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The Red Papers:
The willing
suspension of
disbelief
When a man dresses up as Santa Claus for a kids’ party, the adults don’t
point out the obvious fact that the beard is false. For that would be to
violate the accepted rules of the game. The kids don’t point it out either,
even though many of them will be sophisticated enough to spot the
subterfuge. When your friend tells you he has met the most beautiful
girl in the world, what do you think? If you like him you probably smile
inwardly, make a suitably congratulatory comment and think to yourself,
“Wow, George has got it bad this time!” You don’t entertain for one
moment the possibility that he really has met the most beautiful girl in
the world. Contrast that with what happens when you listen to Granny
reading “Snow White.” You don’t doubt that Snow White was the
fairest of them all. It’s a given, part of the story ground rules that you are
hardwired to accept. When someone says, “Once upon a time there was a
big bad wolf,” no one — not even the most cynical and jaded misanthrope
— says, “No there wasn’t. It’s all a lie.”
What this means is, we are uniquely susceptible to persuasion when we are
in story mode. We are credulous, in fact.
This is crucial. Information embedded in a story is less susceptible to
challenge. We enter a mental realm, an altered state where our skepticism
is defused. Belief is enabled by entry into this world.