In case you didn’t realize, we were recently graced with a visit from the great spirit medium John Edward, of Crossing Over With … fame. Last month he did some shows at the Arts Centre, made some people cry, reunited grieving family members with thin air, and generally did the same shtick that mystics and charlatans have been doing since before the creation of the written word.

I’m not going to waste valuable column inches on a discussion of whether John Edward is a fraud or not. See the relevant episode of South Park and the writings of the James Randi Educational Foundation for further discussion if you feel you need it. I’m not shutting the door on all things supernatural. There are plenty of things in the universe which cannot be explained by science. John Edward isn’t one of them.

I don’t have to rely on any special insight into the way the afterlife works to know that Edward is less sincere than a politician’s handshake. Instead I defer to your experience of the way our own humble, material world works. It can be summed up this way: If something sounds too good to be true, it usually is. If someone is trying to sell it to you: It. Always. Is.

He’s a snake-oil salesman pushing Hollywood fantasy. Having said that, though, I’m not going to let rip on the people who went to see Edward’s shows. For those who go along knowing that the whole thing is hokum and respecting the guy’s cojones, good luck to them. I’m sure it’s a tingle-up-the-spine feeling when he gets it right. And for those more desperate ticket-holders who went looking for a little bit of closure in a lifetime of otherwise unfinished business, who amongst us should begrudge them that?

People open to a bit of séance action are an easy target to look down on. The stereotype is of people heavy on money, time and gullibility, and light on intelligence. That’s not fair or accurate; this is about the heart, not the head. Plenty of people want to believe in something a little bigger than themselves. Remember World Youth Day? 300,000 people turned out to Randwick Racecourse apparently, and a guy with a big hat told the crowd that he had been receiving instructions from a trilogy of other-worldly beings.

Harry Houdini, the famous magician, spent a fair piece of his fortune trying to contact his departed mother, and developed what is probably the closest we’re ever going to get to an empirical test to prove or disprove the possibility of communicating with the dead. He gave his wife a code before he died, and she reportedly visited hundreds of the most renowned psychics and seers of the time over the next ten years trying to get them to give it back to her. They tried. She wanted to believe. But they couldn’t do it. Ten years later, she snuffed out the candle she had kept lit since her husband had died.

Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of Sherlock Holmes, was a regular séance-goer in later life. These guys weren’t chumps, and they aren’t rare. People who don’t believe in some kind of afterlife are vastly outnumbered by those who claim that they do.

I remember hearing that on 9/11, when the passengers on board planes and inside buildings could see the way things were going to pan out, they made calls on their cell-phones to their nearest and dearest. The message that they most frequently wanted to pass on was, “I love you.” It is amazing how, no matter how many times we’ve said it, there is always the need to say it once more.

For people who haven’t had the opportunity to say goodbye, I can understand the desire to find a way of bending the rules and getting that chance. What most people who go to see Edward’s shows want is for their loved ones to say (through him): “I love you,” and “Don’t worry about me,” and “I’m at peace.”

The success of John Edward and his ilk probably correlates to the decline in popularity of organised religions. While more people are deciding for themselves what’s right and what’s wrong these days, that doesn’t help with the inevitable grief that results from separation from the people you love, and the anxiety we all feel about our own deaths looming on the horizon. Whatever else you may say about them, the traditional religions offer answers that bring many people comfort. The non-denominational ‘afterlife’ story that psychic mediums peddle can often fill that gap, without all that tedious going to church every week or abiding by the restrictions of a defined moral code.

But if you want my opinion – and if you don’t, why are you reading this? - it’s false economy; a visit to a spiritual prostitute who does everything but kiss. Instead of waiting until they’ve gone, why not get it all out in the open now, in what Mike + The Mechanics called ‘The Living Years’? Chances are you’ll find the two-way flow of communication more rewarding than having to use a ouija board, a crystal ball or smarmy Yank as your go-between. Even if you don’t, it will still be cheaper.

So go and visit your grandparents, if they’re still around. Give your parents a call. Tell your partner that you love them. Give your kids an extra hug. Maybe it’ll save you some regrets down the road.

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