There are, obviously, no photographs of companions, so here's

a white horse. We can draw inspiration from many places. The natural world, scripture and other sacred texts, spiritual writing by great thinkers (or humble bloggers), philosophy, political and economic writings, art, all sorts of things. Many of these things, we can, as Quakers, consider potentially inspired by the Divine, perhaps in just a small way, perhaps in a great way. I’m very fond of Khalil Gibran’s The Prophet, personally, and though I don’t know for sure how spiritual he intended it to be, I find it a very spiritual book and think it likely to be inspired. We can draw inspiration from many places. The natural world, scripture and other sacred texts, spiritual writing by great thinkers (or humble bloggers), philosophy, political and economic writings, art, all sorts of things. Many of these things, we can, as Quakers, consider potentially inspired by the Divine, perhaps in just a small way, perhaps in a great way. I’m very fond of Khalil Gibran’s, personally, and though I don’t know for sure how spiritual he intended it to be, I find it a very spiritual book and think it likely to be inspired.

But it’s not just these very conventionally spiritually inspired and/or inspiring works that can give us that sort of spiritual fillip. Sometimes it’s fiction. For me, especially, I find some works of fantasy and science fiction particularly likely to stimulate my thought on spiritual matters – seeing parallels, intended by the author or not, with matters in our own world. This is one of the great strengths of some of the best science fiction and fantasy, showing us things about our own world in a fresh form to help us see them. Whether any of this is divinely inspired, I can’t see, but reflecting on it, or even just reading it, I feel the Light working in me.

There are many examples I could give, and I surely will (unless it turns out you all hate posts like this one), but today I’m just going to look at one – Mercedes Lackey’s Valdemar stories. This is a long-running series, made up of several linked sub-series set sometimes hundreds of years apart, and began with the first published novel by Mercedes Lackey, Arrows of the Queen (she is also known to friends and fans as Misty, but I cannot bring myself to be so informal). It is in some ways a reasonably conventional quasi-medieval/renaissance fantasy, with society and technology based on the norms of feudal Europe, or at least a popular conception thereof. It isn’t entirely ‘standard’ sword and sorcery work. For starters, for most of the periods covered by the books there is no ‘sorcery’ in Valdemar (one country among many in the world), for important plot-relevant reasons. There is also a distinct lack of conventional fantasy ‘races’ in the world – elves, dwarves etc – and while some books do include intelligent non-humans, they are rather more original than the usual fare. This is not a book review, however – this is a look at how I reflect on the works, and how you might as well, from a Quaker perspective. So let us get to the points that are relevant to that aim, and avoid significant spoilers wherever possible – we’ll stick to background, not story, or where it is story that is important it will be abstracted somewhat.

Valdemar is a fairly unique nation in the world of Velgarth (a name used by the author and others when referring to the world, but it rarely if ever shows up in the stories themselves). There are a lot of unique nations, but they are – as one might expect from the use of the word unique – unique in different ways. One of their neighbours, usually an adversary of some sort, is the theocratic nation of Karse, where deviation from the tenets of the monotheistic state religion can have serious consequences – and breaking religious rules can lead to unpleasant death. Another neighbour, Iftel, has little known about it because no-one can go there unless they are explicitly allowed in, thanks to a magical barrier established with the help of their own deity/ies. Hardorn and Rethwellan are much more conventional, with a king and nobles, cities, councils, and so on and so forth. They have freedom of religion, though the state may regulate such matters somewhat, and they have had good rulers – wise, kind and so on – and bad rulers – cruel, selfish, or foolish (or in one memorable case in the books, all three at once).

Valdemar, however, was set up by a refugee population. One feudal lord of a country far to the east, a good and wise man, feared for his own safety (and conscience) and that of his subjects due to a cruel ruler. Not seeing any way to resolve this back home, he took his people, upped sticks, and wondered off west to find somewhere to settle. They passed through various peopled lands, though at that time the world had large unpopulated or underpopulated areas (explanations of why would be major spoilers), eventually finding an area that had no significant population, no overarching government, and no opposition to his setting up a new realm. He founded the city of Haven, used magic to raise a great palace, and set about ruling wisely and kindly. Any population nearby who wanted his protection and support in exchange for being subject to his government were welcome to do so, and any minor independent lord who felt that it was in his best interests to pledge fealty and incorporate his domain into Valdemar could do so, but nothing and nowhere was annexed by force. Other refugee populations came into the area, and were welcomed. The essential credo of the Valdemaran state was quickly established – there is no one true way.

You can see why this seems relevant to Quakers now, right?

With all of these different populations coming in with different ways of life, different traditions, different faiths, the rulers of Valdemar, including the founder (whose name was Valdemar – nice chap, but apparently decided to name his kingdom after himself), wanted to make sure that all were welcome. People could have whatever way of life they wanted, follow whatever gods they wished to, provided that they did not infringe on the liberty of others to do the same nor on their fundamental rights (which, by the main time period of the books, includes the right not to be forced to marry, the right of children to a basic education, some restrictions on parental rights, etc). When a religion that speaks clearly and unpleasantly against the equality of the sexes sets up in Haven, it is even tolerated until it becomes clear that they are not going to be content to simply spread the word of their god to what willing audience they could find. It isn’t even required that all faiths have a respect for the validity of other faiths. They would be perfectly welcome to believe that every other faith is idolatrous devil-worshipping or simple misguided foolishness, provided they don’t try and actually enforce that view on others or harass them about it.

There is no one true way. It’s not actually bad as a summary of liberal Quakerism. We might be more willing than the Valdemarans to describe a way as wrong, as there are some things that liberal Quakers will generally agree as being beyond the pale. However, we are now fairly clear in not describing one way, one spiritual way of being and doing or one way of thinking of the Divine, as the one true way. Early Friends were not as bashful, and of course modern evangelical and some pastoral Quakers are very firm as well, but for most of the liberal wing of the Religious Society of Friends, we’re very open. Not just open about different ways to be Quakers – in fact, that is less reliably open in many parts of the Quaker world – but about different ways to be, spiritually. We say that we have found a way that works for us, but that doesn’t have to say that Islam is wrong, be it Sunni, Shia, or Sufi, or even Ahmadiyya. We don’t suggest that Catholics are mistaken on their path, nor Anglicans or Baptists. The martial tone of some tenets of Sikhism might trouble us slightly, but we would not tell Sikhs that they have made critical errors. We do not argue with other faiths, nor do we look at them with pity as misguided but well-meant fools.

So, there’s the basic parallel, the similarity between our outlooks. What else might we ‘learn’ from this fictional example?

King Valdemar worried, as he aged. He knew that his son and heir was a good man, wise and good-hearted, but who could tell what the future would hold? So he went into the woods near his palace and prayed to every god that he could name, and any others who might be listening; as a mage, he may well have used some magic as well. He wanted some way to ensure that his realm would be well-governed in the future, beyond the lives of any then living. His answer came in the form of, well, magic horses. Known as companions, three of these beings – fully as intelligent as a human, and with magical abilities including ‘mindspeech’ (telepathy) – appeared from thin air in the grove, sent by the gods. They had the ability to bond with a person, Choosing them, and they would only do so with someone who was altruistic, good at heart with clear moral sense and a devotion to the good of others. Not only this, but they would be able to guide their Chosen, helping them to maintain that goodness. The first three companions Chose the king, his heir, and his herald. Valdemar knew that there would be other companions – certainly they could reproduce like any other living thing – and that more would be Chosen. He declared, and put into the most fundamental law of his realm, that no-one who had not been Chosen could be king or queen of Valdemar. Not only that, but he knew from the fact that his herald was Chosen that this wasn’t simply a sign of the right heirs. Not only would the companions ensure that the ruler was always a good person and had guidance to help them keep to that path, but they and their Chosen could help the realm be governed rightly. There could be only one monarch and one heir, but there could be many heralds, and so the Heralds of Valdemar were formed.

The Heralds grew into an important, arguably the most important organ of state in Valdemar. They rode in circuits around the kingdom, ensuring that new laws were communicated to every part of the realm. As they did so, they would act as judges, hearing cases that local judges or elders were unable to decide or that were still disputed, and making sure that local judges and elders had been hearing and deciding cases fairly. Their judicial work – and some of their other work – is much aided by the fact that they can set the ‘truth spell’ on people, allowing them to not only know when people are lying, but make their honesty or otherwise visible to witnesses – or sometimes even compel full and frank disclosure. They provide honest counsel to the monarch, without self-interest, because their life is dedicated to crown and country, and their ethics mean that what powers they have are not abused. They even have a regard for the general well-being of all people, not just those in Valdemar, because that’s just the sort of person they are; no other sort is Chosen.

The Heralds therefore act as an ongoing check on Valdemar, to ensure that it does maintain its principles, that laws are upheld, and the principles of the law upheld even more than the letter. When a Herald dispenses justice, they do not merely think of the law as written, nor any sort of underpinning basic or constitutional law, nor elaborate legal principles of equity. They are concerned with the aims of the laws, and the overall aim of the laws of Valdemar – to improve things for everyone, to ensure liberty for all, and to protect those who need protecting. The various Heraldic ‘gifts’, magical or psychic talents, make them even more invaluable in espionage, diplomacy, and even in warfare (for even a non-aggressive culture like Valdemar needs armed forces in case of aggression, and the Guard also act as a police force and maintain roads and bridges).

The Valdemaran system has its weaknesses, of course. It is founded on altruism, and while it does not require that everyone operating within the system is altruistic, it fosters an assumption that anyone who seems to be loyal and altruistic is so. Heralds might be beyond reproach (they can be repudiated by their companion if they ever do stop being a person who tends to act in the best interests of others), but anyone can cultivate a positive reputation that they don’t really deserve. Several instances of the stories involve people who exploit others, and they may find it easy to conceal the nature of that exploitation; some involve individuals of high status who feel it would be better for them if Valdemar were run like other countries, and so they try to bring down the Heralds, remove the companions from their role at the centre of the kingdom. This can even mean conspiring with enemies of the state – perhaps enemies that the rest of the Valdemaran establishment hasn’t even realised are enemies yet.

Very interesting world building, you may be thinking (and if not, read the books, you’ll appreciate it better there than in my summaries), but what has this to do with Quakers? Well, just think…

We have our liberal principles, but we need a constant check on how we implement them. We don’t have Heralds, and we don’t have magic horses (though I expect there are plenty of Friends who wish we did), but we do have our own ongoing checks. Individual, and more importantly group discernment are how we can check that we are going in the right direction. We do not sit in judgement on one another (or at least, we do so very rarely), but we do try to open ourselves to the Divine in order to know that we are acting correctly. Hopefully, when we approach a situation we will look at it in terms of principles and the overall objective, rather than simply following rules or traditions that are handed down to us from the past. And we are certainly vulnerable to those who would have us believe they are committed to Quaker principles, but are actually out for their own interests.

How we solve these issues isn’t something we can learn from a fictional kingdom ruled by people with magic horses. Even if our situations were more comparable, even if there weren’t fantastical elements, fiction is not evidence of what works and what doesn’t (and on that note, if people would stop referring to Lord of the Flies as if it were actually a demonstration of what would happen in the situation it depicts, that would be great). But it does throw the problems themselves into relief somewhat, and prompts us to think about them. How can we best ensure that we are more loyal to the principles of our faith tradition than to the forms and traditions that have been used in the past? How can we be sure that we are checking as much as possible that we have correctly discerned the guidance of the Light? How can we protect ourselves from exploitation without becoming more exclusive and less welcoming?

Fiction can sometimes inspire answers, but much more often it can inspire questions that are more important than most answers.