We human beings are not rational creatures.
Take, for instance, our attempts to assess risk. We evolved to understand that “lion approaching equals danger,” something that allowed those of our ancestors who got this concept to survive and those who didn’t to feed the lions, who…survived by learning that humans are tasty.
We did not, however, evolve with a sophisticated understanding of risk in the modern world with all of its technology. Ask anyone you know whether they are safer driving a small car (in which you are less likely to get into a crash) or an SUV (in which you are more likely to survive one) and the answer will likely more closely correlate to the vehicle preference of the person you ask than the actual data on crashes.
Our irrational nature is nothing new. What is newer is the fact that we think of ourselves as rational and justify our actions in those terms. Such concepts have only existed a few hundred years, after all.
Our simultaneous belief in rationality, combined with it actually being not the way we are wired, makes us susceptible to all kinds of cognitive biases, and to charlatans, be they in the medical or political realm.
Take, for example, a common refrain we hear regarding precautions to protect from the coronavirus: why should I do X to prevent a virus that has a survival rate of 98.4 percent? (That percentage, is, of course, debatable, but it’s one that is often tossed out.
Think about it this way: If you were a pedestrian about to cross an intersection, and you could immediately calculate the odds of survival of stepping into that crosswalk for any particular moment, what would you do with a calculation of 98.4 percent? Would that be good enough odds for you to take that first step?
A survival rate of 98.4 percent probably means a car is coming, one that probably won’t hit you, but, well…they might. The chances are low, but the stakes are pretty damn high, don’t you think? For most of us, if we’re the pedestrian, we don’t start across that street when our chances of survival are 98.4 percent. We’re more likely to wait until it’s closer to 99.9997 percent.
There is always a risk, of course, which is why we cross when the chances are 99.9997 percent of survival. The remaining 0.0003 percent includes the possibility of a car we just didn’t see, falling down in the middle of the intersection, a heart attack while crossing, an airplane flying overhead shedding parts, etc.
Of course, the survival rate isn’t the only data point here. At that same intersection, there’s a chance of bodily injury to consider. Perhaps the survival rate is 98.4 percent, but the chances a car hits a pedestrian is closer to 20 percent, and the chances of that resulting in lifelong debilitating conditions higher than acceptable to most of us.
***
I remember first thinking of these odds when my father was admitted to Stanford Hospital in the mid-1990s for a triple bypass procedure. I was living in the area at the time, so everyone stayed at my apartment. I had eleven people sleeping in my cramped one-bedroom. I gave my parents my bed, but nervous about the operation, my father slept very little.
I had few of those nerves until the doctor spoke to us in the morning. He told us this procedure had a 95 percent survival rate.
In many cases, 95 percent is a great thing. If I were taking a test at school, I’d be thrilled with that result. If I were a baseball player, I’d be a hall of famer getting hits at half of that rate. You see, percentages are relative, as is risk.
But when they wheel your father down the hall and you’ve just been told there is a five percent chance he won’t make it, you worry. Because 5 percent, though small, is way, way too high, given the stakes.
Luckily, my dad survived, and lived a number of years, getting to see me married and with a child of my own. Given that he had his first heart attack at age 35, and lived to 71, I figure my odds are….too complicated to calculate.
***
Back to the virus.
So, if someone tells you that they don’t need a vaccine, nor to wear a mask because the survival rate is so high, their mistake is more than mathematical. They’re taking one data point, making assumptions from the high percentage, and ignoring the elephant in the room, that the remaining one or two percent they’re dismissing as irrelevant includes many, many dead people.
There are now over 650,000 Americans who have died from Covid-19 and with the vaccines now readily available, the vast majority of deaths from this point forward are entirely preventable. You’ll see people coming at you with scary statistics, many of them false or misleading, such as reporting from the VAERS system of vaccine side effects. Or, people will say things like, if you are vaccinated, why do you care if I’m not? Or, if a mask works, why do we need vaccines? (and vice-versa).
This logic rests on false and silly assumptions. What does it mean for a mask or vaccine to “work?”
What it doesn’t mean, for either of them, is that they prevent any and all cases of Covid-19. No vaccine in history has ever done that.
The vaccines we have now are some of the most effective ever, but they won’t prevent all cases. Media attention on the relatively small number of breakthrough cases, people who have gotten the virus after having been vaccinated, masks (no pun intended) a quite different reality. The vaccines don’t prevent one from getting the virus, though they do reduce the chances. But they are incredibly effective at preventing serious cases, hospitalization, and especially death. Again, the stakes matter.
By this point, it should be obvious, but to many, it isn’t: whatever small risk may be posed by vaccines, the virus poses a far greater one. The vaccines are saving lives by the thousands and are our best chance of getting back to a new normal. Vaccine hesitation only delays the day when that can happen and is costing lives in the meantime.
The same is true of masks. They were never intended to prevent all infections, simply to reduce the caseload. The cloth facemasks I carry in my car are almost certainly inferior to an N-95 (which itself doesn’t prevent every case), but they’re substantially better than not wearing a mask. Researchers continue to debate their effectiveness. As annoying as they are, the likelihood that they might prevent me or someone I care about from serious illness or death means they’re worth it.
There’s another logical — or perhaps moral — problem with these statements: By saying that I shouldn’t care whether another person is vaccinated or wears a facemask as long as I am doing so, the speaker is projecting onto me their own lack of caring and empathy. As it happens, I care deeply about those friends and family who are making these choices, putting themselves and others at risk. Even if I were 100 percent protected by my own vaccination and mask, their lives matter to me as well, despite the error I believe them to be making.
Risk assessment is a complicated business. It is important to be aware of our own biases when making decisions, and to lead with empathy.
***
Support us on Patreon to help us build a better, more inclusive world for all.
***
Photo credit: Shutterstock