We fetishize objects that have been touched or owned by famous people. Look at the stratospheric prices celebrity memorabilia fetch at auction. Has this form of idol-worship been programmed into us by Western culture?
Prizing objects purely for their provenance is actually a form of magical thinking called essentialism--the idea that a physical artifact contains some nonphysical essence. And it's highly natural. Last year I wrote in PT about a study by Paul Bloom and Bruce Hood showing essentialism in 3-year-olds. Kids want their blanky, not a perfect clone of their blanky. In that PT article, Susan Gelman says essentialism "explains why we prefer authentic things, including autographs, original works of art, and Britney Spears' chewed gum."
Now Bloom and Gelman point out a salient demonstration of essentialism in a non-Western culture. In a forthcoming issue of Trends in Cognitive Science, they describe the selection of the current (14th) Dalai Lama, based on published eyewitness accounts.
Several men visited the 2-year-old boy in his remote village, toting items that had belonged to the 13th Dalai Lama as well as items that looked similar or identical: two black rosaries, two yellow rosaries, two canes, three quilts. In all cases, the boy picked up the one owned by 13. Finally they offered him two drums, a plain one and a fancier one bound to distract him (kids like shiny things.) Picture Indiana Jones selecting the simple Grail from among blingier imposters in the misnamed Last Crusade. From a 1941 account:
Without any hesitation, he picked up the [authentic] drum. Holding it in his right hand, he played it with a big smile on his face; moving around so that his eyes could look at each of us from close up. Thus, the boy demonstrated his occult powers, which were capable of revealing the most secret phenomena.
The selection committee obviously believed in the power of essences. Bloom and Gelman conclude: "We take this as evidence of the ubiquity, naturalness, and importance of psychological essentialism."
Two weeks ago Apple's CEO Steve Jobs gave a big conference presentation. His gaunt appearance raised concerns in the industry about the return of his pancreatic cancer. It was pure speculation, but it did remind me of Jobs' iconic status at Apple and their lack of a publicly named successor. Who in the world could fill his New Balances? Well, I propose that any potential replacement--Fortune listed eleven of them today--be offered two iPhones, two mock turtlenecks, two pairs of rimless glasses, etc. If the candidate can successfully select the ones personally blessed by big Job-o, you've found your man. Or 2-year-old, as the case may be.
(Previously: The role of essentialism in artistic authenticity.)
UPDATE: More on Steve's magic touch.
