The Evolution Of God Part 14

Boyer believes that much of religion can be explained this way-a result of our attributing to supernatural causal agents the very human emotions that evolved to regulate reciprocal altruism; like our fellow human beings, G.o.ds are bent on enforcing their deals with us. This doesn't mean that the grievances of G.o.ds are always just. Evil Evil deities, Boyer says, are "enforcers of unfair deals." deities, Boyer says, are "enforcers of unfair deals." 20 20 But it's only natural that there should be such unfair G.o.ds; there are, after all, unfair people. (And people who can get away with being unfair-that is, can get more than they give-tend to be powerful, like G.o.ds.) But it's only natural that there should be such unfair G.o.ds; there are, after all, unfair people. (And people who can get away with being unfair-that is, can get more than they give-tend to be powerful, like G.o.ds.) Two and a half millennia ago the Greek poet Xenophanes speculated that if horses had G.o.ds, these G.o.ds would be horses. Could be, but we'll never know, and in any event that's not quite the point being made here. It isn't that any imaginable intelligent species, in trying to explain mysterious things, would attribute them to beings like itself. It's that the history of the human species-notably including the evolution of the human brain in a context of reciprocal altruism, of social exchange -pointed it in that direction. 21 21 A law of the social jungle in which the human brain evolved is this: when bad things happen to you, it often means someone is mad at you, maybe because you've done something to offend them; making amends is often a good way to make the bad things stop happening. If you subst.i.tute "some G.o.d or spirit" for "someone," you have a law that is found in every known hunter-gatherer religion. A law of the social jungle in which the human brain evolved is this: when bad things happen to you, it often means someone is mad at you, maybe because you've done something to offend them; making amends is often a good way to make the bad things stop happening. If you subst.i.tute "some G.o.d or spirit" for "someone," you have a law that is found in every known hunter-gatherer religion.

Back into Time.

That religious ideas naturally appeal to the human mind doesn't, by itself, explain how religion got off the ground. Granted that religious "memes" have a "selective advantage" in cultural evolution, how exactly would a given meme-a particular religious belief-first take shape and gain momentum? We'll never know for sure, but human nature makes it easy to sketch a plausible scenario.

First, people like to command attention, and one way to do that is to place yourself at the center of dramatic events. In Mark Twain's The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Tom Sawyer runs away with his friends Huckleberry Finn and Joe to play pirates on the Mississippi River, and the townspeople conclude that the boys have drowned. Twain describes their friends gathering and Tom Sawyer runs away with his friends Huckleberry Finn and Joe to play pirates on the Mississippi River, and the townspeople conclude that the boys have drowned. Twain describes their friends gathering and talking in reverent tones of how Tom did so-and-so, the last time they saw him, and how Joe said this and that small trifle (pregnant with awful prophecy, as they could easily see now!)-and each speaker pointed out the exact spot where the lost lads stood at the time, and then added something like "and I was a-standing just so-just as I am now, and as if you was him-I was as close as that-and he smiled, just this way-and then something seemed to go all over me, like-awful, you know-and I never thought what it meant, of course, but I can see now!" talking in reverent tones of how Tom did so-and-so, the last time they saw him, and how Joe said this and that small trifle (pregnant with awful prophecy, as they could easily see now!)-and each speaker pointed out the exact spot where the lost lads stood at the time, and then added something like "and I was a-standing just so-just as I am now, and as if you was him-I was as close as that-and he smiled, just this way-and then something seemed to go all over me, like-awful, you know-and I never thought what it meant, of course, but I can see now!" Then there was a dispute about who saw the dead boys last in life, and many claimed that dismal distinction, and offered evidences, more or less tampered with by the witness; and when it was ultimately decided who Then there was a dispute about who saw the dead boys last in life, and many claimed that dismal distinction, and offered evidences, more or less tampered with by the witness; and when it was ultimately decided who did did see the departed last, and exchanged the last words with them, the lucky parties took upon themselves a sort of sacred importance, and were gaped at and envied by all the rest. see the departed last, and exchanged the last words with them, the lucky parties took upon themselves a sort of sacred importance, and were gaped at and envied by all the rest. 22 22 There is no reason to think that this incentive to claim special witness to high drama was any less powerful among hunter-gatherers circa 30,000 BCE than among midwestern Americans circa 1900 CE. Imagine that you are one of those hunter-gatherers and you walk past a place where someone died mysteriously, and you hear leaves rustle eerily. That's a story that will get people's attention, and you can heighten the attention by stressing how exquisitely timed the rustling was. And, by the way, didn't you catch sight of a shadowy-almost ethereal-creature out of the corner of your eye?

The anthropologist Stewart Guthrie has suggested that hunter-gatherers would be encouraged to make just such false sightings by standard human mental equipment-something called a "hyperactive agent-detection device." 23 23 Because the costs of failing to detect a predator lurking in the woods are much higher than the costs of detecting one that isn't there, natural selection, he plausibly argues, may have biased our brains toward "false positives": you hear a rustling, your mind flashes the vivid hypothesis of some generic animal that's doing the rustling, and you turn toward it expectantly. Did you actually see something? Kind of. Because the costs of failing to detect a predator lurking in the woods are much higher than the costs of detecting one that isn't there, natural selection, he plausibly argues, may have biased our brains toward "false positives": you hear a rustling, your mind flashes the vivid hypothesis of some generic animal that's doing the rustling, and you turn toward it expectantly. Did you actually see something? Kind of.

In any event, if upon recounting your eerie encounter you get caught up in the spirit of the story and say say you saw an ethereal being, then you may convince not just your audience, but yourself. One notable finding of modern psychology is how systematically misleading memory is. People often remember events wrongly from the get-go, and even when they don't, their memory can later be steered toward falsehood. In particular, the act of reporting false details can cement them firmly in mind. You don't just recount what you remember; you remember what you recount. you saw an ethereal being, then you may convince not just your audience, but yourself. One notable finding of modern psychology is how systematically misleading memory is. People often remember events wrongly from the get-go, and even when they don't, their memory can later be steered toward falsehood. In particular, the act of reporting false details can cement them firmly in mind. You don't just recount what you remember; you remember what you recount. 24 24 (Football star O. J. Simpson's former agent was sure Simpson had killed his ex-wife and also sure that Simpson believed he didn't.) (Football star O. J. Simpson's former agent was sure Simpson had killed his ex-wife and also sure that Simpson believed he didn't.) 25 25 This built-in fallibility makes sense from a Darwinian standpoint, allowing people to bend the truth self-servingly with an air of great and growing conviction. And, clearly, bent truths of a religious sort could be self-serving. If you were a close friend or relative of the deceased, then the idea that his powerful spirit is afoot may incline people to treat you nicely, lest they invite his wrath. This built-in fallibility makes sense from a Darwinian standpoint, allowing people to bend the truth self-servingly with an air of great and growing conviction. And, clearly, bent truths of a religious sort could be self-serving. If you were a close friend or relative of the deceased, then the idea that his powerful spirit is afoot may incline people to treat you nicely, lest they invite his wrath.

Another gem from social psychology: publicly espousing something not only helps convince you of its truth; it shapes your future perception, inclining you to see evidence supporting it but not evidence against it. 26 26 So if you speculate that the strange, shadowy creature was the disgruntled spirit of the deceased, you'll likely find corroboration. You may notice that one of his enemies fell ill only a week after your sighting, while forgetting that one of his friends fell ill a few days earlier. So if you speculate that the strange, shadowy creature was the disgruntled spirit of the deceased, you'll likely find corroboration. You may notice that one of his enemies fell ill only a week after your sighting, while forgetting that one of his friends fell ill a few days earlier.

If you're a person of high status, all of this will carry particular weight, as such people are accorded unusual (and often undue) credibility. If, in a hunter-gatherer band of thirty people, someone widely esteemed claims to have seen something strange-and has a theory about what it was-twenty people may be convinced right off the bat. Then the aforementioned tendency of people to conform to peer opinion could quickly yield unanimity. 27 27 The number of mental tendencies involved in the creation and nourishment of religious falsehoods shouldn't surprise us. After all, the mind was built by a process that is, strictly speaking, indifferent to truth. Natural selection favors traits that are good at getting their bearer's genes into the next generation, period. If saying something false, or believing something false, often furthered that goal during human evolution, then the human mind will naturally encourage some kinds of falsity. This systematic muddle isn't an exclusive property of the "primitive" mind, as John Lubbock (chapter 1) suggested; all of the above delusory tendencies have been doc.u.mented in people living in modern societies-many of them students at fine universities!

So why are people in modern societies so often aghast at "primitive" religion, so unable to comprehend how "primitive" belief got started? In part, it is the cla.s.sic human failure of objectivity-an inability to see that your own beliefs may seem as strange to others as theirs seem to you. (An African Pygmy once responded to a missionary's description of heaven by asking, "How do you know? Have you died and been there?") And in part it is a failure of imagination. Imagine that you are living in a small encampment surrounded by jungle or woodland or desert, entirely untouched by science and modern technology. Within the encampment, the social universe operates by largely intelligible laws; people don't generally, say, fly into a rage and a.s.sault their neighbors without a cause of some sort or another. But from outside this universe come mighty and momentous forces-storms, droughts, deadly animals, fatal illness. You are viscerally interested in explaining and controlling these things; you readily absorb and repeat any news or conjecture bearing on this goal. And, above all, you are only human. The rest is history.

Thinking and Feeling.

This view of religion's origins-the view from modern psychology-is in some ways just an updated version of Edward Tylor's view: people first conceived of G.o.ds and spirits to explain the unexplained. Indeed, Tylor even seemed to vaguely antic.i.p.ate the modern focus on reciprocal altruism: "Spiritual beings are held to affect or control the events of the material world, and man's life here and hereafter; and it being considered that they hold intercourse with men, and receive pleasure or displeasure from human actions, the belief in their existence leads naturally, and it might almost be said inevitably, sooner or later to active reverence and propitiation." 28 28 Still, there is a difference of emphasis. When Tylor says belief in G.o.ds "leads naturally" to their propitiation, he seems to mean that this progression was logically logically natural-that extended reflection led eventually to the conclusion that giving G.o.ds respect and foodstuffs would satisfy them. An evolutionary psychologist, in contrast, might stress how viscerally natural this propitiation is; it natural-that extended reflection led eventually to the conclusion that giving G.o.ds respect and foodstuffs would satisfy them. An evolutionary psychologist, in contrast, might stress how viscerally natural this propitiation is; it feels feels like the right thing to do. Tylor's oft-ridiculed reference to "ancient savage philosophers" (see chapter 1) does indeed connote more in the way of cool, detached reflection than was probably operative-and than is operative generally in human beings. Some features of the mind that undergird religious belief are "cognitive" traits that guide our "intellectual" lives but are also shot through with feeling. like the right thing to do. Tylor's oft-ridiculed reference to "ancient savage philosophers" (see chapter 1) does indeed connote more in the way of cool, detached reflection than was probably operative-and than is operative generally in human beings. Some features of the mind that undergird religious belief are "cognitive" traits that guide our "intellectual" lives but are also shot through with feeling.

Varieties of Religious Experience.

In addition to our mental machinery for thinking consciously about causality-the machinery shaped by the evolution of reciprocal altruism-there are other innate tools for taking causality into account, and some of them operate almost entirely at the level of feeling.

For example, back when our ancestors didn't know that disease travels by microscopic organism, natural selection seems to have filled this knowledge gap, installing in our lineage an aversion to disease-carrying things. That is the conclusion the psychologist Paul Rozin reached by studying disgust. 29 29 It's no coincidence, he believes, that things which fill people everywhere with disgust-rotting corpses, excrement, putrid meat-are hazardous to our health. It's no coincidence, he believes, that things which fill people everywhere with disgust-rotting corpses, excrement, putrid meat-are hazardous to our health.

However unsophisticated a feeling disgust may seem like, it actually entails a kind of metaphysics: a sense that some things are deeply impure and emit an invisible aura of badness, creating a dread zone. Pascal Boyer has suggested that disgust - our "contagion inference system"-may thus energize notions of ritual pollution that figure in many religions. 30 30 (Recall the sin that so peeved the sea G.o.ddess in chapter 1: failing to throw out items contaminated by proximity to a miscarriage.) (Recall the sin that so peeved the sea G.o.ddess in chapter 1: failing to throw out items contaminated by proximity to a miscarriage.) There is another feature of the human mind that may be involved in religious experience and that, like the "contagion inference system," is a way of taking account of causality without thinking consciously about it. In fact, it entered our lineage so long before consciously rational thought that it exists in all mammals. It is called "a.s.sociative learning."

If a dog burns itself on rocks that surround a dying campfire, it will thereafter avoid such rocks. What is going on in the dog's mind is hard to say, but it probably isn't extended reflection on the causal link between fires and hot rocks, or between hot rocks and singed fur. Presumably the dog has just acquired something like a fear of those rocks, a fear that leads it to behave as if as if it understood the connection between rocks around dying campfires and singed fur. I once tried to walk a golden retriever past an intersection where, weeks earlier, she had been hit by a car. As we approached the intersection, she walked more and more slowly and warily until finally she came to a halt and started desperately resisting attempts to move her farther. It was as if, in her mind, the intersection was giving off a kind of spooky aura, and the closer she got to it, the stronger the aura felt. it understood the connection between rocks around dying campfires and singed fur. I once tried to walk a golden retriever past an intersection where, weeks earlier, she had been hit by a car. As we approached the intersection, she walked more and more slowly and warily until finally she came to a halt and started desperately resisting attempts to move her farther. It was as if, in her mind, the intersection was giving off a kind of spooky aura, and the closer she got to it, the stronger the aura felt.

Vestiges of this kind of crude learning mechanism in the human brain may incline people to see objects or places as inhabited by evil, a perception that figures in various religions. Hence, perhaps, the sense of dread that has been a.s.sociated by some anthropologists with primitive religious experience.

And what of the sense of awe that has also been identified with religious experience-most famously by the German theologian Rudolf Otto (who saw primordial religious awe as often intermingled with dread)? Was awe originally "designed" by natural selection for some nonreligious purpose? Certainly feelings of that general type sometimes overtake people confronted by other people who are overwhelmingly powerful. They crouch abjectly, beg desperately for mercy. (In the Persian Gulf War of 1991, after weeks of American bombing, Iraqi soldiers were so shaken that they knelt and kissed the hands of the first Americans they saw even when those Americans were journalists.) On the one hand, this is a pragmatic move-the smartest thing to do under the circ.u.mstances. But it seems fueled at least as much by instinctive emotion as by conscious strategy. Indeed, chimpanzees do roughly the same thing. Faced with a formidable foe, they either confront it with a "threat display" or, if it's too too formidable, crouch in submission. formidable, crouch in submission.

There's no telling what chimps feel in these instances, but in the case of humans there have been reports of something like awe. That this feeling is naturally directed toward other living beings would seem to lubricate theological interpretations of nature; if a severe thunderstorm summons the same emotion as an ill-tempered and potent foe, it's not much of a stretch to imagine an ill-tempered foe behind the thunderstorm.

Even chimpanzees may at times make a dim version of this conceptual leap. The primatologist Jane Goodall has observed chimps reacting to a rainstorm or a waterfall by making a threat display. She speculates that the "awe and wonder" that "underlie most religions" may be grounded in "such primeval, uncomprehending surges of emotion." 31 31 None of this is meant to deny the possibility of valid religious experience. The prospect that some states of consciousness move us closer to what mystics call "ultimate reality"-or even toward something worthy of the name "divine"-is hardly excluded by a scientific worldview. But defenders of religion would be ill advised to stake its validity on the claim, as Otto suggested in The Idea of the Holy, The Idea of the Holy, that at the dawn of religious history lies some mystical or revelatory experience that defies naturalistic explanation. Because the more we learn about the labyrinthine and sometimes irrational character of human nature, the easier it is to explain the origin of religion without invoking such a thing. Religion arose out of a hodgepodge of genetically based mental mechanisms designed by natural selection for thoroughly mundane purposes. that at the dawn of religious history lies some mystical or revelatory experience that defies naturalistic explanation. Because the more we learn about the labyrinthine and sometimes irrational character of human nature, the easier it is to explain the origin of religion without invoking such a thing. Religion arose out of a hodgepodge of genetically based mental mechanisms designed by natural selection for thoroughly mundane purposes.

At times Otto himself seemed to doubt that religious experience could defy scientific explanation. In The Idea of the Holy The Idea of the Holy, after discussing such things as spirit wors.h.i.+p, ancestor wors.h.i.+p, and primitive magic, he wrote, Different as these things are, they are all haunted by a common-and that a numinous-element, which is easily identifiable. They did not, perhaps, take their origin out of this common numinous element directly; they may have all exhibited a preliminary stage at which they were merely "natural" products of the naive, rudimentary fancies of primitive times. But these things acquire a strand of a quite special kind, which alone gives them their character as forming the vestibule of religion, brings them first to clear and explicit form, and furnishes them with the prodigious power over the minds of men which history universally proves them to possess. Different as these things are, they are all haunted by a common-and that a numinous-element, which is easily identifiable. They did not, perhaps, take their origin out of this common numinous element directly; they may have all exhibited a preliminary stage at which they were merely "natural" products of the naive, rudimentary fancies of primitive times. But these things acquire a strand of a quite special kind, which alone gives them their character as forming the vestibule of religion, brings them first to clear and explicit form, and furnishes them with the prodigious power over the minds of men which history universally proves them to possess.

Otto's exact meaning is debatable, but the general drift is intriguing: that elements of early religion, though themselves of mundane origin, could through subsequent cultural evolution come to acquire a deeply, validly spiritual character. This idea isn't implausible. But how far humanity has traveled along the path of spiritual evolution is another question altogether.

A Note on Translations.

Since I don't speak Hebrew, Greek, or Arabic (to say nothing of earlier versions of these languages), I had to rely on English translations of the Abrahamic scriptures. This involved making some choices.

In the case of the Hebrew Bible (aka the Old Testament) and the New Testament, my choice was simple: I went with the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible (NRSV). This translation is the product of many accomplished scholars, who resolved disagreements systematically. (A vote was taken on whether to interpret the Ten Commandments as banning killing per se or only murder.) Translation-by-committee may have flaws, but it seemed to me that the virtues outweigh them. I also saw virtue in using translations of the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament that had common standards for annotation. Further, the version of the NRSV I most often consulted-the New Oxford Annotated Bible-added a deeper level of uniform annotation, including cross-referencing that linked verses in the Hebrew Bible to related verses in the New Testament. In a few cases I use alternative translations in the text or add supplementary translations in the endnotes. In such cases the source of the translation is stated in the endnote. (RSV stands for Revised Standard Version; KJV stands for King James Version.) With the Koran the choice was harder. No English translation of the Koran carries an inst.i.tutional pedigree like that of the NRSV or has seen a comparable degree of adoption by English-speaking scholars. So I wound up consulting a number of translations of every Koranic pa.s.sage I quote in the book.

My translation of first resort was a nineteenth-century work by J. M. Rodwell. The reason is almost embarra.s.singly expedient: there is a free audio version of the Rodwell translation, and my acquaintance with the Koran began by listening to it as I took nightly walks. In fact, that's the form in which I a.s.similated the entire text-listening to the MP3 files on my Treo 650, and using the Treo to take notes on pa.s.sages that seemed to bear further exploration. Fortunately, the Rodwell translation is a respected work, and, as a nineteenth-century translation, it also employs a form of English with a cla.s.sical sound that befits august scripture. And, so far as I could tell, Rodwell had no particular agenda.

Before citing any Koranic pa.s.sage, I always checked with other translations, in particular that of Arthur J. Arberry. The Arberry translation is known as one of the least "interpretive" translations; faced with vague or ambiguous wording, Arberry tends to leave the obscurity intact. So he provided a good baseline: if a verse as translated by Rodwell or anyone else was inconsistent with Arberry's translation-or just much clearer clearer than Arberry's translation-I viewed it with some suspicion and consulted multiple other translations to see if there was anything approaching a consensus. I hope I managed to resist the temptation posed by consulting a great diversity of translations -the temptation to "cherry pick" the translation that best suits the a.n.a.lytical needs of the moment. In any event, whenever I quoted a pa.s.sage in the text whose meaning seemed seriously in dispute, I tried to address the issue in the endnotes. than Arberry's translation-I viewed it with some suspicion and consulted multiple other translations to see if there was anything approaching a consensus. I hope I managed to resist the temptation posed by consulting a great diversity of translations -the temptation to "cherry pick" the translation that best suits the a.n.a.lytical needs of the moment. In any event, whenever I quoted a pa.s.sage in the text whose meaning seemed seriously in dispute, I tried to address the issue in the endnotes.

Unless otherwise noted, Koranic pa.s.sages have been translated by Rodwell. The other translations I used-which in the endnotes are labeled with the last name of the translator-are those by Muhammad Asad, Muhammad M. Pickthall, Abdullah Yusuf Ali, the aforementioned Arthur Arberry, and George Sale (whose translation, though nearly three centuries old, remains highly regarded).

One downside of using multiple translations is a certain linguistic incongruity. Some of the Koranic pa.s.sages use archaic English terms like "ye" and some don't. But I thought the lack of consistency was a reasonable price to pay. And it's a useful reminder-and far from the only one in this book-that scripture is, for practical purposes, malleable.

Acknowledgments.

I owe a debt to two great inst.i.tutions of higher learning: Princeton University and the University of Pennsylvania. At Penn, through the good offices of Dean Sam Preston, I was allowed to teach two courses that informed this book: a graduate seminar called "Religion and Human Nature" (which, as it happens, was scheduled to commence on September 11, 2001), and an undergraduate lecture course called "The Evolution of Religion." There's no education like teaching a course for the first time, and I thank my students for enduring my learning.

At Princeton I was privileged to be a Laurence S. Rockefeller Visiting Fellow at the Center for Human Values in 20042005. This gave me the time and resources to focus single-mindedly on this project, and weekly seminars, led by Steve Macedo, were valuable-especially the one devoted to critiquing ideas central to this book. Two years later at Princeton, I benefited from co-teaching a graduate seminar with Peter Singer on the biological basis of moral intuition.

The Center for Human Values also brought me two bona fide G.o.dsends-graduate students who became invaluable research a.s.sistants: Kevin Osterloh, whose fluency in Hebrew and conversancy in the Hebrew Bible helped guide me through largely unfamiliar terrain; and Mairaj Syed, whose fluency in Arabic and conversancy in Islamic scripture had exactly a.n.a.logous value. Plus, both of them are great human beings.

In Princeton I also encountered several scholars who did me the service of reading and critiquing chapters in draft: John Gager and Michael Cook at the university; and Patrick Miller and Shane Berg at Princeton Theological Seminary. Also reading chapters in draft were Mark S. Smith, Marvin Sweeney, and Michael J. Murray. George Hatke and Konrad Schmid gave close attention to particularly tricky chapter fragments. Early drafts of early chapters were read by my friends John Judis and Gary Krist. Their lukewarm reactions led me to sc.r.a.p or compress most of that material. (I'm still bitter.) A number of scholars helped ease my submersion into the literature in their fields by submitting to interrogation, usually by phone: Joseph Blenkinsopp, William G. Dever, Richard Elliott Friedman, Baruch Halpern, Lowell K. Handy, Martha Himmelfarb, Ralph W. Klein, Elaine Pagels, Iain Provan, William Schniedewind, Jeffrey Tigay, Norman Yoffee, and the aforementioned Gager, Cook, Smith, and Miller. Plus, no doubt, some people I've forgotten to mention. And special thanks to Carl Andrew Seaquist, my teaching a.s.sistant at Penn, for helping to orient me in religious studies at the outset of this project.

Of course, the usual disclaimer applies: this book's shortcomings are the fault of the author, not the advisers.

My agent, Rafe Sagalyn, once again helped guide me through the publis.h.i.+ng landscape and led me to a wonderfully supportive and astute editor, Geoff Shandler of Little, Brown. Chris Jerome was a scrupulous copyeditor, and Peggy Freudenthal was a patient shepherd.

Thanks also to all the folks at the New America Foundation, where I received generous support via the Bernard Schwartz fellows program while writing this book.

Now back to Princeton: The office environment at the Center for Human Values was warmed by the presence of Jan Logan, Erum Syed, Kim Girman, and John Hibbs. And thanks, for performing the aforementioned critique of ideas in this book, go to some of my fellow fellows: Justin D'Arms, Stephen Gardiner, Daniel Jacobson, Rachana Kamtekar, Susan Lape, and Rob Reich, who were joined in that task by faculty members Peter Singer and Dale Jamieson. (Dale gave me what may turn out to have been the best advice: Abandon the project.) At Bloggingheads.tv, a staff of highly trained professionals allowed me to pretend to run a video Web site while actually writing a book. Thanks to Greg Dingle, Brenda Talbot, Sang Ngo, Sian Gibby, Aryeh Cohen-Wade, David Killoren, Milton Lawson, and the original BhTV staffer, Brian Degenhart. And thanks to Bob Rosencrans, whose belief in the idea of Bloggingheads has done so much to sustain it.

Steve Kruse said substantively valuable things on bike rides, and John McPhee valuably kept asking me when I was going to finish the d.a.m.n book. Comparable but more tactful inquiries issued from Merrell Noden, Jim Sturm, Matt Feuer, Michael Lapp, Gideon Rosen, and Mickey Kaus. (Actually, Mickey's inquiries weren't so tactful, come to think of it.) The three women in my life-Lisa, Eleanor, and Margaret-generously tolerated the occasional fits of despair that this project (along with life in general) occasioned, and provided excellent dinnertime conversation on a nightly basis. Thank G.o.d for them.

Notes.

Front Matter Epigraph: Kaufman (1972), p. 166.

Part I Epigraph: Bella, ed. (1973), p. 191.

Chapter One The Primordial Faith The Primordial Faith.

1. Bogoraz-Tan (190409).2. Lubbock (1892), p. 205.3. Ibid., pp. 79.4. Ibid., pp. 20618.5. 1 Samuel 28:15.6. 2 Kings 13:19.7. Genesis 6:14.8. Marett (1936), p. 163.9. Tylor (1871), p. 387.10. Ibid., pp. 431, 387.11. Radcliffe-Brown(1922), p. 167.12. Tylor (1871), p. 400.13. See, e.g., Tylor (1871), p. 400, or Murdock (1934), p. 183.14. Tylor (1871), pp. 423, 428.15. Ibid., pp. 4302; Tylor (1866), p. 86.16. Tylor (1874), p. 243.17. Tylor (1866), pp. 823.18. Tylor (1871), p. 453.19. Unless otherwise noted, all of this chapter's material about the Klamath come from Gatschet (1890), pp. lxxviiiciv. For background on Gatschet and the Klamath, see http://www.uoregon.edu/~delancey/klamath.html#KM.20. Spier (1930), pp. 1045.21. The names of Klamath G.o.ds and spirits have been stripped of arcane phonetic markings that accompanied them in Gatschet's original text.22. Gatschet (1890), p. ciii.23. Ibid., p. xcvi.24. Spier (1930), p. 93.25. There is a long-standing argument among anthropologists about how many hunter-gatherer "high G.o.ds" are truly indigenous and how many grew out of early contact with Christian missionaries and other monotheists. Again: the less "strange" a religious concept, the more plausible a western import it is. For a good a.n.a.lytical summary of the issue by an author who considers many high G.o.ds to have been imports, see Barnes (2000), pp. 602. Marett (1936), p. 170, deems at least some high G.o.ds probably indigenous. For a close examination of a single case where a high G.o.d seems to be a Christian import, see Vecsey (1983), pp. 802.26. See, e.g., Smart (1969) on this point.27. Murdock (1934), p. 255.28. Turnbull (1965), p. 248.29. Marshall (1962), pp. 2445.30. Murdock (1934), pp. 1034.31. Radcliffe-Brown (1922), p. 153.32. Gatschet (1890), p. lx.x.xiv.33. Marshall (1962), p. 229.34. Murdock (1934), p. 185.35. Marshall (1962), p. 250.36. Ibid., p. 239.37. Murdock (1934), p. 104.38. Tylor (1874), vol. II, p. 360.39. Marshall (1962), p. 245.40. Spencer (1927), p. 424.41. Cooper (1917), p. 146. The Fuegian native Americans had for some time lived in the vicinity of Christian missionaries, and this may explain their unusual (for hunter-gatherers) belief in an omniscient, moralistic deity.42. In the 1960s the scholar Guy Swanson (1964) did an elaborate study of religion in fifty societies randomly selected from a larger database. Of those fifty, ten were hunter-gatherer societies. In only one of those ten societies was the quality of a person's fate in the afterlife influenced by whether he or she had helped or harmed people during life. And in only three of the ten did the religion include any other supernatural sanctions for this sort of behavior (such as illness). Given the number of hunter-gatherer societies that, before being studied, had lived in some proximity to societies that did did feature such links between morality and religion, these numbers are notably low. feature such links between morality and religion, these numbers are notably low.

Rasmussen (1932), pp. 314, reported one group of Eskimo who believed that "they who know how to feel pity go up to a bright land after death, whereas those who are not good to the lonely and orphaned go to a dark land where there is no food or drink." But he attributed this belief to an earlier visit by a British missionary: "For a punishment after death is quite un-Eskimo."

43. Spier (1930), p. 93.44. Radcliffe-Brown (1922), p. 168.45. Murdock (1934), p. 253.46. Service (1966), p. 72.47. Quoted in Howells (1962), p. 19; Howells notes the similarity between Mencken's characterization of religion and William James's.48. James (1982), p. 53.

Chapter Two The Shaman The Shaman.

1. See Burton Malkiel's A Random Walk Down Wall Street. A Random Walk Down Wall Street.2. Whether that label should should be applied to them is a question that can start arguments among anthropologists. A few purists have held that it shouldn't be applied much beyond the indigenous cultures of northern Eurasia. Others say that actually, there's enough continuity between the native religious cultures of Eurasia and the Americas to warrant extending the term "shaman" across the Bering Strait. Others are willing to expand shaman territory farther still, so long as we stick with one key criterion: a true shaman derives his or her power from direct inspiration - visions, voices, bodily possession, and the like. (See, e.g., Norbeck [1961], p. 103.) Still others say: Look, in virtually all pre-agricultural societies, there are people who are thought to have special access to forces of a sort that we moderners would call supernatural - spiritual or magical or occult or whatever. We need a label for these people; why don't we just use "shaman" for convenience? That is the position taken here. "Medicine men," "witch doctors," "sorcerers" - they're all shamans in this book. (Note: In the text, generalizations about shamans are in the present tense, but specific ethnographic examples are in the past tense, reflecting the fact that, as indigenous cultures change or disappear, few of the examples are still operative.) be applied to them is a question that can start arguments among anthropologists. A few purists have held that it shouldn't be applied much beyond the indigenous cultures of northern Eurasia. Others say that actually, there's enough continuity between the native religious cultures of Eurasia and the Americas to warrant extending the term "shaman" across the Bering Strait. Others are willing to expand shaman territory farther still, so long as we stick with one key criterion: a true shaman derives his or her power from direct inspiration - visions, voices, bodily possession, and the like. (See, e.g., Norbeck [1961], p. 103.) Still others say: Look, in virtually all pre-agricultural societies, there are people who are thought to have special access to forces of a sort that we moderners would call supernatural - spiritual or magical or occult or whatever. We need a label for these people; why don't we just use "shaman" for convenience? That is the position taken here. "Medicine men," "witch doctors," "sorcerers" - they're all shamans in this book. (Note: In the text, generalizations about shamans are in the present tense, but specific ethnographic examples are in the past tense, reflecting the fact that, as indigenous cultures change or disappear, few of the examples are still operative.)3. Rogers (1982), pp. 67; Lowie (1952), p. 336.4. Rogers (1982), p. 11.5. Spencer (1927), pp. 4012. Among some Australian peoples, such as the Arunta, this power was not confined to the shaman. See Spencer (1927), p. 397. See also Rivers (1924).6. Rasmussen (1932), p. 28.7. Reichel-Dolmatoff(1987), p. 10.8. Man (1932), p. 29.9. Emmons (1991), pp. 3834.10. Katz (1976), p. 287.11. Quoted in Bourke (1892), p. 459.12. Eliade (1964), p. 509.13. Ibid., p. 64.14. Ibid.15. See Marshall (1962), pp. 23740; Katz (1976), p. 285, estimates that half of males and one-third of adult women can achieve the transcendent state of !kia, though it's not clear that all of them can use the state to heal.16. Spier (1930), p. 107. See Radcliffe-Brown (1922), p. 176, and Vecsey (1983), p. 161, for comparable observations about the Andaman Islanders and the Ojibwa, respectively.17. Lowie (1952), p. 14.18. Ibid., pp. 1415.19. Norbeck (1961), p. 105.20. Murdock (1934), p. 43.21. Ibid., p. 101.22. See, e.g., Spier (1930), p. 124, and Emmons (1991), p. 383.23. Rogers (1982), p. 33.24. Spencer (1927), p. 402.25. Emmons (1991), p. 370.26. Man (1932), p. 29.27. Vecsey (1983), p. 165.28. Man (1932), pp. 289.29. All these examples come from Rogers (1982), pp. 5, 22, 289.30. Ibid., p. 31.31. Quoted in Service (1978), pp. 2367.32. Rogers (1982), p. 30.33. Ibid.34. Lowie (1952), pp. 1617.35. Gusinde (1931), p. 1041.36. Vecsey (1983).37. Hoebel (1983), p. 73.38. There are reported exceptions. Lowie (1952), p. 335, notes that Siberian shamans are often not of high social rank. But the exceptions seem rare.39. Rogers (1982), p. 8.40. See Norbeck (1961), pp. 11112; Rogers (1982), pp. 7, 20.41. See Norbeck (1961), p. 112.42. See, e.g., Murdock (1934), p. 12; Service (1978), p. 237; Spencer (1927), p. 398.43. Norbeck (1961), p. 112.44. Vecsey (1983), p. 163.45. Benedict (1959), p. 213.46. Man (1932), pp. 2930.47. Rasmussen (1932), p. 30.48. Reichel-Dolmatoff(1987), p. 8.49. Lowie (1952), pp. 37.50. Emmons (1991), p. 375.51. Cooper (1946), p. 104.52. Spencer (1927), pp. 3926.53. Norbeck (1961), p. 110. Radin (1937), pp. 1057, sees the shaman as often fitting the profile of the "thinker-artist... a man neurotically susceptible to all inward stirrings, physical and mental.... The very intensity of his inward life spurred him on and aided him in the attainment of his goal."54. Rogers (1982), p. 24.55. Emmons (1991), p. 373.56. Lowie (1952), p. 335.57. Rogers (1982), p. 8.58. James (1982), p. 388.59. Katz (1976), pp. 287, 291.60. Konner (1990), p. 25.61. Ibid.62. See Eliade (1964), p. 181, footnote.63. Encyclopedia Britannica Encyclopedia Britannica.64. See Norbeck (1961), p. 115.65. Gusinde (1931), p. 1045. See Emmons (1991), p. 370, re: the somewhat similar role of the Tlingit shaman, at the other end of the Americas.66. Murdock (1934), p. 258.67. Lowie (1952), p. 18.68. Spier (1930), p. 120.69. Kelekna (1998), pp. 1656.70. See Spencer and Gillen (1904).71. Durkheim (1965), p. 448.72. Radin (1937), p. 52.

Chapter Three Religion in the Age of Chiefdoms Religion in the Age of Chiefdoms 1. Cook (1852), p. 176.2. Ibid., p. 172; plantain leaf: Handy (1927), p. 192.3. Cook (1852), p. 176.4. Ibid., p. 155.5. Williamson (1937), p. 23.6. For a fuller discussion of chiefdoms, including arguments over the validity of the chiefdom as a distinct a.n.a.lytical category, see Wright (2000), chapter 7.7. Quoted in Kirch (1989), p. 166.8. Ibid., p. 12.9. Williamson (1937), pp. 45, 49. The attribution of properties to Tangaroa is complicated by the addition of suffixes to his name - e.g., "Tangaroa-of-the-skies," "Tangaroa-the-infinite," etc. There is disagreement (see Williamson, pp. 3840) over whether these were alternative descriptions of the same G.o.d.10. Williamson (1937), p. 38.11. Ibid., p. 46. Williamson notes but casts doubt on suggestions by Handy (1927) that Tangaroa occupied an important position in the Marquesas. In any event - see Williamson (1937), p. 44 - there were various islands in which Tangaroa was but one G.o.d among many, with no especially exalted position.12. Williamson (1937), pp. 1819, 8893.13. Handy (1927), p. 282.14. Williamson (1937), p. 244.15. Malo (1903), p. 168.16. Ibid., pp. 169, 1756.17. Ibid., pp. 1705.18. Ibid., pp. 274, 2789.19. Ibid., pp. 199, 2756.20. For a review, see Firth (1940).21. Ibid., p. 491. Firth spells the word manu, manu, in keeping with local p.r.o.nunciation. in keeping with local p.r.o.nunciation.22. Cook (1852), Vol. II, p. 156.23. Ibid., pp. 1556.24. Thwaites (1900), pp. 127, 131.25. Ibid., p. 127.26. Van Bakel (1991), p. 272.27. Hogbin (1934), p. 266.28. See Claessen (1991), pp. 304, 314, 316.29. Ibid., p. 316.30. Williamson (1937), p. 19: In the Society Islands there was apparently a G.o.d not just of fornication but of adultery. Here is an excerpt (Williamson [1937], p. 104) from a prayer uttered in the Hervey Islands before a nighttime burglary: Oh house, thou art doomed by our G.o.d!

Cause all things to sleep.

Let profound sleep overspread this dwelling.

Owner of the house, sleep on!

Threshold of this house, sleep on!

Ye tiny insects inhabiting this house, sleep on!

31. Williamson (1937), pp. 9, 22.32. Ibid., p. 92.33. Handy (1927), p. 185.34. Williamson (1937), p. 275.35. Quoted in Handy (1927), p. 78.36. Williamson (1937), pp. 2689; Handy (1927), p. 78.37. Handy (1940), p. 311. Handy adds, "Ethical considerations are secondary and indirect factors." One cla.s.sic virtue that might stand you in good eternal stead was bravery. On several Polynesian islands, wrote Handy (1927, p. 78), heroic but dead warriors would go to the "upper regions of the sky world," there to "dwell in everlasting happiness, clothed in fragrant flowers, dancing, and enjoying the full gratification of all their desires."38. Handy (1927), p. 67.39. Hogbin (1934), p. 262.40. Ibid., p. 261.41. Turner (1861), pp. 313, 345.42. Williamson (1937), p. 251. Adultery was also punished by the G.o.ds in Tonga - see Hogbin (1934), p. 261 - and Samoa - see Turner (1831), p. 313.43. This sanction was in some places enforced by dead ancestors, not G.o.ds. See, e.g., Handy (1940), p. 319.44. In the Polynesian chiefdoms, religion, if not centrally concerned with moral issues, did address them. Williamson wrote that on Tonga, "human crimes, such as lying, theft, adultery, and murder, were not considered by the higher G.o.ds, because of their more elevated natures." But he added that these crimes "were left to the inferior G.o.ds to deal with" (Williamson [1937], p. 16). Even this degree of divine attention to morality was a big advance compared with that in a typical hunter-gatherer society. Handy is more explicit than Williamson in recognizing the moral dimension of Polynesian religion: e.g., Handy (1940), p. 319: "Social ethics is the very core of the old inst.i.tutionalized Polynesian cult. Malice, evil thought, and evil speech toward relatives is one of the commonest causes of sickness, and hence appears the interesting phenomenon of confession as prerequisite to healing. A second source of trouble is disrespect for customary law as exemplified in tapu: tapu tapu: tapu-breakers are summarily afflicted by spirits and G.o.ds with illness or accident in retribution for their misdemeanours."45. None of this is to suggest that modern law originated originated in religion. (The view that law originated in religion is sometimes attributed to the nineteenth-century social theorist Sir Henry Maine, but this attribution may be as oversimplified as the view itself. See Hoebel [1983], chapter 10, on both points.) Indeed, in hunter-gatherer societies you often see a kind of law practiced with little if any help from the supernatural: crimes such as murder are wrong, so retaliation is right, and that is that - no supernatural enforcement necessary. Rather, the suggestion is that, as society evolved beyond the hunter-gatherer phase, and this gra.s.sroots enforcement became less practical, so that something closer to modern law was needed, religion stepped in and provided crucial authority during the transition. in religion. (The view that law originated in religion is sometimes attributed to the nineteenth-century social theorist Sir Henry Maine, but this attribution may be as oversimplified as the view itself. See Hoebel [1983], chapter 10, on both points.) Indeed, in hunter-gatherer societies you often see a kind of law practiced with little if any help from the supernatural: crimes such as murder are wrong, so retaliation is right, and that is that - no supernatural enforcement necessary. Rather, the suggestion is that, as society evolved beyond the hunter-gatherer phase, and this gra.s.sroots enforcement became less practical, so that something closer to modern law was needed, religion stepped in and provided crucial authority during the transition.46. Williamson (1937), pp. 1346; Hogbin (1934), p. 264. On p. 253, Williamson observes that in the Society Islands, a family established claim to its land by building a small-scale temple, or marae marae, on it.47. Hogbin (1934), p. 274. The fono fono existed in other chiefdoms, but typically as an administrative body. Samoa was unusual in using it for judicial purposes. existed in other chiefdoms, but typically as an administrative body. Samoa was unusual in using it for judicial purposes.48. Van Bakel (1991), p. 268.49. Hogbin (1934), p. 269.50. Quoted in ibid., p. 263.51. Ibid., p. 262.52. Ibid., pp. 2778.53. Ibid., pp. 2734.54. Williamson (1937), p. 122.55. Cook (1852), p. 175.56. See, e.g., Hoebel (1983), p. 272.57. Williamson (1937), pp. 3023.58. Williamson (1937), p. 128.59. Sahlins (1963), p. 297.60. Ibid., pp. 2978.61. Kirch (1989), p. 167.62. Williamson (1937), p. 258.63. See Wright (2000), chapters 5, 7.64. Dale (1996), p. 303.65. Kirch (1989), pp. 68, 1967.66. Williamson (1937), p. 103.67. Quoted in Makemson (1941), p. 19.68. Lewis (1974), pp. 135, 137.69. Williamson (1937), p. 249.70. See Lewis (1974), pp. 140, 144; Makemson (1941), p. 19. In a predictive scenario mentioned by Makemson, the belief is that the winds approaching the islands first pa.s.s by the Milky Way and affect its tilt; in this case, then, the causal explanation of the observed correlation between the position of stars and the prevailing winds is more "modern" - that is, less supernatural - than other Polynesian theories explaining such correlations, which saw celestial deities controlling the winds (as on Ongton Java - see Williamson [1933], p. 153).71. Quoted in Makemson (1941), p. 19.

Chapter Four G.o.ds of the Ancient States G.o.ds of the Ancient States 1. Bottero (2001), pp. 667.2. Jacobsen, pp. 13940. See Bottero (2001), p. 122, re: Mesopotamian priestesses who practiced prost.i.tution.3. Saggs (1978), p. 173.4. Bottero (2001), pp. 667.5. Pinch (2002), p. 126.6. Quoted in Le Page Renouf (1884), p. 2.7. Faulkner (1969), p. 1.8. Keightley (1998), pp. 8047.9. http://www.mnsu.edu/emuseum/information/biography/abcde/delanda_deigo.html.10. For example, Sharer (1996), p. 160, voices an opinion shared by other scholars in saying that "it would be a mistake to a.s.sume they [Mayan G.o.ds] had distinct or anthropomorphic (human-like) qualities like the G.o.ds of ancient Greece or Rome." Yet he also says the G.o.ds enjoy music (p. 166) and, most important, expect to be nourished by humans via sacrifice and get angry if the humans neglect this duty (p. 164). Sharer says (personal communication) that Mayan G.o.ds were less anthropomorphic than Greek G.o.ds in the sense of being more mutable. Similarly Boone (1994), pp. 1046, says that thinking of Aztec G.o.ds as G.o.ds is misleading; the Nahuatl word teotl, teotl, translated by the Spanish as "G.o.d," actually means "a sacred and impersonal force" (p. 105). The "Aztec G.o.ds were not divine humans, like Greek and Roman G.o.ds" (p. 105). But she later says "Aztec deities were this concentrated energy, manifest in anthropomorphic form as G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses" (p. 106). Indeed, "the legends and the ancient stories speak of the Aztec deities as supernatural actors on a mythic stage." But she insists this "way of humanizing the supernatural" was just "an effective narrative device" used by Aztec elders to "explain the cosmos in human terms that can readily be understood." As I understand Boone, she is saying that the vast majority of Aztecs thought of their G.o.ds as anthropomorphic, but it would be a mistake for us to think of them that way - which means, presumably, that it was a mistake for the Aztecs to think of them that way. But if the Aztecs aren't the final authority on the nature of Aztec G.o.ds, who is? It's possible that late-twentieth-century scholars of Mesoamerica are particularly eager to see in the religions they study a more modernist, New Agey spirituality than the stodgy scholars who earlier shaped the interpretation of Egyptian and Mesopotamian religion. Or perhaps they've been influenced by the contention of Rudolf Otto (1977) that apprehension of the "numinous" precedes - chronologically and in some sense metaphysically - the perception of individual G.o.ds. One scholar, Thorkild Jacobsen (1976), explicitly brought this view to the study of Mesopotamian religion, and a number of scholars now judge that this view imposed an unfortunate bias on his interpretation (Norman Yoffee, personal communication). I don't doubt Boone's contention that Aztec laypeople had a more literal, less metaphysical conception of G.o.ds than some Aztec intellectuals. Bray (1991), pp. 1558, suggests as much, if in a different sense. (He says some intellectuals saw many different Aztec G.o.ds as manifestations of a single underlying G.o.d.) But I'm suggesting that, if there is a single "correct" way to think of the G.o.ds of any civilization - and Boone's writing suggests she thinks there is - then it is the way the great bulk of people in that civilization thought of them. Hornung (1996), p. 105, says that over time Egyptian G.o.ds increasingly a.s.sume human, as opposed to animal, form, and endorses the phrases "anthropomorphization of power" and "from dynamism to personalism" to describe this trend. But the fact that Egyptian G.o.ds were in earlier times more likely to a.s.sume animal translated by the Spanish as "G.o.d," actually means "a sacred and impersonal force" (p. 105). The "Aztec G.o.ds were not divine humans, like Greek and Roman G.o.ds" (p. 105). But she later says "Aztec deities were this concentrated energy, manifest in anthropomorphic form as G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses" (p. 106). Indeed, "the legends and the ancient stories speak of the Aztec deities as supernatural actors on a mythic stage." But she insists this "way of humanizing the supernatural" was just "an effective narrative device" used by Aztec elders to "explain the cosmos in human terms that can readily be understood." As I understand Boone, she is saying that the vast majority of Aztecs thought of their G.o.ds as anthropomorphic, but it would be a mistake for us to think of them that way - which means, presumably, that it was a mistake for the Aztecs to think of them that way. But if the Aztecs aren't the final authority on the nature of Aztec G.o.ds, who is? It's possible that late-twentieth-century scholars of Mesoamerica are particularly eager to see in the religions they study a more modernist, New Agey spirituality than the stodgy scholars who earlier shaped the interpretation of Egyptian and Mesopotamian religion. Or perhaps they've been influenced by the contention of Rudolf Otto (1977) that apprehension of the "numinous" precedes - chronologically and in some sense metaphysically - the perception of individual G.o.ds. One scholar, Thorkild Jacobsen (1976), explicitly brought this view to the study of Mesopotamian religion, and a number of scholars now judge that this view imposed an unfortunate bias on his interpretation (Norman Yoffee, personal communication). I don't doubt Boone's contention that Aztec laypeople had a more literal, less metaphysical conception of G.o.ds than some Aztec intellectuals. Bray (1991), pp. 1558, suggests as much, if in a different sense. (He says some intellectuals saw many different Aztec G.o.ds as manifestations of a single underlying G.o.d.) But I'm suggesting that, if there is a single "correct" way to think of the G.o.ds of any civilization - and Boone's writing suggests she thinks there is - then it is the way the great bulk of people in that civilization thought of them. Hornung (1996), p. 105, says that over time Egyptian G.o.ds increasingly a.s.sume human, as opposed to animal, form, and endorses the phrases "anthropomorphization of power" and "from dynamism to personalism" to describe this trend. But the fact that Egyptian G.o.ds were in earlier times more likely to a.s.sume animal form form doesn't mean they weren't psychologically anthropomorphic. Moreover, in a.s.serting this trend, Hornung has to minimize (pp. 1013) inconvenient evidence, such as the fact that clay and ivory figures in human form are found in prehistoric Egypt, and the fact that several Egyptian deities are found in human form at the very beginning of the historical record. doesn't mean they weren't psychologically anthropomorphic. Moreover, in a.s.serting this trend, Hornung has to minimize (pp. 1013) inconvenient evidence, such as the fact that clay and ivory figures in human form are found in prehistoric Egypt, and the fact that several Egyptian deities are found in human form at the very beginning of the historical record.11. Egypt: Morenz (1973), p. 6; China: Poo (1998), p. 28; the Maya: Sharer (1996), p. 153; the Aztecs: Mexican archaeologist Alfonso Caso, quoted in Bray (1991), p. 152; Mesopotamia: Bottero (2001), p. 92.12. Bottero (2001), p. 45. In some cases different names may have referred to the same G.o.d, and in any event, there was no one who wors.h.i.+pped all G.o.ds on the list. Saggs (1989), p. 277, refers to a contemporary census that listed 3,600 names, and Bottero, p. 45, mentions a 3, 300-name list.13. Egyptian scribes, craftsmen: Shafer et al., eds. (1991), p. 54; Mesopotamian scribes: Saggs (1989), p. 277; on Mesopotamian craft G.o.ds in general see Lambert (1975), p. 196; Aztec traders: Bray (1991), pp. 1478; Aztec merchants (and several craft G.o.ds), Boone (1994), p. 109; Mayan merchants: Foster (2002), pp. 1689 and Sharer (1996), p. 162; Mayan scribes: Sharer (1996), p. 161; brewers and bricklayers: Saggs (1989), p. 277; weavers, painters, goldsmiths: Boone (1994), p. 114; robbers: Bray (1991), p. 162; Mayan suicide G.o.d: Sharer (1996), p. 162; Lord of Livestock Pens: Bottero (2001), p. 47; Egyptian G.o.ds of lungs, liver, etc.: Shafer et al., eds. (1991), p. 49.14. Walker and d.i.c.k (2001), p. 53. The ritual, described in intricate detail in this tablet from the early first millennium BCE, seems to have involved was.h.i.+ng the mouth of a statue of a G.o.d (p. 16). How directly the people a.s.sociated the statue with the G.o.d itself is unclear, but there is evidence that in ancient Mesopotamia the a.s.sociation could be quite direct - that G.o.ds were in some cases thought to inhabit the statues of them. See Bottero (2001), p. 65.15. See Trigger (1993), pp. 98102: rulers in Egypt, Mesopotamia, China, and Mesoamerica have claimed at least some kind of descent from G.o.ds.16. Foster (2002), p. 178.17. Trigger (1993), p. 102.18. Ibid., p. 91.19. Ibid. On the threat of chaos in Egypt, see Baines (1991), pp. 1245.20. Boone (1994), p. 117.21. Bray (1991), p. 172; Boone (1994), p. 117.22. Huitzilopochtli: Bray (1991), pp. 18, 172.23. Vaillant (1950), pp. 1957; Bray (1991), pp. 1715.24. Ortiz de Montellano (1990), p. 49.25. Quoted in White (1959), pp. 3034.26. Trigger (1993), pp. 978.27. Bray (1991), pp. 1778.28. Michael D. Lemonick, "Secrets of the Maya," Time Time, Aug. 9, 1993.29. Bray (1991), p. 176.30. See Wright (2000), p. 99.31. Lamberg-Karlovsky and Sabloff (1995), p. 174.32. Bottero (2000), p. 58; see also Saggs (1978), pp. 11617.33. Bottero (2000), pp. 589.34. Mayans: Lopez Austin (1988), p. 270; Egyptians: Traunecker, p. 98.35. Ortiz de Montellano (1990), pp. 623, 141, 1502.36. Lopez Austin (1988), pp 295, 337.37. O'Flaherty (1981), pp. 2134, espec. footnote 5; see also Flood (1996), p. 47.38. Lichtheim (1975), p. 65.39. A possible ill.u.s.tration of this dynamic is the conquest in China toward the end of the second millennium BCE of the Shang (whose chief G.o.d, Shang-ti, shows no clear moral disposition so far as we can tell; see Elvin [1986], p. 327), by the Chou (whose chief G.o.d, Tian, has moral concerns - see Elvin [1986], p. 327 - that will eventually come to outweigh his concern for sheerly ritual propriety [p. 328]).40. Bottero (2001), p. 53.41. Ibid.; Lambert (1975), p. 193.42. Lambert (1975), pp. 1913. See also Bottero (2001), pp. 4854, on the rationalization of the pantheon during the third millennium BCE.43. Lambert (1975), p. 192.44. Ibid.45. Williamson (1937), p. 252.46. Watson (1992), p. 26.47. See Saggs (1989), p. 37.48. Watson (1992), p. 27.49. Lamberg-Karlovsky and Sabloff (1995), p. 176.50. Saggs (1989), p. 185.51. Ibid., p. 41.52. Hallo and van Dijk (1968), pp. 78.53. Ibid., pp. 19, 23, 29.54. Ibid., pp. 910.55. Saggs (1978), pp. 1845.56. Bottero (2001), p. 46.57. Bray (1991), p. 155.58. Dietrich (1974), p. 27.59. Bottero (2001), p. 51.60. Jacobsen, p. 85. The narrative is known as "Enki and World Order."61. Silverman (1991), p. 32.62. Not all scholars accept this view, but it is widely held. See Poo (1998), p. 23, and Gernet (1985), p. 49. More scholars would accept it as applied to postShang China. In Mesoamerica the pantheons seem relatively amorphous, but these states are in an earlier stage of social evolution than first- or second-millennium-BCE Mesopotamia or Egypt, or postShang China.63. Bottero (2001), p. 52.64. Ibid., pp. 52, 97.65. Ibid., p. 66.66. Code of Hammurabi, L. W. King translation.67. Bottero (2001), p. 54.68. Saggs (1978), p. 157.69. Code of Hammurabi, L. W. King translation.70. Lambert (1975), pp. 1934. Bottero (2001), p. 54, seems to suggest that Marduk was in Hammurabi's code being elevated to the position of Babylon's munic.i.p.al G.o.d, but the code's text doesn't indicate as much, and Lambert (p. 193) says Marduk was "always" city G.o.d of Babylon.71. Bottero (2001), pp. 556.72. Lambert (1975), pp. 1978. Bottero (2001), p. 57, puts the equations in the form "Marduk is Nurta, the G.o.d of agriculture."73. Bottero (2001), p. 57.74. Ibid., p. 58, minimizes the monotheistic drift, while Lambert (1975), p. 198, emphasizes it.75. See Lambert (1975), p. 199.76. Saggs (1978), p. 184.77. Epic of Creation Epic of Creation, L. W. King translation; see also Bottero (2001), p. 56.78. L. W. King translation.79. Reeves (2001), pp. 445; Redford (1984), pp. 15863.80. See Reeves (2001), p. 111; Redford (1984), p. 165. There may have been a short period of co-regency prior to his father's death.81. Redford (1984) p. 162. Redford cites an inscription that "every G.o.d is in him." Amun had already merged with the once supreme sun G.o.d Re and - though the two sometimes shared top billing as Amun-Re - Amun seemed to be the senior partner. See Redford (1984), pp. 1623, 171; see also Hornung (1999), pp. 912.82. Reeves (2001), p. 49.83. David (2002), p. 215. See also Reeves (2001), pp. 4950; Redford (1984), pp. 1712.84. Redford (1984), pp. 1757.85. Ibid., pp. 1756, 179.86. Ibid., p. 176.87. Redford (1992), p. 381; David (2002), p. 218.88. Ibid., pp. 166, 178180.89. David (2002), p. 226.90. See Redford (1992), pp. 22633. This theological cross-pollination, though politically convenient for an imperial ruler, wasn't necessarily disingenuous. Akhenaten's own father, toward the end of his reign, sent off to Mesopotamia for a statue of Ishtar of Nineveh to help cure his illness. See Redford (1992), p. 231, and Morenz (1973), p. 240.91. See Redford (1992), pp. 230, 233.92. Ibid., p. 231.93. Ibid., p. 230; David (2002), pp. 2278.94. Wente and Baines (1989), p. 158. This concern is attributed to Amun-Re, Amun's name during a period when he had merged with Re.95. Morenz (1973), p. 51.96. Hornung (1996), p. 167. The earliest copy of this text, the Book of Gates, appears shortly after Akhenaten's reign, but a number of scholars think it was written earlier.97. Morenz (1973), p. 52.98. Ibid., pp. 479.

Chapter Five Polytheism, the Religion of Ancient Israel Polytheism, the Religion of Ancient Israel 1. 1 Kings 19:1112, RSV. Mount Sinai is also known as h.o.r.eb, Mount of G.o.d, which is the term used in this pa.s.sage.2. Armstrong (1994), p. 27. She is commenting on the translation found in The Jerusalem Bible, The Jerusalem Bible, in which the phrase is rendered not as "a sound of sheer silence" (NRSV) or "a still small voice" (RSV) but as "the sound of a gentle breeze." in which the phrase is rendered not as "a sound of sheer silence" (NRSV) or "a still small voice" (RSV) but as "the sound of a gentle breeze."3. Baal wasn't just just a fertility G.o.d; see Albertz (1994), p. 172. a fertility G.o.d; see Albertz (1994), p. 172.4. On Yahweh's "hiddenness" see Friedman (1997), espec. pp. 7780.5. Kaufmann (1972), p. 70.6. Ibid., p. 2. Kaufmann's view wasn't, strictly speaking, anti-evolutionary. He believed that there had been an evolutionary progression from pagan religion to monotheism (p. 7). But he believed that the monotheistic phase had arrived abruptly, rather than as a continuous outgrowth of earlier religion. It had come to the Hebrews "as an insight, an original intuition" (p. 60).7. 1 Kings 19:1518; 20:2930.8. See Gnuse (1997), p. 66, on how widely held and influential, especially between 1940 and 1970, was the idea of an early (i.e., Mosaic) and abrupt emergence of monotheism.9. See, e.g., Friedman (2003).10. Some scholars frown on referring to Ugaritic literature as "Canaanite," but, e.g., Pitard (2002), pp. 2512, argues in favor of such a designation, citing cultural continuity between the city of Ugarit and Canaanite lands to the south. Of course, Ugaritic literature isn't precisely representative of the culture of the "Canaanites" described in the Bible, but it seems fair to view it as broadly reflective of their milieu.11. Genesis 2:8; 3:21; 3:8; 3:9.12. Niehr (1995), p. 52, a.s.serts that Yahweh was initially a weather G.o.d, like Baal. And, similarly, Day (2000), p. 14, emphasizes Yahweh's a.s.sociation with storms in apparently early fragments of the Bible, such as Judges 5:45. The weather-G.o.d thesis can't be ruled out, but it's notable that even the pa.s.sage cited by Day emphasizes Yahweh's violent storm-making power (as opposed to, say, merely a.s.sociating him with rain and hence fertility): "Lord... when you marched.