On Loki, Lokeans, and Letting Other People Heathen Differently

Humans have a tendency to reach toward gods, spirits, heroes, ancestors, and powers that they can see something of themselves in. That does not mean the gods are nothing more than symbols or projections of human emotion. It means that relationship matters. People are more likely to honor a deity when there is something in that deity’s stories, nature, presence, or perceived character that speaks to something deep within them. That has probably always been true, regardless of culture or time period.

The Snaptun Stone, a hearth stone depicting a face with scarred lips,
widely accepted by scholars as a representation of Loki

Every culture has norms. Every society has expectations. Every community has some kind of center of gravity that determines what is normal, honorable, acceptable, suspicious, or outside the lines. There have also always been people who do not fit neatly into those expectations. There have always been people who feel misunderstood, misplaced, pushed to the edge, or judged by standards they never agreed to. So when people today connect with Loki, I do not find that surprising.

That does not mean I personally venerate Loki, and it does not mean I think Loki had a central role in pre-Christian Nordic religious practice. From what we have available to us, there does not appear to be evidence for a Loki-focused cult, regular Loki-centered worship, or his inclusion in the same kind of public veneration we see reflected around gods like Odin, Thor, Freyr, Freyja, or Njord. There are no clear place-name patterns that point to Loki being widely worshiped. There is no strong archaeological trail showing organized devotion to him. The surviving literary material also does not give us a clean picture of him as a god who was honored in the same way as the more openly worshiped gods.

Loki and the eagle Þjazi an illustration from the
18th century Icelandic manuscript "NKS 1867 4to"

That matters to me because I care about reconstruction. I care about what the sources say, what archaeology shows, what comparative material can reasonably suggest, and where the limits of our knowledge actually are. I do not think every modern practice becomes historically grounded just because someone feels strongly about it. Feeling connected to something does not automatically make it Viking Age, and personal gnosis is not the same thing as historical evidence.

At the same time, the lack of evidence for Viking Age Loki worship does not make modern Lokeans impossible to understand. Just based on the Lokeans I know personally, I would guess that each of them has their own reason for connecting with him. Some see him as a god of outsiders. Some see him as a figure who understands being blamed, mocked, feared, or misunderstood. Some connect with his crossing of boundaries. Some connect with him through gender identity, sexuality, transformation, or the refusal to be locked into the role society expects of them. Some may connect with grief, anger, chaos, cleverness, survival, or the complicated reality of being both useful and disruptive.

I do not need to share that connection in order to understand why it exists. My own view of Loki is more cautious, and I tend to see him in a way that may be closer to how he was viewed by pre-Christian followers of the old ways, though our surviving sources are filtered, complicated, and incomplete. Loki is not simply a cartoon villain, but he is also not just a misunderstood patron saint of quirky outsiders. In the myths, he is helpful at times, clever at times, necessary at times, and deeply destructive at other times. He solves problems, but he also causes many of them. He moves between roles in a way that makes him difficult to define neatly, which is probably part of why modern people argue about him so much.

For my own practice, that means I do not venerate him. When I hold blót or sumbel, I do not allow Loki to be hailed or honored in that space. That is not because I think everyone who venerates him is wrong in some universal sense. It is because I am responsible for the ritual space I host. I am responsible for the tone, purpose, and boundaries of that gathering. If I am leading the rite, then I have to lead it according to my own understanding, my own standards, and my own relationship with the gods and powers being honored there. That is the responsibility of the host. To create a safe and welcoming space for guests, but to also set boundaries and clear expectations.

The Kirkby Stephen "Loki Stone" carving from Cumbria, England,
depicts a bound, horned figure, generally interpreted as
Loki bound after his role in the death of Baldr.

But if I am at a friend’s blót and they include Loki, I am not going to make their ritual about me. I am not going to turn myself into the center of someone else’s sacred space. If I choose to attend, then I am choosing to be a guest. Part of being a guest is respecting the household and the ritual customs of that space. I do not have to participate in every hail. I do not have to agree with every theological choice being made. But I also do not need to act like my personal practice gives me authority over someone else’s hearth. When you are in someone else’s house or space, it is a good idea to understand what is sacred and what is profane.

This is a principle that seems to be missing in a lot of modern pagan spaces. Too many people treat disagreement as if it is the same thing as harm. Too many people act like someone else practicing differently is an attack on their own practice. Too many people are incapable of grasping the basic fact that another person may see, understand, and engage with their religious beliefs differently.

That does not mean every practice is historically equal. It does not mean every claim is equally supported. It does not mean we throw away discernment, standards, or reconstruction. But it does mean we need to learn the difference between saying, “That is not part of my practice,” and saying, “You are not allowed to practice that way anywhere.” Those are not the same thing, and confusing the two causes a lot of unnecessary hostility.

This is where I see a deep irony in modern paganism. A large number of pagans left Christianity, or at least rejected Christianity, because they were disgusted by rigid religious thinking. They were tired of being told there was only one right way to believe, one right way to worship, one right way to interpret the divine, and one acceptable relationship with the sacred. They rejected the mindset that says everyone else must conform or be condemned. Then many of them bring that exact same mindset into paganism.

This is an 18th-century Icelandic manuscript illustration
showing Loki holding the fishing net he invented.

The gods change, the language changes, and the symbols change, but the behavior remains the same. People still police belief. They still demand conformity. They still treat disagreement as moral failure. They still build little orthodoxies and then act shocked when others do not bow to them. I have no interest in recreating that.

Heathenry does need standards. It needs seriousness. It needs scholarship, discipline, and discernment. It needs people willing to say when something is unsupported, modern, invented, or disconnected from the historical record. I am not arguing for a free-for-all where every feeling becomes fact and every personal experience gets treated as ancient tradition. But Heathenry also needs maturity.

Maturity means being able to say, “This is not historically supported,” without needing to sneer at the person doing it. Maturity means being able to say, “This is not welcome at my rite,” without pretending that gives you authority over every rite. Maturity means knowing the difference between protecting your own sacred space and trying to dominate someone else’s.

For me, Loki is not part of my devotional life. He is not part of the blóts I lead. He is not someone I hail in sumbel. That is where I stand, and I do not feel any need to soften that. But I also know Lokeans who are sincere, thoughtful, and deeply committed to their path. I know people who find meaning there. I know people whose relationship with Loki has helped them make sense of parts of themselves that other religious spaces ignored, shamed, or failed to understand. I may not share their practice, but I can recognize the human reality behind it.

 This is an illustration of a panel from the Gosforth Cross,
famously showing a bound Loki with his wife Sigyn
holding a bowl to catch the serpent's venom.

There is room in modern paganism for clear boundaries and basic respect to exist at the same time. There is room to say that Loki worship does not appear to be historically grounded in the Viking Age while also admitting that modern people have reasons for venerating him today. There is room to say, “Not at my blót,” without saying, “Not anywhere.”

If we are serious about reviving and living a Heathen path, then we need to be serious about more than just which gods we hail. We need to be serious about how we conduct ourselves. We need to be serious about hospitality, respect, boundaries, and personal accountability. We need to stop pretending that the only way to defend our own practice is to attack someone else’s.

I do not venerate Loki. I do not include him in the rites I lead. I also do not need every other Heathen or pagan to be exactly like me.

That should not be hard to understand.