Symbols Used by Nazi Germany, Neo-Nazis, and/or Far-right Extremists

Kvasir Symbol Database

Joseph S. Hopkins for Mimisbrunnr.info, June 2023. Updated February 2024.

While the Mimisbrunnr.info project primarily focuses on approaching the historic record associated with ancient speakers of Germanic languages, we now and then also touch on modern topics, including contemporary symbols inspired by the ancient Germanic record. We often receive questions from individuals who want to use symbols from the historic record for the purpose of art or religious practice but hope to avoid any kind of association with the Nazi Party, Neo-Nazism, and contemporary far-right extremist groups. In this entry, we discuss historic and recently invented symbols commonly (and in a few cases uncommonly) used by these groups.

Contents

1. Purpose and disclaimer

2. Keep it in context

3. List of symbols

   a. Armanen Runes, Wiligut Runes, & other modern runes

   b. The Black Sun (Die Schwarze Sonne)

   c. Swastika (Hakenkreuz)

   d. Teudt’s “Irminsul”

   e. The curious case of the “valknut”

   f. Wolfsangel, wolfs hook, and “wolf rune”

4. See also

1. Purpose & Disclaimer

The purpose of this list is to provide an easily accessible springboard for further research. The present author expects that this resource will be most useful to researchers, creatives, and adherents of contemporary Heathen movements.

Make no assumptions about individuals who use the symbols listed in this article. As strange as it may seem, the present topic is historically understudied. Much misinformation floats around about these symbols, some of it stemming from organizations one would expect to be more careful. All this adds up to much confusion.

Use of the symbols outlined in this article does not necessarily indicate any particular political position or belief, neither in the past or present. It is your responsibility to perform adequate research before coming to conclusions about symbol use.

2. Keep It in Context

This list is by no means representative of symbols used in völkisch circles, Nazi Germany, and/or in subsequent Neo-Nazi and far-right extremist circles. The vast majority of symbols used by those groups are unrelated to imagery and symbols used by ancient speakers of Germanic languages, which we today commonly refer to as the ancient Germanic peoples.

Additionally, rather than emphasizing the ‘exotic’ or ‘other’ among this group, it’s important to keep in mind the role of everyday social institutions and their collaboration with Nazi Germany. Cultural context is key when assessing symbols of the past.

For example, Nazi Germany was an overwhelmingly Christian state and highly intolerant of other religious faiths. Many policies of the Nazi Party drew from deep roots in the region. An intense fixation on persecution and genocide of Jews ultimately developed from precursors in the region, namely medieval Christian persecution of Jews.

Post-war individuals and institutions also often downplay the active roles they played in Nazi Germany. After Nazi Germany’s defeat, it often served former collaborators to portray themselves as aligned with the resistance members they in fact hunted and betrayed (such as the famous White Rose). As scholar Robert P. Ericksen (2009: 1) puts it:

During the first years after the war, many or most Germans, Christians and otherwise, claimed never to have supported Adolf Hitler and not to have been responsible for atrocities committed by the Nazi regime. This was met by some Allied cynicism at the time. American GIs, for example, remarked that opponents of Hitler blossomed in 1945 like the flowers of spring. For thirty years, however, historians largely accepted the innocence of the German masses, ranging from members of the Christian churches to soldiers in the German Wehrmacht, and tended instead to focus on narrow circles of culpability in the SS and in the Nazi Party.

Elements of this post-World War II German collaborationist denial and fantasies of widespread resistance have filtered down into pop culture. They often manifests as a fixation on ‘othering’ or ‘exotifying’ Nazi Germany and its elite as ‘exotic occultists’ manifesting ‘evil powers’, an approach that has resulted in essentially an entire industry about how important ‘the occult’ was in Nazi Germany. Media, too, often prefers to present this notion over taking a cold eye to the social institutions and religious organizations that paved the way for (and subsequently benefited from) the growth of Nazi Germany. Beyond many low-quality “documentaries” and YouTube videos, contemporary representations in media often present the SS as exotic occultists harnessing untold power.

A related notion about Nazi Germany that has also found its way here and there into popular culture is a purportedly peculiar association with Norse mythology, essentially the body of myths of the Viking Age North Germanic language-speaking peoples. The contextual reality of this matter is far more complicated. As scholar Julia Zernack puts it:

The political and ideological appropriation of Norse myths is frequently considered to be a characteristic aspect of National Socialism. One is automatically reminded of Heinrich Himmler’s (1900–45) obsession with all things Germanic, of ‘Operation Valkyrie’, possibly of Hitler’s eulogy for Hindenburg — ‘Toter Feldherr, geh’ nun ein in Walhall!’ (enter Valhall now, oh dead war leader!) … or of the instrumentalization of Wagner’s Ring Cycle by the Nazis. This quickly gives rise to the widespread idea that Nazi propaganda ideologically corrupted everything Norse to the extent that it remained taboo for a long time after 1945. This assumption accords too much influence to the Nazis: they did not make more use of Norse mythology in their propaganda than other political groups; the exhibition ‘State of Deception: The Power of Nazi Propaganda’ in the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC (United States) does not feature a single example in its catalogue. (Zernack 2016: 240)

Yet Nazi Germany was by no means the only nation employing imagery from Norse mythology. So from where does this notion stem? As Zernack (2016: 240) puts it:

There are two main reasons why the propagandistic abuse of Norse myths is still primarily associated with National Socialism. First, the idea of propaganda in the sense of a political influencing of the masses is associated in a particular way with the NSDAP … ; and second, the Nazis frequently employed the infamous buzz-phrase, ‘the Nordic master race’, which, however, was taken from the nineteenth-century discourse of racial ideology and which was not, at least not primarily, aimed at the transmission of Norse culture … The political instrumentalization of Norse myths is therefore not a Nazi invention, especially not in a manner that would have made recourse to this material impossible forever; rather, the use of Norse myths is an international phenomenon: it can be traced back to the time of the earliest transmission of the material down to the present day.

Like all societies, daily life in Nazi Germany meant encountering and navigating a complex and often contradictory interplay of symbols. From every Wehrmacht’s soldier’s belt buckle featuring the Christian battle cry ‘God with us!’ (Gott mit uns, ultimately deriving from Matthew 1:23) to widespread celebrations of Europe’s best-known Christianizer Charlemagne alongside references here and there to a purported noble Germanic past (albeit often while avoiding direct depiction or mention of, for example, Germanic deities), many influences combined to form the Nazi ideology and the contemporary far-right extremist landscape. The many Christian, Roman, or secular symbols used by Nazi Germany and subsequent Neo-Nazi and far-right extremist groups are beyond the scope of the present resource.

While some academics may have decided to avoid Germanic philology in the post-war period, a big interest in Norse myth continued to grow elsewhere. Imagery deriving from topics like Norse mythology (and Germanic paganism more broadly) remained exceedingly common to encounter in areas like Scandinavia and the Nordic countries. This is definitely the case today, perhaps more so than ever. In fact, topics like Norse mythology seem to be more common to encounter today in the Western world than at any time since Christianization.

Finally, it’s important to note that many of the historic symbols discussed below have taken on a new role in contemporary religious worldviews among adherents of contemporary Germanic heathenry. Its common denominator a focus on interpretations of the ancient Germanic (and particularly Old Norse) record, contemporary Germanic heathenry is a decentralized, diverse, and seemingly rapidly growing new religious movement that draws from a wide variety of influences.

The movement’s primary symbol is the Thor’s hammer, patterned after a historic pendant worn as a statement of adherence to native polytheism during the Viking Age. The hammer is listed as an iconic religious symbol alongside the Christian cross by entities like the U. S. Department of Veterans Affairs and is worn very frequently by heathens (and non-heathens) of all political backgrounds. Interestingly, although an unstoppable and utterly devastating weapon like Thor’s hammer would seem to be a highly visible and attractive symbol option for any army, it saw no notable use in Nazi Germany, not even appearing on so much as an SS emblem.

3. List of Symbols

With all that in mind, let’s take a look at symbols either rightly or wrongly associated with historic Germanic paganism that received notable use in Nazi Germany, Neo-Nazism, and among far-right extremist groups.

A. Armanen runes, Wiligut runes, & Other modern runes

20th century inventions inspired by historic runic scripts

Runes are a unique writing system developed under mysterious circumstances by the early Germanic peoples. They have now been in use in some way our another for around two thousand years. For our purposes here, it’s important to consider the long history of runes and how historic use of runes differs from 20th century inventions.

Runes: The native script of the ancient Germanic peoples

Ultimately a development from an unclear archaic Greek script, runes appear to have been in use in some way or another from when they were developed around the final few centuries BCE until today. Up until recently, the oldest undisputed runic inscription could be found on a comb ritually placed in a peat bog in Denmark dated to about 150 CE, but a recently announced (2023) find of a runestone in Norway, the Svingerud runestone (or runestones), may date from 1-250 CE.

Thousands of diverse inscriptions survive for us to analyze today, although they surely represent only a minuscule fragment of the total history of inscriptions and no doubt inscriptions carved into stone are greatly over represented.

Before being all but entirely superseded by Latin-based scripts, runes appear to have been exclusively used by speakers of ancient Germanic languages, who we today call the ancient Germanic peoples (with one known potential exception of Slavic use, see Macháček et al. 2021). Use of runes went wherever the ancient Germanic peoples did, reaching as far east as what is today Ukraine, as far west as Iceland, and as far south as what is today Istanbul.

Given its widespread use, it is not terribly difficult to imagine a scenario where runes somehow became a dominant script over Latin. Yet although various runes almost made their way into the contemporary English’s Latin-based script (namely wynn and thorn), that’s not what happened.

After Christianization, use of runes as a dominant script gradually faded away to replacement by Latin-based scripts. Runes remained in use solely for specialized purposes like wax seals in Iceland or folk calendars in the Nordic countries until the modern revival of interest and use of runes.

The formal academic study of runes runology. Innately interdisciplinary, runology is an exciting yet perplexing field consisting of highly specialized academics. Runologists have produced an utterly tremendous amount of scholarship describing and interpreting the many thousands of runic finds that have continued to come to light over the past few hundred years. And exciting and hugely impactful new runic finds continue to keep popping up. For example, the discovery of the world’s oldest known runestone dating from somewhere between 1-250 CE (!) was as mentioned above only announced in 2023, and the discovery of the earliest clear reference to the Germanic god Odin, found in Denmark, was announced the same year.

The record shows that ancient rune users used them for communication just as we see with, say, Latin script. However, runes differ from Greek and Latin systems in a variety of ways. For one, unlike Latin and Greek letters, every early rune has a meaningful name that refers an objects, animal, or folk entity relevant to early Germanic-speaking society. Greek letter ‘names’ are directly loaned without translation from their source, Phoenician, and have no further meaning beyond representing a sound value (For more discussion on this, see for example Symons 2016: 6-7). This has led to much discussion among runologists over the years.

This feature of the script allows rune users to use single runes to represent their names. Scholars refer to these instances as Begriffsrunen (‘ideograph runes’). The use of ideographic runes continued into manuscript culture in places like Anglo-Saxon England and Iceland, where—fascinatingly—scribes carried this practice over and inserted runes into Latin texts to stand in for a word. For example, the sole manuscript of the Old Norse poem Hávamál, features the Younger Futhark M-rune, called ‘human, man’ (maðr), in place of the word ‘human, man’.

While use of Begriffsrunen in some instances is obvious (like where a letter seems to be just ‘dropped in’ to represent a noun in a sentence, such as on the Stentoften runestone in Sweden), other instances can be difficult to detect. In turn, how frequent or widespread the use of Begriffsrunen was remains unclear. It’s possible many or even all ‘gibberish’ inscriptions are to be understood as a sequence of Begriffsrunen. Inscriptions featuring numerous repeated characters (like FFF or TTT) make for good candidates. The matter remains a major topic of discussion and debate among contemporary runologists.

Another aspect of runes that makes them unique is their order. Scripts stemming from the archaic Greek alphabets frequently maintain some semblance of the early Greek alphabet order. That’s not the case with the runes, which have their own unique order called the futhark, its first six sound values. The current earliest known example of the unique and (mostly) fixed order of the runes appears to occur on the above-mentioned earliest known rune stone discovery (again, dating way back to 1-250 CE). Even as the script itself split into differing branches up and into the medieval period, numerous inscriptions continue to feature the futhark sequence in what appears to imply some kind of folk belief around inscribing it (such as on this stone).

For a more thorough overview of the massive topic of early to medieval rune use, see the following excellent online resources from well-known runologists Klaus Düwel and Tineke Looijenga, both of them viewable online:

• Düwel, Klaus. 2004. “Runic” in Early Germanic Literature and Culture, p. 121-147. Camden House.

• Looijenga, Tineke. 2020. “Germanic: Runes” in Palaeohispánica 20, p. 819-853. Institucion Fernando el Catolico de la Excma. Diputacion de Zaragoza.

As indicated in cognate phrases on both the Noleby runestone (a Proto-Norse Elder Futhark inscription dated to around the 500s) and in the Old Icelandic poem Hávamál (recorded in a single manuscript from the 1200s), the runes were thought to be a gift from the gods and were therefore strongly associated with the numinous. It is not a huge surprise then that much later runes began to pop up in medieval manuscripts in collections of magical symbols (see discussion in for example Beck 2021). Over time, interest in the runic scripts and runology grew among antiquarians (perhaps most notably Danish runology pioneer Ole Worm in the 1600s) and snowballed from there.

This led to the formation of the modern field of runology, whose output trickling down into a growing popular interest in Europe. This was especially the case in areas where runes were historically in widespread use, such as the Nordic countries, England, the Netherlands, and German-speaking areas like what are today Germany and Austria. Combined with a wide variety of other influences, the Völkisch Movement arose in the late 19th century. These circles, mostly consisting of non-academics, developed a wide variety of pseudoscientific notions about runes that were quite a far cry from the increasingly sophisticated works of runologists and philologists since the revolutionary observations of Rasmus Rask (d. 1832) and Jacob Grimm (d. 1864).

1908 and beyond: Guido von List’s Armanen runes and their influence

Völkisch mysticism surrounding runic scripts came to a head in the early 20th century with the 1908 publication of Austrian writer and lecturer Guido von List’s Das Geheimnis der Runen (German ‘The Secret of the Runes’). In it, von List proposes a new type of runes, his Armanen runes. These runes would become by far the most influential aspect of his legacy. Von List’s ‘revealed’ runic script differs in major ways from the historic runic scripts that inspired it. For example, one takes its shape from the Wolfsangel, a folk symbol representing a metal trap not found in any historic runic script (see discussion below).

Von List’s writings grew influential in the caustic soup of ideas that made up völkisch circles. While his Armanen runes take obvious inspiration from the ancient Germanic record, his vision of the religion of the ancient Germanic peoples hardly resembles what is known now and what was known then about it. For example, highly influenced by theosophy and contrary to the expansive polytheism of the historic Germanic peoples, the ‘ancient religion’ von List proposed was ultimately monotheistic. That is all gods were a derivation of a singular God. While von List died in 1919, years before the formation of the Nazi Party, his impact on völkisch mysticism would wield notable influence on certain segments of the Nazi Party.

A highly visible example of that influence is the logo of the SS (ᛋᛋ). Rather than representing the historic meaning of the ᛋ rune (historically Sun, a goddess in Germanic paganism), in Nazi German use it is called Sieg ‘victory’, derived from von List’s writings. Here again we seem to see that, despite a fondness for Wagnerian pageantry, the cultural atmosphere around Nazi Germany was by and large phobic of directly referencing or depicting historic Germanic gods.

Not all runes used in völkisch circles drew directly from von List’s proposals. For example, during the later stages of World War II, when the body count of German soldiers shot up to astronomical numbers, photographic evidence indicates that a notable number of mainly SS field graves featured ‘life’ (ᛉ) and ‘death’ (ᛦ) runes in place of the more typical symbols, like a dagger symbol (†). Historically, these runes had no such names. Rather, in the Younger Futhark, we find ᛉ named Old Norse maðr, meaning ‘human, man’ and ᛦ named yr meaning ‘yew’. (Younger Futhark derives from Elder Futhark, where ᛉ was probably Proto-Germanic *algiz ‘elk’ and there was no ᛦ rune.) The probable transformation of the Younger Futhark’s ‘human, man’ into a ‘life rune’ would appear to result from simply interpreting ‘human, man’ as ‘life’. The ‘death rune’ seems to result from flipping over the ‘life rune’ (and may well be influenced by a popular association of the toxic European yew—Taxus baccata—with death).

And then there are what may be called the ‘Wiligut runes’. These symbols are the creation or reinterpretation of the SS’s very own quasi-von List, Austrian völkisch mystic Karl Maria Wiligut. During his six years with the SS, Wiligut appears to have been responsible for the symbols found on the SS honor ring (SS-Ehrenring, also known as the death’s head ring Totenkopfring), and perhaps even the so-called ‘Black Sun’ motif on a floor in Wewelsburg (see below). Runologist Bernard Mees describes Wiligut as follows:

… Karl Maria Wiligut, was a former officer of the imperial Austrian army, and since the collapse of the Hapsburg Empire had retreated into a world of Listian delusion. After being institutionalized in an asylum in the late 1920s, he fled the Austrian republic for Germany where he became a leading contributor to the Armanist journal Hagal, recalling memories of imaginary German and Gothic (Wili-gut, “Vili-Goth”) ancestors among whom he even counted Arminius. in 1933 he was introduced to Himmler by a friend and so impressed the Reichsführer-SS [Heinrich Himmler] that he was given a senior position in the RuSha in Munich where he was to write down his ancestral fantasies under the assumed name of Weisthor (i.e. ‘Wise-Thor’). Wiligut/Weisthor was responsible for the design of the skull-ring (Totenkopfring) worn by SS officers and he also influenced the development of the SS order castle, the Wewelsburg, a museum, library and officer school modelled on the Marienburg in Pommerania, the headquarters of the medieval Teutonic knights (Deutsche Orden). (Mees 2006: 204)

Wiligut’s ‘ancient knowledge’ is centered around a figure he refers to as “Krist” (that is, Christ). Wiligut builds on von List to produce an idiosyncratic völkisch form of quasi-Christianity presented in pseudo-Germanic trappings and set in an absurdly ancient fantasy past. As Horst Junginger puts it (Junginger 2008: 155):

Wiligut believed in an Indo-Germanic “Krist” who, in the year 12,500 BC, had proclaimed an “Irminglauben” [Irmin-Belief]. Later Christianity adopted this “Krist” but distorted his teachings.

Comparing von List and Wiligut in their translation of various papers authored by Wiligut, philologists Stephen Flowers and Michael Moynihan (2007: 141) note that:

What marks Wiligut’s ideas as unique is his consistent understanding of events within his own Got-mythology. He avoids references to traditional Germanic myth, with its gods and goddesses, and instead remains committed to a more abstract and monotheistic cosmology. This was also reminiscent of von List, whose own work features the “Twelve Gods” who evolved from the “One-God”.

In line with von List’s delusions of grandeur (he was born simply List), Wiligut presented himself as a great king, a champion of Krist. Wiligut claimed that it was this most noble family line that passed down these sacred teachings to him. While no doubt few would take such claims seriously then or today, Himmler was apparently enthralled. As above on the matter of von List, this is an appropriate time to stress that the fantasy Wiligut spun did not and does not resemble what is (or was) understood about ancient Germanic paganism by scholars.

Wiligut appears to have had significant influence on, for example, imagery at Wewelsburg (see discussion of the Black Sun below), yet Wiligut’s days in the SS would turn out to be numbered. Six years into his service, in 1939 the SS booted him out of the organization after discovering he had spent years in an asylum following a diagnosis of schizophrenia.

Ultimately, the use of runes in Nazi Germany was unique in some ways and yet not in others. For example, government embrace of, for example, Armanen runes is a Nazi innovation. Yet it’s worth highlighting that runic imagery could be—and can be—far more easily encountered in places like Denmark and Norway, nations Germany invaded and terrorized.

While most typically encountered in pop culture free of any kind of political association and often used for a wide variety of apolitical purpose, as with all other aspects of Nazi German imagery, runes see use among various Neo-Nazi and far-right extremist groups. For more discussion about specific rune use in Nazi Germany combined with discussion of historic and extremist group use, have a look at the following article by scholar Rudolf Simek (in German but easily machine translatable):

• Simek, Rudolf. 2017. “Runen gestern, heute, morgen”. Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung. Online. Accessed June 11, 2023.

B. The Black Sun (Die Schwarze Sonne)

Symbol deriving from a castle floor motif installed by the SS in Nazi Germany, popular in Neo-Nazi circles (and some music subcultures) since the early 1990s

The “Black Sun” (German Schwarze Sonne) is the most recent and straightforward symbol on this list. A design consisting of twelve ‘SS’ symbols pointing to a central point in a sun-like (or swastika-like) manner, this symbol derives directly from a floor design in Wewelsburg, a triangle-shaped Renaissance castle located in a village of the same name in Westphalia, Germany.

What we today call the “Black Sun” first appears as a floor design in the SS Obergruppenführer Hall. Scholar Daniele Siepe describes its placement as follows (Siepe 2022: 143):

The former SS Obergruppenführer Hall is located on the ground floor of Wewelsburg Castle. Twelve columns joined by an arched arcade surround the circular hall’s interior space and set it off from a vaulted ambulatory around its perimeter. A large sun wheel ornament with twelve stepped spokes is embedded in the center of the hall’s marble floor.

No records exist about what the motif was intended to represent or why it was placed there. As the KreisMuseum Wewelsburg puts it:

Neither room was used during the Nazi era and no reliable information is available about their intended purposes. Since the 1990s, the sun wheel motif in the floor of the “Obergruppenführersaal” has been stylised and abused as a sign of recognition and salvation in global right-wing extremist circles.

Heinrich Himmler, head of the SS, appears to have intended Wewelsburg to be a meeting place for SS leaders. Himmler’s choice of a Renaissance castle reflects his personal interests, such as Arthurian tradition and the Holy Grail (King Arthur and Grail appear as room names). To achieve Himmler’s vision, the SS utilized the forced labor of concentration camp inmates and in time Wewelsburg had its own concentration camp, KZ Niederhagen/Wewelsburg.

No records from the SS are known to survive about the wreath of SS logos we today know as the “Black Sun”. The motif is not known to have been used in any other capacity by the SS or, for that matter, by any other group in Nazi Germany. In Nazi Germany, its history appears to begin and end as an SS floor design.

Himmler’s remodel of the castle was incomplete when the SS attempted to destroy the castle toward the end of the war. The building was very damaged. Nonetheless, contemporary scholars who study Wewelsburg and its relevance to the SS are able to piece together some amount of the why and what of its construction and function from interviews and surviving records.

Whatever its intended purpose, the unique design of the “Black Sun” seems likely to have been influenced by objects found in southern Germanic graves, Zierscheiben (German ‘decorative discs’). Such swastika-like symbols from the historic record were a subject of general interest to both the SS and broader Nazi Germany. It’s reasonable to suspect that Karl Maria Wiligut (see discussion above) may have played a role in the choice of this motif but this is confirmed by neither surviving documentation nor interviews with surviving SS personnel.

For extensive English language discussion about the SS’s remodel of Wewelsburg, the development of the so-called Black Sun symbol, and the misinformation that has accrued around these topics, see the following resource:

• Kirsten, John-Stucke & Daniele Siepe. Ed. 2022. Myths of Wewelsburg Castle: Facts and Fiction. Brill.

Today the Black Sun is extremely popular in Neo-Nazi and extremist far-right circles. As a few highly visible examples include the Christchurch mosque shootings in 2019, where shooter Brenton Harrison Tarrant wore a patch featuring the symbol on his pack during and displayed it on the cover of his manifesto, and the 2017 Unite the Right rally in Richmond, Virginia, USA, where some attendees notably displayed the symbol in the colors of the US flag.

It appears that many English language publications mistakenly refer to this symbol as ‘the Sonnenrad’. In reality, Sonnenrad (German ‘sun wheel’) is a category that includes many symbols, including the swastika and the “Black Sun”. (As a highly visible example and a potential source for a lot of this confusion, see the Anti-Defamation League’s garbled symbol database entry for “Sonnenrad”, which looks to contain images intended for an article specifically about the “Black Sun” symbol yet contains text discussing swastika-like symbols more broadly).

C. Swastika

Symbol frequently used among ancient peoples and among a variety of living religious groups. Now largely taboo in the Western world due to its widespread use as the focal symbol of Nazi Germany

Easily the most well-known symbol on this list, the swastika became the official emblem of Nazi Germany. In German, the symbol is more commonly referred to as the Hakenkreuz (‘hooked cross’). The symbol was once used extensively in the Western world. Today it is considered all but taboo due to strong associations after World War II. That said, the swastika remains in use today by a wide variety of religious groups, including by adherents of Buddhism, Jainism, and Hinduism, among numerous others (the world swastika is a loan from Sanskrit into English).

Some governments have passed bills banning the symbol’s display beyond certain religions, educational, and/or artistic exceptions. For example, in June 2023, the Australian federal government introduced laws that would ban its display. If charged with violating the ban, offenders would serve up to a year behind bars. No such ban exists in any other English-speaking nation.

A very simple symbol, the swastika has been widely used throughout much of the world since time immemorial. It appears widely in ancient iconography, from Ancient Greece to the pre-Columbian peoples of the Americas. Ancient speakers of Germanic languages were no exception. In fact, the swastika may be the most widely seen symbol across the ancient Germanic record. A few notable examples include:

• A comb found ritually deposited in a bog in Denmark (Nydam Mose) dated to the 200s or 300s

• Numerous small and coin-like golden objects used as jewelery (bracteates) found throughout regions Germanic-speakers inhabited (including a recently found example featuring the first known explicit mention of the god Odin from the 400s)

• A silver fibula (a type of brooch) found in Værløse Denmark reading “ALUGOD” in Elder Futhark runes, the first component of which appears to be a charm word with a long history. Interestingly, according Lisbeth Imer of the National Museum of Denmark (2018) initial announcements in 1945 of this find censored the appearance of the swastika on the item due to anti-German sentiment in the nearly liberated nation.

• On some ornamental disks (Zierscheiben) found in Alemannic grave fields primarily containing female remains. These objects date from around the late 400s up until the Christianization of the region in the 700s. One disc may have inspired the so-called Black Sun symbol (as discussed above).

• Stamped on Anglo-Saxon cremation urns in England, such as this example (500s)

• The Snoldelev Stone (from the 800s, on display at the National Museum in Denmark)

And there are many more where those came from. The ‘meaning’ of the symbol remains unclear in an ancient context. Scholars have proposed a variety of potential explanations. These range from interpretations that it represents (the) Sun (personified as a goddess in Germanic paganism) or that it represents the god Thor (who ultimately personifies thunder). Given the contexts of its use, both make for reasonable explanations, and there are no shortage of other explanations one could propose.

Like anything else associated with Nazi Germany, the symbol can be seen in use by Neo-Nazi groups. Specifically due to its use as the primary symbol of Nazi Germany, adherents of modern heathenry have largely avoided its use despite its historic significance in the pre-Christian cultures of ancient Germanic language-speaking peoples. Given its prevalence in the ancient record, it’s easy to picture an alternate reality where the Nazi Party chose a different symbol and the swastika continued to be use widely in the Western world.

D. Teudt’s “Irminsul”

Symbol proposed by völkisch enthusiast and subsequent early member of the SS-Ahnenerbe. Historically often used by individuals unaware of its origins

For much more discussion of this symbol, see its Kvasir Symbol Database article here.

Trees were a central component of the religious beliefs, practices, and self-conception of the ancient Germanic peoples. Throughout the recorded history of the Germanic peoples, we hear narratives about humankind descending from trees, an intense fixation on sacred trees and holy groves, and even that the cosmos center around an immense sacred tree.

During the Christianization process, missionaries and rulers who sought to destroy and replace the indigenous beliefs of their neighbors targeted sacred trees for destruction. One example is Charlemagne’s targeting of the Irminsul during the Saxon Wars (late 700s to very early 800s) in what is today Germany. Irminsul is an Old Saxon compound meaning ‘great, enormous, mighty pillar’ and descriptions surrounding it imply that it was a tree trunk or some kind of tree-like object.

During the early 20th century, völkisch enthusiast and future early member of the SS-Ahnenerbe Wilhelm Teudt proposed that a carving dated to the 12th century on the Extern Stones, a sandstone formation near Horn-Bad Meinberg, Germany, depicted the destruction of the Irminsul. Teudt later joined the SS and his proposal saw a small amount of use in Nazi Germany.

Scholarship has never accepted Teudt’s identification and see no reason to interpret it as the destruction of the Irminsul. Of the few who do mention it, such as philologist and runologist Bernard Mees (eg. Mees 2007: 193-194), it’s generally to reject it. Instead, scholars hold that the depiction represents a widespread Christian motif and that the item identified by Teudt as depicting the Irminsul is likely a chair or a date palm tree.

Some heathen and neopagan groups have over the years adopted Teudt’s proposal as a historic representation of the Irminsul. Often, it would seem, without knowledge of the development of the symbol and/or its subsequent rejection by scholars.

E. The Curious Case of the “Valknut”

Ancient symbol found in a variety of pagan contexts, very popular in contemporary heathen circles, no notable use in Nazi Germany. Included here solely due to the heavy media coverage it received after being identified as a tattoo on a colorfully dressed rioter at the January 6 United States Capital Attack.

The curious case of the so-called valknut symbol deserves some discussion. This symbol consists of three interlocking triangles and is found on several items dating to the Viking Age and before. These include such diverse items as image stones in Sweden, a bed post in a Norwegian pagan boat burial, and a ring in England. The motif appears to be communicating something to the viewer, yet that something is not at all obvious to us today.

We also don’t know what it was called. The terms valknut and the Old Norse-inspired válknutr are both recent innovations (for an example of discussion about the complexities around the development and use of the term, check out scholar Eirik Storesund’s blog entry on it from 2017).

That said, we do receive one potential explanation and name for the symbol in the historic record, Hrungnir’s heart. The Prose Edda (Skáldskaparmál), found in manuscripts dating from the 13th century, discusses this in the following remarkable passage:

Hrungnir had a heart that is renowned, made of solid stone and spiky with three points just like the symbol for carving called Hrungnir’s heart has ever since been made. (Faulkes 1987: 17)

Hrungnir átti hjarta flat er frægt er, af hǫrðum steini ok tindótt með flrim hornum svá sem síðan er gert var ristubragð þat er Hrungnis hjarta heitir. (Faulkes 1998: 21)

It’s not difficult to see the picture the valknut symbol as a spiky heart with a strong threefold component. Yet if we accept that Hrungnir (a jötun killed by the beloved god Thor) was associated with the symbol before Christianization, such an association is difficult to square with how the symbol appears on objects, particularly a picture stone that seems to depict some kind of human execution (the Stora Hammars I in Gotland, Sweden). Additionally, this could describe the popular triquetra, to which the valknut is closely related.

The ancient Germanic-speaking peoples had a particularly strong fixation on multiples of three and especially three thrice, nine (see the KSD article on this here). Scholar Leszek Gardeła (National Museum of Denmark) proposes that popularity of this symbol at least partially derives from the intense fixation on this number we see in the Old Norse (and in fact broader Germanic) record. According to Gardeła:

Probably the most vivid manifestation of the number nine motif in the material culture of the Viking Age comes in the form of the so-called valknútr, a symbol carved in wood, metal and stone which usually takes the form of three inter- locking triangles (giving a total of nine triangle points). The occurrences of the valknútr motif in Viking Age iconography have been thoroughly investigated by Tom Hellers (2012) whose work convincingly demonstrates its ties with Óðinn as well as with the ideas of death, afterlife, and magic. On Gotlandic picture stones, the valknut [sic] is often seen as an integral part of imagery depicting equestrian warriors (e.g. the stones from Tängelgårda and Stenkyrka Lillbjärs I and II – cf. Hellers 2012, pp. 231–232; Oehrl 2019) but it also appears in connection with sacrifices and other ritual acts (e.g. the stones from Sanda and Stora Hammars 1 […]). In approaching the valknútr, Hellers advises caution and rightly refrains from providing one overarching explanation of this evidently potent symbol. Instead, he advocates the idea of its multivalence and underlines the fact that it operated within an exclusively pagan context. (Gardeła 2023: 22)

The symbol can be encountered as a contemporary religious symbol in this context. Contemporary heathen groups interpret the symbol in a variety of ways, either drawing from scholarship on the topic or interpreting it as they see fit, including proposing that it represents the ‘Nine Worlds’ (Níu Heimar) mentioned in Old Norse texts.

The valknut does not appear to have seen any notable use in Nazi Germany. Its use among neo-Nazi groups or other far-right extremist groups isn’t especially notable. It would not be included at all on this list were it not for one incident that led to widespread media discussion of it. The valknut received significant media attention for perhaps the first time when it appeared on the chest of Jacob Chansley (the so-called “QAnon Shaman”) during the January 6 United States Capital Attack in 2021.

When covering the event, media entities fixated on Chansley. This was no doubt due to his press-ready appearance. Quite unlike the militant aesthetic approach of most of the rioters, Chansley ensured he’d be the center of attention by wearing US flag-inspired face paint, a fur and bison horn head dress (evidently invoking pop culture representations of Native American head dresses), and going shirtless, displaying his various tattoos. One of his tattoos is of a valknut.

The ‘barbarians at the gates’ headlines write themselves. Chansley’s clown-like appearance was red meat for media entities, who ensured he dominated coverage of the attack and eventually all but personified it. Parodies of him as the archetypical QAnon conspiracy theorist and voracious Trump supporter appeared on widely-viewed television shows like Saturday Night Live. There the show’s wardrobe department even deemed it appropriate to swap his tattoos out for a Thor’s hammer necklace.

Although his tattoo(s) might imply that Chansley was an adherent of some strain contemporary Germany heathenry, there appears to be no indication this was the case. For example, Chansey was often earlier spotted holding the typical Christian nationalist signage that made up nearly all messaging surrounding the January 6 United States Capital Attack. In fact, beyond Chansley’s tattoo(s), imagery deriving from Norse myth or the broader ancient Germanic record does not appear to have played any notable role among the many symbols and messages attendees displayed during the attack.

Nonetheless, Chansley’s tattoos became a point of media and political fixation and speculation. In July 2022, US representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez interviewed Marty Daniel, owner of Georgia-based fire arms manufacturer Daniel Defense as part of the House Committee on Oversight and Reform hearing “Examining the Practices and Profits of Gun Manufacturers”.

During the interview, Ocasio-Cortez focuses on the fact that an unnamed individual in one of the company’s ads sports a valknut tattoo. Ocasio-Cortez calls on Kelly Sampson, someone she describes as “an expert in this area” to identify the symbol. In response, Sampson describes the symbol only as “increasingly embraced by white supremacists”. However, a look at Sampson’s background does not indicate expertise on topics like the history and contemporary use of the valknut.

Ocasio-Cortez displays a photograph of Chansley’s valknut tattoo. Ocasio-Cortez asks Daniel, “are you aware that your advertising department uses imagery affiliated with white supremacist movements in its marketing materials?”. To which Daniel responds, “No m’am, I don’t think we do” and appears to begin to provide further comment before he is cut off by Ocasio-Cortez. She apologizes and ends the interview.

During this brief exchange at some of the highest levels of the US government, no one bothers to mention the reality of the situation. As any expert regarding the development and the symbol might readily note, the symbol today known as the valknut is by no means an indication of any variety of political affiliation or association. And if a survey of the January 6 attacks is any indication, it is not particularly associated with far-right groups in the US, certainly not in comparison to Christian nationalist imagery.

A symbol derived directly from the pre-Christian imagery of the North Germanic peoples and never subject of any notable use in for example Nazi Germany, the valknut can today represent anything from an interest in the Viking Age to membership in contemporary Germanic heathen religious groups.

F. Wolfsangel, Wolf’s hook, & "Wolf Rune"

Medieval folk symbol with no known historic pagan use and often mistakenly described as an ‘ancient rune’, widely used in Nazi Germany, Neo-Nazism, and in some musical subcultures

The Wolfsangel (German ‘wolf’s hook’) is a symbol that generally looks like an N with an I through its center. The symbol is commonly seen in both vertical or horizontal forms and may ‘face’ either left or right. The Wolfsangel also appears in a historic context in a variety of other forms, such as an elongated N without the I through it.

This symbol has a long history in what is today Germany, where it historically represented a simple metal device intended to trap wolves before developing into a symbol used in a wide variety of contexts. Examples of the trap can be seen, for example, on display at the German Hunting and Fishing Museum (Deutschen Jagd- und Fischereimuseum) in Munich, Germany. Both the trap and its symbol have a long history in the region. At least one example of the trap dates from the 700s, and in heraldry, the symbol appears on a variety of city coats of arms (like that of Duden-Rodenbostal in Wedemark).

The Wolfsangel subsequently saw notable use in Nazi Germany, where it for example appears as a focal point of the insignia of the 2nd SS Panzer Division Das Reich. Among a wide variety of other issues in and around Nazi Germany, it also saw use an an emblem of the Dutch Nationaal-Socialistische Beweging (NSB).

Much misinformation exists about this symbol. Nonetheless, it remains easy to find incorrect references to the symbol as an ‘ancient rune’, ‘wolf rune’, or similar (as a highly visible example, the US-based Anti-Defamation League incorrectly refers to it as “an ancient runic symbol”). This misconception appears to stem from the shape’s similarity with one of Guido von List’s Armanen runes (see discussion above). Von List published his Armanen runes in 1908, where the shape of the Wolfsangel appears as the 18th and final Armanen rune. The shape has no historic runic equivalent and looks to be an innovation on von List’s part.

Wolves were wiped out in 19th century Germany but today they are welcome in Germany. And while you’d have difficultly encountering a Wolfsangel trap anywhere but in a museum, you can spot the Wolfsangel symbol on quite a few German city coat of arms. This continued ubiquity extends into other uses after the war. For example, the Wolfsangel has popped up here and there in music subcultures, like in neofolk, post-industrial, and black metal circles (here’s a 1990 example from the American artist Boyd Rice and a 1998 example from the Norwegian group Ulver). It also appears on the logo of the Ukrainian Azov Brigade (sometimes with the Black Sun symbol discussed above), and like just about any other symbol used in Nazi Germany, it sees no shortage of unambiguously Neo-Nazi use and in other extremist far-right circles.

4. See also

• Museum Resources: Digital Collection Catalogues

5. References

• Deutsche Welle staff. 2023. “Australia plans ban on Nazi-era swastika, SS symbol”. Deutsche Welle. Online. Accessed June 11, 2023.

• Erickson, Robert P. 2007. “Christian Complicity?: Changing Views on German Churches and the Holocaust”. United States Holocaust Museum. Online. Accessed June 11, 2023.

• Faulkes, Anthony. 2002 [1987]. Edda. Everyman. Online. Accessed June 11, 2023.

• Faulkes, Anthony. Edda: Skáldskaparmál 1. Viking Society for Northern Research. Online. Accessed June 11, 2023.

• Flowers, Stephen E. & Michael Moynihan. 2007. The Secret King. Feral House/Dominion.

• Gardeła, Leszek. 2022.“Miniatures with Nine Studs: Interdisciplinary Explorations of a New Type of Viking Age Artefact”. Fornvännen 117, p. 15-36. Online. Accessed June 11, 2023.

• Imer, Lisbeth. 2018. “How the Nazis abused the history of runes”. ScienceNordic. Online. Accessed June 11, 2023.

• Junginger, Horst. 2008. “From Buddha to Adolf Hitler: Walther Wüst and the Aryan Tradition” in Horst Junginger, ed. The Study of Religion Under the Impact of Fascism, p. 107-178. Brill.

• Macháček, Jiří, et al. 2021. “Runes from Lány (Czech Republic) - The oldest inscription among Slavs. A new standard for multidisciplinary analysis of runic bones”. Journal of Archaeological Science, vol. 127, March 2021. Online. Accessed June 11, 2023.

• Mees, Bernard. 2008. The Science of the Swastika. Central European University Press.

• Symons, Victoria. 2016. Runes and Roman Letters in Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts. De Gruyter.

• Zernack, Julia. 2016. “Old Norse Myth and the Poetic Edda as Tools of Political Propaganda” in Judy Quinn and Adele Cipolla. Ed. Studies in the Transmission and Reception of Old Norse Literature: The Hyperborean Muse in European Culture, p. 239-274. Brepols.