Caveman Logic: The Persistence of Primitive Thinking in a Modern World (12 page)

There is probably no single group of Americans whose belief in the supernatural is less evident than elite scientists. This tells us several things. The lure of the paranormal can be resisted. It
is
possible, and seems to pose no obvious perils; that is, no one has ever suggested that elite scientists are less moral or live shorter lives than others. And although we cannot be certain as to
how
such dismissal of the supernatural emerged, it is clear that the more strongly one holds a belief in
natural
causal agents, the less likely it is that widespread supernatural views will find a receptive home in these elite minds.

It is sometimes held that irrational and supernatural belief systems are a form of intellectual inferiority. This may be an unfair judgment, but the psychological literature contains both recent and historical studies comparing the intelligence of believers versus nonbelievers. By far, the majority of these studies (e.g., by Alcock, and Gray and Mill)
²⁶
conclude that those professing supernatural belief systems are simply not as bright—or are less willing to
use
their mental equipment—than those whose views are more rooted in the natural world.

For example, in 1985 Wierzbiki concluded that “believers” made more errors while taking a cognitive reasoning test than “nonbelievers.” In 1986 Burnham Beckwith surveyed historical studies of the correlation between intelligence and religious faith. His findings have been summarized on the Web site www.objectivethought .com. Beginning with early studies of students by Howells (in 1927) and Carlson (in 1933), the pattern is unmistakable. In both university and high school students, there is a strong negative correlation between the degree of religiosity and scores on standardized IQ tests. In simple English, the more religious you are, the less intelligent you are likely to be.

It may not be a pretty picture or a politically correct one, but the data are quite clear. Even within church groups, the more liberal thinkers tended to have higher IQ scores (see Symington’s 1935 study). Just what do these differences in IQ mean? If we assume that the average IQ score is 100 (with a standard deviation [SD] of 15), then scores of both 85 and 115 are considered normal (±1 SD). An extended conversation between individuals with scores of 85 and 115, however, might lead both to conclude that they were dealing with someone a bit peculiar. Are individuals with 85 (and lower) IQs more vulnerable to supernatural thinking? If so, why? At the least, is it not possible that people with 85 IQs are more likely to socialize with similar individuals, thus normalizing irrational belief systems?

In 1958, Argyle concluded, “Although intelligent children grasp religious concepts earlier, they are also the first to doubt the truth of religion, and intelligent students are much less likely to accept orthodox beliefs.” In 1975, Polythress compared the average SAT scores of self-described religious students with those self-identifying as strongly antireligious and found a significant difference (1022 vs. 1148). Confining his analysis to a group of highly intelligent subjects (IQ > 140), Terman reported in 1959 that only 10 percent of men and 18 percent of women held “strong religious beliefs”—figures well below the national average. These results were confirmed in 1968 by Southern and Plant, who studied members of the elite intellectual society Mensa. They concluded that members were far less religious than the average university alumni or adult. This correlation is not a uniquely American result. In 2007, an Angus Reid poll revealed that Canadians younger than thirty-four with a yearly income above $50,000 and a university education are significantly more likely than other segments of the population to accept evolution as part of their natural world.
²⁷

In 2002, Richard Miller addressed the American Psychological Association (APA) conference and decried the broadening base of undergraduate acceptance for the irrational.
²⁸
Arguing that 99 percent of American undergraduates now accept some aspect of the paranormal such as angels, ghosts, devils, UFOs, and communication with the dead, he identified educational strategies to counteract this trend. Why is this happening among our brightest and best? he wondered. Miller’s question had barely stopped echoing before dissent was upon him. Writing in the APA’s journal,
Monitor
, Daniel Fuselier and Rob Neiss
²⁹
lambasted Miller for his arrogance in assuming that there was anything defective about belief in the paranormal. Why do we have to take formal steps to guard against something that may ultimately turn out to be correct? they argued.

There is a more important problem with Miller’s view of student irrationality. His attempt to uncover its origins trotted out the time-worn clichés about the “functions” of supernatural belief. Miller argues that students embrace supernatural beliefs “because they help reduce uncertainty. These beliefs tend to rise in turbulent times.” Obviously, these qualify as turbulent times (post-9/11), and so we should expect a groundswell of more than passing interest in angels, gods, demons, and ghosts.

This view, which is hardly unique to Miller, assumes that any secondary gain provided by such beliefs is also an explanation for their occurrence. The student’s belief system has ultimately been reduced to the rat’s lever press in a Skinner box. What remains unanswered is why such beliefs are so readily acquired in the first place, and why they feel so “natural.” Putting the question another way, why, given the vast number of comforting beliefs the student might embrace, does this same narrow range of possibilities keep emerging? This sounds less and less like normal, “unprepared” operant behavior such as the rat’s lever press and more and more like specialized, biologically prepared learning. As work by Martin Seligman, Robert Bolles, and John Garcia reveals, certain types of learning occur much more readily than others and are correspondingly more difficult to dislodge once they take hold.
³⁰
Despite Miller’s worst fears, it would seem that something can be done about this descent into the supernatural maelstrom. With all due respect to Fuselier and Neiss, as well as those who view widespread irrationality with no concern, it appears that there may be some sort of immunity to this cultural virus. Whether it is a natural immunity or one acquired through persistent training, there is encouraging evidence of pockets of critical, logical thinking among us.

A
primitive rope bridge stretches across a section of the Andes Mountains in Peru. The year is 1714. Travelers use the bridge every day, never questioning its structural integrity or the fact that they are taking some risk by crossing. They are probably as unconcerned as commuters who travel across the Golden Gate or George Washington bridges on their way to and from work each day in California and New York.

One day, the rope bridge snaps, killing all five persons who happen to be crossing it at the time. The tragedy is witnessed by a Franciscan monk named Brother Juniper, who is beset by questions such as, Why did it happen? Why now? Why these people? The scholarly monk is convinced that a deeper understanding of this event will provide a window into the workings of God in our lives. Some of you will recognize these events and questions as the theme of Thornton Wilder’s 1927 novel,
The Bridge of San Luis Rey
. It is also the theme of the more recent book and film called
The Great Hereafter
, in which a school bus crash on an icy road claims the lives of several children in a small Canadian community.

Faced with events such as these, what kinds of questions do people ask? How are our minds predisposed to handle such tragedy? In some ways, these occurrences are perfectly geared to trigger the worst kind of Caveman Logic. Perhaps our response depends on how close we were to those directly affected, or the degree of empathy we feel with the victims. But ultimately the circumstances reduce to the following: A sudden, unpredictable event has occurred. Its effects are devastating and irreversible. How do we cope with and understand what has happened?

One possibility is to view the circumstances strictly in terms of the natural world. Using the Peruvian example, we can say things like, “Rope bridges are made of biodegradable material. They have a relatively short and limited life span. This may have been, in Wilder’s words, ‘the finest bridge in all of Peru,’ but the year is 1714. The competition for ‘fine bridges’ is not that impressive. In the absence of a trained city corps of engineers making regular examinations and repairs, it is just a matter of time until the structure gives way. This is most likely to occur when the bridge is bearing weight. In other words, people will be using it when it collapses. Thus, it may not be a question of
why
as much as
when
.”

To many people, this account, which focuses on the physical realities of the world around us, may seem bloodless or incomplete. That is unfortunate and in some ways it is the central problem of this book. We are drawn to Stone Age thinking as if it were some kind of gravitational force. Somehow, unexpected events beg a deeper understanding. The supernatural world starts to look mighty tempting. That is part of the reason Wilder’s novel was a popular success. His book won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction, was filmed almost immediately, and again in 1944. Sixty years later, in 2004, the novel was again filmed in a big-budget extravaganza featuring Robert De Niro. Obviously, the underlying questions remain timely. Most people are still not satisfied with a physical account of the tragedy. Caveman Logic is alive and well in the twenty-first century. There must be a
reason
for these events, and we’re not talking about gravity or rotting sisal. We’re talking about a causal
agent
, and who better than a supernatural one? Nearly three hundred years after the rope bridge fell apart, most contemporary readers and viewers agree with the Franciscan monk who witnessed it. Everything we’ve learned in three centuries goes for naught.

At the core of this descent into spirituality lies the nearly intolerable possibility that some things, especially important ones, are beyond our prediction or control. Thus, the simple equation showing that rotting rope plus weight equals damage and death is insufficient. If we can conjure up a causal agent, we gain several advantages. By understanding the
agenda
of this agent, which was Brother Juniper’s avowed purpose as narrator of the book, we might be able to predict, avoid, or understand the events. Thus, for example, it might help to learn that one of the persons on the bridge at the time was a thief or an adulterer. If we then presume that the causal agent (God, in this case) was opposed to theft or adultery, then the whole tragedy makes better sense to us. We gain some understanding. A seemingly random event may not have been so random. The universe is less frightening. Too bad about those other four travelers, but that adulterer just had to be crushed. No wiggle room on this if you’re talking about a vengeful deity.

Such understanding can also be used to predict or, perhaps, even control circumstances in the future. Certainly, nobody in his right mind would cross such a bridge knowing that a convicted felon or an adulterer was also using it. And if we had just stolen a chicken or spent the afternoon with a neighbor’s wife, we’d be less likely to use the bridge going home that day. Or maybe even that week. This understanding might go a long way to keeping us alive.

Of course, a better grade of rope or more-frequent examinations of the bridge might also not hurt, although these strategies are far less spiritual. At the least, however, our anxiety is reduced because we have taken a seemingly random event and dragged it into a realm that makes sense to us. The account may be utterly bogus, but at some level it feels right. Even if we can’t formally predict or control such tragedies, at least we are now able to understand them, post hoc. And that is no small benefit. Needless to say, this approach made a good deal more sense 100,000 years ago when our database about the physical universe was relatively small. But here we are, projected well into the future, living in a society that effortlessly designs and builds bridges across great distances and sends exploratory projectiles into outer space. Yet the same minds that design such devices readily default into their caveman roots. They still seek “spiritual” accounts when some piece of modern hardware malfunctions.

In fact, there is another benefit that comes from inventing a causal agent with some serious agenda issues. (Keep in mind that Thornton Wilder claimed that his prize-winning novel stemmed from arguments with his father, “a strict Calvinist who all too easily imagined God as a petty school master who minutely weighed guilt against merit.”) Because of our tendency toward social exchange, we can also beseech this agent each time we or our loved ones are about to cross the bridge. That’s one additional way to stack the cards in our favor and gain some apparent measure of control. The occasional sacrificial lamb won’t hurt as well. (It won’t do a lot for the lamb’s health, but it will allow
us
to sleep more soundly.) Of course, every successful journey across this bridge (remembering that most of them
are
successful, or the bridge would have been abandoned years ago) further reinforces the notion of a causal agent who can be successfully bribed.
Oravi
,
transivi
,
vixi
. “I prayed, I crossed, I lived.”

And so the search begins for some indication of
why
God, the causal agent, would have found fault with some or all of the five people in question. It’s likely that any of our lives would have yielded up more than a few glimpses of things that might displease a vengeful deity, but that is irrelevant here. We are not on trial, so to speak. It is our poor, deceased Peruvian friends in 1714 who have presumably brought this on themselves, thus reaffirming our belief that cause and effect or control are always there, if you look hard enough for them.