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…?

— —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  — –
— —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  — –
— —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  — –

• «Previous Post
• Next Post »

---