The Deed of Paksenarrion (the volumes being Sheepfarmer’s Daughter , Divided Allegiance , and Oath of Gold ), a Tolkienesque fantasy epic with a female protagonist, Paksenarrion (shortened to ‘Paks’), an asexual soldier (and yes, the asexuality is plot relevant, which is pretty good going for the late eighties), who goes on to bigger and better things (while still being a fighter) and saves, well, not the world exactly (at least not directly – that comes with other people in the sequels) but at least the way of life of people of her own culture. That’s a familiar line for those who would take people to war in the modern world, but she is not fighting against people of another culture, but for good against evil. Continuing the theme of my previous post, about the fictional setting of Valdemar in the context of Quakerism, I’m going to look at another fictional setting and see what parallels there might be. Today, you get to read my thoughts on Quakers and the setting of the ‘Paksenarrion’ books. This was introduced to the world through the three-volume fantasy novel

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.