In this article, I take up the case of runic writing to reflect upon James Scott’s view of the nexus between writing and various forms of domination in early states, especially the use of literacy for taxation in cereal-growing societies. Scott’s theses provide interesting matter “to think with,” even when his grasp of historical detail has been found wanting. It is not controversial to grant Scott that cuneiform writing was a remarkable tool for statecraft, and exploitation, in the first states of Mesopotamia, around 3500 BC. The same is true of writing in other early states. But in the first states of Scandinavia, particularly Denmark ca. AD 500–800, writing had a more troubled relationship with the state. No evidence survives that runic writing was used to administer taxation or much else, as it was in other agrarian civilisations. It is true that the runic script was used to commemorate kings, most famously by Haraldr Blátǫnn (r. ca. 958–ca. 986.). But, statistically speaking, it was more often used to aggrandize the sort of local big men who usually resisted centralized power. In this article, I survey the relationship between runic writing and administration. I consider what the Danish situation suggests about the relationship between states and writing and offer a tentative hypothesis of a short-lived attempt at runic bureaucracy around 800, which created—and quickly lost control of—a shortened variety of the runic script (the Younger Futhark).

Even gods are not always above bureaucracy. Societies very different from each other have entertained the idea that the heavens might be arranged much like an earthly bureaucracy, or that mythological beings might exercise their power in a way that makes them resembles bureaucrats. The best-known case is the Chinese “celestial bureaucracy,” but the idea is also found in (to take nearly random examples) Ancient Near Eastern cosmology, the Hebrew Bible, Late Antiquity, and modern popular culture. The primary sources discussed in this essay pertain to an area of history where bureaucracy was historically underdeveloped, namely medieval Scandinavia. Beginning with the Glavendrup runestone from the 900s, I examine a way of thinking about divine power that seems blissfully bureaucracy-free. Moving forwards in time to Adam of Bremen’s description of the temple at Uppsala (1040s–1070s), I find traces of a tentative, half-formed bureaucracy in the fading embers of Scandinavian paganism. In the 1220s, well into the Christian era, I find Snorri Sturluson concocting a version of Old Norse myth which proposes a novel resolution between the non-bureaucratic origins of his mythological corpus and the burgeoning bureacratization of High Medieval Norway. Although my focus is on medieval Scandinavia, transhistorical comparisons are frequently drawn with mythological bureaucrats from other times and places. In closing, I synthesise this comparative material with historical and anthropological theories of the relationship between bureaucracy and the divine.

The account of the destruction of the giants in the flood presented in lines 1689b–93 of Beowulf is probably the commentary of the narrator and not part of the inscription on the hilt. It is addressed to the audience, and it completes our understanding of the significance of Beowulf's victory beneath the mere. Hroðgar's extended gaze at the hilt before he begins his speech is a sign that he is also reaching toward a new understanding of the eotenas who have plagued his people. Regardless of whether he is able to read the runic inscription on the hilt, he can read the hilt itself against Beowulf's account of his struggle. The presence of the hilt in his hands implies an extensive social nexus for his apparently solitary enemies, who are now revealed as the enemies of God as well. Hroðgar knows nothing of the biblical stories of Cain and Abel or the flood, but his understanding of the meaning of Grendel's attacks now tracks that of the audience fairly closely. Although his “sermon” is not a direct response to the brief account of the flood, this account provides us with a context for understanding his speech.