The Draugr

By Shade McCurdy, RFU Lawspeaker

In the past, when our folk looked for guidance from the gods and ancestors, they searched for signs in the world around them, and then turned within themselves for integration and understanding. One method for this kind of spiritual attunement was practicing útiseta, to “sit out” overnight in a peaceful grove or on a hallowed howe. In those quiet moments, sacred truths could make themselves known to an attentive mind. Perhaps in the the stirring of the wind, or an animal visitor, or a dreamlike vision.

However, to conjure the dead through necromancy was taboo, and often had negative supernatural consequences. One example is the draugr from Proto-Germanic draugaz, “delusion” and dreuganą, “to mislead, deceive.” This is a spirit which takes the possession of a reanimated corpse. Like a zombie, the face may be familiar, and it may even retain memories of the body it inhabits, but the soul is gone, replaced by something rotten and hollow.

One aspect of the living soul is óðr. This was one of the first gifts given to mankind by Óðinn and his brothers. Óðinn’s very name means “The Master of Óðr.” This word is used frequently to refer to matters of the mind and the soul, but it carries additional meanings of restlessness, frenzy, inspiration, and even possession.

Óðr is the quality which defines poets, artists, craftsmen, warriors, and the all the most lively and passionate men persons among us. It fuels the ecstatic state where a man simultaneously loses his individual personhood and becomes more complete in his sense of purpose.

Carl Jung said, "Art is a kind of innate drive that seizes a human being and makes him its instrument."

What am I really getting at, here?

Óðinn’s relentless quest for knowledge is often cited as justification for using AI, and, to be fair, the use AI as a tool for research is quite pragmatic, and sometimes it can be entertaining, but in the same concept of communing with the dead, I think there is a proper and improper way to use this technology.

What I find most offensive is the use of AI to write and to “create” on one’s behalf—especially for religious purposes. Art and poetry is fundamentally human, even when it is flawed. It is an opportunity for the divine and mundane to inhabit the same space as we search for exaltation. To outsource one’s creativity to a machine is to rebuke the very gift of óðr. This is where I see the metaphor of the draugr.

Like the draugr, AI can appear as human. It speaks, appears to use reason, and can even seem quite creatively talented. But it isn’t human. It is neither living, nor dead. It cannot imagine anything new—only string together things it has been trained to repeat. The previous diversity of art and ideas is gradually being reduced to an unremarkable mean which causes all images, writing, and music to appear the same.

I now see some people rushing into reliance upon LLMs to try explaining the depth of the divine connection to our gods, ancestors, and the world around us, as though a machine has any idea of what it means to have the gifts of life. When they go so far as to claim ownership of the “art” generated for them, it sows seeds of distrust about the authenticity of all interactions. Now the people simply repeat what the draugr repeated first, severing themselves from the ecstatic connection which once motivated them to take chances at being vulnerable with self-expression.

We are saturated in an environment where opportunities for sacred connection have become depersonalized and commodified in the name of “content.” This sad affair is only going to increase, so long as we use mass media to communicate. But in a time where it’s already extremely difficult to form lasting and meaningful relationships with other people, do we really want all of the books, illustrations, and music about our ancestral faith to be made by soulless entities which masquerade as human? How could we even claim a right to these things being our culture if it no longer comes from our own folk—themselves being the dynamic conduit for our ancestors and our gods?

We must fight this while we are still in the early days of this technology. If we want our children to stand above this mediocrity, we must set an example for them to follow. This example must be one of attentiveness, resourcefulness, and self-authorship. As fewer and fewer people think for themselves, our descendants will remember how to truly be children of Midgard, and will not be so easily swayed by placating phrases nor fall victim to the digital draugar which prey upon our folksoul.

So practice your writing skills. Practice drawing. Make your own music. Even if you doubt your own abilities, the crafts from your own hands of infinitely greater value than ones which require no inspiration or effort. A gift demands a gift, so let your own creativity be what repays the gods!