In the hypothetical world, we are all very aware that our memories and even our perceptions are easy to fool, but when it comes to the supernatural (or really anything personal), we tend to forget this. When I think of personal testimony about Ghosts, Aliens, Big Foot, and Miracles, three personal experiences come quickly to mind.
The FIRST happened earlier than I can remember. When I was a tiny tot, I was bitten by a dog (some say I was trying to steal some of the dog’s food, but he’s got his story and I’ve got mine). I have no memory of this event at all, but I grew up being reminded of it by my parents every time a dog was nearby, or even just mentioned. Consequently, I developed a very exaggerated fear of dogs. I avoided them, I ran from them on sight, I climbed a jungle gym to avoid them, and once (when almost a teenager) I ran screaming from a small and friendly poodle, much to the enraged fury of my father (who, let’s remember, was at least partially responsible for instilling this phobia in me).
Pictured: Vicious, blood-thirsty killer
Anyway, in addition to all this irrational behavior, I would also see dogs, much like other people see ghosts. I’d see them when turning a corner, I’d see them in odd brick patterns, in shadowed and far away areas (all during the day), and once I even mistook an enormous green bush for a gargantuan, growling bulldog (bulldogs being famed for their meanness, as evidenced in the Loony Toons documentaries). Eventually, I began thinking twice about what I was seeing, and more importantly why I was afraid of these dogs, and over time the issue went away. I stress that this happened over time. The number one reason superstitions persist is the same reason many people can’t seem to get in shape: they grow complacent over time and stick with whatever’s comfortable.
And that is the very definition of a neurosis: something that causes comfort now (running from a dog/spider/halibut), but causes greater discomfort over time (continued terror of all dogs/spiders/halibuts).
The SECOND happened in first grade (or maybe second: I can’t remember very clearly, which is of course my point), and should be familiar to many of you. We played the telephone game. We sat in a line, and a child at the far end made up a message, then whispered it into the ear of the child next to them. This continued to the end of the line, where the last child repeated the phrase out loud. As always, it was entirely different from the original phrase. Maybe the listeners weren’t paying enough attention, maybe the speakers didn’t articulate enough, maybe both; but the children didn’t ask to clarify, they just took what they thought they heard and rolled with it. Unbeknownst to all of us, we were receiving a free lesson in skepticism.
My THIRD (and favorite) major brush with credulity came in high school. Our parents were gone for the week, so my brother and I were at home alone on a school night. It was around midnight, and I stepped outside to put some outgoing mail in the mailbox. I looked up: the sky was covered with a thin veil of dark clouds. Far more troubling, however, was the full Moon: it was moving. Noticeably. It didn’t seem to be growing any larger, but a visibly mobile Moon was definitely a bad thing. I stared for several seconds, trying to see if my eyes were playing tricks on me, but it was clear: the Moon was in motion.
Not sure what to do, I ran back in the house and called my brother outside with me. I told him to look up at the sky. He did, then asked, “What?”
“Look at the Moon,” I insisted.
Another pause.
“Yeah? So?”
At this point I grew slightly exasperated. “Does it seem weird at all?”
Another pause.
“You mean the clouds?”
I should pause here myself. For whatever reason, my brother has long been credited as being the ‘dumb one’ between the two of us, though he’s never made a big deal of it himself. But on occasion, he has the opportunity to inadvertently make me look foolish, and I like to think he takes some comfort in that.
“The clouds!?” I nearly shouted.
I looked back up to the disturbingly itinerant satellite and saw… that the thin veil of clouds was rushing beneath it at uniform speed. The mass of clouds, moving at the same rate, had tricked my eyes into thinking that the Moon was moving, thanks to a common visual illusion called the Auto-kinetic Effect. And remember, I spent several seconds blinking and trying to disabuse myself of just such a mistake. But still, I saw a Majora’s Mask Moon where there was only Green Cheese.*
Luckily, a Majora Moon would be no great threat to us at all.
So, when someone tells me that they know ghosts are real, or that miracles can happen, or that they’ve seen or heard or found something, I think of these events. Maybe they’re right, but much like Tim Minchin, I believe things for which I have evidence, and I frequently struggle to remind my muddled, shortcut-loving brain that this is and should be the case.
*The Moon is not made of green cheese. Shame on you.