Psychologist Bruce Hood has written an article in the Guardian about superstition. Apparently 50 per cent of Britons will not walk under ladders. Given that this is an article about superstition, I’m assuming this is not because they are simply fat bastards who refuse to walk flat out.
Mr Hood begins by describing how city councils tend to demolish homes where atrocities have occurred, such as serial killer Fred West’s house. Fred West and his wife Rosemary raped, tortured and murdered twelve young girls and hid them in the house. The West house has been completely demolished and the stones crushed. Which may based on superstition. Or on the fact that things related to serial killers tend to attract souvenir hunters. And not the kind that take cheesy pictures of themselves smiling inanely in the arms of Mickey Mouse at Disneyland, but rather the kind that take cheesy pictures of themselves smiling inanely over the dead body of Mickey Mouse. And nobody in their right mind would live in that house anyway. Forget superstition, just think how awkward it would be to introduce yourself to your new neighbours.
Mr Hood himself mentions that souvenir hunters like to own things that previsously belong to famous people:
Memorabilia collectors fetishise physical objects, as if they possess some property inherited from the previous owner. Something supernatural, something susceptible to a “supersense”.
Being the obsessive twatthorough investigator that I am, I googled supersense. (I don’t remember what I did before google, but I vaguely remember having a life.) As it turns out, it is not some psychological term, but rather the title of a book written by a certain Dr Hood. About superstitions:
Superstitious habits are common. Do you ever cross your fingers, knock on wood, avoid walking under ladders, or step around black cats?
No. No. No. Yes. Because stepping on cats is cruel. In general, I don’t believe in anything. Except love and the basic goodness of mankind. And killer rabbits from hell.
If someone offered to replace your childhood teddy bear or wedding ring with a brand new, exact replica, would you do it?
I don’t have my childhood teddy bear any more. I threw that out with my hopes, dreams and belief in humanity when I was eight. And surely both of these examples are much more related to sentimentality than superstition? Or perhaps the fairly realistic assumption that if you replace your wedding ring with an exact replica simply because someone offers, your spouse is likely to get a touch upset?
Getting back to the main article, and superstitions proper:
When a group acts upon these superstitions, we call them ceremonial rituals. Otherwise, they are individual quirks.
Or stupidity.
Even the corridors of power are not free from them. Tony Blair always wore the same pair of shoes for Prime Minister’s Questions.
But he also beliefs he is on a mission from God, so perhaps not the greatest example of an otherwise rational person.
Why do people believe in things that go against natural laws?
Stupidity.
It cannot simply be ignorance.
No, it is stupidity.
The answer is evidence.
Are you listening?!
The number one reason given by people who believe in the supernatural is personal experience.
So these people believe that bad luck is caused by breaking a mirror, because they have had bad luck caused by breaking a mirror. How do you know if bad luck is caused by breaking a mirror, other than if pieces of that mirror bounce back into your eyes and blind you? Granted, that would be bad luck (or carelessness. If you go around habitually breaking mirrors, expect to get injured at some point), but surely not of the supernatural kind.
Dr Hood (the more I write that, the more it starts to sound like a James Bond villain) describes a test he normally performs at his public lectures. He asks his audience if they would wear a cardigan he has brought. A large number of people is generally willing to do this, but a lot of them refuse when he says the cardigan used to be owned by Fred West. Which probably has little to do with superstition and more with people’s general unwillingness to wear clothes offered them by people who collect souvenirs of serial killers. But some people are still willing to wear the cardigan. “What is remarkable is that audience members sitting next to one of these individuals visibly recoil from them: how could someone even consider touching such an appalling garment?” Again, probably less about superstition than a general distrust of people who like things owned by serial killers. Oh, and the people who attend public lectures on superstitions do generally not constitute a proper sample. Just like church meetings are not a proper sample when trying to establish the general opinion on abortion.
Last year, this stunt earned me some notoriety in Norwich. [...] I think the main reason the stunt annoyed critics was that they probably experienced the same clash between intuition and logic that my audience felt. Also, there is simply no correct answer to the question, making it all the more vexing.
Yes there is: don’t wear the cardigan. It gains you nothing and takes effort, therefore has negative value. And there is the risk caused by the fact that someone obsessed with serial killers (this article was supposed to be about superstition, remember?) is giving you this cardigan; who knows what he’s done with it? Remember, anthrax is perfectly natural.
Would you wear a killer’s cardigan for £1? What about £10,000?
See, you understand the concept of value. Now there is a benefit to wearing the cardigan, I might consider it. I probably would have for £10,000, but if you’re going to jump so quickly from £1 to £10,000, I’ll hold out for more. Make it £100,000 and you have yourself a deal. But I’m bringing a doctor. And a security guard. And my lucky socks. In my personal experience, I have never been in a lethal accident wearing these socks. Could be yours for a further £100,000. I have other items for sale, such as plane-crash preventing candles, dinosaur reppelling ice cubes and apocalypse survival kits. Contact me for details.
Coming soon, Things I don’t have time for #13. That can’t just be a coincidence.
Post a Comment