continue to make the most of the joint inheritance" on the other. See Ernest Renan, "Qu'est-ce qu'une nation? Conférence faite en Sorbonne, le 11 mars 1882," åuvres complètes de Ernest Renan, ed. Henriette Psichari, vol. 1 (Paris, 1947), 903-04; translation from Alfred E. Zimmern, ed., Modern Political Doctrines (London, 1939), 203.
12. An idea that perhaps was most elegantly argued by Jules Michelet, although he claimed that only the French, with their tradition of strong centralization, had reached this form of unity: "England is an empire, Germany a country, a race; France is one person." See Jules Michelet, Tableau de la France (Paris, 1995), 137 (originally published in 1833 as book 3 of his Histoire de France).
13. Kristinn E. Andrésson, "Lýðveldi endurreist á Íslandi" (Republic resurrected in Iceland), Tímarit Máls og menningar (1944): 107-8. The referendum was, in fact, a rare display of unity as 98% of those eligible to vote participated, and of those 99.5% voted for the foundation of the Republic. See Guðmundur Jónsson and Magnús S. Magnússon, eds., Hagskinna: Icelandic Historical Statistics (Reykjavík, 1997), 877 and 889.
14. Gísli Sveinsson, president of the Icelandic Parliament, in a speech at Þingvellir, 17 June 1994. Lýðveldishátíðin 1944 (Celebration of the foundation of the Republic, 1944) (Reykjavík, 1945), 165.
15. See Valur Ingimundarson, Í eldlínu kalda stríðsins (In the cold war's line of fire) (Reykjavík, 1996).
16. Kristinn E. Andrésson, "Hvar stendur Ísland?" (What is Iceland's position?), Tímarit Máls og menningar (1951): 8.
17. Gunnar Benediktsson, "Kviksett sómatilfinning byltist í gröf sinni" (A sense of dignity buried alive tosses in its grave), ibid. (1949): 42.
18. On the creation and development of the female "national" costume, see Elsa E. Guðjónsson, Íslenzkir þjóðbúningar kvenna frá 16. öld til vorra daga: Stutt yfirlit (Icelandic women's national costumes from the 16th century to the present: A short survey) (Reykjavík, 1969); Margrét Guðmundsdóttir, "Pólitísk fatahönnun" (Political costume design), Ný saga 7 (1995): 29-37; and Margrét Gunnarsdóttir, "`Baráttan með búninginn': Um skautbúning Sigurðar málara" (The struggle over the national costume: On painter Sigurður's Icelandic festival costume), Sagnir 15 (1994): 12-16.
19. http://www.althingi.is/ekysag/nra-d/i2a.shtml
20. Jónas Hallgrímsson, "Ísland," Fjölnir 1 (1835): 21-22 (see Dick Ringler's translation of the poem on the website http://www.library.wisc.edu/etext/ Jonas).
21. This was why some called the event the "national road celebration" instead of its official name "national celebration." The leading newspaper in Iceland, Morgunblaðið, 19 June 1994, printed a number of interviews with frustrated drivers who spent hours in the traffic jam.
22. See, for example, Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger, eds., The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge, 1983); and John Gillis, "Memory and Identity: The History of a Relationship," in idem, ed., Commemorations: The Politics of National Identity (Princeton, 1994), 3-23.
23. Ernest Gellner, Nations and Nationalism (Ithaca, NY, 1983), 53-62.
24. See Guðmundur Hálfdanarson, "Old Provinces, Modern Nations: Political Responses to State Integration in Late Nineteenth- and Early Twentieth-Century Iceland and Brittany" (Ph. diss., Cornell University, 1991).
25. See Guðmundur Hálfdanarson, "Social Distinction and National Unity: On the Politics of Nationalism in Nineteenth-Century Iceland," History of European Ideas 21 (1995): 770-75.
26. Renan, "Qu'est-ce qu'une nation?" 891 (translation from Zimmern, ed., Modern Political Doctrines, 190).
27. Davíð Oddsson, "Hamingjudraumur hvers Íslendings tekur svipmót af þessu bjarta landi" (The happy dream of every Icelander is shaped by this bright country), Morgunblaðið, 19 June 1994, 13.
28. See Ragnheiður Kristjánsdóttir, "Rætur íslenskrar þjóðernisstefnu" (The roots of Icelandic nationalism), Saga 34 (1996): 131-75; and Tine Damsholt, "Om begrebet `folk'" (On the concept `people'), in Bjarne Stoklund, ed., Kulturens nationalisering: Et etnologiskt perspektiv på det nationale (The nationalization of culture: An ethnological perspective on the national question) (Copenhagen, 1999), 17-47.
29. On the relations and contrasts between history and collective memory, see Maurice Halbwachs, The Collective Memory, trans. Francis J. Ditter and Vida Yazdi Ditter (New York, 1980), 50-87; and Pierre Nora, "Entre Mémoire et Histoire: La problématique des lieux," in idem, ed., Les lieux de mémoire, 2d ed. (Paris, 1997), 1:23-43.
30. Vigdís Finnbogadóttir, "Gleði og þakklæti er efst í huga" (Joy and gratitude are uppermost in my mind), Morgunblaðið, 19 June 1994, 11.
31. Uffe Østergård, "Danish Peasants and National Identity," Comparative Studies in History and Society 34 (1992): 9; and Gunnar Karlsson, "The Emergence of Nationalism in Iceland," in Svän Tägil, ed., Ethnicity and Nation Building in the Nordic World (London, 1995), 42-45.
32. "Haandbog i Verdenshistorie. Anden Deel: Middel-Alderens Historie" (Handbook on the history of the world. Second part: The history of the Middle Ages), in Holger Begtrup, ed., Nik. Fred. Sev. Grundtvigs Udvalgte Skrifter (Nik. Fred. Sev. Grundtvig's selected works), vol. 7 (Copenhagen, 1908), 142-45, and "Fortale (til Nordiske Smaaskrifter)" (Introduction [to Nordic pamphlets]), in ibid., vol. 8 (Copenhagen, 1909), 177.
33. "Kongelig Resolution ang. Oprettelsen af Althinget særegen Landsrepræsentation for Island" (A royal resolution on the foundation of Alþingi as a special representative assembly for Iceland) [20 May 1840], in Lovsamling for Island (Collection of Icelandic laws), vol. 11 (Copenhagen, 1863), 614-28.
34. Jón Jónsson Aðils, Íslenzkt þjóðerni: Alþýðufyrirlestrar (Icelandic nationality: Public lectures) (Reykjavík, 1903), 238. The period from the foundation of Alþingi in ad 930 to the acceptance of Norwegian rule in Iceland in 1262 is commonly known as the Commonwealth Period; see Hálfdanarson, Historical Dictionary of Iceland, 30-31.
35. Jón Jónsson Aðils, Gullöld Íslendinga: Menning og lífshættir feðra vorra á söguöldinn (The Icelandic golden age: The culture and living conditions of our fathers in the Saga Age) (Reykjavík, 1906).
36. See, for example, the argument of Icelandic members of the interparliamentary committee charged with negotiating Iceland's sovereignty with Denmark in 1918, in Aktstykker vedrørende Forhandlingerne i Reykjavik 1.-18. Juli 1918 mellem den Dansk-islandske Forhandlingsudvalg og det af Althinget den 21. Juni nedsatte Udvalg (Documents concerning the negotiations in Reykjavík, 1-18 July 1918, between the Danish-Icelandic negotiation committee and the committee selected by Alþingi on 21 June) (Copenhagen, 1918), 23-24.
37. Alþingistíðindi: Umræður, 117th Legislative Assembly, 1993-1994 (Reykjavík, 1994), col. 8924.
38. See Ragnar Arnalds, Sjálfstæðið: Sívirk auðlind (Independence: A perpetual resource) (Reykjavík, 1998).
39. Jónas Jónsson, Íslandssaga handa börnum (History of Iceland for children), vol. 2 (Reykjavík, 1916), 108. With the constitution of 1874 Danish absolutism ended at last in Iceland, as King Christian IX gave the Icelandic Parliament limited legislative authority in internal affairs; see Hálfdanarson, Historical Dictionary of Iceland, 11-12 and 34-35.
40. The Icelandic struggle for independence started in the 1830s but can be said to have concluded with the Act of Union in 1918. In that Act, which was negotiated between the parliaments of Iceland and Denmark, Iceland was declared a free and sovereign state, sharing king and foreign service with Denmark; see ibid., 12-13.
41. Einar Olgeirsson, "Sögusýningin" (The historical exhibition), in Lýðveldishátíðin 1944, 386-87.
42. "Að gefa þjóðinni sögu" (To give the nation a history), Ný saga 3 (1989): 33.
43. "Hefur söguþjóðin týnt sögunni?" (Has the saga nation lost its history?), Þjóðviljinn, 4 May 1986.
44. See Gunnar Karlsson, "Sögukennslu-skammdegið 1983-1984" (The midwinter debates on the teaching of history, 1983-1984), Tímarit Máls og menningar 45 (1984): 405-15.
45. Arnór Hannibalsson, "Um sögu og menntastefnu" (On history and educational policy), Morgunblaðið, 7 Dec. 1983, 25.
46. See, for example, "Hver er þessi Jón?" (Who is this Jón?), Storð 2, no. 1 (1984): 21-28.
47. Guðmundur Magnússon, "Uppreisn gegn Íslandssögu" (Revolt against Icelandic history) Morgunblaðið, 28 Jan. 1984, 12-13.
48. Margeirsson, Þjóð á Þingvöllum, 36-37.
49. Eric Hobsbawm, "Introduction: Inventing Traditions," in Hobsbawm and Ranger, eds., The Invention of Tradition, 10-11.
50. Margeirsson, Þjóð á Þingvöllum, 48-49.
51. Ernest Lavisse, ed., Histoire de France contemporaine depuis la Révolution jusqu'à la paix de 1919, vol. 9 (Paris, 1922), 511. See also Mona Ozouf, "Fédération," in François Furet and Mona Ozouf, eds., Dictionnaire critique de la Révolution française: Événements (Paris, 1992), 177-91.
52. Gellner, Nations and Nationalism.
53. Anthony Giddens, The Consequences of Modernity (Stanford, 1990), 13 (original emphasis).
54. Pierre Nora, "Nation," in Furet and Ozouf, eds., Dictionnaire critique de la Révolution française: Idées (Paris, 1992), 339.
55. Cyril E. Black, The Dynamics of Modernization: A Study in Comparative History (New York, 1966), 155, 167. See also Smith, National Identity, 145.
56. Anthony D. Smith, Nationalism in the Twentieth Century (Oxford, 1979), 3.
57. Nora, "Nation," 339.
58. See, for example, Anthony Giddens, The Nation-State and Violence (Cambridge, 1985), 116-21, 209-21.
59. This is the claim that "nations were primordial entities embedded in human nature and history that were objectively identifiable through their distinctive way of life (e.g. through language, history, education, religion), their attachment to a territorial homeland, and their striving for political autonomy." John Hutchinson, Modern Nationalism (London, 1994), 3.
60. "It is not a question of merging the States, to create a super State," writes Robert Schumann about his vision of European cooperation in his autobiography. "Our European States are a historical reality; it would be psychologically impossible to eliminate them." Pour l'Europe (Paris, 1963), 24.
61. See, for example, Alfred Cobban, National Self-Determination (Oxford, 1945), 73-74.
62. Anthony D. Smith, Nations and Nationalism in a Global Era (Cambridge, 1995), 19-25.
63. Eugen Weber, Peasants into Frenchmen: The Modernization of Rural France, 1870-1914 (Stanford, 1976).
64. Yasmin Nuhoglu Soysal, "Changing Citizenship in Europe: Remarks on Postnational Membership and the National State," in David Cesarani and Mary Fulbrook, eds., Citizenship, Nationality and Migration in Europe (London, 1996), 17-29.
65. Gillis, "Memory and Identity," 20.
66. Giddens, The Nation-State and Violence, 221.
67. On Versailles, see Édouard Pommier, "Versailles, l'image du souverain," in Nora, ed., Les lieux de mémoire, 1:1253-81, and Hélène Himelfarb, "Versailles, fonctions et légendes," in ibid., 1283-329.
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