Psychology
The Psychology of Ghost Stories
Ghost stories fulfill psychological pleasure and provide valuable life lessons.
Posted October 16, 2024 Reviewed by Lybi Ma
In anticipation of Halloween, I just picked up a complete collection of the ‘Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark’ book series (Alvin Schwartz, 1981; 1984; 1991), which I loved as a kid (despite a few of the tales causing significant nightmares). Upon flicking through the pages, I remembered that many of the stories in this collection are based on folklore, which got me thinking about the psychology of such tales, along with their history and purpose. Given the time of year, I figured readers of this blog might find such discussion interesting.
Consider the current state of horror story-telling. We are spoiled for choice in terms of how we consume such fiction (for example, text-based media like books and online resources, and film (see 6 Great Horror Films That Require Reflective Thought). But, we must not forget the debt ‘modern horror’ owes to the influence of the humble ghost story; thus, the core focus of our exploration refers to the psychology behind foundational tales.
When we think of traditional ghost stories, many of us go back to Poe, Irving, Lovecraft, Shelley, Stoker, and many other gothic fiction authors of the late 19th and early 20th century. Earlier again, are the accounts of the Cock Lane ghost in 1760s England; reports from Loftus Hall in the early 1700s (the most haunted house in Ireland, which I have visited, with great delight); and The Castle of Otranto (1764), by Horace Walpole. Of course, supernatural tales extend beyond ghosts to other ‘post-life’ entities; for example, vampires (that is, based on centuries-old lore about reanimated dead who maintain their body’s functioning by feeding on living blood; Dracula, in particular, based on 15th Century Vlad the Impaler); undead monsters (for example, Frankenstein’s Monster); all sorts of various zombies, originating from Afro-Caribbean folklore. The list goes on.
Of course, we see a great cluster of examples here around the past few hundred years, in light of increased printing and the widespread sale of newspapers and periodicals. However, the notion of ‘ghosts’ substantially pre-dates these examples in both handwritten and oral traditions (in Ancient Greece, c. 500-100AD; Hippolytus, for instance).
The traditional nature of the ghost is that of being the spirit of a deceased individual, the essence of a person living on following their earthly demise. In some ways, the notion of ghosts is a hopeful, happy thing. The notion is, arguably, as old as religion itself. Indeed, the genre is rooted in a mixture of religious traditions and folklore.
Outside of religious belief, it too suggests that death is not the end; and that there is something else for us. However, just as such existence can be positive and viewed as such, it opens the door for things that might not all be happiness and positivity (there is no such thing as ‘good’ in the absence of acknowledging ‘bad’). The alternative presents reflects harbingers of evil who bring nothing but suffering to all those it encounters; or, to a lesser extent of ‘badness’, a vengeful ghost who simply wants retribution for previous wrong done unto them.
Another interesting point to consider is that many wide-ranging cultures have a similar narrative tradition of ghost stories (Chindi of Navajo religious tradition, Lemures of Ancient Rome, and Onryo of 8th Century Japan), including various versions of the same general stories (Mark Twain’s The Golden Arm being a ‘modern’ take on one specific example); particularly those regarding ghosts of wronged women (Churel of South Asia, Dama Branca of Brazil and Madam Koi Koi of Africa). Such overlap indicates, to some extent, that such tales do serve a purpose(s).
What is the point of these stories? Another common thread throughout these ghost stories might well answer that question; that being one of promoting moral conviction, doing the right thing, and respect. Indeed, ghost stories are commonly about ensuring not to mistreat one’s fellow man, lest they or some representative haunt you in the afterlife (Banquo’s Ghost in MacBeth), and to be respectful of the dead (respecting the memory and burial rite of the latter, as in Poltergeist and even Friday the 13th Part VI). Such retribution is often served through the aforementioned ‘vengeful ghost’, which cannot rest peacefully until their grievances have been righted (Candyman and The Crow).
But, couldn’t story-tellers just relay their messages through less perverse means? Sure they could, and they have and continue to do so. Take, for example, positive messages: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, commonly seen in religious texts and teachings. Of course, people will not always subscribe, either to religion or even to common decency (not that the two are necessarily linked or exclusive of one another). Sometimes, added motivation is required.
Ghost stories achieve this added motivation through exploiting people’s fear of death and the unknown. That is, it works on the rationale that people can be scared into doing good (back to religious perspectives, consider Calvinist perspectives regarding fire-and-brimstone back in the early days of colonial American life). Likewise, would Scrooge have been so quick to turn face, throughout one night, had he not been visited by three ghosts?
Moreover, the use of ghost stories and horror continues to be utilised as forms of morality plays; they are often much more than senseless violence for the sake of it (George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead as social commentary on race relations in the 1960s and Dawn of the Dead on prioritising consumerism and materialism over people). Even Kubrick’s The Shining serves as an allegory for both the importance of loving and serving your family (through some rather cryptic allusions to Dante’s Inferno) and the evils associated with imperial genocide. Indeed, horror films also still use rather dated tropes to convey that only the ‘good’ will survive (the virgin ‘final girl’ versus the drug-taking sex fiend).
But, what about kids? Sex, blood, and gore are no scenes for them! Indeed, I remember being traumatised at age 4 after seeing a scene from a Nightmare on Elm Street film on the TV when I came down from bed one night—when I shouldn’t have. Well, there are varying degrees of scariness, some more suitable than others for children, depending also on age. Though kids may not understand the more abstract morality lessons, they can understand some, as well as lessons in safety that are often more concrete in their message, such as ‘be careful what you wish for’ and ‘don’t talk to strangers’.
With that, people like being scared. Maybe that’s a purpose unto itself, in more modern times. Horror is a massive, lucrative business. Due to advances in technology (increasing media) and education (ability to write), there is an arguable flooding of the market. The ghost and horror story formulae change to accommodate. No one wants the same story over and over; modern writers often subvert expectations. Now, we have less traditional takes on ghosts and horror (which isn’t a bad thing, given that it liberates creative endeavours and broadens the potential for new messages and interesting sub-genre types; weird fiction such as Butler’s There is No Year, ergodic literature in Danielewski’s House of Leaves and meta-horror as in 2012’s ‘Cabin the Woods’). The point is that ghost stories have been around for thousands of years and continue to evolve; they’re fun for many; might fulfill innate psychological pleasure; and can provide valuable teachings not only about the nature of psychology, but morality and life lessons as well.
