Wednesday, February 25, 2026

The Psychology of Religion, Chapter 10: Reading List & Discussion

I realize it's odd to include a reading list in the middle of a book—and this is the second similar chapter in a row. But it feels right to me.  I mean this list as a set of recommendations. Reading is a great joy of life, and people don't read enough these days. Also the list captures some of the authors and ideas that have been most influential in my life, and I think it's important for you to know some of my own scholarly background about the topic of religion: 

1. When God Talks Back, by Tanya Luhrmann. One of the best books for understanding how religious experience becomes subjectively real. Luhrmann is not trying to prove that God exists; she is trying to understand how people come to experience God as vivid, intimate, personal, and responsive. This is a very important distinction. If one wants to understand religion properly, it is not enough to say that believers are mistaken. One must also understand how prayer, inner speech, imagination, attention, social reinforcement, and expectation can combine so that an invisible relationship feels emotionally real. This book is especially valuable because it helps one understand believers without condescension. It is possible to reject the supernatural claims while still taking the psychology seriously.

2. Religion Explained, by Pascal Boyer. Boyer is asking why certain kinds of religious ideas are so easy for human minds to generate, remember, and transmit. Gods, spirits, ancestors, invisible agents, taboos, and rituals do not have to be imported into human culture from some supernatural realm. They arise very naturally from ordinary cognitive tendencies—our readiness to detect agency, infer intentions, remember striking stories, monitor threats, and think about social obligations. Religion, in this view, is not evidence of revelation. It is evidence of the structure of the human mind.

3. In Gods We Trust, by Scott Atran. A very important book in the cognitive and evolutionary study of religion. Atran helps show that religion is not simply a “belief system” in the abstract, but something that grows out of ordinary human cognition and then becomes woven into kinship, coalition, morality, identity, and emotional life. This is helpful because many religious people imagine skepticism as though it were merely a refusal to accept a few doctrines. But religion is usually much more socially and psychologically embedded than that. Atran is denser and more scholarly than some of the other authors on this list, but he is worth the effort. He helps explain why religion is persistent, why it is so often resistant to contradiction, and why sacred ideas can motivate extraordinary loyalty and sacrifice.

4. Big Gods, by Ara Norenzayan. A very useful book for thinking about the social success of religion. Norenzayan explores the idea that belief in morally interested, watchful supernatural beings may have helped large societies sustain cooperation among strangers. Even if one grants this in part, it does not rescue the truth of the supernatural claims. It simply shows that false beliefs can sometimes have functional social effects. That distinction is central to the argument of this book: a belief can be adaptive, comforting, socially useful, and still not be true. One can debate the exact historical sequencing of all this, but the core psychological and sociological point is extremely useful. If people feel watched, judged, and morally monitored—even by an invisible being—they may behave differently. Religion may therefore function, in some settings, as a kind of supernatural social surveillance system.

5. Modes of Religiosity, by Harvey Whitehouse. Especially useful for thinking about ritual. Whitehouse argues that religions often cluster around two broad patterns. In one, there are rare, emotionally intense, highly memorable rituals that bind small groups very tightly. In the other, there are frequent, repetitive, lower-arousal practices that support larger, more orderly, more bureaucratic communities. Once one sees this, many religious differences stop looking mysterious. They look more like different cultural technologies for shaping memory, commitment, group identity, and social structure.

6. The Varieties of Religious Experience, by William James. Though it is well over a century old, James’s classic still has few equals as a sympathetic, psychologically serious study of religious experience. James wanted to describe—carefully, and without contempt—what conversion, mysticism, saintliness, and the “sick soul” actually feel like from the inside, and what they do for the people who undergo them. He took the experiences seriously as data while remaining agnostic about their causes. One can hold that the metaphysics is mistaken and still insist that the experience is real, important, and worth understanding. James is also a useful reminder that the naturalistic study of religion is not a recent invention; it has a long and humane pedigree.

7. Books about cognitive biases, such as Thinking, Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman. This is relevant to religion because many religious beliefs are stabilized by well-described biases. Ingroup loyalty can produce “belief bubbles,” in which people preferentially consume ideas that support their faith and avoid exposure to ideas that challenge it. Beliefs become intertwined with identity and group safety, so a logical challenge can feel like an attack rather than a discussion. Some other cognitive biases include the following:

-Ad hominem attacks against people who challenge religion. A famous target of this was Charles Darwin—a gentle, humble, family-oriented man, with a patient style of meticulously gathering and weighing evidence—who was subject to various criticisms of his character, integrity, and motives as part of a technique to discredit his ideas. Another variant is to attach a discrediting label to the critic—“arrogant,” “godless,” “elitist,” a “so-called expert”—so that the label, rather than the argument, does the work of dismissal.

-Reactive devaluation. Following ad hominem attacks, there is the further step of dismissing evidence not because of its quality, but because one does not like the person expressing it. Conversely, evidence is embraced irrespective of its quality because one likes the messenger, knows the messenger well, or feels loyalty to that person because of past positive experiences.

-The availability cascade. Various religious ideas can seem more believable or persuasive simply because of repeated exposure, sometimes over a lifetime. These ideas are easier to call to mind, more salient in memory, and this can fool people into thinking they are more accurate or more obviously true, irrespective of evidence.

-Confirmation bias. This is when one looks for evidence in a biased way, collecting individual items that support a previous position, while not attending to—or even being aware of—evidence against that position.

-Anchoring. This is the tendency to stick to an original position. One becomes “rooted” to a baseline stance—in this case, religious belief—and later judgments remain biased toward that starting point even in the face of dissonant evidence.

-The sunk cost fallacy. This is sticking to an original position even when there is strong evidence against it, with the reasoning that one has invested so much time, effort, identity, and devotion into the belief that it feels like too much of a loss to let it go.

8. Books about tribal psychology, such as The Power of Us, by Jay Van Bavel and Dominic Packer. One of the core causes of religion is its tribal nature. Tribalism is an innate human tendency to form groups we value and protect—almost always at the expense of outsiders. The origin stories of many religions contain an implicit tribalism: one chosen group receives the “true” revelation, while the rest of humanity is left out unless it is successfully converted. Even the best missionary efforts cannot reach everyone—and historically there have been delays of centuries or millennia—so the theological structure often implies that billions of people are excluded from salvation or relegated to punishment for reasons having nothing to do with character. This contradicts the spirit of justice and universal benevolence many religions claim to endorse. Many texts also describe divinely endorsed violence against outgroups—neighbouring tribes, rival cities, entire peoples. Notably, in these accounts the divine intervention rarely involves help to resolve conflicts peacefully.  

9. The Better Angels of Our Nature, by Steven Pinker. A data-rich and genuinely hopeful account of one of the most important facts about our species: that violence—war, homicide, torture, cruelty as public entertainment—has declined dramatically over the long course of history. What I admire most is its range; Pinker draws on psychology, history, political science, anthropology, economics, and statistics to establish not only that earlier ages were far bloodier than our own, but why the tide has turned—the rise of stable government, commerce, literacy, an expanding circle of empathy, and the growing authority of reason. It is the kind of scholarship I love best: an argument assembled from many disciplines at once, none of which could have reached the conclusion alone.

For the purposes of this book, the salient question is where religion falls in that ledger, and Pinker's answer is not flattering. He finds that most religious belief and practice has, on balance, pushed the wrong way—partly through the ingroup mindset that discounts the human worth of non-believers, and partly through the authoritarian cast of sacred authority itself, which makes cruelty toward outsiders easier to sanctify. The great humanitarian reforms—the retreat of slavery, torture, and judicial savagery—owe more to the secular Enlightenment than to any doctrine. This is not to say religion has done no good; it is to say that the long decline of violence is largely a secular achievement.

Pinker is careful—and so am I—not to mistake this for a promise. The statistics of war follow a "tail-heavy" distribution, in which a catastrophe larger than any yet recorded remains entirely possible, above all in the nuclear age. What has improved is not the ceiling on horror but the underlying odds; and those, at least, are moving in the right direction.

10. The Folly of Fools, by Robert Trivers—especially the chapter on religion. Trivers, one of the great evolutionary biologists of the past generation, argues that deception can confer survival advantages in the natural world. He goes further: the most effective deception often requires some degree of self-deception, because sincere belief makes the performance more convincing.

A related point about religion and self-deception concerns the afterlife. A soldier who no longer fears death because of fervent belief in Heaven may be more willing to fight; and, at worst, may feel fewer qualms about killing or about the suffering of civilians, if the entire moral narrative has been reframed as divinely endorsed. The same logic can be extended far beyond the battlefield. Once earthly suffering is downgraded as temporary, and eternal reward is made the real currency of value, almost any cruelty can be redescribed as necessary, justified, or trivial in the larger cosmic accounting.

More broadly, this collective self-deception can bring real psychological comfort and social cohesion, while also creating vulnerability to manipulation. Leaders can channel the group toward intergroup conflict, persecution of outsiders, or financial exploitation—bolstered by moral certainty and a belief that “God is on our side.”


11. Determined, by Robert Sapolsky. Sapolsky marshals a mountain of evidence that behaviour has many deterministic causes: genetic influences over long time scales, brain changes due to childhood experience, hormonal fluctuations, and immediate environmental conditions. “Free will” is at minimum far less free than most people assume, and for some individuals—given their biology and life history—following certain moral rules will be far harder than for others. This connects to a classic problem in religious dogma: the tension between an all-knowing, all-powerful deity and meaningful human freedom. If a deity knows the entire future with certainty, it begins to resemble a fixed script—God watching a movie whose ending was known all along, including who ends up rewarded or punished. A religious apologist may reply that human logic does not apply to divine matters, but once you do that consistently, you also weaken the very logic by which the religion argues for itself.

12. Books about evolutionary psychology, such as Spent, by Geoffrey Miller. Useful for thinking about status, mating displays, consumption, and the ways our evolved social psychology can drive behaviour that we later dress up in rational language. Human beings are very good at post hoc moralizing and self-justification. Religion often provides an especially elegant vocabulary for motives that are much more ancient and much less noble than they appear on the surface.

13. The Battle for God, by Karen Armstrong. A history of fundamentalism that is very engaging and full of illuminating case examples. Armstrong’s key point is not simply that fundamentalists are ignorant or backward. Her point is that fundamentalism is, in important ways, a modern reaction to modernity—a kind of militant piety or panic in response to rapid, disorienting social change. She emphasizes the clash between older religious ways of making meaning and a new world dominated by scientific rationality, secular institutions, modern states, and aggressive cultural change. She is also very good at describing how fundamentalist movements often turn religion into a quasi-rational system of certainties, as though sacred myth had to be defended in the language of science, politics, and ideology.

This is particularly relevant to Darwin, modern science, and women’s rights. In the Protestant world especially, fundamentalism became deeply bound up with resistance to biblical criticism, Darwinian evolution, liberal theology, and secular education. Later, these same movements often fused with backlash against women’s rights, sexual liberalization, and other social changes seen as attacks on a divinely ordained hierarchy. When a belief system is predicated on absolute certainty and a rigid, divinely ordained order, a ballot box for a woman, a secular classroom, or an evolutionary biology textbook can feel not like progress but like an existential threat to the cosmic order. Armstrong is especially useful because she shows that fundamentalism is not a timeless, “pure” form of faith. It is a highly modern response to the painful transformation of modern life.

14. Joseph Campbell, especially The Power of Myth and Myths to Live By. These were favourites of mine in young adulthood, though they can feel a little dated now. Campbell was a great storyteller with a strong interest in comparative mythology. He saw myths as sources of poetic insight about history, humanity, and morality—insights that evaporate if you insist on literalism.

After reading Campbell, I came to see that “it’s just a myth” doesn’t have to be insulting. A myth is not a historical account, but it is a portrait of a culture and its evolving moral imagination. Of course, myths are also edited over generations and often carry ideological agendas—sometimes to justify the power structures of the day. Taking a myth literally is like watching a great movie and then treating it as a documentary and instruction manual, policing behaviour by quoting isolated lines of dialogue, while denouncing all other films as blasphemy. We easily do this with Greek mythology, but many people refuse to do it with modern mythologies.

15. Scholars of archaeology, the history of the Ancient Near East, the history of religious texts, and philosophy. Look for scholars with strong credentials and serious methods, as you would in any discipline. Bart Ehrman is an excellent place to start. One should be acquainted with scholarship on the origins and editorial histories of religious texts: multiple versions, translation issues, theological agendas, and the ways texts absorb and transform motifs across cultures. Richard Elliott Friedman, Israel Finkelstein, Neil Silberman, and Mark S. Smith are all very useful in this regard.

A caution: as with many polarized topics, there are also plenty of apologists—sometimes persuasive, sometimes contemptuous of contrary evidence—who can reproduce the very dynamics they claim to be rising above.

16. The God Delusion, by Richard Dawkins. An influential and widely read critique of religious belief from a scientific standpoint, with particular attention to religion’s harms. Dawkins is at his best when he is clear, fierce, and empirically grounded. But he sometimes falls short in affirming the psychological and sociocultural causes and benefits of religion—benefits that can exist even when the supernatural claims are false. Despite these issues, this is one of the most impactful and important books I have ever read.  

17. The philosophical works of Bertrand Russell, particularly those in which he discusses religion. Russell remains one of the clearest philosophical critics of religion. He is especially good at exposing bad arguments that have survived mainly because they are old, emotionally resonant, or repeated with confidence. There is also something refreshing about reading someone who is sharp, logical, unsentimental, and completely unintimidated by sacred tradition.

18. Richard Dawkins’s science books, especially The Ancestor’s Tale and The Selfish Gene. These are excellent introductions to genetics in general and evolutionary biology in particular, with wonderful case studies highlighting specific organisms and biological systems. For example, it is incredibly interesting to understand the genetics of bee reproduction and how this influences the behaviour and social organization of bees. The classic “birds and bees” talk really should be updated to include this.

These books also showcase Dawkins as one of the great science communicators, and they demonstrate that evolutionary biology can be wonderfully interesting. It has always bothered me that university students can obtain science degrees—sometimes even in biology—without ever reading books like these. Another very good book about the history and texture of genetics is She Has Her Mother’s Laugh, by Carl Zimmer.

19. Works reviewing controlled studies on paranormal claims—psychic ability, ghosts, miracles, and related subjects. This includes James Randi’s work over many years, and skeptically oriented psychologists such as Richard Wiseman, who has written and spoken extensively about how “paranormal” experiences can arise from priming, suggestion, environmental factors, memory distortion, coincidence, and cultural expectation.

The fairest claim here is not that every study has always been negative, but that after decades of investigation, paranormal claims have not produced a robust, reliably replicable body of evidence. Many “hits” are better explained by coincidence, selection effects, remembering the hits and forgetting the misses, motivated interpretation, and the cognitive biases that flourish in emotionally charged settings.

20. Astronomy Today and other good introductory astronomy texts. An introductory astronomy textbook is genuinely thrilling—even just aesthetically. I think everyone should understand how planets, stars, and galaxies form, what they are made of, the time scales involved, and the astonishing reasoning that has helped us understand the universe.

A modern cosmic perspective does more than show that many old cosmologies were factually wrong. It shows how provincial they were. Many religious worldviews were formed in a pre-Copernican mental universe. Once one has learned even a little astronomy, it becomes much harder to take ancient sky-centered metaphors as literal descriptions of reality.

This list is obviously selective. But these are among the books and research traditions I would most want a reader to have in mind while reading the rest of this book.


References

Armstrong, K. (2000). The battle for God: A history of fundamentalism. Alfred A. Knopf.

Atran, S. (2002). In gods we trust: The evolutionary landscape of religion. Oxford University Press.

Boyer, P. (2001). Religion explained: The evolutionary origins of religious thought. Basic Books.

Campbell, J. (1972). Myths to live by. Viking Press.

Campbell, J., & Moyers, B. (1988). The power of myth (B. S. Flowers, Ed.). Doubleday.

Chaisson, E., & McMillan, S. (2017). Astronomy today (9th ed.). Pearson.

Dawkins, R. (1976). The selfish gene. Oxford University Press.

Dawkins, R. (2004). The ancestor's tale: A pilgrimage to the dawn of life. Houghton Mifflin.

Dawkins, R. (2006). The God delusion. Bantam Press.

Ehrman, B. D. (2005). Misquoting Jesus: The story behind who changed the Bible and why. HarperSanFrancisco.

Finkelstein, I., & Silberman, N. A. (2001). The Bible unearthed: Archaeology's new vision of ancient Israel and the origin of its sacred texts. Free Press.

Friedman, R. E. (1987). Who wrote the Bible? Summit Books.

James, W. (1902). The varieties of religious experience: A study in human nature. Longmans, Green.

Kahneman, D. (2011). Thinking, fast and slow. Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

Luhrmann, T. M. (2012). When God talks back: Understanding the American evangelical relationship with God. Alfred A. Knopf.

Miller, G. (2009). Spent: Sex, evolution, and consumer behavior. Viking.

Norenzayan, A. (2013). Big gods: How religion transformed cooperation and conflict. Princeton University Press.

Pinker, S. (2011). The better angels of our nature: Why violence has declined. Viking.

Randi, J. (1987). The faith healers. Prometheus Books.

Russell, B. (1957). Why I am not a Christian and other essays on religion and related subjects (P. Edwards, Ed.). Simon & Schuster.

Sapolsky, R. M. (2023). Determined: A science of life without free will. Penguin Press.

Smith, M. S. (2002). The early history of God: Yahweh and the other deities in ancient Israel (2nd ed.). Eerdmans. (Original work published 1990)

Trivers, R. (2011). The folly of fools: The logic of deceit and self-deception in human life. Basic Books.

Van Bavel, J. J., & Packer, D. J. (2021). The power of us: Harnessing our shared identities to improve performance, increase cooperation, and promote social harmony. Little, Brown Spark.

Whitehouse, H. (2004). Modes of religiosity: A cognitive theory of religious transmission. AltaMira Press.

Wiseman, R. (2011). Paranormality: Why we see what isn't there. Macmillan.

Zimmer, C. (2018). She has her mother's laugh: The powers, perversions, and potential of heredity. Dutton.


Tuesday, February 24, 2026

The Psychology of Religion, Chapter 9: Video Recommendations

To explore the evidence behind my main thesis, I have to defer to people who are masters of their respective fields. I’m not a specialist in genetics, geology, astronomy, physics, or history—and I don’t want to pose as one. Still, with many complex topics it helps to have some working understanding across multiple domains, because reality doesn’t come neatly divided into academic departments.

So here is a starter video list—meant less as a syllabus than as an invitation to curiosity:

1. A very approachable place to start is simply to watch nature documentaries. David Attenborough is, in my view, among the greatest nature documentarians in history. One can see that Attenborough is also a great human being—gentle, wise, kind, caring—and almost everyone, whatever their religious or political leanings, would warm to him. The BBC Planet Earth series is a good gateway:

Planet Earth

Planet Earth II

Planet Earth III

And separately (not BBC): David Attenborough: A Life on Our Planet (2020).

These films can begin with simple appreciation of the wonder of the natural world—then, if you’re willing, they also confront something darker: predation, starvation, disease, and the high baseline suffering in wild ecosystems. A world arranged by a benevolent designer for the good of its creatures would not, one imagines, have planned for parasites, famine, and the slow death of the weak. The age of the Earth’s rocks unsettles only the literalist; the sheer quantity of undeserved suffering in nature is the deeper challenge to any account of a benevolent design. These documentaries are also a good background for understanding evolution as the process that has shaped the history of life—rather than the work of a designing hand. Increasingly, they point to the scale of human-caused ecological damage too—habitat loss, pollution, and the accelerating loss of biodiversity.

For people raised in literalist traditions, geology is often where the age of the Earth becomes impossible to set aside: it is old—billions of years old. A clear and enjoyable entry point is the work of geologist Iain Stewart, who has presented excellent television introductions to Earth’s history and processes, for example his five-part BBC series Earth: The Power of the Planet (2007), broadcast in the United States the following year as Earth: The Biography. This matters here because many forms of dogmatic faith make specific claims about origins and timescales—such as a young Earth only a few thousand years old—that are very hard to reconcile with the geological record.

2. Cosmos—the original series with Carl Sagan (1980), and the modern reboot with Neil deGrasse Tyson (Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey)—is a beautiful introduction to astronomy and to the history of scientific discovery. The central lesson is not that science has all the answers. It is that science has built machinery for noticing when it is wrong—and uses it. That is what distinguishes it from dogma.

3. Alice Roberts’ 2009 documentary The Incredible Human Journey is a vivid, evidence-focused account of human origins and migration. It tells the story of humans emerging in Africa hundreds of thousands of years ago, and then spreading across the world over long stretches of time. It’s “hands on” in the best way: bones, artifacts, genetics, geography—real evidence you can actually reason about. A similar more recent documentary, produced in 2025, is Human, a five-part series hosted by paleoanthropologist Ella Al-Shamahi; it argues that a defining feature of humanity is the capacity for communicating abstract thought, and it invites reflection on how symbolic practices—including religion and sacrifice—became important elements in the development of human culture.

4. The Cambridge historian Christopher Clark has made accessible historical work available in lecture/documentary form, especially in his series The Story of Europe, beginning with “Origins and Identity.” Some of this can be found on YouTube. I recommend serious history partly because it complicates the tidier stories that religious apologetics sometimes tell. Every major religion has sometimes been entangled with education, social organization, and cultural development. But history also forces us to look directly at atrocities, wars, persecutions, and massacres carried out under religious banners—including conflicts between rival branches of the same religion.

5. PBS’s Evolution (2001), narrated by Liam Neeson, is a solid place to begin learning about evolutionary science. This documentary is dated now in production style, and much of evolutionary biology has advanced dramatically since 2001—especially with the explosion of genetic evidence. But it still introduces the central logic clearly, and it’s hard to overstate how overwhelmingly strong the evidence is. Understanding evolution does not have to leave us disheartened any more than understanding that the Earth revolves around the Sun. It’s simply a lucid way of seeing how biological systems actually work.

A very good follow-up here is PBS’s Your Inner Fish (2014), based on Neil Shubin’s work. It is especially good because it links fossils, embryology, genetics, and the odd quirks of human anatomy in a vivid, understandable way. The basic theme is that many parts of the human body—our limbs, necks, lungs, and even aspects of our hands—make much more sense when you see them as products of deep evolutionary history rather than as pristine design.

A small rhetorical critique, though: documentaries sometimes lapse into personification—phrases like “nature wants” or “evolution tinkers.” This is just figurative language, but it can confuse a literal-minded viewer into imagining a conscious agent. Evolution is not a being; it is a process. Nature doesn’t “decide.” Things happen because systems have certain constraints, causal mechanisms, and regularities—and those regularities can be studied.

6. Documentaries such as Into the Universe with Stephen Hawking (2010) are an accessible entry point into questions about the origins and fate of the universe. If you’re drawn in, it becomes worth learning at least the basic conceptual outlines of cosmology, relativity and quantum mechanics—not to become a physicist, but to appreciate what modern science has learned about time, matter, and causation.

This list is not meant to “replace” religion with documentaries. It’s meant to give readers a way to encounter the natural world and human history directly—through disciplines that are constrained by evidence, and that openly correct themselves when they’re wrong. If my broader argument is that dogma cannot bear close scrutiny, then the honest next step is to offer people good places to do that scrutiny.


References

Al-Shamahi, E. (Host). (2025). Human [TV series]. BBC Studios; PBS. https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/series/human

Attenborough, D. (Narrator). (2006). Planet Earth [TV series]. BBC. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Planet_Earth_(2006_TV_series)

Attenborough, D. (Narrator). (2016). Planet Earth II [TV series]. BBC. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Planet_Earth_II

Attenborough, D. (Narrator). (2020). David Attenborough: A life on our planet [Film]. Silverback Films; Netflix. https://www.netflix.com/title/80216393

Attenborough, D. (Narrator). (2023). Planet Earth III [TV series]. BBC Studios Natural History Unit. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Planet_Earth_III

Hawking, S. (Writer & Host). (2010). Into the universe with Stephen Hawking [TV series]. Darlow Smithson Productions. https://www.discovery.com/shows/into-the-universe-with-stephen-hawking

Neeson, L. (Narrator). (2001). Evolution [TV series]. WGBH/NOVA; Clear Blue Sky Productions. 
https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/evolution/

Roberts, A. (Host). (2009). The incredible human journey [TV series]. BBC. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Incredible_Human_Journey

Sagan, C. (Host). (1980). Cosmos: A personal voyage [TV series]. PBS. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cosmos:_A_Personal_Voyage

Shubin, N. (Host). (2014). Your inner fish [TV series]. Tangled Bank Studios; PBS. https://www.pbs.org/show/your-inner-fish-program

Stewart, I. (Host). (2007). Earth: The power of the planet [TV series]. BBC. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Earth:_The_Power_of_the_Planet

Tyson, N. deG. (Host). (2014). Cosmos: A spacetime odyssey [TV series]. Fox; National Geographic. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cosmos:_A_Spacetime_Odyssey

The Psychology of Religion, Chapter 8: Charlatanism

The word charlatanism sounds harsh, but I think it is sometimes the right word. By charlatanism, I mean the presentation of exaggerated or false claims of special spiritual, prophetic, healing, or paranormal authority—especially when these claims are used to gain trust, money, status, or obedience. I do not mean that everyone in these roles is a deliberate fraud. In many cases the line between fraud and self-deception is blurry: some people are consciously manipulative, while others sincerely believe in powers or insights that are not actually there. The effect on followers can be similar either way.

Religious history has no shortage of examples. The clearest case is Peter Popoff, who through the 1980s filled arenas by calling out strangers' names, addresses, and ailments—knowledge he attributed to God, and which brought his ministry more than half a million dollars a month. In 1986 the professional conjurer James Randi had an associate scan the radio frequencies at one of the meetings. What came through was Popoff's wife, Elizabeth, reading aloud into a transmitter from the prayer cards the audience had filled out on the way in, feeding an earpiece hidden in her husband's ear. Fraud was not the worst of it: the scanner also caught her and her aides laughing at the appearance of a man with advanced testicular cancer. Randi played the tape on The Tonight Show. Popoff first claimed NBC had hired an actress to impersonate his wife on a doctored tape; then he conceded the radio existed, but said almost everybody knew about it. Popoff declared bankruptcy the following year. He was back on television within a decade, and is selling Miracle Spring Water still.

Outside formal religion, there are also psychics and fortune-tellers who make strong claims about paranormal abilities that they cannot substantiate. Yet even here, the picture is not uniform. Some may sincerely believe in what they are doing, and some—whatever their beliefs—can still offer genuinely helpful human wisdom, sometimes resembling a perceptive psychotherapist. Once again, this is often a frame issue: if there is a setting in which a perceptive person pays close attention to a needy and trusting client, many helpful interactions can occur, including occasional insights that feel “predictive,” even when no paranormal or spiritual mechanism is involved.

With regard to psychics and fortune-tellers, much of what feels uncanny in these settings is better explained by ordinary psychology. Some “predictions” rely on cold reading—careful observation of verbal and non-verbal cues, strategic ambiguity, and gentle probing—combined with the Forer (Barnum) effect, in which feedback is so broad that it could apply to almost anyone, yet is delivered in a way that feels intimate and precisely tailored. In a sense, the client supplies the specificity while the psychic supplies the theatre.

Ironically, a kind of “faith” in the mechanism can make the experience more powerful. If you believe in psychic powers, you will likely be more open, more trusting, more suggestible, and more motivated to find meaning in what is said. This can make the encounter feel transformative—while still having nothing to do with paranormal abilities.

On the evidence: it is tempting to say that careful research on parapsychological phenomena has always been negative. A more precise—and still unsparing—statement is that after decades of investigation, these claims have not produced a robust, independently replicated body of evidence that would justify belief in paranormal powers. There are occasional studies that report statistically significant results, but these effects tend to be small, fragile, and disputed, and they do not survive replication under tighter controls (better blinding, preregistration, fixed stopping rules, and independent labs). Most apparent “successes,” in practice, are better explained by coincidence, selection effects (remembering “hits,” forgetting “misses”), motivated interpretation, and the cognitive biases that flourish in emotionally charged settings.

I am aware, too, of some influential figures in the new age and self-help spiritual milieu who have had a genuinely delightful, warm, and thoughtful style. Louise Hay is an example. Many of her self-help affirmations are beautiful—arguably a more poetic and intimate cousin of cognitive therapy. One shortcoming of how CBT is often presented is its cool mechanistic tone, and the affirmations approach can feel refreshingly humane. So I do sometimes encourage patients to use affirmations.

But alongside the affirmations, the same genre often carries dogmas about disease causation—claims that illnesses are produced by emotional states like resentment, criticism, or guilt, and that changing one’s attitude can dissolve even severe disease. Hay’s own best-selling You Can Heal Your Life is the clearest example: its long appended list assigns a specific emotional cause to nearly every ailment—cancer to long-held resentment, arthritis to habitual criticism. Such claims are not merely scientifically implausible; they are ethically hazardous, because they imply that people with tragic illnesses are partly to blame for having the “wrong” emotional life. Even when there is a kernel of truth (stress matters; psychology affects coping and health behaviour), this is a massive distortion of complex causation. As Susan Sontag argued in Illness as Metaphor, written while she was herself being treated for cancer, to read disease as a verdict on the patient's character is a cruelty that shames the sick. 

Most importantly, these beliefs become dangerous when they delay or obstruct timely evidence-based care. A “spiritual” frame that provides comfort and meaning is one thing; a causal dogma that misleads people away from effective medical treatment is another.

A related issue is accountability. In medicine and licensed psychotherapy, there are training standards, ethical codes, professional regulation, and at least some recourse when someone harms you. Spiritual markets are much murkier: the more grandiose the claims (“I can see your future,” “I can heal your cancer,” “the universe told me”), the less often there is oversight commensurate with the potential harm. The result is a predictable asymmetry: vulnerable people—often frightened, grieving, or desperate—are asked for trust, money, and obedience, in exchange for claims that are difficult to test and easy to excuse away when they fail.

And we should not flatter ourselves that education inoculates against this. Even very intelligent people can be drawn into false frameworks when the framework meets a psychological need: relief from uncertainty, the soothing of grief, a sense of control, a narrative that restores meaning, or simply the comfort of being seen. In fact, verbal intelligence can sometimes make the problem worse: it supplies better rhetoric to defend the belief, better stories to rationalize disappointment, and sharper arguments to dismiss critics as “closed-minded.” The vulnerability here is not stupidity—it is humanity, under stress, doing what human minds do best: turning ambiguous experience into a story that feels coherent and safe.

References

Ehrenreich, B. (2009). Bright-sided: How the relentless promotion of positive thinking has undermined America. Metropolitan Books.

A cultural critique of the American positive-thinking industry, written with reportorial bite. Ehrenreich—drawing in part on her own treatment for breast cancer—traces how the demand to “stay positive” shades into a doctrine in which illness becomes a failure of attitude and recovery a reward for cheerfulness. Her central charge maps directly onto this chapter: positive-thinking culture quietly relocates responsibility for disease onto the patient, and can crowd out realism, grief, and sober medical decision-making. (Published in the United Kingdom as Smile or Die.)


Hay, L. L. (1984). You can heal your life. Hay House.

The foundational text of the modern affirmations movement, which has sold tens of millions of copies. Hay pairs genuinely humane self-acceptance exercises with a metaphysics of disease: an appended list assigns a specific emotional or mental cause to nearly every ailment—cancer to long-held resentment, arthritis to criticism—and the book asserts that releasing such feelings can dissolve even serious illness. 

 

Hyman, R. (1977). “Cold reading”: How to convince strangers that you know all about them. The Zetetic (now the Skeptical Inquirer), 1(2), 18–37.

The classic analysis of cold reading by a psychologist who was himself a practicing mentalist. Hyman dissects the techniques—high-probability guesses, strategic ambiguity, attentive reading of feedback, and skillful use of the client’s own disclosures—by which a reader can appear to possess uncanny knowledge of a stranger.  

Randi, J. (1987). The faith healers. Prometheus Books.

A documented investigation, with a foreword by Carl Sagan, of prominent faith-healing ministries. Randi, a professional conjurer, exposes the stagecraft behind apparent miracles—most famously the televangelist Peter Popoff, whose seemingly divine knowledge of audience members’ names and ailments was being transmitted to a concealed earpiece by his wife from information gathered on prayer cards. Randi’s effort to trace people supposedly cured turned up no verifiable healings. 

 

Shermer, M. (2002). Why people believe weird things: Pseudoscience, superstition, and other confusions of our time (Rev. and expanded ed.). Henry Holt.

A wide-ranging examination of why belief in the implausible is so common, by the founder of the Skeptics Society. The expanded edition adds the chapter most relevant here, “Why Smart People Believe Weird Things,” whose thesis Shermer compresses into a memorable line: intelligent people are often especially skilled at defending beliefs they arrived at for reasons that were not intelligent. 

 

Sontag, S. (1978). Illness as metaphor. Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

A landmark essay, written while Sontag was herself undergoing cancer treatment, against the habit of treating disease as a sign of the sufferer’s character or psychology. She argues that “psychologizing” illness—casting cancer as the disease of the repressed or the emotionally blocked—is a form of victim-blaming that can shame patients and steer them away from effective treatment. 

 ← Chapter 7 | Contents | Chapter 9 →


The Psychology of Religion, Chapter 7: Dogma

Aside from the common factors I have already described, religions also feature dogmatic belief, which in some cases can be very strict. This is where the biggest problems lie—when myth hardens into fact, and metaphor into law. In this chapter I am speaking mainly about Christianity, since it is the tradition I know best, though similar patterns appear elsewhere.

Some dogmatic beliefs may contain wise reflections about morality or justice. At best they can be treated as mythic narratives—not history or physics, but poetic story or figurative teaching about morality. But once people treat dogma as literal fact—or as rigid moral law—it often produces a narrow and flattened morality. Furthermore, some religious stories are so brutal, or so sharply at odds with other parts of the same tradition, that even a charitable metaphorical reading can feel strained.

One can often find, in the same religious text, stories or teachings that contradict each other—sometimes directly, sometimes in subtler ways. Because of this, many individuals end up “picking and choosing” passages to bolster a pre-existing stance on almost any subject. There is a name for this in religious studies—proof-texting—and it is one of the main ways dogma becomes both rigid in tone and flexible in application.

One of the clearest signs of the problem is that the same sacred text can be used to defend opposite moral conclusions. American slavery is a historic example: the pro-slavery preachers referred to the household codes that instruct slaves to obey their masters, or to the story of Paul sending a runaway slave back to his owner. They correctly observed that neither testament condemns slavery. The abolitionists had to argue from a broader perspective of the text—the Exodus, the neighbour, the claim that in Christ there is neither slave nor free. Both sides were literate, devout, and certain. The historian Mark Noll calls this a theological crisis: a culture that had staked everything on the Bible's plain sense discovered that the plain sense would not settle the question. The war settled it. Interpretation of the Bible did not. 

Many people feel that their guidance regarding right and wrong—their foundation of morality—comes from religion or religious texts. People may consider the Ten Commandments to be an obvious moral guide. Yet thinking about morality this way reminds me of the moral development of children, a process described by psychologist Lawrence Kohlberg: at an early stage, a child may feel morality is dictated by a rigid external rule: “don’t take that cookie,” or “you’ll be punished if you take that cookie.” In this stage, the reason not to take the cookie is not understanding, empathy, or principle, but obedience and fear of punishment. That may keep order, but it is a precarious foundation for morality.

Real moral development requires more than rule-following. It requires thinking about why an action is right or wrong, taking other minds seriously, weighing short-term impulse against long-term consequence, and recognizing that rules sometimes conflict or require exceptions. A person may have to resist an authority figure rather than obey one. That is not moral failure; sometimes it is moral maturity.

Rule-following is not the same thing as conscience. If the main reason a person is not stealing from you or assaulting you is fear of divine punishment or obedience to an external rule, that is not especially reassuring! In fairness, this is not how most thoughtful believers actually live: for them the rule is a scaffold for conscience rather than a substitute for it, and the two grow up together. My worry is narrower—it is about what happens when the rule is asked to carry the whole weight, and reflection on it is treated as disobedience. Most people want something deeper in themselves and in those closest to them: judgment, empathy, guilt, restraint, and the ability to reason through difficult cases. Rare exceptions do exist. Stealing food to save a starving child is not the same thing as theft or greed. Humans are capable of this kind of moral reasoning whether they are religious or not, and there are good reasons why it emerges naturally in social species and cooperative cultures.

I do have to acknowledge that some religious texts contain inspired statements about moral reasoning—for example, the Sermon on the Mount, with its emphasis on kindness, love, and humility. But many of these ideas are not unique to Christianity. Variations of the Golden Rule—the ethic of reciprocity—appear across many traditions: Confucian, Jewish, Buddhist, Hindu, Islamic, and others. This is not evidence of divinity; it is what we would expect in human societies grappling with the same recurring problems of cooperation, conflict, and conscience.

The treatment of religious texts as perfect moral instruction manuals is problematic on many levels. It is hard to maintain that every specific word in a religious text—let alone every translation choice or manuscript tradition—is a flawless, literal directive. Most people therefore focus on the next higher levels of organization: a verse, which is the most common unit studied in sermons or religious meetings; or a chapter, which gathers a few dozen verses into what feels like a self-contained unit.  

Many churches have a kind of “book club” format in which small groups meet in someone’s home—refreshments served—to discuss a particular passage, often guided by published interpretations consistent with the group’s existing style of thinking. My childhood home was periodically a venue for these Bible studies. During the discussion, the analysis often stops at the verse level, partly out of practicality. It is complicated to integrate a theme across an entire text like the Bible, with its many books, authors, genres, and historical layers. For each theme or figure of speech present in one verse, there may be dozens of resonant passages elsewhere, sometimes in widely disparate parts of the text, and contradictions—either direct or qualitative—are not difficult to find.

But, as with studying literature, it is a narrow way to understand a text to focus only on its most granular fragments. Much meaning in literature comes from a more holistic analysis: genre, context, narrative arc, tension, voice, contrast. Likewise, if you look at a photograph, it would not make sense to divide it into tiny sections and analyze each separately as though the whole image were nothing but a pile of fragments. It is often inconvenient to do holistic analysis in most sermons or study sessions, so many communities stop at the verse level—or at best, a short passage. These divisions were decided by editors, rather than being features of the earliest manuscripts. The chapter divisions we now take for granted date to around the early thirteenth century—the work of Stephen Langton, later Archbishop of Canterbury—and the verse numbers are later still, introduced by the Paris printer Robert Estienne in 1551. The oldest manuscripts have none of this scaffolding: no chapters, no verses, no punctuation, no "John 3:16," not even spaces between the words. The grid we read through was laid down by editors, centuries after the texts themselves.

This preference for the fragment over the whole reflects one characteristic failure of dogmatic thinking. By turning complex ancient literature into a storage box of isolated rules, people can avoid the harder work of empathy, judgment, context, and reason. Dogma is attractive partly because certainty feels safe, and shared certainty binds a group together. But the cost is high. When we trade nuance for rigidity, we do not just limit our own moral growth; we also make collective intolerance and cruelty easier to justify.

References

Curry, O. S., Mullins, D. A., & Whitehouse, H. (2019). Is it good to cooperate? Testing the theory of morality-as-cooperation in 60 societies. Current Anthropology, 60(1), 47–69. https://doi.org/10.1086/701478

A large cross-cultural test of the hypothesis that morality consists of solutions to recurrent problems of cooperation. Surveying the ethnographic record of sixty societies, the authors find that seven cooperative behaviours—helping kin, helping one’s group, reciprocating, being brave, deferring to legitimate authority, dividing disputed resources fairly, and respecting prior possession—are regarded as morally good wherever they appear, in all regions of the world. The findings give empirical weight to the claim that shared moral intuitions, including versions of the Golden Rule, are what one would expect from a cooperative social species rather than evidence of a single divine origin.
 

de Waal, F. B. M. (2006). Primates and philosophers: How morality evolved (S. Macedo & J. Ober, Eds.). Princeton University Press.

Drawing on decades of primate research, de Waal argues against “Veneer Theory”—the view that morality is a thin cultural overlay on an otherwise selfish animal nature—and contends instead that the building blocks of human morality (empathy, reciprocity, consolation, a rudimentary sense of fairness) are continuous with the social instincts of other primates. Based on his Tanner Lectures and including critical responses from philosophers such as Christine Korsgaard, Philip Kitcher, and Peter Singer, the volume supports the argument that moral capacities arise naturally in social species rather than requiring a supernatural source.
 

Haidt, J. (2001). The emotional dog and its rational tail: A social intuitionist approach to moral judgment. Psychological Review, 108(4), 814–834. https://doi.org/10.1037/0033-295X.108.4.814

An influential challenge to rationalist accounts of morality, including Kohlberg’s. Haidt argues that moral judgments are usually produced by rapid, automatic intuitions, with conscious reasoning arriving afterward as post hoc justification—the “emotional dog” wagging its “rational tail.” The paper complicates any picture of mature morality as primarily deliberative, but it equally undercuts rigid rule-following: the empathic and reactive intuitions Haidt describes are precisely what a fixed list of commandments cannot encode.
 

Kohlberg, L. (1981). Essays on moral development, Vol. 1: The philosophy of moral development. Harper & Row.

The foundational statement of Kohlberg’s stage theory of moral reasoning, which describes development as a movement from a preconventional level (in which right action is whatever avoids punishment or serves self-interest), through a conventional level (conformity to social rules and roles), to a postconventional level (reasoning from general ethical principles that can stand in judgment over particular rules and authorities). The framework supplies the vocabulary for the distinction at the heart of this chapter—between morality as obedience to an external rule and morality as principled reasoning—though it has been criticized for privileging abstract justice reasoning and for the gap between moral reasoning and moral conduct.
 

Metzger, B. M., & Ehrman, B. D. (2005). The text of the New Testament: Its transmission, corruption, and restoration (4th ed.). Oxford University Press.

The standard scholarly handbook on New Testament textual criticism. Among much else, it documents that the familiar apparatus of chapter and verse is a late editorial imposition: chapter divisions are generally credited to Stephen Langton in the early thirteenth century, and the verse numbers of the printed New Testament to Robert Estienne in 1551; the earliest manuscripts were written without these divisions, and indeed without punctuation or even spaces between words. This supports the observation that verse boundaries are an artifact of editors rather than a feature of the original texts, and that reading “by the verse” can fragment what was composed as continuous argument.
 

Neusner, J., & Chilton, B. D. (Eds.). (2008). The golden rule: The ethics of reciprocity in world religions. Continuum.

An edited volume in which scholars examine formulations of the Golden Rule across Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Confucianism, and Greco-Roman philosophy, attending both to the shared core and to the genuine differences among them. It documents the near-universality of reciprocity ethics that the chapter invokes. 
 

Noll, M. A. (2006). The civil war as a theological crisis. University of North Carolina Press.

A historical study, by a leading evangelical historian, of how American Christians on both sides of the slavery question appealed to the same Bible with equal confidence—pro-slavery writers citing the household codes and scripture’s apparent toleration of slavery, abolitionists appealing to the broader arc of liberation and the command to love one’s neighbour. Noll argues that the impossibility of settling the dispute “by the Bible alone” constituted a genuine crisis for scriptural authority. The episode is perhaps the clearest historical illustration of the claim that one sacred text can be marshalled to defend opposite moral conclusions.
 

The Psychology of Religion, Chapter 6: Faith Healing

In more dramatic religious healing practices—such as "faith healing"—the nonspecific factors I discussed earlier are especially prominent: the awe of a crowd, intense emotions, and a strong attachment to a charismatic leader on a stage. Faith healing, much like hypnosis, can appear particularly effective for problems with a substantial functional component: symptoms that fluctuate with stress, attention, expectation, and social reinforcement—dissociative phenomena, functional seizures, and other presentations in which meaning and arousal shape the experience of illness. In such settings, a sudden "cure" can let a person feel validated and publicly endorsed by the community—their distress reframed as something meaningful, even sacred or chosen, rather than as ordinary misfortune—which can temporarily lift self-esteem and social standing. This is not to say the symptoms were imaginary: functional symptoms are genuinely experienced, and often disabling. Dramatic healing events change the meaning, the attention, and the social frame around suffering.  Unfortunately, these dynamics are easily exploited by charlatans, and one does not have to look far to find examples.

I have to digress—for a very lengthy moment—about the word functional.  The older term was psychosomatic, and it has been mostly retired.  "Psychosomatic" suggests that there is a psychological cause, that the mind made the body create the symptom.  Sometimes this could be the case: many people with functional symptoms do have psychological factors in play; the evidence for this is that psychological treatments alone can relieve the physical problems.  But this is not true for everyone.  Many patients have no identifiable trigger, no trauma, no underlying depression, and in this case the word psychosomatic carries an accusation—you are doing this to yourself—which is cruel when it is wrong.  And it frequently is wrong.  Medicine has been confidently mistaken about this label before.  Peptic ulcer disease was for decades thought to be psychosomatic: stress, acid, and a driven personality.  But then, as I described earlier, Marshall and Warren discovered that ulcers were actually caused by a bacterial infection!  

The current term is functional, meaning a disorder of function rather than structure:  the hardware is intact, but the signalling has gone wrong.  The shift is not a denial that psychology matters—it is a refusal to require it.  Diagnosis no longer depends on hunting for a stressor; it rests on positive physical signs.  In functional leg weakness, for instance, the leg that cannot be pressed down on command will press down perfectly well, by itself, the moment the patient is asked to lift the other one.  The pathway works.  But what fails is the access to it.  The term functional could sound like a polite evasion or even a euphemism for psychosomatic, but it has an advantage: it says what is happening without insisting on a particular cause.  

Causation for functional problems runs across a wide range, and much of it is simply unknown.  At one end there are cases where psychological factors are evident—the old vocabulary of somatization and conversion, where distress that has no other outlet arrives in the body.  At the other end are patients in whom no one has ever found anything of the kind, and where the mechanism is a genuine mystery: something has gone wrong with prediction, attention, and the brain's model of the body.  There is also another category of cases—the factitious, where symptoms are produced or faked for the sake of the sick role and the care that comes with it; and outright malingering, where the payoff is money, drugs, or an escape from something.  But these cases are not functional; they are in a separate category altogether.  

But let's get back to the stage: at a faith healing event, different people might have different problems. Someone with a functional gait disorder might genuinely walk.  Someone who has felt comfortable in a sick role might be willing to take on the role of a healed person.  Some people might have been paid to throw down a crutch.  And others might have some combination of these problems, since categorization is not necessarily tidy—labels that look crisp in a textbook might blur in a real person under a spotlight, with a crowd roaring and a preacher's hand on her forehead.  Not every problem is one thing.  The question "Was it a miracle?" cannot be answered from the stage—not because miracles have been ruled out, but because we do not even know what was wrong.  

Most people with severe medical problems who pursue faith healing will not experience remission, because many illnesses are not primarily functional and are not particularly amenable to community support, suggestion, or adrenaline-soaked collective emotion. Yet devout people may then conclude that they did not have sufficient faith, or that they were not worthy of divine intervention. Or they may conclude that it is God's will for them to continue suffering, while others, for reasons no one can explain, receive a miracle. 

The danger is worst when faith healing replaces medicine rather than accompanying it.  One review found 172 U.S. child deaths between 1975 and 1995 after parents refused care on religious groundsmost of them children who would very likely have lived with ordinary treatment.  An adult is capable of weighing the risks or benefits of his or her own convictions.  A child cannot.  

Most of the healings invoked as miracles involve serious organic disease, and there, what looks like a cure is almost always something else. Placebo and context effects are real, but limited. They can change pain, fatigue, nausea, breathlessness, and the felt sense of being cared for. They do not shrink tumours, reverse sepsis, or repair a severed nerve—a ritual can change the experience of illness without changing the disease.

Miracle stories in religious texts—blindness cured, paralysis reversed, even the dead raised—are awe-inspiring if taken literally. But they should be read against the background rate of suffering in the ancient world. In pre-modern settings, roughly a quarter of newborns died within the first year of life, and close to half did not survive childhood. Maternal death in childbirth was also far more common. In such a world—saturated with infection, malnutrition, injury, and loss—miraculous healing would have had to be common and broadly distributed to register as a genuine explanation of reality. Instead, what we mainly have are vivid stories about rare exceptions (or legendary claims) in a sea of ordinary, relentless suffering, with the miracle-giver doing nothing for the massive public health problems while singling out some lucky individual.

Miracle stories are a little bit like discussing lottery winners: if miracles truly occur, they are extremely rare, and the narrative focus on the "winner" distracts from the millions who hoped, prayed, suffered, and received nothing. And some of these millions had problems that could have been solved through simple interventions, nothing magical required. As with lotteries, one would be unwise to build one's medical, psychological, or moral planning around the hope of an exception. 

There are also some predictable cognitive and statistical illusions at work here. One is selection bias: the "miracle stories" are the ones that get put on stage, recorded, and retold, while the far more numerous failures quietly disappear. Another is regression to the mean: many symptoms fluctuate naturally, and people are most likely to seek dramatic interventions when they are at their worst—so improvement afterward can look like a miracle even when it is simply the usual swing back toward baseline. Base-rate neglect adds to the distortion: a vivid testimony feels more compelling than the boring, brutal fact that most people do not improve. And then motivated reasoning does the rest: once someone has publicly declared faith, donated money, and staked identity and relationships on the story, it becomes emotionally costly to admit that nothing supernatural happened. The narrative hardens, not because the evidence is strong, but because the social and psychological incentives are.

Before accepting a miracle claim, ask for the medical equivalent of a chart: the diagnosis beforehand, objective evidence after, independent verification, what treatment was already underway, how long the improvement lasted, and how many others at the same event were not healed.  

The same selective attention appears in religious appeals to nature. For example, there are many biblical references to birds, with the insinuation that they live joyfully and are fed through divine providence. This is an attractive image, but it reflects a limited understanding of biology. Wild creatures face high mortality from starvation, disease, and predation. Birdsong has natural functions—communication, territory, mating—not simply the expression of joy or a benevolent performance for human listeners. Similarly, "lilies of the field" (another symbol of divine providence) have a difficult existence shaped by competition, pathogens, drought, and chance: the blooming lilies that catch our eye do not reveal the many that did not survive. In other words: nature is beautiful, but it is not reliably gentle—and any spirituality that wants to use nature as moral reassurance has to be honest about what nature actually does. The same selective gaze that romanticizes birds and flowers can romanticize miracle claims as well: it fixes on the striking exception and looks away from the background rate of suffering.

I can't help but mention a passage from a sweet, delightful children's book, which was made into a movie I enjoyed with my own children many times:  E.B. White's Charlotte's Web.  In the story, the whole valley is marvelling at the words a spider spun into her web and calling them a miracle.  The old country doctor gently points out that everyone has missed the real marvel: nobody, he says, noticed that "the web itself is a miracle."  He cannot explain how a spider learned to spin at allhow a creature taught by no one produces something so intricate and exactand that, he suggests, is the thing worth our astonishment.  The web, the bird, the lily, the human eye, the sheer fact of a universe that has produced creatures able to wonder about itthese are astonishing enough without being pressed into service as supernatural signs.  The error was never in feeling awe; awe is the correct response to nature. The error is in mistaking the ordinary, ubiquitous miracle of the world for a rare and personal exception to it.  


References


Asser, S. M., & Swan, R. (1998). Child fatalities from religion-motivated medical neglect. Pediatrics, 101(4), 625–629. https://doi.org/10.1542/peds.101.4.625

A review of 172 child deaths in the United States between 1975 and 1995 in families that relied on faith healing instead of medical care. In 140 of the cases, survival rates with standard medical treatment would have exceeded 90%, and a further 18 had expected survival above 50%. The study documents the lethal consequences of substituting religious ritual for effective treatment, particularly for children, who have no voice in the decision.

 
Barnett, A. G., van der Pols, J. C., & Dobson, A. J. (2005). Regression to the mean: What it is and how to deal with it. International Journal of Epidemiology, 34(1), 215–220. https://doi.org/10.1093/ije/dyh299

A widely cited methodological review of regression to the mean—the statistical tendency for unusually high or low measurements to be followed by ones closer to the average. Because people typically seek dramatic interventions when their symptoms are at their worst, any subsequent improvement can be misread as a treatment effect (or a miracle) when it is simply the expected return toward baseline.
 

Espay, A. J., Aybek, S., Carson, A., Edwards, M. J., Goldstein, L. H., Hallett, M., LaFaver, K., LaFrance, W. C., Jr., Lang, A. E., Nicholson, T., Nielsen, G., Reuber, M., Voon, V., Stone, J., & Morgante, F. (2018). Current concepts in diagnosis and treatment of functional neurological disorders. JAMA Neurology, 75(9), 1132–1141. https://doi.org/10.1001/jamaneurol.2018.1264

A consensus review of functional neurological disorders (FND)—genuine and often disabling conditions such as functional movement disorders and psychogenic non-epileptic seizures. It documents the field's shift away from the term "psychogenic" and away from requiring a psychological stressor for diagnosis, emphasizing that the symptoms are real and shaped by attention, expectation, and prediction rather than feigned. Relevant to why suggestion-rich settings can genuinely influence such symptoms.

 
Kaptchuk, T. J., & Miller, F. G. (2015). Placebo effects in medicine. New England Journal of Medicine, 373(1), 8–9. https://doi.org/10.1056/NEJMp1504023

A concise overview presenting placebo responses as genuine biopsychosocial effects of expectation, conditioning, and context on the experience of symptoms—rather than mere imagination or spontaneous fluctuation. Useful for understanding how expectation and suggestion can produce real symptomatic change in conditions sensitive to those factors.
 

Volk, A. A., & Atkinson, J. A. (2013). Infant and child death in the human environment of evolutionary adaptation. Evolution and Human Behavior, 34(3), 182–192. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.evolhumbehav.2012.11.007

A synthesis of infant and child mortality across 20 hunter–gatherer and 43 historical pre-industrial populations, estimating that approximately 27% of infants died within the first year of life and approximately 47.5% of children died before reaching puberty. Provides the demographic background against which ancient miracle claims must be read.

White, E. B. (1952). Charlotte's web. Harper & Brothers.