Do Not Marvel At This, For An Hour Is Coming: Resurrection And Society In Fantasy Settings

One strange but widespread conceit in fantasy RPGs is the existence of people, creatures and items that can return life to the dead, but the complete absence of any social impact of this truly earthshaking power. The ability of members of certain character classes to raise the dead has been with FRPGs from the very beginning, but in the fiction of specific settings, it is virtually ignored, or treated like an embarrassment. Characters in FRPGs die, just like queens in chess are taken by opposing pieces, and since FRPGs, like chess, are games, it is preferable that there exist a mechanic for counteracting character death, just like it's possible to recreate a queen by pushing your pawn to the eighth rank. But what makes good game sense seems to make bad fiction: everyone knows that people don't come back from the dead. Good fantasy writers know this, and when characters do return to life in fantasy, it is usually an occurrence of... well... Biblical proportions.

As a result, the power to raise the dead, though it is, according to a literal reading of the rules, a regular power possessed by high-level practitioners of certain professions, is commonly explained away as a simple game mechanic that makes the game "fun" for the players (characters remain in play), and yet persist an irregular feature that keeps the setting from becoming silly. Of course, it can be "fun" to have Billy Joe Cleric's Resurrection Parlor across the street from the pawn shop. But in more serious settings, resurrection, and other life-restorative magics, can simply pop up in the way of adventuring parties. Because, well, PCs are heroes, after all, exceptional in every way, and the gods, in their infinite wisdom, just happen to grant the power to attendant at the temple in the middle of Onehorseton. Because the gods have great plans in store for the PCs, who have a world to save.

An iconic image from Billy Joe's Parlor

People can have fun how they want, of course. For my part, the fun in this case lies in actually trying to extrapolate how a world that has practicable, magical ways of bringing people back from the dead would operate, as if you're trying to write a respectable piece of fantasy fiction in the brief pauses between taking a swig of your beer, or a bite of your pretzel. In what follows, I try to conceptualize several instances in the life of a realistic world in which resurrection is real, because I would find such a world more fun to run and play in than Billy Joe's world, or a world papered over with back issues of The PCs Are Heroes Magazine.

The Folk Epistemology of Resurrection

How many people in the fictional world know that it's possible for non-divine beings to come back from the dead as a regular feature, as opposed to a one-off at the End of History? A common assumption is, not many, because if people knew, everyone would be trying to come back to life all the time, and then what kind of world would we have? The permanence and irrevocability of death, like earthlike gravity, is a baseline postulate most GMs incorporate, because without them settings would be too outlandish, and too difficult to build.

But is the common-sense epistemology of modern physiology - that people live, and then die, never to return - the best and most realistic baseline for an FRPG setting? It seems to me that folk epistemologies of earlier times are a better fit as a blueprint. Anthropological research into vampire folklore suggests, for instance, that most people in the Balkans as late as the 18th century believed that decomposing bodies had agency, for the eminently common-sense reason that they continued to change, which meant that life and death were not as sharply differentiated as we moderns believe. This signified that coming back from the death was not a particularly unusual process, and sometimes, such returns even assumed epidemic proportions.

Coming back as a vampire or revenant may not have been particularly pleasant, or have the divine sanction within the prevailing religion, but the very possibility signaled that other forms of life after death were quite possible regardless of the official theological takes on the possibility. Consider the following account of the raising of the dead by Saint Sergius of Radonezh - the most popular and authoritative medieval Russian saint:

A certain devout Christian living close by the monastery, who believed in the sanctity of St. Sergius, had an only son, a child, who fell ill. The father brought the boy to the monastery, and entreated the saint to pray for him: but while the father was yet speaking the boy died. The man, with his last hope gone, wept and bemoaned, 'It would have been better had my son died in my own house.' While he went to prepare a grave, the dead child was laid in the saint's cell. The saint felt compassion for this man, and falling on his knees prayed over the dead child. Suddenly the boy came to life, and moved. His father, returning with preparations for the burial, found his son alive, whereupon, flinging himself at the feet of God's servant, gave him thanks. The saint said to him, 'You deceive yourself, man, and do not know what you say. While on your journey hither your son became frozen with cold, and you thought he had died. He has now thawed in the warm cell, and you think he bas come to life. No one can rise again from the dead before the Day of Resurrection.' The man however insisted, saying, 'Your prayers brought him to life again.' The saint forbade him to say this; 'If you noise this abroad you will lose your son altogether.' The man promised to tell no one and, taking his son, now restored to health, he went back to his own home. This miracle was made known through the saint's disciples.

The chronicler here has the unenviable task of simultaneously underlining St. Sergius' status as a miracle worker, but also concealing the fact of resurrection that seemed obvious to the fortunate father in the story by theological dogma, which declared that only God had the power to raise the dead, and only at the appointed time. Although the father is sworn to silence, and news of the miracle was only propagated through proper channels, it's pretty clear that the saint had to invoke his considerable power to shut the man's mouth. The Orthodox Church was as powerless to convince people that some saintly clerics couldn't raise the dead as it was, several centuries later, to stem the vampirism epidemic.

The question is, how would most people react when their belief that certain persons had the power to bring back the dead was confirmed?

Sites of Resurrection

The typical narration of bringing someone back to life in an FRPG setting leaves society entirely outside the process. When adventurers show up at the proverbial Resurrection Parlor, they are usually in an antiseptic setting that resembles a funeral home or therapist's office. The place is quiet, with minimalistic decor. Billy Joe, the agent of the higher powers, tastefully presents the bereaved party members with various service options, and asks them to select a payment plan. When an agreement has been reached, the deceased person is taken into a special chapel (or side room of the office), laid upon a specially blessed altar or bed. Incense is lit, the officiant utters the necessary words and makes the necessary signs with his or her digits, and soon, the departed begins to stir. Soon, the returnee is taken to the inn to rest in a room while faithful companions drink downstairs, and think about returning to the dungeon to make a disbursement into Billy Joe's payment plan. Billy Joe sees no reason to warn the companions to keep mum about what has just happened - not only does he lack the power as a representative of God's one true church, but there is no reason to worry, because there is no one who can know.

Not taking anything away from incense and quiet chapels, if knowledge of miracle-working saints permeates society, resurrection parlors are much more likely to be surrounded by a press of desperate humanity. In other words, the headquarters of a character who can bring back the dead will look more like a pilgrimage site than a lawyer's office in a sleepy provincial town. Except in addition to the paupers with crutches, covered with goiters or scabrous skin, and accompanied by wailing children, all waiting to touch the robe of the holy man, the relic, or to drink the miraculous water, you will also have people dragging little coffins, or corpses of dear ones cut down by marauders or thrown by horses. The authorities, or the saint's servitors, will certainly try to keep such people behind a certain perimeter: not only do they lack the means to satisfy all the supplicants, but they would also fear pollution (ritual and actual) that would result from contact with supplicants. Shrines would therefore be surrounded by fences and defended by a heavy contingent of armed guards; or the saint would flee to some out-of-the-way shrine (which desperate people would likely find anyway). However, any saint who wants to maintain her reputation would probably be savvy enough to maintain at least some demotic contact and not treat supplicants too harshly.

This scene from plague-striken Florence might be typical of what one may
expect outside a 'resurrection parlor'

The appearance of adventurers, who are much more likely to receive an audience with the saint because they are much more likely to have means at their disposal introduces an additional element into this desperate scene. The supplicants have probably been camped out at the site for a while, and despite the lack of any indication by the saint or the authorities that they will be received, they have likely formed a spontaneous waiting list. Now here come some grandees, or worse, parvenus, and, violating all sense of propriety and popular justice, cut to the front of the line. How many people are muttering curses under their breath, spitting at the new arrivals, or even rushing them to tear them apart? Sure, putting themselves in the way of murderhoboes might not be a good idea, but these are desperate people with nothing to lose. And is it a good idea to engage in mass murder on the doorstep of a saint's shrine?

And God forbid if any of the adventurers belong to minority races.

Resurrection and Social Hierarchy

Clearly, the limited availability of a saint's services would result not only in putting resurrection out of the reach of the vast majority of the population, it would also serve to divide the population into the (very small) elite who can afford to bring their loved ones back, and the huge majority, who cannot. Access to resurrection is even likely to be the determining factor differentiating these two social groups, because it would be tougher to point to mortality as a universal glue that connects lords and servants. If resurrection is affected by divine agency, those who are eligible for it are obviously favored by the gods, while those who do not are probably regarded as cursed. Elites looking for further legitimation of their status are wont at some point to broach the subject of blood. The blue bloods are the ones which the gods can bring back, while all the rest are essentially different in their constitution. GMs who are favorably disposed to the "PCs are special" trope can make this literally true. The question then becomes, to what special bloodlines do the PCs belong?

Of course, the separation between elites and masses defined along these lines is likely to be blurry, and open to challenge. One imagines that access to resurrection would probably be one of the major causes of peasant uprisings. Millenarian ideas about the restoration of some Golden Age universal immortality, or the punishment of those who monopolized resurrection (including, in a fantasy context, certain gods) would help attract mass followings to rebels. Even saints may be targeted, if they are instrumental in upholding the existing power structure. The wrath of popular justice may even assume the form of destroying the possibility of resurrection for anyone: as E. P. Thompson relates, even the modern campaign for universal suffrage was fueled by a popular misunderstanding of the term as denoting universal suffering: if one suffers, all must suffer. Where would PCs come down in such a conflict?

In the interests of stability and social peace, elites would probably offer the masses some access to resurrection, perhaps in the form of pro bono services. A more demotic turn in religious doctrine, such as what took place in late Pharaonic Egypt, when mummification and magical scrolls guaranteeing afterlife became available to people outside the royal family is likely to be in evidence. Of course, raising the people's hopes will probably be accompanied by a spread of charlatanism: instead of qualified priests or real saints, one is likely to encounter slippery folk who offer only symbolic tokens of salvation, or who use illusion or necromantic magic in place of the real deal. Taking a page from Doubting Thomas may be good business practice for PCs who have sold their steed and all their weapons to bring back a friend.

The Gem Trade

3rd Edition D&D introduced the idea that spells that raised the dead required diamonds of a certain value as material components. Aside from resonating with 'crystal power', particularly popular at that time, this innovation introduced an additional element into the economy of resurrection. It was no longer sufficient to have gold, or the will of the gods and their agents: now access to the restorative magic required the availability of gems.

How many Fourth Crusades would be required to keep this icon
encrusted with gems if they were actually used up in returning people to life?

The idea that gems have mystical power is of very ancient provenance, and the use of gems in everything from amulets made of precious stones that were inscribed with passages from the Book of the Dead, to gems set into Orthodox icons and royal crowns attests to deep-seated beliefs connecting gems to life after death and the world beyond. For this reason, gems and semi-precious stones were one of the first items of international trade. Lapis lazuli was a 'system-forming' good that played a key role in articulating the Ancient Near East, from the Nile Valley to Afghanistan, where the stone was mined. It was also a prestige good that stimulated the formation of elites throughout the whole region.

In a world where gems are literally capable of resurrecting the dead, their strategic value is hard to overestimate. The essence of civilization becomes putting your up-and-coming barbaric kingdom on the map of the Gem Route, through raiding existing treasuries, conquering countries that contain gem mines, rerouting caravans at crossbow-point, in short, by any means necessary. Having gems means that your elite is recognized as such by foreigners (now that they qualify for resurrection), and being able to better maintain social peace (the more gems, the more people can be raised). Having gems also means being able to attract the most able priests and the most prestigious saints, further raising the profile of your realm.

A model for a fantasy world's 'resurrection nexus

But there is no substitute to being located on one of the main branches of the Gem Route. Gems are probably the raison d'être for the existence of both commerce and religion. In fact, the two are almost certainly closely intertwined. Morris Silver, a specialist on the Bronze Age economy describes a trading system whose major nodes are located at places where routes intersect, which not coincidentally, are the locations of some of the largest temples. These temples are not only centers of gravity for some of the largest markets, they are also financial centers that loan money or other preciosities, presumably, in our case, for creating dependence on magical services.

This sort of gem trade puts the activity of the proverbial orcs and other marchers into perspective. The orcs are external counterparts to revolting peasants, who want access to gems, because that way lies access to resurrection, recognition, and at least a semblance of social equality. Orcish fecundity in this light is a strategy for longterm survival in the absence of access to resurrection. But orcs aside, a good many wars in our fantasy world are probably fought over access to gems. If raiding or having more children is ill-advised, perhaps import-substitution is the way to go. A lot of energy is bound to be expended on searching for Elixirs of Life or other material components, which would allow peripheral lands to escape dependence on kingdoms that control the Gem Route. The latter, one can be sure, frequently use sanctions and embargoes as tools in economic warfare. Triggering the flight of priests and associated brain drains would in turn increase pressures on non-compliant regimes on the frontier.

* * *

Hopefully, I've laid out ways to 'socialize' resurrection as a game feature. PCs might be made aware that their desire to bring a party member back to life may be an episode in a deeply-rooted class struggle. Much of the motivation for adventuring could be bound up with procuring material components for Raise Dead, Resurrection, and similar magics. Even those who are specifically partial to dungeon-delving may see such expeditions as desperate measures to steal gems from the hoards of ancient elites, who protect their burial sites with divine and demonic agents dedicated to limiting access to life-restorative components in the cosmic moral economy.