Theists truly hate reductionism like this, it dents their fragile sensibilities, but this is the god machine: the human frontal lobe. It took about 1,333 generations to grow, and it is no coincidence that the first of tens of thousands of gods (the proto-gods of the cardinal ancestor cults) leapt into an existence of sorts shortly after it stopped swelling around 6,600 generations ago. That is when their lineage began. That is when the product line started and the first Model T’s rolled out of the newly minted factory sitting in that cerebral bulge above our eyes. It was and remains the last great addition to the human form; a synaptic universe where the vast majority of dopamine-sensitive neurons directly associated with reward, attention, short-term memory tasks, prediction, planning, incentive, and motivation are housed. It’s the region of the brain where children dream up imaginary friends and adults map out wars. It is the region where we cast our thoughts off into the future and play the prediction game. It is the region where we join the dots and make sometimes outlandish mistakes in causal associations. It is the region where expectation and its ugly cousin, apprehension, reside. It is the region where our superstitions are birthed and our fears find lodging. It’s where our gods take form and bed down, micromanaging this fantastic circus while dispensing tiny doses of dopamine to the hypothalamus like some self-medicating chemist in his own little shop of horrors.