By Dr Rahim Said
I nearly drove off the road when I saw it. Not because of reckless driving, but because of reckless epistemology or a branch of philosophy concerned with the nature, origin, and limits of human knowledge.
There it was, boldly plastered on the side of a car and circulating proudly on Facebook: “Pakar Tangkap Jin”.
Complete with a phone number. WhatsAppable, no less. Because apparently in 2025, supernatural pest control has finally embraced mobile connectivity.
This is not a parody. Nor is it an art installation commenting on postmodern belief systems. It is a service offering — serious, monetised, branded.
Ghostbusters, but without the irony, the proton packs, or the inconvenient burden of scientific evidence.
As someone with a Western-trained mind—one corrupted by inconvenient things like scepticism, peer review, and the irritating habit of asking “how do you know?” — I find this both fascinating and depressing.
Fascinating because belief systems are resilient creatures. Depressing because we are supposedly a middle-income nation aiming for AI leadership while still outsourcing metaphysical problems to roadside consultants with vinyl decals.
Let me be clear: belief in the unseen is not the issue. Every civilisation has metaphysics. Religion, spirituality, philosophy — all attempt to answer what science cannot.
The problem begins when metaphysics is repackaged as technical expertise, complete with hotline numbers and marketing slogans like “Pertama di Dunia.” First in the world? At what exactly — ISO-certified jinn extraction?
The word “pakar” is a serious labelling. In any other context, a “pakar” is someone trained, certified, tested, and accountable. A pakar bedah does not wave incense over your appendix. A pakar kejuruteraan does not chant verses at a collapsing bridge. Yet a pakar jin apparently requires no such burden of proof — only confidence, costume, and cultural immunity from scrutiny.
Of course, scrutiny is the one thing these industries fear most.
Which brings me to our national trauma of magical thinking: the bomoh with coconuts and bamboo binoculars, solemnly performing rituals at KLIA to locate MH370 in the Indian Ocean.
The world watched in disbelief as Malaysia — already grieving — added a tragicomic layer of embarrassment to its pain. Satellites, sonar, international search teams… and then coconuts. Because when tragedy strikes, reason is apparently optional.
That episode should have been our collective intervention moment. A national pause to ask: Why do we still reach for spectacle instead of substance?
Instead, we quietly moved on, as if nothing had happened, leaving the door wide open for the next entrepreneurial mystic to slap decals on a car and declare professional authority over the unseen.
What makes this worse in the age of social media is the algorithmic amplification of nonsense.
Facebook does not distinguish between a cardiologist and a coconut whisperer. Engagement is engagement. Likes are validation. Virality becomes proof. And before you know it, superstition has better branding than science.
Defenders will say: “This is culture.” Or “Don’t mock people’s beliefs.” Fair enough. But culture is not static, and beliefs do not become immune to criticism simply because they are old, popular, or emotionally comforting.
When belief crosses into commercial exploitation, it invites ethical questions. When it replaces rational problem-solving, it invites public concern. When it positions itself as expertise, it invites ridicule.
There is also something deeply unequal about this economy of belief. The well-educated may chuckle and scroll past. The desperate, frightened, or vulnerable may call the number.
Superstition thrives not on faith, but on fear — fear of illness, misfortune, loss, or forces beyond one’s control. And fear is a lucrative market.
So here we are: a nation talking about digital transformation, ESG frameworks, and AI roadmaps —while still being perfectly comfortable with a roadside claim of professional jinn capture.
We want to be taken seriously on the global stage, but we still tolerate bamboo binocular epistemology at home.
Perhaps the real question is not whether jinn exist, but why critical thinking remains optional. Why is scepticism seen as arrogance? Why is asking for evidence considered disrespectful, while selling metaphysical certainty is considered harmless?
Until we learn to separate faith from fraud, spirituality from spectacle, and belief from business, we will continue to oscillate between ambition and absurdity.
And somewhere out there, a car will keep cruising by, proudly advertising that in 21st-century Malaysia, if you have a supernatural problem, there’s a WhatsApp number for that.
The views expressed here are entirely those of the writer