Journeys into Healing: Field Notes from Calabria Part Four: The Evil Eye

There was one subject that seemed to change the atmosphere whenever it arose. Conversations that had been animated suddenly became more cautious. People lowered their voices. Some smiled awkwardly. Others glanced around the room before answering. A few preferred not to discuss the topic at all. The subject was malocchio—the Evil Eye.

Long before arriving in Calabria, I had encountered belief in the Evil Eye in many cultures. Variations of the tradition exist throughout the Mediterranean, the Middle East, Latin America, parts of Asia, and elsewhere. Although the details differ from place to place, the central idea remains remarkably consistent. It is the belief that another person’s envy, jealousy, or malicious intent can bring misfortune, illness, or suffering.

To many modern readers, that may sound like little more than superstition. Yet beliefs that endure for thousands of years deserve more than a dismissive shrug. As a psychologist, I have learned that when millions of people, across vastly different cultures, preserve the same basic belief generation after generation, there is usually something important to understand—even if the explanation ultimately lies more in psychology than in the supernatural.

One afternoon, while speaking with local residents, we asked whether people still believed in malocchio. The answer surprised us. No one laughed. No one dismissed the question. Instead, people answered thoughtfully. Yes, they said. Some still believed in the Evil Eye. Others were less certain, but nearly everyone knew someone who took the Evil Eye seriously.

One woman explained that malocchio was not always intentional. It could be a jealous glance, an envious thought, or even excessive admiration, if left unaccompanied by a blessing, all of which might inadvertently bring harm.

That distinction fascinated me. The Evil Eye was not simply about evil people; it reflected an awareness of the emotional power of envy itself, as human beings have always struggled with envy. Every society must somehow manage the tensions created when one person prospers while another suffers. Perhaps beliefs such as malocchio represent one cultural way of acknowledging those powerful emotions. Whether literally true or not, they remind people that envy has consequences, so in that sense, the tradition performs an important social function.

Several people described methods for recognizing the Evil Eye. One method involved placing drops of olive oil into a bowl of water. If the droplets behaved in a particular way, the diagnosis was confirmed. Others spoke of prayers known only to certain individuals, and still others described rituals involving blessed objects, salt, or olive leaves. These practices had often been passed from one generation to the next, but sometimes only mothers instructed daughters, and sometimes the prayers were transmitted only on Christmas Eve or another sacred occasion. This knowledge itself was treated almost as a sacred inheritance.

What interested me most, however, was not the ritual itself; it was the confidence people placed in the person performing it. Throughout my career, I have observed that healing relationships often depend upon trust. Whether one consults a physician, psychologist, clergy member, or traditional healer, confidence in the practitioner can profoundly influence the experience itself. Modern research increasingly recognizes that expectation, hope, reassurance, and the therapeutic relationship can affect outcomes in meaningful ways. Traditional cultures discovered those truths long before psychologists developed names for them.

Of course, there were also darker aspects to the belief. If someone were suspected of causing malocchio, that accusation could damage reputations or strain relationships within a village. Several people hinted that accusations were made cautiously, if at all. No one wanted to become known as someone capable of casting the Evil Eye. It reminded me that every belief system has the potential to heal—or to harm—depending upon how it is used, and that realization has stayed with me throughout my career.

As psychologists, we sometimes ask whether beliefs are objectively accurate. Equally important, however, is another question: How do beliefs shape the way people live? This is the focus of Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy and similar systems.

The belief in malocchio encourages humility, and it discourages boasting. It reminds people to temper praise with blessings. It acknowledges that emotions like envy and resentment can quietly influence human relationships. Even those who no longer accepted the tradition literally often continued to observe its customs. Old habits linger, old symbols endure, and old stories continue to speak.

By the end of our stay, I realized that I had stopped thinking about the Evil Eye primarily as folklore. Instead, I had begun seeing it as a window into the emotional life of a culture. Its language was symbolic. And its concerns were profoundly human, encompassing fear, jealousy, protection, compassion, and community. Those themes are hardly unique to Calabria, as every society develops its own symbols for expressing them. Calabria’s happened to include the Evil Eye.

I also recalled that the biologist Rapert Sheldrake had conducted experiments on “the sense of being stared at.” More often than not, experimental participants could tell whether a distant person was staring at them. Perhaps the Evil Eye is a bit more than mere superstition.

As our conversations continued, we discovered that not everyone who addressed these beliefs was simply an ordinary member of the community. Some individuals held a unique place within village life as they possessed extensive knowledge of herbs, rituals, prayers, and traditional healing practices. People sought them out when ordinary remedies were no longer enough because these were Calabria’s folk healers. Meeting them would become one of the most fascinating experiences of our journey.

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Coming Next

Part Five: The Folk Healers

Some were known for their knowledge of herbs. Others for prayers, rituals, or seemingly intuitive abilities. They did not resemble physicians, yet generations of families sought their help. Who were Calabria’s traditional healers, and what can they teach us about the nature of healing itself?

This chapter tries to capture that spirit.