Book Review: Open and Relational Theology, by Thomas Jay Oord

In getting back into work on my theological writing, I’ve been reading a lot more theology, perhaps to avoid falling under Samuel Johnson’s warning, “I never desire to converse with a man who has written more than he has read.” I’d like to say that it’s really a matter of humility; the more I learn, the more I realize how little I know. But, ultimately, I just love learning, especially about theology. Over the past weeks, I’ve felt much like I was back in graduate school: reading multiple books a week, and happily, always with highlighter and fine-pointed (.35mm preferred) pen for marginalia. I’ve been reading or re-reading Julian of Norwich, Theresa of Avila, Dr. Elaine A. Heath, Brian McLaren, Tillich, and now Thomas Jay Oord.

Second-hand information about Thomas Jay Oord and his thoughts on God’s passibility have been influential in the formation of my own theological arguments (which you’ll see below, at least in part), so I was excited to sit down and get some first-hand experience with the man. Unfortunately, I relatively quickly found myself thinking of him as I typically think about the comedian Dennis Miller; I can agree with most of his conclusions but want to argue with him the whole way to them.

So, this post will focus on my criticisms of Rev. Dr. Oord’s arguments laid out in this book. In a matter of fairness, I must say that this book is clearly intended for a popular audience and therefore adopts a brisk pace and high-level approach that does not give Oord time or space for laying out the details and nuance of his arguments. However, Oord makes sweeping assertions about the nature of God and the Cosmos in this book that simply cannot stand without support. As often as not, no support is given whatsoever, with the precept stated as undeniable factual revelation. When argument accompanies an assertion, it often suffers from the use of rhetoric to conceal the lack of substantive argumentation, or the argument given doesn’t actually follow to the assertion being made.

As I said above, while I agree with Oord’s framing of God as relational, and I also agree with Oord’s arguments about the importance of free will to God’s intentions for humanity, the roads walked to these conclusions lead down problematic paths before they reach their destinations, however good (or correct) those destinations may be.

God Can’t
Right off the bat, Oord writes about what “God can’t” do. Some of these statements are intended to call out inconsistencies in “conventional” theologies. For example, Oord writes, “A timeless God can’t do anything new or continue doing anything He did previously.” The idea of “time” is unsettled in both philosophy and science; to use words like “timeless,” especially without any definition, in such absolute statements, is insupportable. The usage supposes that (1) that “timeless” is absolutely and incontrovertibly incompatable with being “in time,” (2) that Oord understands how time and timelessness work, and (3) that anyone who calls God “timeless” does not.

Aside from the intellectual hubris of such positions, the failure to address any epistemology whatsoever to delineate assumptions and arguments for how we can know about time and eternity with any certainty, much less what we can know about time and eternity as finite beings, would not pass muster with anyone with more than a passing knowledge of the issues of philosophy, theology, experience and metaphysics. This is the extreme opposite of what Tillich often does in his writings; where Tillich writes in a way that presupposes you have the same definitional understandings of philosophical concepts that he does (whether as a matter of trust of his audience or to demonstrate his intellectual brilliance, I can’t say), Oord presumes the reader doesn’t have sufficient philosophical training to even ask such questions. Thus, they need not be addressed.

This epistemological issue is the first major problem with Oord’s “God can’t” arguments–the history of Christian theology alone (to say nothing of the equally developed philosophies and theologies of other religions) bears two millennia of epistemelogical arguments about what we can and cannot know about the nature of God. Oord’s definitive statements attempt to cut through such problems like they’re the Gordian Knot, but the blade of confidence is not sharp enough to cleave the collected arguments of brilliant thinkers who have yet proved unable to establish definitively what we might know about God.

Oord is certainly aware of all of this, but he only addresses these issues in reference to “absolute apophaticism” (which reference seems to imply that he, personally, created the term when it’s simply the proper words long-used to describe such a position. It’s a strawman argument (as many of his arguments in this book are).

This approach demonstrates exactly why apophatic theology bears fruit, even if we are engaged in cataphatic theology: the apophatic doesn’t simply say we can’t know anything about God (at least not in its less-than-absolute forms); the apophatic approach reminds us that we must be cautious about overstepping the epistemological and logical limits about what we might say about the nature of God. Here, specifically, I think of Tillich’s argument about the “God beyond God.” Tillich warns us of the intellectual problems of describing God as “a being” when God is the “source of all being.” If God is the source of both time and eternity, how could God be limited by either? Our limitations in understanding time and eternity are not God’s limitations in understanding them.

Likewise, Oord later argues that God “learns to love better.” If we’re to take most seriously the statement (and others like it) in scripture that “God is love,” Oord’s statement simply cannot work. If God is the source of love itself–if there is no such thing as love without God–then logic does not follow that there is something about love that God does not already know. To put things more broadly: if God is the source and sustainer of all things, abstract and the specific, potential and realized, how could God not know all things? We’ll turn to arguments about God’s omiscience momentarily in dealing with free will.

The second major argument against the “God can’t” stance is the issue of omnipotence. Oord casually tosses the idea of omnipotence aside, favoring an argument for “amipotence” (we’ll return to that). “Conventional” theology argues that if there is anything that can control or limit God, that thing stands above God. Oord’s arguments rest upon the unspoken idea that existence has rules that did not originate from God and that God must follow–but the only arguments as to why the conventional view might not be correct (again, ignoring thousands of years of philosophical and theological work) is that Oord wants different consequences or results than the one he sees flowing from omnipotence. His intent in moving away from the idea of God as not fully omnipotent, I think, is an attempt to “rescue” God from responsibility for suffering and evil, though it does not, and cannot, accomplish that goal, as we’ll see.

The shame with the “God can’t” argument is that it’s not even necessary to make it. We can more safely speak about what “God doesn’t” or, at least, “doesn’t seem to do,” without disturbing the conventional views of omnipotence and omniscience, and without falling prey to vicissitudes of epistemelogical quandries, and, in doing so, we can arrive at the same conclusions. In fact, the conclusions have greater profundity when they are the result of God’s choices, not God’s limitations. It is far more powerful–and better coincides with the understanding of God that we have in Jesus Christ–to believe that God is omnipotent but refrains from asserting that omnipotence out of love for Creation. That God is more relational than the God who cannot be other than relational. That God truly demonstrates what mercy and grace are better than the one who does not have the choice not to show mercy and grace.

As I’ll argue in the book I’m working on, I believe that the two fundamental aspects of faith that are necessary to support the eternal hope we have in the promises of the Christian God are that: (1) God is omnipotent, thus no other factor or force could thwart God’s plans for us, and (2) God chooses to be good, to be love rather than fear or hatred. These are the most basic arguments about God we find in scripture. The “God can’t” argument rejects both ideas.

Free Will and God’s Foresight
Oord stresses that the free will of humanity is of deep importance to God; I wholeheartedly agree. But Oord again oversteps by making unnecessary arguments. In this case, Oord confidently asserts that God cannot see the future, at least not absolutely, because God’s ability to do so would deprive us of our free will. Oord is certainly not the first person to make this argument in Christian theology; both Judaism and Islam have addressed the same apparent conflict between the foreknowledge of God and the freedom of human will. The debates continue.

Nevertheless, the existence of both human free will and God’s foreknowledge of events does not necessarily conflict. It cannot be conclusively shown that (and is intuitively not the case) that the foreknowledge of an event causes the event. This is the point of David Hume’s thought experiment about the movement of billiard balls: causation is always assumed, never known definitively. If I know what my wife is going to say before she says it, that doesn’t mean I have caused her to say the words; I simply have a privileged position in seeing a little farther down the road than someone who doesn’t know her as well.

One can argue that God’s omnipotence means that God’s foreknowledge does have a causal effect where human foreknowledge (which is imperfect) does not, but it doesn’t follow (and again would not seem to match logic or experience) to assert that God could not refrain from using God’s power.

Ultimately, like the “God can’t” argument, this argument about God’s foreknowledge and our free will is unnecessary; we don’t need God to be blind to the future to be assured that we have free determination and agency in our actions. The only assertion about God to which this argument would be necessary is the argument that God is limited by forces outside of God. Again, the value of apophatic theology is instructive here–why make unnecessary assumptions about God?

A Note about the Trinity
After a brief mention of the idea of the “social trinity,” Oord moves into an argument that “because the social trinity portrays God as essentially relational, it implies that God is essentially timefull.” I’m don’t follow the logic, in part because I’m not sure what Oord means by “timeful,” but my best guess based on the sentences that follow is that time and “sequences of events” (perhaps causation or change in general) are the same thing, which is far from clear. Even more, I’m not sure whether Oord supports this view or not.

In the next paragraphs, Oord employs the poorest of argumentative tricks, reference to ambiguous and unknown authorities, to argue against the trinity. He says “some Christians” don’t believe in the trinity, as if the fact has some bearing on the truth. He later states that “the trinity isn’t in scripture” (the doctrine came out of the belief and practice of the early church and in the analysis of early scripture starting before the finalization of canon), resorting to a sort of literalism when it suits.

Which brings me to the next issue:

Nonsequitur Answers
In Chapter 4 of the book, Amipotent, Oord argues that God is not omnipotent, God is “amipotent.” By amipotent, he seems to mean that God works through humans through means of persuasion and subtle leadership. That piece, by itself, is common in Christianity; we frequently preach and teach about God using humans to advance God’s plan. It feels like half of sermons about the Old Testament at least touch on this idea–Noah, Moses, Saul, David, the Prophets, etc.

But it’s one thing to say that God allows humans to participate in God’s plans for the world and another to say that God lacks the power to do things otherwise. I think of a scene from Game of Thrones, were Petyr Baelish tells Cersei Lannister that “knowledge is power.” She responds by commanding her guards to step forward, then to seize Petyr, then to slit his throat; at the last moment, she feigns a change of heart and tells the soldiers to stand down. She stares Baelish in the eyes and tells him, “Power is power.” Political and social theorists separate “hard” power–Cersei’s kind of power–from “soft” power–the kind Oord assigns to God. Massive problems in the definition of what we mean by God, assumed arguments about the nature of creation and God’s place within it, and then all other aspects of theology emerge when we start from a position that God is not omnipotent, in ultimate control of all things (whether that control is exercised or not), and therefore God’s promises are trustworthy because God necessarily has the means to fulfill them.

Again, it’s assuming that what God does do indicates the limits of what God could do. If we make the argument that, while God could be resurrected after dying, God could not have prevented death on the cross, we necessarily come to a radically different understanding of the incarnation and passion than those still-varied interpretations and views that are “traditional” or “common.” I want to be clear that I’m not pearl-clutching and reacting to the implications of Oord’s arguments as anathematic simply because I don’t like them. I’ll admit, for all that I know and from what little I can prove, Oord could be right. But if he is, we live in a very different universe than the one we see in the greater scope of scripture considered together and through the lens of Jesus. That universe doesn’t have the same kind of hope in God that I believe Christianity reveals.

For what it’s worth, Oord does explicitly reject my particular argument on this matter, though he does state that other “Open and Relational” theologians ascribe to my view. For him, though, he writes, “Nor does God voluntarily self-limit.” The sentence before that states that Oord does not believe that outside forces do not constrain God, but he really makes no argument in favor of this position. And that’s because, ultimately, logic fails to answer the question here. We’re left with the “Could God create a rock so heavy that God could not lift it?”question. If Oord wants to argue that there are “rules” that God must follow (things “God can’t) but that God is not constrained by outside factors or forces, the question becomes: “Can God make a law so strong that even God cannot break it?” Here, the argument becomes circular, because, if the answer is “yes,” then God has necessarily self-limited.

The argument about God’s “amipotence” is, rather transparently, an attempt to relieve God of responsibility for suffering and evil. Later in the chapter, Oord gives us five ideas that “together…solve the problem [of evil and suffering].” Unfortunately, only the first of these ideas actually even addresses the problem. The first precept, the only one on point, simply states that “God can’t prevent evil singlehandedly.” There it is again: God simply can’t. It’s worth noting that this is not–or at least Oord does not explain it as such–a subtle argument that God has created an existential scheme such that God’s other goals for humanity would be prevented if God singlehandedly prevented evil.

Oord’s earlier focus on free will does partially address the problem of evil (though with a “traditional” answer): God has allowed us free will, and some people will use that to do evil. But it does not address the “real” problem of evil and suffering: Why does God allow suffering at all? Natural disasters, disease, old age: all of these are causes of human suffering that are not brought about by free will. If God created the universe, God created in a way that tectonic shift creates earthquakes, that the molten core of an earthlike world gives rise to convective heat that sometimes breaks forth in volcanoes, that we require water to live but can all too easily be killed by it. Did God create in a way that made God occasionally say “oops!” The modifications of stories in Genesis that were taken from earlier Sumerian or Mesopotamian tales indicate that the scribes who wrote the Old Testament were intentionally arguing the opposite. In the Sumerian flood story, the gods overdo it, trapping themselves against the sphere of the heavens as the waters continue to rise toward them. The God of Noah’s flood has no such problem with controlling events.

Before returning to the problem in general, here are the other four arguments Oord gives: (1) “God suffers with us;” (2) “God works with us to heal;” (3) “God works to wring good from bad;” and (4) “God needs our cooperation.” The first three are attempts to mitigate suffering and have nothing to do with causation. The last is simple a repetition that “God can’t.”

The desire to solve the problem of evil and suffering is a very human one. But, in my epistemological skepticism, I believe that it’s not one we can solve. Oord is quick to make definitive statements about the nature of God and the cosmos, but I am not. That said, I find it especially poignant that what is probably the oldest text of the Old Testament provides the best answer available. At the end of the book of Job, God finally shows up to respond to Job’s questions. But few of God’s answers are explicit. God does specifically state that the arguments of Bildad, Zophar and Eliphaz are wrong. Job’s friends have argued that bad things only happen because of sin–that bad things only happen to bad people. God rejects this whole cloth. But the only answer that God gives to the greater question of why there is suffering at all is a rhetorical monologue in which God asks Job if Job has the omnipotence and omniscience of God. Job responds:

“I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted. Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge? Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.”

Book of Job 42:2-3 (ESV)

Job realizes that Gods ways are higher than his ways; that he is not capable of understanding the true complexities of dessert, evil, and suffering, and that the choice before him is not one of understanding but of trusting that God understands and is in control of what he does not and is not.

Perhaps the answer that we cannot understand and can only choose to trust or not to trust that what and how God has created represents the best way for things to be, even if we cannot see that now, is not a satisfactory one. But it is an answer that finds purchase throughout the Old and New Testaments. I’ve written elsewhere on the blog about the benefits of ambiguity and doubt in both Scripture and faith in general, and I’ll write about the theodical problem more in later posts. For now, I’ll say that it is not for us to “rescue” God from culpability and, at least on this side of the veil between life and resurrection, we’re not going to find a definite answer with our finite minds. Here, though, Oord’s arguments about God’s mitigation of suffering do have value–they demonstrate that God does not allow suffering for no purpose or without a teleological end, even if we can see what that end is from where we stand.

So Close, So Far
I don’t want to leave you with the impression that I believe this book to be of little or no value. Oord has a number of insights with which I agree, at least in principal if not in all the details. The arguments I’ve made above are mostly in matters we need not resolve to get to Rev. Dr. Oord’s larger points that God is about relationships, God interacts with the world and with us individually, and the core of God’s being is love.

While I quibble with the details, and I think there are problematic consequences of Oord’s arguments that ought be addressed, the intent of this book was to reach people and get them to ask some questions that challenge the “traditional” (I’d say conservative) view of Christianity and to see that the God of Jesus is a God of love and hope, not of fear and wrath. It is not intended as a methodical argument of Oord’s views and, I’ll say again, it’s potentially unfair that I’ve used his brief summaries of ideas as methodical arguments to dissect and oppose.

I do think that there are better books on the topic. I’d highly recommend Brian D. McLaren’s A New Kind of Christianity as an alternative to Open and Relational Theology. McLaren’s book is not intended for academics in particular (I don’t think), but it makes detailed and cogent arguments for the positions it asserts. Like Oord’s book, McLaren’s leads the reader to a truer, better, and more hopeful understanding of Christianity than most people (especially without the church but even for many within it) expect. But, it stands up better to scrutiny than Oord’s book and doesn’t rely on strawmen or other rhetorical techniques to assist in convincing the reader.

I will say that I intend to read more of Oord’s work. Whether or not I agree with his ideas, he provides alternative views to mine that lead to similar destinations, so engaging with his work will help me to think about the details of my own arguments. I expect that there are more worthwhile ideas to learn from him.

The Last Word
If by some happenstance, you have read this far, and have enjoyed my rather longwinded and unfortunately critical review of this book, please let me know. As I’ve engaged in deepening my research for my own theological writing, I’ll be reading a lot more theological books. It might be helpful for me to review many of them on the blog as I do, so if there’s an audience for that, tell me!

The Wheel of Time’s Wheel as Cosmology

Let me begin by saying that I’ve only ever read the first book of The Wheel of Time series, and quite some time ago. I found it too much a rehashing of The Fellowship of the Rings to move me much, so I never progressed to the later books. I suspect I’ve missed out, as the series seems to come into its own as it continues. Nevertheless, for the sake of transparency, the knowledge that is the basis of this post is mostly limited to the television series (what gave rise to the ideas here) and my review of wiki information specifically about the Wheel and the cosmology it represents. If I mistate the facts, or leave out some critical piece of information, I hope that someone will let me know and I can revise appropriately.

I’ll also remark that I had difficulty determining where to place this post on the blog–whether it should be in “theology” or “worldbuilding,” because both topics overlap and meet here. I hedged my bets and put it in both categories.

That said, I find the Wheel within the series (at least as I understand it) to be a pessimistic and depressing cosmic structure.

One final note before we dig in: the Wheel of Time uses the analogy of a “loom” for the eponymous Wheel as it weaves a Pattern of events and existence. If I understand correctly, that’s a mistaken metaphor–a spinning wheel is not a loom, being used to create thread or yarn from multiple strands, and I’m not aware of any looms that use a wheel structure, since a loom is intended to create fabric by weaving vertical and horizontal strings together.

Time, Eternity, Immortality and the Wheel

As described, the Wheel eternally rotates in a form of cyclical time, with mortal spirits being reincarnated once they die into new persons without a memory of their past live(s). Neither a cyclical view of time nor the idea of metempsychosis are original to Jordan. Indeed, he was clear that he was borrowing from world mythologies and religions (mentioning Hinduism in particular). But the way that Jordan implements these ideas in his world are, I believe problematic. That is not to say wrong; he can build a world with whatever cosmology and ultimate reality he likes and it’s not for anyone else to say he’s chosen incorrectly. Instead, I’ll only argue my position that the choices he’s made end up with a depressing–dare I say hopeless–result. As you all know, I’m a fan of the Warhammer Fantasy and 40k universe(s) (though not without serious criticisms), and the view of the cosmos in that setting is about as bleak as can be.

So, again, there’s no reason any worldbuilder cannot choose a bleak cosmic structure. If your genre is “grimdark” (whatever that actually means) or existential horror, or if your themes are nihilistic–or about heroic defiance in the face of a nihilistic reality, for that matter–such cosmologies might be appropriate, even advised. Certainly, Lovecraft made great use of such a grim view of an uncaring universe. The problem then, is when you create a cosmic structure for your world that you intend to be “good” but that, when viewed as a totality, is not. I think that’s where Jordan ended up, and I have the feeling that, in a series about the cosmic struggle between good and evil, that’s not really what he intended.

Here’s the argument in detail. Any form of eternal life, persistance of the spirit, afterlife, what have you, must have some foundational stability and consistency to be classifiable as “good.” If you are born over and over without ever remembering your past lives (your past “selves”), there’s as good an argument as not that you’re not really the same person that died before being “reincarnated.” I think of the Buddhist saying that “you can never step in the same river twice.” The idea is that change is the only constant and there is no continuity of self; that is only an illusion. With this in mind, we might just as equally say that the person who died and the person who is reborn are not, in fact, the same person. Some part of the soul may be eternal, but personhood is not.

This raises a common theological question/problem in the idea of immortality of the soul. When we talk about eternal life, an afterlife, immortality or even reincarnation, we need to be more specific. Do we mean an experientially-continuous existence beyond death (what I’ll call, revealing my bias, a “real immortality”) or one in which the continuity is in some part of the soul other than the person and consciousness, the self (I’ll call this “metaphoric immortality”)?

This post is not intended to resolve that question. I have my beliefs and my arguments, but no human is capable of proving the reality of one possibility over the other. Instead, I want to look at the consequences of those possibilities.

Fundamental to this discussion is the often-avoided question of what a “soul” is. Are consciousness, introspection, experience, personality and personhood synonymous with the soul, or not? Various religions have answered the question in different ways.

The ancient Egyptians believed the soul to be made up of many parts. The khet or physical body, was a necessary part of the soul and of the experience of an afterlife, hence the practice of preservation of remains and mummification. But there is also a sah or spiritual body, which is the body used by a person to directly interact with the afterlife. There was also the ren, indicating the identity of the person. Like the body, preservation of the ren was necessary to the continued existence of a person after death. This made the remembrance of names central, as well as giving rise to the practice of defacing names inscribed on funerary items to hinder an enemy in their afterlife. It’s important to note, I think, that the khet and sah both have aspects external to the person but nevertheless affecting the “condition” of the soul. In Western thought, I think we tend to assume, rightly or wrongly, that all conditions necessary to the existence of the soul come either from within the soul itself or from God, but that the state of a soul is not contingent upon external factors within the living world. But let us return to the Egyptians.

There is also the ka, the vital source that, when dwelling within a corporeal body, makes that body alive and that leaves the body at death. Perhaps curiously, the idea was that one of the Egyptian gods breathed into a body at the instant of birth to give them ka and life, similar to the idea of the Judeo-Christian God breathing spirit into Adam in Genesis. All of the previous aspects of soul are accompanied by the ba, the “personality” or uniqueness of the person. I gather that the understanding of the ba is nuanced and complex, with views of the ba joining the ka to experience the afterlife and beliefs about the ba having a sort of spiritual form that is the being to which votive offerings are made–the ba absorbs not the offerings themselves (the food and drink) but the ba of those items. Some scholars argue that the Egyptians really had no concept of the un-incarnated or immaterial soul, perhaps further distancing Egyptian thought from the Western (read “Greco-Roman”) idea of the soul as “being” itself. Even with the personality of the person being defined by the ba, there is also the akh or intellect of the person as an entity. Suffice to say that I am no Egyptologist, much less an expert in Egyptian religion, but that the ancient Egyptian religion represents a very different view–at least potentially–from Western thought. I wonder, but do not know (and think that it is most likely that this is a misguided attempt to Westernize Egyptian thought), whether there is some belief in this system in the unity or consubstantiality of the aspects of the soul in a sort of Trinitarian sense, where there are individual soul parts, but they form a single person, with the aspects being bound together in some inseparable way.

All of this is to raise the question of how the subjective experience and “personhood” is related to the soul and to provide an example that they need not be thought of as so. This is how a “metaphorical” immortality is possible to conceive: there is a part of the soul that is eternal, but it is not the subjective personhood. This seems to be where Jordan’s concept of the Wheel ends up, but there are alternatives.

Those alternatives might include Hinduism and Buddhism. In Hinduism, the ultimate goal is to escape the cycle of reincarnation and to return to unity with the divine. The Hindu faith an pantheistic, seeing all things as God. In such a case, one can argue that there was never a “person” to begin with, only a manifestation of God seemingly and temporarily separate from the divine unity. Here, then, the entire experience of the individual is (arguably) illusory. Likewise in some forms of Buddhism, where, as mentioned above, the idea of self at all is likewise viewed as illusory, with an utlimate goal, similar to Hinduism, to escape the cycle of reincarnation to experience nirvana, which may or may not be a subjective experience of the unity of all things. Pure Land Buddhism does include belief in a subjective eternal life; one must be careful not to describe Buddhism (or any religion for that matter) as monolithic–there will always be some variation in specific doctrines, dogmas, theology, practice and belief.

For me, the lack of the independent existence of the individual leads to a lack of meaning. And likewise, I consider it a misnomer to call anything that does not include the continuity of subjective experience of individuality and active agency “eternal life” or “immortality.” I do want to be careful here to state that I do not belive that religions like Hinduism and Buddhism are themselves meaningless–these faiths have given comfort to many, made many better people than they might otherwise be, and have supported many experiences of the divine. Therefore, while their concepts of the ultimate fate of individuals may disturb me, personally, I cannot, and will not, discount them as invalid forms of belief or think of their believers as “less than.” My God is bigger than any one religion and I think there are valuable things revealed about the nature of God in other religions, even if I believe that Christianity (with the caveat of being properly understood, which precludes conservative and fundamentalist interpretations of the faith) offers the clearest, best, and most hopeful of all possible ultimate realities.

Apart from that (significant) caveat, I’d also like to state that there are some theologies within Christianity that deny a subjective, experiential. eternal life and confirm only a metaphoric immortality in the “memory of God.” These theologies often lean toward pantheism as well. I just want to be clear here that this isn’t an argument necessarily between Western and Eastern religions–it’s an argument of theologies within any religion.

To return more closely to the topic at hand, let’s look at the idea of reincarnation without continuity of memory. Here, I’d create two categories. The first is which reincarnation without continuity of memory is only a step along the path, with an ultimate fate of being made whole in mind and memory in an eternal existence after that point. Here, the ultimate consolidation of self means that, while memories were “locked away” for a time (as we often expereince within a single life as memories fade from direct consciousness only to be unexpectedly revived by a smell, or person, or place), they are not, ultimately, lost. This allows for, in the eternal sense, continuity of self.

The second category is where previous lives would will never be remembered. Without any contiuity of memory ever, we have the Theseus’ Ship problem–when does new experience (or the forgetting of old experience) change a person so thoroughly that it would not be truthful to consider the person in a current incarnation the “same person” as the same “soul” in a previous incarnation. This is the same problem I’ve mentioned with the idea of consciousness uploading in other posts–it might be fairer to say that reincarnation in such a state is really death by another name (hence “metaphoric reality”). The Rand al’Thor of the novels is not really the same person as the Dragon in the previous age, they’re just similar versions of an archetype, different material manifestations of one of Plato’s perfect Forms. I would argue that memory is a fundamental aspect of personhood–this is why dementia and Alzheimer’s are so feared, and rightly so.

To be fair, the TV show makes some allusion to the idea that people occasionally remember bits and pieces about their past lives–Ishamael remarks frequently about the past encounters between him and Rand. I don’t know whether this is accurate to the book series. Some individuals, mostly the Forsaken, do seem to have continuous consciousness regardless of the spinning of the Wheel. Again, whether this is a mistake in transalating the books to TV, an internal consistency problem, or a nuance of the cosmology I cannot say.

Even so, I’ve seen no indication that, ro most people, there will be an ultimate resolution in existence where the Wheel stops turning and individuals are able to experience an eternal, subjective immortality with the people who they love. The series leaves me with the idea that the Wheel represents an eternity of brief reunions with beloved ones punctuated by long absences. In addition to the problem for the individual in such a continuity, for the Wheel to keep turning eternally means there is no ultimate resolution in the problems of evil, suffering, and justice. One could argue for a cosmology that preserves balance in all things rather than one that seeks ultimate good, but I’d argue that any cosmology that does not seek the ultimate good isn’t actually good (and, for the record, that includes versions of Christianity that believe in inescapable eternal punishment as a potential afterlife). Of course, there could be an ultimate resolution to the Wheel that takes place upon the final defeat of the Dark One that would potentially obviate all of the above. If there is, someone let me know!

I think that this ultimately demonstrates an important aspect of any belief in the immortality of the soul (here, by soul, I mean “person” the essential being that has subjective consciousness). Specifically, immortality is necessary, but not sufficient, to a “good” afterlife. The inability to die isn’t necessarily good if the result is immortality in a broken, fallen world means an eternity of depression, nihilism, suffering and ennuie. My understanding of Ishamael’s character (at least in the TV show) is that eternal ennuie is the reason he wants to stop the Wheel (and destroy all of Creation) in the first place. My understanding of the Wheel seems to indicate that Ishamael might be right–but that, itself, can’t be right, can it?

Where is God?

I’m told that, in the style of the watchmaker god, the Creator in the Wheel of Time world created the Wheel and the Pattern but then just kind of stands back and lets everything unfold as it will, uncaring and aloof from all created things. Now, one can argue that the existence of the Dragon and ta’veren (which we’ll get to momentarily) represents a pre-ordained intervention of the Creator in Creation, I have not seen any indication that any character in the series ever, Job-like, questions why the Creator has allowed things to be this way, with an immensely powerful individual representing evil personified and a contingent, not entirely reliable, champion representing the power of Good (the problem of Men and the use of the Power itself is the readiest indication of this).

As I mentioned at the outset, it seems that Tolkien was a major influence on Jordan. Yet, Jordan seems to have ignored what makes Tolkien’s treatment of the divine in his world so potent. For one, the divine is active in Middle-Earth, even if in subtle ways. The existence of Tom Bombadil, the ultimately angelic nature of Gandalf, and many other things deep within the legendarium make this clear. At the same time, Tolkien is relatively explicit that the God of Middle-Earth (Eru Iluvatar, as the God is called) intentionally allows mortals to be instruments of good within the world (Tolkien might say that this is part and parcel with his ideas of “co-creation”). Again, admittedly, Tolkien has a profoundly Christian worldview influencing his creation of Middle-Earth and its cosmology, which biases me.

But I think that it nevertheless raises a fair point: if your setting is going to deal with problems of good and evil writ large, or if religion will be a significant part of your setting, characters or plots, you can’t just pick and choose parts of world religions and mythologies and mash them together without taking the time to fit the pieces into a congruous and believable whole.

There is, of course, the option of writing fantasy that does not deal with religion and cosmology, and if that’s not your focus, no one should make you deal with it. On the other hand, one of the ways in which fantasy fiction can be “high art” is the way in which it allows us to probe existential questions. Where a setting vastly different from the world we live in nevertheless reveals truths about experience and existence common to both the fiction and the real, we’ve unveiled some sort of cosmic truth, however small that truth may be. This, I think, may have been a large part of Tolkien’s point.

The Pattern and the Ta’varen

The relationship between the Wheel and free will is not clearly defined. While it might have been too heavy-handed to devle into the details of that relationship, its one thing when a fantasy setting contains a religious system whose relationship to absolute truth is ambiguous. No definitive answers may be possible with such ideologies, nor may they be desireable. On the other hand, when you have an explicit ultimate truth, like the one represented by the Wheel, it becomes harder not to address those issues and have that cosmology be believable.

So, we are left wondering whether the Wheel’s Pattern represents predestination. I think there’s strong indications that it does (and this is a problem to address with any use of “prophecy,” whether in this world’s theology or that of a constructed setting), but such predestination robs the story of much of its import; it deprives the characters’ “choices” of depth and meaning.

This is further complicated by the existence of “ta’veren.” The wiki-based information about the Wheel of Time indicates that “ta’veren” are those people who are especially important to the “Web of Destiny” weaved by the Wheel and that they are used to “correct” things when events are straying from the “Pattern.” Not only does this push us toward the predestination view of the Wheel, but it also forces us into less chauvinist version of the “Great Man Theory of History,” but one that nevertheless privileges the role of the privileged and elite over that of common man. Of course, that’s also a problem with any “chosen one” narrative and a good reason why fantasy writers should move away from it.

Summary

Based on all of the above, we’re left with a view of mortals who, for all practical purposes cease to exist when they die. Their lives are entirely, or mostly, predetermined in advance, depriving them of real agency and meaning in the short lifespans they do have. Whatever part of them does survive death is then eternally subjected to the Wheel of Fortune (as the medievals might call it), rising and falling in a fallen and difficult world, where the sum total will likely be more suffering than enjoyment.

That feels pretty bleak to me. I look forward to some comments that provide some correct and lead to a better view of the Wheel of Time cosmology.

Cyberpunk 2077, Phantom Liberty: Agent 0010101001

As usual, I’ll lay out my biases first–unlike many, I enjoyed Cyberpunk 2077 when it first came out. I played it on an Xbox One X and really didn’t have too many glitches or infuriating experiences. I played it enough then to play through the entire main story. In fact, I wrote a review of the original Cyberpunk 2077 back in 2021 (click here for that).

Later, when I’d sold the Xbox and returned to a gaming PC, I bought the game again. I liked it enough to start a few new playthroughs (that I didn’t finish), mess with some mods, and generally muck about in the game. I’d played a lot of Shadowrun tabletop in my youth, and my proficiency in math is probably due more to FASA games (cyberware calculations in Shadowrun and mech-building in Battletech) than formal education. I make no claim to be a math wiz, it should be said. But the RPG Cyberpunk I was familiar with had a lot of fantasy mixed in, and I’ve still never played a TTRPG in a cyberpunk setting without all the fantastic elements–though I’m convinced of the value of those settings and I’m starting to wonder if I’d like a tabletop cyberpunk game that doesn’t deal with the fantastic better than something like Shadowrun. Remains to be seen. In that way, Cyberpunk 2077 was an eye-opener for me.

So, I was excited for Phantom Liberty to drop and started a new Cyberpunk 2.0 playthrough in advance of the release. Y’all, I liked Cyberpunk 2077 in its original form, but 2.0 made a lot of wonderful changes. The choices of cyberware are more interesting, and the “allowance system” for cyberware more closely matches tabletop Cyberpunk (though it’s far from exact). Crafting was vastly improved, cool new weapons were added, removing the link between clothing and armor allowed for style to be a more prominent feature of the video game, as it is for the tabletop. Here, it’s worth a brief aside that the “style” aspect of Cyberpunk is a little lost on me–I have no sense of style, nor care for one, whatsoever. I’m morally opposed to the “style over substance” mentality in real life, though it fits well for the cyberpunk aesthetic.

Happy with the new changes to the system itself, I was in a good mood when my V got the call to venture into Dogtown to see if I was a bad enough dude to save the president. Not sure that mattered–Phantom Liberty throws you into the deep-end, with a true in-media-res insertion into a confusion but undoubtedly epic course of events. With a brief introduction to the situation and a vague promise of saving you from the Relic, hacker-extraordinaire Songbird, pushes you in the direction of a crashing Air Force One (I don’t remember what they actually called it, and it was an orbital craft, so it may well have been Space Force One).

What ensues is a protracted action sequence as you race against the forces of Kurt Hansen (Captain Kurtz of Heart of Darkness/Apocalypse Now, anyone?), the de facto ruler of Dogtown, to reach the NUSA president first. At least, it was a long running-gun-battle for me, but I was rocking a Sandevistan instead of a cyberdeck, so there could definitely be a stealthier approach available. I don’t remember being excited about a video game fight like that in a long time (frustrated, made anxious and paranoid, sure, but excited? Nope). It’s not that Cyberpunk has particularly innovative gunplay–the cyberware makes things interesting, but I much prefer something like a Tom Clancy game for gunfights, or, if I want to get serious, Ground Branch. Nevertheless, the frenetic pacing, the amped up music, the neon signs backlit by muzzleflashes, it was a good time.

From that whirlwind introduction, the storyline moves into a veritable wilderness of mirrors. You’re linked up with several burnt NUSA spies ready to get back in the game and everyone’s motivations, words, and promises are suspect. As I’ve said many other places on the blog, as uncomfortable as it can be in the moment, I love a game (whether tabletop or digital) that puts characters and players into tough situations without adequate information and difficult moral choices thrust upon them–this makes for the most interesting stories, I think and, you’ll keep thinking about whether you did the right thing (or even the “best” thing under the circumstances) long after you’ve left your chair. Video game designers may like that for its replay value, but I like it for its artistic and philosophical value (unfortunately, I have no brandy to swirl while making such a snobbish statement).

It’s almost like the writers of Phantom Liberty started by going to TVTropes.com and taking note of all the tropes of the espionage genre–in the best of ways. Phantom Liberty takes you through action-movie over-the-topness (see above), gives you Mission Impossible-style encounters where high technology and assumed identity are the name of the game, puts you in fancy dress and lets you meet your opponents at the gambling table, sets Tom Clancy-like political stakes, and introduces you to the gritty backgrounds of characters who’d be at home in a John le Carré novel.

As with a good spy story, nothing is what it initially seems, and it’s not really clear who the “good guys” and “bad guys” are. That plays well with the cyberpunk genre, anyway, n’est pas? So, there are really three ways you can make decisions as you progress through the plot as V: (1) you can look up which decisions get you the best iconic weapons and gear (or at least the ones you most want) and follow a meta-mercenary approach, (2) you can wade into the ambiguity and follow your whims and impulses in the moment, or (3) you can play a character. In this last approach, you’ve got to decide what V really believes in (if anything), and make your choices according to the ideology you’ve assumed in playing the character. That, perhaps, is the best part of Phantom Liberty; it truly invites you to step into V’s head and become the character for a time–that’s really the only way to have coherence to the (many) choices you’ll be asked to make in the story. Many of those choices are truly significant, both for V and for others.

The set-piece battles are amazing, don’t get me wrong, but it’s the humanity of the story that really won me over. In a cyberpunk setting, there’s something about that that feels right. There are four endings to Phantom Liberty (I’m told, having only played through once and personally experienced only one of those endings). The one I got seemed meaningful, poignant–and very cyberpunk.

Not only that, but you get some denouement as well–you’ll get some after-the-fact contacts from characters you encountered in Phantom Liberty and get an idea of what happened to them based on the choices you made. More than a “here’s the consequences of your playthrough” tidy wrap-up (something Starfield does), this gives a sense of living in that world, and living with the consequences of your choices.

Phantom Liberty also adds an inexhaustible, procedurally generated side mission involving boosting cars. These missions are fun, usually net you some skill experience that might be hard to get otherwise (like Netrunning for my V) and earn discount coupons that reduce the price of a single vehicle purchase. These “coupons” stack up to a total 95% discount (meaning you’re buying the Aerondight “Guinevere” for under 10k) but all are spent when a purchase is made and then you start collecting them over again. Between the new Gigs and Side Missions, improvements to crafting and weapon ability, and potentially unlimited funds through grand theft auto, money is no longer an issue for V in Cyberpunk. I’ve got just about all the cyberware I want to be able to use, I’ve rented all of the apartments, and I’ve purchased most of the vehicles (at least the ones I want), and I’m still sitting pretty on four hundred thousand EB.

My enjoyment of the auto-theft missions and the style of cyberpunk missions in general has made me think that we’re in for quite a treat when AI gets more closely integrated with our video-gaming. Imagine endless procedurally-generated but detailed and varied missions available to make a merc career on. I envision something like Cyberpunk 2077 crossed with the “career”-style play of Sid Meier’s Pirates, where each playthrough could be an entirely different experience.

The Side Missions and Gigs added through Phantom Liberty are characterful and interesting–you’re getting more new playtime here than just the main story.

If you enjoyed Cyberpunk 2077 at all, or even if you tried it when it first dropped and didn’t like it, I highly suggest you return to Night City to see if you, too, are a bad enough dude to save the president.

Starfield: Void Between the Stars

At the outset, I must admit that I had very high expectations of this game; probably unrealistic and unfair expectations. That said, I can’t help but feel disappointed after having put about 60 hours into the game. My opinion of the game may not comport with broader criticisms; I haven’t checked. But, as you already know, my opinions don’t have to be yours.

For background: I completed the main story, the companion missions for several of the characters, the Freestar Ranger questline and the Vanguard questline. I spent an inordinate amount of time taking bounty missions to neutralize Crimson Fleet ships or Ecliptic Mercenaries so that I could level up.

That last part was, perhaps, one of the most frustrating parts of the game. Character progression is locked between 82 different skills, each with four levels. Some of these skills–many of the combat ones–aren’t necessary. I found myself doing just fine at the hardest difficulty level with only about six points spent in the Physical and Combat skill trees. On the other hand, I dumped lots of points into the Science and Tech trees because some of the parts of the game I’d looked forward to most (building outposts and spaceships) required a great deal of investment to fully enjoy. The missions I completed in search of the next skill point were repetitive–just fine if I wanted somethign to do while listening to an audiobook, but insufficient for enjoying the thing itself.

In most things in life, I value substance over style. In Starfield, I loved the visual style of the game, with a mostly low-fi feel of hardscrabble colonists trying to make it among the stars. But I found the substance greatly lacking. Each faction has one main “city” (which is far too generous a word, as these were more like well-established villages), and the entire explorable system only has about ten “hub” locations where you can manage your ship, resupply, find story missions, etc. In general, for having 1,000 planets you could land on, the galaxy felt really empty, both of people and of stories. I understand that a good portion of that is a matter of the realities of programming, storage size, computing power, etc.

The factions that govern those locations seemed all too cliche as well. You have the United Colonies, your generic “democracy in space” faction with its UN-like governing council and penchants for militarism and capitalism. To counter that, you have the Freestar Collective, a generic affiliation of liberty-loving space cowboys. The third “major” faction is the Crimson Fleet, a group of space pirates. While they are a joinable faction, I shot too many space pirates too early in the game to ever have a chance of being welcome at their HQ space station. There’s also Ryujin Industries, but I lost interest in the game prior to starting their storyline.

Then there’s the House of Va’Ruun, a generic and poorly-defined space cult that likes serpents; the Ecliptic mercenaries, your generic “bad-guy” mercs who seem to be doing a lot of things across the galaxy without much reason; the Trade Authority, a generic syndicate dealing in illicit goods behind a semi-legitimate storefront; the House of the Enlightened, your generic do-gooder space atheists; the Sanctum Universuum, a generic faith organization without much explanation of actual beliefs; and the Spacers, an eclectic group of space crazies removed from Firefly’s Reavers only by a lack of grotesque body-modification and unshielded reactors.

If I’ve used the word “generic” overmuch, I hope that offers some microcosm of what I felt playing the game.

I did not form a connection to any of the characters in the game. I had to double-check to see if the voice actor for Barrett was the same person who voiced Preston Garvey in Fallout 4 (he’s not)–Barrett annoyed me to such an extent I had convinced myself they were one and the same, perhaps an intentional (and cruel) joke played on Starfield players who’d come from Fallout.

Speaking of Fallout 4, I couldn’t help but make comparisons, particularly as I got closer to the end of Starfield‘s main story. I really disliked the main line of quests in Starfield, which made me think, briefly, of how far Bethesda’s writers had fallen since the last Fallout game (not counting Fallout 76, of course, which I actually enjoyed, but more because of playing with friends than the game itself). I quickly remembered that I’d hated the main story in Fallout 4 as well, so this was probably just par for the course. But I really enjoyed individual quests and many (maybe most) of the side quests in Fallout 4, where Starfield‘s quests felt generic (there’s that word again) and, frankly, uninteresting. It was the gameplay loop of gear and gaining skill points that kept me playing the game, not the setting or the story, which ultimately left me feeling like the time spent on the game had been wasted, not used to indulge in a deep and entertaining fantastic world. As gameplay loops are intended to be addictive, and my discipline in resisting them is relatively low, the game began to feel like a hated dealer to whom I consistently returned for just one more hit, chasing a vaguely-remembered high I’d probably never find again after the first few hours of the game.

If you’ve played Fallout 4, add some quality of life improvements, then add some new quality of life problems, and then add starships and space combat, and you’ve basically got Starfield. I understand that the game was built on a “new engine” (or at least an iterative improvement on previous engines used by Bethesda), but the game looked and felt much like Fallout in its menus and UI. Also like Fallout, resource management for building outposts and improving gear was mind-numbingly cumbersome.

I did enjoy the spaceship building–modifying my existing spaceships and building new ones from scrap was my favorite part of the game–but it just wasn’t enough to overcome my other disappointments. In terms of gameplay, I really enjoyed boarding and taking enemy ships. For extra hilarity, hanging out on a planet until a Crimson Fleet or Ecliptic ship lands, running straight up their boarding ramp and inside, a jacking their ride while they’re standing around wondering what just happened proved highly amusing, if only for the first two times.

It did give me an idea, though–I’d love to see a sci-fi, less-cartoony version of Sea of Thieves set in space, with emergent story and satisfying gameplay that doesn’t need character improvement loops to make the game entertaining. Maybe we’ll see something like that in the future. I spend a little bit of time playing No Man’s Sky, which has some of that, at least.

Despite my disappointments, I see a great future for Starfield. It’ll make an amazing platform for modders to work their magic and add wonderful content (and some questionable content) to the game as they’ve done with Skyrim and Fallout. My suggestion, then, is to wait a few months or years for a plethora of mods to fill in the gaps in the base game and then venture into the stars.

One other good thing came from my playing the game–it inspired me to finally start getting Cortex Prime rules and a detailed setting together for a sci-fi game of my own. I’m calling the setting Astra Inclinant; I’m sure you’ll hear about it on the blog soon.

I’ve turned now to slowly playing through Cyberpunk 2077’s Phantom Liberty, so I’ll review that once I’m finished. Already, though, I’m enjoying it more than Starfield, and the “2.0” version of the game makes great changes, so if you’ve never played Cyberpunk 2077, or if you haven’t played it in a long while, now’s the time.

Jumping Back In (and Updates)

My posting to the blog has become especially sporadic (and maybe even that’s a generous description), but I’m going to make an effort to get back into the habit. A lot has happened in the past year or so, and I expect I’ll set aside some post to address particular events and experiences. But, perhaps, there’s some summarization to do here.

I turned 40 in August. I’m still not sure what that milestone really means, or how I should feel about it, but neither of those things stopped it from happening. Half-jokingly, I started my “mid-life crisis while I was 39–I figured if I were intentional about it and got the jump on it, I could maintain control over all of the stress, weirdness, and sudden confrontations with mortality and human frailties. That’s been mostly true, I suppose.

That decision was, perhaps, two-fold. The first part of it was that I decided to learn how to play guitar. I’ve long wanted to, and I wanted to take on a project that was difficult and out of my typical skillset for the next stage of my life. So, I bought an old Squier electric and inexpensive amp from one friend and traded a bottle of scotch for an old Fender acoustic with another back in March of ’22. More than a year later, and my collection has expanded to four electric guitars, a few more amps, and a rotating collection of pedals and peripheral gear. The picture for this post is of my 40th birthday guitar, a Fender Player Plus HSS strat that I really love.

After about a year of learning, I’m comfortable calling myself a guitar player–so long as I quickly qualify that with the caveat that I’m nowhere near a good guitar player. I’m picking things up relatively quickly, I think, and I tell people that the more I play guitar, the more I want to play guitar. I’m not sure if there’s a better thing to be said for a hobby. I’ve got a great support network for it–a trio of cousins who are or have been professional musicians, a brother-in-law who seems to me a guitar virtuoso (and who will send me bespoke instructional videos when I have questions!), a number of friends who play and can either send me tips, or, as I get a little better, come “jam” with me.

If nothing else, I’ve come to a greater appreciation of music through my experience. Previously, my musical experience was the customary forced-lessons in piano as a young child (the only thing I learned from which was a habit to keep my fingernails very short) and an especially painful year of “playing” French horn in middle school. K’s proved especially patient with me as I geek out over the history of guitar pedals or musical styles and techniques. Before picking up the guitar, I hadn’t spent much time on YouTube, but I’ve found a collection of guitar-related channels (60-Cycle Hum and Josh Scott’s JHS Pedals channel being among my favorites.

Picking up that hobby has taken up a lot of time, and that’s a reason (but not an excuse, mind you), for my silence on the blog. In other events:

In May, we got our third placement of a foster child, a beautiful baby girl who came to us straight from the hospital. As seems to often be the case, we were led to expect a high likelihood that this would go to adoption. But, after a month of holding, feeding and cuddling a newborn, thinking about a future where I’d walk her down the aisle one day, and all of the things that accompany all of that, the Department of Family Services decided to place our baby with someone else–not because of anything we’d done, and under circumstances that seemed neither fair nor to follow the law in considering a child’s best interests. We were powerless to do anything about it–that’s just part of being a foster parent.

It was heartbreaking; soulcrushing. I can’t remember the last time I’ve hurt that badly, nor can I think of a time in decades that I’ve cried that much. On the other hand, that pain means that I did things right–I loved that child with everything I have, and to do otherwise would be failing as a foster parent. I might write more about that experience, but it’s still raw, and I’m honestly just not sure I’m ready to. We’re just about to open up to take our fourth placement, so we may be starting over with a new child or new children in a week or in several months.

And that experience led to the second step I took in preparation for turning 40–I started seing a therapist. As someone who’s suffered from depression for more of my life than I haven’t, it does seem odd, I suppose, that I haven’t seriously seen a therapist before. But, since my depression seems to be linked to my brain chemistry more than cognitive issues, I haven’t really felt the need. As a strong believer in mental health and the value of therapy, as someone who very much values continuing to grow as a person, and as someone who expects that the next phase of my life will introduce new stresses and different kinds of life events to address, I figured it was a good time to jump in. So far, so good–while I wouldn’t say that I’ve had any dramatic breakthroughs in seeing a therapist, it has given me opportunities to think about who I am, why I am the way I am, and how I might become a better person and achieve more of my goals. Overall, it’s been an empowering experience.

K and I spent almost two weeks in Cochabamba, Bolivia in the second half of July on a church trip. Bolivia was not a place I’d ever expected or planned to travel, but it was an eye-opening, humbling and enjoyable experience. I plan to have a full post on this experience soon, so I’ll leave it at that for now.

In other news, perhaps because of turning 40, perhaps because of therapy, or perhaps just because it’s been a long time coming, I’m turning back to writing with a renewed focus and a strong belief that it is the most important thing for me to do as a matter of contributing to the world at large. As part of this focus, I had to pare away some of my hobbies and distractions–things that aren’t bad by any means, things that I enjoy, but things that, at the end of the day, aren’t as important to me as the things I’ve chosen to prioritize. So, I’ve let go of miniatures games, shooting sports, and a long-sitting desire to return to playing airsoft so that I can devote my free time to writing, roleplaying games, guitar and video games (though I intend for that last category to receive less time than it has in the past, but we’ll see).

I’ve recently returned to several writing projects I’m excited about. The first is a dramatic rewrite of my fantasy novel, Things Unseen. The longer it sits, the less satisfied with it I am, and I’ve spend a good deal of time thinking of ways to improve the story. I’ve recently begun to replot the novel and work on more background for characters; with the goal of finishing the planning for the rewrite by the end of November and starting the rewrite in December.

The second project is the expansion and rewriting of a theology book I started to work on quite some time ago. As I’ve read, learned and studied more theology, and worked out more of my own ideas (some of them through writing on this blog), I think it’s time for me to put pedal to the metal and get a full functioning draft written on this. For me, personally, writing theology seems to be an easier task than writing fiction, particularly since these ideas are largely already developed and just need to be organized and written with clarity, so I expect this project to progress at a faster pace than the Things Unseen novel

I’ve also been spending some time building some new settings and genre-rules for the Cortex Prime system, with the intent of streamlining some of my RPG work (and play) by using one system for all games I run, allowing me to focus more on setting-building and storytelling rather than endlessly tinkering with rules (which I’m wont to do). I haven’t seen a commercial license for Cortex yet, so I don’t know whether I’ll be putting these settings and rules hacks out under the non-commercial license or waiting until I can generate some revenue (mostly as an indication of how well-received the work is) with the commercial license. I’m sure I’ll be sharing setting details in future posts on the blog–I’ve been working on a cyberpunk setting called What We Are and a hardish sci-fi setting called Astra Inclinant.

I think the next posts to come will be a review of Starfield (which I’ve finished) and of Phantom Liberty (which I have yet to finish). Regardless, the plan is to get back into a regular schedule of posts to the blog on all the usual sorts of subjects I’ve written about previously.

Running Heists in Cortex Prime (using Doom Pools)

I’ve been working on some Cortex rulesets for a number of different settings and games that involve dramatic heists, espionage, and the types of tense action found in as varied places as Andor, For a Few Dollars More, Heat, Inception, the Gentlemen Bastards series, Mission Impossible, the Ocean’s films, etc., etc. I also recently watched most of Netflix’s Kaleidoscope (very much worth seeing), which might have been the direct catalyst for this write-up.

Regardless, these are the rules I’ll be using to run heists in my Cortex games until playtesting moves me to modify them. Maybe they’ll be useful for you, as well. If you’ve got criticism, thoughts for expansion and improvement, or stories of using the system, I will very much look forward to hearing them.

Heists

Rather than the default difficulty rules, Heists use a variation of the Limited Doom Pool system as well as Crisis Pools (Cortex Prime Handbook, pp. 32-33). Note that this system is only one in the toolbox for resolving actions—some “heist-like” activities (like a smash-and-grab) may be better served by the Narrative Action or Combined Action systems.

The Heist itself has a Doom Pool, starting with dice that represent the difficulty and complexity of the Heist (a low-level job begins with d6, d6; while breaking into the highest security facilities may start with a d12, d12 (such facilities should likely be the grand target after a series of set-up heists and should be used sparingly). We will call this specialized Doom Pool the Heist Pool.

Play starts with a brief Legwork phase as the players take actions to discover the countermeasures, security, and particular nuances of the heist they’re planning, then proceeds to the heist proper, and then to the aftermath.

Legwork

In the Legwork phase, each player describes an action their character is taking to learn about the target person, object, or facilities. The GM and player determine the Traits applicable to the test and then that pool is rolled against the Doom Pool.

If the test is successful, the character’s Effect Die is added to the characters’ collective Plan Pool. At the same time, the GM may purchase hitches from the player’s pool to add to the Heist Pool, representing security features identified, the target getting some indication of a potential attack, etc.

Each participating player should get at least one Legwork test. Once each player has had a chance to make a Legwork test, the players may discretionarily make additional rolls. Bear in mind that each roll carries the risk of increasing the Heist Pool as well as providing additional dice to the Plan Pool. Regardless of the number of tests made, no test may duplicate the action of a previous test made by another player; each new test must involve a new method of inquiry or course of action.

The GM should allow the players to see both the Plan Pool and the Heist Pool. If, after conducting their Legwork, they look at the relative pools and decide not to proceed, jump to the Aftermath phase.

Execution

Once the Legwork phase is complete, the players determine the general layout of the plan; they do not need to go into too much detail—the broad scope of who is doing what should suffice. Once established, the Plan Pool is rolled against the Heist Pool; this is called the Position Test.

If the Plan Pool beats the stakes established by the Heist Pool, the Effect Die may be used to reduce or eliminate a die from the Heist Pool. However, the GM may purchase hitches for the Heist Pool as usual.

The general result of the test should be interpreted to determine the general situation when we jump into the action of the heist. If the Plan Pool defeated the Heist Pool, the heist is going relatively smoothly when detailed play begins. If it failed, an unexpected complication has thrown a wrench into the works, part of the plan didn’t pan out, or something else has happened to leave the players scrambling to react and adapt to complete the mission.

At this point, use the Doom Pool to play out the heist. In addition to the other options, players may spend Plot Points for a Flashback; this allows a player to create Assets representing previous actions taken before the heist to set up the current action even though they had not been previously described. This ability is essential to ensuring that play keeps moving and that players don’t get incapacitated trying to plan for every possible scenario in the Legwork phase.

During a heist, the expenditure of d12, d12 (to end the current scene) indicates that the heist has failed and moves play to the Aftermath—with the characters all having successfully escaped without further consequences over those suffered during the heist. If the initial difficulty dice in the Doom Pool were d12, d12 (which should be an exceedingly rare event), do not spend those dice to achieve this effect.

The expenditure of d12, d12 is not the only way the heist may end unsuccessfully. If a series of failed tests against the Heist Pool results in a narrative where failure makes the most sense, declare that to be the result and move to having the characters attempt to escape before being capture, killed, identified, or otherwise inconvenienced.

Once the characters have escaped, move to the Aftermath phase.

Aftermath

Some consequences of the heist (including but not limited to injury) will undoubtedly occur during the heist itself. But no heist goes entirely smoothly, and here is where the GM gets to put some additional pressure on the players and their characters.

The mechanics of this are simple: the GM may transfer the remaining dice from the Heist Pool to one or more Crisis Pools representing continuing consequences of the heist. These may represent an institutional response to increased crime, investigation by law enforcement, a team of hit men dispatched by the target to recover lost goods, the betrayal of a fence or other trusted person, the ignition of a war between criminal or other factions, etc.

The players may attempt to address these crises per the normal rules—taking actions to throw pursuers off the trail, getting revenge on traitors, etc. They may also attempt to avoid these consequences as best they can—lying low for a while, fleeing to another jurisdiction, or taking other actions to let the heat die down. If the narrative militates that a crisis pool should no longer exist, take it out of play whether or not the characters have acted against it directly. Cases and trails go cold, new crises of the day emerge, the news cycle refreshes, and even the biggest of jobs becomes history eventually.

Milton’s Areopagitica and the Christian Gamer

Nearly all of us are familiar with Milton’s Paradise Lost, having voluntarily read it–or, more likely, having been forced to read it in school at some point or other. But John Milton wrote far more than that, and while there is a special place in my heart for Paradise Lost, my favorite of his works is undoubtedly his Areopagitica. If you want to read the full text, you can find it here. I’ll endeavor to summarize the text in this post to spare you (mostly) the irregularities of spelling and unwieldy grammars of times long gone.

Areopagitica was written in 1644 (at the height of the English Civil War) against censorship, particularly the prepublication censorship of England’s Licensing Order of 1643, which required texts to be reviewed and licensed before they could be published. The censors were aggressive, and the punishments were severe. Keep in mind that this was a time when harsh physical punishments: time in the pillory, floggings, brandings, ear-clippings, and more were more common than imprisonment. For a more complete background on Areopagitica (as far as information on Wikipedia is “complete”), go here.

Those of you who have read Milton widely or who are familiar with his life and biography know that he was in many ways a radical–he was a Reformed Puritan and, at the vary least, probably not much fun at parties. He vehemently hated Catholicism. Scholars have sifted through his works and life to make arguments that he may have adopted some unorthodox religious views and interpretations. All of this is to say that my endorsement of (some of the ideas of) Areopagitica is not an endorsement of the man himself or the totality of his ideas. While I, personally, find aspects of both Calvinist and Catholic theology unworkable and potentially harmful, I have no ill will toward those who practice those versions of the Christian faith and do not (at least no longer) have the arrogance to presume that I have the truth of all things. Most important, this article is not about Milton in general or large-scale theological beliefs, so we can leave all of these issues for some other time.

We live in a time where there is much in Areopagitica that we ought consider. In America, we have extremists using all means possible to ban books in schools, often for reasons they’ve constructed themselves instead of based on reality. Elon Musk claims to be an absolutist when it comes to free speech, and then uses his ownership of Twitter to silence those he doesn’t like. Both of these are elements of a larger debate in American culture about the scope of and limits that might be placed on speech in a free society.

As an aside, since this gets bandied about so much: the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution protects individuals from infringement of free speech of citizens by the government. It does not apply to corporations or private individuals who do not want certain speech to occur in the forums over which they have control. There is a difference–a broad difference, between the right to say what you want and entitlement to be heard. Too many loud voices are currently conflating these things. A person should be protected from criminal punishment for uttering hate speech (provided that, as the law considers, it is not made with the intent to instigate criminal activity), but that person should also be ridiculed by society at large and not given a forum to spread groundless, harmful, and blatantly wrong ideas. Despite this mini-diatribe, this is not the point of this post, either. I hope you’ll allow a little authorial (in)discretion in this tangent.

I lured you here under the pretext that Areopagitica has something to offer Christian gamers; it is my intent to make good on that promise. To do that, we’re going to look at arguments–mostly religious based–about censorship in Areopagitica and see where it gets us.

Milton begins by reasoning that books are like those “fabulous Dragons teeth” of Greek legend that spring up warriors when planted–books can spur dangerous ideas and actions. I can’t disagree with this; I can think of many books that have spread harmful ideas to the detriment of humanity. But with this concession to the censors, he begins to deconstruct the reasons for the Licensing Order.

He urges caution in the censorship or destruction of books, saying:

…as good almost kill a Man as kill a good Book; who kills a Man kills a reasonable creature, Gods image; but hee who destroyes a good Booke, kills reason it selfe, kills the Image of God, as it were in the eye. Many a man lives a burden to the Earth, but a good Booke is pretious life-blood of a master spirit, imbalm’d and treasur’d up on purpose to a life beyond life.

For Milton (and I think he’s right), ideas are eternal; if we believe that we are creatures destined for an eternal life beyond this one, then ideas and knowledge are the only things we can take with us, and they ought to be treated as having that kind of value. For Milton, this militates for caution in deciding that a “Booke” is not “good.”

Some of Milton’s earliest arguments in the text are his best, and the ones which concern us (or me, at least) most. He writes:

…Read any books what ever come to thy hands, for thou art sufficient both to judge aright, and to examine each matter….Prove all things, hold fast that which is good….To the pure, all things are pure, not only meats and drinks, but all kinde of knowledge whether of good or evill; the knowledge cannot defile, nor consequently the books, if the will and conscience be not defil’d. For books are as meats and viands are; some of good, some of evill substance, and yet God in that unaprocryphall vision, said without exeception Rise Peter, kill and eat, leaving the choice to each mans discretion. Wholesome meats to a vitiated stomack differ little or nothing from unwholesome; and best books to a naughty mind are not unappliable to occasions of evill. Bad meats will scarce breed good nourishment in the healthiest concoction; but herein the difference is of bad books, that they to a discreet and judicious Reader serve in many respects to discover, to confute, to forwarn and to illustrate.

To put it plainly, the person strong in spirit is not corrupted by mere exposure. Quite the opposite; the exposure to different ideas allows one to test their beliefs and confirm what is and is not good, growing in understanding (and, I’d argue, compassion, which seems to me to necessarily accompany understanding).

Milton says further:

They are not skilfull considerers of human things, who imagin to remove sin by removing the matter of sin; for, besides that it is a huge heap increasing under the very act of diminishing, though some part of it may for a time be withdrawn from some persons, it cannot from all, in such a universall thing as books are; and when this is done, yet the sin remains entire.

From there, Milton reminds us that few arguments, texts or broad ideas are entirely good. It is a consequence of the limitations of human intellect that even our best ideas are often muddled with those that are mediocre, indifferent, or outright bad. He asserts that, were we to try to rid ourselves of all the bad by some means other than knowing good and evil and separating the good things from the bad things as they come, we’d have to do away with (or at least require licensing for) all good pleasures: music, art, dance, fraternization between men and women. For me, Areopagitica itself is an excellent example of this precept; I love it for the excellent points it makes, despite the points with which I disagree (such as Milton’s unreserved bigotry).

The next point is especially poignant. To summarize, Milton reminds us that the Bible itself is full of “untoward” stories: stories of violence and greed and corruption. And yet, when these kinds of stories are in Scripture, we view them as instructional, not corrupting. Why can that not be the case in other works?

Next, Milton flexes his classical muscles and looks to historic censorship in Greek and Roman culture for examples of what ought be banned. He settles on two major themes: atheism (represented by the books of Protagoras, Plato’s archetypal sophist, who wrote in ambivalence about the existence of the divine and in favor of the belief that all truth is relative) and libel (represented by Ben Jonson’s satirical Vetus Comoedia. He specifically mentions that neither Epicurus nor the school of Cynicism were censored in ancient Greece. For reference, Epicurus was a materialist who advocated for the pursuit of (moderated) pleasure free from fear and anxiety as the proper goal of life, while Cynicism advocated for “living naturally,” that is, in accordance with one’s nature–and rejecting common desires for wealth and power, as the desirable method of living. Milton seems to treat both as examples of “libertine” works that ought still be allowed. He continues with his historical review, but the argument flows from the above, so we’ll move along.

After this, Milton examines the role of the church (after the conversion of the Roman Empire to Christianity) in censorship. He notes that books (of heretics) were not forbidden or burnt until they had been “examin’d” and “refuted” by church councils. This flows with Milton’s overarching argument: remember, he is not writing against the banning of books per se, but against the Licensing Order that created a system of pre-publication censorship. Milton is perfectly fine with books being burnt and banned if they are determined to be “blasphemous” and without redeeming quality; his caveat is that they should be subject to publication and public review of their ideas before the determination of banning is made. In this sense, of course, Milton’s advocacy against censorship does not go as far as would many today (myself included) or who would follow him historically.

He notes that the church councils mostly determined what books were “not commendable” but left the determination as to whether to read those books to the individual. And now his hatred of the Catholic Church rears its ugly head and he blames the pope and the church councils of the 16th century (the Counter-Reformation Council of Trent in particular) for going too far in efforts to censor. He laments in particular the Index Librorum Prohibitorum. In subsequent parts of the text, Milton argues that the Catholic Church’s prohibition of books (through the requirement of an imprimatur certifying that books were allowed by the Church) derived from a desire to generate revenue rather than any desire to direct the goodness of humanity.

Here, the argument turns toward the inadvisability of having a small group of licensers determine what is and is not fit to print–and this is the crux of Milton’s point. He haughtily reminds us (perhaps speaking of himself) that the licenser may be too stupid to understand the content of the writing and may censor it unjustly. He asserts that the whim (or personal leanings) of a single reviewer may cause a book to be banned when it should not be. In one of the key sentences of the text, Milton writes, “Truth and understanding are not such wares as to be monopoliz’d and traded in by tickets and statutes, and standards.”

After comparing England’s situation to those of other nations, Milton turns his argument to the ineffectiveness of censorship, writing that it, “…stops but one breach of license, nor that neither; whenas those corruptions which it seeks to prevent, break in faster at other dores which cannot be shut,” and following with the statement that, “The punishing of wits enhaunces their authority, saith the Vicount of St. Albans, and a forbidd’n writing is thought to be a certain spark of truth that flies up in the faces of them who seeke to tread it out.”

In other words, as my constitutional law professor liked to say, “sometimes more speech is better than less speech.” Sometimes speech needs to be dragged out into the light and ridiculed for its stupidity rather than forbidden if we want to take away its power. For a tangible example, investigate the background of the “Clan of the Fiery Cross” run of the 1940’s radio program Adventures of Superman, which exposed (and made fun of) the Ku Klux Klan, permanently damaging its reputation and reducing its membership.

In true Protestant fashion, Milton then argues that religion is a personal and continuing endeavor, a responsibility that may not be given away to another without consequence. He writes:

Truth is compar’d in Scripture to a streaming fountain; if her waters flow not in a perpetuall progression, they sick’n into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition. A man may be a heretick in the truth; and if he beleeve things only because his Pastor sayes so, or the Assembly so determins, without knowing other reason, becomes his heresie.

Maybe he goes too far in the supposed consequences of not heeding his warning, but I do think he’s correct that Christians have some responsibility, to the extent that they are able, to make their own determinations of what is and is not acceptable in the light of their faith. Milton follows the spiritual warning with a more practical one–the withholding of knowledge from the people can be a factor in dulling their overall inquisitiveness and intellect, and this should not be allowed.

After this, Milton returns to his previous thought, arguing that it is better to put ideas–especially religious ones–in the open where they may be fairly tested rather than spreading them by whispers. He then waxes polemic again to compare the Licensure Act to attempts by the Catholic Church to stamp out the Reformation; we’ll glide by these allegations and leave them to history.

In the following paragraph, Milton fulfills that obligation of all learned men of the 17th century: use of ancient myths and cultures to demonstrate one’s learnedness. He likens the Christian Truth to Osiris’ destroyed and scattered body, arguing that the truth shall not be fully known until the Second Coming, but that we nevertheless have the task of seeking out and reassembling all the truth that we can. Given the debate that persisted from at least the Renaissance as to whether it was proper for Christians to study pagan thought, Milton can only be drawing this comparison purposefully; by using pagan myth to illustrate his own argument, he thereby demonstrates the value of non-Christian thought, culture, history and myth to the Christian. He blames the religious who forbid non-Christian texts and ideas simply because they are not Christian as doing a disservice to all, writing:

They are the troublers, they are the dividers of unity, who neglect and permit not others to unite those dissever’d peeces which are yet wanting to the body of Truth….A little generous prudence, a little forbearance of one another, and som grain of charity might win all these diligences to joyn, and unite into one generall and brotherly search after Truth; could we but forgoe this Prelaticall tradition of crowding consciences and Christian liberties into canons and precepts of men.

In other words, as he said at the beginning of the tract, we need to continuously confront ideas that differ from our own to test the rightness of our beliefs.

Perhaps my favorite sentence of the whole work is: “How many other things might be tolerated in peace, and left to conscience, had we but charity, and were it not the chief strong hold of our hypocrisie to be ever judging one another.” These words remain as true today (in my own experience in the split within the United Methodist Church) as they were when Milton wrote them.

Milton concludes by returning to the his argument citing Acts 10 (“Kill, and eat.”) that God has given us freedom and knowledge to determine what is good and what is not, and that no good can come from the prepublication censorship of books.

Great. Well, what does all of this have to do with Christian gamers?

As it turns, out, one of the most popular posts on my blog, one that is read by someone almost daily, is my post on Christianity and Warhammer 40k. There seem to be a large number of Christians who are gamers who yet feel some guilt about playing in fantasy worlds, like the act of doing so is itself somehow blasphemous. To my mind, Areopagitica’s arguments address this directly. In summation:

  • Playing in fantasy worlds will not corrupt you in and of itself. That you are worried about such a thing should be taken as evidence that you know how to discern between what is real and what is not, and between what is good and what is not. Games allow us to safely explore alternate realities, cosmologies, situations and experiences. This is both fun and edifying. Gaming doesn’t threaten your faith; it strengthens it by exposing you to new and different ideas that you can then examine in light of your beliefs and convictions.
  • You should not rely solely on someone else telling you what is and is not acceptable in light of your faith. As a Weslayan, I’m a firm believer that spiritual questions ought be answered by resorting to Scripture, Reason, Tradition and Experience (Albert Outler’s Weslayan Quadrilateral). Don’t let someone tell you that Harry Potter or D&D is blasphemous simply because it isn’t overtly Christian. I’ve yet to meet someone whose exposure to either has lured them into demonaltry. On the other hand, I’ve had many discussions with Christians whose experiences in those or other created worlds have brought them increased understanding of their faith.
  • Few ideas, narratives or texts have solely good or bad ideas; you have to separate the wheat from the chaff. This is good preparation for actual living, where you’ll often have to judge between what is good and what is evil. And let me tell you, in the real world, some of those choices can be damned tough.
  • Sequestering oneself from all that may be disagreeable only results in stagnation. Exposure to the fantastic is mind-expanding in the best of ways.
  • Harmful ideas are rendered harmless by identifying, discussing, and rejecting them, not by hiding them.
  • At the end of the day, it’s your conscience, and not someone else’s, that you must confront and satisfy. Do what you think is best and have the humility to allow others to do the same.

Maybe you read through all of this and end up not agreeing with Areopagitica’s arguments or my conclusions. In such a case, I’d posit that you’ve proved the very point–the reading or experiencing of something by itself is not going to change you against your will.

I hope that this gives those of you who read it some comfort to lay some of these questions aside and to live a life that is both one of faith and one that is filled with wonder, the fantastic, and games.

Happy New Year.

Writing Is Magic

Writing is the closest thing we have to magic in this world.

It is necromancy; through it, the dead speak to us.

It is the transmutation of alchemy; through it, minds and lives are forever changed.

It is enchantment; with words we shape our world.

It is divination; by writing, we understand the past and sift through the skeins of possibility and probability for the future.

It is the apotropaic talisman; through words we inure ourselves to falsehoods and lies.

It is evocation; through words we summon spirits from the aether itself.

It is goetia; through words we bind our demons.

It is theurgy; in creation we mimic our Creator.

If you long for a world in which there is more magic, write.

A Response to Lies Being Told About the UMC

As churches in the Texas Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church go through the discernment process about whether to disaffiliate, I’ve gotten wind of a fresh wave of disinformation and misrepresentation about the future of the UMC being told by advocates of disaffiliation. It seems only right to address some of those misrepresentations head on. I’ll take them in turn.

I’d like to point out that not all advocates of disaffiliation (probably not even most) are participating in this disinformation campaign, but those who are are loud enough to overshadow the others.

Additionally, I’d like to point out for fairness’ sake that this discussion necessarily oversimplifies complex issues of theology and doctrine and falls into the error of creating monolithic categories where there is diversity of thought. But, this is a blog post, not a full-length book, and I must resort to these shortcuts in service to some modicum of efficiency. Keep in mind that the statements that follow intend to follow major trends in thought rather than to be definitive; please read as such. Both conservative and progressive members of the UMC have a diversity of belief in the particulars of all the issues discussed below.

Theology and Doctrine

Claims are being made that the progressives, like myself, within the United Methodist Church don’t believe in the following:

  • The authority of Scripture.
  • The Trinity.
  • The Resurrection of Jesus.

I’m not aware of any pastor or layperson within the Texas Conference of the UMC who does not believe in these things. Before delving into details, I’d also like to point out that the ordination process in the United Methodist Church is a rigorous, difficult, and long one. Candidates are tested as to their belief in UMC theology, doctrine and polity, and I cannot think of a Board of Ordained Ministry that would recommend for commissioning or ordination a candidate who did not subscribe to the above.

My cynical suspicion is that the people pushing these lies want you to believe that progressive pastors are themselves liars who obfuscated their true beliefs to become inside agents of the destruction of the UMC. Such conspiracies have no basis in reality, and this slander should be seen for the purely ad hominem attack that it is. Nevertheless, let’s address the assertions.

Authority of Scripture

What conservatives mean when they say that we, as progressives, do not believe in the authority of Scripture is that we don’t hold the same view of Scripture that conservatives do. It is true that progressives tend to: view the Scriptures with more nuance, use a larger set of critical tools to search for meaning, reject the idea that the superficial meaning is always the correct one, acknowledge that there are places where passages disagree with one another and must be synthesized, and believe that human minds participated in the creation of Scripture.

This is not a rejection of the statement that Scripture is “God-breathed” or that Scripture contains all things necessary to salvation–these are core beliefs of United Methodist Church doctrine and of the clergy and laypersons who make up its membership. The disaffiliation of conservatives from the UMC will not change that.

It is, however, largely a rejection of certain interpretive stances that tend to be taken by conservatives. We reject that the Bible provides easy and binary answers to the difficult questions of life and existence without critical interpretation. Thus, while there are certainly some statements within Scripture that ought to be read literally, we reject a blanket literal reading of the text as a matter of course.

I would, personally, argue that the conservative stance about “Biblical authority” often falls into the error of elevating Scripture beyond its proper place in our faith. Ultimate authority derives from the Trinitarian God, not a written text. I follow theologian Karl Barth’s statement that the greatest gift of the Scripture is that it brings us to a personal encounter with the Living God, not that it provides an easy manual for the living of life. There are many things the Bible is not clear about–Jesus speaks in parables doesn’t he?–but there is one thing that Scripture makes absolutely clear without equivocation or nuance: that we are to love God and love our neighbors as ourselves. With that foundation, I believe that the ambiguity in the Bible prepares us for the ambiguity of life and existential questions far better than any literal text ever could. I have written about these things in more depth in other posts on the blog.

These stances are very different from the statement that progressives “do not believe in the authority of Scripture.” My own moment of conversion happened while participating in a program to read the entire Bible in ninety days; I will never take the stance that there is no power and authority in the Bible–but I believe that God’s authority is superior to Scripture, that the Bible is not the fourth person of the Trinity, that the example of Christ, as God on Earth, is the clearest indication of God’s will and should be adhered to when other parts of the Bible seem to disagree, and that the conservative treatment of Scripture is at best misguided and at worst idolatry. I know no Methodist who would reject Scripture as having authority or value or being inspired by God.

There is a specific example pointed to in making these assertions, and I’ll address it shortly.

The Trinity

In all honesty, I’m not sure of the basis for this assertion. For many progressives, the focus of God’s plan is not on God’s glory (as many conservatives seem to believe, and which strikes me as something that needs no action from mankind) but in relationship, in that relationship of perfect love between all things that brings a joy that never ends. Given the focus on relationship, the mystery of the Trinity is a powerful and central one in progressive faith, for it is the image of God in relationship with God’s self just as the Incarnation affirms God’s relationship with us; the perichoresis of the three persons of the Trinity represents the perfection to which we are called.

The Resurrection of Jesus

Again, I’m not sure who is being pointed to here as an example of this assertion; I certainly know no pastor within the UMC who does not believe in the literal resurrection of Jesus. This would be contrary to UMC doctrine and I have a hard time believing that anyone holding this position would make it to ordination as a pastor.

While the argument could be made that there is a difference between historical truth and existential truth, and thus the resurrection of Jesus could be indicative of God’s plan for us even if it did not happen, that is not a stance I know anyone (myself included) within the UMC to have taken. While it might be fair to say that progressive tend to take a more skeptical view on issues of Biblical historicity, there are limits to that skepticism. Conveniently, those limits are described in the various creeds. At my home church, a UMC church in Houston that could be staunchly placed on the progressive side of UMC issues, we say the Apostle’s Creed every Sunday. This, of course, confesses a belief in the resurrection of Jesus.

Fear-Mongering

I have heard from several people–all intelligent, conscientious, and with a history of membership in the UMC–who are being told that, should they stay with the UMC instead of disaffiliating, they should expect to have a gay or transgender person leading their church as a senior or associate pastor.

My first response is to say, “so what?” There’s an assumption in this statement that a member of the LGBTQIA community cannot pastor as effectively as a straight, cis-gender person. At the churches I have attended throughout most of my life, the congregants tend to be well-educated white people of substantial means. People, like those of the LGBTQIA community, who have experienced othering, persecution (actual persecution, none of this “war on Christianity” drivel) and existence as an outsider have something to offer us that other cis-gendered white people from “comfortable” backgrounds cannot, just as people of color, with differences in theology, from different nations and other experiences do.

My second response is to question the logistics of such an assertion. The exclusivity of the UMC’s official position on homosexuality, pushed by the conservatives all these decades, have driven most members of the LGBTQIA community out of the church. Of those who remain, even fewer are clergy–the cost of ordination in the UMC as a gay person is to forsake romantic relationships, and that is an unfathomable burden. Simply put, there are not, and probably never will be (if we go by statistics) enough ordained members of the LGBTQIA community within the UMC to appoint one to every church. And that’s a shame. More important for this conversation, it shows the ridiculousness of the assertion in the first place.

Ms. Penny Cost

This is a name I’ve only first heard in the past few weeks. Ms. Penny Cost is the drag queen alter-ego of Isaac Simmons, a candidate for ordination in the Illinois Great Rivers Conference of the UMC. She has been used by the conservative proponents of the GMC as a bogeywoman for those on the fence about disaffiliation, as if, the moment disaffiliation from the UMC is complete, those of us who remain will ensure that someone like Ms. Cost is appointed to every single church in the denomination so that moderate members of the UMC can be confronted by gender and sexuality issues at every service.

Again, I personally say, “so what?” Ms. Cost either has something to offer her congregation or she doesn’t, and that has little to do with her clothing or appearance. As important, diversity of viewpoints is one of the strengths of the UMC that is often lauded by progressives; it is something we hope to preserve in our church. That means that there will be diversity of identity and theological positions (within the doctrines of the UMC) between pastors and different congregations. There’s been no movement or suggestion that only female pastors, or pastors of color, be ordained to make up for their exclusion in the past, and no such notion will take place with respect to gender identities and sexual orientation. As a practical matter, members of the UMC will continue to have options to find a church where they feel welcome and appointments of clergy will continue to be made with consideration of how a particular congregation might feel about the appointment of a particular individual. Between you and me, I’d also argue that discomfort in the name of spiritual growth isn’t a bad thing.

But Ms. Penny Cost has suffered more than having her identity used to scare conservative-leaning moderates. She has been lied about.

First, the way I hear it told, they (Simmons and Cost) are described by conservatives as an ordained person within their conference (presumably to argue about how the conference is breaking the rules of the UMC polity). They are not; Simmons is a candidate for ordination. Further, there is nothing about Simmons (provided that he not engage in a same-sex relationship) that would prohibit him from being ordained under the current rules of the UMC.

As concerning, Ms. Cost is being pointed to as “evidence” that progressives do not believe in the Bible. It is true that Ms. Cost’s website has a video of Simmons entitled “The Bible is Nothing…” on its front page (www.mspennycost.com). Let the pearl-clutching ensue!

What is not stated is that the video entitled “The Bible is Nothing…” is not a statement of belief–it’s a performed poem. Nor is the title intended to be taken literally. If I interpret the poem properly, it is a statement that the Bible has no power when we refuse to follow its teachings by standing for justice. That is not a controversial statement, and you could find many beliefs similar to those expressed in Simmons’ poem in the Book of Ecclesiastes (I have to credit K for this observation). It is, perhaps, poetic that conservatives cannot seem to see past the literal to the true meaning. But it’s also infuriating, saddening and a little scary that they cannot or will not do so.

Elsewhere on the site, Simmons/Cost expresses a sincere belief in the doctrine of the UMC. This includes the authority of Scripture. Mischaracterizing them for shock value is shameful.

A Final Thought

My own personal meditations of late have focused on my struggle to see those with whom I disagree not as adversaries, but as siblings in Christ to be treated with love, compassion and respect. There are some people, particularly those within my own family, for which this comes easily, even when we disagree. I am comfortable assuming that they have come to their beliefs in good faith and with due consideration. But they have not (and I expect will not) participate in the kind of slander and misinformation I’ve spent this post opposing. For those who do, the task is substantially harder.

But that is what Jesus calls us to, to love our enemies to the point where we no longer think that they are enemies. To pursue justice and fairness through means that do not other or denigrate those we believe responsible for injustice. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, to be sure, but one that offers peace.

It is, perhaps, the most quintessential struggle of politics within the United States and the UMC. How we pursue justice is important and how we treat those who are ideologically opposed to us matters.

Fighting Styles in WFRP 4e

If you’re a follower of this blog, you know that I am fascinated by swordmanship and historical European martial arts (HEMA), and that I very much enjoy roleplaying games that demonstrate some knowledge, however abstracted, of the actual practicalities of melee combat. In that vein, I’m going to discuss in this article melee combat and fighting styles in Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay, 4th Edition.

Whether by intent or happenstance, the designers of WFRP 4e managed to capture some of the feel (and advantages) of certain fighting styles in their mechanics. This article will be partly a review of those design choices and their effectiveness, but a good deal of space will also be devoted to some character build advice in light of various fighting styles.

Generalities

The various incarnations of WFRP (for now, we’ll leave 3rd edition out–I very much liked what FFG was doing there, but it’s its own creature) have long erred toward deadly combat. The grittier feel, the pastiche of early 16th century Europe, and the incorporation of some of the less pleasant aspects of late medieval/Northern Renaissance life (treated, of course, with some humor) have always attracted me to this setting and ruleset over something like D&D (which has it’s own advantages and attractions, don’t get me wrong).

With regards to combat, there’s just enough of the feel of HEMA to sate desire, without something as complex and specifically focused on medieval combat as The Riddle of Steel. I have, years back, run a WFRP game using TRoS, with good result, and while that system will always have a fond place in my heart, my current mood does not need the full complexity (and time consumption) of that combat system in my already-tight gaming time.

The first thing that WFRP 4e gets right, I think, is opposed melee tests. Earlier editions first had the attacker make an attack test and, if successful, the defender could make a parry or dodge test to deflect. Omitting the additional step eases things along and captures more of the feel of HEMA, where combatants are not taking turns pounding on one another but involved in a complex and fast-paced set of test attacks, maneuvering, feints, parries, moves and countermoves. While it might be more “realistic” to have melee combat resolved by a single opposed test, winner scoring the hit, the attack roll vs. defense roll allows for additional mechanics (like certain Talents and weapon Qualities) that further deepen the choices available in the system.

The second point is the (optional) rule for bonuses and penalties for relative weapon length and In-fighting (WFRP 4e p. 297, hidden in the Consumer’s Guide and not the Combat section). These rules are simple enough not to slow combat while providing a greater significance for choice of weapon in particular circumstances. In fact, the In-Fighter and Enclosed Fighter Talents really aren’t of much use if the GM is not taking bonuses and/or penalties for weapon length into account. In my opinion, these rules should always be used.

Hit locations, critical hits by location, and piecemeal armor likewise add to verisimilitudinous combat. Wounds are visceral and specific, the choice of how much armor to wear–and where to wear it–matters. Again, this really only works to full advantage if the GM and players are paying attention to the Encumbrance rules. I realize that many GMs and players hate using all but the most abstracted of Encumbrance rules, but these really aren’t that bad and are worthwhile in the end.

Some players don’t like their characters to be permanently injured and/or disfigured, and I understand that, but the roleplaying opportunities that are opened up by these systems should also not be overlooked (the Physician career is an extremely valuable one in WFRP!). If necessary, allow means of reversing permanent injuries (Shallyan blessings or Jade magic) some additional prevalence and accessibility–give your players a few scenes or sessions to grapple with lasting injuries with the hope of undoing them in the long-run. Some groups, of course, are happy to retire characters who sustain significant injuries (and content with a high character death-rate to boot), and there’s nothing wrong with that either. Further methods of keeping visceral injury while softening the long-term effects would be to adopt a troupe-style play system (where each player has several different characters to choose from in each session) or to allow a greater carry-over of XP between characters than the rules-as-written provide for.

The Advantage system in the core book, though perhaps more narrative than realistic, does provide a method for mechanically mapping the fact that, once a fight hits a crucial turning point, it becomes more and more difficult for the underdog to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. The Group Advantage system in the Up in Arms supplement provides a system more in line with Wrath in Wrath and Glory, which is mechanically satisfying and promotes teamwork amongst players (both in themselves admirable goals) but provides less verisimilitude than the core system. On the other hand, no one wants to watch their character get hit right out of the gate and then be locked into a long pummeling as the opponent gains ever more Advantage, so opinions may vary.

The last thing I’d like to point out here before moving to specifics is the use of weapon and armor Qualities. I don’t always agree with specific choices made by designers from a “realism” standpoint, but I find that they are well-written to provide for actually-different styles of fighting. I’ll mention some of these minor criticism and some ideas for “correcting” them below.

Fighting Styles and Builds

Combat Skills and Characters

Note that the Endeavors rules (WFRP 4e p. 195) make it relatively easy to learn the various Melee skills outside of a character’s career, but much more difficult to learn Talents from outside of one’s career. Therefore, if your character is not in the Warrior class, or one of the careers in other classes that contain combat Talents, err on the side of combat styles that require few or no Talents.

If your table has altered the way you treat the Unusual Learning endeavor for purposes of Talents, then the above may not apply. You may also plan to move between careers (and classes) to collect the skills and Talents you want for your character. Personally, though, I could drive myself mad in consideration of all the different possible career combinations focused on acquiring specific Skills and Talents, so I would also consider letting the narrative dictate your career choices and taking the below into account as a separate consideration.

Sword and Shield: The Go-To Style

The sword and shield (or buckler) fighting-style should be the go-to fighting-style for most characters, and particularly those without much skill in combat. This style offers good advantages without having any Talents dedicated to it and can become even more effective with just a few Talents.

Characters who do not intend to fight unless absolutely necessary should carry a sword and buckler. The first advantage of this is that a sword has only 1 Encumbrance and the buckler has no Encumbrance. The buckler provides both an armor bonus to all areas (with the Shield 1 Quality) and a bonus to defense (with the Defensive Quality) and they are, relatively speaking, easy to acquire and inexpensive. As a bonus, this follows historical precedent: in 16th century England, the sword and buckler were known as “the servingman’s weapons.” They were easy for retainers to carry (where weapons were allowed) and also allowed for shows of bravado in fighting the retainers of other nobles houses while minimizing (to the extend possible while swinging sharpened steel) of significant injury. (On the other hand, the earliest fighting manual of which I’m aware, the Royal Armouries Ms. I.33, a German sword-and-buckler manual from around the 1320’s, also demonstrates the complexity of sword-and-buckler fighting and its usefulness for skilled combatants).

Shields fall under the Melee (Basic) skill, meaning that your character may start with some skill in the style even in a non-combatant career, and the Unusual Learning Endeavor allows easy training in the skill even if it is not a career skill. Regardless of Talents, this weapon combination is strong one. As a side note, my read of the rules (particularly those regarding off-hand parrying weapons) leaves the possibility that defending with a shield in the off-hand (without the Ambidextrous Talent) imposes a -20 penalty on rolls. However, I believe that that would be a misreading of the rules as intended and that using a shield imposes no penalties to defense.

As a point of strategy, I would recommend that the sword-and-buckler fighter use the Fighting Defensively rules (WFRP 4e p. 158, upper sidebar) to first generate Advantage. If you’re using the Advantage rules from the core book, this allows you to potentially generate a significant bonus to your tests before going on the offensive. If using the Group Advantage rules from Up in Arms (p. 132-136), you don’t gain Advantage for winning defensive opposed rolls (the test must be one you initiated to gain Advantage). Still, for a character not intended for fighting, use of defensive fighting until you can get help from a more-skilled ally must be considered.

There are two Talents that may be of particular benefit to the sword-and-shield fighter: Reversal and Shieldsman. Both are somewhat contingent on which Advantage system you are using (Core or Up in Arms Group Advantage), so I’ll address them under each system:

Under the core Advantage system, Reversal allows you to take all of an opponent’s Advantage on a successful opposed melee test (including defense). That could potentially be a tide-changer. On the other hand, it’s usefulness is limited by the fact that, under the basic rules, your opponent would lose all Advantage and you would gain one Advantage anyway. Shieldsman is also of somewhat dubious use; the core description of the Talent gives you Advantage when you lose one the defensive side of opposed melee test. The cost for gaining the benefit of the Talent is high; I’d rank “don’t get hit” among the top rules of combat, so maybe pass on this one. The good news is that, under the core Advantage system, there’s not a strong reason to devote XP (or career choices) to specific combat Talents at all.

Both Talents become much more useful under the Group Advantage system: Reversal as revised in Up in Arms retains the benefit of gaining Advantage on successful opposed tests while defending with a shield. Shieldsman allows you to spend Advantage to deal damage when successfully defending (or to push your opponent). Since those careers that include Shieldsman do so at level two, this is one of the easiest Talents to achieve to increase damage output (through a pesudo-extra-attack)–but contrast with Two-Weapon fighting below.

The concepts above are equally applicable to sword and shield as to sword and buckler. The advantages of the larger shields are additional armor points and the ability to oppose ranged attack tests at the cost of increased Encumbrance. If you’re character is going to be at the forefront of the fighting, a larger shield makes more sense than the buckler.

As a last consideration in this style: the bonus armor points from shields are especially helpful if you are wearing light or no armor. But what about heavier armor? The Knight, Knight of the Blazing Sun, and Knight of the Panther careers all assume you’ll be donning heavy armor (see below) but also contain the Shieldsman Talent. I think that a shield is less useful when wearing heavier armors for several reasons: (1) you’re much likelier to be over your basic Encumbrance allotment, (2) there are better weapons to use when you already have high armor (such as polearms and two-handed weapons, see below), and (3) you hit somewhat diminishing returns on armor points by stacking in this way.

Fencing: The Masterclass

By “fencing” I mean the use of the rapier and parrying dagger (“main gauche”). This style offers some excellent benefits but requires a character who is devoting the majority of their XP to fighting. In fact, my personal view is that this method of fighting is too costly outside of the Duellist career. Some benefit may be seen by fighting with rapier and buckler for those outside of the Duellist career who do not want to spend too many resources on combat.

I’ll address the latter situation first: WFRP’s description of the rapier doesn’t actually fit the typical description of the mid-to-late 16th-century and early 17th-century rapier (which would have been a long thrusting weapon with a blade cross-section that doesn’t allow for strong cutting, if any at all). Instead, it describes the “cut-and-thrust” swords that began to focus on the thrust but retain strong cutting ability (the “espada ropera”). These begin to show up in the early 16th-century and continue alongside the development of the rapier. The confusion of terms is entirely forgivable, as the distinction is really a modern one and the contemporary terms used to describe sword types lacked hard categorizations that would be satisfactory to the 21st-century scholar. For ease, I’m going to follow the WFRP naming convention and use “rapier” generally.

The buckler was used with both types of weapons (the “cut-and-thrust” swords and the “true” rapier). In WFRP, you only need the Melee (Fencing) skill to gain the benefits of the rapier–you get the defensive benefits from the buckler without having to acquire the Melee (Parry) skill (see below). What are those benefits? The rapier has three potential advantages over the basic sword: the Fast and Impale Qualities and a long length rather than average (despite the description of the sword given, the mechanics of the weapon do seem to lean toward the “true” rapier intended particularly for thrusting). Again, with the weapon length rules, this can be a good additional advantage (though context matters, and tight spaces or in-fighting will make the weapon a liability, as was historically the case). Fast and Impale are the real attraction. Fast allows you to make attacks outside of the Initiative order and imposes a -10 penalty to defend for weapons that do not also have the Fast quality. Impale increases the likelihood of Critical Hits. If you want to spend some of your character resources on combat skill, but not too many, rapier and buckler is a strong choice, requiring only a single Melee skill and no Talents to get solid benefits.

The “true” fencer is the one who devotes great resources to combat with rapier and an off-hand weapon (cloak or parrying dagger, primarily). In such a case, both the Melee (Fencing) and Melee (Parrying) skills are required (the Parrying skill, not the Fencing skill is used for defending with the off-hand weapon, otherwise a -20 penalty is suffered, so the Defensive quality of the parrying weapon is useless without the proper skill). What are the benefits of the parrying dagger over the buckler? There are a few: first, the dagger gives you a backup weapon in the case of in-fighting, hedging some of the liability of the rapier. Second, the off-hand dagger does not have the Undamaging Quality (which shields do) in the case of dual-wielding attacks. The cloak offers the Entangling Quality rather than a significant attack, which may be a worthwhile exchange when fighting in a group.

I’ll also pick out the “hidden” advantage. As discussed below, the Ambidextrous and Dual Wielder Talents are requirements for the successful use of rapier-and-dagger in making two attacks per turn. Both Talents apply equally to ranged weapons and melee weapons, meaning a character can carry a brace of pistols, fire them both in the first round of combat (before others have a chance to react if you have the Fast Shot Talent), switching to sword-and-dagger to follow. That gives two high-damage attacks that may cause the Broken condition right out of the gate, an impressive opening move.

The rapier-and-off-hand fighting style needs several Talents to reach full potential. As mentioned above, Ambidextrous (two levels, for 300 XP in-career) and Dual Wielder remove all penalties to making attacks with both weapons in a turn. Levels in Riposte allow a character to deal damage while successfully defending with a Fast weapon (a number of times in a turn equal to the levels in Riposte). Combined with the two-weapon-fighting talents, a character using this style can put out a lot of damage in a turn, against multiple targets.

This combination of Talents is only found in the Duellist career, meaning only characters in that career are especially well-suited to this style of combat. Fortunately, that class is also full of other useful Talents: Combat Reflexes is of only some use given the Fast quality of the Rapier, but Beat Blade, Distract, Feint, Step Aside, Combat Master, Reaction Strike and Strike to Injure are all strong combat Talents (if somewhat contextual). Disarm seem to me to be a niche Talent; most of the time it will be a better choice to deal damage.

Two-Handed Fighting: The Damage-Dealer

The downside of the Two-Handed fighting style is that it requires a skill only a few careers have access to (though far more than the Fencing and Parrying skills). The upside is the Qualities available on two-handed weapons. I believe that this is a fighting-style worth considering even for characters outside of careers particularly suited to it (such as the Up in Arms Greatsword career.

I’m going to focus on swords here, as they have fewer downsides when compared to the Great Axe, Pick and Warhammer (which can be great weapons for tough and heavily-armored characters). The Zweihander gives you the Damaging and Hack abilities, which are both excellent. Damaging allows you to use the one’s place of the attack roll rather than the Success Level to calculate additional damage. That could mean up to 9 additional damage on a roll that barely hits–combine this with an already-high damage rating (SB+5), and you have the potential to drop many combatants in a single blow. Hack deals damage to armor, helping you win fights by attrition against heavily-armored opponents. Additionally, the high damage output can be an extremely efficient way to secure multiple attacks in a turn if using the Deathblow! optional rule (

The Bastard Sword trades out Hack for Defensive but retains Damaging; this is a very worthwhile trade in my mind.

Two-handed fighting lends itself to heavy armor, which I’ll address separately below. Aside from those Talents generally useful for combat, I find the Berserk Charge, Strike Mighty Blow, Strike to Injure, Very Strong, and Resolute Talents particularly useful for the two-handed fighter.

The knightly careers and Greatsword career are most suited to two-handed weapons as a style, though the basic Soldier career can be used, and, if willing not to worry too much about the Talents, any career could acquire the skill through the Unusual Learning Endeavor.

A brief aside for some rules modification changes: the Zweihander is a very specific Renaissance weapon, one designed for fighting pike formations and not general combat. It averages six feet in length, up to eight pounds or so (extremely heavy for a melee weapon), has a long grip, often hooks on the blade and a leather-wrapped ricasso (the portion of the blade that is not sharpened, closest to the hilt). The purpose was to swing the weapon like a big sword to knock long pikes out of the way (or potentially chop them up) and then to shift to holding the weapon like a spear (with one hand on the hilt and the other on the ricasso) upon closing with the enemy. The first technique allowed you to close in without being stabbed; the second shortened your weapon for closer combat while pikemen were struggle to drop their pikes and draw their swords. Outside of this situation, other two-handed swords were faster and more effective.

WFRP and Games Workshop seem to use the terms “Zweihander” and “Greatsword” interchangeably. A greatsword unlike a zweihander, was of a more modest length (closer to four feet, with plenty of variation either way in a matter of inches) and weight (three to four pounds). The greatsword was differentiated (or at least is now) from the longsword (a two-handed sword, despite what D&D tries to tell you) by its focus on the cut rather than having a blade shape more versatile between cutting and thrusting.

I believe that the weapon in WFRP really represents the greatsword rather than a zweihander. A zweihander write-up should have two entries: one for using the weapon like a huge sword, one for using it in a more spear-like manner.

While I’m nitpicking, I think WFRP’s “bastard sword” really represents a more traditional longsword. I’d changing that naming and I’d use the following for a true bastard sword (which often had a blade shorter than a longsword but could be wielded in one or two hands): I’d make damage SB+4, length Average, and give it the Defensive and Fast Qualities when used in two hands and no Qualities when used in one hand. Set cost and availability by reference to the two-handed weapons and the basic sword, leaning toward the former.

Polearm Fighting: The Versatile Choice

At face value, polearms are very similar to two-handed weapons. They have a dedicated skill (Melee (Polearms)), the weapons take two hands to use, seem to favor a heavier choice of armor, and even have similar stats (with polearms generally doing less damage than two-handed weapons).

The difference is that polearms offer versatility in a single weapon. For this article, I’m going to focus on the Bill, Halberd, Partizan/Glaive, and Pollaxe. Each of these weapons has the Defensive quality–if eschewing a shield in favor of a two-handed weapon, this offers some parity between the styles. Each then, based on the specific design of the weapon, offers some combination of Hack, Impale, Pummel, Slash (2A) and Trip. The specific choice of weapon should perhaps depend on your character’s Talents: Pummel is especially useful with Strike to Stun, but of limited use otherwise. Hack, Slash, Impale and Trip need no particular Talents. All but the partizan have Hack, making them useful for those times you need to wear down an armored foe. Impale is generally useful for increasing Critical Hits. Because Slash requires a Critical Hit, and the partizan gives you the choice between Impale and Slash, the combination is perhaps less effective than others. Trip can be an excellent Quality, particularly if used to set up strikes by teammates (or if using Group Advantage and spending for immediate follow-on attacks).

I would be comfortable saying that the choice between two-handed weapons and polearms is a toss-up and depends on your character’s (and your group’s) needs. I personally lean towards the two-handers.

Since I’ve made some suggestions for weapon changes in the categories above, I’ll do so here as well. Historically, there were two major styles of using a spear and/or quarterstaff (and these correspond somewhat with the use of other polearms). In the English style, the focus was on the thrust, making the weapon fast to strike and useful for maintaining distance. The German style wielded the weapon much like a longsword, focusing on strikes rather than thrusts and better able to defend against incoming attack. Switching between methods is not terribly difficult on the fly. That being the case, I would add Defensive or Fast to the spear (I’d also allow players to choose between Long and Very Long lengths) and change the quarterstaff’s Defensive to Defensive or Fast.

Cavalry: I’ll Take Swords for Five-Hundred

The lance and demi-lance are useful weapons…once. The Impact Quality makes them truly devastating, but outside of the battlefield, how often are you really going to use one? That leaves the Cavalry Hammer and the Sabre. Both use Melee (Cavalry) from horseback but a different skill (Melee (Two-Handed) and Melee (Basic), respectively) when on foot. The hammer has Pummel so, if your character also has the Two-handed skill (and Strike to Stun, preferably) it might be preferred. However, none of the Knight careers have the Talent (I might have thought the Knight of the White Wolf would), nor does Cavalryman or Light Cavalryman. Less than useful, then. On the other hand, the sabre uses a widely-available skill (all of the careers mentioned above get Melee (Basic), though Freelancer and Knight do not until Level 2). The sabre can be used in one-hand, allowing for the use of a shield and retains the Slash Quality (though it changes from 1A to 2A unless you use it with the Melee (Fencing) skill, but why bother), making it better than a basic sword.

The choice here is clear.

Armored Combat: Do You Even Lift, Bro?

Given the danger of combat in WFRP, armoring up as early and often as possible can be a useful choice. But it’s not necessarily an easy one. First, you need to look at the inherent penalties that accompany certain pieces of armor (particularly helmets and plate leggings, but bear in mind you suffer -10 to stealth if wearing any chain or plate). Then, you need to consider the Encumbrance penalties from lots of armor: you’re very likely to suffer -1 Movement and -10 Agility from your armor (And that’s before you consider your weapons and any traveling gear. Also, don’t travel in your heavy armor unless you’re expecting a fight).

A full suit of Plate Armor will give you 10-11 Encumbrance points from the get-go. You may want to wear some chain or leather under it (you can choose either or combine them). The relatively low ratings of armor (even plate) means that you either need to double up or accept that there’s a high cost and quickly diminishing returns for wearing lots of armor. But armor rating isn’t the only consideration: plate armor allows you to ignore half of Critical Hits, and that’s no small thing.

A fairly well-rounded set-up with some “oomph” to it would be a leather jack, leggings and skullcap under a breastplate and open helm. That gives you three points of armor on head and torso with one point on arms and legs and six points of Encumbrance. Add a shield and you get another one (buckler, no encumbrance) or two (shield, one additional Encumbrance). Even that, though, will put you into Encumbrance penalties unless you’ve specifically built your character in expectation of wearing armor.

Your basic Encumbrance level is Strength Bonus plus Toughness Bonus. You’ll want to get these stats into the forties as soon as possible. Very Strong and Very Resilient will be of significant benefit, if you can get them. Strong Back and Sturdy should also be acquired if you can. With the exception of the Knight of the Blazing Sun, all knight careers offer Sturdy at Level 1. Sturdy increases your Encumbrance rating by 2 x level, so picking up several levels before advancing would go a long way.

Bear in mind diminishing returns: assuming you get your Strength and Toughness up to at least forty and take four levels of Sturdy (a whopping 1,000XP), your Encumbrance maximum would be fourteen. You’ll have two to three points of Encumbrance for your weapon (assuming you’re not carrying several), leaving you eleven points for that full suit of plate with nothing underneath.

A durable set-up would be full plate (closed helm) with a mail shirt, a leather jack, leggings and skull cap. That’s fifteen encumbrance, plus three for your weapon. So, if you can get your Strength and Toughness into the forties and take one level of Sturdy, and tolerate the first level of Encumbrance penalties, you’re good to go. Take two levels of Sturdy and you can add a medium shield for even more protection. Without the shield, you’d have five AP on your torso and three AP everywhere else (while ignoring half of Critical Hits). With the shield and a Toughness bonus of four, you’re ignoring the first nine points of damage–that’s not too shabby.

Bear in mind, though, that the Robust Talent adds damage reduction per level of the Talent in a manner similar to Armor Points. You should strongly consider (if available to your character), adding this to the list of your character’s Talents if pursuing a front-line fighter, armored or not.

The Knifefighter: Close and Personal

This is not a mainline fighting style; it should be reserved for those characters who never intend to fight fair but may need to do some dirt from time to time–particularly when the victim–erm, opponent–is unawares.

Knives and daggers don’t do a whole lot of damage to begin with (and knives have the Undamaging Quality), so a high Melee skill and Strength bonus will be helpful. On the same lines, the Strike Mighty Blow Talent would be useful, as would the Stealth skill. The Combat Reflexes, In-Fighter, Enclosed Fighter and Disarm Talents would all be useful if you are unable to take down your target in the first strike.

There may also be times when a dagger or knife is all you have on you–the social or legal formalities may prevent the carrying of serious weapons in certain areas, or you may simply be caught traveling light. All of the above would help in such situations; as the goal when outgunned should be to break off the engagement and survive, the Flee! Talent may prove useful in such situations.

The Brawler: Back to Basics

The Brancalonia Roleplaying Game emphasizes as part of its genre that the law is unlikely to take much notice of the occasional bar brawl or streetfight where no weapons are produced and no “serious” injuries are inflicted (though unarmed combat can, of course, prove deadly). The same idea fits in WFRP: there are plenty of times when the Powers that Be simply have too much else going on (or simply don’t care) to deal with petty conflicts that do not involve anyone of importance. Further, there are some times when violence is a means to an end and not the end itself–the Protagonist and Racketeer careers are plenty evidence of this. You’ve always got your fists (almost always, anyway), and sometimes a knuckleduster is easier to carry into a restricted area than even a knife.

Then there’s the historical fact that all combatants were expected to have some skill in unarmed combat. Learning to brawl was a part of childhood, a fundamental that ought to be established before teaching skill in any weapon, and a common feature of melee combat even when weapons were involved. For all of these reasons, a character whose identity (read: career) involves combat ought to have some proficiency in the Melee (Brawling) skill. Most of the Talents applicable to knifefighting above, as well as the Dirty Fighter talent, make for good supplements. But, unless the character expects to do a lot of roughing people up without permanently injuring them, the Brawling skill is secondary to the armed-combat skills.

Conclusion

I hope this article has given some ideas of how the WFRP system captures the “feel” (to the extent that we can honestly reconstruct it) of medieval/early-modern combat without adhering to intricate and byzantine complexities. I hope also that it’s given you some solid build advice on choosing what kind of fighting techniques and equipment will best suit your character. On the other hand, there were a number of “masters of the art of defence” in the period, and a character whose ambitions lie in becoming one among them could be interesting to play and an effective member of a party. There are a number of ways such a character could go, moving between careers as necessary to represent different courses of study.

If I’ve missed something you see in the WFRP system, or if you’ve got other thoughts to contribute to mine above, I look forward to hearing from you!

Addendum – Shields and Melee (Parry)

It has been brought to my attention that the WFRP4e errata “clarifies” the use of shields. Despite the listing of shields as “basic” weapons, the errata states that a -20 penalty should be assessed to a character defending (or attacking) with a shield unless the Melee (Parry) skill is used, forcing a player to decide whether they want to trade AP for a -10 penalty on defense (as a shield adds its AP to all locations and the -20 penalty is partially offset by the +1 SL to defense tests granted by the “Defensive” quality) or whether they want to devote precious character resources to the Parry (Melee) skill. AP are nice, but not getting hit is better–especially in a system as deadly as WFRP!

From a mechanical standpoint, this makes very little sense. Instead of providing a solid (and marginally affordable) defense for characters less-skilled in combat it provides a nuanced and ultimately problematic choice. And, from a historical/practical perspective, this is not how shields work. I’ve never sparred with someone using a shield where the shield made them easier to hit. To my knowledge, none of my shield-wielding sparring partners were either ambidextrous or had any training in sword-and-dagger or rapier-and-dagger styles of fighting (I’m thinking here of situations that would translate to the mechanical reduction of the shield penalty described above under the WFRP rules). The use of a shield is instinctive and natural, while it may require training to fully master, it requires little or none to achieve basic proficiency. The nicest thing I can say about the errata is that it’s a headscratcher of a design choice.

Needless to say, if you give effect to the errata in adjudicating your game, almost all of the advice I’ve given above in the main article regarding shields goes out the window. I’m inclined to believe that that should not be the case. You are, of course, free to disagree.

So, how do we remedy this issue, should one be so inclined? The simplest thing to do is to just ignore the errata statement–there is no penalty to defending with a shield and it uses the Melee (Basic) skill. But, if you want to take a more moderated approach, remove the penalty and also remove the AP bonus or the + 1 SL to defense–I’d personally lean toward removing the former. Alternatively, you could remove the penalty but say that the Melee (Parry) skill must be used to get the additional +1 SL to defense tests. That would at least replace stick with carrot.

Addendum – Damage

Having now played a few sessions under the new rules, I must admit some shock at the particulars of attack and defense rolls. I had mistakenly taken for granted that attack and defense worked mostly like previous editions: i.e. (1) the attacker makes a test, (2) defender makes a test (which I viewed as a parry test in previous editions but now made automatic), and the attack fails if either the attacker fails at his roll or the defender succeeds at his. This is not the case. The current system has each side make their test and calculate their success/failure levels separately, with success levels represented by positive numbers and failure levels by negative. The difference between the two (assuming the difference is in the attacker’s favor) is added to damage dealt. In other words, the defender’s result is subtracted from the attacker’s result and, if the sum is a positive number, the attacker deals the sum as extra damage. The result is essentially the same as if we were using a roll-high system where each side rolls dice and adds applicable bonuses and then the defender’s result is subtracted from the attacker’s result to determine whether the attack was successful and, if so, how successful. It’s the fact that we’re using a roll-under system here that gives the approach some quirks. The foremost of these quirks is that the attacker can technically fail his roll and win–if the defender fails their roll by a greater number of levels. That situation “feels” odd but is mechanically effective.

Because the statistical effects of a mechanic and the “feel” of the mechanic do not always coincide (human perception and emotion being the odd thing that it is), player’s ought to be prepped for this potential result so that they are not blindsided by an attack they think has failed based on the attacker’s roll but that has not because of the sum of both rolls. Is that logical? Not really, but to effectively deal with another’s emotions, we must accept those emotions as they are rather than telling the person whether they “should” or “should not” feel that way. Be prepared.

At the same time, this system allows for some truly massive damage to be done in a single strike. That’s not necessarily a bug, you might well see it as a feature, especially given the reputation and intent that WFRP combat be lethal. I’m not particularly in favor of altering the “rules as written” in this case, but I do want to point this out so that individual tables can make sure the system is working for them and not vice versa.

If you don’t want your characters to be so susceptible to unlucky falls of the dice, you might consider altering this rule so that only the attacker’s positive success levels are added to attacks as additional damage. That makes characters slightly safer, but also drags out your fights, makes armor that much more effective, and probably has some additional effects I’m not thinking of, so proceed with caution.