In my post on the alleged haunting of Ballechin House, I made reference to an investigation into the affair by a member of the Society for Psychical Research. I commented that the members of this organization were "only surpassed in gullibility by people who think that the Syfy channel's Ghost Hunters is a non-fiction documentary."
This elicited a comment from one of my readers, to the effect that I "obviously don't know much about the Society for Psychical Research and its members."
Well, that may be putting it a bit strongly; I'd read quite a bit about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a prominent spiritualist and SPR member, and the Cottingley "fairy photographs," and perhaps unfairly had come to associate the entire society with this hoax. Nevertheless, I was honestly stung by this criticism, and I thought it only fair to do a bit of research and rectify not only the error in my post, but my own ignorance on the subject.
The Society for Psychical Research was founded in 1882, and has as its explicit goal the scientific and unbiased exploration of purported psychic phenomena. Everything that I've been able to read on the subject of the Society - both that written by its members and those outside - indicates that when at all possible, it approaches each new instance of alleged haunting, telepathy, psychokinesis, and so on, with a skeptical eye, and it doesn't have a "dog in the race," so to speak -- its goal is to establish the phenomenon as true if so, and expose it as a hoax if it is one.
The SPR is still very active today, and was instrumental in the investigation of such well-known cases as the Enfield Poltergeist. This last is an interesting example -- the conclusion by the two SPR members who investigated it, Guy Lyon Playfair and Maurice Grosse, was that it was an actual haunting, even though two of the children who lived in the alleged haunted house admitted faking some of the events that occurred in it. (Read one account of the Enfield haunting here.)
As you might expect, I'm still of two minds with regards to the SPR and other organizations like it. On the one hand, I applaud their apparent skepticism; it's a great pity that all investigators of the paranormal don't approach such phenomena that way. The credulousness of the likes of Hans Holzer (whose career I'll save for a later post) only serves to muddy the waters and to make it less likely that any real paranormal occurrences, should they exist, will be believed.
On the other hand, I do take issue with the fact that the mere existence of the SPR lends credence to the whole field. The fact that there are now universities with "Departments of Parapsychology" is, to me, worrisome; to borrow a line from Richard Dawkins, it's a little like a university having a "Department of Fairyology." The oft-mentioned million-dollar challenge by James Randi, the award to be given to the first person who can demonstrate any sort of paranormal ability under scientifically controlled conditions, certainly gives lie to the contention that there's anything for a Department of Parapsychology to study.
On the SPR's home page (take a look at it here) is the quote from Carl Jung, "I shall not commit the fashionable stupidity of regarding everything I cannot explain as a fraud." Well, perhaps. I'm perfectly willing to accept the idea of there being thousands of phenomena that science has yet to explain; science, at its best, is always pushing the envelope, moving outward into areas we don't yet understand. At the same time, the leap from "I can't explain this" to "it's the supernatural" is all too easy, and has proven time and again to ignore a more conventional explanation -- that the occurrence under investigation is in fact an altogether natural phenomenon, an optical or auditory illusion, or an example of human gullibility, credulousness, or outright fraud.
In conclusion, I hope this has rectified the regrettable error in my previous post. As far as my own thoughts, based on my now much-improved knowledge, I would label myself as guardedly in support of the SPR and its goals. If I still prefer James Randi's approach, I am perhaps to be forgiven; but between the two different ways of attacking the problem of paranormal phenomena, one can only hope that if there are such things out there, they will one day be given support by scientific means, and not just by easily faked or misinterpreted anecdotal "evidence."
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
A jewel of a scam
As if there weren't enough ways to prey upon the gullible, in the last few years there has been a dramatic rise in offers for "energy jewelry," which includes necklaces, bracelets, anklets, earrings, and so on, all of which are somehow supposed to improve your health. I thought this was worth investigating, so I did a Google search for "energy jewelry" -- and it resulted in over 42 million hits. Here are a few from the first page, chosen randomly:
EnergyMuse -- leading the world in holistic crystal energy healing and jewelry.
Jewelry to harmonize the body's energy fields, auras, and chakras!
Energy Shop jewelry, designed to fit your dreams! Each gemstone has been individually energy-charged and smudged.
Energy-ring.com specializes in energy healing gold and silver jewelry, and improves reiki, chakra, and psychic energy by using the Earth's magnetic field through induction coil rings.
And so forth. I checked a few of these sites to see about cost, and the prices seemed mostly to start at $25 - but they went as high as $1500!
So, the basic idea is, give us large quantities of money, and we'll send you a piece of jewelry. If you wear it, it'll harmonize your psychic energy fields (which don't exist), rearrange your chakras (which don't exist), and improve your aura (which also doesn't exist). One has to wonder if there's a money-back guarantee.
My all-time favorite fake-energy-jewelry vendor is Takionic.com. This company claims that their products "align the body's atoms" so that one can "tap into the limitless energy of the tachyon field." (Isn't the "tachyon field" one of the things Geordi LaForge was always blathering on about on Star Trek: The Next Generation, in situations where he had to explain why Data was suddenly remembering the future, or something? That and a "rip in the space-time continuum." "Captain, if we can introduce a tachyon field into the rip in the space-time continuum, I think we might just be able to return us to our own universe and stop Data from answering questions we haven't asked yet, all before the final credits." "Make it so, Mr. LaForge.")
Anyhow, Takionic.com has a variety of products that will allow you to access this unlimited energy source. It doesn't stop with jewelry -- oh, my, no. They have tachyon-capturing blankets, eyemasks, headbands, wristbands, night cream, massage oil, belts, scarves, sport suits, toothpaste, and water.
Yes, you read that right. They're selling you (not you personally, I hope) tachyon-infused water. For $35 for a 17-ounce bottle.
Me, I'm wondering if I missed my calling. If there are people out there who will buy a plastic bottle of tap water for $35, I'm thinking I could be making a helluva lot more money doing that than being a public school teacher.
Anyway, I hope you haven't already been bamboozled by any of these folks and their pseudoscience. I can categorically state that not one of the claims made by any of these folks -- not one -- has passed any kind of rigorous scientific test. So, the bottom line is, if you want to be healthy, then eat right, exercise, don't smoke, and don't drink and drive. Your jewelry may make you look nice, but it's not really going to help you out in any other way.
I'll just finish up by putting in a plug for the one bit of energy-jewelry that does perform as advertised. It is the Placebo Band, sold for just $2 at SkepticBros.com. It comes in many lovely bright colors, is labeled "PLACEBO," and has a nice holographic image of the SkepticBros logo on the front. It comes with the following disclaimer:
"Placebo Band doesn’t come preprogrammed in any way. If you wish to have your band 'imbedded with frequencies' we suggest placing the band prominently on top of or in front of the largest speaker you have while playing your absolute favorite song ( e.g. Groove Is In The Heart by Dee Lite). Not only will you have listened to something that improves your mood straight away but you will be reminded of the song and that good feeling every time you wear Placebo Band."
SkepticBros.com also promises to replace your Placebo Band for free if it explodes for any reason.
Who could pass up a deal like that?
EnergyMuse -- leading the world in holistic crystal energy healing and jewelry.
Jewelry to harmonize the body's energy fields, auras, and chakras!
Energy Shop jewelry, designed to fit your dreams! Each gemstone has been individually energy-charged and smudged.
Energy-ring.com specializes in energy healing gold and silver jewelry, and improves reiki, chakra, and psychic energy by using the Earth's magnetic field through induction coil rings.
And so forth. I checked a few of these sites to see about cost, and the prices seemed mostly to start at $25 - but they went as high as $1500!
So, the basic idea is, give us large quantities of money, and we'll send you a piece of jewelry. If you wear it, it'll harmonize your psychic energy fields (which don't exist), rearrange your chakras (which don't exist), and improve your aura (which also doesn't exist). One has to wonder if there's a money-back guarantee.
My all-time favorite fake-energy-jewelry vendor is Takionic.com. This company claims that their products "align the body's atoms" so that one can "tap into the limitless energy of the tachyon field." (Isn't the "tachyon field" one of the things Geordi LaForge was always blathering on about on Star Trek: The Next Generation, in situations where he had to explain why Data was suddenly remembering the future, or something? That and a "rip in the space-time continuum." "Captain, if we can introduce a tachyon field into the rip in the space-time continuum, I think we might just be able to return us to our own universe and stop Data from answering questions we haven't asked yet, all before the final credits." "Make it so, Mr. LaForge.")
Anyhow, Takionic.com has a variety of products that will allow you to access this unlimited energy source. It doesn't stop with jewelry -- oh, my, no. They have tachyon-capturing blankets, eyemasks, headbands, wristbands, night cream, massage oil, belts, scarves, sport suits, toothpaste, and water.
Yes, you read that right. They're selling you (not you personally, I hope) tachyon-infused water. For $35 for a 17-ounce bottle.
Me, I'm wondering if I missed my calling. If there are people out there who will buy a plastic bottle of tap water for $35, I'm thinking I could be making a helluva lot more money doing that than being a public school teacher.
Anyway, I hope you haven't already been bamboozled by any of these folks and their pseudoscience. I can categorically state that not one of the claims made by any of these folks -- not one -- has passed any kind of rigorous scientific test. So, the bottom line is, if you want to be healthy, then eat right, exercise, don't smoke, and don't drink and drive. Your jewelry may make you look nice, but it's not really going to help you out in any other way.
I'll just finish up by putting in a plug for the one bit of energy-jewelry that does perform as advertised. It is the Placebo Band, sold for just $2 at SkepticBros.com. It comes in many lovely bright colors, is labeled "PLACEBO," and has a nice holographic image of the SkepticBros logo on the front. It comes with the following disclaimer:
"Placebo Band doesn’t come preprogrammed in any way. If you wish to have your band 'imbedded with frequencies' we suggest placing the band prominently on top of or in front of the largest speaker you have while playing your absolute favorite song ( e.g. Groove Is In The Heart by Dee Lite). Not only will you have listened to something that improves your mood straight away but you will be reminded of the song and that good feeling every time you wear Placebo Band."
SkepticBros.com also promises to replace your Placebo Band for free if it explodes for any reason.
Who could pass up a deal like that?
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Footprints in the snow
The great blizzard of December 2010 has come and gone, but my upstate New York village received a mere dusting as compared to the 18 to 24 inches they got in Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Maine. In fact, this morning the sun came out for a bit, and yesterday's snow is beginning to melt, although at this time of year I figure that the comparative warmth is only a tease.
Watching the effect that the sun had on footprints I made yesterday while hauling firewood, as they widened from the clear indentations of a human wearing ridge-soled Timberland boots into diffuse, open blobs, put me in mind of one of the most peculiar legends of Merrie Old England. Perhaps you've not heard of it; if not, you may find it an interesting tale for a cold, snowy winter day.
Early in the morning on February 8, 1855 (so the story goes), the people of five small towns in south Devon -- Topsham, Lympstone, Exmouth, Teignmouth, and Dawlish -- woke to find a line of footprints in the snow. The London Times of February 16 reported on the story in detail:
The snow, as it melted, accentuated the strangeness of the prints, just as it did with the bootprints in my front yard. The resemblance to a cloven hoof, with its suggestion of the devil, became more pronounced, and the fear grew to near hysteria. Fortunately (or unfortunately, for those of us who like to know the solutions to mysteries) the events were never repeated, and never satisfactorily explained.
The Devon footprints were credited by some as a visitation not by Satan, but by one of his uniquely English cousins -- Spring-heeled Jack. Spring-heeled Jack was first sighted in London in 1837 by a businessman walking home from work. The gentleman described being terrified by the sudden appearance of a dark figure which had "jumped the high railings of Barnes Cemetery with ease," landing right in his path. The businessman wasn't attacked, and was able to keep his wits sufficiently about him to describe a "muscular man, with a wild, grinning expression, long, pointed nose and ears, and protruding, glowing eyes." Sort of like the love child of Salvador Dali and Mr. Spock, is the way I think of him.
Others were attacked, and some were not so lucky as our businessman. A girl named Mary Stevens was attacked in Battersea, and had her clothing torn and was scratched and clawed, but survived because neighbors came to help when they heard her screams. The following day Jack jumped in front of a coach, causing it to swerve and crash. The coachman was severely injured, and several witnesses saw Jack escape by leaping over a nine-foot-high wall, all the while howling with insane laughter.
Several more encounters occurred during the following year, including two in which the victims were blinded temporarily by "blue-white fire" spat from Jack's mouth.
Although publicity grew, and Spring-heeled Jack became a character of folk myth, song, and the punch line to many a joke, sightings grew less frequent. Following the footprints in the snow-covered Devonshire countryside in 1855, there was a flurry of renewed interest (rimshot), but the last claimed sighting of Spring-heeled Jack was in Lincoln in 1877, and after that he seems to have gone the way of the dodo.
As intriguing as this story is, all of the evidence points to pranksters (and, in the case of Mary Stevens, an unsuccessful rapist). I'm not inclined to believe in Jack's phenomenal jumping ability, except in cases where Jack jumped down off a wall -- that requires no particular skill except the agility to get up there in the first place, and after that gravity takes care of the rest. It seems to me that nighttime, fear, a wild costume, and the witnesses' being primed by already knowing the story create a synergy that makes their accuracy seriously in question.
The fact remains, however, that it's a very peculiar story. I remember reading about the Devon footprints when I was a kid (I didn't find out about Spring-heeled Jack until later), and the idea of some mysterious non-human creature pacing its way across the English countryside, silently crossing fields and farms and streets, peering in the windows at the sleeping inhabitants, was enough to give me the cauld grue. Still does, in fact. Enough that I hope that the fitful December sun has eradicated my bootprints in the front yard completely -- which goes to show that even a diehard rationalist can sometimes fall prey to an irrational case of the creeps.
Watching the effect that the sun had on footprints I made yesterday while hauling firewood, as they widened from the clear indentations of a human wearing ridge-soled Timberland boots into diffuse, open blobs, put me in mind of one of the most peculiar legends of Merrie Old England. Perhaps you've not heard of it; if not, you may find it an interesting tale for a cold, snowy winter day.
Early in the morning on February 8, 1855 (so the story goes), the people of five small towns in south Devon -- Topsham, Lympstone, Exmouth, Teignmouth, and Dawlish -- woke to find a line of footprints in the snow. The London Times of February 16 reported on the story in detail:
"It appears that on Thursday night last there was a very heavy fall of snow in the neighborhood of Exeter and the south of Devon. On the following morning, the inhabitants of the above towns were surprised at discovering the tracks of some strange and mysterious animal, endowed with the power of ubiquity, as the foot-prints were to be seen in all kinds of inaccessible places - on the tops of houses and narrow walls, in gardens and courtyards enclosed by high walls and palings, as well as in open fields. There was hardly a garden in Lympstone where the footprints were not observed.
"The track appeared more like that of a biped than a quadruped, and the steps were generally eight inches in advance of each other. The impressions of the feet closely resembled that of a donkey's shoe, and measured from an inch and a half to (in some instances) two and a half inches across. Here and there it appeared as if cloven, but in the generality of the steps the shoe was continuous, and, from the snow in the center remaining entire, merely showing the outer crest of the foot, it must have been convex.
"The creature seems to have approached the doors of several houses and then to have retreated, but no one has been able to discover the standing or resting point of this mysterious visitor. On Sunday last the Rev. Mr. Musgrave alluded to the subject in his sermon, and suggested the possibility of the footprints being those of a kangaroo; but this could scarcely have been the case, as they were found on both sides of the estuary of the Exe.
"At present it remains a mystery, and many superstitious people in the above towns are actually afraid to go outside their doors at night."
"The track appeared more like that of a biped than a quadruped, and the steps were generally eight inches in advance of each other. The impressions of the feet closely resembled that of a donkey's shoe, and measured from an inch and a half to (in some instances) two and a half inches across. Here and there it appeared as if cloven, but in the generality of the steps the shoe was continuous, and, from the snow in the center remaining entire, merely showing the outer crest of the foot, it must have been convex.
"The creature seems to have approached the doors of several houses and then to have retreated, but no one has been able to discover the standing or resting point of this mysterious visitor. On Sunday last the Rev. Mr. Musgrave alluded to the subject in his sermon, and suggested the possibility of the footprints being those of a kangaroo; but this could scarcely have been the case, as they were found on both sides of the estuary of the Exe.
"At present it remains a mystery, and many superstitious people in the above towns are actually afraid to go outside their doors at night."
The snow, as it melted, accentuated the strangeness of the prints, just as it did with the bootprints in my front yard. The resemblance to a cloven hoof, with its suggestion of the devil, became more pronounced, and the fear grew to near hysteria. Fortunately (or unfortunately, for those of us who like to know the solutions to mysteries) the events were never repeated, and never satisfactorily explained.
The Devon footprints were credited by some as a visitation not by Satan, but by one of his uniquely English cousins -- Spring-heeled Jack. Spring-heeled Jack was first sighted in London in 1837 by a businessman walking home from work. The gentleman described being terrified by the sudden appearance of a dark figure which had "jumped the high railings of Barnes Cemetery with ease," landing right in his path. The businessman wasn't attacked, and was able to keep his wits sufficiently about him to describe a "muscular man, with a wild, grinning expression, long, pointed nose and ears, and protruding, glowing eyes." Sort of like the love child of Salvador Dali and Mr. Spock, is the way I think of him.
Others were attacked, and some were not so lucky as our businessman. A girl named Mary Stevens was attacked in Battersea, and had her clothing torn and was scratched and clawed, but survived because neighbors came to help when they heard her screams. The following day Jack jumped in front of a coach, causing it to swerve and crash. The coachman was severely injured, and several witnesses saw Jack escape by leaping over a nine-foot-high wall, all the while howling with insane laughter.
Several more encounters occurred during the following year, including two in which the victims were blinded temporarily by "blue-white fire" spat from Jack's mouth.
Although publicity grew, and Spring-heeled Jack became a character of folk myth, song, and the punch line to many a joke, sightings grew less frequent. Following the footprints in the snow-covered Devonshire countryside in 1855, there was a flurry of renewed interest (rimshot), but the last claimed sighting of Spring-heeled Jack was in Lincoln in 1877, and after that he seems to have gone the way of the dodo.
As intriguing as this story is, all of the evidence points to pranksters (and, in the case of Mary Stevens, an unsuccessful rapist). I'm not inclined to believe in Jack's phenomenal jumping ability, except in cases where Jack jumped down off a wall -- that requires no particular skill except the agility to get up there in the first place, and after that gravity takes care of the rest. It seems to me that nighttime, fear, a wild costume, and the witnesses' being primed by already knowing the story create a synergy that makes their accuracy seriously in question.
The fact remains, however, that it's a very peculiar story. I remember reading about the Devon footprints when I was a kid (I didn't find out about Spring-heeled Jack until later), and the idea of some mysterious non-human creature pacing its way across the English countryside, silently crossing fields and farms and streets, peering in the windows at the sleeping inhabitants, was enough to give me the cauld grue. Still does, in fact. Enough that I hope that the fitful December sun has eradicated my bootprints in the front yard completely -- which goes to show that even a diehard rationalist can sometimes fall prey to an irrational case of the creeps.
Monday, December 27, 2010
iGiveUp
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Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Animal planet
Ever have a sudden epiphany? Has this epiphany been that you weren't actually human?
If you're saying, "Why, yes! I have!" then I have an explanation for you. It won't stop me from backing slowly away from you, keeping my eyes on you the whole time, but at least now you can be reassured in the knowledge that you're not, unfortunately, alone.
People who think they aren't people call themselves "Otherkin." (Their friends and relatives usually call them "loonies," but that may be a tad harsh.) Given the kind of wackiness that's out there on the 'web, it will come as no surprise that there is a whole internet community of Otherkin (you can peruse the web pages, and/or join various listservs, here). The definition of an Otherkin is "a person who, either biologically or spiritually, claims kinship with another species." Now, we're not just talking about someone with a marked physical or personal similarity to an animal, such as saying that someone is as fierce as a tiger or as strong as an ox, or when my students immediately prior to major exams compare me to a cold-blooded poisonous snake. No, we are talking about people who think that they actually are members of another species, and it bears keeping in mind that here we are using the word "species" to include creatures which, technically speaking, don't exist, such as elves, naiads, centaurs, dragons, dryads, and so forth.
Perhaps at this point you are saying to yourselves, "what the hell?" or some stronger variant. To which I reply: just wait, I've hardly even started.
Otherkin claim that there are two main types; ones who have the spirits of another species (or elf, et al.), and ones who actually are honest-to-Legolas descended from one. The site states that the latter claim is "virtually unprovable except through extensive DNA testing," but cites as examples the descent of the ancient Irish kings from the Tuatha de Danann and the Japanese royal house from dragons. They say, without any sense of irony, that both of these have "some support from ancient texts," because of course it goes without saying that anything appearing in ancient texts has to be true.
On the website is a list of Otherkin, each entry submitted by someone who really believes that they are one. There are thousands of them. A few, just so you can get the flavor of it, are "Fangtastic" (a werewolf/vampire hybrid, presumably to obviate the need of deciding between Team Jacob and Team Edward), "Xandrael" (an angelic being who lives in Oswego, New York -- I've been to Oswego and you have to wonder why, if you were an angel, you wouldn't pick somewhere rather nicer), "Faelaenx" (a dragonish sort), "Nitefae" (someone who "thinks she is a sylph but is still exploring"), "Lynaelynx" (one of the big cats, not surprisingly; and must they all have an "x" and an "ae" in their name? Is it a club requirement?), and, finally "AmaltheaSkye" (a unicorn, who makes up for having no "x" or "ae" by having a superfluous "e" at the end).
Now, I realize that some of these people -- perhaps, in my optimistic moments, I can even believe that most of these people -- are merely having some fun with role-playing, participating in a kind of free-floating Dungeons and Dragons game without any rules. I've no problem with escapism, per se, but I myself can't escape the conclusion that some of these people have escaped permanently. Some of them claim peculiar aversions which are supposedly emblematic of your actual identity (e.g. if you're afraid of iron, you might actually be an elf; if you're afraid of running water, you might be one of the Sidhe; if you're afraid of Universal Health Care, you might be a Republican; and so on). One article gives some moral support to those who are in the process of "awakening" (read it, if you're curious, here), and seems to take the whole thing completely seriously.
I know I shouldn't poke fun, as it's not nice to laugh at people who hold beliefs that are, frankly, delusional; but given that that's my opinion about most superstitions, I suppose it's to be expected. And, honestly, as delusional beliefs go, thinking you're a dryad is pretty harmless -- I don't suppose it'd cause you to do anything worse than dressing in earth tones and trying to photosynthesize when you're hungry. I can see how thinking you're a wolf, tiger, vampire, or (god forbid) a horsefly, could lead to some unpleasantness at work or home, but otherwise, it doesn't seem to be in the same category as the delusions which make people blow themselves up in crowded marketplaces or think they have the right to march out and take over the world.
So, if you want to run about claiming that your real identity is Xaepnoo the WeaselFaerie, knock yourself out. Myself, I think I'll stick with Gordon the Plain Old Human. It may be pedestrian and dull of me, but there you are.
If you're saying, "Why, yes! I have!" then I have an explanation for you. It won't stop me from backing slowly away from you, keeping my eyes on you the whole time, but at least now you can be reassured in the knowledge that you're not, unfortunately, alone.
People who think they aren't people call themselves "Otherkin." (Their friends and relatives usually call them "loonies," but that may be a tad harsh.) Given the kind of wackiness that's out there on the 'web, it will come as no surprise that there is a whole internet community of Otherkin (you can peruse the web pages, and/or join various listservs, here). The definition of an Otherkin is "a person who, either biologically or spiritually, claims kinship with another species." Now, we're not just talking about someone with a marked physical or personal similarity to an animal, such as saying that someone is as fierce as a tiger or as strong as an ox, or when my students immediately prior to major exams compare me to a cold-blooded poisonous snake. No, we are talking about people who think that they actually are members of another species, and it bears keeping in mind that here we are using the word "species" to include creatures which, technically speaking, don't exist, such as elves, naiads, centaurs, dragons, dryads, and so forth.
Perhaps at this point you are saying to yourselves, "what the hell?" or some stronger variant. To which I reply: just wait, I've hardly even started.
Otherkin claim that there are two main types; ones who have the spirits of another species (or elf, et al.), and ones who actually are honest-to-Legolas descended from one. The site states that the latter claim is "virtually unprovable except through extensive DNA testing," but cites as examples the descent of the ancient Irish kings from the Tuatha de Danann and the Japanese royal house from dragons. They say, without any sense of irony, that both of these have "some support from ancient texts," because of course it goes without saying that anything appearing in ancient texts has to be true.
On the website is a list of Otherkin, each entry submitted by someone who really believes that they are one. There are thousands of them. A few, just so you can get the flavor of it, are "Fangtastic" (a werewolf/vampire hybrid, presumably to obviate the need of deciding between Team Jacob and Team Edward), "Xandrael" (an angelic being who lives in Oswego, New York -- I've been to Oswego and you have to wonder why, if you were an angel, you wouldn't pick somewhere rather nicer), "Faelaenx" (a dragonish sort), "Nitefae" (someone who "thinks she is a sylph but is still exploring"), "Lynaelynx" (one of the big cats, not surprisingly; and must they all have an "x" and an "ae" in their name? Is it a club requirement?), and, finally "AmaltheaSkye" (a unicorn, who makes up for having no "x" or "ae" by having a superfluous "e" at the end).
Now, I realize that some of these people -- perhaps, in my optimistic moments, I can even believe that most of these people -- are merely having some fun with role-playing, participating in a kind of free-floating Dungeons and Dragons game without any rules. I've no problem with escapism, per se, but I myself can't escape the conclusion that some of these people have escaped permanently. Some of them claim peculiar aversions which are supposedly emblematic of your actual identity (e.g. if you're afraid of iron, you might actually be an elf; if you're afraid of running water, you might be one of the Sidhe; if you're afraid of Universal Health Care, you might be a Republican; and so on). One article gives some moral support to those who are in the process of "awakening" (read it, if you're curious, here), and seems to take the whole thing completely seriously.
I know I shouldn't poke fun, as it's not nice to laugh at people who hold beliefs that are, frankly, delusional; but given that that's my opinion about most superstitions, I suppose it's to be expected. And, honestly, as delusional beliefs go, thinking you're a dryad is pretty harmless -- I don't suppose it'd cause you to do anything worse than dressing in earth tones and trying to photosynthesize when you're hungry. I can see how thinking you're a wolf, tiger, vampire, or (god forbid) a horsefly, could lead to some unpleasantness at work or home, but otherwise, it doesn't seem to be in the same category as the delusions which make people blow themselves up in crowded marketplaces or think they have the right to march out and take over the world.
So, if you want to run about claiming that your real identity is Xaepnoo the WeaselFaerie, knock yourself out. Myself, I think I'll stick with Gordon the Plain Old Human. It may be pedestrian and dull of me, but there you are.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Woof
I was discussing the alleged phenomenon of hauntings with one of my students, and he said, "There's one thing I don't understand. Some people believe that the souls of humans can survive after death, and become ghosts. If humans can become ghosts, why can't other animals?"
Well, after pointing out the obvious problem that I'm not really the right person to state with authority what a soul, human or otherwise, could or could not do, I mentioned that there are many cases of supposed hauntings by animals. The most famous of these is the haunting of Ballechin House in Scotland.
Ballechin House was a beautiful manor house, built in 1806 near Grandtully, Perthshire, Scotland, on a site that had been owned by the Stuart (or Stewart or Steuart or Steward, they seemed to spell it a new way every time the mood took them) family since the 15th century. The story goes that a scion of this family (sources seem to point to his being the son of the man who had the house built), one Major Robert Steuart, was a bit of a wacko who had more affection for his dogs than he did for his family. That said, he provided quarters for his sister Isabella, who was a nun -- I'm not sure why she wasn't living with her fellow sisters in a convent, but some claim that it was because she'd had an illegitimate child and gotten herself, um... de-habited? Anyhow, she lived with them for a time, finally dying and being buried on the property. As for Major Steuart, he apparently took enough time away from his dogs to marry and have at least one child, John.
As the Major got older, he got more and more peculiar, and finally started claiming that after he died he was going to be reincarnated as a dog. One runs into these ideas pretty frequently today, but back then, it must have been a sore shock to his nearest and dearest. So this partly explains why when the Major did go to that Big Dog Kennel In The Sky, his son John rounded up all of the Major's dogs and shot them.
I say "partly" because I fail to understand how, even if you believed that the Major was going to be reincarnated as a dog, killing dogs that were currently alive and therefore presumably none of whom were actually the Major would help. But that's what he did.
And boy was he sorry.
Almost immediately thereafter, John Steuart and his family and servants began to experience spooky stuff. They heard doggy noises -- panting, wagging of tails, sniffing, and the really nasty slurping sounds dogs make when they are conducting intimate personal hygiene. (Okay, I'm assuming that they heard that last sound. I certainly hear it enough from my own dogs.) Steuart's wife several times felt herself being pushed by a wet doggy nose, and reported being in a room and suddenly being overpowered by a strong doggy smell.
Other apparitions began -- the sighting of a ghostly nun, all dressed in gray, in the garden; doors that would open and close by themselves; and the sound of limping footsteps (the Major apparently walked with a limp). Steuart himself was not long to worry about them, because he was killed in an accident, supposedly the day after hearing a knocking sound on the wall. (Maybe it was a coded message from the Major that meant, "The dogs and I can't wait to see you!")
In the 1890s the hauntings were investigated on the urging of a certain Lord Bute -- I can't figure out whether by that time Bute was the owner of the house, or just a busybody. Thirty-five psychics descended upon the house, which created such a cosmic convergence of woo-wooness that you just know something was gonna happen. And it did. A Ouija board spelled out "Ishbel" (recall that Major Steuart's sister who was a sister was named Isabella, and recall also that this entire family seemed to have difficulty with spelling their own names). The psychics experienced various doggy phenomena; one of the psychics, who had brought her own dog along, reported that one evening her dog began to whimper, and she looked over, and there were two disembodied dog paws resting on the bedside table. (I'd whimper, too.)
In the interest of honesty, it must be recorded that the house was let several times during this period, once to a Colonel Taylor who belonged to the Society for Psychical Research. Taylor's diary records, with some disappointment, that he slept in the Major's bedroom on more than one occasion, and experienced nothing out of the ordinary.
Be that as it may, Ballechin House acquired the reputation of being "the most haunted house in Scotland," and by the 1920s became impossible to rent. It fell into increasing disrepair, and finally was torn down in 1963. I think this is a little sad -- I'd have loved to visit it. I might even have brought my dogs. If anyone could whip a bunch of out-of-control dog ghosts into shape, it's my dog Doolin, who is half border collie and thinks that all other living creatures are her sheep. I see no reason why she'd draw the line at attempting to herd a bunch of dogs who, technically, were dead. There'd have been an end to the whole undisciplined leaving-your-front-paws-on-the-nightstand sort of nonsense, if she were in charge.
So, the believers in Survival seem to, for the most part, believe that dogs have an eternal soul. However, this opens up a troubling question. Why stop there? If dogs have an eternal soul, do cats? (My own cats seem to be cases more of demonic possession, frankly.) How about bunnies? Or weasels? Or worms? Or Japanese beetles? (I'd be willing to believe that if there are gardens in hell, there'll be Japanese beetles there to eat the roses.) I find this a worrisome slippery slope. It may be a cheering thought that something of Woofy's nature will survive his demise, even if he terrorizes the guests with "sudden overpowering doggy smell," but I'm not sure I want to be stung by ghostly yellowjackets, or have to spray my plants for ghostly aphids. The real kind are enough of a problem.
Well, after pointing out the obvious problem that I'm not really the right person to state with authority what a soul, human or otherwise, could or could not do, I mentioned that there are many cases of supposed hauntings by animals. The most famous of these is the haunting of Ballechin House in Scotland.
Ballechin House was a beautiful manor house, built in 1806 near Grandtully, Perthshire, Scotland, on a site that had been owned by the Stuart (or Stewart or Steuart or Steward, they seemed to spell it a new way every time the mood took them) family since the 15th century. The story goes that a scion of this family (sources seem to point to his being the son of the man who had the house built), one Major Robert Steuart, was a bit of a wacko who had more affection for his dogs than he did for his family. That said, he provided quarters for his sister Isabella, who was a nun -- I'm not sure why she wasn't living with her fellow sisters in a convent, but some claim that it was because she'd had an illegitimate child and gotten herself, um... de-habited? Anyhow, she lived with them for a time, finally dying and being buried on the property. As for Major Steuart, he apparently took enough time away from his dogs to marry and have at least one child, John.
As the Major got older, he got more and more peculiar, and finally started claiming that after he died he was going to be reincarnated as a dog. One runs into these ideas pretty frequently today, but back then, it must have been a sore shock to his nearest and dearest. So this partly explains why when the Major did go to that Big Dog Kennel In The Sky, his son John rounded up all of the Major's dogs and shot them.
I say "partly" because I fail to understand how, even if you believed that the Major was going to be reincarnated as a dog, killing dogs that were currently alive and therefore presumably none of whom were actually the Major would help. But that's what he did.
And boy was he sorry.
Almost immediately thereafter, John Steuart and his family and servants began to experience spooky stuff. They heard doggy noises -- panting, wagging of tails, sniffing, and the really nasty slurping sounds dogs make when they are conducting intimate personal hygiene. (Okay, I'm assuming that they heard that last sound. I certainly hear it enough from my own dogs.) Steuart's wife several times felt herself being pushed by a wet doggy nose, and reported being in a room and suddenly being overpowered by a strong doggy smell.
Other apparitions began -- the sighting of a ghostly nun, all dressed in gray, in the garden; doors that would open and close by themselves; and the sound of limping footsteps (the Major apparently walked with a limp). Steuart himself was not long to worry about them, because he was killed in an accident, supposedly the day after hearing a knocking sound on the wall. (Maybe it was a coded message from the Major that meant, "The dogs and I can't wait to see you!")
In the 1890s the hauntings were investigated on the urging of a certain Lord Bute -- I can't figure out whether by that time Bute was the owner of the house, or just a busybody. Thirty-five psychics descended upon the house, which created such a cosmic convergence of woo-wooness that you just know something was gonna happen. And it did. A Ouija board spelled out "Ishbel" (recall that Major Steuart's sister who was a sister was named Isabella, and recall also that this entire family seemed to have difficulty with spelling their own names). The psychics experienced various doggy phenomena; one of the psychics, who had brought her own dog along, reported that one evening her dog began to whimper, and she looked over, and there were two disembodied dog paws resting on the bedside table. (I'd whimper, too.)
In the interest of honesty, it must be recorded that the house was let several times during this period, once to a Colonel Taylor who belonged to the Society for Psychical Research. Taylor's diary records, with some disappointment, that he slept in the Major's bedroom on more than one occasion, and experienced nothing out of the ordinary.
Be that as it may, Ballechin House acquired the reputation of being "the most haunted house in Scotland," and by the 1920s became impossible to rent. It fell into increasing disrepair, and finally was torn down in 1963. I think this is a little sad -- I'd have loved to visit it. I might even have brought my dogs. If anyone could whip a bunch of out-of-control dog ghosts into shape, it's my dog Doolin, who is half border collie and thinks that all other living creatures are her sheep. I see no reason why she'd draw the line at attempting to herd a bunch of dogs who, technically, were dead. There'd have been an end to the whole undisciplined leaving-your-front-paws-on-the-nightstand sort of nonsense, if she were in charge.
So, the believers in Survival seem to, for the most part, believe that dogs have an eternal soul. However, this opens up a troubling question. Why stop there? If dogs have an eternal soul, do cats? (My own cats seem to be cases more of demonic possession, frankly.) How about bunnies? Or weasels? Or worms? Or Japanese beetles? (I'd be willing to believe that if there are gardens in hell, there'll be Japanese beetles there to eat the roses.) I find this a worrisome slippery slope. It may be a cheering thought that something of Woofy's nature will survive his demise, even if he terrorizes the guests with "sudden overpowering doggy smell," but I'm not sure I want to be stung by ghostly yellowjackets, or have to spray my plants for ghostly aphids. The real kind are enough of a problem.
Friday, December 17, 2010
A second helping of banana pudding...
And following right on the heels of my last post, I read today that there is a controversy forming around Martin Gaskell, an astronomer who claims that he was denied a post as the director of an observatory at the University of Kentucky because he doesn't believe in evolution.
Gaskell, who is known (among other things) for giving a lecture called "Modern Astronomy, the Bible, and Creation," is quoted as saying that the theory of evolution has "significant scientific problems" and includes "unwarranted atheistic assumptions and extrapolations." However, now that his views have come into the public spotlight, he seems to be backpedaling like mad, and has made statements that he is "not a creationist," and that the assertions of people who claim that the earth is only a few thousand years old are based upon "very poor science."
I find even that statement inaccurate -- the claim that the earth is only a few thousand years old isn't based upon science at all. But we'll let that go by.
What I think is rather extraordinary about this man is how he wants it both ways. He clearly has beliefs that run contrary to the views held by the vast majority of scientists, and yet he wants those same scientists to take him seriously. "Wait," some of you may be saying, "there have been other scientists whose views were considered heretical at the time, who went against the mainstream views of their peers, and who were vindicated in the end." That is certainly true. The most famous of these, Alfred Wegener, who described continental drift long before the modern theory of plate tectonics was developed, was in fact so vilified by his peers that he assuaged his despair by joining an expedition to the arctic, and promptly froze to death in Greenland.
The difference between Wegener and Gaskell is that in Wegener's time, the actual evidential support for plate movement -- especially deep-sea magnetometer data -- was unavailable. Wegener's ideas were solely based upon the shapes of the continents and the geologic similarity in mountain ranges on opposite sides of the Atlantic. This was suggestive, certainly; and in hindsight, he proved to be correct. But at the time he had no idea of the mechanism involved, and when asked by his fellow geologists how continents could move in solid rock, he said, "I dunno, beats the hell outta me." (Well, he probably didn't say exactly that, but that was the gist.) In the case of evolution, on the other hand, we have a model that explains the phenomenon elegantly and simply, an understood mechanism by which it works, mountains of evidence from every branch of biology, and exactly no evidence that supports any of the competing theories. To paraphrase Mark Twain, rumors of the death of Darwinian theory have proven to be great exaggerations. A scientist who disbelieves in evolution today is not a maverick who is steadfastly bucking the tide of conventional thought and championing a contrary model; (s)he is ignoring one of the most completely researched and thoroughly understood ideas in all of science. As I've said before, we know far more about the mechanisms involved in evolution than we do about those involved in gravitation -- and no one is going around saying "gravity is just a theory" and expecting that one day it'll all prove to be a great big lie, and we'll all begin to float.
I find it a little ridiculous that Gaskell thinks his being bypassed for a job as director of an observatory is unfair, when he apparently takes the biblical creation story literally (whatever his statements to the contrary, his writings and lectures make his views fairly clear). How on earth could he be expected to fulfill his role as director of an observatory when his opinions on the origins of the universe run clear contrary to those of 99% of working astronomers?
Perhaps turning the situation around will illustrate the point.
Suppose I were to apply for a job as a Christian minister. (Stop laughing, it's just a thought experiment. Just play along, okay?) I go to the interview by the church committee, and in answering their questions it comes out that I'm an atheist.
The committee then recommends against hiring me, of course. Would I be within my rights to claim discrimination? How dare they refuse to offer me the job based upon my beliefs? Of all the nerve!
It's really the same thing, but Gaskell, of course, doesn't seem to see it that way. His attitude is that his beliefs should have no bearing on his qualification for the job of observatory director. I think he is very far wrong about that. You cannot fulfill your role as the director of a major science institution -- which includes the responsibilities of education and outreach -- if you disbelieve in a fundamental part of the science, and therefore in the role of evidence in establishing scientific theories. Once again -- you are free to believe the earth is filled with banana pudding, but don't complain if you don't get hired as chairman of the geology department.
Gaskell, who is known (among other things) for giving a lecture called "Modern Astronomy, the Bible, and Creation," is quoted as saying that the theory of evolution has "significant scientific problems" and includes "unwarranted atheistic assumptions and extrapolations." However, now that his views have come into the public spotlight, he seems to be backpedaling like mad, and has made statements that he is "not a creationist," and that the assertions of people who claim that the earth is only a few thousand years old are based upon "very poor science."
I find even that statement inaccurate -- the claim that the earth is only a few thousand years old isn't based upon science at all. But we'll let that go by.
What I think is rather extraordinary about this man is how he wants it both ways. He clearly has beliefs that run contrary to the views held by the vast majority of scientists, and yet he wants those same scientists to take him seriously. "Wait," some of you may be saying, "there have been other scientists whose views were considered heretical at the time, who went against the mainstream views of their peers, and who were vindicated in the end." That is certainly true. The most famous of these, Alfred Wegener, who described continental drift long before the modern theory of plate tectonics was developed, was in fact so vilified by his peers that he assuaged his despair by joining an expedition to the arctic, and promptly froze to death in Greenland.
The difference between Wegener and Gaskell is that in Wegener's time, the actual evidential support for plate movement -- especially deep-sea magnetometer data -- was unavailable. Wegener's ideas were solely based upon the shapes of the continents and the geologic similarity in mountain ranges on opposite sides of the Atlantic. This was suggestive, certainly; and in hindsight, he proved to be correct. But at the time he had no idea of the mechanism involved, and when asked by his fellow geologists how continents could move in solid rock, he said, "I dunno, beats the hell outta me." (Well, he probably didn't say exactly that, but that was the gist.) In the case of evolution, on the other hand, we have a model that explains the phenomenon elegantly and simply, an understood mechanism by which it works, mountains of evidence from every branch of biology, and exactly no evidence that supports any of the competing theories. To paraphrase Mark Twain, rumors of the death of Darwinian theory have proven to be great exaggerations. A scientist who disbelieves in evolution today is not a maverick who is steadfastly bucking the tide of conventional thought and championing a contrary model; (s)he is ignoring one of the most completely researched and thoroughly understood ideas in all of science. As I've said before, we know far more about the mechanisms involved in evolution than we do about those involved in gravitation -- and no one is going around saying "gravity is just a theory" and expecting that one day it'll all prove to be a great big lie, and we'll all begin to float.
I find it a little ridiculous that Gaskell thinks his being bypassed for a job as director of an observatory is unfair, when he apparently takes the biblical creation story literally (whatever his statements to the contrary, his writings and lectures make his views fairly clear). How on earth could he be expected to fulfill his role as director of an observatory when his opinions on the origins of the universe run clear contrary to those of 99% of working astronomers?
Perhaps turning the situation around will illustrate the point.
Suppose I were to apply for a job as a Christian minister. (Stop laughing, it's just a thought experiment. Just play along, okay?) I go to the interview by the church committee, and in answering their questions it comes out that I'm an atheist.
The committee then recommends against hiring me, of course. Would I be within my rights to claim discrimination? How dare they refuse to offer me the job based upon my beliefs? Of all the nerve!
It's really the same thing, but Gaskell, of course, doesn't seem to see it that way. His attitude is that his beliefs should have no bearing on his qualification for the job of observatory director. I think he is very far wrong about that. You cannot fulfill your role as the director of a major science institution -- which includes the responsibilities of education and outreach -- if you disbelieve in a fundamental part of the science, and therefore in the role of evidence in establishing scientific theories. Once again -- you are free to believe the earth is filled with banana pudding, but don't complain if you don't get hired as chairman of the geology department.
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