Fear, Fragility and the Illusion of Control - #4

Human beings are mortal and live in a state of fragility. This fragility and mortality causes fear.

As humans, we are fragile and mortal. Naturally this makes us fearful. To diminish that fear or even to stop it, we go into denial over our fragility and mortality. This denial deeply influences how we think, how we interpret reality, and how we act.

The question is, how do we go into this denial?

The need to avoid fear leads us to seek protection.

Given that we are fragile and mortal, how do we achieve the sense that we are protected from things that can hurt us?

We achieve this sense of protection through our sense of control over events.

Expanded Causality

Our control over events is limited–we have less control than we wish–so we tell ourselves stories about how we might increase our influence.

First, consider a person who is thinking about a hypothetical situation: This rational person imagines what he would do if he got cancer, and decides that he would go to the best doctor he can find, take all the tests the doctor recommends, and do exactly what the doctor says. If he were to receive bad news, such as only a 10 percent chance of survival, he would get a second opinion. If that second doctor were to say the same thing as the first, the person with cancer would decide that he would surely do the responsible thing and start writing his will. He would follow the treatment on the 10 percent chance he will get better, but in this thought experiment he accepts that he would probably die.

Now let’s consider that same person facing cancer in real life. It is no longer a thought experiment where nothing is at stake–where it is easy and even natural to be rational.

This person really does receive a diagnosis that gives him a 10 percent chance of survival, and a second doctor says the same thing.

When he was only imagining his reaction, he was rational. Now that the cancer is a real thing, he is desperate. What he does will not be what he thought he would do. In real life, he will try to fight his cancer using something beyond the doctor’s abilities.

For instance, he may go to someone who claims that crystals can cure cancer. This “healer” says the odds are not 10 percent survival but 90 percent survival. The cancer patient is highly likely to believe this more hopeful diagnosis, even though it comes from someone far less credible than a doctor. This is because the stress and the fear the cancer patient feels distorts his view of reality. He believes the “crystal healer” can cure his cancer–a thing he would not believe if he were still thinking rationally.

Because of all this stress and uncertainty, he will start believing in what we will call “expanded causality”: a worldview where there are more things that influence reality compared to what actually does influence reality.

“Expanded causality” is believing that there are more things that influence reality than there actually are.

Superstition

Obviously, certain things really do influence reality, but other things do not. Some people put a little statue of a saint in their car in the belief that it will keep them safe from an accident. This is superstition. We all know a little statue doesn’t make you safer, but driving carefully really does help keep you safe–because careful driving influences reality.

So there are real causes and imagined causes.

Imagined causes are superstition.

Superstition is a form of “expanded causality.”

We do not choose to become superstitious. We become superstitious when our situation is desperate. For instance, someone may have never set foot in a church in his life, but when he gets a deadly diagnosis with little rational hope for a cure, he turns to the church. Now he prays to a god that he spent his life insisting does not exist.

Fear makes us less rational, and the worse things get, the more irrational we become.

Think of someone in a crashing plane. They make the sign of the cross and say their prayers. Is any of this going to stop the plane from crashing? It’s highly unlikely. Those people are doing what they think and hope might help. Their fear pushes them to look for some way to save their lives–some tool beyond the realm of reality: They seek “tools” that they hope or believe will influence reality–but these “tools” do not actually influence reality.

Fear opens us even more to “expanded causality.” Notice that when the plane is calmly cruising, we are not holding a crucifix. That’s because we feel safe at that moment. We’re not afraid so we are more rational. The rational option to stay safe is to do things before boarding the plane, such as choosing the aircraft or airline with the best safety record.

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Now let’s consider what a person with cancer might do if he has a particular conception of god.

A God With Limited Power

Consider a person who believes in a god the way the ancient Romans did, a god who does not have unlimited power but only some degree of power. Later religions have created their own gods of limited power and called them “saints.”

If this person has such a belief, he will pray to this god or saint to save his life.

Is it likely that a prayer to this “limited” god is going to influence the outcome of this person’s cancer? Probably not, but believing this story gives the person a sense of having some control over events. This feeling of control reduces his feeling of fragility and mortality.

An Almighty God Who Is Influenced by Actions, Not Requests

Next, consider an all-knowing and all-powerful god with a personality, meaning that he possesses “opinions” and preferences.

Because this god is all-knowing, he cannot be influenced by prayer. Who is this person to question this god? If god gave this person cancer, he had a reason, so why would he change course? An all-knowing god is always right. He does not “change his mind” because you asked him.

But since he has opinions and preferences, you can influence him by doing things he likes. This god is like Santa Claus: If you do things he likes, such as being kind to your neighbor, he will see, so he may decide that you don’t deserve cancer after all.

With this god, praying for things is useless but doing things that please him might influence events.

Universal Justice–A Mechanical God

If you believe in universal justice, then effectively you still believe in a god, you just believe in a god without a personality. You believe in a “mechanical god,” one that acts like a machine. This “god” has no personality–no preferences or opinions.

This mechanical god operates like an ATM: You cannot make your ATM give you money by praying to it. Either your card works and you know the PIN and you get the money, or your card doesn’t work, or you forget your PIN, and you don’t get the money. Whether it’s the ATM or this mechanical god, to get the “right” outcome, you have to do the “right” action. If you do the wrong action, you don’t get the outcome you want.

By doing the “right” action, such as doing good deeds, you get the outcome you seek, such as having good things happen to you. There is no “mind of god” to change. It’s completely mechanical–cause and effect.

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Not all beliefs about the impact of our influence are false. It is reasonable to believe that brushing your teeth helps prevent cavities. Other stories do not make much sense, like believing that holding a cross helps prevent bad things from happening. We believe such things because they make us feel that we have greater influence over events than we really do. They lessen our fear.

We achieve this sense of control over events by creating a simplified, ordered worldview, one that provides a sense of predictability.

Some stories give us a sense of our ability to predict reality that is greater than our actual ability.

The world is complex and hard to predict. We don’t like that. We prefer a worldview that tells us reality is not complex but simple, which allows us to understand it through a simple worldview. This gives us the feeling of increased simplicity in the order of reality, and increases our feeling that reality is predictable.

For instance, many people believe that people who do good are more likely to have good things happen to them, and people who do bad are more likely to have bad things happen to them. Much of the time, this story accurately predicts reality: If you treat your children poorly, they are more likely to treat you poorly in the future. If you’re kind to them, they are more likely to be kind to you. But this story is not completely true or completely false. You may treat your children poorly and when they grow up they may be kind to you anyway. Or you may be good to them and when they grow up they will treat you terribly. There really is some correlation between doing good to other people and what happens to you, but it’s not as simple as that. There are many factors to consider, more than we can know. So a simplified worldview with “expanded causality” distorts our vision of reality by oversimplifying it.

Compare this to a worldview without “expanded causality”: That kind of worldview requires us to know many, many factors to predict outcomes. In almost every case, there will be more factors than we could know. Reality is almost always too complicated for us to find every factor that has influence over an event.

But in an orderly, simplified worldview with “expanded causality,” we replace the need to know many factors that influence events with something much simpler than that, such as whether we are good guys or bad guys. A worldview with “expanded causality” gives us a sense of protection against fragility. Why? Because of its simplicity, we can influence events through simple actions like being good or bad.

In the simplified version of reality, a plane crashes because bad guys were on it.

In “real” reality, a plane crashes because, for instance, some guy failed to screw in a bolt properly ten years ago, while they were building the plane.

This “real” view of reality is so unpredictable that we replace it with a simpler belief, that having good guys on the plane is enough to keep it from crashing.

This gives us a sense of control over events. If you do good things, you’re a good guy, and good guys don’t end up in plane crashes: Doing good deeds is something I can do!

That belief gives us a sense of protection against our fragility and mortality. Doing good deeds feels like “insurance” against bad outcomes, and that lessens our fear: Since I do so much good, it’s less likely that the plane I’m in will crash. There is no certainty that I will be absolutely safe, but I have done something to influence events in my favor.

Creating an ordered worldview produces the impression of greater control over events.

We have some control over events but not as much as we would like to. Creating a simplified, ordered worldview gives us an incorrect impression of increased control. In reality, events are chaotic.

In simple terms, chaos is when small changes in a system can lead to unpredictable, wildly different outcomes. The weather is a system that includes chaos: Imagine a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil causing a storm weeks later in Texas. It is not random messiness; it’s a kind of order that’s so complex it appears random (but it’s not), where tiny tweaks can spiral into big effects. Chaos shows up in nature, economies, and the events of our lives, making predictions impossible.

The world is chaotic and always has been. Reality is so complicated and chaotic that we prefer to add “expanded causes” to our worldview to simplify the way we think about reality. We live in a chaotic world that we cannot completely predict, so we prefer the idea that a plane with good guys on it is less likely to crash: If we believe there is fairness and universal justice, planes with good guys in them are less likely to crash. Now I have more control! I can control being a good guy by doing good deeds–I can influence events–and that makes me less likely to be in a crash. This means that now I have greater control over events! Being a good guy provides a sense of having some kind of insurance against the crash.

This story about the potential rewards of “good” behavior gives some people a feeling of greater control, but it does not seem to reliably predict what happens in reality.

The moment we adopt a worldview, we automatically assign meaning to our actions and those of others.

Let’s say that a soldier kills a sniper. By itself, the act of killing has no inherent meaning—a life is ended. This happens all the time. A meaning for the action emerges only when someone views the action through some worldview.

So let us add detail to the example. Let us say that a soldier kills a sniper.

From a worldview that all killing is evil, such as the worldview of some Buddhists, killing the sniper is evil.

From a worldview that the soldier is defending his homeland from invasion, killing his enemy is good.

From a worldview that the sniper is reclaiming his land from those who took it away, killing the sniper is evil.

Is killing someone good or bad? It depends on the “macro” worldview.

If we have no worldview, a “micro” act has no meaning. But when we adopt the logic and structure of any particular worldview, we assign meaning to the act.

Indeed, we interpret various “micro” actions within the context of our “macro” worldview, assigning each action a specific meaning.

If your brother kills someone, do you report him or protect him?

If you think family is everything, you protect him.

If you think more in terms of justice for everyone, you report him.

The “macro” worldview gives meaning to the “micro” action.

This worldview creates the impression that our actions and those of others possess an absolute, intrinsic meaning, when in fact that meaning is determined solely by our worldview.

Most of the time, we believe that our personal worldview is the only one that is true for all people, all situations, and all times.

The fact that worldviews differ across eras and cultures shows that many possible worldviews exist. This implies that the meaning of actions is not absolute. What was once considered normal, for example, might today be judged a crime.

It is highly unlikely that out of all the worldviews, the one that you hold right now is the one that is absolutely true for everyone at all times.

There have been countless worldviews over time and over many civilizations, and many interpretations of right and wrong. How can ours be the only one that is right? What once was considered completely normal may today be judged morally wrong or even a crime.

In ancient Rome, it was socially acceptable for adult men of high status to form sexual relationships with young boys. Those relationships were normal. Today they are criminal acts.

In those days and in that culture, age was not a factor in the legality of this kind of sexual behavior. But today, age is the key factor. It determines whether or not you are a pedophile and therefore a criminal.

Also in ancient Rome, if you killed your slave, it was fine. If you killed someone else’s slave, you had to pay for the value of that slave. If you killed your neighbor, it was murder. Today, almost all killing is murder. The status of the person killed is never a factor in determining murder. In the modern world, if you kill someone, there is no question, you go to jail. In ancient Rome, the first question was Who did he kill, a slave or a citizen?

The falling away of the belief in the absolute validity of our worldview, along with its unfounded and contradictory narratives, broadens awareness and deepens discernment.

Getting rid of unfounded and contradictory stories reduces distortion. Then we can see reality more clearly.

An 18th-century samurai killing a rival over family honor was seen as righteous in that time and culture. Today, Western culture would condemn this as murder. Recognizing the vast array of worldviews across cultures and eras—each assigning different meanings to the same actions—reveals that no single worldview is absolutely true for everyone at all times.

By letting go of the belief that our particular worldview is universally true, we gain a clearer view of reality and deepen our discernment.