Believing Bullshit: How Not to Get Sucked into an Intellectual Black Hole (2 page)

If we do have a H.A.D.D., that would at least partly explain the human tendency to feel there is “someone there” even when no one is observed, and so may at least partly explain our tendency to believe in the existence of invisible agents—in spirits, ghosts, angels, or gods.

For example, in his book
Illusion of Conscious Will
, Daniel Wegner points out what he considers to be the most remarkable characteristic of those using a Ouija board (in which the planchette—often an upturned shot glass—on which the subjects’ index fingers are gently resting appears to wander independently around the board, spelling out messages from “beyond”):

People using the board seem irresistibly drawn to the conclusion that some sort of unseen agent … is guiding the planchette movement. Not only is there a breakdown in the perception of one's own contribution to the talking board effect but a theory immediately arises to account for this breakdown: the theory of outside agency. In addition to spirits of the dead, people seem willing at times to adduce the influence of demons, angels, and even entities from the future or from outer space, depending on their personal contact with cultural theories about such effects.
³

Because the movement of the planchette seems odd, it is quickly put down to the influence of an invisible agent (although notice the kind of agent invoked varies from group to group depending on their own particular, culturally led expectations—see
Piling Up the Anecdotes
).

However, I am not here endorsing the H.A.D.D. explanation for widespread belief in such invisible agents (although I suspect there's some truth to it). Also, notice that, even if we do possess a H.A.D.D., that at best explains the attractiveness of only
some
of the belief systems discussed in this book. Many wacky belief systems—such as those involving crystal healing, palmistry, or numerology—involve no invisible agents. I mention the H.A.D.D. hypothesis only to illustrate the point that the mechanisms identified in this book are not intended to rival such psychological and evolutionary accounts of why we believe what we do. My claim is that
once
we find ourselves drawn to a belief system, for whatever reason,
then
these eight mechanisms may come into play to bolster and defend it.

Note that the H.A.D.D. hypothesis does not say that there are no invisible agents. Perhaps at least some of the invisible agents people suppose exist are real. Perhaps there really are ghosts, or spirits, or gods. However, if we suppose the H.A.D.D. hypothesis
does correctly explain why it is that so many people believe in the existence of invisible agents, then the fact that large numbers hold such beliefs can no longer be considered good evidence that any such agents exist. It will no longer do to say, “Surely not
all
these people can be so
very
deluded? Surely there must be
some
truth to these beliefs, otherwise they would not be so widespread.” The fact is, if the H.A.D.D. hypothesis is correct, we're likely to believe in the existence of such invisible agents anyway, whether or not such agents exist. But then the popularity of these beliefs is not good evidence such agents exist.

There was already good reason to be skeptical about appeals to what many people believe when it comes to justifying beliefs in invisible agents, as well as many other beliefs of a religious or supernatural character. The fact that around 45 percent of the citizens of one of the richest and best-educated populations on the planet believe the entire universe is only about six thousand years old is testament to the fact that, whatever else may be said about religion, it undoubtedly possesses a quite astonishing power to get large numbers of people—even smart, college-educated people—to believe downright ridiculous things. Nevertheless,
if
the H.A.D.D. hypothesis is correct, it adds yet another nail to the coffin lid of the suggestion: “Lots of people believe it so there must be
something
to it!”

The Theory of Cognitive Dissonance

The H.A.D.D. hypothesis may partly explain why we are drawn to certain belief systems in the first place—those involving invisible agents. Another psychological theory that may play a role in explaining our propensity to use the kind of strategies described in this book to defend such theories is the
theory of cognitive dissonance.
Dissonance is the psychological discomfort we feel when we hold beliefs or attitudes that conflict. The theory says we are motivated to reduce dissonance by either adjusting our beliefs and attitudes or rationalizing them.

The example of the “sour grapes” in Aesop's story of “The Fox and the Grapes” is often used to illustrate cognitive dissonance. The fox desires those juicy-looking grapes, but then, when he realizes he will never attain them, he adjusts his belief accordingly to make himself feel better: he decides the grapes are sour.

How might the theory of cognitive dissonance play a role in explaining why we are drawn to using the kind of belief-immunizing strategies described in this book? Suppose, for the sake of argument, that our evolutionary history has predisposed us toward a belief in supernatural agents, but also toward wanting to hold beliefs that are, broadly speaking, rational, or at the very least, not downright irrational. That might put us in a psychological bind. On the one hand, we may find ourselves unwilling or even unable to give up our belief in certain invisible agents. On the other hand, we may find ourselves confronted by overwhelming evidence that what we believe is downright unreasonable. Under these circumstances, strategies promising to disarm rational threats and give our beliefs at least the illusion of reasonableness are likely to seem increasingly attractive. Such strategies can provide us with a way of dealing with the intellectual discomfort such innate tendencies might otherwise produce. They allow true believers to reassure themselves that they are not being nearly as irrational as reason might otherwise suggest—to convince themselves and others that their belief in ghosts or spirits or whatever, even if not well confirmed, is at least not
contrary
to reason.

So we can speculate about why certain belief systems are attractive, and also why such strategies are employed to immunize them against rational criticism and provide a veneer of “reasonableness.” Both the H.A.D.D. hypothesis and the theory of cognitive dissonance may have a role to play.

APPENDIX B TO THE INTRODUCTION

Two Threats to the Rationality of Theism

Our discussions will include examples of how strategies described in this book are sometimes used to deal with intellectual challenges to Theism—belief in God. I focus on two intellectual challenges in particular: (1) the evidential problem of evil, and (2) the problem of nontemporal agency. Because people often misunderstand these objections, it's worth spending a little time clarifying them at the outset.

The Logical and Evidential Problems of Evil

Perhaps the best-known challenge to Theism is the so-called
problem of evil.
In fact there are at least two versions of the problem—the logical problem and the evidential problem.

The logical problem is essentially simple. It's a challenge to belief in the traditional God of monotheism—a god that is (1) all-powerful, (2) all-knowing, and (3) all-good, or supremely benevolent. To indicate when it's this particular god that is being discussed, I use a capital “G.” And to indicate that I am referring to those who believe in specifically this God, I call them Theists with a capital “T” (otherwise using a lowercase “t”).

The challenge is: if there is such a God, why does evil exist? “Evil” in this context means either
moral
evil—agents doing things that are morally wrong, such as killing, stealing, torture, and so on—and/or
natural
evil, such as the diseases and disasters that cause very great suffering. Surely, the argument runs, an all-powerful God would have the ability to create a world without such depravity and suffering. Being all-knowing, he would know whether a world he created would contain evil, and being all-good, he would not desire the existence of a world containing evil. But the world does contain evil. Therefore there is no such God.

Notice that this particular argument against the existence of God requires only that
some
evil exist. It matters not how little there is. The claim is that the existence of any evil at all logically entails that there is no God.

One standard theistic response to the logical problem is to say that God might create a world containing
some
evil, if that evil allowed greater goods. For example, war is a result of our exercising our free will. We humans choose to start wars. God could have made us mere puppet beings. He could have had full control of our actions and prevented us from starting wars. But such puppets are not morally responsible for what they do, so they can't be morally virtuous. So a world of puppet beings would lack a particularly important variety of goodness—moral goodness, which requires free agents doing good of their own volition. In order for the world to contain that kind of good, God had to cut our strings. As a result, some evil exists—that caused by our freely choosing to do wrong. But this evil is more than outweighed by the good that free will allows.

Interesting though the logical problem of evil is, it is not the problem I'm going to focus on here. My concern is with a different problem—the
evidential
problem of evil. The evidential problem starts not by noting that the world contains
some
evil but with the observation that it contains an
enormous amount
of both moral evil and pain and suffering. Even if God had to allow some evil for the sake of certain greater goods, surely he could have no reason to allow quite so much. We can sharpen this problem by noting that God will presumably not allow any
gratuitous
evil to exist. God, if he exists, must have good reason for allowing every last ounce of it.

Yes, for an affluent Westerner, life can be pretty good. However, for much of humanity, life is lived out in grinding poverty, frustration, misery, sickness, and horror. Parents watch as their children starve, waste away with terminal cancer, or become the abrupt victims of natural disasters such as the 2005 Pakistan earthquake that buried thousands of them alive. Enormous numbers of humans are struck down or killed in an appallingly slow
and cruel way. Many are left so physically and psychologically crippled by their experiences that they bow out in despair. Such human suffering has been the rule for several million years, long before the development of antibiotics and anesthetics capable of reducing it a little. In ancient times and during the Middle Ages, almost one in three children died before they reached the age of five. Even before we humans made an appearance, other sentient inhabitants of this planet—including our own forerunners—had to endure unimaginable quantities of pain and suffering doled out over hundreds of millions of years. And of course such animal suffering continues today. A recent episode of a BBC wildlife documentary concluded by interviewing a cameraman new to the team. He had been filming komodo dragons poisoning then slowly tracking their water buffalo victim over a period of weeks, until it become so weak they could eat it alive. It was an episode of such cruelty and horror that the cameraman confessed he was now considering giving up wildlife photography as it was too much to stomach. We inhabit a beautiful but staggeringly cruel world.

Surely, if there is a God, he would not unleash such vast quantities of appalling suffering.
Some
suffering perhaps. But nothing like this much. Isn't the existence of so much seemingly pointless suffering excellent
evidence
that, even if there is some sort of creator or intelligence behind the universe—perhaps even a god—it isn't the Judeo-Christian God? While the existence of such a being might remain a possibility, it is surely a very unlikely one.

Theodicies

So runs the evidential problem of evil. Theists have developed a range of responses to the problem. One type of response is to construct a
theodicy
—an explanation for why God would, after all, create or allow such quantities of suffering. Here are three popular examples:

Free will theodicy.
Free will may be invoked to deal with not
just the logical problem but also the evidential problem. Here's an example. God could have made us puppet beings that always did the right thing. But then the world would have lacked the most important form of goodness—moral goodness. So God cut our strings and set us free. Unfortunately, as a result, we sometimes choose to do wrong—we start wars, steal, kill, and so on. But these evils are still outweighed by the good that free will allows. That's why God allows them.

Character-building theodicy.
This is, in the words of theologian John Hick, a “vale of soul making.” Someone who has suffered will often say they don't regret it. They may learn from the experience. The suffering we experience is not pointless. It is there to give us opportunities. For example, parents watching their child learn to ride a bike will inevitably have to watch their child fall and hurt themselves a few times. But of course, when the child finally masters their bike and shouts, “Look at me! I can do it!” the pain they experienced in the process becomes worthwhile—their sense of achievement at having persevered through the pain and learned to ride would not be possible otherwise. Yes, we suffer, but there's good reason for it.

Laws of nature theodicy.
In order for us to have the opportunity to act on our environment, and interact with each other in it, the universe must be law governed. There must be a predictability to what will happen if, say, I strike this match. I need to know a flame will result. If, when a match is struck, it sometimes results in a flame, but sometimes a cherry, sometimes disappears, sometimes causes my eyebrows to grow very fast, and so on—if, in short, the behavior of the physical world were random and chaotic—there would be no point in my trying to do anything. So laws are required for the very great good of our being able to perform actions, such as the action of helping our fellow humans. However, there is a downside to such laws. The laws that allow us to walk around and interact with each other on this planet have other consequences—such as tidal waves and earthquakes. These, in turn, cause
pain and suffering. However, that pain and suffering is outweighed by goods such laws allow, such as goods done of our free will. And there are other benefits too, as Reverend Dr. John Polkinghorne, both a physicist and theologian, points out. About earthquakes, Polkinghorne says: