Looking at the wage and nationality maps of Chicago in the late 19th century, some striking trends emerge. For one thing, there are almost no English-speaking households in the four sections of map, and those places marked as English speaking are almost exclusively brothels. This may be an indication that those families that spoke English were well-off enough to live in more well-to-do neighborhoods and came to the poorer regions only to ply a fairly lucrative trade in prostitution. Those living near these brothels are almost exclusively in the $5-10 range, and mostly Italian. For the most part, indeed, people live with others of their same ethnicity, creating a strong (or relatively strong) community of people from "the old country," whatever that may be in a particular circle. On the nationality maps, there are large blocks of color, indicating a tendency to drift towards people with similar values and experiences; that is, people of the same heritage.

The main nationality lacking in this sort of community bond seems to be English speakers. This probably has a lot to do with the fact that some English speakers, born and raised in America, felt no need to gravitate towards others of their kind, since the country is full of "their kind." It is also highly likely that English speaking people were better equipped to fill higher-paying jobs, allowing them to move to more expensive neighborhoods. The problem of the brothels still remains. Why were the majority of the brothels counted as English speaking, even though the surrounding community had few to no English speakers in residence? Perhaps this stemmed from a recognized niche that could be easily filled by those who were already higher up on the social ladder, mainly English speakers.

In any case, it appears that immigrants tended to live together in as large groups as possible, and each block of nationalities tended to earn about the same wage, mostly very low. Those who earned more, interestingly, tended to live in more diverse neighborhoods, a sort of patchwork of heritages as well as of wage ranges.

Jane Addams

Jane Addams, in her foundation of Hull House, had some definite religious ideas to put into practice, although they may not have been explicitly stated. One of the big motivating factors for her was the religious beliefs of her father, and the values he instilled in her carried over throughout her life. One of the most important or relevant of these values, I think, is the sense that everyone should be equal and have the same chances and so on. This could be seen as a secular belief, one very historically relevant, or it could be a feature of her Quaker upbringing.

Jane Addams' strong devotion and attachment to her project bespeak a commitment that may go beyond the bounds of normal secular attachment. One of the most powerful motivators is a sense of religious injustice, and I think there was a healthy dose of this in Addams' desire to help the disenfranchised in Chicago. Religion was not the only motivator for Addams, but it seems to have been a significant one at the very least, and perhaps the main factor involved in her decisions regarding Hull House.

"The building is a symbol, as is the act of destroying it. Symbols are given power by people. A symbol, in and of itself is powerless, but with enough people behind it, blowing up a building can change the world." This quote, with added emphasis, is from the movie "V for Vendetta," and it applies quite perfectly to the ideas about religions we have been discussing, although in the movie it was applied to politics rather than religion. Geertz, I feel, would appreciate this interpretation of symbols and their meanings, fitting as it does into his definition of religion. Each piece of meaning about the world or the symbols in it comes from the people concerned with it, not from the symbol itself. People become meaning constructors, instilling objects or events with symbolic meanings that help inform or perpetuate their ideas about the world. This is not merely a one-time occurrence; it happens continuously all over the globe in all sorts of situations.

This meaning construction can be seen in any group, religious or otherwise, in our world. Americans impart meaning to the colors red, white, and blue, and children make certain meanings and associations based on the tinny songs of the ice cream truck. Rastafarians create mountains of meaning associated with all their various symbols: the lion, the colors of Ethiopia, the dreadlocks, and Haile Selassie himself. The lion in and of itself means nothing; it is one animal, like so many others. When people decide that it means something else, like a representation of the chosen people, the lion becomes quite powerful, inspiring actions and reactions in hearts that otherwise would remain unmoved by the sight of this African predator. Similarly, the chosen hairstyle of Rastas, the dreadlocks, have no inherent meaning or power by their nature. They only attain power and meaning when compared with the tame, slick hair of those people seen to be oppressing the Rastafarians and when imbued with intentions and power by those who wear them.

Though symbols play a powerful part in any group of loyal followers, they are meaningless without those followers and without the great trust and power they place in symbols. Haile Selassie, for instance, could be a symbol of many things, such as his country, his race, or his gender. But he was not a symbol of God or of the divine nature of Africa/Ethiopia until some people in Jamaica made him so. Everything has the potential to become a symbol to someone; all that needs to happen is for someone to decide there is power in a certain place and proclaim it as being so. Each person could be a symbol of something, even without her own knowledge of the fact. It all depends on how people perceive the potential symbol, what meaning is given to it and derived from it.

The Rasta community in the video seems to be more stratified than I had believed them to be. The impression I had was of basically a commune setting, with one or a few individuals in charge. These different "orders" and ranks seem to contradict that set-up at least a little bit. The Boboshanti are highly reminiscent of Christian bishops or monks, in both practices and ritual attire, suggesting that this Rastafarian community may be similar to some early Christian monasteries or religious communities. The hierarchy that seems to be in place in the community in the video is somewhat contradictory to the ideas of community (in the sense of a commune-- cooperation and equality) that are present in the descriptions in the book.

The power of symbols mentioned in the video, such as the dreadlocks and turban, seems to fit more closely with what we have read about Rastafarians. They, especially in tight communities, seem to be quite concerned or interested in the accouterments and colors they associate with themselves. There is an emphasis on the power that certain colors and styles give to the wearers as "children of Africa," as one woman said in the video. They build houses in the colors of the Ethiopian flag and dress themselves in the same colors, identifying themselves with their brothers and sisters in Africa and expressing their desire and intention to join them there someday. This we do expect from our readings.

Aspects of Identity

From reading the Rastafari book and listening to Bob Marley's music, it seems to be the case that being Rastafarian and being Jamaican are two aspects of identity that are often associated with one another, if not conflated. Being Jamaican, at least for Bob Marley, has much to do with following Rastafari, and the two pieces are not easily separated. They both have quite an influence on his music, and in fact being Jamaican was quite important in the creation of Rastafari as a religion. Religion and nationality are closely knit together in this case.

This does not seem to be the case, however, for many Arabs, as was shown in the documentary shown in Wriston on Monday. There was a rather strong emphasis placed on the difference between being Arab and being Muslim. There were several non-Muslim Arabs mentioned, and the National Arab American Museum did not focus at all on the religious connotations many people have associated with being Arab. Their focus was far more secular, concentrating on a positive public image for Arabs. The large mosque on the highway, on the other hand, focused on the religion, paying little to no attention to the race or heritage of its members. The man talking about the mosque mentioned quite explicitly that he wished to draw a definite line between Islam and Arab aspects of identity.

There seems to be no one "right way" to go about defining oneself as part of a group, or of just one group. One can foucs on one main aspect of identity, making that one the most important, like the Arabs and Muslims in Michigan. One can also, a la Bob Marley and others, put an equal focus on two or more aspects of identity and how they relate to each other, such as, in this case, religion and nationality. Both methods allow the person to self-identify with a group of his or her preference, and neither one is a more "correct" approach than the other.

Kebra Negast

The story contained in the excerpt from the Ethiopian Kebra Negast places great importance both on Israel and on Ethiopia, personified in Solomon and the Queen of Sheba, respectively. There are several ways in which Ethiopia is given a high status by the story. For instance, Sheba herself is lauded as being extraordinarily wise almost every time the subject of wisdom comes up. She is also modest, beautiful, and virtuous in the extreme. Since she represents the country of Ethiopia, these descriptors paint quite a complimentary picture of the country and her queen. Everyone, including King Solomon himself, see the queen as equal to Solomon in every way, including wisdom, which is his specialty. This gives Ethiopia an even footing with Israel from a cultural point of view.

Ethiopia is also raised in status from a religious standpoint. For the most part, the story centers around the people and their wisdom, but there is a very important dream near the end of our excerpt. Solomon dreams that a light arises over Israel, but it shortly moves to hover over Ethiopia, where it remains for ever. The implications of this for Ethiopia are obvious and obviously prestigious, as far as religion goes. It implies that as much as Israel is important for religious reasons, Ethiopia will be a sort of "new Israel," taking the place in esteem and importance that Israel has held for some time. This esteem is personified to some extent in the child of Solomon and Sheba, the new King of Ethiopia, who will change the customary ruling system in Ethiopia and presumably bring wealth and prosperity, not to mention wisdom and virtue, to the country and thence the region as a whole.

The excerpt from the Kebra Negast is quite laudatory towards Ethiopia, and anyone who reads it gets a sense of Ethiopia's importance to the world and to the Judeo-Christian religion. There are reasons to give Ethiopia a high place in our esteem based on many aspects, both secular and religious, including Sheba's beauty, wisdom, and virtue, and her ability to deal with all the situations she encounters with aplomb and poise (for instance, the incident with the water in Solomon's bedchamber). The religious implications are also very positive, claiming that Ethiopia is the true seat of the Christian religion, usurping Israel's position.

Losing my Religion on Flickr - Photo Sharing!

This photo depicts a man standing by the side of a lonesome road, laden down with suitcase after suitcase, while by his feet rests a cardboard sign reading "FINDING MY FAITH." The picture is part of a series the creator calls "Losing My Religion, Finding My Faith," and the caption talks about the unnecessary addenda we put upon ourselves that are not really part of religion. He (the photographer) addresses the idea that we use "unnecessary and often harmful 'beliefs' that really keep us from a true faith" to try to interpret religion, but all we accomplish is a distortion of what the religion "should" be. In his view, there is a distinct line between religion and faith, and one is good while the other has good roots but has been buried under what we seem to think it needs. The suitcases, representing these additions, are labeled "dogma," "detriment," "hindrance," "impedimenta," "trappings," and "encumbrance," and they are piled high, obscuring the bearer's face. For the photographer, religion is something that is built up and distorted from a common faith or starting point such as the Bible (which he mentions as such).

The man in the picture is almost completely hidden from view by what he has taken upon himself-- what he thinks he needs for his journey. He is so weighed down with these bags that he cannot even see the cars that drive past him, the cars that he seems to want to hitch a ride with. If he could only set down these self-imposed burdens, he would be free to roam wherever he wanted, free to flag down the passing cars and interact with new and different people. Instead, he stands uncomfortably on the side of the road, trying to master the precariously balanced bags and cases of his belongings, unable to see or be seen by those in a better position to travel on down the road. This works as a very good analogy, I think, to added-on interpretations of texts, stories, and other evidence, whereby the recipients of this super-edited version are at a loss to decipher what the text may originally have meant or how to interpret such things for themselves. The more interpretations are imposed on texts, the less clear they truly become, especially when interpretations are handed down through generation after generation, getting murkier with each hand-off. That is to say, each time someone tries to fit ancient texts to specific modern events, for example, the meaning of the text gets narrower and more difficult to apply in real, day-to-day situations.

What the creator of this photograph and I are getting at is that while some things do need to be interpreted, such as cryptic texts, there is most definitely such a thing as over-interpretation, which tends to sort of defeat the purpose on interpretation in the first place. I don't know that I would go so far as to say that "religion" is the trumped-up baggage that comes from "faith," as the photographer does, but he may be onto something-- "faith" is more spiritual and personal, while "religion" is, as we've discussed, a group phenomenon that may need to have more rigorous and intense interpretation and editing of texts in order to fulfill its function in society of satisfying the ritualistic and worshipful needs of a certain group of people.

The creator of this photo had religion in mind when he took it: the caption talks of discarding all the constructions and needless baggage that we have added to what religion really is or boils down to.

Religious Change

There are a lot of people who figure that there is only one thing or set of characteristics that can define a particular religion or belief system. This, however, is pretty much wrong. Each system of belief changes over time and across cultural boundaries, discarding old ideas and absorbing new ones based on each new context. In fact, religions have been so influenced by the societies, both local and global, in which they have existed that it is not far-fetched to say that each religion takes something from its fellows, giving something in return. I will discuss Christianity as an example, only because that is the tradition with which I am most familiar.

Christianity, it is important to remember, began as an offshoot of Judaism. The founders of the religion were all born and raised as Jews, including Jesus himself. Christianity also went on to become in turn a jumping-off point for Islam. In addition to that, Christianity has borrowed ideas from all over the world, not stopping short of "pagan" religions of Northern Europe and the British Isles. The dates of the two biggest holidays of the Christian year, Christmas and Easter, were chosen expressly to coincide with the festivals of solstices and equinoxes that were already being celebrated in many parts of the world. Through study of the text of the Christmas story in the Bible and the historical events it mentions, it becomes clear that the birth of Jesus probably actually occurred sometime in the spring, not in midwinter at all. There is also the question of the Spanish Inquisition, which most Christians would hesitate to put forward as representative of the belief system, not to mention the Crusades, the idea of Purgatory and the sale of indulgences, and the very concept of the Pope's infallibility. The Pope is, after all, a human, chosen by humans, and humans do make mistakes. The belief held by Roman Catholic Christians that he is necessarily infallible recalls religions in which the ruler of a society is also regarded as a god, a la Xerxes or the Egyptian Pharaohs.

Other religions, I am sure, have as much or more to tell of the diffusion of ideas across time and culture, showing that religions are neither fixed nor pure, no matter what their practitioners may think or want to think. There is no reason for upset at such a statement; every kind of institution, organization, or even loose group of people borrows ideas from society at large and gives some ideas back to society to be borrowed by other groups. This discussion of the constant ebb and flow of ideas, concepts, beliefs, and conventions makes one wonder if there is a time when all known religions may eventually merge, when all the ideas that have proven useful, acceptable, and reasonable will combine into one sort of world religion. If such a time is in the offing, it will surely be far in the future, but the idea of everyone living in accordance with the same "general order of existence" gives one hope that there will not always be that difference, at least, as an excuse for exclusion, exploitation, alienation, and even war.

On Christian Teaching ... of Psalms

Augustine's scheme of the seven stages from fear to wisdom struck a chord in me. Each one has merit and a purpose in his scheme, and each one offers a unique way to look at the scriptures at hand. The interpretation yielded by a reading based on fear, for example, will me different from that which comes from a reading based on fortitude or compassion. Each stage, in addition, seems to represent a real stage in human emotional development. Every person, at some point, experiences fear, holiness, knowledge, fortitude, compassion, love, and wisdom, some perhaps in more abundance than others. If each passage of the Bible can be interpreted differently according to the stage of the reader, as Augustine suggests, then each of these qualities can help us understand a different part or aspect of a particular passage or psalm.

This point of view could also be helpful in relating to other interpretations of texts. If we can see where a person in coming from when he or she approaches a text, then it is more likely we will be able to make sense of his or her viewpoint. If we can look at an interpretation and say "Hm, it looks like this person was coming from the first stage," we can make certain assumptions about the interpretation and figure out which parts seem to be more subjective than others. This reflection on another person's interpretation quite logically leads to reflection on our own interpretation-- an in-depth look at which parts of our ideas seem to be really there in the text and which may come out of some inner feelings of our own. That in turn can lead to a more careful consideration of viewpoints prior to sharing them with the world, which can only be good.

If we each take just a little time to perhaps examine where we might be in Augustine's seven stages before stating an opinion about a particular text, we could see that there are probably infinite ways of construing each passage in any book, not just the Bible or other religious texts. We could also find ourselves more open to accepting others' interpretations relative to their places in the seven stages. Now, this is not the only way to achieve a more open, tolerant, and accepting environment for the discussion of religious texts, but it will surely help if put into practice.

Acrostic Psalms

So some of these psalms that we've been reading follow an acrostic pattern, where the first letters of lines go through the Hebrew alphabet one by one. Some are imperfect, skipping letters and/or using the same letter for two or more verses while others are used for only one. Others are known as Short Acrostics, where each verset starts with a new letter, rather than using one for each whole verse or line of poetry. Then there are those like Psalm 119, which uses each letter as the beginning of eight consecutive lines, repeating much of the same text or ideas and going on for 176 verses. What could be the purpose of these acrostics? Perhaps it is a device meant to stimulate the memory and make it easier to remember for recitation or instructional purposes.

It is undoubtedly much easier to remember something that has a specific pattern, whether it be rhyme, meter, or what-have-you. The alphabetical beginnings of lines in the psalms mentioned (in the original Hebrew) would surely make them catchier and more likely to stick in the memory. This may have been the intent of the authors, or it may not have been. Either way, acrostic psalms sort of lend themselves to memorization and recitation. The acrostic sort of serves as a mnemonic, an aid to memory for children or anyone not prone to quick memorization. This is especially useful in an instructional situation, where children are to learn certain verses and repeat them when asked, much like a catechism. The repetition in particular psalms like 119 would also be quite useful in recalling the poem; for the most part, each lettered section dwells on one particular thing, repeating and rephrasing it over and over.

Such incessant repetition serves another purpose as well. The more times a person has to read or repeat the same basic idea, the more likely that person is to remember, think about, and reflect on that idea. This comes through to some extent in most of the acrostics, where just one line or possibly two is devoted to each idea; the second verset, as in most Hebrew poetry, reinforces the first. The point is inescapably driven home in a Long Acrostic such as Psalm 119, though. Eight verses, each composed of two or three versets, all saying the same thing is bound to make some sort of impression. Even the most recalcitrant child could almost not help but understand what the psalm is saying. Whether or not the author of the psalm intended this instructional advantage, however, is another matter for another time.

Psalms Ethic

When you read through the book of Psalms, you get a sense that everything will be made right by God and his vengeance. The ethical stance that seems to lie behind the Psalms is one fueled by vengeance, praise, and repentance. That is, if you are clean and virtuous you will be rewarded. If you sin but truly repent you will be rewarded. If you praise God he'll be happy to wreak vengeance upon those who have wronged you in some way and more likely to reward you. Psalm 20 shows this idea of reciprocation: "May He recall all your grain-offerings, and your burnt-offerings may He relish. / May He grant you what your heart would want, and all your counsels may He fulfill." The first verse quoted here is a reminder to God of all that the speaker has done for God to deserve good treatment and help. This sort of "you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours" philosophy is quite different from what comes to mind when we think of a Christian or Jewish ethic.

The typical Jewish ethic that comes to mind is one much concerned with rules and guilt, at least to some extent. There are rules for what to say, do, eat, wear, and so on, which don't seem to be reflected in Psalms, although they may make an appearance in other parts of Jewish holy texts. The guilt for past wrongdoings is evident here, however. There are many passages, for instance in Psalm 32, that reflect this idea of repentance and guilt: "My offense I made known to You and my crime I did not cover. / I said, 'I shall confess my sins to the LORD,' and You forgave my offending crime." The speaker is concerned with the confession and open acknowledgment of sins and with God's forgiveness. This seems to be pretty much in line with what I think of as a Jewish ethic.

The Christian ethic, however, is a little farther from this sometimes violent, vengeful Psalms ethic. Christian ideas are mainly about love and turning the other cheek; it is a very peaceful way in which Christians are supposed to live. There is a strong emphasis placed on forgiveness and repentance for sins, and God is thought to favor his people for no reason other than His love for them: there is no required sacrifice or requisite praise or anything. All this is very different from the Psalms ethic of reciprocation and vengeance. Much of this love philosophy comes from other parts of Christian scriptures, most notably the New Testament, which could explain the disparity. All the same, it is a little strange that Christian ethics should be so different from that expressed in part of their holy texts.

help and thanks

In many of the psalms, there is some combination of several different types. A psalm will start out with a cry for help from God, fitting the "supplication" type, but then halfway through the language changes to that of thanksgiving. The first section will go on and on, detailing the ways in which God has forsaken or disregarded the people, leaving them on their own to fight off whatever enemies may arise. These passages are filled with metaphors for abandonment, with talk of being flung from God's presence and similarly desolate images. The first part of each of these psalms berates God for forsaking the people while simultaneously asking for help and rescue from dire straits.

It is not unusual, however, for these psalms to turn later to poems of thanksgiving. There is often a rather abrupt change from the pleas for help to delineation of God's goodness and beneficence. The second half of the psalm often waxes eloquent on the things God has already done for the people, from previous rescues to the creation in the first place and several places in between. From the desolation of the first part, the psalm has turned into a litany of praise for what seems to be an ever-loving God. These two main ideas seem to be at odds with one another.

Perhaps they are not so far off, though. In many of the psalms the speaker expresses a vote of confidence in either God's ability to overcome adversity, his willingness to do so for the help of his people, or both. This confidence seems to arise out of the need for supplication-- as the speaker remembers past dangers, God's help in such dangers is also brought to mind. It is an easy step from the mere remembrance of this help to the praise of God for such actions. The plea for help itself leads directly into the affirmation of thanksgiving by way of memories of past kindnesses. Although supplication and thanksgiving may seem like two emotions that lie on opposite ends of some spectrum, the two seem to be in fact fairly closely related, one giving rise to the other.

Psalm Number Two!

As we read Psalm two in Alter's translation, it seems to be a plea for help triggered by some conspiracy of other nations to attack Israel. From supplication, however, it quickly turns into a story about what God will do to the wrongdoers and how he will smite them fully. Most of the middle of the psalm has to do with how the writers of the psalms are God's chosen people and how God will protect them from outside enemies. There is a sense of confidence in God's will and protection throughout this part. The last part of the psalm is a caution to those reading it to fear and worship God as best they can. If not, the psalm warns, God's wrath will be transferred to those who go astray from his word. The psalm is mostly a message of assurance mixed in with a plea of supplication.

The second psalm as it appears in the Puritan psalter is a little different. The view here is one of supplication, too, but mostly of joy and exultation at the escape from the tyranny of intolerant Europe. God confers his choice and blessing upon the people, saying that they will be the recipients of much both in Heaven and on Earth, including "utmost coasts abroad," which are taken to mean the shores of America. The Puritans, reading this psalm in the context of their lives, would be inclined to read it as a blessing on their way of life and a good omen for their future in this new strange land. The message of defeat for their enemies would be welcome indeed-- escape from religious persecution, the freedom to worship as they saw fit, would seem a very heaven on earth. The triumph predicted in the psalm is seen as being borne out by their success in the new world. God had indeed chosen them above all others, and this was cause for praise indeed. The psalm ends, however, with the caution to fear and revere God, not getting too cocky or self-assured in their success. It is in effect a reminder for them that they did not succeed by themselves alone, but had the help of God to establish them and keep them alive through the hard winters.

These two interpretations of the same basic text show some startling differences. While the first version (the one in our book) focuses on the smiting of enemies that God will execute, the Puritan version focuses on the fact of being the chosen people of God. Both versions have elements of each, but there is a discrepancy of emphasis-- the stripped-down version Alter gives us goes into a fair amount of depth regarding the damage God will do to the foes, such as smashing of their forces and so on, while the more elaborate version of the Puritans passes over foe-smashing with a glancing mention and dwells on the rewards the Puritans will reap by virtue of being God's chosen. This difference may have a fair amount to do with the context in which each version was printed or written or translated. The Puritans, newly settled in a strange land, sought to reassure themselves that they could and would survive and that they were doing the right thing by fleeing Europe. Alter, however, seeks to strip away as many contextual additions as possible, getting back to the original Hebrew as much as he can. In short, the differing purposes in these two versions account for much of the differing focus and emphasis we find.

Although I mentioned something in my last post about the shapes of the effigy mounds being visible from above, the shapes are really only coherent in the minds and ideas of the community that built them. This leads to an interpretation of a more spiritual, inner monologue-type of interaction with the spirits and animals represented in the mounds. The builders had some image of the animal they wanted to represent, but it was not necessary to make this image inescapably clear to casual viewers or even other people looking for shapes in the mounds. The indistinctness of the shapes is a clue towards how the builders of the mounds felt and thought about the spirits represented-- the actual building may have been a symbolic gesture, a reminder of some thought processes and beliefs that were already in place or beginning to form in the minds of the builders. It points to a religion that tended towards the spiritual, personal end of the spectrum.

The builders of giant temple mounds like the Mississippians, however, seem to have something else on their minds. Unlike the low, indistinct effigy mounds, the temple mounds of places like Cahokia are hugely tall and sharply shaped into ziggurats and pyramids. The effort involved in making these structures is necessarily larger than that involved in making effigy mounds, and they seem to serve a more ceremonial purpose-- that is, ceremonies seem to have been conducted atop them. This, as opposed to the imagination and spirituality of effigy mounds, leads one to lean toward a very community-based, group-oriented religion. On the scale from spiritual to cultural that we discussed in class, the effigy mound builders seem to be on the spiritual end, while the temple mound builders seem to occupy the opposite end of the line.

Despite this seemingly/possibly large difference in use or purpose of mounds, we tend to group them all together, which is part of what led me to assume that effigy mounds and such were on the same general size as those of the Mississippians. There is probably a multitude of reasons leading to this sort of clumping together, but a big reason likely has to do with our separation from all of the mound building cultures in time and sometimes space-- the farther away something is or seems, the more similar to other things we perceive it to be. I guess you could call it a sort of cultural short-sightedness, but without the egocentric implications.

Effigy Mounds

The overwhelming impression we get when confronted with effigy mounds is one of impressive size. The amount of dirt and space taken up with these mounds is immense and invokes a sense of awe in the viewer, in part because of the vast effort that must have been involved in making such monuments. These effigy mounds must have taken a fantastic amount of organization and concerted effort on the part of the entire community responsible for them. Something like the paintings at Lascaux, on the other hand, could have been executed by a single person or small group of people. Although the effort of selecting the cave, planning the paintings, and reaching up to the ceilings and higher parts of the walls is significant, the mounds required an effort orders of magnitude larger and more communal. I am therefore inclined to think that the importance of the animals represented in effigy mounds are of greater importance to the community than those in the cave paintings.

Something of such magnitude must be of great importance to the community for whatever reason, whether it be religious, social, or political. The effigy mounds, in particular, seem to have a more intangible purpose than those used as platforms for ceremonies or living quarters. As was mentioned in class, the animal shapes are only really visible from an aerial point of view, suggesting perhaps a celestial (in the sense of "in the sky") audience. This point suggests that the mound builders did not see themselves as the only beings that mattered, perhaps hinting at a belief system involving superhuman or supernatural beings. We cannot know the true purpose of these mounds merely from their shapes, but it does not seem far-fetched to interpolate some abstract purpose satisfying a more impractical need than those of shelter and social hierarchy.

Contemporary use of animals in naming things like sports teams serves a purpose both similar and different. The name or mascot of a particular sports team is often chosen to intimidate opposing teams, which is why there are so many teams called the "cougars" or "panthers" or "eagles," all of which are powerful and somewhat frightening animals. Some team names are chosen to represent something about the city or place from which they originate, like the Pittsburgh Steelers. The first of these two reasons seems to be similar to the ideas expressed about the effigy mounds -- they are meant to evoke some particular emotion or idea in the perceiver-- while the latter is a different sort of purpose.

How do we know if something is a remnant of a religion or not? How can we, now, with our ideas about the world, say if something from ages ago (say the Lascaux Cave) is a leftover from some ancient religion? How could people thousands of year from now, unearthing a church, determine if the place had religious meaning or not? There must be some hard-and-fast way of figuring out ... but what does it entail?

One clue might be the art on the walls-- how it is done, what sort of composition it has, and if there are recurring figures of any kind. The main thing is to look for something that might be representing a deity or object of worship. The cave at Lascaux doesn't seem to have such objects of worship-- there are many animals of several kinds, but no animal seems to be more important than the others, at least from a visual point of view. The bulls, horses, and deer are for the most part drawn in groups, with no particular reigning figure. The composition of the images is also fairly uniform-- that is, most of the figures are of similar sizes and similarly distributed throughout the paintings, with no special treatment for any one being. There really doesn't seem to be an object of worship in these caves, so perhaps the purpose of the paintings was more spiritual (in the sense of general reverence) or cultural (in the sense of "these are the things we like to kill and eat") rather than precisely religious.

The frequency of use is another clue to the purpose of these caves. They weren't the popular hang-out spots, but rather a place visited seldom by few people. This points to a rite of passage, perhaps, or some sort of inner sanctum. This could be religious, but the group worship aspect of traditional religions is contradicted by the lack of evidence of large groups. It is quite possible that the caves were the retreat of the priest figures, and they came out to minister to the masses -- but not particularly likely. It seems to me that it is much more likely that these cave paintings had a connection to some rite of passage, becoming a man or woman, rather than a strictly religious purpose.

Response to Definition of Religion

In his definition of religion, Clifford Geertz claims that religion is made up of symbols only, symbols that propose a certain view of the world and make such a view seem real though in fact it may not be, all of which works together to produce particular mental states (or "moods and motivations") in the people who follow the religion in question.

Religion, it seems to me, is far too strong a force to be simply made up of symbols. Symbols are a big part of religion, yes, but there has to be something behind the symbols. There must be some underlying idea, represented on the surface by the symbols. In Christianity, for example, the underlying idea is that Jesus Christ was the son of God and died to save humans from hell. Each religion has its own basic idea or set of ideas, which can be called to mind and represented by certain symbols (such as the cross for Christians), but the symbols themselves are not the powerful agents that produce these moods and motivations. The symbols become merely reminders of what the practitioners of the religion believe, a sort of shorthand for the stories, mythology, and tenets of belief that are the true backbone of a religion.

Then, too, symbols serve to identify one's religion. A person wearing a six-pointed star on a necklace is assumed to be Jewish, and one with a cross is assumed to be Christian. Each symbol, in this case, is both a token of the ideas of its respective religion and a way to identify those who share the same beliefs. Early Christians used a simple drawing of a fish to identify one another in times when to be openly Christian meant persecution and likely death-- they could not loudly proclaim their beliefs on street corners, so they surreptitiously sought each other out through the use of symbols. The symbols were not themselves the important point in an exchange, but rather what they represented, the ideas in the minds of their users. That is to say, while symbols are important in religion, they are not all-important. The symbols are more a device or tool than an active agent in the formation of religious beliefs or states of mind, tools that help this formation but do not entirely drive it.

Geertz's "system of symbols" is a somewhat useful jumping-off point for a discussion of a definition of religion, but it is hardly comprehensive or entire. While the symbols and the system they inhabit do much to promote, identify, and recall religion and religious beliefs, they are not themselves they creators or generators of such beliefs. There must be some underlying idea or set of ideas behind the symbols that infuses them with meaning-- for without meaning, a symbol is just a pretty picture, without power or influence.