Religion (n.) looks less like a taboo-guarded mystery and more like a problem to be solved the further it recedes in the West.
Religion (n.) rests on two imperatives drawn from one murder: never repeat what led to the crisis — that is prohibition; repeat exactly what ended it — that is ritual.
Religion (n.) is nothing other than an immense effort to keep the peace — by means never free of sacrificial violence.
Religion (n.) gets made into the next scapegoat in times of decay — and expelling religion is, as ever, a religious act.
Religion (n.) does the work of a penal system in societies that have none, halting the spread of rivalry before it becomes a circle of violence.
Religion (n.) that comes from man is organized around a more or less violent disavowal of human violence; the religion that comes from God says so out loud.
Religion (n.) is the scapegoat mechanism working at a higher order: every mythico-ritual institution unfolds from it as model and countermodel.
Religion (n.) grows moralising as it drifts from ritual: when a community grows distant from its violent origins, it demands models of morality and gods without fault.
Religion (n.) is born of the unleashed mob, not of conscious fabrication; the theory that god-making is the powerful's propaganda is the modern rationalist's error.
Religion (n.) is the warped reflection of violent events so successful in their collective effect that the perpetrators are compelled to reenact them.
Religion (n.) is the bond (religare), and Peter reaches for curses to make a new one, like Herod's oath.
Religion (n.) grows softer with time, minimising and eliminating sacred guilt and violence, minor dissimulations compared with the collapse of the system of representing persecution.