Of
course, fighting against evil is generally easier in these fantasy
settings. There are evil gods, and they have followers who are
certainly evil. If you know they are followers of such a god, then
you can fight against them and know it is ‘right’. The interplay
of different political and social forces in Paksworld (an
author-endorsed term for the setting, as she didn’t name the world
itself) is heavily dependent on the pantheon of gods and saints. The
powers of good include the various gods considered as creators, the
adherents of each viewing them as the creator – Adyan
the namer, who named the world into being; Sertig
the maker, who wrought the world on the anvil of time; the Gnomish
Giver of Laws, also
known as the High Lord, who created the world by setting the rules it
would operate by; the Elvish Singer,
who sang the world and everything within it into being, with Adyan
being possibly known as an aspect of the same god. The humans of the
cultures that we spend time with mostly hold the greatest of the gods
to be The High Lord,
who judges all things aright, and there is reason to think they may
be closely identified with the Giver of Laws (including the fact that
it is also a name the gnomes use). Indeed, some theologians think
that all of these are aspects of the same ruling deity. Then there
are good gods who have dominion over specific aspects, or
personalities that particularly apply to certain individuals or
pursuits. These include Alyanya
of the flowers, the Lady of Peace and goddess of harvest and plenty;
the Windsteed, an
equine god associated with the horse nomads who live in the north but
beloved of others who live by and with horses; the dark-eyed Mare
of Plenty, from the same
cultural heritage as the Windsteed and often considered an aspect of
Alyanya; Barrandowea,
the sealord and stormlord, very equivalent to Poseidon; Esea
sunlord, also skylord, the chief god of an effectively extinct
culture that is important in the history of the world. There is also
Tir, the god of war,
who is less strongly aligned to the good, but is still considered
part of that ‘side’.
As
mentioned previously, there are evil gods as well. The greatest of
those are Gitres, the
un-maker, and Nayda,
the un-namer (and yes, that’s their opposite numbers’ names read
backwards). Achrya the
Webmistress delights in dark (and convoluted) plots, and Liart
the Bloodlord delights in torture and slavery. Ibbirun
the Sandlord, possibly an aspect of Gitres, is held responsible for
the fall of a great nation in the distant past, as the great cities
of Aare were overtaken
by the sands of the desert.
The
people of Aare, known as the Magelords
or Mageborn, have a
particularly important role in the history of the lands the books are
centred upon, as before the Fall of Aare
they had already extended their influence across the sea, colonising
a relatively unpeopled land they called Aarenis,
the daughter of Aare, and using their magical powers to exploit and
enslave another group of people, the Seafolk, when they encountered
them. Moving north from Aarenis, across the mountains, they found a
land reasonably well-peopled with a seemingly primitive folk. The
lords of Aare had great magical power, and also greater technology,
and through a cultural misunderstanding thought that the people of
the land were willingly submitting to the rule of the Magelords –
and by the time the people who were already there, the Old
Humans, knew what was happening,
there was little they could do to protest. The Magelords established
the kingdoms of Finaarenis
(I can’t find or recall any explanation of the meaning of that
name, except it’s obviously a further modification of ‘Aarenis’)
and Tsaia even as their old homeland was falling. Other ‘kingdoms’
north of the mountains included Pargun and
Kostandan, founded by
refugee Seafolk; Dzordanya
where humans (carefully) share the land with strange and hostile
diminutive mikki-kekki,
mischievous and violent forest ‘sprites’; Lyonya,
where humans (largely descended from Old Humans) live alongside the
immortal elves in a jointly-ruled kingdom; Prealith,
another land founded by the Seafolk, and ruled by one titled Sea
Prince, where the elves also have influence but no share of rule; and
finally the Ladysforest,
an elvenhome kingdom
ruled by an elf known as ‘The Lady of the Ladysforest’ or just
‘the Lady’. Together these are known as “the eight kingdoms”,
though by the time of the main books two of them have no monarch in
any conventional sense – and one is a magical elven realm that
humans cannot enter unaided and the very seasons bend at the will of
the Lady.
The
key historico-legendary events that affect the religion of the eight
kingdoms and Aarenis mostly take place around the time during which
Magelords rule over Old Humans in Tsaia and Finaarenis, and the one
of most political import is the life of Gird Dorthan’s Son, Strong
Gird, or as his name was immortalised, Gird Strongarm.
Gird led a rebellion in Finaarenis, finding alliance among dissidents
among the Mageborn (especially a priest of Esea who had come to
question the accuracy of old Aarean philosophy that they had been
taught), support from a nearby gnome princedom (the gnomes being
another elder race like the elves, but living under stone and with
law being the central defining element of their culture), and a major
lord of Tsaia providing material aid. The Old Human peasants
overthrew the Magelords who ruled them, outlawing the use of mage
powers and setting up a non-hereditary government based around the
Fellowship of Gird. In his final years, Gird hoped to reconcile the
Old Humans with the surviving Magelords of the ‘kingdom’, now
renamed Fintha, but in
the end Aarean magery was entirely outlawed, and those of Mageborn
descent only tolerated if they never used – or did not have – the
mage powers of their heritage. Through events that are not entirely
clear, the Fellowship of Gird became a religious body, with Gird
venerated as a saint. Neighbouring Tsaia had escaped being caught up
in the Girdish revolt by handing power to those families who no
longer had mage powers, and later their rulers were converted to the
Girdish religion. Fintha in the ‘modern’ times of the
Paksenarrion books is a theocracy, albeit a very benevolent one whose
faith is based on egalitarianism, fairness, and the rule of law;
Tsaia is a feudal monarchy whose state faith is Girdish. In Lyonya,
the most popular faith is that of the Company of Falk,
who venerate a hero-saint like Gird – though one who was a Magelord
himself, and with a rather less egalitarian attitude. Falkians
emphasise honour and fidelity as cardinal virtues, as well as the
strong standing up for the weak. Both have developed as martial
faiths, though the Girdish emphasise all being trained to defend
themselves and their fellows, with little idea of rank or of officers
in command. Falkians train all, but with the idea of being led –
and commanded – by knights and nobles.
Older
hero-saints exist. The cult of Camwyn
Dragonmaster is popular in the south, in parts of Aarenis. Camwyn is
recognised a saint in the north as well, though there is little
knowledge of his cult. To most, the story of his life and sainthood
is about having somehow rid the world of dragons. Those who have held
most to the true story know more of how this was done, though those
who have not kept the truer stories think he somehow defeated the
dragons through force and cunning. If you want to know the real
truth, you would have to ask a dragon, though they aren’t too keen
on explaining, being another of the elder races, and having a complex
relationship with elves, gnomes and dwarves. Torre
of the necklace, the heroine of the tale of Torre’s Ride, and known
to some who venerate her most as Torre Bignose, has the story most
lost in the mists of time. It involved riding on a magical steed and
completing seemingly impossible tasks, turning stones or coal on her
necklace into bright jewels – and Torre’s Necklace being one of
the most visible constellations in the night sky of this world.
All of
these saints, and many of the gods, have demonstrable impact in the
world. Clerics of various sorts gain powers granted by their patrons,
with Marshals of Gird (an office instituted during the rebellion) and
Captains of Falk able to heal by the power of their patron. Relics of
Gird, artefacts handed down since Gird’s time, can be used to sense
truth and falsehood or detect evil, or to signal Gird’s favour.
Knights of Falk, though not technically clerics themselves, can use
the symbols of their order to prove truth, and at least some are
trained in occult matters, the abjuration of spirits. At least some
Marshals of Gird have a limited form of telekinesis, usable only on
weapons. ‘Good’ clerics can also call on their patrons to defeat
or destroy evil enchantments. Contrariwise, the clerics of evil
deities have powers that are likely to frighten, kill or torment.
Priests of Liart wield terrifying weapons made by their
artificer-priests, and those without divine protection cannot stand
against them. Clerics and favoured followers of Achrya have the power
to change shape to take on the likeness of their patron, a huge
spider that can assail their enemies with fear (beyond that which is
natural when confronted with a giant spider), and sometimes to take
on alternate human forms in order to further her plots.
All of
these offices are bestowed by clerics of their faith, at least among
the good, and while their powers come from their patrons it has never
been indicated that they are ever denied. However, there are other
clerical figures whose powers are granted or withheld by the gods and
saints at their own discretion, though their faiths train people for
the roles and put them forward as candidates. Paladins,
as found in tabletop roleplaying games, are soldiers of the gods.
They are champions of good, and paladins of Gird have four main
powers that are considered essential to their role. They can heal,
like Marshals, though with fewer limitations on the extent of that
healing but seemingly much more dependent on the gods to grant the
healing. They can call light, which not only functions as light in
the normal way but also has some power to reveal deception or resist
(or destroy) evil enchantment. They can sense good and evil directly,
and though this is generally only useful when dealing with those who
are truly evil, more talented or practised paladins can focus the
perception to see the evil parts, or potentially evil parts, of the
being of those who are not necessarily truly evil. Finally, they are
immune to the direct assaults of evil magic, and immune to any magic
that affects the mind or soul directly. They can spread that
resistance somewhat to those around them, and some more gifted
paladins seem to be able to spread it as far as their light. Paladins
of Falk and Camwyn also exist, though how their powers might differ
is not made clear.
So,
with those brief descriptions of much of the religion and
spirituality of this world, we turn to the question of this series of
posts – what might Quakers take from this? To be honest, it’s a
little difficult. The author, Elizabeth Moon, is a former US Marine,
and much of her work is positive about the military, at least in
principle. It is not positive about war, to be sure, but presents it
as sadly inevitable, and often carries a message that if war is to
happen, it had better be pursued by a professional military. It also
addresses, in various ways, the question of corruption in politics
and the military, and the risks of an unbridled military having too
much sway on public policy, and that is something Quakers in general
can get behind – but the inevitability of war and the benefits of a
professional soldiery are more difficult pills for Friends to
swallow. The Girdish believe in fairness and equality, in fair and
equal measures and fixed prices, and that much is quite Quakerly, but
they also believe in all being trained in arms so as to use them to
defend those who cannot defend themselves. Falkians hold to
oath-keeping and honesty, but also to a sense of noblesse
oblige that would be alien to
most Friends. They oppose the cruelty of Liart and the plotting of
Achrya, but do so with force of arms and arcane powers; the latter is
understandable in a world where such exist, but the former is
something that many, even most Friends would reject, except possibly
as a last resort. Alyanya, the Lady of Peace, is more Quakerly.
Strongly associated with nature and the growing world, some people
who claim her as patron reject any use of arms except at the most
extreme. However, in the world at the time of the main books, this
interpretation is fringe at best, as Alyanya is recognised and
invoked by Girdish and Falkian alike. She is the lady of peace, but
that merely means she has little to do with war, rather than opposing
it.
Still,
the apparent Girdish militarism isn’t what we would think of as
militarism today. They do not argue that might makes right, and they
are not warmongers. While Gird is a warrior’s patron, he is also
the patron of all sorts of others who learn to fight because of their
faith, rather than choosing their faith because of their vocation
(unlike Tir, whose followers are pretty much all in the profession of
fighting). The Fellowship of Gird may support a side in a war, but
only because the war is – in their judgement – just, a test that
is easier in a world with such clearly defined good and evil. Fintha,
the Girdish state, does not engage in wars of aggression (though it
only has one settled nation as a neighbour, Tsaia, a nation whose
state patron is Gird and who is a long-term ally of Fintha). They
wish to spread their faith, as is usual, but not to the extent of
decrying other cults on the ‘good’ side of the pantheon, and they
do not try to spread the secular control of their country while doing
so. Paladins do not go looking for fights, but instead follow the
call of the gods to go where needed and give heart (and mystical
support) to the right side of a fight, or to bring a conflict into
the open so that it may be resolved – which doesn’t always
involve fighting. They solve problems, find lost heirs, and unearth
hidden evils.
And
yet problems occur when Girdish leaders are sure that they know for
certain right and wrong, know what Gird wants or thinks. When the old
magelord magery resurfaces among the general population, some raised
on stories of the evils of the magelords and the received wisdom of
Gird’s hatred of magery decide that this means that those people
suddenly exhibiting such powers must be evil – even though many are
children. The fact that Gird had tried to reconcile the peoples had
only recently been rediscovered, and many were too confident of the
facts that they had ‘known’ since childhood to really accept it.
The Code of Gird, the law of the fellowship and of Fintha, outlaws
the use of magery entirely, and is generally understood by most to be
condemnatory of the simple possession of mage powers. It becomes
clear that Gird does not support this situation, neither the state of
the law (which had been revised since his mortal life) nor its
summary and excessive application, but still a faction of Marshals
insist on supporting the lynching of any who display mage powers.
There are two things to take from this part of the story. The first
is familiar to Quakers, or at least should be: we cannot rely on
received wisdom or long-held certainties to deal with unfamiliar
situations – and indeed we should not even for things that aren’t
so new. We have available to us the guidance of the Spirit, and we
have to make decisions for ourselves as to what is right and wrong
based on that guidance and our own sense, not follow the easy path of
long-held certainty. This lesson is actually part of the development
of the character of Paksenarrion in the original story, of her
development from a soldier who takes orders to a paladin who acts as
her gods direct – and whose gods expect her to also use her own
judgement.
The
second one is a broader lesson of the perils of an even somewhat
militaristic approach to faith. Not to criticise the Girdish idea
that they train in arms so that they might defend those unable to
defend themselves, to resist tyranny. Their fellowship was founded in
a revolt. In fact, there is much to parallel in the story of the
Fellowship of Gird with the Sikh Khalsa.
The Khalsa were founded in the face of oppression, a reaction not
only to the oppression of Sikhs but of Hindus as well. They had an
uprising to overthrow their rulers, and established a Sikh state that
accepted religious pluralism. They were formed from farmers and
crafters who trained in arms to be able to defend themselves and
others and resist that persecution. The martial aspect of this Sikh
initiation is reflected today in the kirpan,
the blade now carried largely as a matter of ritual – not to be
used in ritual, but the carrying of the blade being a ritual in
itself, a reminder of their duty to defend those who need defending.
We Quakers do not share this idea of defending those who need
defending by force of arms, though we do share the idea of speaking
up for and defending those who need it by other means. However, the
Girdish tradition is that the fellowship are the arm of Gird in the
world to do his will by strength of arms (among other means), and
while his will does not generally encompass aggression, if you
understand his will to be the elimination of magery and you have
understood physical force to be a primary method of enacting Gird’s
will, it is not a long step to the lynching of those showing mage
powers. If we use militaristic and forceful imagery and culture,
people will find militaristic and forceful solutions to problems –
a principle that it is not hard to see at work in the real world, in
history and in the present day. It is that sort of militarism that
Quakers must, and generally do resist, for instance by involvement in
alternatives to violence programmes and by providing alternative
teaching materials around the centenaries of the events of the First
World War.
As a
final note, though, I must admit that I have omitted one entire
branch of religion in this fictional world. There are a small group
of people, scattered through the eight kingdoms, called Kuakganni
(singular Kuakgan), who are generally counted among the range of
clerics but whose spiritual life does not directly relate to the gods
(though they acknowledge them and do not doubt their existence or
power). Instead, their relationship is with the natural world, loving
all things for their nature, even if they are harmful (with some
exceptions for some groups of sapient evil creatures, who are not
acting according to their created nature but have been perverted in
some way). Some people gather to learn spiritual and ethical
teachings from a Kuakgan, and they are known as kuakgannir. The
Kuakganni accept entirely the natural order wherein some creatures
kill and eat others, and even the (perhaps less natural) order of
humans chopping down trees for wood, or clearing forests to plant
fields, though they love the wild woods most of all and have a
kinship with trees. Their path dramatically extends their lifespan,
and they gain knowledge and powers of healing, of influence over
plants and animals, and the ability to produce some rather uncanny
effects from trees similar to those the elves can produce, from a
similar method (though still very much distinct, as the elves will be
at pains to point out).
Kuakganni
may respect the saints, including Gird, and take no issue with people
defending themselves or others, but many are disapproving of war as a
profession or way of life. They do not get on well with fighters.
This is partly because a fighter or soldier exists in part to end
life or harm people, even if for a good cause; this is not something
a Kuakgan can generally approve of except in very limited
circumstances of great evil, or of things perverted from their true
nature. Yet they do recognise that the inclination to fight, whether
in good cause or not, is part of the nature of some people. The
problem they have with soldiers especially is that they tend to
abdicate their own moral judgement to that of their superiors. The
ethical teachings of the Kuakganni, however, tend to emphasis
individual responsibility, the need for all to understand situations
as much as possible and reach their own judgements. That is what
soldier’s training – and some faiths’ teachings – tends to
train people out of. The Kuakganni do not advise all to listen for
the guidance of the gods, though they recognise that some have that
advantage, at least at times. They teach that everyone should try to
understand a situation and come to an independent judgement based on
their own knowledge and understanding.
One
can clearly see some similarities between the way of the Kuakgan and
Quaker teachings, but perhaps we neglect that last point somewhat. Of
course we believe that we can be guided in all things by the Divine,
but we shouldn’t expect the Divine to always just tell us what to
do. The Spirit expects us to put in the work as well, and apply our
reason as well as the leadings of the Spirit. Indeed, I would suggest
that we will often find the Spirit relatively silent when we have not
done our part, trying to understand all we can and apply reason. We
cannot be satisfied with reason, but we must start from it so that
the Spirit has something to work on in us.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Did you enjoy this post, or find it interesting, informative or stimulating? Do you want to keep seeing more of these posts? Please consider contributing to my Patreon. More information is available in the post announcing my use of Patreon.
Did you enjoy this post, or find it interesting, informative or stimulating? Do you want to keep seeing more of these posts? Please consider contributing to my Patreon. More information is available in the post announcing my use of Patreon.
