“Why do people talk so much about the evil eye? Do they think it is picturesque, or do they really believe in it?”
Joe considered for a moment. Then he said: “Sometimes a peasant may decline to hand over her baby because she thinks the stranger looks clumsy and is likely to drop it; it would be rude to let him suspect this, so she allows him to think she has a superstitious reason. And some of her neighbours believe—at least—well, what do you mean by believing? What is faith?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. Sometimes one thing, sometimes another. It is a difficult question.”
“Perhaps it is that she believes that her neighbours believe,” said Joe, tentatively.
“That is not the faith of S. Alfio and his brothers, that is not the faith that wins a martyr’s crown or that removes mountains.”
“No, but it has its reward if it enables the believer to feel that he is not singular, it is comfortable to feel that one thinks as one’s neighbours think.”
I said: “Thou art a happy man, Poins, to think as other men think.”
“I do not know anyone called Poins,” said Joe, “it is not a Sicilian name; but to think as other men think is as comfortable as a crown of martyrdom, and if it can be won without any martyrdom worth speaking of—why, so much the better.”
I agreed, and went on: “And then there are the men who never think of religion or theology, but go to Mass to please their wives.”
“Plenty of them,” he said, “and by pleasing their wives they reap the reward of avoiding domestic friction, whereby they perform a miracle greater than removing Etna.”