“Then our forebears took a closer look at of some of the techniques that native shamans used: speaking in ritualized chants, sometimes in a mystical tongue, and burning incense…just like the Archbishop and the other Anglican priests. For all the fancy robes at Canterbury, the parallels couldn’t be ignored. The two types of religious leaders were doing the same thing and were therefore, presumptively, on the same symbolic and intellectual footing, no better and no worse. It was a difficult, humbling realization for good Englishmen.
“Our forebears already knew that some of the pronouncements of native witch doctors didn’t work. Some of their promises didn’t materialize and some of their explanations of cause and effect were flawed, that sort of thing. But since our forebears had started looking at all religions as being on the same footing, they started looking for similar errors in other religious leaders: the various Popes, Confucius, John Calvin, Buddha, Mohammed, and anyone else they could think of. Of course, once they started looking, there were errors…on various matters, you understand, but there nevertheless. To capture this fundamental insight, they adopted the phrase, ‘All religious leaders are witch doctors, every last one of them’ and it became a guiding principle for our denomination.
“My title includes the designation ‘Witch Doctor’ to reflect that my role and power is on the same footing as other religious leaders, whether in the rain forest or around the world. I am a witch doctor like all religious leaders are witch doctors, no better and no worse. I know my power is limited and that humbles me every time I speak to you. If I get tempted to believe that my one variant of religion has all truth, I am reminded by my title that I am fundamentally a witch doctor.
“This basic tenet is symbolized in the ten portraits that are placed behind me during every service. They’re portraits of religious leaders around the world. Some are renowned rain forest witch doctors while others are from popular religions in outside society. The point of displaying these portraits is to remind us of the fundamental truth that all religious leaders are witch doctors, every last one of them. It doesn’t matter how fancy their robes are, how erudite their language is, or how elaborate or mysterious their rituals are, they’re making up the belief parts of what they say. This doesn’t mean that all they say is a waste. Almost all religions contain at least some truth, that is, some useful guidelines to live by. That’s what we’re after as a denomination; we seek kernels of truth in various religions. In short, we take a comparative approach. As we say, ‘It’s easier to steal ideas than to come up with them on our own.’ Once we’ve found promising kernels of truth in other religions, we test them to see if they work in practice. That’s crucial.
“It’s also true that we constantly test our doctrines for logic and consistency. For example, in 1840, Isaac Huxley, a fine young Euromamo, approached the priest at the end of an Anglican service regarding the crucifixion. Armed with the bluntness of youth, he said outright that he just didn’t get it. Why would God send part of the Holy Trinity—namely, Jesus—to Earth and then let that part be killed to appease another part of the Holy Trinity—namely, himself—back in heaven? Part of himself was killed to appease another part of himself? Why did God want, or allow, or direct it to happen? The standard answer is that ‘Jesus died for our sins,’ but how did Jesus’ death wash away the sins of the world? What was the mechanism by which it worked? Why was God appeased that his son had been killed and, as a result, forgave the world for its wrongdoings? It just didn’t make sense.
“Throughout the village, these pointed questions called into question the most fundamental Christian symbol: the cross. For most, it no longer made sense, and its use needed fundamental reform. First, they simply took down all crosses but, by the early twentieth century, we took an irreverent step to drive home the gruesome nature of the crucifixion: we encouraged congregants to imagine that Jesus had been electrocuted, not crucified. We placed small electric chairs over the doorways and on the front of the lectern, replacing the crosses that had been there before. At first, some of the electric chairs contained statues of Jesus slumped over following his electrocution just as he had been shown hanging limply on the cross after his crucifixion. He still had the skull cap on his head with the wires that had carried the current to his head. After the initial shock of the new symbols, the change was well received and supported by the congregation. Some women began to wear small fancy electric chairs on chains around their necks. Portraying the execution by this different means helped to free congregants from any lingering attachment to crosses and the central place of the crucifixion in our traditional theology. It was change by way of irreverence.
“Our denomination knew all along that we had made up the story about the electric chair and had done so rather easily. As a result, we came to understand that religious symbols and doctrine could be changed by human action, even the most fundamental ones. Furthermore, replacing the cross with the electric chair highlighted that the doctrines of religious leaders outside the rain forest, as well as the witch doctors inside the rain forest, have been made up. All was within human power. Doctrines could be made up because they weren’t based on empirical evidence but on mere belief. Therefore, they could be changed in an instant if people simply believed something different. This was the origin of another of our basic tenets: ‘Religious beliefs are made up, so make them up to benefit society’.
“In the 1870’s, an insightful congregant suggested they change the name of God because if they continued to use that name, the congregation would judge all deities around the world against the God of Judaism and Christianity. They wanted to be free from all predispositions so they could open up to other religions and learn from them. The name ‘God’ was an impediment. After some discussion, they hit upon the name ‘Easter Bunny’ as the name for their deity. It was irreverent to be sure and everyone knew that it was made up, too. That was exactly what they wanted.”
He paused to give an aside, “As we know, no rabbits live in the rain forest, but our forebears brought memories of them from England and everyone knew about them from our zoology books. It worked well enough. The Easter Bunny became merely one more in a long line of unseen deities.
“Anyway, this new usage for ‘bunny’ caught on quickly and even crept into our everyday language. You can hear some Euromamo curse with such phrases as ‘Easter Bunny damn it,’ or ‘Why in the name of the Easter Bunny did you do that?’ Others may exclaim, ‘Oh, my Easter Bunny!’ when they are amazed or startled. We began to refer to Heaven as the Golden Warren. ‘How in the Golden Warren did that happen?’ Hell became ‘Hell-ucination’. Fundamentally, these name changes weren’t big deals because we could always make it up another way if we needed to. We were free.
“Although the name ‘Easter Bunny’ was religious in its connection to Easter Sunday and the resurrection of Jesus, it nevertheless proved to be a useful name, especially for our congregants who wished to have at least some tie to the past. But once it was accepted, we needed a name for the Easter Bunny’s son. One small congregant in the late 1930s, a charming lad of about ten, suggested ‘Marvelous Blank Bunny’ from the cartoons. We usually shorten it to ‘M. Blank’ or just ’Blank.’ Although it seemed trite to some, we saw no harm in adopting it. Again, irreverence was the mental posture we sought because that enabled us to look afresh at our religious beliefs and there are few who can muster up irreverence as well as M. Blank Bunny. In filling out the trinity, it was but a short step from M. Blank Bunny to Boo, the Bunny Ghost, obviously also from the cartoons. That was done by the late 1940s. For many, the new trinity gave a strange comfort, although they knew it was made up. One might think that that we’d done enough, but by the 1950s, we had Bunny and Hughston for the Holy Family.
“As you know, at the conclusion of those sermons that review our basic tenets, we celebrate our closing ritual: the Hasenpfeffer Ceremony, albeit with a substitution for rabbit meat. We do this in memory of M. Blank Bunny, the Holy Son, although we readily admit that we haven’t f
igured out the meaning of his death. What we do know is that M. Blank provides numerous examples of miraculous recoveries—resurrections as it were—from scene to scene, and he lives by his wits, traits that seem fitting. Now, will the rostrum boys bring out the sacramental stew pot and place it on the table in front of the rostrum?”
Two boys brought out a large ornate pot decorated with images of hopping rabbits around the top and placed it on the table in front of the rostrum. Two other boys brought out a large platter with rows of small ladles with rabbit images on their handles, and another boy brought out napkins.
“In a few moments, you’ll file past the front of the room and partake of the ritual stew, but I first want to offer our customary prayer.”
A rostrum boy brought Archbishop Witch Doctor Richards a special larger ornate ladle that he held up to the congregation.
“Beloved Easter Bunny, we partake in this ceremony because it’s similar to the Communion we left in England and still gives some of us comfort. However, before we partake, we feel obligated to state, in the spirit of candor, that we reject the Last Supper and the Crucifixion as an illogical doctrine. With that said, we partake of faux rabbit flesh here today solemnly and communally, which at least strengthens our ties to one another and is, to boot, very tasty. We do not know if this pleases you, or indeed if you exist. Please let us know if you wish us to do something different. We would be very grateful. Amen and awomen.”
Archbishop Witch Doctor Richards then ate his portion of the stew from the ornate ladle. As congregants moved past the table beneath the rostrum, each took a small ladle and dipped it carefully in the large bowl of stew and, holding a napkin beneath it, carefully placed it in their mouths and ate it. They then deposited their ladles in a large empty bowl and returned to their seats. It all went smoothly.
The congregation remained completely silent throughout the ceremony. When all had filed past the rostrum, Archbishop Witch Doctor Richards raised his hands. Some in the congregation lowered their heads.
“Easter Bunny, we’re gathered here in your name to show our continued interest in learning about you, about your son M. Blank, and about Boo, the Bunny Ghost. We do not know whether any of you exist or, if so, in what form; therefore, we don’t presume to know whom we are praying to. In the most direct language, we are making this up. Our only hope is that we have made it up well. We humbly request more guidance about what our beliefs should be which, if received, will prompt us to make it up that way.
“As a humble suggestion, if you appeared personally as a glowing, fire-spitting, multi-lingual Tyrannosaurus Rex, for example, it would help ease our doubts about your existence and form. If you are not inclined to appear to us, please send us a glossy 8” x 10” photograph of you. We won’t inquire about whether the photograph is really of you, at least not in the near future. Some say that you require faith in you with no further proof of your existence. If this is so, would you please educate us why faith is so damned important to you? Although you’ve been uncommunicative thus far, we’re trying not to give up hope or get ticked off. Amen and awomen.”
“Amen and awomen to you,” responded the congregation, which remained standing.
“In honor of the Easter Bunny, we’ll now leave in our ritual Easter Parade. Women don your bonnets.”
The women in the congregation placed attractive white bonnets on their heads. A rostrum boy brought Archbishop Witch Doctor Richards a metal incense container suspended from the end of a bamboo pole. It was already smoking and quite impressive. He waived it in front of the congregation and began a processional ahead of the rostrum boys down the right aisle. Walking in a slow and solemn manner, he began to chant. The tone of his voice became stylized and dramatic. Rick listened carefully to his words but couldn’t understand them. The Witch Doctor was chanting in a language that was totally unfamiliar. In a strange way, it added to the solemnity of the occasion.
CHAPTER 13
Workers
During the next few days, Archbishop Richards’ sermon on witch doctors replayed in Rick’s mind. He wanted to research religion further before he left, but he needed to work on economics next, starting with a stroll through the Euromamo production facilities along the village’s main path. He’d been impressed during the walkabout by the size of the buildings and by their steady hum of production. According to John, Euromamo workers comfortably met the village’s needs with goods left over to trade, but Rick didn’t know much else about them, not even how they were compensated, so he stopped by John’s shelter to learn more. Before he knocked on the door, he glanced to see if John had hung his blue privacy disc on the door frame. He hadn’t.
“John, I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you have time.”
“Certainly, Rick. Come in. You won’t be earholing me. It’s good to see you.”
Once inside, John motioned Rick toward a chair at his table.
“Would you care for a spot of tea?”
“Sure, that sounds great.”
As John poured, Rick asked, “Is this an herbal tea made from a rain forest plant?”
“No, it’s proper tea made from the same plant that you’re familiar with. Before 1825, we made do with teas made from rain forest plants. There were certainly a lot of them for us to try, but none of them quite made the grade. When we started to travel to La Puerta, we brought back our beloved English tea plants. Some habits die hard for us Brits,” he said with a smile as he handed Rick his cup.
“Thank you, John. It smells delicious,” said Rick.
“Thank you. What’s on your mind?”
“Economics, at present. The manufacturing operations that you’ve built are impressive,” said Rick, “but yesterday I was thinking about the workers we saw making the items you use and trade. They were laboring diligently and seemed to be content at their tasks. Are they paid for their work? Wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. I don’t even know if you have money.”
“What do you want to know about first?” asked John, smiling.
“Let’s do money first,” suggested Rick. “When your forebears came to the New World, they brought money from England, didn’t they?”
“Yes, but they had no use for it during their voyage on the Cork so they stored it in the safe, and it sank with the ship. The safe was much too heavy for them to lift so it sits at the bottom of the coral reef near the mouth of the La Cuerda. However, they brought with them the idea of money, which proved to be of great benefit. They made their own currency from bamboo sections, each branded with two distinctive marks. From the beginning, each of the branding tools has been held by separate Euromamo officials to reduce the risk of counterfeiting, although the risk of counterfeiting is negligible as we Euromamo are an honest sort.”
“You still use it?”
“Yes. Here are some,” he said, removing several short pieces of bamboo from his vest pocket and placing it on the table in front of Rick.
Rick examined them carefully. They showed some wear, but the two brands on the side of each cylinder were distinct.
“One of the brands is the official seal of the Euromamo—that tiny ship represents the Cork—while the other indicates the value of the piece, its denomination.”
“I see. Do you have a name for it?”
“Scato. That’s our monetary unit. This one scato is our smallest denomination. Sometimes we refer to it as a ‘one-spot’. The largest is this one hundred scato piece.”
“Nothing larger than a hundred?” asked Rick.
“It’s all that we need. We only use scato for smaller transactions. For larger transactions, we use ledger entries, which are kept at the Commissary.”
“Do you use scato for trade with surrounding groups here in the rain forest?”
“Generally, no, but there are two exceptions, groups with whom we do some exchanges in scato: the Soumamo and the Adamamo. The other groups in the rain forest do not have the concept of money in their cultures, so we barter with them. Besides, we do not trust th
ose groups to honor our simple currency by not counterfeiting it. We protect the branding irons, and the technique for branding the scato. It’s rumored that we put secret marks on each piece so we can verify its authenticity, but I’ll not comment further on that. The result is that we have a currency that works well enough for our purposes.”
“You also have regular business dealings in La Puerta. You have to use the currency of Imaginación for buying and selling things there, don’t you?”
“Yes, it’s necessary. We use the bank account of our processing facility in La Puerta to purchase the items we need from outside society, like books and medical equipment.”
“But here in the village, you pay your workers in scato?” asked Rick, as he turned the scato in his hand.
“Either in scato or in a credit to their ledger account maintained by our bookkeepers. Those who have accumulated large amounts of scato turn them in for credit to their ledger accounts because the scato becomes cumbersome. Account credits can be used to purchase items within our society just like scato can.”
“So scato is used mainly for smaller purchases here in the village?” asked Rick.
“That’s right, and it works fine because we don’t make many big purchases.”
“When your workers are paid their scato, do they all get the same amount?”
“No, there are differences in pay, but before our compensation system was devised, we gave a lot of thought to equal pay, especially after we read Edward Bellamy in the late nineteenth century. He was the first one to convince us of the great importance of social wealth, that is, our public facilities.”
“Social wealth seems like an important concept,” mused Rick. “What are examples of it?”
“It includes the entertainment center, community kitchen, dining hall, library, recreation fields, and many other public facilities and amenities in our society. This social wealth is accessible by all born into our society. Its value dwarfs the value of the wealth that individuals create during their lifetimes for personal ownership. Because we have focused on building social wealth over the years, every Euromamo is well-off at birth and remains so throughout their lives. Social wealth is central to our economy and the key to our prosperity. We’ll need a block of time to discuss it adequately so let’s put that discussion off for now.”
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