For many modern scientists, the last bastion of religious explanation is God-as-First-Cause: science seemingly can have nothing to say about why the universe exists at all. From my freshman year at Harvard College in 1955, I recall the great theologian Paul Tillich defying his class of hyper-rational undergraduates to come up with a scientific answer to his simple question: “Why is there something, when there could have been nothing?” None of my classmates majoring in the sciences could give Tillich any answer. But they in turn would have objected that Tillich’s own answer “God” consisted merely of putting a name on his lack of an answer. In fact, scientists are working now on Tillich’s question and have proposed answers.
Defusing anxiety
The next function of religion that I’ll discuss is another one that was probably strongest in early societies: religion’s role in defusing our anxiety over problems and dangers beyond our control. When people have done everything realistically within their power, that’s when they are most likely to resort to prayers, rituals, ceremonies, donations to the gods, consulting oracles and shamans, reading omens, observing taboos, and performing magic. All of those measures are scientifically ineffective at producing the desired result. However, by preserving the fiction and convincing ourselves that we are still doing something, aren’t helpless, and haven’t given up, we at least feel in charge, less anxious, and able to go on to make our best effort.
Our craving for relief from feeling helpless is illustrated by a study of religious Israeli women, carried out by anthropologists Richard Sosis and W. Penn Handwerker. During the 2006 Lebanon War the Hizbollah launched Katyusha rockets against the Galilee region of northern Israel, and the town of Tzfat and its environs in particular were hit by dozens of rockets daily. Although siren warnings while rockets were en route alerted Tzfat residents to protect their own lives by taking refuge in bomb shelters, they could do nothing to protect their houses. Realistically, that threat from the rockets was unpredictable and uncontrollable. Nevertheless, about two-thirds of the women interviewed by Sosis and Handwerker recited psalms every day to cope with the stress of the rocket attacks. When they were asked why they did so, a common reply was that they felt compelled “to do something” as opposed to doing nothing at all. Although reciting psalms does not actually deflect rockets, it did provide the chanters with a sense of control as they went through the semblance of taking action. (Of course, they themselves did not give that explanation; they did believe that reciting psalms can protect one’s house from destruction by a rocket.) Compared to women in the same community who did not recite psalms, the psalm reciters had less difficulty falling asleep, had less difficulty concentrating, were less inclined to bursts of anger, and felt less anxious, nervous, tense, and depressed. Thus, they really did benefit, by reducing the risk that natural anxiety over uncontrollable danger would cause them to endanger themselves in a different way by doing something foolish. As all of us who have been in situations of unpredictable and uncontrollable danger know, we do become prone to multiply our problems by thoughtlessness if we can’t master our anxiety.
This function of religion, at its peak already in early religious societies, would have decreased as societies increased their control over life’s course, through state government growing stronger and decreasing the frequency of violence and other dangers, states becoming increasingly able to avert famines by distributing stored food, and (in the last two centuries) the development of science and technology. But it’s hardly the case that traditional people were largely helpless. Instead, they impress us with their ability to use their observations and their experience so as to leave as little room for chance as possible. For instance, New Guineans and other traditional farmers know dozens of varieties of sweet potatoes or other crops, where and how best to grow each one, and how to weed, fertilize, mulch, drain, and irrigate. When !Kung men and other hunters go hunting, they study and interpret animal tracks, thereby estimate the number and distance and speed and direction of movement of their prey, and observe the behavior of other animal species that provide clues to prey presence. Fishermen and sailors without compasses or other instruments can still navigate by understanding movements of the sun and stars, winds, ocean currents, reflections on clouds, seabirds, ocean bioluminescence, and other indicators of position. All peoples post defenses and remain alert against enemy attacks, and form alliances and plan ambushes to attack the enemy first.
But for traditional peoples, even more than for us moderns, there are limits to their effectiveness, and large areas beyond their control. Crop yields are affected by unpredictable droughts, rainfall, hail, wind storms, cold temperatures, and insect pests. There is a large role of chance in the movements of individual animals. Most illnesses lie beyond traditional control because of the limits of traditional medical knowledge. Like the Israeli women who recited psalms but couldn’t control the paths of the rockets, much also remains beyond the control of traditional peoples after they have done their best. They, and we, rebel against remaining inactive and doing nothing. That makes them and us anxious, feeling helpless, prone to make mistakes, and unable to put out our best efforts. That’s where traditional peoples, and still often we today, resort to prayer, rituals, omens, magic, taboos, superstitions, and shamans. Believing that those measures are effective, they and we become less anxious, calmer, and more focused.
One example, studied by the ethnographer Bronislaw Malinowski, comes from the Trobriand Islands near New Guinea, where villagers catch fish in two types of locations requiring different fishing methods: in the sheltered, calm inner lagoon, where one dumps poison into a patch of water and then just picks up the stunned or dead fish; and in the open sea, spearing or netting fish while paddling a canoe through waves and surf. Lagoon fishing is safe, easy, and offers predictable yields; open-sea fishing is dangerous and unpredictable, with large bonanzas if a shoal of fish happens to be running at that particular time and place, but with little profit and much personal risk if one doesn’t happen to encounter a shoal that day. The islanders perform elaborate magical rituals before embarking on open-sea fishing in order to secure safety and success, because much doubt remains even after they have laid the best plans based on experience. But no magic is associated with lagoon fishing: one merely sets out and does it, without uncertainty or anxiety about the predictable result.
Another example is provided by !Kung hunters, whose expertise seems to leave nothing to chance. Little !Kung boys start playing with tiny bows and arrows from the time that they can walk, and begin hunting with their fathers when they reach adolescence. At evening campfires men recount over and over their previous hunts, listen to each other’s stories about who saw what animals where in recent days, and plan the next hunt accordingly. During the hunt itself they remain attuned to sights and sounds of animals and of birds whose behavior may betray the presence of animals, as well as scrutinizing tracks to learn what animal passed by, and where it is likely to be found and to be heading now. One might imagine that these masters of desert hunting skills would have no need for magic. In fact, though, when hunters set out in the morning, there is always a big element of anxiety-provoking uncertainty about where prey will happen to be on that particular morning.