• NOTE: I used to have several older essays on the paranormal posted on my author site. When I recently updated the site, I removed all this material and decided to post it here. This essay was originally posted in 2002 and updated in 2003. 

    R-101

    On October 5, 1930, at 2:05 in the morning, the 777-foot British dirigible R-101 crashed in flames in the woods near the French town of Beauvais, en route to India. All of the passengers and most of the crew perished, and British airship production suffered a setback from which it never recovered.

    Two days later, the London medium Eileen Garrett, while in a trance, began to convey messages purporting to come from Lt. H.C. Irwin, who had died aboard the R-101. In jerky, staccato utterances typical of his speech pattern in life, "Irwin" said, "The whole bulk of the dirigible was entirely and absolutely too much for her engine capacity. Engines too heavy. It was this that on five occasions made me scuttle back to safety … Useful lift too small. Gross lift computed badly – inform control panel … Explosion caused by friction in electric storm. Flying too low altitude and could never rise. Disposable lift could not be utilized …"

    So began one of the most fascinating and convincing episodes in the history of psychic research, an episode ably chronicled by John G. Fuller in his 1979 book, The Airmen Who Would Not Die. Fuller’s book, extensively documented and written in a crisp, novelistic style, is now out of print but is well worth tracking down.

    The voice of "Irwin" continued, speaking almost faster than the stenographer present at the session could take it down:

    Load too great for a long flight … Cruising speed bad, and ship badly swinging. Severe tension on fabric, which is chafing. Starboard strakes started. Engines wrong – too heavy – cannot rise … Never reached cruising altitude. Same in trials. Too short trials. No one knew the ship properly.

    Airscrews too small. Fuel injection bad and air pump failed. Cooling system bad. Bore capacity bad. Next time with cylinders but bore of engine 1,100 cc’s, but that bore is not enough to raise too heavy load and support weight. It had been known to me on many occasions that the bore capacity was entirely inadequate to the volume of structure. This I had placed again and again before engineer, without being able to enlarge capacity of Diesel twin-valve …

    But the structure no good. That actually is the case, not gas did not allow mixture to get to engine – backfired. Fuel injection bad … There was not sufficient feed. Leakage. Pressure and heat produced explosion …

    Weather bad for long flight. Fabric all water-logged and ship’s nose down. Impossible to rise. Cannot trim … At inquiry to be held later, it will be found that the superstructure of the envelope contained no resilience, and had far too much weight in envelope … The added middle section was entirely wrong. It made strong but took resilience away and entirely impossible. Too heavy and too much overweighted for the capacity of the engines …

    Over the next few months, Eileen Garrett continued to receive alleged communications from Irwin and other R-101 crewmembers. While the first séance took place in the presence of psychic researcher Harry Price, the remaining ones involved a different sitter, Maj. Oliver Villiers, himself a friend of Irwin and an export in aviation (though not in the field of dirigible design).

    Collectively the transcripts of these seances contain some of the most compelling evidence ever assembled for communication with the dead. Included in the messages received by Eileen Garrett are technical details about the R-101’s design and construction, recollections of test flights, discussions of political pressures and unrealistic deadlines that plagued the project, and a description of the crash itself and its causes. The personalities of the dead airmen also came through in recognizable detail. In one instance Villiers asked the communicating entity to identify itself, at which point the voice replied, "Use your damned intelligence!" – a catch phrase used by Sefton Brancker, who had died in the crash.

    Indeed, the personalities of the men emerged so clearly that Villiers, who had several sessions with Garrett, eventually fell into conversing with his old friends as if they were in the room with him.

    Garrett’s seances, held in broad daylight in a room designed by Harry Price to be a sealed, deceit-proof environment, yielded so much detailed, factual information that Villiers was moved to present the transcripts to Sir John Simon, in charge of the government’s investigation into the crash. This was a bold decision on Villiers’ part, one that could have jeopardized his career if Simon had looked unkindly on the idea of combing through the transcripts of seances for clues. Yet Simon handled the material respectfully and followed up on leads suggested by the communications.

    Working independently of Villiers, Harry Price had the transcript of his single session with Garrett analyzed by Will Charlton, supply officer at Cardington, where the R-101 was built and tested. Charlton’s meticulous analysis revealed that the majority of the information was accurate.

    "Irwin" said: "The whole bulk of the dirigible was entirely and absolutely too much for her engine capacity … Engines too heavy … Useful lift too small … Gross lift computed badly." All of these comments were correct.

    "Flying too low altitude and could never rise … Disposable lift could not be utilized … Load too great for long flight." Many witnesses observed that the R-101 was flying low. The ship dumped half its ballast just to escape from the mooring tower, and heavy rain that night would have added more weight to the vessel.

    "Weather bad for long flight … Fabric all waterlogged and ship’s nose is down … Impossible to rise … Cannot trim … Almost scraped the roofs at Achy." The trip took place in a driving rainstorm with high winds. The R-101 was seen flying with its nose angled downward. Charlton noted, "Achy is a small village, 12 ½ miles north of Beauvais, and would be on the R-101’s route."

    Much of the information was outside the province of any layman.

    "Irwin" said: "Starboard strakes started." The word "strakes" was a technical term known only to experts.

    "Airscrews too small." Charlton felt that this was likely to be correct, and noted that the airscrews used on the R-101 were smaller than those originally planned.

    "Next time with cylinders but bore of engine 1,100 cc’s …" Charlton noted that this would be correct if the term "cubic inches" was substituted for "cubic centimeters" ("cc’s").

    "… the bore capacity was entirely inadequate to the volume of structure." Charlton noted: "This language is technically correct and might have been Irwin’s opinion [emphasis in original]. It is an opinion that could only be expressed by an expert in the subject …"

    "… it will be found that the superstructure of the envelope contained no resilience and had far too much weight." Charlton found this accurate, saying, "It was the most rigid airship that had ever been constructed."

    "The added middle section was entirely wrong. It made strong, but took resilience away and entirely impossible. Too heavy and too much overweighted for the capacity of the engines." The R-101 had been expanded to 777 feet by the additional of a new "middle section" only a few months before the flight. This addition greatly complicated the craft’s handling and may well have contributed to the crash.

    In some instances, the information was unknown to anyone who had not been part of the Cardington team.

    The "Irwin" voice: "This exorbitant scheme of carbon and hydrogen is entirely and absolutely wrong." This appears to be a reference to upcoming experiments involving a mixture of oil fuel ("carbon") and hydrogen. These experiments, in the planning stage at Cardington shortly before the R-101’s crash, were not reported in the press; only project team members, like Irwin, knew about them.

    "Too short trials … No one knew the ship properly." The abbreviated test period was a concern of those working at Cardington, but was unknown to the public at the time of the séance.

    "It was this that made me on five occasions have to scuttle back to safety." True – Irwin had cut short several test flights because the ship was too heavy. The press had not been told of these failures.

    The Villiers transcripts, which were not seen by Charlton, offered an equal wealth of technical detail, as well as personal observations. Among these was the claim by a voice representing itself as another crewmember, Lt. Cdr. Atherstone, that he had kept a secret diary recording his worries about the R-101 program. When official inquiries were made of his widow regarding this diary, she insisted she had never heard of it. But years later, in 1967, Mrs. Atherstone produced the newly recovered diary, which was found to contain exactly the kinds of private worries mentioned by the "Atherstone" voice nearly four decades earlier.

    In the face of this considerable accumulation of evidence for the genuineness of the Price and Villiers communications, it would seem that a powerful case for the continuation of life after death had been made. Indeed, many of those who participated (sometimes reluctantly) in the seances or in subsequent analysis of the transcripts came to this conclusion – among them, William Wood, a pilot and outspoken atheist who wrote for the magazine The Freethinker, and who startled his readership by declaring his belief in an afterlife after studying the messages.

    And yet, in the field of psychic phenomena, nothing is ever cut and dried. There are always objections to be lodged, skeptical arguments to be advanced. The R-101 case is no different. A good summary of these objections is found in the book Psychic Detectives, by Jenny Randles and Peter Hough.

    Critics [say the authors] claimed that the matter was not so clear cut. It emerged that Will Charlton was not an ‘expert’, but someone in charge of stores and supplies at Cardington. He was also a spiritualist. One of those challenging Charlton’s views was Archie Jarman, whom Fuller credited as knowing more about the subject than any other living person …

    While Jarman was compiling a report on the R101 affair in the early 1960s, he consulted his own experts: Wing Commander Cave-Brown-Cave, who had been closely involved in the airship’s construction, and Wing Commander Booth, who had captained the R100 [a different airship] on its Montreal flight. Booth said, ‘I have read the description of the Price-Irwin sequence with great care and am of the opinion that the messages received do not assist in any way in determining why the airship R101 crashed.’

    As for the Villiers sequence, Booth commented: ‘I am in complete disagreement with almost every paragraph … the conversations are completely out of character, the atmosphere at Cardington is completely wrong, and the technical and handling explanation could not possibly have been messages from anyone with airship experience.’ … From what was supposedly said during the seances, the officers knew they were setting off on a suicidal mission before the airship had left England. Writer Edward Horton argues that if this was really the case – and there was no indication of this before the seances – all Irwin had to do was turn the airship around and, with the wind behind them, limp back to Cardington.

    Superficially this seems like a convincing rebuttal of the R-101 case. But in fact many of the arguments summarized by Randles and Hough are spurious. Let’s look at them one by one.

    "Will Charlton was not an ‘expert.’"

    While Charlton was not an engineer himself, he did know all the engineers who had built and tested the airship. He shared the transcripts with them, obtaining their input in addition to his own.

    Charlton "was also a spiritualist."

    He was not a spiritualist at the time he reviewed the transcripts. Later on, after becoming convinced that the dead airmen had made contact through Garrett, he became a spiritualist.

    "One of those challenging Charlton’s views was Archie Jarman."

    This does not seem to be accurate. It is true that Jarman did not find the Villiers transcripts useful, because Villiers had jotted down incomplete notes and later supplemented them by memory. Jarman felt that this method opened up too many possibilities for unconscious distortion or embellishment of the material. (He may have been too hard on Villiers, who was known for his prodigious and retentive memory, a faculty still intact when John Fuller interviewed him at the age of 91.) In any case, Jarman assessed the Price transcript (the one reviewed by Charlton) quite differently. Because these notes had been taken down verbatim by a trained stenographer, he judged them to be a reliable record of the séances – and he felt they did provide important evidence about the fate of the R-101b that could not be obtained through normal means.

    "Booth said: ‘… I am of the opinion that the messages received do not assist in any way in determining why the airship R101 crashed.’"

    Booth’s statement, as reported, is puzzling, because whatever anyone thinks of the messages’ provenance, they surely do provide a viable theory (at least) of the R-101’s crash. The scenario is as follows:

    1) The airship was overloaded and underpowered, hence unable to achieve sufficient altitude ("The whole bulk of the dirigible was absolutely and entirely too much for her engine capacity … Useful lift too small … Flying too low altitude and could never rise … Never reached cruising altitude," said the "Irwin" voice).

    2) High winds caused the chafing of the gas-bag compartments, one of which eventually ruptured ("Severe tension on the fabric which is chafing," said "Irwin.").

    3) The rupture of this bag allowed the wind to penetrate the vessel, subjecting it to further strain as it twisted against itself.

    4) This twisting caused structural damage.

    5) The airship, having lost structural integrity, lost altitude. Because it was flying low to begin with, it didn’t have far to fall, and there was no time to execute emergency maneuvers like dropping the ballast.

    6) At this point, one or more explosions occurred. They were set off by

    1. a) the release of static electricity from the hull when the ship hit the ground ("explosion caused by friction in electric storm");
    2. b) the backfiring of an overtaxed motor ("… backfired. Fuel injection bad."); or
    3. c) electrical shorts produced by structural damage ("Pressure and heat produced explosion.").

    Quite possibly two or even all three of these causes were responsible.

    7) The explosions set fire to the huge amount of the volatile hydrogen gas inside the craft, quickly reducing the R-101 to cinders.

    This scenario not only is plausible, but closely matches the official results obtained by a government inquiry into the crash. How Booth could say that the transcripts were of no value in explaining the disaster is therefore something of a mystery.

    "Booth commented: ‘…the conversations are completely out of character, the atmosphere at Cardington is completely wrong …’"

    Yet Charlton and Villiers, who worked at Cardington and knew the crewmembers, assessed the conversations quite differently. And there does not seem to be any doubt that "the atmosphere at Cardington" was one of political infighting, impossible deadlines, and desperate shortcuts, just as the messages suggest.

    "Booth commented: ‘… and the technical and handling explanation could not possibly have come from anyone with airship experience.’"

    But equally knowledgeable aviation experts like Lord Dowding, Commander-in-Chief of the (British) Fighter Command in World War II, and Sir Victor Goddard, former commander of the Royal New Zealand Air Force, were favorably impressed with the technical accuracy and evidential value of the transcripts.

    "From what was supposedly said during the seances, the officers knew they were setting off on a suicidal mission before the airship had left England. Writer Edward Horton argues that if this was really the case – and there was no indication of this before the seances …"

    Actually, more than one crewmember expressed reservations about the flight. On the day of the flight, Brancker told Villiers, "I have had several talks with Scott and Colmore [other crewmen]. They’ve become more and more uneasy at the prospect of this journey to India. In their opinion, the ship is not really airworthy." Another witness also reported that Brancker was unusually nervous that day. The Atherstone diary, mentioned above, confirms that the R-101 crew were well aware of the risks of the flight.

    If "the officers knew they were setting off on a suicidal mission … all Irwin had to do was turn the airship around and, with the wind behind them, limp back to Cardington."

    This objection was answered in the seances themselves, when it was explained that, for political purposes, it was thought necessary to start the much-ballyhooed trip to India by crossing the English Channel. The airship could then be docked in France, and the cancellation of the rest of the trip could be blamed on bad weather. This compromise was a way of saving face, both for the British government, which had invested two million pounds sterling in the project, and for the R-101 program itself, which was dependent on political goodwill for continued funding.

    The scheme, while desperate, was not necessarily "suicidal." In fact, the airship did make its way across the Channel before suffering irreparable damage. Had the forecast of twenty- to thirty-knot winds proved accurate, the R-101 probably would have docked safely in France. Unfortunately, the winds blew at forty to fifty knots, conditions the crew could not have anticipated when starting out.

    If the bulk of these objections are spurious, do we then have an incontrovertible case of after-death communication? Regretfully, I have to say no. While I find the R-101 case extremely powerful, I would not classify it as airtight. There are still legitimate areas of doubt. Here are a few things to consider.

    First, although John Fuller did an excellent job in researching and writing The Airmen Who Would Not Die, his credibility is not unimpeachable. He had earlier written The Interrupted Journey, a bestseller about the alleged UFO abduction of Betty and Barney Hill. The Hill case has been well addressed by skeptics and, in my opinion, offers little if any evidence of an extraterrestrial encounter.* If Fuller could be favorably impressed by the Hills’ dubious claims, perhaps his journalistic hardheadedness is open to question in the R-101 case, as well.

    (* Among other objections, skeptics point out that the bulk of the Hills' testimony was recovered under hypnosis, an unreliable method that often produces false memories. Other alleged memories of the abduction surfaced in Betty Hill's dreams, which she related to her husband, perhaps influencing his recollection. The story changed over time; in Mrs. Hill's dreams, the aliens appeared human, but years later, under hypnosis, she remembered them as having bulbous heads, wraparound eyes, and lipless mouths. In her early hypnosis sessions, Mrs. Hill said that one alien spoke English with an accent; later she said that he communicated without speaking, via telepathy. Many details of the encounter are reminiscent of 1950s and '60s science-fiction dramas, and Barney Hill's description of the aliens closely matches an extraterrestrial depicted in an episode of The Outer Limits that aired a couple of weeks before the hypnosis sessions began.)

    Second, some technical details conveyed in the seances were wrong. These errors perhaps can be accounted for by miscommunication or mistakes in transcription, but they should not be glossed over. Villiers distinctly heard mention of "altimeter springs" on two occasions, but the R-101’s altimeters had no springs. "Irwin" mentioned a gas indicator rising and falling throughout the flight, but Booth says that there was no such gauge onboard.

    Third, we have to remember that both the Price session and the Villiers sessions involved the same medium, Eileen Garrett. This is not too surprising, since Garrett was the most famous medium in England, and considered the most powerful by those who believed in her abilities. Still, while no taint of fraud was ever attached to Garrett in her long career, it is fair to say that the communications would have been more impressive if two, three, or even more mediums had been involved. Cross-correspondences among various mediums provide the strongest evidence of genuine paranormal phenomena but, except for some marginal communications reported by other mediums, are lacking in this case.

    Finally, there is the fact that the R-101 program had been heavily covered in the press. It is conceivable that some of the technical details and other information conveyed by Garrett were known to her, if only subconsciously. Militating against this idea is the fact that Garrett was hardly a technical whiz. She never owned a car or even learned to drive, and, according to Jarman, who knew her well, she was entirely uninformed about mechanical principles. Even so, is it possible that Garrett pulled the necessary facts out of her own subconscious or, via telepathy, out of the minds of the sitters participating in the sessions? This hypothesis would not explain all the data that came through, but might cover some of it.

    The bottom line is that no single case can establish the validity of a phenomenon like mediumship. What is impressive, as John Fuller and many others have pointed out, is the cumulative weight of hundreds, even thousands, of well-documented communications that have been received over more than a century of research. Even acquiring an overview of this mass of material is a large job, but a rewarding one. Those who would like to begin can find no better place to start than in the rainswept woods outside Beauvais, early in the morning of October 5, 1930, when the R-101 met its fiery end.

    —————-

    October 15, 2003: Recently, while searching the Web, I noticed a few references to a 1984 book called Psychic Paradoxes by John Booth. It was said to provide "fresh, penetrating insights" into paranormal phenomena. But what really caught my eye was this promotional claim: "Booth's eye-opening, first-time explanations for the baffling R101 tragedy seance [and other mysteries] are revealed."

    An explanation for R-101? This I had to read. On the Web, I tracked down a secondhand copy of the out-of-print book, supposedly in "fine" condition, and ordered it. I admit I had some trepidations about spending $15 on this item. Psychic Paradoxes was published by Prometheus Books, a small publishing house founded by rationalist philosopher Paul Kurtz, who also was instrumental in founding CSICOP, the Committee for the Scientific Investigation of Claims of the Paranormal, a zealously skeptical organization. Prometheus Books is known for putting out a large number of anti-paranormal and anti-religious tracts, many of which seem to be hastily written and indifferently edited. Nevertheless, Psychic Paradoxes might be different. I owed it to myself, and to my millions — okay, dozens — of fans, to find out.

    The book arrived about ten days later. It was not in "fine" condition. It looked as if someone had left it out in the rain and then peed on it. But it was readable. I turned to the index, and found that the R-101 tragedy was economically covered in just four pages. Booth spends the first couple of pages recounting the events in minimal detail. He then presents the groundbreaking theory which will explain it all.

    Eileen Garrett, he tells us, was

    a woman of abiding curiosity. Copies of the aircraft blueprints could have been slipped to the psychic long before the tragedy. Her friendships in high places were numerous. Security was not tight in that period of euphoric peace. The entire nation was fascinated by the construction of this new marvel of the airways.

    We are aware that she had followed its building. In his book Eileen Garrett and the World Beyond the Senses, Allan Angoff … reveals that 'she had predicted (the R101 tragedy) long before the dirigible crashed in France.' Others who had studied its construction carefully, perceived dangerous potential flaws.

    The medium was a brilliant woman. Her subsequent career as a psychic researcher, publisher and administrator, both in Britain and the United States prove this. She could deduce accurately the probable sequence of fatal events by piecing together newspaper reports, checking back over her earlier investigations and perhaps even discussing the matter in seeming innocence with a valued technician friend from the airdrome.

    Preliminary trial flights of an airship, short ones, reveal defects that assist postmortem verdicts. Garrett's confidante [sic], perhaps noting later how she had picked his brain, would hardly dare to reveal the true source of some seance information. His own employment and standing would be jeopardized and a friend's reputation disintegrate.

    The rest of Booth's treatment of the R-101 mystery consists of a brief discussion of a fake autobiography of Howard Hughes written by Clifford Irving, and the well-known Piltdown Man hoax. These cases prove that people can be fooled.

    Now, when I read this, I have to confess that I became very excited. I felt I had just received a revelation of startling import and potentially life-changing implications — namely, that I should never, ever again buy anything published by Prometheus Books.

    I also realized that Booth had proved his case conclusively in at least one respect. It is possible for people to be fooled. Case in point: I had been fooled into purchasing Psychic Paradoxes.

    It's probably a waste of precious computer pixels to spend much time rebutting this remarkably dumb argument. A few points might be noted.

    1. Eileen Garrett had indeed heard of the R-101 program before the crash. Everyone in Britain had heard of it. It attracted as much public interest as America's Apollo program of the 1960s. But the technical details of the airship's construction were never published, and the average person knew no more about the fine points of dirigibles than the average American in the 1960s knew about rocketships.
    2. Garrett did indeed claim to have foreseen the crash. She made no secret of this, and it was mentioned in John Fuller's book and many other places. No one has ever made much of it. Psychics are always getting (or claiming to get) premonitions.
    3. Garrett did have "friendships in high places." She was a member of London's literary arts community. Numbered among her friends were such luminaries as James Joyce and George Bernard Shaw. There is no reason to think that she ever hung out with aeronautical engineers, or that there was any overlap between the literary and theatrical circle in which she moved and the tightknit fraternity of engineering experts working on a secret government project.
    4. Garrett was undeniably "a brilliant woman." And she was certainly successful as a psychic researcher, publisher, and administrator. None of these talents would qualify her for the job of "piecing together newspaper reports [and] checking back over her earlier investigations" (what investigations?) to deduce anything about the mechanical failure of an airship. Garrett's brilliance did not lie in the area of mechanics or engineering. She never even learned how to drive a car, and her ignorance of all things mechanical was well-known.
    5. Could Garrett have had "a valued technician friend from the airdrome" who served as a secret confidant? Well, this claim is certainly impossible to disprove — since if the relationship was secret, then by definition it was never found out. Is there any evidence that she had such a relationship? No. Was the possibility ever raised at the time? Yes. Her statements about the crash were sufficiently specific to arouse the suspicion of the government, which send agents to investigate Garrett. No link between her and the R-101 project or any of its participants was uncovered.

    But maybe the investigators just weren't good enough, or Garrett was too clever for them. She would have to have been very clever indeed. Presumably, according to Booth's "theory," she was smart enough to anticipate that the dirigible would crash in the near future. She decided she could use this event to enhance her reputation as a psychic. To pull off her scheme, she had to befriend a technician working on the top-secret project and obtain classified information from him, even including blueprints! She then had to use her formidable intelligence to anticipate how the crash would occur – employing a chain of deductive reasoning that was apparently beyond the capabilities of the engineers themselves. She also had to learn all the relevant technical jargon so that she could recite it in her seances. Moreover, she had to be so fluent in her use of this jargon and so knowledgeable about the underlying concepts that she could engage in extended, highly technical dialogues with an aeronautics expert. She accomplished this feat despite the fact that at no time in her life, before or since, did she show any interest in or knowledge of mechanics. She also had to learn so much about the deceased crew members' mannerisms, vocal inflections, and turns of phrase that she could impersonate them well enough to fool someone who had known them in life.

    All this is plausible, Booth suggests, because, after all, people were fooled by Clifford Irving and by the Piltdown Man.

    If anyone from Prometheus Books is reading this, could I please get my $15 back?

     

    Sources

    John G. Fuller, The Airmen Who Would Not Die, G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1979

    Jenny Randles & Peter Hough, Psychic Detectives: The Mysterious Use of Paranormal Phenomena in Solving True Crimes, Reader’s Digest Association, 2001

    John Booth, Psychic Paradoxes, Prometheus Books, 1984

  • NOTE: I used to have several older essays on the paranormal posted on my author site. When I recently updated the site, I removed all this material and decided to post it here. This essay was originally posted in 2004. 

    —-

    Why I'm Not a Skeptic

    For the past couple of years, as a sideline to my usual work as a fiction writer, I've posted a series of online essays on paranormal phenomena. The topic is always controversial. Despite massive evidence to the contrary, some people continue to maintain that no such phenomena exist. Those who hold most tenaciously to this opinion characterize themselves as "skeptics."

    Now, as has been frequently pointed out, this use of the term "skeptic" is more than a little misleading. In common usage, a skeptic is someone who maintains an open mind, insisting on evidence for any claim. The more unusual the claim, the more stringent the evidential demands. According to this view, the skeptic has no private agenda, no personal bias, but serves only as a guardian of the truth, who weeds out unsupported allegations and superstitious imaginings. The skeptic is the proverbial Missourian; though willing to be convinced, he says, "Show me."

    That's the theory. In practice, things are different. Far from being a state of habitual open-mindedness, today's skepticism is characterized by resistance to any new ideas or new evidence, and unwillingness to critically examine its own biases. These tendencies, in turn, rest on a very definite agenda, promoted by a clear and comprehensive worldview, a philosophy of life. This philosophy is rationalism.

    In a 1995 essay, Gene E. Veith ably summarizes rationalism's basic tenets. Coming of age in the eighteenth century, rationalism "excluded on principle everything that could not be seen, measured, and empirically analyzed. Revelation was ruled out as a means of knowledge, and belief in a supernatural realm that transcended the visible universe was dismissed as primitive superstition. Not only did modernists [i.e., rationalists] believe in the inerrancy of science, they also had a devout faith in progress. The 'modern,' almost by definition, was superior to the past. The future would be even better. Modernists genuinely believed that science would answer all questions and that the application of scientific principles would solve all social problems. Through rational planning, applied technology, and social manipulation, experts could engineer the perfect society (Veith, 1995)."

    Here we have not innocent open-mindedness, but a narrow and intolerant creed, which is today often recognized as such. The word "skeptic" is, in fact, increasingly conjoined with "dogmatic," "zealous," and "militant." Some people accuse skeptics of being nothing but cynics in disguise. A few wags have dubbed them "septics." Admittedly, that's not very nice – but, truth be told, skeptics have brought such attacks on themselves by repeatedly characterizing their opponents as credulous, gullible, simpleminded, ignorant, irrational, and foolish.

    Want proof? Look at skeptic Andrew Stuttaford, a frequent contributor to National Review Online. "A séance," he writes glibly, "is, by definition, a gathering of the credulous (Stuttaford, 2003b)." Apparently, then, all the researchers who have ever studied mediumship – the noted psychological theorists William James and F.W.H. Meyers among them – were either dupes or dopes. Stuttaford on Crossing Over star John Edward: "He's a fast-talking psychic with slow-witted fans." Although he admits, "I have no idea … how Mr. Edward does it," Stuttaford opines that "it … takes, how can this be put politely, a certain special something in the minds of his subjects. It cannot be put politely. Those special somethings are naivety, superstition, and a problem with rational thought (Stuttaford, 2001)."

    Crossing Over fans shouldn't take undue umbrage. Stuttaford has many other dislikes. Even Walt Disney movies earn his opprobrium. "It's not easy to decide which Disney character is the most repellent," he muses. "That simpering Bambi would be better roasted, carved and surrounded by potatoes, gravy and parsnips (Stuttaford, 2003a)."

    Stuttaford approaches the world from a rightist political perspective, but happily there is political balance among skeptics. Left-leaning gadfly Christopher Hitchens denounces all spiritual interests and phenomena as a "tsunami of piffle" embraced by the "feebleminded." He has high praise for Houdini, who "toured far and wide, exposing and announcing the callous hoaxes of the ectoplasm-artists." Hitchens doesn't mention the fact that Houdini himself is credibly accused of a hoax; the master magician's assistant confessed to having planted a suspicious article among medium Mina Crandon's effects so that Houdini could conveniently discover it later. If Hitchens is aware of this detail, he doesn't allow it to dim his enthusiasm for the famed "fairy-flattener" (quoted in Shermer, undated).

    Perhaps paralleling Stuttaford's animus toward Walt Disney, Hitchens has his own bete noir in the person of Mother Teresa, the target of his scathing polemical pamphlet The Missionary Position. Reviewing this 98-page "book," one critic takes note of "Hitchens' genuine hatred of Mother Teresa. He uses anything and everything to paint her as a phony … This isn't a reporter examining both sides of an issue; this is a guy with a vendetta (Milner, 1995)."

    People who dislike Walt Disney and Mother Teresa must have some heroes of their own. And they do. Well-known skeptic Michael Shermer reports that, although he regards Ayn Rand's philosophy as a cult, nevertheless "I actually have a photograph of Rand on my wall, next to other photographs including Martin Gardner, Penn & Teller, [James] Randi, [Stephen Jay] Gould, Richard Dawkins, Isaac Asimov, Frank Sulloway, G. Gordon Liddy, Houdini, [and] my wife (Shermer, op. cit.)."

    What can we learn from Michael Shermer's wall? His heroes can be divided mainly into professional skeptics (Martin Gardner, Penn & Teller, James Randi, and Houdini) and scientists or science writers of a sharply rationalistic bent (Stephen Jay Gould, Richard Dawkins, Isaac Asimov, Frank Sulloway). What connects the people on Shermer's wall is not politics. Asimov, a committed liberal, wouldn't have found much ideological common ground with Watergate felon Liddy. Nor is it a shared view of human nature. Sulloway, who applies Darwinian methods to the study of siblings' birth order for the purpose of explaining human behavior, would scoff at Rand's romantic view of man as "a being of self-made soul." Nor is it any particular point of agreement on scientific issues. Gould, an innovator in the field of evolution, vigorously disputed Dawkins's old-fashioned, unreconstructed Darwinism.

    No, the overarching theme of Shermer's portrait gallery is something deeper. It is the same basic worldview summarized in the quotation from Gene Veith above. For the most part, the thinkers on Shermer's wall are rationalists – arch-rationalists, one might say – who do indeed "exclude … everything that [cannot] be seen, measured, and empirically analyzed." Certainly most of them rule out mystical insight "as a means of knowledge" and "dismiss … as primitive superstition … [any] belief in a supernatural realm." (Martin Gardner, a philosophical theist, is an exception to the latter point.) They "believe in the inerrancy of science" and have "a devout faith in progress." They "genuinely believe … that science [will] answer all questions and that the application of scientific principles [will] solve all social problems," allowing "experts" to "engineer the perfect society."

    It is this shared commitment to Reason with a capital R that unites these otherwise disparate opinion-shapers. One may even call it a shared faith, though the appellation will not be met with approval by those on whom it is bestowed.

    Of course, there's more to this rationalist faith than the positions already laid out. Rationalism takes its most clear-cut, dramatic, and bracingly simple form in its view of history.

    For thousands of years, the story goes, the forces of reason have been doing battle with the forces of unreason, and the rise and fall of civilization follows the victories and defeats in this ongoing war. The ancient Athenians first enshrined reason as the basis of culture and politics, and in so doing, they created the first democracy and the first great literature and art. But Athens fell to the uncultured, unphilosophical Spartans and later to the boorish Macedonians, and the light of reason was nearly extinguished – until the Roman Empire, scavenger of subjugated cultures, adapted Greek philosophy to its own ends. Rome built a complex technological society that endured for centuries. But the Romans made the fatal mistake of adopting Christianity, a move that catapulted them directly into the Dark Ages.

    The poverty, superstitious ignorance, and utter stagnation of medieval times persisted until the rebirth of reason known as the Renaissance. This opened up a new era of optimism, prosperity, and scientific progress, all made possible by the burgeoning philosophy of secular humanism, which reached its zenith in the Enlightenment.

    Since that time, the forces of unreason have staged an increasingly successful counteroffensive. America is now under assault by a variety of pseudoscientific or openly irrational movements that fall under the rubric of the New Age. If these pernicious ideas consume our culture, then our society will go the way of the Roman Empire, and our future will be a new Dark Age. In this apocalyptic battle of ideas, nothing less than the survival of civilization is at stake.

    As you can see, the rationalist version of history is an exciting story, full of high drama, complete with a cliffhanger ending. Will civilization commit suicide? Will all be lost? Tune in next week

    Great stuff. The only problem is, it's not quite the whole story. In fact, a lot of it isn't even true.

    For instance, the view that ancient Athens was a stolidly rationalistic society is a nineteenth century myth that has long since been exploded. We now know that, as early as the seventh century BC, Black Sea commerce had opened Greek society to Eastern mystical ideas. Asiatic teachings of soul-body dualism, reincarnation, and metempsychosis were picked up by leading Greek thinkers, most notably Pythagoras.

    Although the intellectuals of Periclean Athens – the Athens of the fifth century BC – were undoubtedly more committed to the primacy of reason than earlier generations had been, Athens remained a hotbed of competing intellectual currents. The same leaders who praised reason also relied on oracles for guidance. The same tragic playwrights who brought powerful psychological insights to their studies of human nature also infused their tragedies with gods and monsters, while stressing the inexorable workings of fate. Euripides' last and arguably greatest play, The Maenads, is a celebration of the wildly irrational religion of the god Dionysus, whose intoxicated followers frolicked naked in the woods in orgiastic abandon.

    The admixture of rationalist and irrationalist ideas in Athens helps explain the Hellenistic period which followed, when occultism again gained the upper hand. Had Athens been as uniformly rationalistic as its admirers suggest, the Hellenistic practitioners of alchemy and astrology would never have had a chance. (For a full discussion, see Dodds, 1951.)

    What about the decline of the Roman Empire? True, the eighteenth century historian Edward Gibbon argued at very, very great length that Christianity was responsible for sapping the Romans' manly pagan virtues and leaving them open to attack by more vigorous barbarian hordes. Like other rationalists of an aristocratic bent, Gibbon waxed euphoric about the heyday of the Empire: "If a man were called to fix the period in the history of the world during which the condition of the human race was most happy and prosperous, he could, without hesitation, name that which elapsed from the death of Domitian to the accession of Commodus (quoted in Pagels, 1988)."

    Undoubtedly these years, from A.D. 96 to A.D. 180, were a time when at least one portion of the human race was "happy and prosperous" – namely, adult males who enjoyed the benefits of Roman citizenship. They were, however, a minority of the population, the majority being made up of women, children, resident aliens, and slaves. For them, Gibbon's golden age was decidedly less lustrous. Elaine Pagels writes, "Within the capital city of Rome, three quarters of the population either were slaves – persons legally classified as property – or were descended from slaves. Besides being subjected to their owners' abuses, fits of violence, and sexual desires, slaves were denied such elementary rights as legitimate marriage, let alone legal recourse for their grievances (Pagels, 1988)."

    Did anyone stand up for these marginalized people? One group did – the Christians. Pagels observes that Clement of Alexandria, an influential second century Christian, "attacked the widespread Roman custom of exposing abandoned infants on garbage dumps, or raising them for sale: 'I pity the children owned by slave dealers, who are dressed for shame,' says Clement, and trained in sexual specialties, who were sold to gratify their owners' sexual tastes. Justin, in his Defense of the Christians, complained that 'not only the females, but also the males' were commonly raised 'like herds of oxen, goats, or sheep,' as a profitable crop of child prostitutes … Many Christians were themselves slave owners and took slavery for granted as unthinkingly as their pagan neighbors. But others went among the hovels of the poor and into slave quarters, offering help and money and preaching to the poor, the illiterate, slaves, women, foreigners – the good news that class, education, sex, and status made no difference, that every human being is essentially equal to any other 'before God' … (Pagels, 1988)."

    When Gibbon declaims on the glory that was Rome, it is best to keep in mind the "profitable crop of child prostitutes" and the abandoned infants languishing in garbage dumps. And when he insists that Judeo-Christian religious values "weakened" Rome or made it "effeminate" and "soft," it is worth remembering what casual, everyday atrocities the pagan world was capable of.

    But did Christianity weaken Rome in a military sense? Did it cause the Empire's downfall and bring about the Dark Ages? Although Gibbon thought so, more recent research has widely discredited this idea. In a recent book, Greg S. Nyquist observes, "Those who … regard Christianity as responsible for the collapse of Roman Civilization fail to realize that only the Western half of the empire fell. The Eastern half, which was every bit, if not more, Christian than the West, remained a viable political force during the entire period of the Middle Ages. While Western Europe suffered through centuries of abject poverty and feudal anarchy, Byzantium persevered amid a veritable sea of enemies (Nyquist, 2001)."

    As with any large-scale historical event, the actual reasons for Rome's fall are complex and numerous. The Empire was overextended and difficult to defend, and the Romans were eventually obliged to employ Germanic tribesmen as mercenary soldiers to patrol the borders. Unfortunately, the emperors and the senate were notoriously stingy in paying the mercenaries' wages. As a result, the mercenaries periodically rose up against the authorities. One of these rebellions ended in the overthrow of the emperor in AD 476.

    That date is often cited as the official fall of Rome, although the Empire, in a somewhat altered form, actually persisted for another two centuries. It collapsed only after the advancing Islamic armies took control of the Mediterranean Sea and made it, in the words of historian Henri Pirenne, "a Moslem lake." The end of Mediterranean commerce sent shockwaves through eighth century Europe, from which the continent's economy could not recover. (This theory is elaborated in Pirenne, 1974.)

    Perhaps the most cherished chapter in the rationalists' historical overview is that the long, dreary interlude of the medieval period was brought to an end by a glorious rebirth of reason.

    Again, the truth is more complicated. In fact, the medieval period blends rather seamlessly into the Renaissance. There were small businessmen, merchants, engineers, artists, philosophers, even nascent scientists in the late Middle Ages, just as there were astrologers, witches, spirit mediums, and religious fanatics in the Renaissance.

    Jean Gimpel, in The Medieval Machine: The Industrial Revolution of the Middle Ages, explores the often neglected technological and commercial innovations of the medieval period. "The Middle Ages," he writes in his preface, "was one of the great inventive eras of mankind. It should be known as the first industrial revolution in Europe … Between the tenth and the thirteenth centuries, western Europe experienced a technological boom … Capitalist companies were formed and their shares were bought and sold … Many of the tasks formerly done by hand were now carried out by machines … There was a marked increase in the general standard of living."

    Later he writes, "It is an astonishing concept to the modern mind that medieval man was surrounded by machines … The most common was the mill, converting the power of water or wind into work: grinding corn, crushing olives, fulling cloth, tanning leather, making paper …" A survey of England undertaken in 1086 by William the Conqueror reported 5,624 water mills. "On rivers like the Wylye in [the county of] Wiltshire the concentration of mills is remarkable: thirty mills along some 10 miles of water; three mills every mile."

    Readers who prefer to get their history through historical novels might want to look at Michael Crichton's Timeline, which incorporates a great deal of recent research into its picture of the medieval world (Crichton, 1999).

    If the Middle Ages was less mystical than rationalists suppose, the Renaissance was less rationalistic than they would like to believe. Rationalists sometimes credit the rediscovery of the works of Aristotle with laying the foundation for the new progressive spirit of the Renaissance. A case can be made that at least equal credit belongs to Aristotle's polar opposite, the semi-mythical ancient Egyptian known as Hermes Trismegistus, or Hermes Thrice-Great. The corpus of occult writings attributed to this figure, known as the Hermetica, first returned to Western European hands in 1460, when Cosimo de Medici acquired some Hermetic texts from Byzantium. More texts turned up, and by 1593 a complete volume was published in Italy.

    The Hermetica is crowded with occult lore of all kinds – astrology, alchemy, witchcraft, magical rituals, invocations of pagan deities. Interlaced with this rather banal material is a more uplifting mystical vision of a hierarchical, purposeful cosmos in which the human spirit is continually evolving toward reunion with the godhead.

    Renaissance intellectuals were fascinated by the Hermetica. Such leading figures as Giordano Bruno and Pico della Mirandola became deeply committed to this occult philosophy, which has many similarities to the mystical traditions of Gnosticism and Neoplatonism – and nothing at all in common with classical rationalism. If we want to find the inspiration behind the works of Michelangelo, da Vinci, and perhaps even Shakespeare, we would be better advised to look at the Hermetica than at, say, Aristotle's Metaphysics.

    It is true, of course, that rationalism eventually became the dominant mode of thought among intellectuals in the West, a trend that culminated in the Enlightenment in the middle to late 1700s. Even this development was less triumphal than contemporary rationalists make it out to be. The climax and apotheosis of the Enlightenment was not the American Revolution, which blended rationalist and religious sentiments in a common-sense mixture, but rather the French Revolution, which began as a revolt against the privileged but evolved swiftly into a radical onslaught on all religious beliefs, customs, traditions, and values. If you want to see the spirit of the Enlightenment, and therefore of scientific rationalism, in its pure, unadulterated form, look at Paris in 1793.

    In that year the Jacobin party, in control of the Revolution, outlawed the Bible, closed all churches, and decreed the death penalty for anyone found guilty of practicing Christianity. The cathedral of Notre Dame was stripped of Christian symbols and transformed into a Temple of Reason, in which an actress made up as the Goddess of Reason received obeisance from the assembled mob. The local bishop was forced to declare that he worshipped no God, but only Liberty and Equality. An ass dressed in priestly garments, with the Hebrew Bible and New Testament tied to its tail, was paraded through the streets to its destination – a huge pile of religious books, which were ceremonially burned.

    The new "Revolutionary Calendar" removed all references to Christianity, renaming Christmas as "Dog Day," and All-Saints Day as "Goat's-beard Herb Day." Other holidays included Virtue Day, Genius Day, and, of course, Reason Day. The months of the year were renamed for the seasons and harvests – the month of Mist, the month of Frost, the month of Heat; the months of Seed, of Blossom, of Fruit. Even clocks were remanufactured to count out ten hours to each day, with one hundred minutes to each hour – apparently a more logical approach.

    Finally a truly rational society was at hand, or so the reformers thought. But at the very time when the Jacobins were outlawing religion, and perhaps not by coincidence, they were also instituting the Terror – the indiscriminate murder of thousands by means of that shiny, new, technologically efficient killing machine, the guillotine. The dream-turned-nightmare came to an end in 1799 with a coup d'etat that established the dictatorship of Napoleon Bonaparte.

    Still, this was hardly the last effort to wipe out all vestiges of tradition and build a new, utopian society on a purely "scientific" basis. The Nazi ambition to establish a master race was founded on the new science of eugenics, while the Marxist attempt to mold the New Soviet Man relied on behavior modification through incessant propaganda and reeducation camps, policies justified by the "rational, scientific" theory of Marxism itself. It has been aptly said, by theologian Thomas Oden, that "modernity" lasted exactly two hundred years – beginning with the storming of the Bastille in 1789, and ending with the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989.

    In making these points, I don't mean to suggest that the pursuit of reason has had no beneficial social consequences. This is obviously untrue and would be just as much of an unwarranted oversimplification as the rationalists' contrary position. What I am saying is that the pursuit of reason as an absolute, an end in itself, can lead to outcomes quite different from those that rationalists expect.

    History is complicated. It is not a simple matter of good and evil, with the forces of good exemplified by reason, and the forces of evil exemplified by mysticism. It is more like a balancing act, in which both the rational and the nonrational aspects of human nature must find some degree of fulfillment in a stable social order. When the balance tilts too far to one side or the other, instability results. An excess of nonrational impulses can engender stagnant tribalism or despotic theocracy. An excessive commitment to reason as the be-all and end-all of life can usher in the chaos and madness of 1793.

    Rationalists will have none of this. For them, all the ills of the world are the product of irrationalism and can be defeated by the systematic application of science, logic, and technology. This, they feel, is self-evident, and anyone who doesn't see it is either dishonest or stupid. Since a great many people don't see it, rationalists feel a certain contempt for the masses – contempt mixed with fear, since in a democracy the masses have considerable power.

    All this is very much in line with the black-and-white mindset that typifies rationalists. There is reason, and there is its opposite, and never shall they meet. The ambiguities and complexities of the real world, the multiple causes underlying massive historical events, the nuances and subtleties of human nature are all quite alien to their streamlined and simplified vision.

    For that matter, even some of modern science is alien to rationalists. This may seem odd, since rationalists are, if anything, champions of science. But if you examine them closely, you'll find that they are often more committed to the scientific outlook of the nineteenth century than of the twentieth – or the twenty-first.

    The nineteenth century was the heyday of rationalism in science. It was the age when Newtonian physics seemed on the verge of explaining the universe. It was also the age when Darwinian evolutionary theory seemed to have solved the mysteries of life itself. Not surprisingly, rationalists still feel at home in that era.

    But science has undergone momentous changes in the past century. The Theory of Relativity and, even more so, the advent of quantum physics have undermined the old Newtonian world picture. Where Newton saw the universe as a great machine humming along in a neat and orderly fashion, following laws that could be mathematically calculated, producing results that could be predicted with pinpoint accuracy, the new physics sees the universe as a place of paradox and ambiguity. In the quantum world, a subatomic particle can be both a particle and a wave at the same time. The distinction between the observer and the observed, so crucial to the classical outlook, has dissolved, and it now appears that the observer can directly affect or even bring about the events under observation. Entities are able to influence each other over vast distances instantaneously – a multiply verified observation that has given rise to the idea that this is a "nonlocal universe," a universe in which, at a fundamental level, space and time do not exist. Physicist David Bohm has compared the universe to a giant hologram, a multidimensional image projected out of a two-dimensional wave-interference pattern at the quantum level. Superstring theory argues that the essence of things is not any material object, but cosmic vibrational frequencies.

    Meanwhile, the Darwinian theory of evolution by natural selection is increasingly seen as incomplete. Some biologists postulate a new view of evolution, "punctuated equilibrium," in which new species emerge suddenly in response to environmental pressures. Other theorists apply chaos theory or quantum physics to the problem, while still others suggest, ever so carefully, that there may be something to the old Lamarckian notion that animals pass along acquired characteristics and thereby accelerate the evolutionary process. The origin of life remains a complete mystery, in which every proposed theory has been discredited and no new theories are thought to be in the offing. Molecular biologist Michael Behe, in Darwin's Black Box, argues that cellular organization represents an "irreducible complexity" that cannot be explained, even in principle, by evolutionary theory. Behe points out that even the simplest cell carries out millions of chemical reactions every second, in a meticulously choreographed array of sequences, and that all this activity is necessary if the cell is to metabolize nutrients, eliminate waste, and (most daunting of all) successfully reproduce. How the first cell ever developed out of nonliving antecedents is unknown, especially since examination of some of the oldest rocks on Earth has shown that microbes came into existence much earlier than previously believed.

    In many respects, science is evolving into a more open-ended discipline, one that allows for and even celebrates the enigmas, paradoxes, and ambiguities of the universe. Rationalists are unhappy with this development. They resist it. They gripe about it. They make fun of it. They cannot come to terms with it.

    Nor is this surprising. For the most part, the rationalist mindset is simply not flexible enough to adapt to new information or changing circumstances. Although rationalists themselves would vigorously deny it, their worldview is essentially religious in nature – not because they believe in God or the supernatural, but because they believe that they have identified absolute truths and that virtue consists in defending those truths at any cost. Their contempt for religion as a mere "belief system" blinds them to the fact that their philosophy is itself a belief system, subject to the same bias and incompleteness as any other set of beliefs. Philosophically, they have committed themselves to a simple, straightforward theory of everything, and are unable or unwilling to see that this theory, like any theory, can never be more than a rough approximation of the truth.

    The quest for truth is an ongoing process, a journey, not a destination. Indeed, science – and reason itself – can be best understood not as a final answer but as a method, a tool. If science is seen as a set of answers with which one must agree in order for one to be deemed "rational" – a viewpoint for which the term "scientism" has been coined – then any new information that challenges the existing scientific worldview is a threat to science and to rationality itself. In that case, one must be perpetually on guard against such threats, by assiduously debunking any new ideas or new observations that fall outside the established paradigm.

    On the other hand, if science is seen simply as a method leading to provisional answers that are always subject to revision, then new ideas and new observations are no threat at all.

    So now we can see, I think, why the more militant rationalists become militant skeptics – i.e., militant debunkers. Their penchant for denigrating and discrediting the paranormal is not simply a tic of the personality, but the ineluctable consequence of a certain fundamental view of life, mind, and the cosmos.

    Unfortunately, people with a powerful personal agenda do not make the best skeptics – at least not if skepticism is understood as the exercise of unbiased objectivity.

    A small example will illustrate this point. It involves Dr. William A. Nolen, who went to the Philippines to study so-called "psychic surgeons." Let me be clear that I have no particular interest in psychic surgery and no confidence in its genuineness. My point in choosing this topic is to show that even regarding one of the most dubious paranormal claims, skeptics still indulge in hasty generalizations while ignoring possible nuances and subtleties of the issue. If they play fast and loose even when occupying comparatively solid ground, how reliable are they in better substantiated areas of paranormal research, such as telepathy and psychokinesis, where volumes of evidence and mountains of data weigh against them? (The most up-to-date summary of the evidence for psi-related phenomena is Radin, 1997.)

    Dr. Nolen tells us that that his attitude was admirably unbiased. "I was making a very sincere effort," he says, "not to prejudge the merits of the psychic surgeons whom I was about to investigate. If I had already been persuaded they were charlatans, I would never have undertaken the assignment."

    But "unbiased" means one thing to people in general, and quite another to a committed rationalist-cum-skeptic. To the skeptic, it means that he is willing to waste a little of his time examining obvious nonsense for the socially beneficial purpose of debunking it. Don't take my word for this. Here is Nolen again, this time being a little more forthcoming.

    "I have to confess that I undertook the assignment with fear and trepidation. I knew that by looking into and writing about psychic surgery I ran a serious risk of being labeled a 'kook', a label that might destroy my reputation as a legitimate medical writer. I didn't want that to happen.

    "On the other hand, I didn't agree with the AMA's policy. It seemed to me that ignoring the lunatic fringe, hoping they would just go away, was unrealistic. Remaining silent while quacks went out and sold their ideas, unopposed, just wouldn't work … (Nolen, 1974)."

    So Nolen's "very sincere effort not to prejudge the merits of the psychic surgeons" took the form of assuming in advance that they were "quacks" who were part of "the lunatic fringe." Remember this the next time a skeptic boasts about his impartial, objective stance.

    Nolen spent a total of two weeks in the Philippines, a rather short time in which to investigate a phenomenon that, by some estimates, involves more than four hundred Filipino healers. Nevertheless, he was able to confidently conclude that the whole business of psychic surgery is a fraud.

    George Nava True II, in a sympathetic online essay, summarizes the doctor's findings. "An ‘appendix' which Sison removed from a patient turned out to be a wad of cotton; a 'hysterectomy' made by Mercado consisted of chicken intestines which were passed off as the uterus; a 'tumor' Mercado removed from Nolen was clumps of fat soaked in a reddish liquid that was said to be blood. In one instance where Flores supposedly removed the eye of Joaquin Cunanan, a retired businessman who promoted psychic surgery, Nolen said this was accomplished by means of a dog's eye which the healer produced at the right moment (True, undated)."

    So, then – cased closed. Or is it? Before we grant the final word on the subject to Nolen's two weeks of study, we might consider some contrary points of view.

    In a recent book on the subject, Sandy Johnson acknowledges, "Sleight-of-hand surgery is common in the Philippines and elsewhere. Here, the healer creates the illusion of removing a tumor. To do this he uses cleverly concealed animal blood and tissue, usually small pieces of chicken liver or gizzard purchased at the corner stall, and proceeds to imitate a real surgery."

    She interviews Henry Belk, who founded the Belk Foundation for Psychical Research, and asks why the healers would resort to trickery if they have actual healing powers. "Actually," Belk explains, "among the early Filipinos, sleight of hand existed for centuries. The belief was that if you extract a symbolic object from a sick patient, the disease would disappear. The shaman never considered what he did to be deceitful. His only interest was that the patient be healed. Any and all means of healing came from Spirit, and therefore was miraculous."

    Is it, then, just a placebo affect? And what, really, is the placebo effect, anyway, if not a fancy name for a healing that occurs by no known mechanism?

    After pondering these issues, Johnson came to believe "that all healing, including modern medicine, contained an element of the placebo effect. If belief and expectation is the spark that activates the immune system – whether delivered by a man in a white coat or a shaman in feathers – won't healing occur?"

    Later she visits psychologist Stanley Krippner of the Saybrook Institute in San Francisco, who is described as "an outspoken advocate of the work of Rubens Faria," a Brazilian healer. "I think," Krippner says, "that he's putting on a show that brings out the best in people. Technically, he could do all this without cutting into the skin, without taking on the identity of Dr. Fritz [the doctor whose spirit Faria is allegedly channeling]. But that's not the way people's belief systems operate. People like theater, they like spectacle, they like drama, especially people who go to folk healers. Many folk healers around the country tell me, 'I would not have to call on the spirits. I would not have to cut into the body. I would not have to do the rituals, but people expect it, and I must give them what they expect if they are going to be healed.' (Johnson, 2003)."

    And here is Jane Katra, writing in a book coauthored with pioneering physicist and ESP researcher Russell Targ: "After a week, I'd seen many so-called psychic surgeries, most of which my rational mind told me were sleight of hand, and yet which my observations told me were efficacious to varying degrees. I saw things that looked like animal entrails appearing as if they were being pulled out of people, and things that looked like real incisions cut into people, through which globs of who-knows-what appeared. I mostly saw sick people feeling better, speaking a common language of hope and fellowship to each other, in a community of affirmative expectation.

    I was looking forward to seeing the renowned healer, Alex Orbito, do his famous eye-check procedure. I decided to team up with an American woman who was writing for a Yakima, Washington, newspaper … The reporter stood on one side of the patient's head and watched Orbito's hands, while I stood on the other side with my face down, eye-to-eye with the patient. It looked as if Alex had his finger behind the man's eyeball, and that the eyeball was popped forward in its socket and pushed off to one side. I thought to myself, it might be easy to palm a fake eyeball, but why can't I see the man's real eye in there? And how does he get a glass eye to just hang there? … When I compared notes with the other reporter after Orbito's eye show, we were each disappointed that the other didn't have an intelligent explanation for what we saw …

    I didn't know what to believe, and I didn't trust what I thought I saw. Some of the operations I observed had been quite bloody, and others not at all. When I asked [a psychic healer] why that was, she told me that 'Some people do better with lots of blood.' I assumed she had meant that they more strongly believed in the power of God to heal them, or that they heal themselves better.

    Why did the healers palm chicken guts if they could rearrange eyeballs painlessly, and remove hemorrhoids with their bare fingers? I thought I had seen a tiny razor blade under one healer's fingernail, so, aha! He wasn't cutting people open with his finger! He was simply using a razor blade! (And then reaching inside people's bodies with his bare hands and pulling out tumors, while the people felt no pain?) Or did he cut people and use chicken guts, so they would believe they were being operated on – and actually heal themselves? [Targ and Katra, 1999]

    Another viewpoint, from an online essay by Juliette Hauser: "Philippine psychic surgeons believe that disease is lodged in the rigid belief systems of the mind. When a patient watches someone's hands pass through the flesh, their belief systems are cracked wide open. The disease loses power as it is severed from its matrix. So although healing can be accomplished without physical penetration, Alex Orbito will continue to use the dramatic demonstration of psychic surgery as long as it is necessary for the patient's mind (Hauser, undated)."

    Reading Michael Harner's book The Way of the Shaman [HarperSanFrancisco, 1990], I came across a description of traditional healing techniques used by the Jivaro Indians of Ecuador. Jivaro shamans believe they can rid the patient of bad influences, thought of as "magical darts" implanted in the patient's body. These "darts" are called tsentsak and may correspond to various mundane items – "insects, plants, and other objects." In the healing ceremony, the shaman first conceals two tsentsak in his mouth; "they are there to catch the nonordinary aspect of the magical dart when the shaman sucks it out of the patient's body." At the end of the ceremony, the shaman spits out one of the tsentsak "and displays it to the patient and his family saying, "Now I have sucked it out. Here it is." Harner notes, "The nonshamans may think that the material object itself is what has been sucked out, and the shaman does not disillusion them. At the same time he is not lying, because he knows that the only important aspect of the tsentsak is its nonmaterial or nonordinary aspect, or essence, which he sincerely believes he has removed from the patient's body. To explain to the layman that he already had these objects in his mouth would serve no fruitful purpose and would prevent him from displaying such an object as proof that he had effected the cure (pp. 17-18)."

    It appears, then, that the situation may be more complicated than Nolen's hasty judgment – one could say prejudgment – would suggest. There may be a mixture of sleight of hand and legitimate psychic power at work in some of these cases. Certainly, skeptics can point to patients who showed no improvement after a trip to the Philippines. Just as certainly, believers in psychic surgery can find cases in which remarkable healings did occur. Skeptics dismiss the success stories as "anecdotal," even if they are well-documented (although they never dismiss their own examples of failed healings as mere anecdotes). If pressed, a skeptic may admit that some healings have occurred, but will fall back on the "placebo effect" as an explanation – without considering the large questions about the relationship between mind and body that the very existence of the placebo effect opens up.

    There is no time for large questions or for deep thought. The committed skeptic, sure of his conclusions in advance, carries out the intellectual equivalent of a hit and run – a few days of hasty "research," then the announcement of his preconceived opinions as verified fact.

    Skeptics like to point to the harm that can be done by fake psychics, fake healers, and so on. Rarely do they acknowledge the harm done by their own over-hasty dismissals of legitimate phenomena. A case in point is described in Lynne McTaggart's book The Field: The Quest for the Secret Force of the Universe.

    McTaggart tells the story of French scientist Jacques Benveniste, "a specialist in the mechanisms of allergy and inflammation [who was] appointed research director at the French National Institute for Health and Medical Research (INSERM)." Benveniste became interested studying the characteristics of highly diluted solutions. To his surprise, he discovered that "the weaker the solution, a more powerful its effect."

    McTaggart goes on, "Benveniste joined forces with five different laboratories in four countries, France, Israel, Italy and Canada, all of whom were able to replicate his results. The thirteen scientists then jointly published the results of their four-year collaboration in May 1988 edition of the highly prestigious Nature magazine, showing that if solutions of antibodies were diluted repeatedly until they no longer contained a single molecule of the antibody, they still produced a response from immune cells …. To the popular press, which pounced on the published paper, Benveniste had discovered 'the memory of water'."

    The editor of Nature, John Maddox, attached a skeptical addendum to the paper, saying, "There is no physical basis for such an activity … Nature has therefore arranged for independent investigators to observe repetitions of the experiments."

    McTaggart continues,

    Four days after publication, Maddox himself arrived [at Benveniste's lab] with what Benveniste himself described as a scientific 'fraud squad,' composed of Walter Stewart, a well-known quackbuster, and James Randi, a professional magician who tended to be called in to expose scientific work that had actually been arrived at by sleight of hand. Were a magician, a journalist and a quackbuster the best possible team to assess the subtle changes in biological experimentation, wondered Benveniste. Under their watchful eye, [Benveniste's assistant] performed four experiments, one blinded, all of which, Benveniste said, were successful. Nevertheless, Maddox and his team disputed the findings and decided to change the experimental protocol … Under their new protocol, and amid a charged atmosphere implying that the INSERM team were hiding something, three more tests were done and shown not to work. At this point, Maddox and his team had their results and promptly left … Soon after their five-day visit, Nature published a report entitled 'High dilution experiments a delusion'. It claimed that Benveniste's lab had not observed good scientific protocol. It discounted supporting data from other labs … Nature's results had a devastating effect upon Benveniste's reputation and his position at INSERM.

    Nevertheless, Benveniste continued to pursue his research, and in 2001 he was apparently vindicated when four outside labs, in a series of double-blind experiments overseen by highly skeptical chemist Madeleine Ennis, reproduced the same phenomenon he had reported in 1988 (Milgrom, 2001; Connor, 2004).

    Benveniste himself, not content merely to replicate his earlier findings, has been trying to find a mechanism by which to explain them. He may have discovered it in the possibility of electromagnetic communication between chemicals. His laboratory work suggests that even after a chemical has been diluted out of a solution, the water itself retains the memory of the electromagnetic vibration specific to that chemical – and it is this vibration, or frequency, which brings about chemical reactions.

    Every molecule, McTaggart explains, has a unique "signature frequency," analogous to the frequency of a particular radio station. Other molecules can "tune in" to this frequency, allowing molecules to communicate over large distances. She goes on:

    As these two molecules resonate on the same wavelength, they … begin to resonate with the next molecules in the biochemical reaction, thus creating, in Benveniste's words, a 'cascade' of electromagnetic impulses traveling at the speed of light. This, rather than accidental collision, would better explain how you initiate a virtually instantaneous chain reaction in biochemistry …

    Benveniste … was able to record and replay these signals using a multimedia computer. Over thousands of experiments, Benveniste … recorded the activity of [a] molecule on the computer and replayed it to a biological system ordinarily sensitive to that substance. In every instance, the biological system has been fooled into thinking it has been interacting with the substance itself and acted accordingly, initiating the biological chain reaction, just as it would if in the actual presence of the genuine molecule [McTaggart, 2002].

    This new field of study, termed "digital biology," may represent a major breakthrough in our understanding of life. Yet the whole highly promising avenue of research, along with the career of the innovative scientist behind it, was nearly cut short by the presumptuous arrogance of three skeptics, none of whom was trained in chemistry.

    If Benveniste's work yields life-saving medical breakthroughs, will the "fraud squad" apologize? Don't count on it. After the reproduction of Benveniste's results in 2001, James Randi quickly organized a counter-experiment, which yielded negative results. On his Web site, Randi reports only the negative findings, which he calls "definitive," and he makes no mention at all of the positive results from Europe (Randi, 2003). As noted in an online article by Rochus Boerner, a search of Randi's site turns up only one reference to Madeleine Ennis, and "it mentions Ennis' name in the context of discussing a disconfirming study, and calls her a 'pharmacist from Belfast.' Relying solely on Randi's site, a reader would never know that the women is a professor of Immunopharmacology at Queen's University, Belfast, and that she and others have produced a ground-breaking replication of Benveniste's work (Boerner, undated)."

    Self-doubt – or at least the admission of same – is not characteristic of the skeptic, who prefers to radiate an aura of unshakable assurance. To admit any doubt is to cede territory to the forces of unreason – the primordial enemy, which, as we have seen, must be resisted by any means.

    And here we come to what is, as I see it, the real problem with skeptics. They wish, above all, to be certain – and when reality doesn't oblige them by offering clear-cut answers, they turn away from reality and seek refuge in pre-existing theory.

    They oversimplify history as a battle between good and evil, and miss its complexities and subtleties. They resist modern developments in science and cling to outdated, nineteenth century conceptions. They jump to prearranged conclusions and shut their eyes – and their minds – to anomalous data and alternative explanations.

    In their quest to prove themselves right, they lose sight of the ambiguities and paradoxes of life. In their desire to be safe and sure, they turn away from anything interesting and new.

    They are creatures of comfort and routine, not explorers. They cannot think outside the box. They will, in fact, deny that there is or ever could be anything outside the box – and they'll heap scorn on anyone who suggests otherwise. They'll call names, cry fraud, and holler that civilization is in danger and the barbarians are at the gates. They'll do anything, really – except examine their own assumptions with a remotely critical eye.

    And that's why I'm not a skeptic.

     

    Sources

    Behe, M. Darwin's Black Box: The Biochemical Challenge to Evolution The Free Press, New York, 1996.

    Boerner, R. "Some Notes on Skepticism," undated. Viewed on August 28, 2004, at http://www.suppressedscience.net/skepticism.html" (link expired)

    Connor, S. "New Research Supports Basic Premise Behind Homoeopathy," The Independent August 19, 2004. Viewed on August 28, 2004, at http://www.rense.com/general56/behi.htm

    Crichton, M. Timeline Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1999.

    Dodds, E.R. The Greeks and the Irrational, University of California Press, Berkeley and Los Angeles 1951.

    Gimpel, J. The Medieval Machine: The Industrial Revolution of the Middle Ages, Barnes & Noble Books, 2003, pp. viii – ix, 1, 12

    Hauser, Juliette "Miracle Healers: When Psychic Surgeons Defy Reality," undated. Viewed on September 16, 2003, at http://www.berkeleypsychic.com/Reader/archive/December97/healer.html (link expired)

    Johnson, S. The Brazilian Healer with the Kitchen Knife: And Other Stories of Mystics, Shamans, and Miracle-Makers, Rodale, 2003, pp. 136-137, 160.

    McTaggart, L. The Field: the Quest for the Secret Force of the Universe, HarperCollins, New York, 2002, pp. 60 – 68.

    Milgrom, L. "Thanks for the Memory," The Guardian March 15, 2001. Viewed on August 28, 2004, at the Internet site: https://www.theguardian.com/science/2001/mar/15/technology2 

    Milner, M. "Lives of the Saints," Philadelphia City Paper December 14-21, 1995. Viewed on August 28, 2004, at http://www.citypaper.net/articles/121495/article003.shtml (link expired)

    Nolen, W.A. Healing: A Doctor in Search of a Miracle Random House, New York, 1974.

    Nyquist, G.S. Ayn Rand Contra Human Nature, Writers Club Press, Lincoln, NE, 2001, p. 80.

    Pagels, P. Adam, Eve, and the Serpent, Random House, New York, 1988, pp. 51-53.

    Pirenne, H. Medieval Cities: Their Origins and the Revival of Trade, Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ, 1974, p. 25 and passim.

    Radin, D. The Conscious Universe, HarperCollins, New York, 1997.

    Randi, J. "Commentary" September 5, 2003. Viewed on August 28, 2004, at http://www.randi.org/jr/090503.html

    Shermer, M. "Hitchens on Fairies, Banned by Rand," undated. Viewed on August 28, 2004 at http://www.skeptictank.org/hs/ftale.htm (link expired)

    Stuttaford, A. "Dead Men Talking: The Crossing Over Success," National Review Online August 11-12, 2001. Viewed on August 28, 2004, at http://www.nationalreview.com/weekend/television/television-stuttaford081101.shtml (link expired)

    Stuttaford, A. "Who Shot Bambi?" National Review Online June 21, 2003. Viewed on August 28, 2004, at http://www.nationalreview.com/script/printpage.asp?ref=/thecorner/03_06_15_corner-archive.asp (link expired)

    Stuttaford, A. "False Memory Watch," National Review Online August 15, 2003. Viewed on August 28, 2004, at http://www.nationalreview.com/thecorner/03_08_10_corner-archive.asp (link expired)

    Targ, R. and Katra, J. Miracles of Mind: Exploring Nonlocal Consciousness and Spiritual Healing, New World Library, Novato, CA, 1999, pp. 153-154.

    True, G.N. "The Facts About Faith Healing," undated. Viewed on August 28, 2004, at http://www.netasia.net/users/truehealth/Psychic%20Surgery.htm (link expired)

    Veith, G. "Postmodern Times: Facing a World of New Challenges & Opportunities." Modern Reformation 1995; Sep-Oct. Viewed on August 28, 2004, at http://jf.org/papers/p950807.html (link expired)

     

  • NOTE: I used to have several older essays on the paranormal posted on my author site. When I recently updated the site, I removed all this material and decided to post it here. This essay, originally posted in 2008, is an adaptation of three blog posts – "A Moldy Tale" and its sequel, and "Getting a Rise out of Ectoplasm." It also incorporates material that came up in the comments threads.

    —-

    Getting a rise out of ectoplasm

    In his book After Death — What? Researches in Hypnotic and Spiritualistic Phenomena (1909; Aquarian Press edition 1988), turn-of-the-century scientist Cesare Lombroso recounts the experiments that led him from a strictly materialist worldview to a belief in spirits and life after death. One of the most striking chapters is Lombroso's account of "seventeen séances held in Milan in 1892 … séances in which the most marked precautions were taken, such as searching the medium, changing her garments, binding her and holding her hands and feet, and adjusting the electric light on the table so as to be able to turn it off and on at will." (pp. 40-41)

    The subject of these experiments was the controversial Sicilian medium Eusapia Palladino, who was said to be able to levitate tables, make musical instruments play themselves, produce cold winds in a sealed room, and materialize hands and faces. Eusapia was an eccentric character known for her propensity to cheat when she thought she could get away with it, a tendency that discredited her in the eyes of many researchers. (The fact that she was a coarse, uneducated, and flirtatious peasant woman also factored into the disrepute in which she was held in genteel circles.) Nevertheless, when properly controlled and observed, she produced some remarkable phenomena, which are difficult if not impossible to explain by any normal means. Indeed, the premier magician of the day, Howard Thurston, witnessed one of Eusapia's séances and stated publicly that her phenomena could not be duplicated by any trickery known to him.

    It's also worth noting that Lombroso was a serious and careful researcher, not in the least naive when it came to Eusapia. Here's what he said about her:

    Many are the crafty tricks she plays, both in the state of trance (unconsciously) and out of it – for example, freeing one of her two hands, held by the controllers, for the sake of moving objects near her; making touches; slowly lifting the legs of the table by means of one of her knees and one of her feet, and feigning to adjust her hair and then slyly pulling out one hair and putting it over the little balance tray of a letter-weigher in order to lower it. She was seen by Faifofer, before her séances, furtively gathering flowers in a garden, that she might feign them to be 'apports' by availing herself of the shrouding dark of the room.

    What follows are a few excerpts from Lombroso's treatment of the Eusapia sittings. It should be noted that the table used in the experiments was not Eusapia's; it was "made expressly for the purpose" by the researchers. (p. 41)

    After recounting some partial levitations of the table Lombroso writes:

    It was natural to conclude that if the table, in apparent contradiction with the law of gravitation, was able to rise on one side, it would be able to rise completely. In fact, that is what happened, and these levitations are among those of most frequent occurrence in experiments with Eusapia. They were usually produced under the following conditions: The persons seated around a table place their hands on it and form the chain there. Each hand of the medium is held by the adjacent hand of the neighbor on each side; each of her feet is under the foot of her neighbor; these furthermore press against her knees with theirs. As usual, she is seated at one of the short sides (end) of the table, — the position least favorable for mechanical levitation. After a few minutes the table makes a lateral movement, rises now to the right and now to the left, and finally is lifted wholly off its four feet into the air, horizontally, as if afloat in a liquid, and ordinarily to a height of from 10 to 20 centimetres (sometimes, exceptionally, as high as 60 or 70), then falls back on all four feet at once. Sometimes it stays in the air for several seconds, and even makes fluctuating motions there, during which the position of the feet under it can be thoroughly inspected. During the levitation the right hand of the medium frequently leaves the table with that of her neighbor and remains suspended above it. Throughout the experiment the face of the medium is convulsed, her hands contract, she groans and seems to be suffering.

    In order better to observe the matter in hand we gradually retired the experimenters from the table, having noticed that the chain of several persons was not at all necessary, either in this or in other phenomena. In the end we left only a single person besides the medium, and placed on her left. This person rested her feet on the two feet of Eusapia, and one of her hands on the latter's knees. With her other hand she held the left hand of the medium, whose right lay on the table in full view of all, or was even lifted into the air during the levitation.

    Inasmuch as the table remained in the air for several seconds, it was possible to secure several photographs of performance. [Two of these are included in the book.]

    A little before the levitation it was observed that the folds of the skirt of Eusapia were blown out on the left side so far as to touch the neighboring leg of the table. When one of us endeavored to hinder this contact, the table was unable to rise as before, and was only enabled so to do when the observer purposely allowed to contact to occur. It will be noticed that the hand of the medium was at the same time placed on the upper surface of the table on the same side, so that the leg of the table there was under her influence, as much in the lower portion by means of the skirt as in the superior portion through the avenue of the hand. No verification was made as to the degree of pressure exerted upon the table at that moment by the hand of the medium, nor were we able to find out, owing to the brevity of the levitation, what particular part was in contact with the garment, which seemed to move wholly in a lateral direction and to support the weight of the table.

    In order to avoid this contact it was proposed to have the levitation take place while the medium and her coadjutors stood on their feet, but it did not succeed. It was also proposed to place the medium at one of the longer sides of the table. But she opposed this, saying that it was impossible. So we are obliged to declare that we did not succeed in obtaining a complete levitation of the table of all four of its legs absolutely free from any contact whatever, and there is reason to fear that a similar difficulty would have been met in the levitation of the two legs that stood on the side next the medium. [pp. 43-46]

    While performing some experiments with a balance, the same "blowing out" of the medium's garment was observed.

    In this experiment of the balance, also, it was noticed by some of us that success seemed to depend on contact of the garments of the medium with the floor upon which the balance was directly placed. The truth of this was established by a special experiment on the 9th of October. The medium having been seated on the balance, that one of our number who had taken upon himself to watch her feet soon saw the lower folds of her dress swelling out and projecting in such a way as to hang down from the platform of the balance. As long as the attempt was made to hinder this movement of the dress (which was certainly not produced by the feet of the medium), the levitation did not take place. But as soon as the lower extremity of the dress was allowed to touch the floor, repeated and very evident levitations took place, which were designated in very fine curves on the disk that registered the variations of weight. [pp. 47-48]

    The movement of the dress naturally gives rise to suspicion that some sort of fancy footwork, so to speak, was at play. But the researchers swore that Eusapia's feet were not responsible for the movement. If there is any reality to ectoplasm, then it may be the case that some sort of invisible ectoplasmic protuberance was causing the dress to move, and that contact between this ectoplasmic rod and the floor or table was necessary in order to achieve results.

    In any case, the preceding observations pale in comparison to a phenomenon that Lombroso titles "The Levitation of the Medium to the Top of the Table."

    Among the most important and significant of the occurrences we put this levitation. It took place twice, — that is to say, on the 28th of September and the 3rd of October. The medium, who was seated near one end of the table, was lifted up in her chair bodily, amid groans and lamentations on her part, and placed (still seated) on the table, then returned to the same position as before, with her hands continually held, her movements being accompanied by the persons next her.

    On the evening of the 28th of September, while her hands were held by MM. Richet and Lombroso, she complained of hands which were grasping her under the arms; then, while in trance, with the changed voice characteristic of this state, she said, "Now I lift my medium up on the table." After two or three seconds the chair with Eusapia in it was not violently dashed, but lifted without hitting anything, on to the top of the table, and M. Richet and I are sure that we did not even assist the levitation by our own force. After some talk in the trance state the medium announced her descent, and (M. Finzi having been substituted for me) was deposited on the floor with the same security and precision, while MM. Richet and Finzi followed the movements of her hands and body without at all assisting them, and kept asking each other questions about the positions of the hands.

    Moreover, during the descent both gentlemen repeatedly felt a hand touch them on the head.

    On the evening of October 3 the thing was repeated in quite similar circumstances, MM. Du Prel and Finzi being one on each side of Eusapia. [pp. 49-50]

    The researchers' impression of being touched by "a hand" during this levitation is particularly interesting, and perhaps adds weight to the hypothesis of ectoplasmic extensions at at work.

    Now, I'm well aware that there are ways of tilting a table and making it appear to levitate, though it would seem that the researchers' precautions were sufficient to prevent fraud in these particular tests. But even if Eusapia managed to fool them with regard to the table, how in the world could she simulate the levitation of herself and the chair she was sitting on — transporting it from the floor to the table itself, and then back again, while closely observed?

    Since several witnesses were present, a skeptic would have to posit a collective hallucination that persisted for a fairly extended period of time. I suppose mass hysteria could account for such a thing, but there is no reason to think that these investigators were hysterical.

    What if the investigators simply misremenbered the event? It seems absurd. Such a dramatic development would make a strong – perhaps indelible – impression. Besides, researchers in these situations typically write up their notes immediately after the event. And all of the researchers would have to suffer the same memory lapse.

    Could the researchers have lied? This is probably the only non-paranormal explanation that makes any sense. But there is no reason to suspect the researchers of dishonesty. They had nothing to gain by promoting Eusapia; quite the opposite – their endorsement of her abilities hurt their reputations and careers. At least two of them (Lombroso, Richet) were skeptical materialists by training and predisposition, who came to a belief in the paranormal only reluctantly. Lombroso's report reads like a sober record of facts, with Eusapia's occasional failures and attempts at deception plainly noted. Besides, other researchers reported similar phenomena from Eusapia on other occasions, so they must have been lying, too.

    Skepticism of physical phenomena in the seance room is often warranted, as the long history of fraud in this area makes clear. But when a case is as well observed and carefully reported as this one – with the effects occurring in good light over a period of several minutes – I don't think any skeptical explanation holds up.

    Eusapia Palladino was by no means the only medium to produce inexplicable effects of a "physical" (as opposed to mental) nature. Another example is Franek Kluski, who first came to my attention via Arthur Conan Doyle's History of Spiritualism. This well-known book, in two volumes (complete text available online: Vol. I and Vol. II), makes rewarding reading for anyone interested in the early years of parapsychology.

    That's not to say there aren't problems with the book. Doyle's dogged commitment to the reality of psi phenomena, especially as pertaining to life after death, led him to endorse some questionable characters. In Volume I, he goes to some lengths to establish the Davenport Brothers as legitimate, even though most observers then and later have made then out to be clever frauds. He endorses such dubious activities as slate-writing and spirit photography, and seems genuinely peeved at the efforts of the Society for Psychical Research to tighten up the experimental controls on mediums.

    Despite these caveats, the two volumes contain many fascinating anecdotes, and a good deal of seemingly solid evidence is presented. Doyle's smooth, lucid prose style makes the pages turn quickly.

    In a chapter in Volume II titled "Voice Mediumship and  Moulds," Doyle discusses the practice of producing paraffin molds of spirit forms – faces and hands, usually – in the séance room. Skeptics dismiss such claims, saying that the medium or an accomplice made the impressions surreptitiously, or that pre-made molds were smuggled into the room and substituted in the dark. This is undoubtedly true in some cases; one instance often cited is the infamous case of "Margery" (Mina Crandon), who produced a spirit thumbprint that turned out to belong to her all-too-living dentist. People argue to this day about Margery's mediumship, and the case may not be as clear-cut as it appears. Still, that exposure and others like it have made researchers understandably cautious.

    But consider the case of Franek Kluski. It seems that every reasonable precaution against fraud was taken, yet positive results were obtained. According to Doyle, the following series of tests was reported in the magazine Revue Metapsychique in June, 1921: 

    Dr. [Gustave] Geley carried out with Kluski a number of remarkable experiments in the formation of wax moulds of materialized hands. He has recorded the results of a series of eleven successful sittings for this purpose. In a dim light the medium's right hand was held by Professor Richet and his left hand by Count Potocki. A trough containing wax, kept at melting-point by warm water, was placed two feet in front of Kluski, and for the purpose of a test the wax was impregnated (unknown to the medium) with the chemical cholesterin, this to prevent the possibility of substitution. Dr. Geley writes:

    The feeble light did not admit of the phenomena being actually seen; we were aware of the moment of dipping, by the sound of splashing in the liquid. The operation involved two or three immersions. The hand that was acting was plunged in the trough, was withdrawn, and, covered with warm paraffin, touched the hands of the controllers of the experiments, and then was plunged again into the wax. After the operation the glove of paraffin, still warm but solidified, was placed against the hand of one of the controllers.

    In this way nine moulds were taken: seven of hands, one of a foot, and one of a chin and lips. The wax of which they were composed on being tested gave the characteristic reaction of cholesterin. Dr. Geley shows twenty-three photographs of the moulds and of plaster casts made from them. It may be mentioned that the moulds exhibit the folds of the skin, the nails and the veins, and these markings in nowise resemble those of the medium. Efforts to make similar moulds from the hands of human beings were only partially successful, and the difference from those obtained at the sittings was obvious. Sculptors and moulders of repute have declared that they know of no method of producing wax moulds such as those obtained at the séances with Kluski.

    Geley sums up the result thus:

    "We will now enumerate the proofs which we have given of the authenticity of the moulds of materialized limbs in our experiments in Paris and Warsaw.

    "We have shown that quite apart from the control of the medium, whose two hands were held by us, all fraud was impossible.

    "1. The theory of fraud by a rubber glove is inadmissible, for such an attempt gives crude and absurd results which can be seen at a glance to be imitations.

    "2. It is not possible to produce such gloves of wax by using a rigid mould already prepared. A trial of this shows at once how impossible it is.

    "3. The use of a prepared mould in some fusible and soluble substance, covered with a film of paraffin during the séance and then dissolved out in a pail of water, will not fit in with the actual procedure. We had no pail of water.

    "4. The theory that a living hand was used (that of the medium or of an assistant) is inadmissible. This could not have been done, for several reasons, one being that gloves thus obtained are thick and solid, while ours are fine and delicate, also that the position of the fingers in our moulds makes it impossible that they could be withdrawn without breaking the glove. Also that the gloves have been compared with the hands of the medium and of the assistants, and that they are not alike. This is shown also by anthropological measurements.

    "Finally, there is the hypothesis that the gloves were brought by the medium. This is disproved by the fact that we secretly introduced chemicals into the melted wax, and that these were found in the gloves.

    "The report of the expert modellers on the point is categorical and final."

    Nothing is evidence to those who are so filled with prejudice that they have no room for reason, but it is inconceivable that any normally endowed man could read all the above, and doubt the possibility of taking moulds from ectoplasmic figures.

    A rebuttal of Geley's work was presented by Italian researcher Massimo Polidoro, who, with colleague Luigi Garlaschelli, cast doubt on some of his claims. In particular, they showed that thin molds could be obtained rather easily, and that it was possible for a person to twist his hand free of the paraffin without breaking the mold. Their work is important and interesting, but it does not address the most significant claims made by Geley – namely, that the medium's hands were controlled throughout the séance, and that the paraffin had been pretreated with a certain chemical (without the medium's knowledge) to expose any attempted substitution.

    If substitution is eliminated as a possibility, and if the medium's hands were properly controlled, then the only remaining non-paranormal explanation is the action of an accomplice, who would make a mold of his own hand. Could Geley have been careless enough to allow a potential accomplice into the séance room, and would this person's actions pass unnoticed in the dim red light? It seems doubtful.

    Skeptics will probably say Kluski fooled the experimenters into believing they had control of both his hands, when actually they were controlling only one. But remember that one of the molds was of a foot, and another was of a partial face ("chin and lips"). Maybe, just maybe, Kluski could have lowered his face into the paraffin, though it seems likely that this action would have been observed, and that some traces of the paraffin would cling to his face afterward.

    More important, how would he get his bare foot onto the table and into the trough of paraffin?

    After I wrote up this part of the story, a reader named Renaud Evrard pointed me to an excellent article by Mario Varvoglis on the Kluski materializations. This piece goes into more detail about the experiments and clearly shows the weaknesses of Polidoro and Garlaschelli's skeptical explanation. It appears that in presenting their case, they left unmentioned a number of crucial points.

    Polidoro writes,

    Strictly following Geley's instructions, we prepared two basins (each had a diameter of 10 inches): one with hot water (approximately 5 litres at 55ºC), in which we poured a layer of molten paraffin (approx. 1 kg, previously melted in a pan with boiling water on a kitchen stove), and the other with cold water (5 litres), which we later used to immerse our hands and allow the paraffin to solidify. In turn, we immersed our hands first in the basin filled with paraffin and then in the one containing water.

    But this is quite misleading, as Varvoglis' article makes clear. In the Kluski tests, there was no basin of cold water. Varvoglis:

    Rather than using a second bowl for cooling, the IMI [Institut Metapsychique International]researchers preferred to allow the wax moulds to rigidify on their own, this being, as we shall see, a precaution against fraud.

    The unnaturally rapid rate of cooling of Kluski's paraffin molds was itself a sign that something unusual was going on. Without any cold water available, the molds still cooled and set within one or two minutes – much faster than should have been possible. Kluski's hands (controlled throughout) were observed to get quite cold at times, as if he could produce a change in temperature at will.

    The two skeptics, Polidoro and Garlaschelli, continue:

    In all of these cases, we were able rather easily to make some fairly thin moulds (a few millimeters thick) just by immersing the hands a couple of times in the basin with the paraffin. But our most significant result was that in every instance we managed to remove our hands from the solidified paraffin glove without breaking it.

    This sounds persuasive until we realize that molds "a few millimeters thick" are still significantly thicker than those produced in the Kluski tests, as Varvoglis observes:

    Finally, it should be mentioned that the wax moulds were less than a millimeter thick (thinner than a sheet of paper).

    And again:

    the wax moulds were exceptionally delicate: at most a millimeter thick.

    The thinness and fragility of the Kluski molds would have greatly complicated efforts to extricate the hand from the mold without having the mold fall to pieces – something the skeptics fail to mention.

    Another fact creating difficulty for the skeptics is that Kluski's molds were much smaller than his own hands. The molded hands were child-sized; no one in the séance room had hands so small. In addition, the fingerprints of the molded hands were not those of Kluski. (It is a tribute to the thoroughness of the researchers that they actually checked this detail with the help of the police.)

    Polidoro and Garlaschelli try to address this point:

    It would not be difficult to conclude … that particularly complex moulds could have been shaped with extreme care, before a séance took place, by the medium himself or his accomplices and, during the séance, jumbled up with other moulds forged at the moment of performing the spiritualist occurrence.

    This won't do. The séance room was locked; only the investigators and Kluski were present. Who, then, was the accomplice? More important, there could have been no substitutions in at least three of the cases, when the investigators secretly treated the paraffin wax with telltale chemicals.

    Here is one such case, per Varvoglis:   

    Just prior to beginning, Richet and Geley had secretly added a bluish coloring agent to the paraffin. Control of the medium was considered excellent, with controllers regularly checking and verbally reporting ‘I am holding the right hand’, ‘I am holding the left hand’. Splashing sounds were heard about twenty minutes into the session, and one to two minutes later two warm paraffin gloves were deposited next to the controllers. Both wax moulds had precisely the same bluish tint as that of the tank, strongly suggesting that these were indeed created during the séance, and not smuggled in by the medium. An additional control was the weighing of all substance. Prior to the experiment, the paraffin was 3.920 grams, while at the end of the session it weighed 3.800 grams. The two moulds weighed 50 grams, and there was considerable wax scattered near the medium (around 15 grams), on his clothing, and on the floor 3.5 meters away from him (about 25 grams). Insofar as the sum of these weights correspond very closely to the initial weight, this further establishes that the wax gloves were produced during the session.

    Moreover, Kluski's hands were held at all times throughout the sessions by investigators who were well aware of the old "substitution of hands" ploy used by fake mediums. The red light in the room, though dim, was sufficient to allow the sitters to see the outlines of the people at the table. Any gross movements occurring right in front of their faces would have been seen.

    Why, then, did the researchers not see the spirit hands entering the paraffin bath? On at least one occasion, they apparently did. Varvoglis writes:

    Finally, in one session the researchers actually saw the production of the wax moulds. In other words, they witnessed a continuity between the visual apparitions of luminous hands and the creation of the moulds. As Geley describes it:

    We had the great pleasure of seeing the hands dipping into the paraffin. They were luminous, bearing points of light at the finger-tips. They passed slowly before our eyes, dipped into the wax, moved in it for a few seconds, came out, still luminous, and deposited the glove against the hand of one of us.

    Varvoglis' complete article is well worth reading. In total, it makes a compelling case for the reality of the Kluski phenomena, and points up the extreme deficiencies of the skeptics' counterargument.

    In the case of both Palladino and Kluski, multiple, trained observers using every reasonable precaution witnessed phenomena that have no credible non-paranormal explanation. There are other such cases – whole books full of them. Yet we continue to hear that there is "no evidence" for such phenomena, and that only gullible idiots believe in such things.

     

  • NOTE: I used to have several older essays on the paranormal posted on my author site. When I recently updated the site, I removed all this material and decided to post it here. Here's one of those essays, originally posted in 2004.

    —-

    The Dark Side of the Paranormal

     

    Years ago, on a whim, a friend led me into a New Age bookstore in Los Angeles. At the time I was a committed rationalist and knew nothing about paranormal phenomena except what I'd read in skeptical, debunking books. Unlike my friend, who found the bookstore's atmosphere amusing, and who enjoyed pointing out the bizarre titles and covers, I felt distinctly ill at ease. There was something disturbing about being immersed in all that occult literature. I felt as if I'd ventured into unknown territory – dangerous territory. And I was glad to leave.

    Later, as I became interested in the paranormal and began to grasp the extent of the evidence for such phenomena, I chalked up my earlier reaction to a form of culture shock. There I was, a rather repressed rationalist, coming into close contact with ideas I found threatening to my worldview. After all, there was nothing actually dangerous about that little bookstore – was there?

    Maybe there was. Over the years, as I've studied this subject, I've encountered a fair number of cautionary tales. People who become unduly interested in psychic phenomena – interested to the point of obsession – can find their mental health deteriorating, their relationships fragmenting, and their social status undermined. Of course, obsession is a bad thing regardless of its focus, but I suspect that it's easier to become obsessed with the paranormal than with, say, stamp collecting. Something about this field of inquiry tends to draw people in and make them vulnerable to harm.

    Since I'm a writer, I take particular interest in the case of Arthur Conan Doyle. Doyle was one of the most popular writers of his day, and his Sherlock Holmes stories are still widely read and dramatized. Fairly late in life he became convinced that it was possible to communicate with the dead through mediums. As his interest grew, he neglected his fiction writing and spent most of his time traveling the world to attend séances and deliver lectures on spiritualism. His reputation suffered, and he was the target of ridicule from some quarters. He had a widely publicized feud with the debunking magician Houdini. Editors began to dread getting Doyle's manuscripts in the mail, for fear that his latest contribution would be yet another essay on the talkative dead. Doyle's fame was such that his essays were invariably published, but his editors weren't always happy about that fact.

    With the passage of time, Doyle's critical faculties suffered. He became more credulous, more willing to vouch for even the most dubious phenomena. Many of the mediums he endorsed were later exposed as fakes. Doyle refused to accept some of these exposures. Famously, he even accused Houdini himself of using psychic powers, since – he felt – there was no way the escape artist could have carried out some of his stunts without paranormal gifts.

    Most embarrassing was the often retold affair of the Cottingley fairies. Two girls, ages 16 and 10, shot some photos of "fairies" they'd allegedly found in their garden. The fairies were paper cut-outs, and the photos were obvious fakes. Nevertheless, Doyle endorsed the photos as genuine, even publishing an article in The Strand Magazine with the regrettable title "Fairies photographed – an epoch-making event." Later he put out an entire book devoted to the subject, The Coming of the Fairies. Skeptics have enjoyed skewering him for his gullibility and foolishness ever since. James Randi devotes a chapter of his debunking book Flim-Flam to a detailed dissection of the Cottingley case. And yes, there is something funny about a presumably worldly and sophisticated man, rich and internationally famous, falling for a rather inept hoax perpetrated by two young girls. At the same time, there is something about it that's both sad and troubling.

    How could Doyle's rational faculty deteriorate so badly? Critics suggest that he was never much of a thinker, but I've read a great deal of his work, as well as Daniel Stashower's excellent biography, and my impression is that Doyle had a more penetrating intellect than his detractors admit. Trained in medicine, he traveled around the world as a ship's doctor, acquiring a range of knowledge and experiences that made him far more intellectually interesting than his closed-minded Victorian colleagues. He resisted prejudices – women and minorities are generally treated with respect in his work – and had an appreciation of exotic cultures and variant points of view. In short, Doyle was a sensible, astute observer of the world around him – until he got caught up in his obsession with mediums. At that point his mental and emotional stability began to suffer, and he became increasingly fanatical, blind to any interpretation of the evidence but his own.

    If this were an isolated case, it would not be very important, but it is far from isolated. Some cases, in fact, have much worse consequences. One of these is described in anguished, agonizing detail in Joe Fisher's book The Siren Call of Hungry Ghosts. Fisher joined an amateur circle that met regularly to "channel" information from spirits. Initially skeptical, Fisher was soon won over by the information that came through. He and his friends became increasingly obsessed with the meetings, while the woman who ran the circle began to exercise an unhealthy degree of control over some group members, exploiting them and attempting to coerce them into sexual liaisons. As Fisher became convinced that he was in contact with a female spirit guide who'd been his lover in a previous lifetime, he lost interest in his real-life relationships, an attitude that led to the break-up of his marriage. Eventually he went to Europe, intending to verify the information he'd been given. Instead, to his shock, he discovered that much of it was false. Shattered, he returned to America and shared his findings with the group – only to be met with hostility and denial. The group members were so caught up in their shared fantasy that they could not tolerate the intrusion of facts and evidence. Fisher left the group and eventually concluded that he had been victimized by what the Tibetan Book of the Dead calls pretas or hungry ghosts – malign spirits who deceive and corrupt their human interlocutors. He warns his readers to be wary of involvement in the supernatural, and on this note of caution the book ends.

    But this was not the end of Joe Fisher's story. He continued to obsess on his experience. Eleven years after the publication of The Siren Call of Hungry Ghosts, he confided to a friend that he believed the spirits were out to get him for publicizing their activities. They would not leave him alone. In 2001, at age 53, he made his escape. He threw himself off a cliff, ending his life. (His death was not conclusively ruled a suicide. It could have been an accident. But given Fisher's mental state, suicide seems more likely.) 

    There are at least two ways of interpreting this bizarre story. Either Fisher became unhinged as a result of his participation in the séances, and eventually fell victim to his own paranoia; or he actually did come into contact with malevolent spirit entities, against which he had no protection.

    Fisher wasn’t the only person in the medium's circle to suffer psychological damage. Everyone in the group was affected to some extent. This is not uncommon. Immersion in the occult can have unpredictable effects on the dynamics and psychology of a group. An example that comes to mind are the ITC experiments described by Mark Macy in Miracles in the Storm.

    ITC is an acronym for Instrumental Transcommunication. This activity, which has gained a surprising number of adherents, involves using technology to contact the dead. It evolved out of EVP, or Electronic Voice Phenomena, a field of amateur research in which "spirit voices" are supposedly picked up on tape recorders. ITC is more high-tech, employing video cameras, TV sets, fax machines, and computers. Enthusiasts claim they have received images and messages from another dimension, and that they are in regular contact with like-minded "experimenters" from beyond.

    Macy's book details a group effort to establish and maintain contact with these forces. Such contact is said to require harmony among members of the experimenting groups on both sides of the veil. Unfortunately, such harmony proved difficult to come by, at least on the earthly side, and much of Miracles in the Storm concerns the in-fighting and mutual suspicion that led to the group's downfall. Organizational chaos is remarkably common among those who explore the paranormal, and the fate of Macy's group is unsurprising.

    Although the experiments documented in Macy's book have ended, some of his colleagues have attempted to renew their work. Hildegard Schaefer reports that this team has made contact with a group of spirits who live on the extradimensional planet Marduk, which rather surprisingly bears the name of an ancient Babylonian god. According to these spirits, "Marduk is watered by only one large stream flowing with many bends across a great part of the planet," a watercourse called the River of Eternity. "We live here together with other forms of life," they explain, "with men [who had] lived on other planets before their bodily death, with dwarfs, giants and gnomes, and with bodiless entities, too." The spirits have what seem to be physical bodies, all in the prime of youth and health.

    Among the spirits inhabiting Marduk is Sir Richard Francis Burton, the 19th century explorer and linguist. Burton and his spirit colleagues, calling themselves the Timestream group, established a transmission station on Marduk, by means of which they were able to send video images and text messages to their earthly counterparts. At one point, a rival group of spirits with evil intentions seized control of the transmission station, but the Timestream faction mounted a daring counterattack and regained control.

    If all this sounds like science-fiction, there's a good reason. It is science-fiction, or at least it was – in Philip Jose Farmer's Riverworld series. Beginning with To Your Scattered Bodies Go in 1971, the Riverworld books feature an intriguing premise: When we die, we are resurrected on an earthlike planet bisected by a single vast river. Both good and evil individuals – human, prehuman, and nonhuman – abide in this land, restored to youth and vigor. As we make our way along the river, we must form alliances and ward off enemies, sometimes in physical combat. And our hero in this adventure? None other than Sir Richard Francis Burton!

    I will admit that there are differences between the ITC messages and Riverworld. Farmer's story provided a technological, rather than supernatural, explanation for humanity's resurrection, and dealt extensively with a super-advanced race of humans dubbed the Ethicals who were controlling this vast experiment. None of this relates to the ITC communiques. And other famous figures who appear in Farmer's saga – Mark Twain, Hermann Goring, and King John of England, among others – have not made any appearance in the messages from Marduk, as far as I know. Nevertheless, the vast river, the physical resurrection in youthful form, the rival alliances and mortal combats, and the presence of Burton himself all combine to create the strong suspicion that the ITC messages are only fiction. Indeed, the whole situation seems reminiscent of role-playing games like Dungeons & Dragons, in which the players submerge themselves in a virtual world based on science-fiction archetypes – a world that can begin to seem very real.

    A couple of years ago I e-mailed Mark Macy to ask him about the parallels between Riverworld and this group's findings. I received brief replies from both Macy and one of his colleagues. Neither of them was interested in pursuing the issue, and neither saw any problem in the similarities I'd mentioned.

    No problem? Suppose I were to tell you that, by paranormal means, I'd established contact with the crew of an interstellar starship in the 23rd century. Excitedly I report that the ship's captain is James Tiberius Kirk, his first mate is an alien named Spock, and the ship's doctor is McCoy. You point out to me that these characters are all found in the 1960s TV series Star Trek. "So what?" I say. "I don’t see a problem with that." I'll bet you'd decide that my critical faculties are not quite what they should be.

    How can presumably serious people be willing to overlook such an obvious difficulty? I suggest that wholesale immersion in the paranormal can gradually erode one's capacity for appropriate skepticism. Arthur Conan Doyle came to believe in fairies; Joe Fisher's marriage collapsed because he fell in love with his "spirit guide"; Macy and his co-workers are caught up in what appears to be a replay of a science-fiction saga from the 1970s.

    A wealth of similar cases can be found in George P. Hansen's authoritative study, The Trickster and the Paranormal, which takes a highly original interdisciplinary approach to the question of why psychic phenomena – and people associated with such things – tend to be marginalized in society. Hansen's book is too complex and densely argued to be summarized in its entirety, but one of his major themes is that long-term, active involvement in the paranormal often produces personal or collective dissociation from reality.

    Hansen identifies a constellation of attributes that folklorists call "the trickster" – a mythical figure found in most ethnic traditions, whether as Coyote in Native American lore or the god Hermes in Greek mythology. The trickster is deceitful, playful, disruptive, irrational, unpredictable, often sexually adventurous or perverse, sometimes malevolent, and always to be approached with caution. He is a marginal figure among the other deities, and those humans who are associated with him – shamans, mediums – typically occupy a marginal place in society. He resists institutionalization. He hovers outside the establishment, functioning as both an escape valve and a threat.

    Hansen doesn't believe, of course, that the trickster figure actually exists. Rather, he uses the image of the trickster to stand for a collection of disparate qualities. And he makes the point that paranormal phenomena not only exhibit these same qualities but often induce them in persons who immerse themselves in the field.

    Like the trickster, psychic phenomena are playful and maddeningly elusive. They are irrational, in the sense that they fall outside the purview of rationalistic thinking. They are disruptive – sometimes overtly so, as in the case of poltergeist outbreaks. They are unpredictable, a fact that has led many a legitimate psychic to supplement his talents with trickery. They are sometimes malevolent – as with Fisher's hungry ghosts, not to mention the rich tradition of malign spirits in every culture, including the devils of Judeo-Christian theology. They are sometimes associated with bizarre or coercive sexual practices, as witnessed in many rituals and in the strange private lives of many mediums and psychics. They resist institutionalization; despite widespread public interest in psychic phenomena, no large institutions exist to study the field, and the only major institutional studies of psychic powers were undertaken by spy agencies, which are themselves immersed in a culture of ambiguity and deceit.

    Hansen observes that people who directly engage the paranormal, or try to, sometimes fall into the role-playing trap mentioned above. A role-playing game, he writes, "can become a shared fantasy, wherein the players voluntarily suspend normal, rational considerations … The games give more direct contact with supernatural ideas than does literature alone. Live people are involved; they participate in a drama; props may be used, and some physical action is required … Cheating is frequent despite there being no winners or losers in the game … Players can identify with their characters, and sometimes they prefer not to separate themselves from those roles … [O]ccasionally the 'game' becomes obsessive and interferes with real-world pursuits." (pp. 264-266) Reading these words, I find it hard not to think of the purported messages from Marduk.

    There is, then, a dark side to the paranormal. It is not all benevolent angels and comforting words from deceased relatives. There can be obsession, deterioration of rational thought, shared fantasy, even a descent into madness. There can be hungry ghosts. There can be channelers who sexually exploit their followers. There is always the risk that inquiring too deeply into these matters will lead to one's own marginalization – a fate that has befallen even prominent researchers in the field, who have seen their reputations suffer and their prestige stripped away.

    Much in the paranormal is worthy of study. But if you choose to examine it, proceed with caution. And if you run into trouble, don't hesitate to turn back.

    After all, I felt a lot better when I'd left that bookstore.

     

  • NOTE: I used to have several older essays on the paranormal posted on my author site. When I recently updated the site, I removed all this material and decided to post it here. Here's one of those essays, originally posted in 2003.

     

    —-

     

    20/20 Blindside:

    John Edward Takes a Hit

     

    John Edward appeared on ABC's newsmagazine 20/20 the other night (December 5, 2003). Unfortunately I missed it, for the simple reason that I didn't know about the segment until after it aired. Nevertheless I was able to get the gist of the twelve-minute segment from the ABCNews.com site, which included an apparently complete recap of the show (2024 update: web page is no longer available).

    From what I can tell, it was a typical hit piece, a smash-and-grab attack designed to make Edward look bad. ABC promos on the Internet queried, "Can John Edward pass a skeptic's test?" But there was no test, just routine footage of skeptic Michael Shermer saying that Edward's claims are "baloney" and that his abilities can be explained by the mentalist trick of cold reading. I have already written about the inadequacies of the cold reading explanation in two previous essays, "Some Thoughts on John Edward" and "More Thoughts on John Edward." I won't rehash those points. Still, a few things may be worth noting about this forgettable moment in TV tabloid journalism.

    First, the reporter on the story was Bill Ritter, who had previously done a hit piece on another psychic, James Van Praagh. Here is how Shermer himself reports it in an earlier article: "Later, an ABC television producer flew out from New York to film me for an investigation of Edward they are conducting [another show, not the 20/20 segment]. The segment began as a 'puff piece' (as she called it), but a chance encounter in the ABC cafeteria with 20/20 correspondent Bill Ritter, with whom I worked on an expose of medium James Van Praagh a few years ago, tipped her off that Edward was, in fact, a Van Praagh clone and that his talking to the dead was nothing more than the old magicians' cold reading trick." (Shermer, "Deconstructing the Dead," viewable here as the second entry in the thread.) 

    Ritter, then, was evidently not an impartial reporter, but someone who was out to get Edward right from the start, and who had already tried to "expose" him once before.

    Commenting on the piece, on air, was 20/20's John Stossel. Stossel sent out an email to his fans, dated December 4, that touted the show: "Bill Ritter quizzes the hottest psychic of the moment, John Edward. Edward makes big bucks claiming he 'talks to the dead' on his syndicated TV show. His audiences are often convinced he's speaking to someone's dead uncle or boyfriend. Edward says it's not his job to be right all the time; his job is to be a medium and to pass on the information. Ritter assembled a group for Edward and he did make some connections for them … but he had a lot more misses. I was pleased that Ritter then invited Michael Shermer, founder of the Skeptics Society, to comment on Edward's 'cold reading.' Shermer says that so-called psychics rely on unleashing lots of numbers, names, illnesses, events – things that are bound to resonate with at least someone – until he finds a 'hit.' Then audiences are impressed. Thank goodness for the Skeptics Society, which offers a more rational explanation for Edward's hits, and continually uses science to challenge claims of the paranormal." (Ellipsis in original; this page is no longer online.)

    Evidently, then, Stossel was also not impartial, since he had already sided with Shermer's Skeptics Society in condemning Edward's technique as "cold reading." The two reporters covering the story – Ritter, who reported it, and Stossel, who commented on it – had strong, overt, preexisting biases against Edward.

    Note that Stossel says the Skeptics Society "offers a more rational explanation" for Edward's abilities. "More rational," in this context, seems to mean "more in agreement with the materialist-rationalist philosophy that I subscribe to." That this is the case is evident when we take a look at Stossel's intellectual bona fides, revealed in an interview with Full Context, an Objectivist (i.e., Ayn Rand-oriented) magazine. He tells the interviewer, "I am now reading Atlas Shrugged for the first time and I am thrilled and astonished that this woman could know so much so many years before everyone else did and express it so beautifully. And express some of the theories I feel in my stomach, as I go out to do battle." (2024: link has expired.) 

    Ayn Rand is another subject I've dealt with elsewhere. Suffice it to say that anyone who feels Rand's angry, militant worldview "in [his] stomach" or anywhere else in his anatomy may be a paragon of Objectivism but hardly of objectivity. And a journalist who sees his work as "go[ing] out to do battle" is less interested in a dispassionate, impartial review of the facts than in proselytizing for his belief system – a belief system that is, of course, "rational." (Aren't they all?)

    Naturally, with one reporter hungry to bag his second psychic, and another who comes to the table with a full-fledged rationalist-materialist ideology already in place, there was no hope for Edward to come out on top. Michael Shermer, featured on the show as the voice of reason, knew enough about the agenda of the segment's producers to lavish praise on the story even before he had seen it. In an email sent to readers of e-Skeptic magazine, dated December 5 (no longer online), he writes,

    Tune in to ABC's 20/20 Friday night, December 5, to see Bill Ritter's piece on Crossing Over with John Edward … They filmed at the studio where Crossing Over is taped, although there were restrictions imposed by the producers, of course. They also taped him doing readings on a small studio audience of their own that ABC culled from the folks waiting in line for The View, so there were no plants or shills … I went to New York to review the tapes. Edward did not know I was involved.

    I'll comment more in next week's e-Skeptic after I see how the edited version looks, but what struck me about Edward's approach was how different it now is from James Van Praagh, on whom Ritter and I did a debunking piece for ABC several years ago. Van Praagh is very sympathetic, even empathetic, with his subjects, and lets them guide the reading by what clues they give him. John Edward, by contrast, is more aggressive in his approach, insisting that his original statement is correct and that the subject is wrong … Ritter told me that he thought Edward was much more sociable with the camera crew, jovial really, mixing it up with them on the breaks, etc. (almost used car salesman-like–my description), whereas Van Praagh, he said, was much more reserved and kept to himself. All of the production crew on the piece were totally skeptical, so I would imagine that the segment will reflect that.

    This is interesting, partly for what it says and partly for what it doesn't say. What it says is that "all of the production crew on the piece were totally skeptical," an interesting admission of the segment's pervasive bias. Moreover, "Edward did not know I was involved." This, then, is the big showdown, the High Noon duel, between psychic and skeptic – Shermer waits until after Edward has done his job, then secretly reviews the tapes, with Edward never informed and never allowed to offer a rebuttal. Is it my mistake, or do these skeptics seem an awful lot like cowards, willing to pontificate in front of a friendly reporter, but afraid to confront their nemesis directly?

    What Shermer doesn't say is also worth noting. He doesn't say what the onerous "restrictions imposed by the [Crossing Over] producers" were (although why Edward or Crossing Over would cooperate with 20/20 in the first place is beyond me). He also doesn't mention any successes Edward had in his reading with the panel. He doesn't mention that when Edward sticks doggedly with an audience member, the person frequently remembers a salient fact that does, in fact, validate what Edward was saying. He doesn't mention that Edward's insistence that he is right even when the other person disagrees is a violation of the most basic principles of "cold reading."

    The ABCNews.com recap of the show describes Edward's reading of the specially selected volunteers as follows: "He then rubbed his hands together, closed his eyes and meditated before launching into a nearly 90-minute barrage of random names and numbers."

    Random names and numbers? But isn't the whole point of Edward's approach that the information he gets is not random? I understand that skeptics disagree, but should the producers insert their editorial views into the factual content of the story so baldly?

    ABCNews.com allows that Edward got some hits, but quickly explains this by citing Shermer, who "believes Edward has a strategy. He says he simply rattles off a lot of names until an audience member tells him the right one. 'He also offers up an assortment of common diseases,' Shermer said. 'All of us are gonna go, and we're gonna go from something pretty standard — cancer, heart disease. You can't go wrong with that,' he said."

    So what we're being told is that the information Edward imparts is vague, generic, and random. Keep this in mind; we'll come back to it in a minute.

    The piece continues: "One hour into 20/20's session with Edward, he turned to the side, toward the 20/20 crew and producer Michael Pressman. 'Is there a joke about somebody supposed to be a doctor?' Edward asked. Pressman told Edward he has a daughter who's a pre-med student. For more than 35 minutes, Edward quizzed Pressman with dozens of questions and observations and names. Only a handful turned out to be vaguely relevant; only one thing he mentioned was a concrete 'hit.' He guessed Pressman's wife's name. One good hit — out of 41 tries."

    Notice, again, the slanted wording: Edward "guessed" the wife's name. Of course, if everything he says is purely random, then any hit would just have to be a guess – wouldn’t it?

    Even so, one hit out of forty-one tries! Not good. We might notice that even the ABCNews.com write-up appears to indicate that he got two hits – the "doctor" reference and the wife's name. One plus one is two, or so I recall from my schooldays. Somebody at ABC can't count. Still, even two out of forty-one is embarrassing. One wonders, in fact, how John Edward ever got to be so famous if that's the best he can do.

    But is it?

    20/20 lets us see only what the segment's producer and editor allowed on the screen. Still, thanks to the Internet, the other side of the story has gotten out, largely in the form of message-board posts from a fellow named Chris, who seems to have been part of the panel assembled for the 20/20 reading. I say "seems" because it is, of course, possible that the postings are fake, and that Chris isn't who he claims to be. To me, his statements have the ring of truth. Judge for yourself. (2024: the postings are no longer online.) 

    In a message posted on December 8, 2003, at 08:14, and titled "I was one of the people on the 20/20 panel," Chris writes, "Let me tell you, I was the guy with beard in the back row on the 20/20 panel. 20/20 did not show ANY of the things he [Edward] got correct. He told my wife (next to me) that she had a sister type figure who had a cancer in the chest area (she had breast cancer) that was cured, but now there is another cancer that is back (which is true). He also told my wife that she pretends to be stronger about the cancer than she really is. This is also true."

    Remember Michael Shermer saying, in his analysis, that Edward "offers up an assortment of common diseases." Presumably he was referring, in part, to the comments directed at Chris's wife. But note that Edward did not simply mention cancer in a general way. He said that Chris's wife "had a sister type figure who had cancer in the chest area." "Sister type figure" is somewhat vague but indicates someone roughly of the same generation as Chris's wife, thus eliminating parents, grandparents, young nieces, etc. "Cancer in the chest area" is tolerably specific. The cancer "was cured, but now there is another cancer" – quite specific and apparently accurate. "She pretends to be stronger about the cancer than she really is" – perhaps a generic comment, but not everyone acts brave in the face of a possibly terminal disease.

    Apply this "skeptic's test" to yourself: Do you have a sister-type figure who had cancer in the chest area, which was cured, but unfortunately has been superseded by a new cancer, which she is fighting with admirable but perhaps somewhat forced bravado?

    If Shermer were going to respond intelligently to Edward, he would have to address details like these. Instead he relies on hazy hand-waving. Ironically, for all their talk about vague, general guesswork on Edward's part, it's the skeptics who seem to be guilty of issuing vague generalizations while indulging in specious guesswork of their own.

    In a later post on the same day, Chris adds, "From the MOMENT Bill Ritter began interviewing us I knew what direction this segment would take. He was continually asking us 'negative' type questions. When all was said and done I knew they could take this segment either way but WOULD take it in a 'Let's show them how fake John Edward is' direction."

    And the next day:

    My wife and I went to Good Morning America and were chosen from that audience by Michael Mendelson (sp) a 20/20producer. They asked us who would be interested and my wife raised her hand.

    The group reacted pretty well to JE, he is a VERY nice guy who allowed us to get pictures with him and autographs from him.

    The funny thing is that the people who were negative along with Bill Ritter were the 4 people that did NOT get read that day. I believe if they had been read it would have been a different song they were singing.

    As far as Michael Pressmen (the producer JE did read for), WEEELLLL, let me tell you…. There was a part in his reading to Michael that went as follows, I am writing this from memory, SO do NOT quote me but this is ABOUT what was said… this was NOT on the segment

    JE – Are you going for a test of some kind for your chest?

    MP – Ummmm, not really.

    JE – Cause I see a problem in the chest area, you're going to have some type of scan done?

    MP – Ummmm, not really.

    JE – Hmmm, I can't let this one go … You sure?

    After SEVERAL minutes of this……

    JE – I still see a chest scan of some kind.

    MP – Look, I don't want to open my medical record here in front of my co-workers.

    JE – I understand, no problem.

    To me that was an admission that there was something there. There were several things that JE got correct when reading for Michael Pressmen. Of course, Michael was not going to give him an INCH! [All ellipses in original.]

    So when ABC tells us that Edward, when reading the producer, had only one hit in forty-one tries, is the count accurate? From what we now know, there appear to have been three hits: the doctor connection, the wife's name, and the chest scan or chest problem. Since producer Pressman was obviously being uncooperative and refusing to validate anything Edward said, it is impossible to know how many other details Edward may have gotten right. And by the way, if Edward was trying to con everybody, why would he insist on reading the openly skeptical producer of the show – the person least likely to cooperate? Why would he persist in the reading if the producer was stubbornly giving him no feedback at all – feedback being the lifeblood of the cold reading technique that Edward supposedly uses?

    In my two previous essays on Edward, I've expressed my own doubts and uncertainties about what he claims to do. Still, the more I see of the skeptics and debunkers, the more I begin to think that this guy is for real.

    Which, come to think of it, puts a little different spin on things. After all, if it was 20/20's intent to undercut my skepticism and make me more willing to accept John Edward as genuine, then I have to congratulate them on a job well done!

     

  • NOTE: I used to have several older essays on the paranormal posted on my author site. When I recently updated the site, I removed all this material and decided to post it here. Here's one of those essays, originally posted around 2003. As the title indicates, it's a follow-up to Of Dinosaurs and Phantoms, also reproduced on this blog. 

     

    Of Dinosaurs and Phantoms: The Sequel

     

    A short time ago, in a perhaps uncharacteristically skeptical frame of mind, I posted an essay speculating that some well-known paranormal phenomena — the ectoplasmic materializations in the early 20th Century credited to the medium Marthe Beraud, also known as "Eva C." — had been produced by trickery.

    After posting this essay, I read more about the later stages of Marthe's career and began to have second thoughts. I was particularly struck by a series of experiments carried out in Munich by psychiatrist Albert von Schrenck-Notzing under the sponsorship of a wealthy widow, Juliette Bisson. These experiments are described in some detail in Brian Inglis's Natural and Supernatural and its sequel, Science and Parascience. Although I was aware of these tests and even mentioned them in the first essay, I had given them little consideration, preferring to focus on Marthe's earlier work with the physiologist and psychical researcher Charles Richet.

    In his two massively documented volumes, Inglis takes pains to establish his credentials as an objective historian of the paranormal, but it is clear that he is sympathetic to the claims of psychics and mediums, and impatient with the objections raised by skeptics. He puts the best possible face on Schrenck-Notzing's investigations of Marthe Beraud, and in the process makes those who have criticized her look petty and narrow-minded.

    Having just placed myself in the company of the critics, I felt the sting of this implied rebuke. Could it be that I had defamed Marthe without cause? Could she have been genuine after all?

    To address this question, let's first take a look at the kind of phenomena photographed by Schrenck-Notzing. Here is a photo of an ectoplasmic face purportedly being extruded from Marthe's head:

     

    Screenshot 2024-01-27 at 2.45.22 AM

    As is immediately obvious, this phantom face is  not very realistic. In fact, it resembles a crude sketch. The material — perhaps cheesecloth or muslin — on which the portrait is displayed has visible creases, as if it had been folded up for concealment prior to the seance.

    In this connection, a comment by British skeptic Susan Blackmore may be relevant: "In the archives of the Society for Psychical Research in London, there is still a piece of [mid-20th Century medium] Helen Duncan's ectoplasm. This looks very much like a large piece of fine muslin and even has stitching around the edges."

    Even in Marthe's day, skeptical investigators and magicians argued that ectoplasm was actually paper or fabric regurgitated by the medium or expelled, via abdominal contractions, from her vaginal cavity. Seances were nearly always performed in darkness or very dim light, and Marthe's were no exception. In those conditions, even crude portraits on muslin could look genuine. But when photographed in the light of a popping flash bulb, the phenomena looked markedly less persuasive.

    The unconvincing face in Schrenck-Notzing's photo is bad enough. Worse, in another photo from the same period, the letters MIRO can be seen on the back of an ectoplasmic shape issuing from Marthe's head. MIRO was part of the masthead of the newspaper Le Miroir, from which many of the faces seem to have been taken. The obvious implication is that Marthe simply cut out a sketch from Le Miroir and "manifested" it during the seance. (This photo is included in Science and Parascience; I haven't found it reproduced on the Web.) In other cases the face appears to be a hand-drawn copy of a published sketch or photo — perhaps a copy drawn by Marthe on fabric which was wadded up and concealed on (or inside) her person.

    Surely Schrenck-Notzing guarded against such fakery? Yes, he did. Marthe was undressed and subjected to a search before each sitting, a search that even extended to a gynecological examination. Sometimes she was fed an emetic to eliminate the possibility that she was regurgitating previously swallowed items. Given these efforts at preventing deception, it is hard to see how Marthe, unaided, could have smuggled anything into the seance cabinet.

    But who says she was unaided? It is not impossible that she had an accomplice — namely, the sponsor of the experiments, Madame Bisson.

    It was Juliette Bisson who undressed Martha and performed the gynecological exam. And it was Juliette who hypnotized Martha to put her into a mediumistic trance. At the very least, Juliette appears to have had a psychological hold on Marthe. One author refers to Bisson as "Eva's Svengali," adding, "Schrenck-Notzing was struck by the medium's passivity, the most memorable evidence of which were physical examinations per rectum et vaginam … to check for concealed materials. Schrenck-Notzing watched as Bisson probed Eva's vagina; but he himself consented to feel her body only through her leotard …" (Malcolm Gaskill, Hellish Nell: Last of Britain's Witches.)

    Juliette Bisson was a widow, Marthe Beraud an unmarried woman in middle age. What was the nature of their relationship? Could they have been lovers? Admittedly, I have no evidence to support this speculation, and it is hard to imagine what evidence for or against it could come to light after ninety years. Still, in those days a romantic relationship between two women could not be made public without serious repercussions. Some pretext would have to be found if Marthe were to live in Juliette's house and spend a great deal of time with her. How about a series of sober scientific investigations? Such tests, especially if presided over by a respected medical doctor like Schrenck-Notzing, would be sufficient to forestall any questions.

    Since it was Juliette who stripped Marthe and searched her body cavities, Schrenck-Notzing had to take Juliette's word that the she had found nothing. If Juliette had been untrustworthy, Schrenck-Notzing would never be the wiser.

    As I said, the actual nature of Marthe's relationship with Juliette can never be known. We can, however, take a look at some of the other precautions that Schrenck-Notzing reported. It is often stated that Marthe was sewn into "a close-fitting garment" (Science and Parascience). Was she? Look at this photo from the Munich experiments:

     

    Screenshot 2.45.36 AM JPG

     

    The outfit worn by Marthe does not look especially "close-fitting," much less "skintight," as some have described her attire. Nor does it qualify as a "leotard," a word used in some material quoted earlier. Indeed, the outfit would seem to afford copious possibilities for concealment.

    Perhaps the "tights" were put on first, with the heavy, loose dress donned over them for modesty. This would still be an unsatisfactory arrangement. The dress itself could have had muslin "ectoplasm" loosely sewn into it, and its heavy folds could have covered up any number of bodily movements.

    Another argument made by Marthe's supporters is that she produced ectoplasm even with a veil over her face. Obviously, however, she didn't always wear a veil. No veil is apparent in the photos above, for example, or in the other widely circulated photos of her ectoplasmic manifestations.

    Even when she was wearing a veil, did she actually extrude anything through it? Harry Houdini, who witnessed a performance by Marthe, said she did not. Now, it must be admitted that Houdini was not always a reliable witness. His well-known hostility to mediumship almost certainly biased his observations on some occasions, and in one instance he may have resorted to framing a medium (Mina Crandon, a.k.a. "Margery") when he was unable to properly discredit her.

    Still, for what it is worth, here is Houdini's report on a sitting with Marthe, which he recorded in a June 22, 1920, letter to Arthur Conan Doyle:

    They made Eva drink a cup of coffee and eat some cake (I presume to fill her up with some food-stuff), and after she had been sewn into the tights, and a net over her face, she manifested.

    1st. Some froth-like substance, inside of net, 'twas long, about five inches long; she said it was elevated, but none of us four watchers saw it "elevate." …

    2nd. A white plaster-looking affair over her right eye.

    3rd. Something that looked like a small face, say four inches in circumference …

    4th. Some substance, froth-like, exuding from her nose, and Baggally and Feilding say it protrudes from her nose, but Dingwall and I are positive that it was inside of net and was not extending from her nose, as I had the best view from two different places I deliberately took advantage to see just what it was …

    5th. Medium asked permission to remove something in her mouth; showed her hands empty, and took out what appeared to be a rubberish substance, which she disengaged, showed us plainly, we held the electric torch, all saw it plainly, when presto! it vanished. (Doyle, The Edge of the Unknown, 1930)

    Later, in print, Houdini dismissed the disappearance of the "rubberish substance" as sleight of hand and concluded, "I have no hesitation in saying that I think the two [i.e., Marthe and Juliette] simply took advantage of the credulity and good nature of the various men with whom they had to deal." It is perhaps significant that Houdini implicated both Marthe and Juliette in the scheme.

    Still, we may wonder if the two women would have persisted in such a complex hoax for years, when other ways of concealing a romantic relationship could have been found. After all, they made no money off the work — but then, Madame Bisson did not need money. She was already rich. What she and Marthe did get, perhaps, was the pleasure of fooling a succession of eminent, worldly men who attended their seances and went away baffled. People have been known to conduct elaborate hoaxes for more slender reasons.

    Whatever their strengths and weaknesses, Schrenck-Notzing's experiments were not the end of the story. Additional tests were performed by other investigators — but although Schrenck-Notzing was not always involved, Madame Bisson continued to play the role of Marthe's hypnotist and, often, was the one who stripped and searched her before a sitting.

    One of the strongest reports in Marthe's favor was issued by Gustave Geley, a researcher who claimed to have seen "a substance at first amorphous or polymorphous [exuding from] the natural orifices [with] a crawling reptilian movement" and producing fingers, hands, and "a living head, whose bones I could feel under a thick mass of hair … Here and there from the mass appear temporary protrusions, and these for a few seconds assume the form of fingers, the outline of hands, and then re-enter the mass … I can see then the extremity thicken like a swelling, and this terminal swelling expands into a perfectly modelled hand. I touch it; it gives a normal sensation. I feel the bones, and the fingers with their nails. Then the hand contracts, diminishes and disappears in the end of the cord. The cord makes a few movements, retracts, and returns to the medium's mouth."

    In summary, Geley announced, "I do not say 'There was no trickery.' I say 'There was no possibility of trickery.'" (Quoted in Science and Parascience)

    This certainly sounds definitive. After Geley's death, however, his investigation was called into question when, as Inglis recounts, a researcher named Osty "found some photographs which appeared to show that some of the materialisations had been faked — attached to her by threads, or wires. He showed them to some psychical researchers, but did not publish them; on the advice, he claimed, of Schrenck[-Notzing] and [Charles] Richet. Thirty years later Rudolf Lambert, a German who had been a psychical researcher in the 1920s, explained what happened … According to Lambert, Osty had shown him the photographs but pledged him to secrecy about them on the ground that it would be disastrous if the story [got out. The consensus formed that the] photographs Osty had found must surely have shown that the phenomena had been faked. All the research carried out with Marthe Beraud in her role as 'Eva C.,' it was assumed, must be set aside as discredited."

    Inglis is careful to make the point that other suspicious-looking photos of Marthe's ectoplasmic manifestations had been published by Bisson, Schrenck-Notzing, and Geley (including the MIRO picture), so there was nothing necessarily incriminating about Geley's decision to withhold these particular photos. Nevertheless, as Inglis acknowledges, "the outcome… was that 'Eva C.' was effectively discredited in psychical research circles, along with her investigators." 

    Parapsychologist George P. Hansen makes reference to this development in his article "Deception by Subjects in Psi Research." "Previously," he writes,"it has been common practice not to report a subject’s known ability and practice of deception. In the case of Eva C., several prominent researchers protested publishing discoveries of fraud (e.g., see Lambert, 1954)." Hansen gives further examples involving other subjects: "In the very first issue of the Journal of Parapsychology, Pratt (1937) did not report that he had caught Mrs. M. cheating in one of his sessions … Similar practice continues to the present day. For instance Subject #4 in Baumann, Stewart, and Roll’s (1986) study was Tina Resch, who had received extensive media coverage and had admitted to trickery in the past … yet none of this was mentioned in the report. In the papers at the 1986 PA convention involving reportedly fraudulent subjects, none of the authors acknowledged the fact in their reports … I am personally acquainted with the authors of these recent papers and am sure they had only the best intentions (believing their controls to be adequate). However, to those not familiar with the researchers, such practices can appear to be deliberate attempts to mislead the reader. This has long been understood. For instance, Verrall (1914), speaking of reports of Eva C. wrote: 'The omission of any such statement [regarding alleged trickery] would naturally be interpreted as implying that she had [an absolutely clean record]'."

    All such criticisms, however, lay in the future. At the time when Geley published his report, he created quite a stir. In an attempt to settle the controversy, the Society for Psychical Research investigated Marthe. This time, though, there was a significant change in procedure. Madame Bisson's involvement appears to have been curtailed.

    "On arrival for a seance," Inglis writes, "Marthe was stripped and examined for possible concealed objects by a doctor [note: a doctor, not Juliette Bisson], who 'examined the oral cavity, ears, and hair' (a gynecological examination was considered, but thought unnecessary …). During the seances, investigators sat on either side of her, each holding a wrist … The seances were conducted in a faint electric light, but with two flash-light cameras prepared for action at any moment, and a torch [i.e., flashlight] which could be used whenever there were signs of a materialization."

    Such precautions, especially the examination by a doctor, were entirely sensible. And the upshot was that, under this protocol, Marthe was not able to produce anything close to her usual range of phenomena. "On a number of occasions," Inglis continues, "what appeared to be saliva oozed from her mouth, solidifying into ectoplasm and taking curious shapes. A photograph showed what looked like a bony hand placed on her shoulder; another revealed what looked like a locket under her chin, on which there was a portrait." These effects were a far cry from the more dramatic and much larger-scale phenomena reported in earlier seances, though they were still sufficient to convince some of the investigators.

    To me, what is noteworthy is that when the role of Juliette Bisson was minimized, the materializations were minimized also.

    Clearly, the controversy over Marthe Beraud will continue. Various opinions are possible, and any argument can be met by a counterargument. As is true of many subjects in parapsychology, the topic does not lend itself to casual or superficial study. It would take years to wade through all of the literature pertinent to the various investigations of Marthe Beraud. I make no claim to having the necessary patience or leisure time to undertake such an effort, and so I can only report a provisional opinion.

    On balance, given the unconvincing nature of the photographs, the fact that the seances were conducted in darkness or near darkness, the apparently less-than-skintight garment, the ambiguous relationship between the Marthe and Juliette, the abatement of the phenomena when Juliette was not closely involved, and the photos by Geley that cast additional doubt on the materializations, I'm content to stand by my original conclusion.

    Marthe Beraud, a.k.a. "Eva C.," was a fraud, though an uncommonly good one.

    I do, however, reserve the right to change my mind. 

  • NOTE: I used to have several older essays on the paranormal posted on my author site. When I recently updated the site, I removed all this material and decided to post it here. Here's one of those essays, originally posted in 2003. 

    —-

    Of Dinosaurs and Phantoms: Some Dubious Phenomena 


    Readers of my essays know that I think the skeptics' case against the paranormal is often badly flawed, and that the evidence for psychic powers is much greater than most people suppose. Nonetheless, not all the evidence is equally strong. Some investigations – even some that were noteworthy in their day and continue to attract respectful attention – are less than impressive when viewed with a critical eye. What follows is a case in point.

    But first, a brief detour from the world of spirits into the realm of the dinosaurs.

    In 1922 Sir Arthur Conan Doyle played a trick on an audience of magicians. As told by Orville Goldner and George E. Turner, "A movie projector was brought in, a screen erected and the lights extinguished. In a brief speech, Doyle said that he would answer no questions about the film he was about to present … [which] was then screened without titles or comment. The audience was astonished. The [New York] 'Times' reported that 'dinosaurs of one tribe appeared on the screen and rubbed jowls in an affectionate manner. Then entered the tyrannosaurs or dinosaurs of the killing type which preyed on the browsing members of their family. The tyrannosaurs fought among themselves, interlocked their great jaws and wrestled …'" After more effusive descriptions, the newspaper ended its report by declaring that the monsters on screen "were extraordinarily lifelike. If fakes, they were masterpieces." (The Making of King Kong, 1975; pp. 46-47)

    The footage, of course, was fake. It was a reel of stop-motion animation created by special effects pioneer Willis O'Brien for the screen version of Doyle's adventure novel The Lost World. What is remarkable about this story is that no one watching The Lost World today could possibly be fooled by its illusions. The dinosaurs were indeed "masterpieces" of their time, but by modern standards, they are obvious miniatures occupying even more obvious miniature sets, and their movements are jerky and unconvincing. In the era of Jurassic Park, I doubt that even a small child would be fooled by O'Brien's jittery latex-rubber creations. In 1922 the footage could fool an audience of magicians, who prided themselves on their ability to detect trickery.

     

    Lostworld_med

    Photo: A family of triceratops, observed by human explorers in the bottom left corner, from The Lost World (1925)

     

    What does this musty old anecdote tell us? Only that people living in the early years of the last century had not yet developed the visual sophistication we take for granted today. The art of trick photography and of related visual illusions was new and unfamiliar. To them, seeing was believing. While they were no less intelligent or well-educated than we are, they were in some respects easier to fool. This fact has important implications when we look at early investigations into mediumship, especially so-called "physical mediumship," which involved the manifestation of physical entities, usually phantoms, in the darkness of the séance room.

    One of the more notable researchers in this area was the Frenchman Charles Richet. No mere crank, Richet was a celebrated physiologist honored with a Nobel Prize. His investigations in parapsychology were a sidelight to his main work, but one that he took most seriously. Nor was he blindly credulous. He drew sharp distinctions between the "psychic" entertainers of his day, such as the Davenport brothers (who produced apparitional effects on stage) and legitimate mediums who could be tested under controlled conditions. He conceded that nearly all the physical phenomena of mediumship – spirit raps, table tilting and levitation, and the materialization of phantoms – could be simulated through trickery, but felt that adequate precautions would eliminate the possibility of fraud.

    He certainly believed that his own precautions were adequate. Indeed, Richet said that fear of being tricked was "my chief, and even only anxiety throughout my experiments," and he exposed one fake medium, Anna Roth, who claimed to be able to materialize flowers out of thin air. Richet found that she had hidden them on her person.

    Despite his initial skepticism, Richet came to believe in most forms of physical phenomena. He felt that a properly attuned "sensitive" could emanate an enigmatic substance called ectoplasm – Richet, in fact, coined this term – and that the ectoplasm could shape itself into a variety of physical forms, including hands, faces, and even whole figures that walked and talked. His most memorable experiments in this regard involved Marthe Beraud, who in later years was known by the pseudonym "Eva C."

    Marthe had been engaged to the son of General and Madame Noel, and although the young man died on the battlefield before the marriage, Marthe went to live with the Noels anyway. It was at the Noels' home in Algiers that Richet performed a series of experiments with Marthe, producing what he considered to be spectacular and irrefutable results. These sessions, though given little if any weight by most parapsychologists today, are still cited as solid evidence by some proponents of the paranormal.

    Nevertheless, there are reasons to suspect that Richet's experimental conditions were not nearly as stringent as they should have been. Consider his own description of the procedures, as presented in his 1923 memoir, Thirty Years of Psychical Research.

    The sessions, he writes, "were held in a small, isolated building over a stable. The window was blocked up and remained shut at all times. The only door was locked at the beginning of every séance. It is the only room in the building, and before every séance everything was minutely inspected by [Richet's associate] Delanne and myself. Two curtains were stretched across one corner of the room … so as to make a kind of dark cabinet …" As was almost invariably the case in physical mediumship, the enclosed space, or cabinet, was said to be necessary so that the medium could concentrate her psychic powers.

    Richet, Delanne, General and Madame Noel, and a woman known in the reports as "Mademoiselle X" were all present for the séances. In addition, Marthe's two younger sisters, Marie and Paule, were in attendance. At times, there was another participant, an African woman named Aischa, apparently a member of the household staff. When Aischa was there, she actually sat in the curtained-off cabinet with Marthe. What purpose she served, and why she was allowed inside the cabinet, are questions Richet does not raise or answer. He does claim, "The part played by Aischa seems absolutely nil. Mme. Noel made a point of her being present, but our best results occurred in Aischa's absence." He also says, reflecting the casual racism of his era, "It is useless to incriminate Aischa, an unintelligent creature sitting passively beside Marthe."

    A couple of concerns might occur to us at this point. First, why did Madame Noel want Aischa to attend the séances? Possibly she was worried that Marthe might suffer harm while in her entranced condition, and ordered the servant to stay close to her so as to offer protection or sound an alarm. But there is a less charitable explanation – that Aischa acted as Marthe's confederate.

    Second, how closely were Marthe's two younger sisters observed during the séances? Richet states that they "sat far from the curtain," i.e., the cabinet. Even if they were initially seated far away, could they not have come closer once the lights went out? How certain is it that one or both of the sisters did not smuggle props into the room? Were they searched? Was Aischa searched?

    The answer to each of the two last questions appears to be no. In fact, astonishingly enough, even Marthe herself was not searched. Richet comments, "Marthe was not undressed, but in that very hot climate she wore only a thin dress, and as I made magnetic passes over her to awake her from trance, I could be sure, by passing my hand all over her body, then she had nothing on but this thin garment."

    Surely this is inadequate. By "magnetic passes," Richet means hypnotic gestures (hypnotism being originally associated with "animal magnetism"). These passes probably would not have touched the body, and of course no actual magnet was used. Moreover, Richet carried out this procedure only when waking Marthe from her trance – after the phenomena had been observed. There was nothing to prevent her from hiding items in her dress, carrying them into the cabinet, deploying them in the séance, and then secreting them somewhere else or giving them to Aischa before being "awakened."

    Richet states that the room was lit by a photographer's red lamp. "Everything that took place in the room could be seen perfectly well, and I am absolutely certain that no stranger could enter during the séances. As Marthe was not tied, nor her hands held, the conditions of control were less severe than in [a previous] case; they were, however, strict enough to allow of a definite opinion."

    Again, this hardly sounds adequate. There were no restraints on the medium. She was free to carry out any sort of trickery. While reddish lamplight was preferable to the total darkness that often prevailed in séances, it probably still did not permit clear viewing.

    Even so, Richet feels confident enough to state, "It is therefore established that there was no instrumentation and no theatrical accessories that the medium could use, and that no stranger could enter the room."

    If one can judge by his own description, his confidence is badly misplaced. Instruments or theatrical accessories could have been smuggled in by Marthe under her dress, or by either of her sisters, or by Aischa. For that matter, since the stable was on the property where Marthe lived, there was probably nothing to prevent her or an accomplice from entering it prior to the séance and stashing items in a secret location – under a loose floorboard, for instance. There is also no way to ascertain whether or not an accomplice might have concealed himself on the premises before the search was conducted. Someone hiding under the floor or behind a sliding panel in the wall or ceiling would not be found.

    Richet then describes one of the more noteworthy appearances of the phantom customarily summoned by Marthe – the spirit, it was said, of an Indian prince named Bien Boa. Although the scientist was skeptical of the claim that Bien Boa was actually who he claimed to be – believing instead that the apparition was an ectoplasmic production of Marthe's subconscious mind – he nevertheless had no doubt as to the phantom's corporeal reality. How could he, when Bien Boa had taken form right before his eyes?

    "[A]fter a long wait," Richet writes, "I saw close to me, in front of the curtain which had not been moved, a white vapour, hardly sixteen inches distant. It was like a white veil or handkerchief on the floor; it rose up still more, enlarged, and grew into a human form, a short bearded man dressed in a turban and white mantle, who moved, limping slightly, from right to left before the curtain. On coming close to General Noel, he sank down abruptly to the floor with a clicking noise like a falling skeleton, flattening out in front of the curtain. Three or four minutes later … he reappeared rising in a straight line from the floor, born from the floor, so to say, and falling back on it with the same clicking noise.

    "The only un-metapsychic explanation possible [metapsychic was Richet's term for paranormal] seemed to be a trap-door opening and shutting: but there was no trap door, as I verified the next morning and as attested by the architect."

    When I read this, my first thought was that Richet had looked in the wrong direction. Rather than inspecting the floor for a trap-door, he should have inspected the ceiling. I thought that the bearded phantom could have been a life-size marionette, operated on strings from above. In this scenario, an accomplice of the medium would have lowered the figure from the ceiling.

    This hypothesis, however, is probably wrong. A more plausible explanation is suggested by Richet's description of a photo taken of Bien Boa: "A thick, black, artificial-looking beard covers the mouth and chin … Bien Boa would seem to be a bust only floating in space in front of Marthe, whose bodice can be seen. Low down, between the curtain and Marthe's black skirt, there seem to be two small whitish rod-like supports to the phantom form."

    Presumably the beard was "artificial-looking" because it was, in fact, artificial, and Bien Boa "seem[ed] to be a bust" because he was a bust. But what is really interesting are the "two small whitish rod-like supports to the phantom form" – the kind of supports that are still used in puppetry today, to manipulate so-called "rod puppets" from behind or below.

    Bienboa_med

    Photo: Bien Boa hovering in front of the curtain, with his "artificial-looking beard" and legless body. Note that the curtain appears to be partly open, possibly allowing manipulation of the figure from behind

     

    A rod puppet would make an altogether more satisfactory phantom than a marionette. No overhead wires or hidden accomplice was needed. Marthe, operating behind the curtain, manipulated the figure herself. The puppet, lying flat, was pushed out from underneath the curtain, its appearance concealed by smoke effects ("a white vapour"). Marthe then pulled the figure upright ("it rose up still more, enlarged, and grew into a human form"), and made it walk ("limping slightly" – i.e, moving jerkily). After a few steps (which Richet describes elsewhere as "halting"), the puppet was simply made to collapse to the floor, "with a clicking noise like a falling skeleton" – the "clicking noise" of its hollow or lightweight components. The act was then repeated ("he reappeared rising in a straight line from the floor … and falling back on it with the same clicking noise").

    "The phantom of Bien Boa," Richet writes, "appeared five or six times under satisfactory conditions in the sense that he could not be Marthe masquerading in a helmet and sheet. Marthe would have had not only to bring, but also to conceal afterwords, the helmet, the sheet, and the burnous [in modern spelling, burnoose – a hooded cloak]. Also Marthe and the phantom were seen at the same time. To pretend that Bien Boa was a doll is more absurd still; he walked and moved, his eyes could be seen looking round, and when he tried to speak his lips moved."

    But rod puppets can move and walk around, and the impression of eyes moving and following the viewer can be created even in a painting. It is interesting that Bien Boa merely "tried to speak" – apparently he could actually speak only through Marthe herself, whose voice at such times was described as "halting and wooden and guttural."

    Richet himself points out, though without attaching much importance to the fact, that in one photo of Marthe and Bien Boa together, Marthe's left sleeve "appears empty, though the vacuity is not complete." Could the sleeve have been empty because Marthe's arm was actually engaged in holding up the puppet figure at her side?

    It might be objected that only a child could be tricked by a puppet, a thing of stiff rods supporting a sheet and a mask. No adult, and certainly not a sophisticated scientist alert to any sign of chicanery, could be taken in by such a device. But remember O'Brien's dinosaurs, and the magicians who fell for them.

    Although a rod puppet could explain some of Bien Boa's appearances, there were other times when a living person must have masqueraded as the phantom. On one such occasion, Richet asked the phantom to blow into a flask of water, which Bien Boa did, producing visible bubbles. A possible explanation was provided by a coachman in General Noel's employ, a man named Areski, who claimed that he had "played the ghost." This assertion was made only after Areski had been fired for theft, and it may be that he was simply seeking revenge on his former boss. Aleski's claim is made somewhat less probable by the fact that he said he had disappeared via a trap door, but as we have seen, no trap door was discovered.

    In any case, it was not necessary for the coachman to act as an accessory. There were others who might have been in a position to impersonate the phantom – Aischa for example, or one of the two younger sisters, or Marthe herself.

    Sometime after Marthe completed her experiments with Richet, the story circulated that she had confessed to producing her effects by trickery. Whether or not she actually did confess remains unknown. The story was attributed to an anonymous source and could never be checked, and Marthe evidently did not endorse it.
    Indeed, she went on to work with other researchers. In these later sessions, far more extensive precautions against trickery were said to have been taken. Marthe was stripped and searched before each séance, a search that included the examination of her hair, nose, mouth, armpits, knees, and even her rectum and vagina. On some occasions she was said to have been given an emetic, forcing her to void her stomach and esophagus, thereby removing any suspicion that she had swallowed some muslin to be later regurgitated as ectoplasm. In addition, detectives were employed to follow Marthe and investigate her background and associates; they found no evidence of fraud.

    This all sounds convincing enough, except that if Marthe had secreted her materials in the séance room prior to the session, then no amount of bodily searching would avail the investigators, and if she was acting alone, then the detectives' trail would inevitably be cold. In any case, photographs produced in these later investigations are no more believable than those taken of Bien Boa.

    Richet himself seemed to acknowledge this. When writing of some "faces" that seemed to extrude from Marthe's body, he admitted, "these faces (and many others) are not in relief. They are like drawings; and, more strange still, something like folds in the paper of a drawing are visible; as if a drawing had been folded three or four times and unfolded to be photographed, so that the materializations are in these cases flat, or materialized drawings. These folds in flat images gave immense suspicion of fraud. But that presumes extreme stupidity in [Marthe], since she knew that the photographs would be taken."Perhaps it merely presumed extreme boldness in Marthe, who by that point had found that she could get away with almost anything.

     

    Eva01_med

    Photo: Ectoplasmic "face" produced by "Eva C." (Marthe Beraud)

     

    Marthe1

    Another "face."

     

    Great latitude was given to the medium when photographs were taken. Richet complains that photography interrupted a session, necessitating "intermissions of observation while the curtain is drawn," because "continuous observation is not permitted by the medium when waiting for the photograph." Marthe herself would signal the photographer when it was time to take the shot. Obviously this setup gave her both the time and the privacy necessary to arrange her materials for the camera.

    During these later researches, accounts of her manifestations became ever more elaborate. Marthe was said to emit ectoplasm from her mouth, navel, breast, and armpits. The damp, enigmatic material, which "resembles moist and sticky muslin," proved elusive. Richet says that when one researcher tried to seize a strand of ectoplasm, he "could grasp nothing, for it disappeared at once." In other instances, some ectoplasm was recovered and subjected to microscopic examination, revealing "vestiges of epithelium, bacterial forms, and a notable amount of fat. In certain cases it looked like vegetable tissue; in others like a filament of cotton surrounded by a granular substance whose nature could not be determined."

    One seemingly paranormal phenomenon eagerly cataloged by Marthe's later investigators was the production of paraffin gloves – molds of human hands produced in paraffin wax, ostensibly during the séance. It was asserted that these molds, which endured long after the séance was over, constituted proof that a hand had materialized in the liquid wax and then dematerialized after the wax had set. How else, it was asked, could such molds have been made? If a living hand had been inserted in the wax, it would have broken the mold when it was removed. In fact, when artisans made such molds of living hands, they had to separate the mold into two pieces to release the hand, then reattach the halves. Richet wrote, "We defy the skilful modellers to obtain such moulds without using the plan of two segments separated by thread and afterwards reunited."

    It took many years for "skilful modellers" to take up this challenge – but in 1997 a pair of Italian investigators, Massimo Polidoro and Luigi Garlaschelli, decided to give it a try. They found that it was possible to make an excellent paraffin glove of a living hand and to extract the hand, slowly and carefully, without cracking the mold. The extreme maneuverability of the hand allows it to work its way free of the mold in the same way that one might free one's hand from a very tight glove. Even when the mold in question was extremely fragile, made with only a thin shell of wax, it was still possible to extricate the hand and leave the mold undamaged. Whether this technique was actually used during the séance, or was employed in advance, with the completed molds hidden in the room and produced when needed, may never be known. It is worth pointing out that the report on producing paraffin gloves was published in the Journal of the Society for Psychical Research, as just one of many skeptical assessments of paranormal phenomena to appear in that publication. ("Spirit Moulds: A Practical Experiment"; Vol. 62, No. 848; July 1997 p. 58-62).

    Some have maintained that Marthe would not have subjected herself to years of tedious testing merely to pull off a hoax. Brian Ingliss writes, "There was no money in it for the investigators and little enough for the medium; certainly far less than she could have earned displaying her powers on the halls. And there was no kudos; such research attracted only mockery, if it were noticed at all." (Natural and Supernatural, 1992; p. 435)

    But human motivation is a tricky thing. There are other rewards besides money and fame. Doctors are familiar with the condition known as Munchausen syndrome, in which a patient makes himself ill – sometimes seriously so – in order to garner the attention of the medical staff. Members of religious cults may surrender all their worldly goods and personal freedom, abandoning even their families, for no obvious gain. Recently there have been news reports of people who opt to have healthy limbs amputated because of an irrational aversion to their own bodies.

    Plainly, it is not enough to say that Marthe and her investigators had no reason to cheat or to delude themselves. People's reasons are not always reasonable.

    In making these points, I don't mean to say that all the evidence of physical mediumship is equally suspect. Table tilting and the levitation of tables, other objects, and even persons are phenomena that have been widely reported and reproduced. So-called "spirit raps," a catchall term for a variety of sounds and vibrations, have been known since antiquity. There are even cases of spirit manifestations that may be strong enough to count as evidential – as in some sittings of the famed 19th century medium D.D. Home. By no means am I dismissing the great mass of evidence for these assorted phenomena, many of which I believe to be genuine.

    But for Marthe Beraud, what evidence is there? In the end, all we have are paraffin gloves that could have been faked, photos of apparitions and ectoplasmic extrusions that are less than convincing, a record of Richet's inadequate precautions against cheating, and the reports of witnesses who may or may not have been reliable.

    On the other hand, in Marthe's favor, we have the insistence on the part of later investigators that thorough precautions were taken and that the phenomena continued and became even more impressive. Certainly if we take the researchers at their word, then no amount of trickery can explain what they saw.

    Here, for example, are Richet's contemporaneous notes on a session with Marthe:

    In the quite small room which I search thoroughly … Mme. de S., whom I will call A., is alone with Marthe and myself. We both sit close to Marthe, so close that I can touch her hands without getting up. The light is an electric lamp covered with red stuff, and gives light enough to show all the white in Marthe's garments and the white ribbons in her hair. After about half an hour, I open the curtains and see a faint luminosity on the floor, so feeble that I doubt its reality. By degrees this light increases; it is like a small, luminous handkerchief lying on the floor. Marthe's whole body is motionless. The luminous spot grows; its outlines are milky, undefined and cloudy, less defined and softer than would be those of woven stuff. It approaches the chair, increases in size, and takes a serpentine form which tends to rise towards the left arm of A.'s chair. Its outlines become sharper; it is like a mass of half-empty fabric. Then follows an extraordinary sight: a point detaches itself from the mass, mounts up, bends and directs itself to Marthe's breast, her hands being held the whole time. The point continues to advance in a terrifying way like an animal pointing its beak; and as it advances, on the rigid stalk there appears a thin gauzy structure like a bat's wing, so thin and transparent that Marthe's garments can be seen through it. The stem is easily distinguishable from the membrane round it. Marthe is motionless and speaks at intervals.

    I can approach and look very closely, only an inch away. I see what looks like a swollen substance, moving as if alive, and changing its form. For five or six minutes I examine it attentively. I see extensions like the horns of a snail, which start up to right and left; these horns are like transparent gelatin, they project from and sink back into the more defined central mass.

    And in a later session:

    Fairly good light. The curtain remains closed for about an hour. I open it; a white spot on the floor grows rapidly, and two horns protrude from the mass X, from which other horns appear, very mobile, pointing in every direction. The mass, then much larger, disaggregates into particles, taking on the semblance of a hand … a greyish hand with ill-defined outlines.

    This hand moves, looking like the hand of a mummy emerging from some stuff; it raises and lowers itself like a hand. Marthe's hands are firmly held by me and are quite motionless. The fingers of the ectoplasm, thin and spindly, seem to end in cloudy masses. I can examine them very closely. I touch one of these spindles; it feels like a cold liquid. I can press it and it feels like the bone of a finger covered with skin. The hand rests on my knee and I feel the slight friction of a body of little resistance. The hand then rises of itself, swaying on a long stem that connects it with the floor; it falls back on to the floor with a slight noise; it remains there and I think I see the two bones of the forearm as though wrapped in cloudy muslin.

    The hand then rises, bends, and moves towards me. The wrist is lowered and the fingers pendant; they move and there seems a torsional movement of this strange fore-arm. I still think I see the carpal bones in the muslin-like cloud.

    The hand rests on my knee again. I feel its weight (very light), it makes little movements at my request that I can feel quite well. Then Marthe says to me, 'That is the muscles beginning to form,' and I see, or I think I see, something dark in the space between the two bones. The hand rises and moves very close to me, having no connection with the ground but a slight white trail. It then falls to the ground with a slight noise, rises from it and suddenly disappears at the moment that Marthe gets up.

    The key to the whole question is in a few words of the preceding paragraph: "I see, or I think I see."

    If Richet really did see these things, then his confidence in Marthe's genuineness must have been justified. But did he only think he saw them? In the dim light (described only as "fairly good"), in the excitement of the moment, perhaps urged on by Marthe's own suggestions ("That is the muscles beginning to form"), did he see what was really there or what he wanted to see?

    It may never be possible to know. But we do know that when an audience of magicians watched Willis O'Brien's animated dinosaurs, they saw something that no modern viewer would perceive.

    If there are fewer spirit materializations in the modern world, perhaps it is because we now see with clearer eyes.

    ***

    Postscript: After posting this essay, I became aware of some comments by psychical researcher Montague Keen which bear directly on the topic. These comments are found in Keen's essay"The Scole Investigation: A Study in Critical Analysis of Paranormal Physical Phenomena" (2001). 

    Keen criticizes the skeptical assumption 

    that, because the purported [spirit] communicators do not behave as we would expect …, they must be figments of the medium's brain …

    The assumption underlying this criticism has very widespread implications. Among the most frequently reproduced photographs designed to illustrate the obviously fraudulent nature of so-called ectoplasmic images of the past are those of somewhat grotesque and crude paper masks. They featured in Baron von Schrenck Notzing's celebrated series of tests on a medium known to history as Eva C. [Marthe Beraud]. But a study of the elaborate precautions taken by the medical investigator and his two qualified colleagues shows that, if Eva had contrived to smuggle in the mask during the séance of August 7th 1912 (to take one example), she would have had to have packed and concealed about her body a plastic mask of natural size, a head shape of paper or textile fabric, and a quantity of a substance, the size of a hand, which would leave traces on her dress. In spite of all the precautions, including prior examination of her bare body, hair, mouth and ears, and being sewn into a séance costume which was found after the sitting to have remained unopened, the medium would have had to pack this equipment in or on her body, open it up, use it before the cameras, fold it all up again and conceal around her bare body so that it would remain undetected despite a subsequent body search. Such precautions, which extended to hand-holding and the unexpected shining of torches and taking of flashlight plates, have had not the slightest effect on those who consider it obvious that no genuine spirit would want, even if able, to project an image with such manifest signs of crude human fabrication.

    Nearly a century after the Beraud investigations, the debate goes on.

     

    Sources

    Orville Goldner and George E. Turner, The Making of King Kong, 1975

    Charles Richet, Thirty Years of Psychical Kesearch, 1923

    Massimo Polidoro and Luigi Garlaschelli. "Spirit Moulds: A Practical Experiment," Journal of the Society for Psychical Research. (July 1997.) Vol. 62. No. 848, 58-62 

    Brian Ingliss, Natural and Supernatural, revised edition, 1992

    Montague Keen, "The Scole Investigation: A Study in Critical Analysis of Paranormal Physical Phenomena," (2001). Journal of Scientific Exploration, Vol. 15 No.2, 167-82

     

  • NOTE: I used to have several older essays on the paranormal posted on my author site. When I recently updated the site, I removed all this material and decided to post it here. Here's one of those essays. Note that the essay dates from a decade ago, and, as pointed out below, the rules of the Challenge were subsequently rewritten, though I'm not sure anything of substance was changed. 

    Will Storr's 2013 book Heretics (which cane out after I wrote this essay) includes a devastating interview with Randi that really nails down some of the criticisms I make here, especially those pertaining to delays in the application process. I excerpted parts of Storr's book here

    James Randi passed away in 2020. According to Wikipedia, the One Million Dollar Paranormal Challenge was terminated in 2015. 

    —–
     
    The Challenge

     

    (This article is adapted from a four-part series that originally appeared on my blog. The series prompted many critical comments from James Randi's defenders. Please see the comments threads on the blog, especially under Part One. For another critical look at James Randi's challenge, see "The Myth of the Million Dollar Challenge" by Greg Taylor.)

    For years superskeptic James Randi has touted his million-dollar challenge as his ultimate argument against the paranormal. If these phenomena are genuine, Randi and his many fans insist, why hasn't anyone won the million dollars yet?

    Randi's detractors counter that the challenge is a publicity stunt, and that Randi and JREF (the James Randi Educational Foundation) make it difficult for people to apply successfully for the challenge, or to be tested even if their applications have been successful. They also argue that JREF's standards are loose and ambiguous, and that they can ignore or dismiss an applicant for any number of reasons, some of which are purely subjective.

    An interesting document in this regard is The JREF Million Dollar Challenge FAQ, which attempts to answer such criticisms but ends up only raising more questions. Please note: The version of the document that I'm referring to was current at the time I wrote this series on my blog. Since then, it's been heavily revised. As of November, 2008, the most current version can be found here. All quotations in this essay are from the earlier version, which apparently is no longer online, but which was in effect in December, 2006.

    There are many points one could make about this series of questions and answers, but I'll limit myself to just a few.

    First, how objective are JREF's standards when it comes to deciding whose applications will be taken seriously? Section 2.3 addresses this issue.

    There are some claims that are far too implausible to warrant any serious examination, such as the "Breatharian" claims in which the applicant states that he can survive without food or water. Science conclusively tells us all we need to know about such matters, and the JREF feels no obligation to engage applicants in such delusions ….

    Other claims, such as "Crop Circles" and UFO's are rejected because they have been definitively proven to be the result of hoaxes or mass hysteria. Claims involving "Cloud-Busting", for example, are rejected because Science (along with keen observation) tells us conclusively that clouds will move and disperse despite the efforts of humankind to move them according to their wishes. The phenomenon behind Oujia boards, for example, is attributed to ideomotor reflexes, and not to anything paranormal.

    So it appears that quite a wide variety of phenomena will not even be considered by JREF because Science (the word is always capitalized in the FAQ) has already "definitively" or "conclusively" refuted such claims. It may come as news to most of us that all (not just some) UFO sightings have been "definitively proven to be the result of hoaxes or mass hysteria," or that because clouds ordinarily move according to natural forces they cannot be moved by any other means. It is equally surprising to learn that all Ouija board motions are "attributed to ideomotor reflexes." Attributed by whom? By Science, presumably.

    What's odd about all this is that JREF seems to be starting with the presumption that huge swaths of paranormal phenomena have already been explained or are not worth explaining. Later we learn that there are even more areas that are problematic for testing. In section 4.9 we're told:

    Claims of psychic healing border on the miraculous, and the JREF declines to investigate them unless extraordinary proof (in the form of actual medical documentation of the disease, "pre" & "post" psychic treatment) is submitted along with your application.

    In his Personal FAQ at the end of the document, Randi observes,

    The [applicants'] claims are sometimes interesting variations on very old misconceptions or delusions, but seldom is there anything that surprises us or that requires very much heavy analysis.

    No analysis is needed, since the claimants are delusional. Back to Section 4.9:

    Most investigators will not want to waste their time with the most implausible claims, and claims involving "psychic healing" most certainly fall within the realm of the highly implausible …

    Some of the more "miraculous" claims simply cannot be considered without strong proof that it is worthy of the enormous effort involved in investigating it. This places such applicants in a more difficult position than some other applicants (such as dowsers and remote readers), but keep in mind … there's a million dollars at stake.

    Note that in the last paragraph quoted above, we are told that dowsers and remote viewers are in a better position than psychic healers, because their claims are easier to test and, apparently, not so implausibly miraculous. Yet later, in his Personal FAQ, Randi says,

    Of course, when confronted with a particularly incredible claim like "remote viewing" (the current version of "clairvoyance") we can easily stop short and ask ourselves just why we are involved with such obvious nonsense.

    Evidently, then, remote viewing is to be categorized with the miraculous and incredible claims that are hard to take seriously, after all.

    Bearing in mind that the definition of "extraordinary" or "miraculous" or "incredible" claims seems rather fluid, what happens if an applicant does make such a claim? Section 4.3 tells us:

    Also, if your claim seems extraordinarily implausible (such as: "I can place my thoughts within the minds of others"…or, "I can make lights shoot out of the top of my head"), you will more than likely be asked to submit three (3) notarized affidavits from professional individuals — doctors, lawyers, professors … no janitors, dishwashers or busboys — stating that they have witnessed this phenomenon and can offer no rational explanation for it. In fact, if you have such a claim and wish to see the application process expedited, don't wait to be asked; provide it along with your application.

    Thus, placing your "thoughts within the minds of others" is also included among the most implausible claims. This means that telepathy, in the sense of sending thoughts (as opposed to receiving them), is another of the apparently miraculous claims. One begins to wonder if JREF would consider any paranormal claim to be anything other than "extraordinary, incredible, and miraculous." (One also wonders what JREF has against janitors and busboys.)

    Section 4.8 elaborates at length on what the applicant with an "extraordinary" claim must do:

    [T]here is a certain criteria applied for the acceptance of affidavits. Try to find persons who are skeptical by nature, and try to avoid enlisting the aid of friends who share your beliefs. Do your very best to seek impartial individuals who work in professional fields, if you want your affidavits accepted quickly….

    The following is a list of examples of persons who would NOT be acceptable as affidavit providers:

    Family members, minors, persons you have met while in "treatment" or during the course of any "psychic studies" you may have embarked upon, persons presently taking medication for bi-polar disease, schizophrenia or other forms of mental illness, alcoholics & drug addicts, spiritual advisors or priests/rabbis, anyone involved in any way with the so-called "psychic arts", etc.

    In the last paragraph you may have noticed a reference to being in "treatment." There's a reason for this. JREF seems to assume that a very large number of applicants are, to put it bluntly, nuts.

    Section 4.2:

    Many people who claim to have paranormal powers are, sadly, suffering from an advanced state of delusion. That isn't to say that you are, but it's a hypothesis that may be raised during the application process. So, be prepared for this in advance, especially if your claim is extremely remote by reasonable standards.

    We've already seen that almost any claim likely to be fielded by JREF can be judged "extremely remote by reasonable standards" (whatever that means). Now we learn that the "hypothesis" of mental illness "may be raised during the application process."

    The JREF will also not waste its time (or jeopardize the applicant's safety and well being) with claims from applicants who exhibit clear signs of paranoid delusions, schizophrenia or other mental illness, feeling strongly that it is their moral responsibility to avoid the furthering of such delusions in the minds of those who may be in need of immediate psychiatric attention. What this means is that it is OK for you to be deluded, as the JREF feels many applicants may well be, but it is not OK for the JREF to support your illness, if you have shown clear, clinical signs of suffering from one. Randi feels that his personal and moral obligations in this regard far supercede [sic] the JREF's professional obligation to test all applicants.

    And Section 5.3 warns,

    While you may be neither mistaken nor a cheater, the JREF will always assume that you are one or the other.

    We return to our question: How objective is JREF in deciding which applicants will be accepted? Well, it appears that JREF categorizes virtually all paranormal claims as "extraordinarily implausible" and assumes that many, perhaps most, applicants are mentally ill. JREF reserves the right to ignore an application from anyone whose claim is too "incredible" to be taken seriously, or whose claim contradicts the findings of "Science," as understood by JREF. Further, JREF reserves the right to ignore applications from people who are psychologically impaired – a determination that can be made by JREF alone.

    Now, given all of the above, just how easy is it to get an application approved by JREF, and how many people have managed it? In other words, how easy is it for a claimant to apply for James Randi's vaunted million dollar prize?

    According to the FAQ, not easy at all. Section 4.4 of the FAQ reads:

    An application made by an earnest applicant may take 1-6 months to handle, considering the refining of the application wording and the mutual negotiation of a mutually acceptable preliminary test. It should not take longer than a few weeks, ideally, so long as an acceptable test is quickly agreed upon. However, securing a team of qualified observers is not always an easy thing to do, so the time that lapses between your claim submission and the actual test can be several months, or even longer.

    Such long delays must discourage a lot of people. In his Personal FAQ at the end of the above-linked document, Randi seems to concede as much:

    Many hundreds have applied, and most have had to be instructed to reapply — sometimes several times — because they did it incorrectly or incompletely. There are, at any given time, about 40 to 60 applicants being considered, but from experience we know that the vast majority will drop out even before any proper preliminary test can be designed. Of those who get to the preliminary stage, perhaps a third will actually be tested, and some of those will quit before completion.

    Hundreds have applied … often several times because of problems with the paperwork. But "the vast majority" drop out even "before any proper preliminary test can be designed." And even most of those who make it to the preliminary test don't actually get tested – only "perhaps a third." So what kind of numbers are we talking about? Section 1.3 reports:

    Between 1964 and 1982, Randi declared that over 650 people had applied [3]. Between 1997 and February 15, 2005, there had been a total of 360 official, notarized applications.

    It's not clear what happened between 1982 and 1997, but in the 26 years covered, 1,010 people applied. Whether all these applications were accepted is a different issue, one that's not taken up in the FAQ. Who are these applicants and what became of them? Section 4.7 addresses this issue. In response to the question, "Where can I find a list of all the people who have ever applied?" the FAQ states:

    Since the Challenge has been going on since before the World Wide Web gained in popularity, no such list exists online. The JREF has limited resources, so most of the applications are maintained in a file cabinet at the JREF headquarters. In other words, if you want a lot of details about the former applicants, you are going to have to visit the JREF and do your own research.

    However, the JREF forum also contains a CHALLENGE APPLICATIONS section that describes in detail the claims received, the correspondences exchanged between the JREF and the applicant, and subsequent protocol negotiations and test results.

    I'm not sure why the fact that the challenge predates the popularity of the Web is relevant. A great deal of the data on the Web predates the Web itself. Those data have simply been uploaded to Web servers. JREF prefers to keep its data in file cabinets, presumably where few people can see them. If I were a skeptic, I might be skeptical about this.

    It appears, then, that the application process can extend for many months, with the applicant told to resubmit his paperwork (often including notarized documents) again and again. No lists of applicants and outcomes are readily available. Randi himself is vague about the number of people who have been tested (as contrasted with the number who have applied). It's also unclear whether all 1,010 applicants between 1964-1982 and 1997-early 2005 were actually accepted, or whether some, or even most, of the applications were rejected.

    For a look at the slow-as-molasses "progress" (if that's the word) of one candidate's application, I looked at a Web site put up by Peter Morris. Unfortauntely the site is now defunct, but in Google's cache you can still read some of the correspondence between the applicant and James Randi. This correspondence began on March 6, 2004. Correspondence relating to the application itself began on August 31, 2006, and the application was mailed on September 11, 2006. On October 16, 2006, Randi acknowledged receipt of the application. As of November 3, 2006, the applicant and Randi were still arguuing about whether or not the claim would be tested. (Other cached pages from Morris' Web site are here.)

    Remember also that some applicants are rejected out of hand. For instance, someone named Rico Kolodzey tried to apply for the challenge, claiming he could survive without food for an indefinite period. In his reply Randi (quoted in full here) simply dismissed the claim as preposterous:

    Please don't treat us like children. We only respond to responsible claims….

    If this is actually your claim, you're a liar and a fraud. We are not interested in pursuing this further, nor will we exchange correspondence with you on the matter.

    The one thing that stands out here, beyond the obvious difficulty of getting an application approved in the first place, is the disparity between the number of people who successfully apply and the number who are actually tested. Do all these claimants drop out voluntarily even after going to the trouble of applying, or are there other factors involved? To put it another way, once the applicant for the JREF's million dollar prize has been finally accepted for testing, he's "in," right?

    Wrong. He can still be dismissed at any time, at JREF's sole discretion, if he is deemed guilty of bad behavior.

    Section 6 of the FAQ goes into exhaustive detail about this. Here are some highlights:

    Section 6.1:

    The Challenge Administrator may close your file and reject all future applications submitted by you based upon negative behavior.

    The following are some examples of the type of behavior than can result in the rejection of your claim:

    1. Continuous Belligerence, Hostility or Obstinacy. Repeated use of Profanity Following Warnings from The JREF asking you to STOP. Willfully or Unreasonably Delaying the Application Process (for reasons that can only be considered vain). Canceling a Test at the Last Minute (for reasons that can only be considered "vain"). Threatening Legal Action Against The JREF or its Employees & Investigators. Slandering the JREF or its Employees. Making Libelous Accusations (such as insisting that the Challenge itself is a Sham/Fraud or that Randi himself is a liar and a cheat who will never award the prize money even if the Applicant Passes the Tests). A Consistently Aggressive or Violent Tone in Correspondence.

    2. A Proven Inability to Comprehend or Accept the Rules of The Challenge.

    Section 6.2:

    The JREF alone determines when an applicant's behavior is unacceptable. There is no Appeal Process, and there is no mediator.

    Section 6.3:

    This rule applies both to private correspondence and communications between the applicant and the Challenge administrator, as well as the JREF forum, which all applicants are welcome (and encouraged) to join….

    You have the right to have your say, but don't expect it to be allowed to continue beyond the point of what is deemed Reasonable. All forum members have the right to state their position. If you chose to abuse that right, you will lose it. At that point, you can also expect to have any further applications you submit discarded upon receipt. The JREF is NOT compelled to accept subsequent applications from persons who have proven themselves impossible to deal with on a reasonable level.

    Section 6.5:

    Dissenters and JREF opponents will always be allowed a voice on the forum, but it must be a civil voice, and a voice that does not break the forum rules. If a member, any member, behaves in a manner that ultimately saps JREF resources — even when there may not have been any forum rules broken — that person may nonetheless be viewed as a detriment and a hindrance to the JREF mission. It is well within reason for any organization to eliminate obstacles that might prevent it from operating nominally whenever possible. So, if you wish to see your claim tested (and if you wish to remain a forum member), behave appropriately.

    Section 6.6:

    The JREF is in no way required to test your claim regardless of how you behave. Other applicants have believed so and been sorely disappointed by the facts. Remember; it's the JREF Paranormal Challenge, and The JREF alone dictates the rules surrounding it and how it is run, so, if your nature is to quickly turn belligerent and rude, or to accuse the JREF of being disingenuous, you should not apply.

    Notice that the applicant can be dismissed for behaving "in a manner that ultimately saps JREF resources – even when there may not have been any forum rules broken." This is as vague a formulation as one could ask for, and covers virtually any behavior whatsoever. Who, after all, is to say what "ultimately saps JREF resources"? Moreover, we are told that the applicant can be dismissed for "insisting that the Challenge itself is a Sham/Fraud or that Randi himself is a liar and a cheat," or even for "accus[ing] the JREF of being disingenuous." But what if the applicant sincerely feels that the procedure is unfair – perhaps that it's being unduly dragged out, or that unreasonable obstacles are being placed in his way? To voice these objections, not only in the forum but even in "private correspondence and communication," is to invite dismissal. The candidate is effectively silenced before his test has even been run.

    So what have we learned? Even after an applicant has succeded in qualifying for the challenge – which is clearly no easy task – he can still be rejected at any time for "negative behavior." Acting as judge and jury, JREF can dismiss any applicant for being "rude" or "hostile" or even for suggesting that JREF itself is misbehaving. Evidently, any criticism of JREF's procedures can also be grounds for dismissal.

    At every stage of the process, the applicant finds himself facing long odds – and not just because he may or may not have the ability to demonstrate a paranormal phenomenon. The application process is arduous and time-consuming, often requiring multiple resubmissions over a period of months or even years. Applicants can be rejected for virtually any reason, including the "incredible" nature of their claims. Applicants may be placed in the position of trying to prove they are not mentally ill. Applicants are effectively muzzled from criticizing JREF or Randi either publicly or privately, and may be dismissed at any time for a variety of offenses subjectively determined by JREF administrators, including rudeness and "sap[ping] JREF resources." JREF is the final authority in all cases; there is no mediator and no appeal.

    Since no lists of applicants and outcomes have been made available on the Internet by JREF, and since Randi himself does not seem to know the number of claimants who've actually been tested, we can only guess at how many people succeed in reaching even the preliminary testing stage. By Randi's own estimate, the number is small, with the "vast majority" of applicants failing to negotiate the application process, or dropping out or being dismissed before the test is attempted.

    Given all this, is it really such a mystery that the more sophisticated researchers and test subjects in the paranormal field steer clear of the much-publicized JREF Challenge?

    P.S. As a minor postscript, I want to mention one other detail. Throughout the FAQ, JREF assures the reader that it really does want to test all applicants and that it will bend over backward to treat applicants fairly. Some may wonder why I didn't quote these statements. The simple answer is that I can't quote everything, and I selected the passages that struck me as most problematic for the applicant. The more involved answer is that these reassurances do not carry any legal weight. JREF may very well believe that it is entirely reasonable and fair in all of its actions. But what one party to an agreement believes to be reasonable and fair may seem most unreasonable and unfair to the other party. In a one-sided power relationship, there is no way for the aggrieved party to have his grievances addressed. In a more balanced relationship, where power is allocated to both sides, an aggrieved party can seek redress.

    It should be clear from the FAQ that the million dollar challenge is a one-sided arrangement. While JREF administrators may behave in a way that seems reasonable and fair to them, the applicant who disagrees with their decisions has no legal recourse. An analogy would be a dispute between a taxpayer and the IRS. The IRS may believe it handles such disputes with impeccable fairness and reasonableness, but if a given taxpayer disagrees, what can he do about it? But at least the IRS has a taxpayer advocate who can be appealed to. The million dollar challenge does not provide for any appeal process or any mediation. All the power rests with JREF. The only power the applicant has is to walk away – an option that a great many applicants apparently exercise.

    If JREF wanted to protect the rights and interests of applicants, rather than just paying lip service to fairness, they could set up an independent mediator who would oversee disputes. This would go a long way toward making the process more balanced and giving disgruntled applicants some right of redress. In the absence of any such arrangement, protestations of fairness and reasonableness amount to nothing but window dressing.

  • NOTE: I used to have several older essays on the paranormal posted on my author site. When I recently updated the site, I removed all this material and decided to post it here. Here's one of the essays. It was written around 2003 or so, and is dated now, involving a TV show that's been off the air for years.

    Back then I was still somewhat hesitant about accepting paranormal claims. I've made a few changes in wording, but I haven't changed my overall conclusions, even though today I'm much less inclined to credit the super-ESP or living agent psi hypothesis.

    The original article contained links to some of the quoted material, but I've omitted them, because after 20 years, most are probably defunct. — January 24, 2024

    ———-

    More Thoughts on John Edward

    The first essay I ever posted on my author site involved "psychic medium" John Edward, who says he can communicate with the dead. I gave paraphrases of Edward's readings with members of the studio audience on his show, Crossing Over, and indicated that I didn't see any obvious way that the trick – if it is a trick – could be done.

    Since then, I've learned a lot more about psychic phenomena and about the mentalist techniques that can simulate such effects. I've thought of ways that Edward could fool his audience, but so far I've seen no good evidence that he is actually making use of these techniques. I've also reread The Afterlife Experiments by Gary Schwartz, a book that recounts a series of tests done with Edward and other mediums at the University of Arizona. Even after taking thorough precautions, Schwartz found that the mediums were able to come through with accurate, specific information. Some of their hits were dazzlingly on-target.

    At the same time, there continues to be a great deal of criticism of Edward on countless Web sites and newsgroup message boards. These condemnations can be remarkably vehement. Here's an example from a Web site picked more or less at random and reproduced without editing:

    "What would you call someone who capitalizes on the pain, agony, dreams, and hopes of innocent people? I call him a monster. John Edwards and his phony carnival sideshow 'Crossing Over' has preyed on his victims for far to long. He is a con-man, no more, no less. He is evil incarnate. He is, as 'South Park' has so aptly dubbed him: 'The Biggest Douche in the Universe'. "

    At the conclusion of this heartfelt philippic, Edward is presented with the coveted "Rectum of the Month Award."

    The reference to the animated series South Park concerns an episode that indeed bears this title, in which "John Edward" is unmasked as a phony. "Edward" is depicted using crudely obvious methods to fool an audience of morons. From the transcript:

    Edward: He's telling me … oh well, he's saying that you two used to … do things.

    Woman 1: [sobs and nods vigorously] Mmm-hmm.

    Edward: And that those things involved … stuff?

    Woman 1: The things did involve stuff, yes. [cries. The audience is awed and gets somewhat boisterous]

    This episode has beome a huge favorite of Edward-bashers, some of whom even started a longrunning thread called "The Biggest Douche in the Universe." The show's most pointed weapon is sarcasm – which, perhaps not coincidentally, also seems to be a favored mode of disputation among skeptics.

    But South Park also tries to discredit Edward in more substantive ways. At one point, a character announces, "I found tons of testimonials on the Internet saying that John Edward has the entire studio wired to hear what people are talking about before the show. And, he pays actors to be plants in the audience."

    Unfortunately for the credibility of this argument, the "tons of testimonials" seem to be a fantasy of the show's scriptwriters. If they exist, search engines (combing through Web sites and newsgroups) can't find them.

    This is not to say there aren't "tons of testimonials on the Internet" about Edward. There are – but most of them seem to be in his favor. Here's an excerpt from a September 18, 2000, newsgroup post (all ellipses are in the original):

    "I was very, very skeptical. Then I went on the show and now…… I'm confused. 🙂 I was 'one on one' on the show (the recent 'one-on-one' with the 2 doctors, Sept 7) and I don't know what I believe. There is no doubt he told us things only we knew, and some things that my brother and I didn't know but my mom confirmed when she came on the show at the end. Like what was in her purse. I think it's one of two things. 1) he has some gift reading our own minds, or contacting those who have died or 2) the ultimate con ……If it's a con, there has to be hidden cameras, hidden microphones, and x-ray machines throughout the studio (which I strongly doubt) because only he and my mother knew my mom was carrying 'something belonging to my brother in a small plastic pouch in her purse.' My brother and I didn't even know about that one! He mentioned my father's brother by his NAME not the first letter and said he was directly to his side. He mentioned my aunt 'Philomena' by her name (how many people have a Philomena in their family?)"

    Here's another testimonial posted by someone responding to the argument that Edward reads the sitter's body language to make informed guesses, and recites vague, generic facts that apply to most people:

    "Then how do you explain his coming up with so many specific facts about total strangers in the audience at the Theater at Madison Square Garden when I saw him … Did the woman behind me give away the fact that her recently deceased uncle was a priest who had appeared on Broadway and considered himself the family star by her body language? Do you really consider that a generic fact about someone?"

    Finally, a testimonial posted on a pro-Edward Web site, regarding a March, 2001, taping of the show:

    "First off, there are no insidious 'Crossing Over' staff members descending on anybody, interrogating anybody or even being 'extremely chatty' (as I believe one negative article or post implied) with anyone. Everybody's really nice and really friendly but nobody asks you ANYTHING about anything other than to run you through a metal detector (cause you can't be too careful with those cynics, you know) get you to sign a STANDARD CONSENT form and to show a picture ID.

    "THERE WAS NO FAMILY TREE FORM ever given to anyone to fill out, nor was there anything but ordinary interaction between gallery members and John Edward staff (where's the bathroom, thanks.) … The conversations of gallery members – outside waiting on line, inside waiting to enter studio and seated inside the studio – was of the most ordinary mundane nature and did NOT involve detailed (or even general) discussions of family members or history. (I should know because I was eavesdropping on everyone!)

    "People were excited to be on a TV show, worried about the pigeons that were hovering over our heads as we waited outside, every manner of conversation OTHER THAN 'giving away' any information to the staff …

    "I can definitely verify that there are plenty of hits in person and that Edward doesn't need tricky editing to bring them about on the TV show …

    "I also happened to have lunch in the same place as a group who got a good reading and I eavesdropped on them too! They were definitely real people and totally freaked out by what they'd experienced."

    Of course, these testimonials prove nothing in themselves – but then, anti-Edward testimonials wouldn't prove anything, either. Except, perhaps, to the people at South Park.

    The more emotional criticisms, whether couched in terms of rage or irony, don't pack much of an intellectual punch. Other participants in the debate tackle the issue in a more substantive way by trying to expose Edward's tricks – or by claiming that his tricks have already been exposed. Some of these claims are based on misinformation, which, once published on the Web, can be endlessly perpetuated.

    A common mistake, which l've seen repeated several times on message boards, involves confusing two different people: John Edward, star of Crossing Over, and mentalist performer Mark Edward, who frequently debunks alleged psychics and is an editorial board member of Skeptic Magazine. He has appeared with Penn and Teller on a series they did for the Showtime cable network, the off-color title of which is, as Tom Wolfe once put it in a different context, "a common tauro-scatological epithet." He was also featured on the Fox TV special Psychic Secrets Revealed, in which he used a "hot reading" technique to fool a member of the audience.

    Mark Edward, it appears, has patterned his act after that of the more famous John Edward, right down to the similarity of names. The result is that casual TV viewers sometimes get the two men mixed up. In fact, I can't help but think that the producers of these shows hire Mark Edward precisely because people will get him confused with the Crossing Over star.

    I have seen newsgroup postings which insist that John Edward appeared on Psychic Secrets Revealed, when, in fact, he made no appearance on the show. The same postings claim that John Edward was shown to be cheating and exposed as a fraud – but again, it was Mark Edward who was cheating (quite openly, for educational purposes), and the technique showcased by Mark Edward, while clever, was unlikely to work often enough to explain John Edward's consistent performances.
    But even if that particular trick can't explain it all, isn't it safe to assume that Mark Edward, using other ruses, could reproduce everything John Edward does?

    No, it's not safe to make that assumption. Here's why.

    In 1999, Mark Edward appeared on another Fox show called Exploring the Unknown, in which he used standard cold-reading tricks to fool people in a shopping mall. Gary Schwartz comments about this show, hosted by noted skeptic Michael Shermer, in The Afterlife Experiments:

    A producer … said he was interested in addressing the possible truth of mediumship, and wanted to do a segment focused on Suzane Northrup … We gave them access to the complete, unedited footage [of the experiments with Northrup] so they could make their own selections … The producer let us know in advance that he had screened the entire … footage. He had seen Suzane speaking virtually nonstop for over ten minutes, asking only five questions, yet producing more than 120 specific pieces of factual information with over 80 percent accuracy. But instead of using any of that footage … Fox made arrangements on the side to film her at another time … In between short clips of Suzane's statements, the program cut to the psychic magician [Mark Edward], who claimed that her statements were typical generalizations that could fit most people … Our … footage made it clear that she was doing nothing of the kind – so the program never used that footage.

    Even so, Schwartz hoped to work with Mark Edward, in order to see if the mentalist could produce results in the laboratory, under the same controlled conditions that had been applied to John Edward, Suzane Northrup, and the other test subjects.

    So we asked the network to put us in touch with [Mark Edward] … And then we asked again. We asked repeatedly, and were stonewalled. Perhaps the network realized the show segment had been irresponsible, perhaps the magician thought we were angry and were trying to trap him somehow, perhaps he knew from the footage that Suzane was really doing things he could not and was simply embarrassed for accusing her of using the same tricks he was using. Whatever the reason, the network would not put us in touch with the magician, and we finally gave up trying.

    If Mark Edward can do everything John Edward does, wouldn't he jump at the chance to prove it in the laboratory, undergoing the very same tests that John Edward submitted to, and destroying John Edward's credibility once and for all? That would be the ultimate vindication of the skeptical position he espouses. Yet, curiously, Mark Edward seems to have passed up the opportunity to be tested – while John Edward, with much more to lose if he were discredited, agreed to participate. One can only wonder why.

    Then there are stories that circulate via email. Recently someone sent me word of the definitive debunking of John Edward. I was told that Edward had been exposed on a cable TV show, for which a member of the Crossing Over staff served as an informant. Supposedly, this informant got someone with a hidden camera to mingle with the studio audience. The resulting video showed how "ringers," hired by Crossing Over, engaged audience members in casual conversation, eliciting facts about their families and personal relationships, which were then fed to Edward. Later, staff members surreptitiously stuck colored decals on the seats where these particular audience members were sitting, in order to allow Edward to pick them out of the crowd. This trickery was also caught by the hidden camera. For John Edward, it appears, the jig is up!

    Sounds pretty definitive, doesn't it? The problem is that no one else seems to have heard of this history-making show. I searched the Web in vain for any hint that the program actually exists. When I asked my email correspondent if he could supply me with details of the show – what network it was on, when it aired, and so forth – he wasn't able to provide any, and said only that he was "pretty sure" the show involved Edward.

    In short, it doesn't seem as if this alleged debunking episode ever took place. No doubt my correspondent saw some kind of TV program that illustrated simple methods of fooling an audience. But did it have anything specifically to do with Edward, or involve an informant from the Crossing Over staff? There is no evidence of it. Those aspects of the story are probably embellishments – the sort of memory lapses that create most "urban legends."

    Many Web pages and message-board posts say that Edward uses "cold reading" to accomplish his act. This term, "cold reading," is tossed around quite a lot – often, it seems, by people who don't really know what it means. They seem to think it is a general term of derision for any act put on by a fake psychic. Actually, cold reading is a specific term of art, referring to a mentalist's skill at asking leading questions and observing subtle reactions on the part of his subject – facial expressions and body language cues, for instance – which then direct him to ever more specific statements.

    There have been a few attempts to analyze Edward's performances line by line in order to show how he is using cold reading techniques. One such effort purported to explain how Edward came up with the information that the young daughter of an audience member had picked up a "special" feather during a visit to Niagara Falls. The skeptic opined that Edward's reference to Niagara Falls was a lucky guess, and once he had scored a hit with it, he just naturally assumed the little girl found a feather there, since, after all, there are lots of birds at Niagara Falls and so there must be lots of feathers lying around, and kids are known to pick up feathers …

    Convincing? You be the judge.

    Let's look at some other examples, from an essay called "So You Wanna Be A Psychic?" The author, identified as Franc, takes a look at transcripts of Edward's TV appearances to explain how the act is pulled off.

    In what follows, material in square brackets is from the transcript:

    "John Edward: They're either trying to tell me someone has a name like Celine [no reaction from the audience] … or they want me to acknowledge a name like Celina… but they re telling me to say Celine [as he motions the letter 'C' with his index finger].

    "Female Guest: I have an Aunt Zia Lina."

    Franc calls this "perhaps the weirdest hit in history. How she got from Celina to Zia Lina, I have no idea. But no matter, someone took the bait …"

    Is it really so hard to see "how she got from Celina to Zia Lina"? The two names are both unusual and sound nearly identical.

    Before we go on, please note that the female guest referred to Zia Lina as her aunt. The significance of this fact will be clear in a moment.

    Edward: They're making me feel like there's some type of mom vibration that's has passed because there's an older female coming through and I feel like [pause] … is it your mom that's passed?

    Female Guest: Yeah.

    Franc's comment: " … he re-feeds her the 'mom' answer she gave earlier."

    Despite his undoubtedly painstaking analysis, Franc has overlooked a minor detail – namely, there was no ""mom' answer she gave earlier." The earlier reference was to the woman's aunt, not her mother.

    Tallying up this reading, the skeptic awards "O hits."

    He then turns to a transcript of a Larry King Live show that aired on June 19, 1998. Notice that this was a live call-in show – no chance of finding out anything about the callers in advance, or reading their body language, or editing out "misses" to highlight hits.

    CALLER: Hello.

    KING: Go ahead.

    CALLER: Yes, my mother passed away, quite a while ago, and l'd like to get in touch with her.

    KING: What's your name?

    CALLER: My name is Karen.

    EDWARD: OK, Karen, the first thing that's coming through is not your mother, but I want to tell you that there's another female figure who is older than you, who's making you feel like she either helped raise you, or was around when you were growing up – is coming through. And she tells me she either passed from breast cancer or lung cancer. I see blackness in the chest area, but I don't think that this is related to you. I think that this might be either a friend's mother or a mother-in-law — I don't feel like there's a blood connection here.

    CALLER: My stepmother.

    Franc's assessment? "Edward shotgun[ned] his way thru it, but basically he stated 1. the presence of a person without [a] blood connection who helped raise her or saw her grow up who 2. had 'blackness' in the chest area. That is exceedingly vague."

    Not quite. First, it wasn't just "a person," but an older female. Second, it wasn't just someone "without [a] blood connection," but someone who "might be either a friend's mother or a mother-inlaw." In other words, a mother-like figure who was not a blood relative and who was an important part of the caller's childhood. "My stepmother" fits these facts to a T.

    And how did the stepmother die? Larry King asked that question.

    CALLER: Lung cancer.

    Remember that Edward just said "she either passed from breast cancer or lung cancer."

    Franc, unimpressed, points out that Edward's statement about the cause of death "comes true whenever [sic] or not the chest problem is really in the breasts or lungs. This way, he can take credit for more precise hits, but still retain a hit for the more vague phrase."

    But Edward said "she either passed from breast cancer or lung cancer," and it turned out she died of lung cancer. Is this really so "vague"? Is Franc seriously arguing that there are so few ways for an older female to die that "either … breast cancer or lung cancer" would be an easy guess? Couldn't the stepmother have died of a stroke, brain tumor, pancreatic cancer, leukemia, falling down the stairs, car accident, pneumonia, Alzheimer's, etc., etc.? Edward narrowed it down to "breast cancer or lung cancer" without asking any questions. And the skeptic calls it "vague."

    The capstone of his analysis is priceless. "[Edward] did get one real, good hit during the hour: saying that a man was buried with cigarettes, and they were the wrong brand (unfortunately, the accent of the person is not specified – some other religions do bury cherished objects, and this may have influenced Edward)."

    So if the caller spoke with an accent, then it would have been simplicity itself for Edward to guess that his loved one "was buried with cigarettes, and they were the wrong brand." Of course! After all, whenever / hear someone speak with an accent, I can immediately tell that their loved one was buried wearing rubber galoshes and mismatched socks.

    Remember, the last two examples came from a live performance by Edward, taking random calls from all over the world. He couldn't see the callers, so he couldn't observe their facial expressions or body language. He had only seconds – a minute or two at most – to do his readings and had time for few, if any, questions.

    Could Mark Edward, the skeptical mentalist, have come up with these hits? Doubtless he would say he could. Fine. Let's see him do it. Or let's see well-known skeptic and professional magician James Randi do it. (When Randi appeared on the June 5, 2001, edition of Larry King Live, King said, "Since James is skeptic, we will ask him to do some calls" to demonstrate cold reading. Randi conspicuously failed to follow up on this suggestion.) Let's see someone do it and show us gullible fools how stupid we really are.

    Or is it possible that the mentalists and skeptics really can't duplicate what John Edward does, and they know it, and they are afraid to let us find out?
    But in that case, they would be, well, just plain full of it, wouldn't they? Blustering, crowing, fulminating – and conning us the whole time? Pretending they have easy answers when actually they have no answers at all?

    Say it ain't so.

    At least those who render such analyses are attempting, however feebly, to address the evidence. Regrettably, many people who use the term "cold reading" do not seem even to have watched Crossing Over, let alone to have made any serious attempt to explain how the information is obtained. They seem to think that simply by using the term "cold reading," they can explain everything. But jargon, in and of itself, has no explanatory power.

    Imagine, for instance, that you ask me, "Why do birds fly south for the winter?"

    I answer, "It's instinct."

    You: "What's instinct?"

    Me: "It's what makes birds fly south for the winter."

    Clearly I have told you nothing of substance, but my use of the word "instinct" may create an impression that something meaningful has been said. "Cold reading" serves a similar function in many critiques of Crossing Over.

    "John Edward is just doing a trick called cold reading."

    "What is cold reading?"

    "It's the trick John Edward does!"

    Q.E. D.

    There is also a popular method of analysis known as "being nibbled to death by ducks." It consists of finding the tiniest discrepancies in Edward's statements, which become the basis for a wholesale condemnation of his honesty. Here are a couple of examples from "The Many Contradictions of John Edward", by Instig8R (probably not her real name):

    On 1/5/97, John Edward told Newsday writer William Falk that the demand for contact with the dead is such that 'he could easily schedule 40 readings a week, instead of the 10 to 15 he feels comfortable doing' … Does anyone know how many readings are given by John Edward per week? It's got to be more than 15!!! On the night that I saw John Edward at the Westbury seminar last May (2002), I think he did about 7 or 8 readings. I believe he appeared at Westbury for 4 nights in a row, so I guess it would be a conservative estimate for me to say that he did more than 20 readings over a four-day period, right?

    Even ducks can nibble better than this. When Edward said he could schedule forty readings a week, he obviously meant hour-long private readings. (Forty hour-long sessions would equal a standard forty-hour work week.) He was not referring to the much briefer readings done in groups, which may last only a few minutes each.
    We're then shown another startling example of Edward's duplicity:

    Sometimes, John Edward says his psychic powers are possibly hereditary. Then, at other times he claims the powers are acquired skills. It just gets funnier and funnier.

    My sense of humor may have atrophied, but I don't see anything funny or contradictory about these statements. What Edward seems to be saying is that everyone is born with latent psychic abilities, but these abilities must be honed through practice. How is this different from the truism that anyone can learn to draw (or sing or sew), but we must practice in order to do it well?

    I've found it interesting to see how some skeptics' explanations for Crossing Over have changed over time. At first, there was much talk of hidden microphones in the TV studio, which monitored the audience and picked up conversations about departed relatives. In its March 5, 2001 issue, Time ran an article by well-known skeptic Leon Jaroff, who speculated about the use of such microphones, though it appears that Jaroff did not actually go to the studio, interview anyone on the show's staff, or do any investigating whatsoever.

    Perhaps to combat such speculation, Crossing Over now sends out an information packet to prospective audience members telling them that, whether they are on line outside or seated in the studio, they should not talk about their relatives or any other personal matters.

    With this line of argument somewhat defused, the skeptics next suggested that Edward was using cold reading in the classic carnival sideshow sense. Unfortunately, the specificity of information that Edward sometimes comes up with – often without much, if any, prompting of the audience member – has made this hypothesis pretty unconvincing. In addition, Edward occasionally relates information that the audience member is not even aware of, information verified later when the person talks with another member of the family. Cold reading techniques work only when eliciting facts that the subject himself already knows.

    Perhaps sensing that their earlier explanations were inadequate, skeptics increasingly have turned to another proposition – that Edward does research on people long before they ever arrive at the studio. Of all the skeptical explanations offered, this one seems most plausible to me, though I still think it has serious defects. What makes the explanation at least superficially acceptable is the way in which Crossing Over selects its audience. From what I understand, people call the show's 800-number and leave their name and telephone number on the voicemail system. They are then placed on a waiting list. A long time passes, sometimes as much as a full year, before the show contacts them to say that seats are finally available.

    Now, it is possible that somebody working with Edward could take these names and phone numbers, use a reverse directory to learn the callers' home addresses, and then cross-index this list with, let's say, the various family trees posted on the Internet, obituaries available through LEXIS-NEXIS, "blog sites" (in which people publish personal information about themselves on the Web), and so on. If the typical caller has to wait months before getting tickets, there would be plenty of time for research to be done. All that would be necessary is to match an obituary – preferably one that includes the cause of death and a lot of personal information about the deceased – to the family of someone on the waiting list. Then tickets can be sent out, and this person can be targeted for a reading.

    I became particularly suspicious that this technique might be in play when, on one of the shows, an audience member mentioned that she had spent a year on the waiting list, and then, only a few days after a relative's funeral, tickets finally became available. The woman interpreted this as a "sign" that she was going to get a reading and "hear from" this particular relative on the show, as indeed she did. But it could just as easily be interpreted as evidence that whoever was monitoring the cross-indexed lists was waiting for an obituary to come up.

    One Web essay illustrates this theory by trying to show how Edward obtained two "special hits"i.e., unusually specific information. This essay, incidentally, is also by Instig8R.

    In one case, the reading involved a young man who died in an auto accident. The skeptic found that by searching various databases, he could learn not only the details of the crash but certain facts about the victim – for instance, he had a "great love of sports" and had "completed his freshman year" at a certain college. Unfortunately, the essay doesn't provide any quotes or even paraphrases of Edward's actual reading, so it's impossible to determine how closely the material Edward came up with matches the material found online.

    In the second case, Edward talked with the owner of an Italian restaurant, Russ Brunelli. The reading, we are told, "was a close parallel to the data that I was able to find out about [Brunelli], his parents and their businesses. Just to illustrate the information that is available, John Edward stated that someone had a 'double name', and this was validated. One of the sitters present was Ignazio Leone, a cousin/partner/executive chef at Brunelli's restaurant. He is known as 'Yan-Yan'. If you would like to verify that Ignazio is called Yan-Yan', and read other information about the Brunelli family and their business, visit the following site on the internet: Italian Cooking & Living: Ignazio Leone."

    The only problem here is that the Web site in question does not mention that Ignazio is called Yan-Yan, or give much information about the Brunellis at all. Possibly the Brunellis' site has been revamped since the "Many Contradictions" article was written. Or possibly not, since the author goes on to say, "I found the information that Chef Leone is called 'Yan-Yan' from an article in NY Newsday, written by Sylvia Carter, dated July 21, 1999 on Page B11 in the Food and Dining Section …" (My essay was written not long after this date.) 

    So apparently the Yan-Yan info was not on the Brunellis' site, after all. It's all rather, uh, "vague," to use a term we've encountered before. In any case, no quotes or paraphrases are provided for this reading, either, giving the reader little to work with.

    Although these examples are less than compelling, I still think the cross-indexing hypothesis is the most convincing skeptical explanation I've heard. Still, it leaves key questions unanswered.

    For one thing, it seems odd that none of the hundreds of people to get readings on Crossing Over have noticed that everything Edward told them had previously been printed in the newspaper. I realize that many people are gullible and have a desperate desire to believe, but you would expect at least a few of them to realize that Edward was parroting an obituary that they must have read and may even have written themselves. For folks like the South Park writers, this objection has no weight, because they regard Edward's audience as brain-dead idiots. I don't share this opinion.

    For another thing, the laborious and time-consuming cross-indexing operation is unlikely to be done by Edward himself. Presumably he has assistants who do the grunt work for him. In an age of six-figure payoffs to anyone who can expose the dark secrets of a celebrity, you would think that one of these assistants would have gone public by now. Perhaps one of them will go public tomorrow, but as of this writing, no one has.* It seems hard to believe that a low-paid computer operator would pass up the chance to make a couple of hundred thousand dollars and become a national celebrity, if he indeed had the goods on America's most famous psychic.

    (*It's now about twenty years later, and no such whistleblower has yet emerged. – MP, 2024)

    For yet another thing, while much of the information Edward presents probably could be obtained from obituaries or from memorials printed in a local newspaper or an alumni magazine, some of the information appears to be too personal, too specific, and, in some cases, too embarrassing to be derived from those sources. My previous essay on Edward gives examples of embarrassing revelations of this sort. In one case, Edward claimed that a woman's late husband was making a reference to handcuffs. The woman, obviously abashed, verified this reference without explaining it, though the audience drew the obvious inference. I think it most unlikely that the couple's penchant for handcuffs ever made it into the husband's obituary.

    In other cases, Edward seems to be able to come up with detailed information about things that the audience member has done very recently – usually minor but specific things that would not attract attention in the press – or about private experiences that the person has shared with no one, not even close friends and relatives.

    Then there is the matter of the experiments performed with Edward and other mediums at the University of Arizona. Some skeptics have argued that precautions against fraud were inadequate, but we must remember that skeptics always say that the precautions, no matter how stringent, are inadequate. Even when tests have been repeated thousands of times in labs all over the world – as is true of the "ganzfeld" ESP experiments, for example – skeptics still say that the data cannot be trusted for one reason or another. It is hard to escape the conclusion that the more diehard skeptics can never be convinced. As the saying goes, "They'll see it when they believe it."

    From my reading of The Afterlife Experiments, I would say that the precautions – especially in the later trials – were quite good. In fact, professional mentalists who have visited Gary Schwartz's laboratory report that they would not be able to perform under such tightly controlled conditions. And we have seen that mentalist Mark Edward was apparently not eager to exhibit his skills at the U. of A.

    Skeptics sometimes counter this point either by insinuating that Schwartz and his colleagues are frauds or by saying openly that Schwartz is a weirdo and therefore nothing he says can be taken seriously. (The redoubtable Leon Jaroff again comes to mind, having been quoted as declaring, "Gary Schwartz believes in the tooth fairy.")

    Neither of these objections holds much water. Schwartz would have little to gain by faking these experiments. If the fakery came to light, his career would be ruined, his professional reputation destroyed. In fact, he has taken a considerable risk and alienated many members of the academic community by conducting the experiments in the first place.

    As for the claim that Schwartz is flaky, I suspect that all paranormal investigators, or even those of us who just like to read up on this topic, come across this way to those who find the whole subject preposterous. And Schwartz's books say anything about the tooth fairy, as far as I recall. At any rate, attacking somebody's character is not an argument – it is a logical fallacy, an ad hominem. Skeptics become very exercised when people launch personal attacks against them, and with good reason – such attacks are out of bounds and serve no useful purpose. But to be consistent, skeptics should not use these tactics, either.

    So where do we stand? The skeptics remain certain that Edward is a fake, although they have not yet provided an adequate explanation of how he pulls off his trickery, and many of their more dramatic claims – reports of TV shows that unmasked Edward as a fraud, for instance – turn out to be without foundation. Even so, fakery can't be ruled out. It's possible that the cross-indexing method described above, perhaps combined with other methods, can explain the readings on Crossing Over. This still wouldn't explain the results of the University of Arizona experimentsresults that mentalists like Mark Edward have so far been unable to match – but until those results have been replicated at other labs, they can't be considered conclusive.

    As I see it, the truth remains up in the air. Those who insist that Edward is defrauding his audience and laughing all the way to the bank have no hard evidence and are making an unproven assumption, often backed up with nothing more than bluster. Those who insist with equal fervor that Edward is for real and could not possibly be guilty of trickery are leading with their hearts rather than their heads, substituting a will to believe for objective proof.

    The reality is that we just don't know. I remain willing to give Edward the benefit of the doubt, but it's understandable if others are not.

    In my first essay, I ended by saying that "something genuinely spooky is going on." I continue to think that this is likely – that there are genuine paranormal abilities on display on Crossing Over. But I chose the evasive phrase "something genuinely spooky" advisedly, because I was not ready to commit myself to the proposition that Edward is actually communicating with the dead. And I'm still not.

    The fact is, even if Edward is using psychic abilities, he may not have any contact with "spirits" at all. He may be using some form of ESP (perhaps without consciously realizing it) to read information from the minds of audience members, which he then repeats back to them. ESP would not account for all the "hits" he gets, but it would account for a good many of them. Quite a few parapsychologists have speculated about "super-ESP," a faculty that would allow the psychic to pull information not only from people in the room with him but from other people miles away, or even from printed sources of information, such as birth records and family albums. The super-ESP hypothesis is far-fetched and difficult to test, but it may not be any more far-fetched than the idea of talking to the dead.

    The bottom line is that even if we accept Edward as a genuine psychic, we need not accept the metaphysics that he offers as an explanation for his abilities.

    There remain more questions than answers. I'm reasonably content with this state of affairs – after all, nobody ever promised that all of life's mysteries would be solved. But as I look at various Web sites and message boards, I get the impression that many people just can't tolerate uncertainty or ambiguity in this area. For them, there must be a final, definitive, black-and-white answer, either pro or con. Leaving the matter in suspense is unacceptable. And so, depending on their predilections and temperament, they leap either to a hard-core skeptical position or to an equally hard-core true-believer position. In this sense, the militant skeptics and the zealous believers are not so far apart. Each side insists that it has the incontrovertible truth, and that anyone who disagrees is a fool fit only to be pitied and ridiculed. Hence the harsh rhetoric, the name-calling, the bitter sarcasm, and the ongoing, often pointless debate.

    In the end, I suspect that the truth will turn out to be more complicated and more interesting than either side expects.

    Time will tell.

  • NOTE: I used to have several older essays on the paranormal posted on my author site. When I recently updated the site, I removed all this material and decided to post it here. Here's one of the essays. — January 24, 2024

     

    The Two Faces of Margery
     

    Her name was Mina Crandon, but the world knew her as Margery – a pseudonym adopted to protect her from publicity. She lived with her husband, the successful surgeon LeRoi Goddard Crandon, on Boston's affluent Beacon Hill. It was there, in their house on Lime Street, in 1923, that she purportedly discovered she had psychic powers – specifically, the ability to levitate objects, generate occult noises, and materialize "spirit" forms. These phenomena were controlled, she said, by the spirit of her deceased brother, Walter, who would speak through Mina in a gruff, decidedly unspiritual manner, his no-nonsense comments liberally laced with profanities. Before long, Mina's talents came to the attention of researchers, and she was closely studied, on and off, for the ensuing ten years. A thorough examination of the claims and counterclaims of the various researchers would require a book-length essay. I'm not that ambitious. Instead, what I'd like to do is compare and contrast the accounts of the initial investigations, as presented in two influential books: Science and Parascience, by Brian Inglis (1984), and Mediums, Mystics, and the Occult, by Milbourne Christopher (1975), with only occasional forays into other sources, when necessary. In the process we may not learn anything conclusive about Margery, but we will learn something about the hazards and frustrations of studying the paranormal.

    Each author no doubt strives for factual accuracy and relative impartiality, but people's preconceived opinions always interfere with their quest for objectivity to some extent. Inglis admits as much in the postscript to his book: "In trying to clear away the debris of misconceptions and misinterpretations I have found it difficult not to slip into the role of counsel for the defence, and for that reason my own interpretation must be treated with reserve; but the records are there, for anybody who cares to check on them." Inglis, then, is sympathetic to the claims of researchers and their subjects, whom he sees as embattled underdogs oppressed by a hostile, closed-minded establishment. Christopher, an accomplished professional magician, brings a very different perspective. He regards claims of psychic phenomena with a skeptical eye and sees mediums and psychics as frauds playing tricks on the gullible. "Scientists who are convinced that human beings have extrasensory powers rarely take the proper precautions to rule out the possibility of trickery," he writes. "Indeed, unless they are experts in the subtle techniques used by magicians and mentalists, or have someone who is to assist them during their experiments, it is almost impossible for them to detect ingenious deceptions." The battle lines are drawn – Inglis, the counsel for the defense; Christopher, the prosecuting attorney.

    Inglis begins his case by indicting the competence of Margery's investigators. "Few of the researchers had any experience in this field … Those who were experienced, too, tended to bring their preconceptions and prejudices along with them." He then makes a preliminary argument for the genuineness of the phenomena. "The Crandons were not the kind of people whom it was easy to suspect of trickery … They allowed precautions to be taken: investigators were encouraged to search the rooms in which the séances took place. Mina also allowed herself to be searched, before she put on a kimono, silk stockings and slippers, and made her appearance. Her 'cabinet' [a standard accessory for many mediums – an enclosed space in which Mina would sit] was open at the front, and large enough for an investigator who wanted to check on her to sit beside her … And although the seances were normally held in darkness, apart from an occasional flash of 'red light,' the outline of Mina's body was picked out by luminous pins stuck into her kimono, and luminous bands round her wrists and ankles. Or, sometimes, her wrists and ankles were attached to the cabinet with picture wire." Christopher makes no mention of picture wire or of luminous pins. He mentions the luminous bands only in connection with later séances, indicating that this method was not used during the earlier sessions.

    Both Christopher and Inglis point out that Mina was "controlled" (held) on her right side by her husband, who could have been in cahoots with her. Inglis mitigates this damaging admission by adding, "The fact that Crandon was sitting beside her, and was himself controlled on the other side, meant that he could not be held responsible for the distant raps, the music, the luminosities and the movements and levitations of objects rendered visible with luminous paint, which continually featured – unless the Crandons were using some gadget such as a telescopic 'arm,' with a 'hand' and 'fingers,' and no such elaborate contraption was ever found." Inglis might have added that in some séances, an investigator "circled with one of his hands the fingers of both the medium and her husband" (Harry Houdini, "Margery" the Medium Exposed), although it seems that this "control" was not maintained perfectly throughout a séance.

    There were a few other debating points Inglis might have used, but didn't. For instance, Walter's voice was said to manifest even when Mina's mouth was filled with water or marbles (John Beloff, Parapsychology: A Concise History, 1997), or even when everyone at the séance table, including her husband, filled his or her mouth with water (Theodore Besterman, Some Modern Mediums, 1930). Some reports claimed that the voice did not come from Mina's direction at all (Daniel Stashower, "The Medium and the Magician," American History magazine, August 1999).

    A more complex argument in Mina's favor is made by Nandor Fodor in his Encyclopedia of Psychic Science (1933). He describes a so-called "Voice Control Machine, designed by Dr. Mark Richardson, of Boston, for use in the Margery séances." This device "consists of a U-shaped tube in which small luminous floats were placed on the surface of the water. By means of a flexible tube which had a specially constructed mouthpiece the medium blew into the tube and caused, by the pressure of air, the second column of water to rise. This position was retained as long as the mouthpiece was tightly held by the medium's lips and tongue. The collapse of the column of water could be immediately detected in the dark by means of the luminous floats." Thus, Richardson was allegedly able to ascertain that Mina was not speaking when Walter's voice was heard. Whether Dr. Crandon was in the room is not mentioned.

    Fodor continues, "Yet an even more satisfactory control was devised by B. K. Thorogood; a cubical box, made of layers of seven different materials, completely soundproof, closed and padlocked, containing a large, very sensitive microphone, connected by two wires emerging from the box to a distant loudspeaker. While sitters in the séance room heard nothing the voice of Walter issued from the loudspeaker in the distant room, proving that the voice had its origin through the 'mike' in the box. Under such conditions the independence of the voices in the Margery séances was completely proved."

    Finally, Inglis could have observed that the Crandons were able to produce their phenomena even when they were far from home, in an environment that presumably they could not have rigged for special-effects tricks. Here is part of a letter written by psychic investigator T. Glen Hamilton in 1927:

    "During three days' stay in Winnipeg, Mrs. Crandon kindly gave three sittings at all of which brilliant phenomena were observed by over forty well-known people of this city. As these phenomena took place under entirely new surroundings, I think they should be carefully reported … I am prepared to state most emphatically that the 'Margery' phenomena are absolutely genuine; and a number of other medical men who were privileged to be present at the 'Margery' sittings have reached the same conclusion. Furthermore, I know of none who witnessed the phenomena here who have been able to suggest any worthwhile criticism. In a word, they are astounded at the simplicity of conditions under which these amazing phenomena occur." ("Introduction to the Second Edition" of Dr. T. Glen Hamilton's Intention and Survival, 1942)

    Hamilton, a medical doctor, examined Mina during some of her séances and was impressed to find that her respiratory rate could fall to only five or six breaths a minute (Intention and Survival, Chapter 3). It is certainly possible to induce such slow respiration via breath control exercises or meditation (l've done it myself), but it might be difficult to maintain such control while pulling off elaborate sleight-of-hand and sleight-of-foot tricks, as Mina's detractors alleged.

    Interestingly, Mina's brother Walter supposedly served as a spirit control for two other mediums tested by Hamilton in Winnipeg. This purported Walter seemed to know intimate details of the Margery seances in Boston, including the peculiar and little-known claim made by one investigator that Mina fraudulently produced Walter's voice by speaking "with her ears" instead of her mouth (Margaret Lillian Hamilton, "An Introduction to the Researches of Dr. T. Glen Hamilton," in Is Survival a Fact?, 1969). Some sense of the lengths to which skeptical researchers were driven to explain the voice phenomena may be suggested by this unlikely hypothesis.

    I include these points, even though Brian Inglis does not, because I want to make the best possible case for Mina Crandon (who will come under some heavy fire later), and because I want to show that Inglis does not overstate his facts. It may be worth mentioning that Milbourne Christopher makes no mention of any of the above details, either.

    As word of Mina's séances spread, Harvard psychologist William McDougall obtained the Crandons' permission to investigate the phenomena. In discussing McDougall's initial investigation, Inglis tells this story: "When McDougall elected to sit in the cabinet with the entranced 'Margery,' the better to watch her, the cabinet was quietly dismantled around them, the screws being removed and put in a heap outside the circle."

    Christopher does not mention this event, but he does describe a memorable episode witnessed by McDougall and his student Harry Helson. "[One night] the most exciting manifestation occurred on the ground floor. [In near darkness] a piano stool … glided down the hall; it stopped abruptly about seven feet away from the men. They leaped up and examined the stool. They were able to see well enough to tell that no mechanical device was attached to its base." This phenomenon was later repeated. Helson "thought he knew how the trick was done. It had glided toward a register [i.e., a grill-like device allowing heated air into a room] in the floor of the corridor. This grillwork was a remnant of an old hot-air heating system that had been replaced by steam radiators throughout the house. He reasoned that if a string were attached to the base of the stool, with the free end extending down the hall and through one of the small openings in the register, someone in the cellar by pulling on the string could tug the stool toward the register."

    Helson and McDougall later found a short length of string and accused Mina of trickery, but the string was satisfactorily explained as piece of the fringe from a rug. Christopher accepts this explanation but comments, "There is another possible explanation for the mysterious moving stool. If someone had passed one end of a long strong thread up through the register, along the hall, around one leg of the stool, back down the corridor, and through the register, this secret operator could have drawn the stool down the hall by hiding in the cellar and pulling on both ends of the thread. Whenever he wished the stool to stop, he could have released one end and rapidly hauled in the other. By the time an observer reached the stool, the motivating force would be in the cellar."

    Now see how Inglis describes the same events: "Eventually, following a séance in which a piano stool danced to music, moving several feet in the process, Helson found an eight-inch piece of string on the floor. McDougall summoned Mina to his office, and told her they had caught her out at last: the movement of objects in the séances, they now knew, had been contrived by attaching string to them, which an accomplice could tug at through the ventilator in the wall. By her own account Mina left him in a fit of the giggles. Even if so obvious a device had not been detected in careful searches which the investigators had invariably made of the room, she knew that the ventilator had been blocked up years before."

    Soon other investigators became involved, in connection with a much-publicized prize of $2500 offered by the magazine Scientific American for any "visible psychic manifestation" (as opposed to exhibitions of mental telepathy, say). As this was the kind of thing at which Mina Crandon excelled, the magazine's investigating committee was promptly invited to the Crandons' house. Inglis writes, "To show that she bore McDougall no grudge, too, [Mina] raised no objection to his being one of the Scientific American's team." Christopher differs mildly: "The Crandons regarded Professor McDougall as an antagonist after the string episode."

    Inglis describes one member of the investigating team, Hereward Carrington, as having an "encyclopedic" knowledge of the tricks used by mediums. Carrington was a believer in psychic phenomena and eventually endorsed Mina as genuine. To Christopher, his credentials are suspect. "Widely read in both occultism and conjuring, [Carrington] has been called an expert magician. This is not quite true. Though he studied the standard texts and subscribed to conjuring periodicals, he rarely performed and then usually for friends." Christopher casts additional doubt on Carrington by writing, "Carrington found the medium to be a fascinating woman. In later years he reminisced with old friends about his amorous adventures with her." Inglis makes no mention of any amorous adventures. Further, Christopher says Carrington later admitted to a friend that he had only pretended to believe in Mina's powers: "He hoped to get Crandon's financial backing for a psychical research foundation." There is no mention of this in Inglis's book, and the alleged admission, like the one about romantic episodes, seems to be purely anecdotal. (Christopher doesn't mention it, but Stashower's American History article, cited above, includes the further claim that one of the investigators had actually borrowed money from Crandon – another report that cannot be verified, as far as I know.)

    Just as they disagree in evaluating Carrington, the authors offer contradictory estimations of the more skeptical members of the team. In Christopher's treatment, Walter Franklin Prince comes off as a brilliant and intrepid investigator, deftly exposing one ruse after another. Inglis is less kind: "Prince attended few sittings; in any case, he should not have accepted the role of referee because he was very deaf, and as the séances would be largely in darkness, he would be deprived of the use of two senses." Elsewhere, paraphrasing a later report favorable to Mina, he says, "Prince was so deaf that he could not hear [a] bell … ringing even when it was ringing in his lap."

    The investigators sat through a number of séances. According to Inglis, "The sitters witnessed phosphorescent lights and movements of objects at a distance from the medium, as well as feeling touches from invisible hands while both Crandon and 'Margery' were under their control." Christopher only briefly mentions the lights, but does not discuss any touches of spirit hands when the Crandons' locations were accounted for. Inglis: "In addition, 'Walter' made good his boast that he could manipulate a pair of scales which [physicist Daniel] Comstock had brought along as a contribution to the tests, in light just good enough to show that nobody was touching them." Or did he? Christopher: "Periodically Walter attempted to tip [the scales]. They were broken one night when the table on which they rested was overturned in the dark, and this testing device was discarded."

    Inglis: "Scores of times, too, 'Walter' managed to ring an electric bell in a box designed by the investigators, so that it sounded only when the telegraph-type key was pressed down, the key being out of the Crandons' reach – sometimes when sitters were actually holding the box in their hands." Christopher mentions the electric bell box but does not report that it was out of the Crandons' reach or that it would ring when sitters were holding it. Inglis: "And when [Scientific American associate editor James Malcolm] Bird decided to satisfy himself that Margery could not be responsible for the effects, by sitting in the 'cabinet' alongside her, 'Walter' laid on an impressive demonstration for his benefit by ripping off a whole wing of the cabinet on the side where Bird was sitting, and then dragging the remains around the room, carrying the two of them in it." Christopher does not mention this episode.

    Inglis: "Eventually 'Margery' began producing a pseudopod which felt like an extended arm, with a hand and fingers capable of touching and gripping objects … It emerged while her hands were controlled – and could be seen to be controlled, from the luminous bands round her wrists." Christopher has still not mentioned the luminous bands at this point. If one were to judge by his account, the bands were not used until later. (I can't say when they were first used.) But he does devote a good deal of space to a test that Inglis does not mention — an attempt to get "Walter" to manipulate some items inside a sealed bottle. The attempt was a failure.

    It appears that at least some members of the Scientific American committee were impressed. It was at this stage that the committee's most famous member, the great stage magician Harry Houdini, became involved. Inglis writes, "Houdini's commitments prevented him from attending the early sittings." Christopher presents a different version: "Until Houdini … received a letter from Bird in June – three months after the preliminary investigation started – the magician had not been informed that one was under way." Christopher's version seems to accord with the facts as presented in Houdini's own pamphlet on the subject. The pamphlet includes the above-mentioned letter from Bird indicating that Houdini had not been informed of the Margery research.

    In any case, Houdini was a late arrival to the investigation. Even so, he quickly took charge – and sowed the seeds of further controversy. To this day, the famed magician's degree of impartiality remains a hotly contested topic, and predictably Inglis and Christopher differ in their interpretation. Christopher presents Houdini as a model of investigative rigor and rectitude, while Inglis says Houdini "could be unscrupulous in twisting evidence" and "was by this time incapable of separating fact from invention."

    Houdini, according to Inglis, "by 1924… had ceased even to pretend to himself that he could conduct a dispassionate investigation … He had been on a lecture tour of the United States as advance publicity for his book [condemning spiritualism], and on it he had vehemently announced spiritualism as the cause of distress, madness and suicide." He allegedly told the publisher of Scientific American: "I will forfeit a thousand dollars if I do not detect her if she resorts to trickery." Christopher says nothing about the thousand-dollar challenge. If he had mentioned it, he might have noted that Houdini, according to his self-published pamphlet, added immediately, "Of course if she is genuine there is nothing to expose." By omitting this part of the quote, Inglis gives the impression that Houdini was more biased than his own account would suggest.

    Christopher, who authored a well-reviewed biography of Houdini, celebrates the magician as the person who unmasked Mina. Inglis, on the other hand, says that upon Houdini's arrival, "the investigation began to fall apart." Both accounts agree that during their first séance together, Houdini sat to the left of Mina, holding her left hand and pressing his leg against hers to act as her control on that side. The bell box, placed on the floor between Houdini's feet, rang more than once. A megaphone was picked up in the darkness and hurled to the floor. The table was tilted upward. The cabinet behind Margery fell over.

    Christopher goes on to recount Houdini's explanations. Houdini had felt Margery's leg slide down his as she reached behind his chair to press the button on the bell box with her foot. She had slipped the megaphone on her head during a moment when control was lax and then had tossed it with a shake of her head. She had eased her head under the table to push it upward while her hands and feet were held. She had slipped a foot under the lightweight cabinet and pulled it down. Inglis finds fault with these explanations: "[Houdini's] argument took no account of the possibility that the motive force might be supplied by pseudopods."

    Pseudopods or not, the committee as a whole had not been persuaded that Margery was a fake, so Houdini designed a special box in which Mina would be kept during the séance. Only her hands and head would protrude from the box, obviously limiting the extent of any shenanigans she could perform. Christopher reports that Dr. Crandon objected to this device on the ground that it might prevent the pseudopods from emerging. Nevertheless, Mina consented to the experiment.

    There is now an important discrepancy between the accounts of Inglis and Christopher. Inglis says that for this test Houdini and Prince acted as Mina's controls on the left and right sides. But Christopher says that Dr. Crandon continued to act as his wife's control on the right side until a later session, when Prince took over. Christopher: "The test session ended abruptly after the hinged front of the box clattered down in the dark. Crandon said Walter must have forced it open; Houdini claimed the medium had used her shoulders to loosen the narrow brass strips that held the panels closed." Inglis: "Houdini's explanation … invited the question how she could have used such force without Houdini and Prince noticing any change in the tension of her hands." But of course, if it was Houdini and Crandon – as opposed to Houdini and Prince – exercising control over Mina, then it would have been considerably easier for her to move her shoulders, or at least the shoulder on her right side (the side controlled by her husband).

    The box was re-secured, and another controversy ensued. Inglis: "'Walter' came through and denounced Houdini in unprintable terms for interfering with the bell-box. Examining it, Comstock found that a small rubber eraser had been wedged into it to make it harder to ring. Houdini disclaimed responsibility; but as he had been responsible for checking it, Margery had clearly won the first round." Christopher reports things differently. After the lid had opened, "the committee left the room, and the Crandons [and some friends] returned for [a] private session. Only they know what was said while the magazine's investigators were closed off in another room. This much is certain: when the members of the committee again entered the room and the seance resumed, Walter went on the attack [against Houdini] … Eventually Walter told Comstock to examine carefully the bell box under a light. Comstock did, and found a small round eraser … wedged under the lid … Houdini made a statement for the record that he had not put the eraser there."

    So was Houdini the last one to have checked the bell box? Or was there ample opportunity for the Crandons and their friends to insert the eraser themselves?

    A larger controversy was to follow. The next time Margery was enclosed in the now-reinforced box, Walter accused Houdini of putting a ruler inside the box with her. Inglis: "The [box] was opened, and there was a rule which, if her hands and been released, 'Margery' might in theory have been able to convey to her mouth and use to ring the bell in the box, and perhaps play other tricks. Again, Houdini denied that either he or [his assistant James] Collins was responsible; but as only they had had access to the [box], he was reduced to blaming the woman he had employed to search Mina before the séance." Christopher has a somewhat different take: "Soon Walter spoke up and implied Houdini had put a ruler under the cushion on which the medium's feet rested. While the magician had not been in the room prior to the sitting, Walter said Houdini's assistant had been … when the box was unlocked, a new carpenter's ruler, a two-foot length folded in four six-inch sections, was discovered under the pillow. Comstock suggested that it might have been left behind when the box was being strengthened … Collins said his ruler was still in his pocket. He took it out and showed it." Houdini swore an oath that he knew nothing of the ruler, and made his assistant do the same.

    There is a famous postscript to this story. Some years later, after Houdini's death, James Collins allegedly confessed that he did indeed plant the ruler on Houdini's orders. "I chucked it in the box myself. The boss told me to do it." Christopher argues that Collin's alleged confession was concocted by a former friend of Houdini with an axe to grind. He adds, "I knew Collins, too. He idolized Houdini, and would have been the last person on earth to implicate him even if there had been some sort of a plot to set up Margery. Thus, the story falls of its own weight." Inglis, addressing Christopher's arguments for the only time in his account, writes, "Milbourne Christopher, himself a magician – and a sceptic – has since dismissed the story [as sheer fiction] on the ground that it had been reported by somebody who felt he had been disparaged by Houdini." Inglis then goes on offense, reporting that Christopher himself admitted that Houdini withheld a photo of Mina from publication because it appeared to show a blurred halo around her head. Inglis's point is that if Houdini was so implacably hostile to Mina as to be unwilling to disclose any evidence that might bolster Mina's case, then he may have been willing to frame her with a planted ruler, as well.

    Tacitly dismissing Collins' alleged confession, Inglis writes, "Houdini would have been rash to entrust the rule to his assistant. The more probable explanation … is that he himself, certain that she was 'a fake' but impressed by her skill, had put the rule into the [box] as a form of insurance, so that even if she did succeed in impressing Prince and Comstock during the séance, he would have a let-out." Such were the tensions between the Crandons and Houdini that Walter pronounced the magician's doom. Christopher: "Walter had predicted during a Margery séance the previous December that the magician would die in less than a year. He failed to oblige and continued to denounce the medium and duplicate her tricks during his performances." What Christopher doesn't mention is that while Houdini outlived the prediction, he didn't outlive it by very long. He died on October 31, 1926 – within two years (not one) of Walter's pronouncement.

    Whatever the truth of the ruler episode may have been, the controversy surrounding the ruler brought an end to the investigation. Margery did not get the Scientific American prize (nor did anyone else), but she continued to be the subject of other investigations, which became the focus of new disputes too arcane to be explored here.

    Another curious postscript to the early investigations involves an accusation published by Scientific American's James Malcolm Bird in 1930. Rather unexpectedly, given his earlier support of Mina, he now claimed that she had tried to gain his cooperation in fooling Houdini. "She sought a private interview with me and tried to get me to agree, in the event that phenomena did not occur, that I would ring the bell-box myself, or produce something else that might pass as activity by 'Walter.'" He also said he'd found Mina cheating on some occasions in 1924, although he thought some of the phenomena were genuine. Inglis focuses on the damage this admission did to Bird's own credibility: "If he had noticed cheating, why had he not said so that time? For propagating this heresy, Bird was sacked from his job as [a parapsychology society's] research officer [and] faded from the scene." Christopher does not mention any damage to Bird's own career, instead focusing on the accusation itself: "Even Bird, in his book 'Margery' the Medium, admitted she could deceive investigators, if she wished. No other medium, Bird said, was more alert or could 'get more fun' from doing this. Even so, he insisted that she produced genuine phenomena."

    Inglis doesn't explain why Bird changed his mind, but Christopher presents a theory. "Thomas Tietze in his biography Margery … says that an allegedly true account of how this came about is in the files of the [American Society for Psychical Research]. Bird, who had been drinking heavily, arrived at the Crandon house with a woman, whose presence the surgeon and his wife would not tolerate. Bird, infuriated, retaliated with a few barbed comments charging Crandon and Margery with bizarre sexual interests." This argument turned Bird against the Crandons, Christopher suggests. Of course there is no way to verify this anecdote, and even if it is true, it would not prove that Bird's allegations about the Crandons were factual.

    Bird's revelations, whatever their truthfulness, were overshadowed by a new development which was said to have discredited Mina Crandon once and for all. Mina had developed the technique of impressing ghostly thumbprints in wax during her séances, these prints allegedly belonging to her dead brother and spirit control, Walter. But in 1934, it was proved that one of the thumbprints was actually identical with that of Mina's dentist. "All except the most rabid Crandon supporters," Christopher writes in obvious satisfaction, "eventually admitted that … Mina had stamped with a die the dentist's prints on hot wax … Time and truth were on the side of" Mina's critics.

    Inglis puts the best possible spin on the embarrassing developmenta: "This discovery brought Margery's career to an end, for investigative purposes. Yet … it did not in itself discredit her mediumship… Discoveries about the identity of the thumbprint did nothing to explain how [this and many other prints] had been imprinted on the wax at a time when Margery was supposed to be firmly controlled … It was not easy to see how Margery escaped from control time after time to produce [thumbprints] without ever being detected."

    Inglis then proceeds to his summation. "What has tended to be forgotten is that during ten years of séances, night after night, week after week, the Crandons were never actually detected in fraud. On the few occasions when individuals claimed to have seen how the tricks were done … they claimed only to have seen her do what … might be done by a pseudopod, if such psychic limbs existed. In any case, the kind of trickery which Houdini … claimed [he] had witnessed could not begin to account for the staggering range of phenomena which 'Margery' or 'Walter' produced; a range which can only be appreciated by a study of the transcripts … objects moved at a distance, tables turned somersaults, apports [materializations] came and went, and 'Walter's' voice boomed out from different directions – even when, as Comstock testified, he had his hands over the mouths of both Crandons."

    And he questions motive. "If [the Crandons] were prestidigitators, cunning enough to have won Houdini's admiration, why should they have gone on giving private séances, as they were to do even after they had ceased to be involved in the investigations? There was no money in them; and if fame was what they were after, they could have had it far more easily … by performing as conjurers." Christopher offers a rebuttal suggested by Joseph Banks Rhine and his wife Louisa, who were to become the two most prominent parapsychologists of the second half of the 20th century. After sitting in on one of Mina's seances, the Rhines were convinced she and Dr. Crandon were conniving at fraud. But why? They "investigated the surgeon's background, and … offered a possible explanation for his sponsorship of Margery as a medium. He had suffered 'a decided loss of position and prestige before he turned into the study of psychic phenomena. Knowing that he was a materialist and dreaded dying, his wife deceived him during the early table-tilting experiments with sleight of foot and hand. When he found she was cheating, he cooperated with her, enjoying his new prominence as a 'martyr to the cause of science' and an authority on modern mediumship." It should perhaps be pointed out that the Rhines, despite their credentials as psychologists, had no special claim to understanding the Crandons' psyches. They had never treated the Crandons as patients and, as far as I know, were hardly acquainted with the couple. Further, J.B. Rhine later showed himself to be somewhat hostile to the very idea of scientific investigation of life after death, regarding it as a useless field of endeavor. Discrediting Mina Crandon had the effect of diverting attention from mediumship and focusing it instead on ESP – which was, providentially, the Rhines' own area of study.

    Christopher ends his account on a somber note: "In 1939, Dr. Crandon slipped and fell down the stairs that led to the séance room; he died several weeks later on December 27. By then the medium, whose sensuous appeal once excited the men who sat with her in the dark, was drinking excessively … On November 1st, 1941, the ravages of alcoholism took their toll. Margery, the most versatile psychic in history, died as she slept in the house on Lime Street, where eighteen years before, to please her husband, she became a medium." The impression he conveys is that grim justice was finally served. The Crandons paid for their deception, or so he implies.

    In Inglis's account there is no mention of Mina's alleged alcoholism or of the circumstances of either Crandon's death. Instead there is a final expression of indignation at the researchers. "The responsibility for their failure must rest chiefly with the investigators themselves; Prince in particular … He should never, in view of his deafness and his incurable antipathy to the physical phenomena, have allowed himself to become involved in the actual investigations … Unluckily the physical phenomena were his blind spot – as they were McDougall's – at the very time when unprejudiced investigation was needed."

    I cannot resist adding another strange postscript, this time from 1994, when, at a seance, Walter was allegedly summoned up. Sixty years after the thumbprint debacle, Walter explained what had really happened, saying that Dr. Crandon "himself in desperation to gain credibility for my sister's mediumship resorted to what you call fraud." Mina's prolonged exposure to the hostile skepticism of various researchers had drained her powers, and Crandon had been driven to his "foolish" trick  (Ark Review, July-August 1998, citing Psychic News, 5 January 1994). Of course there is no way to verify this, and since it was Mina, not her husband, who obtained her dentist's thumbprint, the explanation doesn't seem very satisfactory.

    So … was Mina Crandon a fraud, acting in collusion with her husband to fool gullible investigators? Or did she have genuine paranormal abilities, and was she framed by Houdini, the archenemy of all professed mediums? If you read only Christopher's account, you will come to one conclusion. If you read only Inglis's account, you will reach the opposite verdict. Christopher lionizes the more skeptical researchers. The others, those who were convinced of Margery's genuineness, were lovesick fools or amateurish bunglers. Inglis admires the researchers who fought to convince the public that Margery had psychic gifts. To him, the skeptics were prejudiced, narrow-minded, unscrupulous. In Christopher's book, if a researcher accepts the existence of psychic phenomena, he is branded as credulous. In Inglis's book, if a researcher rejects the existence of psychic phenomena, he is branded as reactionary. Houdini, the most famous debunker of mediums in history, is a stalwart hero in Christopher's version and a duplicitous egomaniac in Inglis's account.

    And here we have the big problem for anyone who wants to seriously research these long-ago events. Most writers in this field have an agenda, either pro or con. Like skillful lawyers, they pick out those pieces of evidence most useful to their case, while ignoring or dismissing inconvenient facts and unhelpful allegations. Anyone seeking to reach an impartial conclusion will be hampered by the biases exhibited on both sides. At this late date, seventy years or more after Mina Crandon's heyday, it may well be impossible to reconstruct what really took place. Different authors, reviewing the same essential facts, come to mutually exclusive conclusions. Objective certainty remains forever elusive.

    William Blake stated the problem more poetically:

    Both read the Bible day and night

    But thou read'st black where I read white.