Beliefs

There was a rather dubious claim making the rounds during my early years of secondary school, regarding the dietary habits of the man held up to be the epitome of evil. I believe the rumour was started by a particularly young and hip history teacher, who had a way of making the subject seemed mildly inoffensive to the typical teenager. Not being a history scholar myself, the rumour did little for me. Although I was impressed by the reaction it received from those hearing it for the first time and, more attractively, the respect bestowed on the deliverer of such obscure knowledge. Alas, with the rumour spreading around the school faster than I could follow it, I was never in a position to be the one to break the news and hence was never celebrated by my peers as the purveyor of such information. It soon became apparent that my only chance of glory in passing on this borrowed material was to unleash it on those even less informed than I was: my family.

Having settled on an audience, I wanted to gain maximum exposure for my impressive knowledge and so waited for a time at which as many of the Diot family would be present as possible, before delivering it. A family meal provided the perfect opportunity. We were sat around the dinner table at my grandparents’ house. An excessive Sunday roast spread before us, we were waiting whilst my grandfather carved a hefty beef joint from his position at the head of the table. Having expertly sliced the meat into perfectly sized portions, he held up one rare slab of meat, hooked on to the carving knife, in front of him. ‘Anyone for beef’ he asked, the bloody red offering dripping juices on to the platter, ‘or have we all turned vegetarian?’.

I may not have been a particularly observant child, but I had known that this moment was coming. In the same way that some families must say grace before eating, the vegetarian question, or aged joke, preceded every Sunday roast at my grandparents’ house. I had been waiting for it. I paused for effect and as I thrust my plate in my grandfather’s direction asked of the table ‘Did you know that Hitler was a vegetarian!?’. This did little more than provoke a selection of baffled looking expressions on the faces of my family. Until my gran, still sharp of hearing, responded. ‘Honestly,’ she said ‘the more you hear about that man!’.

This may seem a rather strange reaction to many of you. The crimes of the man in question seem so great, that the addition of being a fussy eater would make no further dent to his reputation. But my grandparents, who made it through the stresses and strains of a war living on a diet of whale and horsemeat, welcomed vegetarians with about as much enthusiasm as a bout of consumption. The idea that you wouldn’t eat meat was an anathema to both. As was the suggestion that this might be a healthy way to go through life. To them, livestock should feel honoured to be eaten for our cause. After all, they argued, such fare would not have been born otherwise. They were also strong of the opinion that a fatty steak was the height of healthiness and bacon rind was just the thing to keep infection from the door.

Some beliefs, such as these, are shared by certain population subgroups. Those of similar ethnicity, age, or region, often aligning on certain views. Some are more individual. My grandfather would not go near a microwave, fearing it would do untold damage to his internal organs. My grandmother did not trust wine, convinced it contained foot sweat and toenails. Both considered beer a healthier option than water. 

The rest of the family may have challenged them on these opinions, but no amount of reasoning on our part could do anything to counter their long-held views. This is not surprising. After all, one’s beliefs, once established, are hard to shift. We welcome information that strengthens what we already believe and largely reject that which challenges our convictions. My grandparents had been brought up on these principles and weren’t suddenly going to change their view due to the cajoling of some family members rather late in life. Such beliefs were firmly embedded and any new information was either chosen, or manipulated, to suit conclusions they had already made.

Some of you may suggest that advice from a credible source would have been more effective. Unfortunately, this was not the case. My grandparents’ doctor was relied upon to write prescriptions but was not depended on for such things as dietary guidance. Both aged relatives trusting sources that supported what they already believed and suspicious of those that did not. This is not an unusual position to take. Whilst scientists and ex vice presidents will use the pages of evidence on raising atmospheric carbon dioxide levels, glacial ice loss, and increasing global and sea temperatures, from environment research centres, to predict a tricky future for mankind. Grand Old Party members and television car show hosts will suggest that the whole thing is a hoax manufactured by anti-industrialists.

And though we may scoff at this. Many of us are guilty of the same charge. If final proof on the rising water levels were to be published in the leading climate change journal, by the most eminent scientists in the field. This would convince some that action was needed. If, however, the person who sits next to us at work, heard from their cousin, who happens to have spoken to someone in a bar, who had read online that the whole thing was made up. Many of us would sleep soundly that night, with the heating on full, because this perspective suits us better.

Selective acceptance of the evidence is not only limited to such politically fuelled discussions as the impending climate catastrophe. As demonstrated by my grandparents, it also holds true for many of our individual behaviours. For each of us who believes the evidential warnings on cigarettes packs, there is one who heard about someone’s gran who smoked forty a day and ran her first marathon at the age of 120. For every responsible parent who adheres to the seatbelt laws to their fullest extent, there is a man (or woman) in a barber shop (or stylists) talking about the person they heard about, who was strangled by these lifesaving restraints whilst reversing into a parking space.

So, what does this mean for what we eat? The simple conclusion is that for many of us, no end of scientists warning us of the dangers of consuming too much sugar, can deprogramme us from a childhood in which our grandparents groomed and rewarded us with cake and ice cream. ‘Everything in moderation’ is a more amenable message than one promoting abstinence over indulgence, irrespective of a lack of clarity in the expression and our subjective view of balance.

​It would appear that our beliefs, in many instances, have a complex and complicated past. Whilst for a lot of us, they have a much simpler future. We trust what we believe and we therefore have faith in those who agree with us. Such a position suggests that there is nothing new for us to learn. A paradoxical stance, as it can only be our ignorance that can lead us to be so arrogant. Our history, as a species, contains many a story of accepted and strongly held beliefs, that have been disproved in time. So, maybe we should be more receptive to suggestion and align what we believe with what those who work in the field have learned. We should try to improve our own knowledge and adapt our beliefs to suit. And at the moment, the best way to do that is for you to open your minds and read my blogs.