Recently, a letter to the editor in SKEPTIC Magazine got the creaky gears of my brain going in pretty rapid fashion.
A joint response by Mark Robert Waldman and Andrew Newberg to a Steve Salerno piece critical of the positive-thinking and self-esteem movements takes Salerno to task for excoriating the powers of optimism. Though Waldman and Newberg cede that “faith in an optimistic future may be a placebo,” they note that:
…placebos can cure, on the average, 30% of the majority of physical and emotional diseases. Even an irrational belief in a cure that has been proven not to work can significantly boost the body’s immune system when dealing with a deadly disease.
I don’t take Waldman and Newberg’s word that the 30% figure is accurate. And I don’t care to research whether it is. That’s because this “fact” raises an important philosophical question. Mainly, if placebos work so well (and let’s assume for the sake of argument that they do), why don’t we non-believers use these powers of deception more frequently? Why don’t we exploit this mental handicap, this warped evolutionary tool?
Even Waldman and Newberg, who use their research and data to promote God and faith or something such, expound on the upside to delusion (emphasis mine):
Recently, a team of National Institutes of Health researchers concluded that “a moderate optimistic illusion” appears to be neurologically essential for maintaining motivation and good mental health. They also found that highly optimistic people had greater activation in the same parts of the anterior cingulated, a part of the brain that plays a crucial role in controlling anxiety, depression, and rage, as well as fostering social awareness and compassion.
Nothing about Waldman and Newberg’s arguments make me want to “know God.” Unwittingly, though, I think Waldman and Newberg have steered me toward “placebo theism.” Meaning, perhaps if I can “trick” my brain into using the same “tools” that religious people use, maybe I can exploit the benefits of belief, faith and God without surrendering my intellect at the door. Wasn’t it the great philosopher George Costanza, after all, who said:
Remember: it’s not a lie if you believe it…
Perhaps the wealthy idiot guru Tony Robbins is right. Maybe we all have a “giant within,” one frisky monster of super awesomeness. I have a strong sense, though, that this Giant Within is really a porcine bullshit artist. It may be a beautiful pig, yes. But, like all pigs, it’s still slathered up in manure and fecal matter.
We non-believers cast aside these comely inner pigs because we think they emasculate our intellect and expose us to cracks in the sidewalk of critical thinking. However, I’m proposing that we commandeer the pig. I’m proposing the following:
Optimism is a whore. Let’s treat her accordingly.
Please bear with me on a short trip down memory lane….
For years, the positive, upbeat wackiness of my Christian friends has puzzled me. I found their unmitigated optimism annoying as far back as age 13. The Catholic school friends of my youth were no more ethical than other teenage rapscallions in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Yet, often they would utter some idiot platitude about “God having a plan,” blabbity blah blah. Invariably, they sounded like victims of a supreme con job. Notably though, they were the used car salesmen…closing the deal…on themselves!
I’ve never written about these memories until now, but I think what infuriated me was the diabolical genius of this Godly scam. I’ve always found lies — even “helpful” white lies — problematic. Maybe I’ve erred, though. Maybe it’s important to embrace a little bit of bullshit.
Christians know this maneuver. Unknowingly, they engage in an endless round of Pascal’s Wager. They have given themselves the right to be hard-drinking, slut-chasing sinners — despite being aware — on some level — that their belief is nothing of the sort. Their safety net is the confession booth. Their M.O. involves falling prey to mental parlor tricks. Their game — and they’re good at it — is to exploit the shit out of Pascal’s Wager. They are the Universe’s Supreme Commandos of Risk Management.
If this shrew hedging process — this willingness to surrender to an apparent mental deficiency — is legit, then I imagine it requires an impressive intolerance for hard truths. A prodigious talent for acknowledging unpleasantness. A Supreme Commando of Risk Management might also exhibit startling immaturity. He is doggedly determined to hold on to the security blanket of childhood fantasy.
However, while a skilled hedger might cozy up to a lying whore named Hope, the rest of us recoil when Hope tries to diddle us.
Perhaps we should be less modest…?
