Religions In Fantasy: A Worldbuilder's Perspective

Whether you are One with the Force, completing quests for the Temple of Waukeen, awaiting the appearance of the Nerevarine, or fighting against the armies of the Dark in the name of the Lady of Victories, religions in high fantasy are as common as Drizzt Do’Urden’s angsty, misunderstood half-brothers and sisters.

But how does one go about inventing a convincing, feasible religion for your characters? Having religious characters can, if handled with grace and tact, give a depth and richness to character, culture, dialogue and even action that isn’t easily achievable otherwise. Don’t misunderstand me, it’s perfectly possible to have a symbolically rich, detailed story without any mention of religion at all; but in fantasy fiction, many writers seem to want to take either the ‘easy’ or the ‘exotic’ path to cultural depth in their world, via religion.

One of the first and most important things to consider when inventing religion is the Self. How does your religion view the ‘self’? As part of a larger whole? As an illusion of existence? A separate, distinct entity in itself? There are many ways of understanding the self, and the way your characters view concepts of individuality and the immaterial consciousness (Whether you choose to call it ‘soul’, ‘spirit’, or a word of your own invention) will ultimately impact other beliefs within the religion, including the language used to discuss the religion, a character’s views on killing and slavery, and the rituals and ceremonies involved.

None of Paolini’s religions address this first issue; the Dwarves skip past it with a vague sense of ‘he self as a ‘spirit’ that encompasses personality, emotions and memory, and can ‘pass on’ after death, but they never try to explain beyond the phrase ‘the afterlife’ (What sort of afterlife is it? Is it a packed mead-hall with an eternal feast with food, mead and dancing women? Some kind of underground antechamber, where they wait for the dwarven equivalent of Ragnarok?). The worshippers of Helgrind (Henceforth referred to as ‘Helgrinders’) are given a passing mention of belief in a spirit world, but only by inference: the detachment from the philosophical opposite, the ‘mortal world’, leads to a conclusion of some sense of a ‘spiritual world’, but it is never expressed directly. The Helgrinders, then, plausibly believe in some kind of distinction or separation between the physical and the mental or spiritual.

The second important consideration, leading on from their understanding of the self, is motivation. Why do they pray? In other words, what happens to the self after death? Does it become one of those glowing orb thingies that appeared briefly in Brisingr? Is it absorbed into a collective group-self? Does it pass on to another world, or does it face judgement, or does it get reincarnated? The problem of what happens to the self after death will inform a lot of the religion’s rituals, celebrations and moral issues, as well as the way people view crime and punishment, and the language that is used to discuss life and death, especially funeral and burial/cairn/pyre/mummification/entombment rituals.

Paolini’s dwarves have solemn funeral rituals, examined in Eldest when Ajihad is entombed (but strangely absent for the dwarven king’s funeral), but these rituals are little more than show; no mention is made of the dead person’s fate, the reason for the particular burial traditions, and very little is said in the way of hymns, rites or anything of real religious significance.

The Helgrinders have it even worse: Almost no justification for their actions and rituals is given. Why do they cut off their limbs? Uh… ‘because they’re insane’ doesn’t work. The thing about religions is that in order for someone to choose follow and remain a follower of a religion, it needs to offer some benefit to them. There needs to be some sense of betterment or fulfilment, or nobody is going to want to follow that religion. Especially if it’s as physically crippling as the Helgrind faith. Are the Helgrinders held above the common folk? Are they revered for their sacrifice, or given money, women, power? Short answer, no. Long answer, not at all. In Eragon, the streets of Dras-Leona were littered with limbless beggars. Apparently the Helgrind priests have absolutely no regard for the sacrifices of their followers, and nor does the general population. So why cut off their own limbs? There is no immediate benefit, a whole lot of immediate, long-term detriment, and only the barest hint of long-term spiritual benefit.

Any religion you look at, in real life or in fantasy, either has or needs to have some incentive for followers. There are two kinds of benefit to be had from following a religion: immediate, and long-term. Immediate benefits include things like a sense of belonging and community, a sense of meaningfulness or purpose, self-worth, and, for some religions, financial and physical security. Long-term benefits are those to be had after death: spiritual bliss, a cessation of suffering, or the reunion of loved ones. Neither Paolini’s dwarves nor the Helgrinders have any real perceived long-term benefit, and the short-term benefits are almost nonexistent.

Going on something of a tangent here, it is important to note that in any society, religion never exists in isolation; it coexists with culture and language, and each influence the others. Religion influences cultural values like crime and punishment, individual freedoms and cultural taboos and morality; language, particular idioms, colloquialisms and turns of phrase (God only knows; speak of the devil; thank God you’re here), as well as swear-words (Goddamn it! Where the hell is my coffee?). Paolini’s dwarves have no such linguistic idiosyncrasies, and we don’t know enough about the Helgrinders to be certain, but I’d be willing to guess that they don’t, either. For the most part, the dwarves almost seem to forget about their religion until it is being directly discussed. It doesn’t appear to inform their values, their culture or most of their language (Although the idea of using the dwarf word for ‘stone’ as the same word for ‘dwarf’ is a curious, but lonely, quirk).

One of the most important points to demonstrating a complex, fully-formed religion in a fantasy story is that the characters need to be influenced by it. Their language, actions and moral justifications need to be motivated, in some small way, by their beliefs. Otherwise the religion may as well be completely absent.

The final point I’d like to make is concerning the survivors of death — the mourners, the grieving relatives. What happens to the Self after death is one thing, but the way the survivors handle it is another. Religions, for the most part, are riddled with outlets for grief, and comforting messages, and coping mechanisms. Whether it’s directing their attention to a more positive result (“They’re in a better place now”), assuming that death is not final and eternal (“You’ll see them again, someday”), or any number of other mourning rituals, prayer, funeral songs, prayer or meditation, affirmations, candle-burning, bell-ringing or something completely different, these coping mechanisms are an integral part of the religion’s philosophy regarding death.

Paolini’s dwarves do not demonstrate any sort of mourning period; Orik, the adoptive son of slain king Hrothgar, barely makes mention of it, uttering maybe two or three lines about how he was like a father, but saying nothing about what he believes has happened to Hrothgar’s spirit. Similarly, Nasuada, who later prays to a praying-mantis goddess (in the desert?) for good fortune, makes no religious comment about her father’s fate beyond death.

And finally, I’d like to make a comment on Paolini’s method for inventing religions:

Dwarves: “[name], god of [element]”
Nomads: “[name], [animal]-god/dess”
Urgals: “[name], [family role]-god/dess”

This is one of the cheapest, easiest and least effective ways to invent a “religion”. This method is favoured by roleplaying games everywhere, including Neverwinter Nights, which includes a list of 53 different “[name], god/dess of [element]” deities to choose from. However, there is rarely any prevailing mythology behind these deities. How do they fit together as a ‘community’ of gods? What’s their philosophy regarding crime or sin, and punishment? What inter-god/dess politics plays out between them? (Mind you, Paolini did at least attempt this last question, albeit rather clumsily, in the dwarf religion).

If handled properly, a fantasy religion can give your characters depth and sincerity, and a framework for their actions and motivations, something for them to fall back on when scared, hurt or in mourning, and a way for them to either justify or take a stand against perceived evil and sin. However, if handled incorrectly or clumsily, you may end up with a shallow mockery of religion which goes no deeper than the surface, and only serves to get in the way of the story.

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