What is Poverty Point in short?

Emphasis in the text below is mine.

In modern-day Louisiana there is a place with the dispiriting name of Poverty Point. Here you can still see the remains of massive earthworks erected by Native Americans around 1600 BC. With its plush green lawns and well-trained coppices, today the site looks like something halfway between a wildlife management area and a golf club. Grass-covered mounds and ridges rise neatly from carefully tended meadows, forming concentric rings which suddenly vanish where the Bayou Macon has eroded them away (bayou being derived, via Louisiana French, from the Choctaw word bayuk: marshy rivulets spreading out from the main channel of the Mississippi). Despite nature’s best efforts to obliterate these earthworks, and early European settlers’ best efforts to deny their obvious significance (perhaps these were the dwellings of an ancient race of giants, they conjectured, or one of the lost tribes of Israel?), they endure: evidence for an ancient civilization of the Lower Mississippi and testimony to the scale of its accomplishments.

Archaeologists believe these structures at Poverty Point formed a monumental precinct that once extended over 200 hectares, flanked by two enormous earthen mounds (the so-called Motley and Lower Jackson Mounds) which lie respectively north and south. To clarify what this means, it’s worth noting that the first Eurasian cities – early centres of civic life like Uruk in southern Iraq, or Harappa in the Punjab – began as settlements of roughly 200 hectares in total. Which is to say that their entire layout could fit quite comfortably within the ceremonial precinct of Poverty Point. (...) People and resources came to Poverty Point from hundreds of miles away, as far north as the Great Lakes and from the Gulf of Mexico to the south.

(...)

Today, Poverty Point is a National Park and Monument and UNESCO World Heritage Site. Despite these designations of international importance, its implications for world history have hardly begun to be explored. A hunter-gatherer metropolis the size of a Mesopotamian city-state, Poverty Point makes the Anatolian complex of Göbekli Tepe look like little more than a ‘potbelly hill’ (which is, in fact, what ‘Göbekli Tepe’ means in Turkish). Yet outside a small community of academic specialists, and of course local residents and visitors, very few people have heard of it.

(...)

Published in 2004, this remarkable discovery by John E. Clark, an archaeologist and authority on the pre-Columbian societies of Mesoamerica, has been greeted by the scholarly community with responses ranging from lukewarm acceptance to plain disbelief, although nobody appears to have actually refuted it. Many prefer simply to ignore it. Clark himself seems surprised by his results.

Graeber, D., & Wengrow, D. (2021). The dawn of everything: A new history of humanity. Penguin UK.

A more detailed explanation is given at the end of this post.

Why is it important?

The traditional historical or archaeological understanding of political organization of society separates societies into four categories: bands, tribes, chiefdoms, states (1, 2, 3, 4). It proposes that as human society became more complex, its hierarchies became more pronounced, that this is inevitable. As an extension of this, it treats the least hierarchical, or in other words "most egalitarian" form of society, hunter-gatherers (foragers), as lacking any complex form of societal organization or achivement.

This narrative also ties the rise of the state to invention of agriculture, thus treats pre-agriculture societies as lacking complex structures and organizations.

Numerous examples contradict this quasi-social Darwinist hypothesis, such as Göbekli Tepe, which was -for its time- a gigantic settlement created by hunter-gatherers, and they are almost never heard of. In this way, Poverty Point, despite being an even more important finding that defy the traditional narratives about human history, is heard of even less.

Maybe even more importantly, this hypothesis is used to justify the existence of existing hierarchies, such as capitalism or stratified societies. The Better Angels of Our Nature by the famous pro-capitalist ideologue Steven Pinker, for example, uses this argument. This book had a very wide reach, and was presented by Bill Gates as "one of the most important books I’ve read—not just this year, but ever."

Why is it ignored?

Let’s first ask why even some experts apparently find it so difficult to shake off the idea of the carefree, idle forager band; and the twin assumption that ‘civilization’ properly so called – towns, specialized craftspeople, specialists in esoteric knowledge – would be impossible without agriculture. Why would anyone continue to write history as if places like Poverty Point could never have existed? (...) The real answer, we suggest, has more to do with the legacy of European colonial expansion; and in particular its impact on both indigenous and European systems of thought, especially with regard to the expression of rights of property in land.

Here it’s important to understand a little of the legal basis for dispossessing people who had the misfortune already to be living in territories coveted by European settlers. This was, almost invariably, what nineteenth-century jurists came to call the ‘Agricultural Argument’, a principle which has played a major role in the displacement of untold thousands of indigenous peoples from ancestral lands in Australia, New Zealand, sub-Saharan Africa and the Americas: processes typically accompanied by the rape, torture and mass murder of human beings, and often the destruction of entire civilizations.

Colonial appropriation of indigenous lands often began with some blanket assertion that foraging peoples really were living in a State of Nature – which meant that they were deemed to be part of the land but had no legal claims to own it. The entire basis for dispossession, in turn, was premised on the idea that the current inhabitants of those lands weren’t really working. The argument goes back to John Locke’s Second Treatise of Government (1690), in which he argued that property rights are necessarily derived from labour. In working the land, one ‘mixes one’s labour’ with it; in this way it becomes, in a sense, an extension of oneself. Lazy natives, according to Locke’s disciples, didn’t do that. They were not, Lockeans claimed, ‘improving landlords’ but simply made use of the land to satisfy their basic needs with the minimum of effort. James Tully, an authority on indigenous rights, spells out the historical implications: land used for hunting and gathering was considered vacant, and ‘if the Aboriginal peoples attempt to subject the Europeans to their laws and customs or to defend the territories that they have mistakenly believed to be their property for thousands of years, then it is they who violate natural law and may be punished or “destroyed” like savage beasts.’ In a similar way, the stereotype of the carefree, lazy native, coasting through a life free from material ambition, was deployed by thousands of European conquerors, plantation overseers and colonial officials in Asia, Africa, Latin America and Oceania as a pretext for the use of bureaucratic terror to force local people into work: everything from outright enslavement to punitive tax regimes, corvée labour and debt peonage.

Graeber, D., & Wengrow, D. (2021). The dawn of everything: A new history of humanity. Penguin UK.

There is one more reason I can think of. For clarification, I haven't progressed into the cited book much further than this point, so I don't know if they mention this later, however, justifying hierarchies based on a narrative of "historical progress" has a more general reason than the "agricultural argument" made by colonialists: it works to justify pretty much any existing hierarchy. Capitalism, nation-states, authoritarianism, you name it—all of it can be justified by saying this is the price we pay for complex societies (and progress), that there is no other way unless we want to give up most of what we have. In fact, Pinker does exactly this for capitalism (and neoliberalism). So I very much suspect this ideological approach plays a role in even experts overlooking such an obviously important finding.

The book I'm using as the source for this post, The Dawn of Everything, is written by two archaeologists. It's a great book I recommend to anyone. It turns the traditional understanding of history and pre-history, especially about "equality", upside down. It shows enough evidence to poke so many and giant holes in the frameworks that approach history as if it's linear or is one of "progress", and I've only read 1/3 of it yet. Poverty Point is just one of many examples.

The traitor, the betrayer is the most wretched thing in mythos. Whether this mythos be religious or secular, from west or east, from north or south, this creature begets only the harshest response. Loyalty, it is said, is not to be trifled with. Even more importantly, it is not to be thrown away, or you will face our wrath.

In the current political landscape, this often means being loyal to your nation-state. However, nation-states are built on blood, genocide, and betrayal of justice. They are built on the mounds of the poor slain ones. Their souls yearn for justice, unable to achieve any peace, even in void—from beyond the grave their tortured spirits yearn for this villainy to be corrected. Why? Because this is not only the nation-state's legacy but also its present, for it carries the wind of that original sin. Like a ghost that still sees its killer continue to murder, they are unable to rest, and what was done to them still to this day haunt the nation-states. There is no single nation-state that doesn't guard this foundation, that doesn't dominate the unwanted ones. Being loyal to a nation-state means being part of this sin.

Most people embrace this, to varying degrees, but in the end all of them partake in the blood rituals. Even the few people who are aware of the original sin, they still hold onto that feeling of loyalty. After all, humans are social, and you grew up with these people. They are yours, are they not? These bloodthirsty lunatics—you see the human in them.

A piercing gaze reveals: what you feel is not compassion, not understanding that humans are complex -these are the excuses you tell yourself- but simply fear. You fear being rejected, being isolated, being an outcast, being an enemy. You fear being the traitor, that wretched one, the ultimate evil. Thus, the tyrants manage to bind you with fear and the yoke of morality, and you continue to escape confronting the evil of the land.

What is required is to forego any notion of loyalty to the bloodied soil's inhabitants. One should become a betrayer to their loved ones, for it is the only way to fight the original sin. Becoming that ultimate evil, that darkness, that splinter that won't go away, that fight-starter, that menace, that disgrace—it is the only path out of this pit, the only way to vanquish the thirsting gods of the nation-state.

“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. And a person's enemies will be those of his own household."

• Matthew 10:34-36

I've found error theory, emotivism, etc. quite compelling, but I noticed that most philosophers are moral realists, though PhilPapers doesn't ask specifically about moral objectivism. As a non-philosopher, I feel that there may be considerations that I haven't come across. The SEP entry seems a bit lacking to me considering it's just a supplement to the entry on moral anti-realism, and there doesn't seem to be an IEP entry specifically focused on moral objectivism, just a tiny section in the entry on moral realism.

I don't follow politics anymore.

I wasn't always like this. I used to be a good liberal; I went to demonstrations, paid close attention to every SCOTUS decision, kept up with everything that went to shit during the first Trump presidency, etc. I wrote my representative about things that still needed to be undone. I would feel anxious regarding the state of the future. I followed the day-to-day of the Mueller investigation. I joined a small group that read political theory and philosophy. I'd try eagerly to defend my values to friends, family, and coworkers. I wanted to do my part to make this world a better place!

I learned about historical materialism, and this tracked with me in a way liberal idealism never did. The US isn't this pinnacle, this culmination of moral progress humanity achieved, but like every society that came before it a small ruling class that exploits a larger group. Liberal democracy itself is a product of changing material conditions. And like every other exploited class before me, I held to the ideology of my society (liberalism) and I believed my exploitation was just. I used to dismiss this framing as hippie nonsense, but it turns out this is a bedrock for much current sociology. Slowly, this plus Trump plus COVID broke me from trying to reason with conservatives or care about changing minds.

I don't know what the solution to anything is. I doubt that materialism is true, though I still think the framing is useful. I still vote, but as a basic bit of harm reduction. I no longer feel invested in seeing the US succeed as a bastion of liberal democracy. I have no pride in liberal accomplishments and feel no surprise in reactionary successes. I don't care that Trump was indicted. I wasn't shocked that Roe was overturn. I can't do anything about the Chevron decision. I would've lost it a few years ago, but today I just don't care. That's probably what conservatives want, and I don't care about that either.

Instead of following politics or reading theory, I read whatever philosophy I want. Instead of keeping up with debates, I focus on my hobbies and hanging out with friends. My apathy isn't due to being unaffected by modern politics, it very much is, but I've accepted my lot in life, the way I assume everyone of every society preceding mine has done. I feel liberated from a struggle I rarely if ever got to be a participant in. And, you know what, I'm accomplishing just about as much as I was before. I didn't realize it, but I've been checked out for a long time now, and I wonder if others feel the same.

Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the marketplace, and cried incessantly: "I seek God! I seek God!" —As many of those who did not believe in God were standing around just then, he provoked much laughter. Has he got lost? asked one. Did he lose his way like a child? asked another. Or is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Has he gone on a voyage? emigrated? —Thus they yelled and laughed.

The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes. “Whither is God?" he cried; "I will tell you. We have killed him—you and I. All of us are his murderers. But how did we do this? How could we drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving? Away from all suns? Are we not plunging continually? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there still any up or down? Are we not straying as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is not night continually closing in on us? Do we not need to light lanterns in the morning? Do we hear nothing as yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we smell nothing as yet of the divine decomposition? Gods, too, decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him.”

"How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it? There has never been a greater deed; and whoever is born after us—for the sake of this deed he will belong to a higher history than all history hitherto."

Here the madman fell silent and looked again at his listeners; and they, too, were silent and stared at him in astonishment. At last he threw his lantern on the ground, and it broke into pieces and went out. "I have come too early," he said then: "my time is not yet. This tremendous event is still on its way, still wandering; it has not yet reached the ears of men. Lightning and thunder require time; the light of the stars requires time; deeds, though done, still require time to be seen and heard. This deed is still more distant from them than the most distant stars—and yet they have done it themselves.

It has been related further that on the same day the madman forced his way into several churches and there struck up his requiem aeternam deo. Led out and called to account, he is said always to have replied nothing but: "What after all are these churches now if they are not the tombs and sepulchers of God?”

• Friedrich Nietzsche, “Gay Science”, 1882

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

• Howard Phillips Lovecraft, “The Call of Cthulhu”, 1928

“Humans desired reasons. Reasons for pain. Reasons for sadness. Reasons for life. Reasons for death. Why were their lives filled with suffering? Why were their deaths absurd? They wanted reasons for the destiny that kept transcending their knowledge.”

“And that was God.”

• Kentaro Miura, “Berserk” (83), 1996

What's it say about life, hm? You gotta get together, tell yourself stories that violate every law of the universe just to get through the goddamn day.

• Nic Pizzolatto, “True Detective”, 2014

The universe of modern science engendered a profounder horror in Lovecraft’s writings than that stemming from its tremendous distances and its highly probably alien and powerful non-human inhabitants. For the chief reason that man fears the universe revealed by materialistic science is that it is a purposeless, soulless place. To quote Lovecraft’s “The Silver Key”, man can hardly bear the realization that “the blind cosmos grinds aimlessly on from nothing to something and from something back to nothing again, neither heeding nor knowing the wishes or existence of the minds that flicker for a second now and then in the darkness.”

• Fritz Leiber, “A Literary Copernicus”, 1949

With respect to the theological view of the question; this is always painful to me.— I am bewildered.— I had no intention to write atheistically. But I own that I cannot see, as plainly as others do, & as I should wish to do, evidence of design & beneficence on all sides of us. There seems to me too much misery in the world. I cannot persuade myself that a beneficent & omnipotent God would have designedly created the Ichneumonidæ with the express intention of their feeding within the living bodies of caterpillars, or that a cat should play with mice.

• Charles Darwin, in a letter to Asa Gray, 1860

In a way, Darwin discovered God—a God that failed to match the preconceptions of theology, and so passed unheralded. If Darwin had discovered that life was created by an intelligent agent—a bodiless mind that loves us, and will smite us with lightning if we dare say otherwise—people would have said "My gosh! That's God!"

But instead Darwin discovered a strange alien God—not comfortably "ineffable", but really genuinely different from us. Evolution is not a God, but if it were, it wouldn't be Jehovah. It would be H. P. Lovecraft's Azathoth, the blind idiot God burbling chaotically at the center of everything, surrounded by the thin monotonous piping of flutes.

Which you might have predicted, if you had really looked at Nature.

• Eliezer Yudkowsky, “An Alien God”, 2007

The whole earth, continually steeped in blood, is nothing but an immense altar on which every living thing must be sacrificed without end, without restraint, without respite until the consummation of the world, until the extinction of evil, until the death of death.

• Joseph de Maistre, “St. Petersburg Dialogues”, 1821

One night in times long since vanished, man awoke and saw himself. He saw that he was naked under the cosmos, homeless in his own body. Everything opened up before his searching thoughts, wonder upon wonder, terror upon terror, all blossomed in his mind.

Then woman awoke, too, and said that it was time to go out and kill something. And man took up his bow, fruit of the union between the soul and the hand, and went out under the stars. But when the animals came to their water-hole, where he out of habit waited for them, he no longer knew the spring of the tiger in his blood, but a great psalm to the brotherhood of suffering shared by all that lives.

That day he came home with empty hands, and when they found him again by the rising of the new moon, he sat dead by the waterhole.

• Peter Wessel Zapffe, “The Last Messiah”, 1933

For the rest of the earth’s organisms, existence is relatively uncomplicated. Their lives are about three things: survival, reproduction, death—and nothing else. But we know too much to content ourselves with surviving, reproducing, dying—and nothing else. We know we are alive and know we will die. We also know we will suffer during our lives before suffering—slowly or quickly—as we draw near to death. This is the knowledge we “enjoy” as the most intelligent organisms to gush from the womb of nature. And being so, we feel shortchanged if there is nothing else for us than to survive, reproduce, and die. We want there to be more to it than that, or to think there is. This is the tragedy: Consciousness has forced us into the paradoxical position of striving to be unself-conscious of what we are—hunks of spoiling flesh on disintegrating bones.

• Thomas Ligotti, “The Conspiracy Against the Human Race”, 2010

This realization threatens to put us in a persistent state of existential fear.

• Sheldon Solomon, Jeff Greenberg, Tom Pyszczynski, “The Worm at the Core: On the Role of Death in Life”, 2015

What does it mean to be a self-conscious animal? The idea is ludicrous, if it is not monstrous. It means to know that one is food for worms. This is the terror: to have emerged from nothing, to have a name, consiousness of self, deep inner feelings, an excruciating inner yearning for life and self-expression and with all this yet to die. It seems like a hoax…

• Ernest Becker, "The Denial of Death", 1973

In the literature of supernatural horror, a familiar storyline is that of a character who encounters a paradox in the flesh, so to speak, and must face down or collapse in horror before this ontological perversion —something which should not be, and yet is. Most fabled as specimens of a living paradox are the "undead," those walking cadavers greedy for an eternal presence on earth. But whether their existence should go on unendingly or be cut short by a stake in the heart is not germane to the matter at hand. What is exceedingly material resides in the supernatural horror that such beings could exist in their impossible way for an instant. Other examples of paradox and supernatural horror congealing together are inanimate things guilty of infractions against their nature. Perhaps the most outstanding instance of this phenomenon is a puppet that breaks free of its strings and becomes self-mobilized.

[…]

Whether or not there really are manifestations of the supernatural, they are horrifying to us in concept, since we think ourselves to be living in a natural world, which may be a festival of massacres but only in a physical rather than a metaphysical purport. This is why we routinely equate the supernatural with horror. And a puppet possessed of life would exemplify just such a horror, because it would negate all conceptions of a natural physicalism and affirm a metaphysics of chaos and nightmare. It would still be a puppet, but it would be a puppet with a mind and a will, a human puppet—a paradox more disruptive of sanity than the undead. But that is not how they would see it. Human puppets could not conceive of themselves as being puppets at all, not when they are fixed with a consciousness that excites in them the unshakable sense of being singled out from all other objects in creation. Once you begin to feel you are making a go of it on your own—that you are making moves and thinking thoughts which seem to have originated within you—it is not possible for you to believe you are anything but your own master.

• Thomas Ligotti, “The Conspiracy Against the Human Race”, 2010

Why, then, was the human race not wiped out long ago in great, raging epidemics of insanity? Why are there so few individuals who succumb to the pressure of life because their acuity reveals to them more than they can bear?

A consideration of the spiritual history and present state of our species suggests the following answer: most people manage to save themselves by artificially paring down their consciousness.

• Peter Wessel Zapffe, “The Last Messiah”, 1933

Although we typically take our cultural worldview for granted, it is actually a fragile human construction that people spend great energy creating, maintaining, and defending. Since we’re constantly on the brink of realizing that our existence is precarious, we cling to our culture’s governmental, educational, and religious institutions and rituals to buttress our view of human life as uniquely significant and eternal.

• Sheldon Solomon, Jeff Greenberg, Tom Pyszczynski, “The Worm at the Core: On the Role of Death in Life”, 2015

Man is an animal who has to live in a lie in order to live at all.

• Ernest Becker, “Escape From Evil”, 1975

Inspired by the recent post about Arrival / The Story of Your Life

The idea of linguistic relativity ... is a principle suggesting that the structure of a language influences its speakers' worldview or cognition, and thus individuals' languages determine or influence their perceptions of the world.

There's, of course, a lot more to it, many variations, and all still at least somewhat in dispute.

Nevertheless, as the title says, assume it's true, and speculate on which languages would be the most interesting to learn from an "expand your mind" perspective.