I've seen arguments about how a lawful good will put good over the law of their land, and I've never believed it. You wouldn't become a Paladin if you didn't believe the law of the land was just: becoming lawful good is dependent on accepting that the laws are good. If you did not deem the laws good but choose to follow them as a knight, then you are lawful neutral. If you promise to obey the laws as a knight with the intent of disobeying when they counter your personal feelings, then you are neutral-good: the laws are great when they work, but they aren't determining for you. Lawful good is strictly for those who believe in the laws always: it goes back into the 'good isn't nice' rule, which applies far more to lawful-good (the rules) than neutral-good (the sentiment).
A well-written exposition on a lawful good religion comes from the Fall From Heaven mythology, a fantasy spinoff of the Civilization Series. For Context: the Order is the religion of Junil, God of Law, who is the leading god against the forces of Evil. His is the religion of Paladins and Crusades against evil.
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The Order From Street Level
Ozziel, Wandering Scholar
Of all the religions of Erebus, none is as misunderstood as the Order.
Unfortunately, the ones most likely to misunderstand it are its
followers, whose less than pleasant reputations are occasionally
well-deserved. It is hardly a religion of peace and love, but that
isn't to say it is one of war either. It is fundamentally concerned
with justice. As one follower of Junil confessed (after having been
introduced to Sunshine [1]), “nice ain't good, good ain't nice. We're
nasty. Merciless. Pitiless. Maybe even brutal. But if we don't like
you, it'll be with a good reason. Maybe you won't think it's a good
reason, but that don't matter. But we ain't no hypocrites, and we ain't
got no crooked kings, 'cause we ain't no hypocrites.” I could get no
further from this gentleman when he proceeded to pass out on the floor,
however.
“Good isn't nice” is actually an excellent summary of the Order
philosophy. While low-ranking Order priests have been known to do
incredibly idiotic things in the name of Junil [2], acts that can be
directly attribute to Junil, or those who can hear him, tend to
invariably be justified, occasionally in an absurd way. One story,
which my research has found to be more than anecdotal, tells of a Prior
visiting the Balseraph empire in an attempt to negotiate with
Perpentach. During the conversation, he casually, and without
explanation or comment, stabbed and killed one of Perpentach's advisors
when he passed near. Perpentach found the non-sequitur murder from an
otherwise dull ambassador absolutely hilarious, and let him continue as
though nothing had happened. Later, a broken summoning circle was found
in the advisor's room; he'd attempted to summon a demon of Mammon, and
been possessed by it instead. The possession had been perfect, fooling
even Perpentach. The Prior never did explain how he had been so
confident in his actions, or that Perpentach would laugh it off.
The Order's focus on the greater good of all Erebus has some unfortunate
side effects. They place the greater good as more valuable than
individuals, and are quite unbending in their decisions. The most
rational decision is sometimes not the most moral one. For example, let
us take the Werewolf Problem [3]. Whereas most on Erebus either
struggle with it or occasionally try to get more information or find a
third way, the Order's dedicated followers invariably answer the
question with the result that saves five in both, whether it it means
directly or indirectly causing the death of one. They are rational,
logical, and in their most devoted form, somewhat alien to most people
of Erebus. They hand out judgments dispassionately. Nepotism and
cronyism are rare [4], and their laws are absolute and apply to all,
from peasantry to kings.
It is that last part, the equality and absoluteness of law, that makes
the Order surprisingly popular with the oppressed. In nations where the
leadership does not follow the Code, the Order is magnificently
adaptable to a religion of revolution and social change. This may seem
utterly absurd for a theology of law, but the laws of the Order are
applied universally, and in many oppressed states, the leaders are
guilty of breaking these laws. The laws of mortal men are considered,
at best, subservient to the laws of Junil, and moot if the ones making
the laws are themselves criminals in the eyes of Junil. The Order
demands service, first and foremost, to Junil, and this service often
means toppling leaders who do not obey... whether from within or
without.
Another oddity is that the Order's sentences are often far lighter than
those under many more vicious regimes. Compared to those influenced by
the Empyrean, the Runes of Kilmorph, or the Fellowship, most penalties
are harsh, but not completely unreasonable. A thief in Order lands will
be spending a very long time in prison indeed, twice what the Empyrean
would give him at minimum, but compared to the fate he would suffer for
stealing from nobles of the Calabim (obviously), the Svartalfar, my
fellow Balseraphs, or even some Hippus tribes is far, far worse.
Likewise, from whom he stole is less relevant; indeed, to some in the
Order, stealing food from the poor is seen as a greater crime than
taking gold from the rich.
One thing that should be said, however, is that the Order does not
forgive liars, oath-breakers, and those who use unholy powers easily, if
at all. No use of dark magic, even if it's for the greater good, is
considered tolerable, due to its tendency to corrupt those who use it.
This belief is not entirely unfounded, unfortunately, although the speed
and ruthlessness with which the Order persecutes even suspected users
of unholy magics can be quite startling. Meanwhile, criminals who lie
to a Confessor will often find the sentence for doing so worse than that
for the actual crime. If the lie is under oath, it will sometimes be
treated as oath-breaking and punished by death. This incredible hatred
of liars horrifies those who do not follow Junil. Casual lies, when
officials aren't involved, are technically legal, but considered to be a
grave insult. I made the mistake once of complimenting a particularly
horrific-looking woman, the captain of some Bannor regiment on her
“beauty,” figuring she'd appreciate the nicety. I barely talked her
into sparing me, and instead received a lecture on the origin of each
and every one of her terrifying scars, earned fighting the Infernal,
Sheaim, and Orcish empires. Luckily, a few were legitimately excellent
stories, and I even borrowed one to explain my newly broken leg in a
tavern later that day.
This is not to say that Junil's believers agree universally. The
religion has fewer theological gray areas to spark discussion, and
occasionally conflict, than Erebus' other religions. But it is not
without. The definition of redemption, and what may be done to earn it,
is a point of fierce contention. The Bannor prefer redemption through
death for those who have committed crimes especially offensive to Bannor
or Order sensibilities, firm in the belief the redeemed will spend
eternity in Junil's vault [5] if they are truly repentant. The
Kurioates seem to feel that several years in a dungeon is sufficient for
most crimes, although they tend to not to look kindly upon especially
heinous crimes or repeat offenders.
At this point, I'd like to mention the infamous inquisitions. An Order
confessor assured me that they were merely routine investigations, and
that only those guilty of worshiping outright malevolent deities needed
to be worried. He was a terrible liar, and seemed as terrified of the
inquisition as anyone else. Problematically, he also insisted he
abstained from alcohol. But for reasons far different than you might
expect, I found myself in the trust of the madame of a local brothel,
who was more than happy to set the record straight.
“Inquisitors? (What followed next was a long string of impressive
curses.) Alright, you want to hear a story to back all that up? Well,
there was this Temple of Kilmorph. Fine place. Nobody there who'd ever
done anyone any harm. Boring, traditionalist, not exactly what I like
in a customer, but fine, decent working folk. No bad blood. Then comes
this fire-and-brimstone preacher, screaming that he was here to root
out the cult of Mammon. At first the followers of Kilmorph were cheered
by this; they really don't like Mammon. Turns out he meant them. Oh,
and Tali help any poor fool who tried to defend them; Junil's loyal
followers found themselves taken away along with them. Even a few
confessors tried standing up to this psychopath. Merciful Sirona, but I
don't know where they went or what happened to them. When they came
back about a month later... they weren't right in the head. They lived
their lives, but... they weren't really alive, y'know? The temple was
demolished without comment.” She also mentioned the name of the man who
was responsible, Aldrin Gray although I could, of course, do nothing
legally. I was after all, only a visitor. However, I have reason to
suspect that Confessor Gray may not be remaining in his post much
longer; the laws of the Order apply equally to him as much as anyone
else, and I recently heard rumor of him blaspheming in a temple.
I am not about to convert to the order, or even recommend it to anybody
who values hedonism, pleasure, and general fun as much as I do. Its
priests range from agreeable, practical individuals who believe law
exists to protect the weak from the cruel, to raving lunatics intent
upon turning the world into a machine. But the Order has ways of
eliminating the latter, for which I am truly thankful. All considered,
as a general rule, I have found the followers of the Order, with rare
exception, to be genuinely good people. But remember: good is not nice.
1 – One of the many fine alcohols produced by the Jubilee Mage's Guild.
The exact production method is secret, but it likely concerns sun mana.
As well as the usual effects of drunkenness, the drinker, unless
incredibly strong-willed, becomes brutally and unflinchingly honest...
well, more than is usual for the drunk. Foreigners usually avoid it;
basic human instinct advices against drinking anything that glows. I
find the glow can be minimized by offering it in well-lit places, and
serving it in properly tinted glass, and I always carry some for
interview purposes. I recommend Spring Sky; it's expensive even by the
considerable standards of Sunshine, and considered a sissy drink by
most, but its pleasant flavor and low alcohol content makes people
underestimate it, and it lessens the effects of drunkenness that might
interfere with the victim's drinker's newfound honesty.
2 – For an extreme case, see “The Compact Shattered,” specifically the
chapter regarding theories about the birth of Mardero. Ten of the
twelve involve the Order, ranging from the most likely theory concerning
a botched attempt to destroy an unholy tome, to a patently absurd
peasant's tale regarding a woman being thrown off a cliff. Thankfully,
most instances of Order incompetence are similar to that found in the
autobiography of Goodreau, regarding the death of his daughter; they
manage to avoid doing any more damage, at least...
3 – The Werewolf Problem is an philosophical quandary. It consists of
two questions. The first: A werewolf attacks a palace. Five men rush
through the portcullis but a sixth lags behind. If you close the
portcullis you save the five, but the slow man will be killed. If you
do nothing the werewolf will ignore the slow man and kill the five in
the yard. What do you do? The second: A werewolf attacks a palace.
Five men are being chased by the werewolf but do not have time to reach
the portcullis and the safety of the inner yard, they will be killed
unless something is done. You realize that if you were to push a man
from the palace walls into the werewolf's path it would distract the
beast and give the five time to escape though it would mean the death of
the single man. What do you do?
4 – This may have to do with the punishments involved; the crime for
nepotism and/or cronyism (seen as one in the same) can be quite harsh.
If the individual was genuinely competent and did no harm, but was not
the best candidate, they generally only suffer a minor demotion to a
position where they have no power to repeat the mistake. However, if
the choice was genuinely harmful, punishments can range from
irreversible and awe-inspiring demotions (such as the nobleman who,
despite being a member of a centuries old noble family, found himself
cleaning sewers after choosing his lecherous drunkard brother to head
the City Guard) of all involved, to outright execution if the crony in
question is a foreign spy or follower of a religion such as the Ashen
Veil or Overlords and the promoter should have reasonably suspected as
much. The Order's definition of “reasonable suspicion,” however, can be
a bit unforgiving; failure to show up at the temples of Junil, or at
least the Fellowship, Empyrean or Runes (who hold enough influence to
force the Order to tolerate them), tends to cause unfriendly knockings.
5 – Details of which are sketchy. It's generally agreed, outside of the
Ashen Veil, to be preferable to Hell. How much so is a point of
debate. The general consensus among laypeople of no religious
conviction is that boredom, a probable part of Junil's vault, is
preferable to eternal agony.
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