The camp fire was the center in our ancient world. It’s where the animal sacrifice was cooked. Our ancestors distributed the meat equally to the periphery members. Animals didn’t function this way: alphas ate the meat, the betas ate the rest, if any was left. A beta could challenge the alpha, and when he won, he didn’t create a popular democracy with the other betas. He became the alpha.
We humans, as opposed to animals, divided the meat equally among the periphery. There’s a good reason this happened: mirror neurons in the human brain. Please read my article Mirror Neurons and Human Violence for some context before going on.
The human’s mirror neuron structure, in the context of a challenge between an alpha and beta, presents a paradox: we create a simulation of the opponent’s intention to kill us, so we might as well strike first, but we, and everyone around us, are aware of the uniquely human prospect of total annihilation. A binary solution means we either go all in and decide who’s the alpha, or we stand down. Both options result in the continuation of the alpha-beta relation, with no chance of transitioning into an egalitarian tribal model.
How and why humans “decided” or “evolved” to become egalitarian has been a favorite topic among academics, who often want to deride capitalism or push other agendas. Conversely, their opponents balk at the lack of growth in these egalitarian “backward” tribal societies. Neither side could ever posit how or why this transition from alpha-beta relations to the distributed, egalitarian model happened.
For this, Eric Gans has developed the compelling Originary Hypothesis. I suggest reading it. There’s also a wiki page. In short, the human alpha male wanted the meat exclusively for himself. The “betas” converged in a plot against the alpha, armed with hidden weapons (rocks, etc.) at their disposal, a uniquely human problem. Animals don’t mob the alpha with weapons, but humans do, and an alpha human has no fighting chance against the mob. Knowing there was no chance against the intricate network of human mirror neurons surrounding him, and the crowd intuitively knowing that a mob action against the alpha could destroy the entire community (or just continue the status quo), someone (it doesn’t matter who, this is purely a hypothesis) emitted the first sign, either verbal or gestural.
This first sign was the first act of language. In the midst of the angry mob, the alpha, or anyone who could assume legitimate leadership, took on the role of dividing the meat equally and averting the crisis. This was nothing short of a miracle. The animal at the center was thanked and worshiped for its divine ability to stop violence.
(The raised hand might be the first reciprocal sign. It’s universally known by all nations, and any child will understand it. Trumbull writes at length about its use as a covenanting gesture between fellow humans and with the supernatural. However, whatever this sign was, or when it happened, doesn’t matter. The hypothesis doesn’t even claim to explain a transition from one stage of humanity to another, and so it can also be seen from the orthodox view as the origin of humanity.)
The one in charge of the distribution had the ability to replicate the distribution process the same, earning him the title of priest.
But people have bad memories and began wondering why the priests received special treatment. Envy set in, even among those working alongside the priests. Temple duty wasn’t enough for Korah – he wanted the priesthood too. Before Paleo-Hebrew, writing the process down was impossible. So it was retold, usually in an address to the crowd.
The priest took the center of the scene and told the crowd about the miracle of peace that fell upon them after the distribution of the meat. Some details, of course, might have been altered, either deliberately or because over the generations the game of telephone produces some pretty wild stories. The storyteller could embellish things however he wanted, so long as the story justified the differentiation between the priesthood and the rest of the tribe. This storytelling was critical for maintaining the peace and keeping us from killing one another. It was our earliest form of entertainment.
There were tribes who also sacrificed humans, which according to Rene Girard began when two sides of a feud scapegoated a person, whose death brought peace. It’s a grizzly thought, but there’s no better way to explain the Aztecs’ murder of thousands of children, slaves, and virgins each year to appease the sun (presumably their own fiery “center”). This emissary murder had to be explained, or the kids might wonder if they would be next. So burned humans became phoenixes, drowned women became mermaids, people thrown off cliffs became winged gods, etc. Mythical exaggeration is a “lie” in the rational sense, but to our ancestors, the ends justified the means. They had a Spock-like utilitarian mindset: better one emissary murder than the entire society collapse. Not that I agree, but this is a pretty satisfactory explanation for their actions.
Priests have always held a monopoly on storytelling for the masses. They inform us as to what’s sacred, what’s profane, what we can say and what we can’t, who the good guys are, and who the bad guys are. Who to vote for, who not to vote for. What’s cool and what’s boomer. Their position has a long legacy of keeping the peace, so their status is zealously guarded by an elite group of media personnel, execs, and whoever else can be employed to maintain the equilibrium. If their stories are kosher, then we’re in the hands of a good priestly class, and we can sleep easily. But if their stories stink of murder, if they’re just propagating lies to keep the machine running, what do we do?
In the West, we have the popular notion of “rising up” against the lies of tyranny. This produced rabid mass murdering alphas like Hitler, Stalin, Mao Ze Dong, and countless others throughout the 20th century. They were united in their desire to counteract the “lies” of their time’s priestly classes, but their media turned out to have more lies than the ones they left in ruins.
Counteracting a lying priestly class requires a legitimate priestly class who can tell bulletproof stories. A story is bulletproof not just on its own merits. “True stories” become festering lies if you tell just this one story and claim it represents (or voids) every other story. Bulletproof stories present a reality that is true for every conceivable story.
The priesthood of Aharon in Tetzaveh is backed by the authenticity of the scene at the burning bush. The Elohim who wouldn’t give Moses His name, but instead gave a sentence “I Am That I Am”, is the Elohim who is inaccessible by summoning Him at the fire. The burning bush was devoid of a center. The sacrificed animal or human was not their Elohim. He is not there and never was. He is that He is. His story is true for every conceivable story. A priesthood built upon this reality creates bulletproof stories. (See Eric Gans’ Science and Faith.)
Defanging a lying priesthood can be a pretty peaceful endeavor when you have access to all the necessary tools to tell any story you want, at almost no cost. But the story needs to be bulletproof. True storytellers hold legitimate power. If the story is bulletproof, the lying priesthood will be de-legitimized. All this without a single alpha-beta battle.