My prejudices may not always be justified, but I tend to be instinctively skeptical of any history of ideas that credits a single individual with sparking a revolution in human consciousness. Nonetheless, this is precisely the move to which Norman Cohn affixes his scholarly imprimatur. Surveying the mythological landscape of the ancient Egyptians, Mesopotamians, Indo-Aryans, Canaanites, and pre-exilic Israelites, Cohn ascribes to each a broadly similar understanding of time as a static reality mediating between cosmos and chaos (Cohn’s usage of these terms, of course, belying the influence of Mircea Eliade). In each of these archaic cosmologies, the proper order of creation, governing everything from the cycles of the heavens to the performance of social customs, is established by the gods but constantly threatened by the forces of chaos—famine, drought, pestilence, invasion, death—personified by malevolent monsters or demons who attack the divinely-appointed order and the human authorities tasked with helping to maintain it. The triumph of cosmos over chaos is often symbolized by some version of the combat myth, in which a warrior god—Ra, Marduk, Indra, Baal, Yahweh—defeats the chaos monster—Apophis, Tiamat, Vritra, Mot, Leviathan—and (re)establishes a modicum of cosmic harmony. Yet this victory was never traditionally taken to be final and complete; the specter of chaos always loomed on the borders of the ordered world, and the primordial victory always had to be ritually reenacted.
This changed decisively, according to Cohn, with Zoroaster, the prophet and founder of Zoroastrianism, who lived sometime between 1500 and 1200 BCE*. Putting his own spin on the traditional Iranian version of the combat myth, Zoroaster foretold the ultimate elimination of chaos and its engendering evil, represented by Angra Mainyu and his subservient daevas, by Ahura Mazda and his celestial and human companions. Though these millenarian expectations were tempered when Zoroastrianism became the imperial religion of the Achaemenids, they went on to influence the development of Second Temple Judaism during the two centuries in which the province of Yehud governed its own affairs under Persian auspices while a large Jewish diaspora lived throughout the empire, as well as during the bitter experiences of Seleucid and Roman rule, when the resurgent Parthian empire served as a foil to Godless tyranny in the Jewish apocalyptic imagination. Jewish apocalypticism, in turn, formed a large part of the religious milieu from which the Jesus movement and the Christian religion took shape, and from there the expectation of a final, eschatological victory of good over evil, of light over darkness, went on to influence the cultural ambiance of large swathes of the world’s population, be they Christians, Jews, Muslims, Zoroastrians, or adherents of the various secular ideologies—Marxism-Leninism, liberalism—that are to some degree outgrowths of millenarian culture.
Regardless of whether its origins can be traced back to one person, one still finds this worldview at work in the minds of millions of people, for good and for ill. A belief in the penultimacy of evil gives wing to the hopes of the afflicted in trying times. But when the line between good and evil is no longer perceived to run, as Solzhenitsyn aptly put it, through the middle of the human soul, but rather between nations, ethnicities, religions, and even political tribes, language about the final obliteration of the “Children of Darkness” and the vindication of the “Children of Light” can easily be employed for quite sinister purposes, as we are unfortunately seeing in both the domestic and international politics of our time. If the archaic cosmology served to maintain social continuity and the status hierarchies that depended on it, the prophetic and apocalyptic consciousness creates a dynamic condition with high stakes: depending on whether one locates the source of evil within oneself or projects it onto others, we can make ourselves into angels or beasts, either giving birth to genuine progress in the advancement of humanity, solidarity, curiosity, and freedom, or coming to discover that somewhere along the line we ourselves have unwittingly become chaos monsters.
* Cohn finds contextual evidence in the Gathas to date them, and by extension Zoroaster, well before the prophet’s traditional placement in the seventh and sixth centuries BCE.