One story, two ways

After fifteen years of writing here at Skeptophilia, one thing that never fails to amaze me is how little it takes to get a crazy claim going -- and that afterward, it's nearly impossible to eradicate.

The reason for the latter is, I think, a variety of factors.  First, there's the undeniable fact that the outré explanations are nearly always way more interesting than the prosaic ones, and the result is the Fox Mulder Effect:

I must admit, a wee bit shame-facedly, to having experienced this myself.  I went through an unfortunate period in my college years and early twenties when I wanted desperately for stuff like Tarot card divination, precognitive dreams, various cryptids, and past lives to be true, and read books on the topics voraciously.  Eventually -- and fortunately -- better sense, training in scientific skepticism, and an innate drive toward honestly won the day, and I gave it all up as a bad job.  Not, of course, without some pangs of regret.  That our lives were subject to mystical, ineffable powers, that magic was in some sense real -- well, the draw was powerful.  Today I might rail against the true believers who still fall for such attractive fictions, but at the same time, I understand them all too well.

Second, there's the sunk-cost effect -- that once you've put a lot of time and energy into promoting an idea, it's tempting to stick with it even once you know it's a losing battle (partly explaining how there are still significant numbers of people desperately clinging to Donald Trump's sinking ship).  Admitting that you were wrong, or -- worse -- that you were bamboozled can be profoundly embarrassing.

Third, as we've seen here many times before, once the seed of an idea is planted, expunging it is about as easy as getting toothpaste back into the tube.  It remains in our memories like some sort of insidious post-hypnotic suggestion.  This is especially true if you keep running into it over and over, something that social media has made a hundred times worse.  As the (probably apocryphal) quote from Joseph Goebbels says, "If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, eventually people will believe it."

I think you can come up with a few modern examples of this principle without my prompting.

But to take a less emotionally-charged instance of all this, today let's look at the strange tale of the three-thousand-year-old cellphone.  I'll tell the story two different way, and see which appeals to you.

In about 1300 C.E., in the ruins of an ancient Babylonian city in what is now Iraq, a historian found a strange-looking artifact:

[Image licensed under the Creative Commons Karl Weingärtner (User:Kalligrafiemonk), Babylonokia, CC BY-SA 4.0]

Naturally enough, seven hundred years ago they had no idea what the strange object was.  The writing in the ovals, and the inscription at the top, though, they recognized as clearly cuneiform, a script consisting of wedge-shaped impressions, originally made using the triangular ends of reed stems.  Cuneiform is most commonly associated with Sumerian, a linguistic isolate, but was adapted for use by a number of other unrelated languages in the region, including Akkadian, Eblaite, Elamite, Hurrian, Luwian, and Urartian.  Because some of these languages even now are only partially understood, the finder of the artifact knew only that it was some kind of ancient script, but not what the symbols meant.

Today, though, the object takes on a much greater, and stranger, significance.  It's been dated to the thirteenth century B.C.E., and investigated by archaeologists (who later covered up their findings because of how earthshattering the conclusions were).  But the information was leaked, picked up by a site called Paranormal Crucible, and used to support an astonishing claim: the ancient Babylonians had modern technology -- including something very like a cellphone.

Cue the Ancient Astronauts crowd experiencing multiple orgasms.

Okay, now let's do the story a different way.

In 2012 a German artist named Karl Weingärtner created a piece of art out of clay that looked like a mobile phone with cuneiform buttons.  He made it, he said, as a reaction to the negative effects of global information technology after visiting an exhibition at Berlin's Museum of Communication called From the Cuneiform to the SMS: Communication Once and Today.  Weingärtner posted an image of the (initially untitled) piece on Facebook as part of a promotion of his art, and one of his followers promptly christened it the Babylonokia.

Well, once an image is online, it's damn near impossible to stop people from downloading it and then doing what they want to with it.  And that's exactly what happened.  Someone grabbed the photo and reposted it -- claiming that it was a real three-thousand-year-old artifact from ancient Mesopotamia.

Thing is, very few people can read Sumerian (or Akkadian etc.), so almost nobody could see that the symbols themselves were meaningless, vaguely cuneiform-like scribbles.  I'm reminded of the absolutely cringe-worthy thing going around -- I've even heard of it being used in elementary school classrooms as a "multicultural lesson" -- where you "convert your name to Japanese characters" by some bogus one-to-one correspondence between hiragana and the English alphabet, which doesn't even try to get close to how sounds are expressed in the Japanese language.  Weingärtner, of course, wasn't simply being a blithering insular bigot the way the Japanese character people are, but was making an (entirely different) point about the ubiquity of technology.

And in any case, there are very few Sumerians still around who might be offended.

Conclusion: there are no three-thousand-year-old cellphones.  The person who lifted Weingärtner's image and reposted it as an actual artifact was, to put not too fine a point on it, lying.  The ones coming afterward who believed it are simply gullible, or else have been reading too much Erich von Däniken and Graham Hancock.

Which, now that I come to think of it, are kind of the same thing.

The problem is, you can see why the first version of the story has real sticking power, and the second one doesn't.  There are still people using Weingärtner's clay cellphone as evidence that advanced technology existed in the distant past, and the photo shows up regularly on websites devoted to Ancient Astronauts and "unsolved mysteries," lo unto this very day.

Further evidence that once a claim gets out there, there's no getting it back.  And that, as the Rock Man from Harry Nilsson's The Point said, "You see what you wanna see, you hear what you wanna hear."

So when you run into a claim like this, just keep your rational facilities engaged, okay?  I mean, I get why weird explanations are appealing.  I've been there, and in some ways, I'm still there.  I just feel like it's more important to find the real answer, you know?  As Carl Sagan put it, "For me, it is far better to grasp the Universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring."

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Sphere itself

A loyal reader of Skeptophilia asked me what I knew about a strange geological oddity called "Klerksdorp spheres," which are round-ish objects with a metallic sheen, often with two or three parallel grooves at the equator, most commonly found near Ottosdal, South Africa.  They're a prominent feature in the arguments of the Ancient Astronauts crowd, where they're often claimed to have been dropped here on Earth during an alien visitation billions of years ago, only to be unearthed today.

His email said:

I'm not saying I agree with them -- in general I don't just accept far-fetched explanations -- but I've seen lots of photos of these things and they're peculiar.  It's hard for me to imagine how they could form naturally.  They're all over the place on webpages about "out of place artifacts," and a lot of people think they're evidence that we were visited by aliens in the distant past, or at least that early civilizations had a lot better technology than we thought was possible.  At least I thought I'd ask you what you think, and whether there's any chance these things aren't natural.

Well, first of all, thanks for asking.  To me, even if you lean toward weird or paranormal or non-scientific explanations, you can go a long way toward avoiding drowning in the Great Swamp of Woo simply by admitting that you don't know for sure.

The thing is, though, the paragraph from the email is basically the argument from incredulity -- "I can't imagine how this could happen" = "it must be aliens/magic/the supernatural/God."  (Intelligent design creationism is really nothing more than a religious version of the argument from incredulity.)  The proper response to "I can't imagine how this could happen" should be one of two things: (1) "... so I simply don't know the answer," or (2) "... so I'll try to find out more scientifically credible evidence about it."

As astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson put it -- in this case, referring to UFOs -- "Remember what the 'U' in 'UFO' stands for.  It stands for 'unidentified.'  Well, if something is unidentified, it means you don't know what it is.  If you don't know what it is, that's where the conversation should end.  You don't then go on to say that 'therefore it must be' anything."

Anyhow, I chose option #2 and did a bit of looking into the question posed by the writer.  I won't argue that the Klerksdorp spheres are odd-looking:

[Image is in the Public Domain courtesy of photographer Robert Huggett]

If I found something like this, my first thought would certainly be to wonder if it was some sort of human-made artifact.  The thing is, they've been found in a three-billion-year-old pyrophyllite deposit in South Africa -- not somewhere you'd expect to find modern ball-bearings.

Here's the problem, though.  Rather than doing any kind of sober analysis, the Alien Manufacture cadre has perpetually misrepresented the actual facts about the spheres.  One of the worst is the "Vedic creationist" Michael Cremo, author of the book Forbidden Archaeology, who believes (amongst other things) that humans in more or less their present form have been around for millions, possibly billions, of years.  Here are a few of the verifiable facts that Cremo and others get wrong:

• The objects are "perfect spheres."  Anyone with intact vision can see from the example shown that they're relatively symmetrical oblate spheroids, but are far from perfect spheres.
• They're made of a nickel-steel alloy "only known from human manufacture."  In fact, detailed analysis found them to be composed of a combination of hematite (Fe2O3) and wollastonite (CaSiO3).
• The objects, once placed on a shelf in a "vibration-free case" in a museum in Klerksdorp, "rotated by themselves."  This seems to have been a misquotation of the museum curator, Roelf Marx, who stated that the spheres had been jostled by tremors caused by underground blasting in gold mines, and that maybe the cases weren't as vibration-free as they needed to be.
• They're "far harder than tempered steel."  In fact, the ones tested are around 5.0 on the Mohs scale of hardness.  For reference, that's a bit softer than window glass.
• They even get the nature of the mine wrong; the Wonderstone Mine, where most of the Klerksdorp spheres were found, has been repeatedly called a "silver mine" even though silver has never been mined there.  It's a pyrophyllite mine -- a silicate mineral with a multitude of industrial uses, including as an additive to clay in brick-making.

I've nothing against speculating; sometimes shrewd guesses lead to productive lines of scientific inquiry.  But fer cryin' in the sink, at least don't lie about the facts.  Nothing is gained by misrepresenting the actual verifiable data, except possibly to destroy every vestige of credibility you had.

In fact, the Klerksdorp spheres -- odd-looking though they admittedly are -- are almost certainly concretions, sedimentary rocks that start out with a grain of something (probably in this case wollastonite), and then have repeated deposits of additional minerals, creating concentric layers in exactly the same way pearls form in oysters.  (In fact, Klerksdorp spheres that have been cut in half show the internal onion-like layers you'd expect in a concretion.)  The grooves seem to be the external manifestation of lamina, parallel internal sheets that are indicative of the objects' orientation when they formed.

In other words: they're entirely natural.  They're not alien ball bearings or artifacts from a three-billion-year-old human civilization.  They are not "out-of-place artifacts;" they are, in fact, found exactly where they should be.

So to the original reader who emailed me; honestly, thanks for asking, and keep asking questions like that.  There's nothing wrong with being puzzled, and even (for a time) wondering if something strange is going on.  As long as you don't stop there, you're on the right path.  The argument from incredulity isn't a problem until it becomes a solid wall.

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