Filling in the missing link

One of the chief values of science lies in its predictive power.

Once a theory has developed that accounts for all the known evidence, it then gives scientists new directions to pursue.  A classic example of this is Wolfgang Pauli's prediction in 1931 that there was a small, fast-moving particle that accounted for "lost" energy and momentum in beta decay (an example of which is the decay of carbon-14 into nitrogen-14).  Back then, they didn't have the technology to find it.  It took 28 years before Clyde Cowan and Fred Reines created a device that was able to detect it, and found a particle that had exactly the characteristics Pauli had predicted almost three decades earlier.  They named it the neutrino.

When this kind of thing happens, it's a real vindication of the theory itself.  Of course, sometimes it goes the other way -- there'll be a discovery that contradicts some part of the theory.  This forces revision of the theory to account for the new information.  Thus science's other amazing strength: its ability to self-correct.  As physicist John Baez put it, "When you do theoretical physics, sometimes you feel the high of discovering hidden truths about the physical universe.  Sometimes you feel the agony of suspecting that those "hidden truths" were probably just a bunch of baloney... or, realizing that you may never know.  Ultimately nature has the last word."

We had a nice example of that just this past week, not in physics but in evolutionary biology, with the discovery of two new species of dinosaurs at digs in Mongolia and China.  The species, named Bannykus and Xiyunykus, connected up two groups of dinosaurs in the Alvarezsauridae, which had tube-like snouts with tiny teeth, compact hands with narrow fingers and sharp claws, and (from the site of muscle attachment points on the skeleton) apparently had powerful pectoral muscles.  (You might guess, correctly, that they're thought to be allied to the earliest birds.)

The hand bones of Bannykus [photograph by Jonah Choiniere, University of Witwatersrand, South Africa]

The problem was, there were alvarezsaurids from the late Jurassic Period, 150 million years ago, and some from the late Cretaceous, 70 million years ago -- and nothing in between.  That's a pretty sizable gap.  These "missing link" situations are common enough.  Unsurprising, given how unlikely it is for a fossil to survive intact for hundreds of millions of years, not even considering how tricky fossil formation is in the first place.  The truth is that only a minuscule fraction of the species that have existed left fossils -- the lion's share of the biodiversity Earth has had is unknown and probably unknowable.

It must be said at this juncture that "missing links" do not cast evolution into doubt.  To quote Carl Sagan, "Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence."  But because paleontology, like any good science, develops theories with predictive value, you can make some guesses about what should be there in those gaps.

And last week, we had another example of evolutionary biology and paleontology making a prediction that was spot-on.  "When we see a transition like that in the fossil record, we always want to know how it happened," said Corwin Sullivan in an interview with CBC.   Sullivan, a professor of paleontology at the University of Alberta, co-authored the paper, titled "Two Early Cretaceous Fossils Document Transitional Stages in Alvarezsaurian Dinosaur Evolution," which appeared in the journal Current Biology.  "[T]hese animals are, in a sense, missing links," Sullivan said.  "The teeth are quite a bit smaller — and in particular in the alvarezsaurids of the late Cretaceous, which are usually interpreted as specialized for insect eating, the teeth get very small, they lose their serrations on a very fine scale...  It's probably a question of exploiting a food resource that was available.  They would have been competing with other theropods and other kinds of predators."

Which is pretty cool.  It's always nice when the scientists say, "Hey, based on what we know, this must exist," and presto, someone finds exactly what they predicted.  Maybe the specifics in this case would only be of interest to serious dinosaur nerds, but the bigger picture -- that science can allow us not only to analyze what we have hard evidence of, but to infer detailed information about the missing pieces when we don't -- is pretty inspiring.

*********************************

This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is part hard science, part the very human pursuit of truth.  In The Particle at the End of the Universe, physicist Sean Carroll writes about the studies and theoretical work that led to the discovery of the Higgs boson -- the particle Leon Lederman nicknamed "the God Particle" (which he later had cause to regret, causing him to quip that he should have named it "the goddamned particle").  The discovery required the teamwork of dozens of the best minds on Earth, and was finally vindicated when six years ago, a particle of exactly the characteristics Peter Higgs had described almost fifty years earlier was identified from data produced by the Large Hadron Collider.

Carroll's book is a wonderful look at how science is done, and how we have developed the ability to peer into the deepest secrets of the universe.

[If you purchase the book from Amazon using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to supporting Skeptophilia!]

The Great Filter and the three f's

In yesterday's post, we looked at how the Drake Equation predicts the number of intelligent civilizations out there in the galaxy, and that more than one of the variables has been revised upward in the last few years because of recent research in astronomy.  This suggests that life is probably super-common in the universe -- and intelligent life undoubtedly is out there, as well.

But we ended with a puzzle.  Physicist Enrico Fermi famously responded to Frank Drake with four words: "Then where is everybody?"  This was true back when it was said (1961) and is even more true now; in the intervening 57 years, we've done huge amounts of surveying of the sky, looking for any sign of an extraterrestrial intelligence, and found... nothing.

Now, to be fair, "huge amounts of surveying" still covers a minuscule fraction of the stars out there.  All that would have to happen is the radio signal saying, "Hi, y'all, here we are!" hitting Earth while our radio telescopes were aimed at a different star, or tuned to a different frequency, and we could well miss it.

Messier 51, the Whirlpool Galaxy [Image courtesy of NASA/JPL]

But there's a more sinister possibility, and that possibility goes by the nickname of "The Great Filter."

I looked at this concept in a post a while back, especially apropos of the variable "L" in the Drake Equation -- once a planet hosts intelligent life, how long does it last?  If we were to time-travel two thousand years into the future, would there still be a human civilization, or are we doomed to destroy ourselves, either by our own fondness for weaponry capable of killing large numbers of people at once, or because our rampant population growth exceeded the planet's carrying capacity, and we experienced what the ecologists somewhat euphemistically call "overshoot-and-rebound?"

But today I want to look at the Great Filter in a larger perspective.  Given that most astronomers think that the Drake Equation leads to the conclusion that life, and even intelligent life, is common out there, Fermi's quip is well taken.  And the answers to that question can be sorted into three basic categories, which have been nicknamed the "three f's":

1. We're first.
2. We're fortunate.
3. We're fucked.

Could we be the first planet in our region of the galaxy to harbor intelligent life?  It's certainly possible, especially given the time gap between our developing life (four-odd-billion years ago) and our developing the technology not only to send, but to detect, signals from other planets (about fifty years ago).  Consider, for example, that if there was a civilization on Alpha Centauri at the technological stage we had two hundred years ago, they would have a thriving society made up of individuals that are highly intelligent, but to us here on Earth, they would be completely silent (and also wouldn't know it if we were talking to them).

However, considering the number of stars with planets, even in our region of the Milky Way, I think that's unlikely.  Even if we were all on a similar time table -- a contention that is not supported by what we know of stellar evolution -- it's nearly certain that there'd be someone out there at, or ahead of, our level of technology.  Add to that the fact that there are a lot of planet-hosting stars out there that are much older than the Sun, and I think option #1 is really not that likely.

Might we just be fortunate?  There are a number of hurdles we had to overcome to get where we are, none of which were at all sure bets.  The development of complex multicellular life, the evolution of symbiosis between our cells and what would eventually become our mitochondria (allowing us not only to avoid the toxic reactiveness of atmospheric oxygen, but to hitch that to our energy production systems, an innovation that improved our energy efficiency by a factor of 18).  None of those are at all guaranteed, and although it's conceivable to have intelligent life that lacks those characteristics, it's kind of hard to imagine how it would advance this much.

Then there's the evolution of sexual reproduction, which is critical not only because it's fun, but because it allows recombination of our genetic material each generation.  This allows us to avoid the dual problems of genetically-identical individuals being susceptible to the same pathogens, and also Muller's Ratchet (a problem faced by asexual species that is best understood as a genetic game of Telephone -- at each replication, mutations build up and eventually turn the DNA into nonsense).

But no one knows how likely the evolution of sexual reproduction is -- nor, honestly, if it's really as critical as I've suggested.

The last possibility, though -- "we're fucked" -- is the most alarming.  This postulates that the Great Filter lies ahead of us.  The reasons are varied, and all rather depressing.  It could be the "L" in the Drake Equation is a small number -- on the order of decades -- because we'll destroy ourselves somehow.  It could be that there are inevitable cosmic catastrophes that eventually wipe out the life on a planet, things like Wolf-Rayet stars and gamma-ray bursters, either of which would be seriously bad news if one went boom near the Solar System.

Then there's Elon Musk's worry, that intelligent civilizations eventually develop artificial intelligence, which backfires spectacularly.  In 2017 he urged a halt, or at least a slowdown, in AI research, because there's no reason to think sentient AI would consider us all that valuable.  "With artificial intelligence," Musk said, "we are summoning the demon.  You know all those stories where there’s the guy with the pentagram and the holy water and he’s like, yeah, he’s sure he can control the demon?  Doesn’t work out."

But by far the most sinister idea is that we're doomed because eventually, a civilization reaches the point where they're able to send out radio signals.  We've been doing this ever since radio and television were invented, so there's an expanding bubble of our transmissions zooming out into the galaxy at the speed of light.  And the idea here is that we'll eventually attract the attention of a considerably more powerful civilization, which will respond by stomping on us.  Stephen Hawking actually thought this was fairly likely -- back in 2015, he said, "We don't know much about aliens, but we know about humans.  If you look at history, contact between humans and less intelligent organisms have often been disastrous from their point of view, and encounters between civilizations with advanced versus primitive technologies have gone badly for the less advanced.  A civilization reading one of our messages could be billions of years ahead of us.  If so, they will be vastly more powerful, and may not see us as any more valuable than we see bacteria."

Which, considering that the first traces the aliens will see of us are Leave it to Beaver and The Andy Griffith Show, is an understandable reaction.

So there you have it.  If we did contact another civilization, it would be good news in one sense -- the Great Filter hasn't wiped everyone out but us -- but could be a seriously bad one in another respect.  I guess stuff like this is always a mixed bag.

Me, I still would love to live long enough to see it happen.  If an alien spaceship landed in my back yard, man, I would be thrilled.  It'd suck if it turned out to be an invasion by Daleks or Cybermen or whatnot, but man, at least for the first three minutes, it would be a hell of a rush.

******************************************

This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is from one of my favorite thinkers -- Irish science historian James Burke.  Burke has made several documentaries, including Connections, The Day the Universe Changed, and After the Warming -- the last-mentioned an absolutely prescient investigation into climate change that came out in 1991 and predicted damn near everything that would happen, climate-wise, in the twenty-seven years since then.

I'm going to go back to Burke's first really popular book, the one that was the genesis of the TV series of the same name -- Connections.  In this book, he looks at how one invention, one happenstance occurrence, one accidental discovery, leads to another, and finally results in something earthshattering.  (One of my favorites is how the technology of hand-weaving led to the invention of the computer.)  It's simply great fun to watch how Burke's mind works -- each of his little filigrees is only a few pages long, but you'll learn some fascinating ins and outs of history as he takes you on these journeys.  It's an absolutely delightful read.

[If you purchase the book from Amazon using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to supporting Skeptophilia!]

Parsing the Drake Equation

The Drake Equation is one of those curiosities that is looked upon as valid science by some and as pointless speculation by others.  Here's what it looks like:

Math-phobes, fear not; it's not as hard as it looks.  The idea, which was dreamed up by cosmologist Frank Drake back in 1961, is that you can estimate the number of civilizations in the universe with whom communication might be possible (Nb) by multiplying the probabilities of seven other independent variables, to wit:

R* = the average rate of star formation in our galaxy
fp = the fraction of those stars that have planets
ne = the fraction of those stars with planets whose planets are in the habitable zone
fl = the fraction of planets in the habitable zone that develop life
fi = the fraction of those planets which eventually develop intelligent life
fc = the fraction of those planets with intelligent life whose inhabitants develop the capability of communicating over interstellar distances
L = the average lifetime of those civilizations

Some of those (such as R*) are considered to be understood well enough that we can make a fairly sure estimate of its magnitude.  Others -- such as fp and ne -- were complete guesses in Drake's time.  How many stars had planets?  Could be nearly 100%, or it could be the Solar System was some incredibly fortunate fluke, and we're one of the only planetary systems in existence.  But now, with improvements in the techniques for surveying stars, we're finding planets everywhere we look -- most stars seem to have planets, and some research published just last month by a team of astronomers at the University of Witwatersrand (South Africa) has shown that planets could form stable orbits in multiple-star systems, something previously thought extremely unlikely.

That they can do so is fortunate not only for alien intelligence enthusiasts like myself -- as much as half of all stars are thought to be part of multiple-star systems -- but for this guy:

So the estimates keep being revised upward.  The one we still have no real idea about is L -- how long civilizations tend to last.  Carl Sagan, when he described the Drake Equation in his amazing series Cosmos, was pessimistic -- many civilizations, he suggested, lasted long enough to develop weapons of mass destruction, then proceed to blow themselves to smithereens.

But the fact is, we just don't know about L.  But one that was complete speculation -- fl, the fraction of planets in the habitable zone that develop life -- just got a bit of a boost from a study done at the University of Bristol (England).  The researchers, Holly C. Betts, Mark N. Puttick, James W. Clark, Tom A. Williams, Philip C. J. Donoghue, and Davide Pisani, published their results in Nature: Ecology and Evolution last week in a paper titled "Integrated Genomic and Fossil Evidence Illuminates Life's Early Evolution and Eukaryote Origin."  And one of the points the team makes is that once the Earth's surface had cooled sufficiently that water was able to exist in liquid form, life appeared in a relative flash -- while it was still being clobbered every other day by meteorites.

The authors write:

Establishing a unified timescale for the early evolution of Earth and life is challenging and mired in controversy because of the paucity of fossil evidence, the difficulty of interpreting it and dispute over the deepest branching relationships in the tree of life.  Surprisingly, it remains perhaps the only episode in the history of life where literal interpretations of the fossil record hold sway, revised with every new discovery and reinterpretation.  We derive a timescale of life, combining a reappraisal of the fossil material with new molecular clock analyses.  We find the last universal common ancestor of cellular life to have predated the end of late heavy bombardment (>3.9 billion years ago (Ga)).

Besides being of obvious interest to evolutionary geneticists, this should get astronomers' blood pumping; it implies that life originated on Earth when the conditions were still nothing short of hostile, with the corollary that once a planet has conditions that allow liquid water, life probably follows soon thereafter.

The implication being that it's likely that every planet with water that sits in its star's habitable zone has some form of life.

So understandably enough, I think this is way cool.  It doesn't give us any information about the remaining variables we have little information about, especially fi, fc, and L.  There's no particular reason to believe that intelligence is a necessary outcome of evolution; it's tempting to think that the process always drives organisms to be bigger, better, stronger, and smarter, but that's not supported by the evidence.  After all, it bears remembering that by far the dominant life-forms on Earth right now, both in terms of biodiversity and overall numbers, are... insects.

It might be that intelligence sufficient to communicate over interstellar distances is a very uncommon occurrence, which leads to the most likely scenario (in my opinion) being plentiful planets with huge diversity of life, but few that have anything like us.

Still, the galaxy is a big place, with billions of stars, so even if it's unlikely, intelligent life probably exists somewhere.  Which segues into tomorrow's post, which is about the Fermi Paradox.  When told about the Drake Equation, physicist Enrico Fermi famously shrugged his shoulders and said, "Then where is everybody?"

Tomorrow we'll look at a few possible answers -- some of which are considerably more cheerful than others.

******************************************

This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is from one of my favorite thinkers -- Irish science historian James Burke.  Burke has made several documentaries, including Connections, The Day the Universe Changed, and After the Warming -- the last-mentioned an absolutely prescient investigation into climate change that came out in 1991 and predicted damn near everything that would happen, climate-wise, in the twenty-seven years since then.

I'm going to go back to Burke's first really popular book, the one that was the genesis of the TV series of the same name -- Connections.  In this book, he looks at how one invention, one happenstance occurrence, one accidental discovery, leads to another, and finally results in something earthshattering.  (One of my favorites is how the technology of hand-weaving led to the invention of the computer.)  It's simply great fun to watch how Burke's mind works -- each of his little filigrees is only a few pages long, but you'll learn some fascinating ins and outs of history as he takes you on these journeys.  It's an absolutely delightful read.

[If you purchase the book from Amazon using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to supporting Skeptophilia!]

Going to the source

One of the hardest things for skeptics to fight is the tendency by some people to swallow any damnfool thing they happen to see online.

I had credited this tendency to gullibility.  If you see a catchy meme implying that if you drink a liter of vinegar a day, your arthritis will be cured ("Doctors hate this!  Get well with this ONE WEIRD TRICK!"), and think it sounds plausible, it's just because you don't have the background in science (or logic) to sift fact from fiction.

It turns out, the truth is apparently more complex than this.

According to a trio of psychologists working at the Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz and the Université Libre de Bruxelles, the problem isn't that silly ideas sound plausible to some people; it's that their mindset causes them to weight all information sources equally -- that one guy's blog is just as reliable as a scientific paper written by experts in the field.

(And yes, I'm fully aware of the irony of One Guy writing that in his blog.)

[Image licensed under the Creative Commons Karen Thibaut, Belmans in labo, CC BY-SA 3.0]

The paper, "Using Power as a Negative Cue: How Conspiracy Mentality Affects Epistemic Trust in Sources of Historical Knowledge," was written by Roland Imhoff, Pia Lamberty, and Olivier Klein, and appeared in the Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin a couple of months ago.  The authors write:

Classical theories of attitude change point to the positive effect of source expertise on perceived source credibility persuasion, but there is an ongoing societal debate on the increase in anti-elitist sentiments and conspiracy theories regarding the allegedly untrustworthy power elite.  In one correlational and three experimental studies, we tested the novel idea that people who endorse a conspiratorial mind-set (conspiracy mentality) indeed exhibit markedly different reactions to cues of epistemic authoritativeness than those who do not: Whereas the perceived credibility of powerful sources decreased with the recipients’ conspiracy mentality, that of powerless sources increased independent of and incremental to other biases, such as the need to see the ingroup in particularly positive light.  The discussion raises the question whether a certain extent of source-based bias is necessary for the social fabric of a highly complex society.

So people with a "conspiracy mentality" fall for conspiracies not because they're ignorant or gullible, but because their innate distrust of authority figures causes them to trust everyone equally -- they often frame it as being "open-minded" or "unbiased" -- regardless of what the credentials, background, expertise, or (even) sanity of the source.

In an interview in PsyPost, study co-author Roland Imhoff explained the angle they took on this perplexing social issue:

The very idea for the study was born in a joint discussion with my co-author Olivier Klein at a conference of social psychological representations of history.  We were listening to talks about all kinds of construals, biases and narratives about what happened in the ancient or not so ancient past.   Having the public debate about ‘alternative facts’ from after Trump’s inauguration still in the back of our minds, we wondered: how do we even know what we know, how do we know who to trust when it comes to events we all have not experienced in first person? 

While previous research had insisted that this is predominantly a question of trusting ingroup sources (i.e., my government, my national education institutions), we had a lingering suspicion that people who endorse conspiracy theories might have a different system of epistemic trust: not trusting those who are in power (and allegedly corrupt).

Which points out a problem I'd always found baffling -- why, to many people, is "being an intellectual elite" a bad thing?  It was one of the (many) epithets I heard hurled at Barack Obama -- that being Harvard-educated, he couldn't possibly care about, or even be aware, of the problems of ordinary middle-class America.  Conversely, this card was played the other way by George W. Bush.  He was a "regular guy," the type of fellow you could enjoy having a beer with on Saturday night and discussing the latest sports statistics.

And my thought was: don't you want our leaders to be smarter than you are?  I mean, seriously.  I know that I and the guys I have a beer with on Saturday night aren't qualified to run the country.  (And to my bar buddies, no disrespect intended.)  There's no way in hell I'm smart enough to be president.  One of the things I want in the people we elect to office is that they are smart -- smart enough to make good decisions based on actual factual knowledge.

That, apparently, is not the norm, which the election of Donald Trump -- clearly one of the least-qualified people ever to hold the highest office in the land -- illustrated with painful clarity.  But it wasn't only a flip of the middle finger at the Coastal Elites that got him there.  The study by Imhoff et al. suggests that it was because of a pervasive tendency to treat all sources of information as if they were equal.

"[T]he data consistently suggests [people with a conspiracy mentality] just ignore source characteristics," Imhoff said.  "To them a web blog is as trustworthy as an Oxford scholar.  As we have formulated, they have terminated the social contract of epistemic trust, that we should believe official sources more than unofficial ones."

I blame part of this on people like Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Ann Coulter, and (of course) Alex Jones, who have gone out of their way for years to convince everyone that the powers-that-be are lying to you about everything.  Now, the powers-that-be do lie sometimes.  Also, being an Oxford scholar is no guarantee against being wrong.  But if you cherry-pick your examples, and then act as if those instances of error or dishonesty are not only universal, but are deliberate attempts to hoodwink the public for nefarious purposes -- you've set up a vicious cycle where the more facts and evidence you throw at people, the less they trust you.

As I've pointed out before: if you can teach people to disbelieve the hard data, it's Game Over.  After that, you can convince them of anything.

******************************************

This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is from one of my favorite thinkers -- Irish science historian James Burke.  Burke has made several documentaries, including Connections, The Day the Universe Changed, and After the Warming -- the last-mentioned an absolutely prescient investigation into climate change that came out in 1991 and predicted damn near everything that would happen, climate-wise, in the twenty-seven years since then.

I'm going to go back to Burke's first really popular book, the one that was the genesis of the TV series of the same name -- Connections.  In this book, he looks at how one invention, one happenstance occurrence, one accidental discovery, leads to another, and finally results in something earthshattering.  (One of my favorites is how the technology of hand-weaving led to the invention of the computer.)  It's simply great fun to watch how Burke's mind works -- each of his little filigrees is only a few pages long, but you'll learn some fascinating ins and outs of history as he takes you on these journeys.  It's an absolutely delightful read.

[If you purchase the book from Amazon using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to supporting Skeptophilia!]

Duppy freestyle

Life isn't always smooth sailing, for me or for anyone else, but I'm thankful that I've never had to deal with a "duppy."

If you don't know what a duppy is, well, neither did I before yesterday.  Turns out it's a malevolent spirit of Jamaican origin.  After doing a bit of research, I found that the name comes from the Ga language of Ghana, where adope means "a spirit that appears in the shape of a dwarf."  In the tradition of Obeah -- a West Indian folk religion, originally of West African origin -- humans are born with two souls, a good one and a bad one.  When you die, your good soul goes to heaven to be judged, and the bad one stays in your coffin for three days, at which point it dies.  But if in those three days proper precautions aren't taken, the bad soul will escape and become a duppy, and go around causing problems.

The problem is, I couldn't find anywhere that told me what the proper precautions were.  So that's unfortunate.  I mean, they shouldn't be coy about this stuff, or we'll have the bad souls of Grandma Bertha and Great-Uncle Edmund and everyone else wandering about making people's lives miserable.

And heaven knows we wouldn't want that.

Woodcut of an "Obeah Man" from the journal Folk-Lore: A Quarterly Review of Myth, Tradition, Institution & Custom, volume 4. 1893.  Published in London by the Folk-lore Society.  [Image is in the Public Domain]

There are other kinds of duppies, though, as if one kind weren't enough.  There's one called the "Rolling Calf," which is a calf that rolls (thus the name) because its body is completely wrapped up with chains.  How that helps it roll I'm not sure, but you can see how that would make other sorts of movement pretty much out of the question.  There's also the "Three-Footed Horse" (once again, self-explanatory), and "Old Higue," a vampiric spirit that looks like a sweet little old lady by day, and a loathsome bloodsucking hag at night.

I think this might well explain the personality of my seventh-grade English teacher.  There always did seem to be something kind of cunning behind her smile.

The reason all this comes up is an article that appeared in The Jamaica Star a couple of weeks ago about an elderly husband and wife in St. Andrew, Jamaica, who say they're being tormented by a duppy.  The author of the article, Simone Morgan Lindo, seems to take the whole thing seriously, and quotes the old lady, Eulalee Mills, extensively.  Here's what Mills had to say.  (Note: the newspaper quoted her in Jamaican patois; I'm merely copying it here.  I say that so I don't have to write [sic] every other word.)

I was in my room and I had some things on my microwave and I just see the dem fly off.  I took them up back and pack them up but as me turn and a go in the next room, me hear the same tings dem drop off again...  The next day everything start fling from my chest of drawers and tings just start throw from all over the room.  Everything up in the air, all me medication and me blood pressure machine deh all over the place and tings just start 'lick' me inna me back and all over mi body.  Me and me husband stand up in our room and all things from the kitchen a sail come in come lick we.

So that's pretty scary.  Her husband Milford, though, was not about to let some disembodied spirit throw around their belongings.

As soon as me rebuke the 'spirit' and stepped out the room, it start act up back again and start sail tings...  I know dem spirits deh can't trouble me, enuh, because me is one of God's bad man, so me a go continue rebuke them.  The rest a people dem in the house no have the spiritual power to fight dem, but me nah stop until me house get calm back.

Which is pretty damn brave.  I know I'm a skeptic and all, but I have to say, if I was sitting in my house minding my own business and my blood pressure medication suddenly started flying through the air, rebuking would kind of be the last thing I would think of.  I think my more likely response would be to piss my pants and then have a stroke.  Because I may be a rationalist, but I'm also a big fat coward.

Interestingly, the Mills' neighbors aren't quite so certain Milford Mills is on the right side of things.  One neighbor, who didn't want to be named, said that Mills was a practitioner of Obeah who was just getting what he deserved.  Another said that (s)he had seen a female spirit walking in the Mills' yard at night, and it was the ghost of a woman with whom Milford Mills had an illicit relationship.

I hope the whole thing settles down soon, not only so Eulalee and Milford get the calm they want, but because bad stuff happens when superstitious people are feeling threatened.  If the neighbors start thinking Milford and his wife are a danger to the safety of the community, they might take matters into their own hands.  Just last year, it was reported that a bunch of homeless children in Uige, Angola were tortured -- and some were killed -- because the locals had become convinced they were witches.  That sort of thing appears to be fairly common in the world, which I find appalling.

But so far, no one's bothered the Mills, and there were no more recent reports of their belongings being thrown about.  So that's all good.  As for me, if there are duppies around here, I'd be much obliged if they'd stay out of my house.  My housekeeping skills are already such that they could be summed up by the statement, "There appears to have been a struggle."  The last thing I need is a ghost adding to the chaos.

******************************************

This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is from one of my favorite thinkers -- Irish science historian James Burke.  Burke has made several documentaries, including Connections, The Day the Universe Changed, and After the Warming -- the last-mentioned an absolutely prescient investigation into climate change that came out in 1991 and predicted damn near everything that would happen, climate-wise, in the twenty-seven years since then.

I'm going to go back to Burke's first really popular book, the one that was the genesis of the TV series of the same name -- Connections.  In this book, he looks at how one invention, one happenstance occurrence, one accidental discovery, leads to another, and finally results in something earthshattering.  (One of my favorites is how the technology of hand-weaving led to the invention of the computer.)  It's simply great fun to watch how Burke's mind works -- each of his little filigrees is only a few pages long, but you'll learn some fascinating ins and outs of history as he takes you on these journeys.  It's an absolutely delightful read.

[If you purchase the book from Amazon using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to supporting Skeptophilia!]

What we've got here is a failure to replicate

I frequently post about new scientific discoveries, and having a fascination for neuroscience and psychology, a good many of them have to do with how the human brain works.  Connecting behavior to the underlying brain structure is not easy -- but with the advent of the fMRI, we've begun to make some forays into trying to elucidate how the brain's architecture is connected to neural function, and how neural function is connected to higher-order phenomena like memory, learning, instinct, language, and socialization.

Whenever I post about science I try my hardest to use sources that are from reputable journals such as Science and Nature -- and flag the ones that aren't as speculative.  The reason those gold-standard journals are considered so reliable is because of a rigorous process of peer review, wherein scientists in the field sift through papers with a fine-toothed comb, demanding revisions on anything questionable -- or sometimes rejecting the paper out of hand if it doesn't meet the benchmark.

[Image is in the Public Domain]

That's why a paper published in -- you guessed it -- Nature had me picking my jaw up off the floor.  A team of psychologists and social scientists, led by Colin Camerer of Caltech, took 21 psychological studies that had been published either in Nature or in Science and didn't just review them carefully, but tried to replicate their results.

Only 13 of them turned out to be replicable.

This is a serious problem.  I know that scientists are fallible just like the rest of us, but this to me doesn't sound like ordinary fallibility, it sounds like outright sloppiness, both on the part of the researchers and on the part of the reviewers.  I mean, if you can't trust Nature and Science, who can you trust?

Anna Dreber, of the Stockholm School of Economics, who co-authored the study, was unequivocal about its import.  "A false positive result can make other researchers, and the original researcher, spend lots of time and energy and money on results that turn out not to hold," she said.  "And that's kind of wasteful for resources and inefficient, so the sooner we find out that a result doesn't hold, the better."

Brian Nosek, of the University of Virginia, was also part of the team that did the study, and he thought that the pattern they found went beyond the "publish-or-perish" attitude that a lot of institutions have.  "Some people have hypothesized that, because they're the most prominent outlets they'd have the highest rigor," Nosek said.  "Others have hypothesized that the most prestigious outlets are also the ones that are most likely to select for very 'sexy' findings, and so may be actually less reproducible."

One heartening thing is that as part of the study, the researchers asked four hundred scientists in the field who were not involved with the study to take a look at the 21 papers in question, and make their best assessment as to whether it would pass replication or not.  And the scientists' guesses were usually correct.

So why, then, did eight flawed, non-replicable studies get past the review boards of the two most prestigious science journals in the world?  "The likelihood that a finding will replicate or not is one part of what a reviewer would consider," Nosek said.  "But other things might influence the decision to publish.  It may be that this finding isn't likely to be true, but if it is true, it is super important, so we do want to publish it because we want to get it into the conversation."

Well, okay, but how often are these questionably-correct but "super important" findings labeled as such?  It's rare to find a paper where there's any degree of doubt expressed for the main gist (although many of them do have sections on the limitations of the research, or questions that are still unanswered).  And it's understandable why.  If I were on a review board, I'd definitely look askance at a paper that made a claim and then admitted the results of the research might well be a fluke.

So this is kind of troubling.  It's encouraging that at least the inquiry is being made; identifying that a process is flawed is the first step toward fixing it.  As for me, I'm going to have to be a little more careful with my immediate trust of psychological research just because it was published in Nature or Science.

"The way to get ahead and get a job and get tenure is to publish lots and lots of papers," said Will Gervais of the University of Kentucky, who was one of the researchers whose study failed replication.  "And it's hard to do that if you are able run fewer studies, but in the end I think that's the way to go — to slow down our science and be more rigorous up front."

******************************************

This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is from one of my favorite thinkers -- Irish science historian James Burke.  Burke has made several documentaries, including Connections, The Day the Universe Changed, and After the Warming -- the last-mentioned an absolutely prescient investigation into climate change that came out in 1991 and predicted damn near everything that would happen, climate-wise, in the twenty-seven years since then.

I'm going to go back to Burke's first really popular book, the one that was the genesis of the TV series of the same name -- Connections.  In this book, he looks at how one invention, one happenstance occurrence, one accidental discovery, leads to another, and finally results in something earthshattering.  (One of my favorites is how the technology of hand-weaving led to the invention of the computer.)  It's simply great fun to watch how Burke's mind works -- each of his little filigrees is only a few pages long, but you'll learn some fascinating ins and outs of history as he takes you on these journeys.  It's an absolutely delightful read.

[If you purchase the book from Amazon using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to supporting Skeptophilia!]

From the mailbag

Being a blogger means I get some interesting emails.

A lot of them, as you undoubtedly know if you read Skeptophilia frequently, are recommendations for future posts.  I appreciate these tremendously, even the ones of the "I think you're wrong and here's a link proving it" type.  Hey, if I wasn't willing to reconsider topics, and admit when I was wrong, I'd be a poor excuse for a skeptic.  So don't stop sending suggestions, and don't stop reading carefully so someone's keeping me honest.

Then there are the emails telling me what readers think of me.  Laudatory ones are lovely, of course, but I find the hate mail rather interesting.  Most of it seems to be generated because of my general disdain for pseudoscience -- by which I mean practices like astrology, homeopathy, auras, and (most) psychic/paranormal investigation.  (I emphasize the word most because there are groups that approach it the right way.  A good example is the UK-based Society for Psychical Research, which looks at such claims with a skeptical eye, and is perfectly willing to call out hoaxers when it's merited.)

Then there are the religious ones.  I got an interesting one in this category day before yesterday, and that's what spurred me to write this post.  I call it "interesting" not because I think the writer was right -- about pretty much anything (s)he said -- but because it brings up a few stereotypes that are all too common.  So here's the email in its entirety, with some interjected responses from me.

Dear Mr. Skeptic Atheist, 

I'm going to identify myself right away as a Christian.  I always have been and I always will be.  I know you'd like to talk me out of it, but it wouldn't succeed.

Well, you started off on the wrong foot.  I have no interest whatsoever in "talking you out of" Christianity or any other viewpoint you might have on which we disagree.  I'm a firm believer in something my mom taught me when I was little -- "my rights end where your nose begins."  So you can believe in God, you can believe in Allah, you can believe in Zeus.  Hell, you can believe that the universe is controlled by a Giant Green Bunny from the Andromeda Galaxy if you want.

I do, however, object when religion (or any other framework for belief) starts impinging on the rights of non-adherents.  An example is the virulently anti-LGBTQ stance of a lot of evangelicals.  You have every right to refrain from same-sex encounters yourself if you think they're sinful or repugnant.  What I won't stand by silently for is when you say, "I belong to the Church of XYZ, so you should be punished for being gay," or "I have a right to discriminate against you because my religion says I should."

Beyond that, I'm not trying to talk anyone out of, or into, anything.  I state my opinions -- rather strongly at times, I'll admit -- but I have the same right to do that as you do, and I have no more right to compel you than you do me.

I don't know why you feel like you have to trumpet your hate for Christians the way you do.  It isn't right. 

Asking me "why I hate Christians" is a little like asking "when did you stop beating your wife?"  In point of fact, I don't hate Christians.  I may disagree with them, but that's not the same thing.  And I'm happy to say that I am friends with people of a great many religions, and every gradation of faith, questioning, doubt, and disbelief, and honestly, we all get along pretty well.

Because I went to high school in rural southern Louisiana, you might imagine that I know a good many devout people -- and you'd be right.  Because of the wonders of Facebook, a lot of my classmates have kept in touch, and (surprise!) I can't remember any of us saying to another, "I don't like you any more because your religious views are different from mine."  Mostly what we do is argue about stuff like whose grandma had the best gumbo recipe.

And what made you hate God?  God shows nothing but love for his people, he wants the best for all of us, and you return nothing but spite.  Try looking at His creations without the fire in your eyes and you might be surprised.

Once again, I don't hate God, I just don't think he exists.  Which is hardly the same thing.  At the same point, being a skeptic (as I mentioned before), I'm perfectly open to being convinced, if anyone has credible evidence that I'm wrong.  (You may recall Bill Nye's comment during the infamous Bill Nye/Ken Ham evolution/creation debate that Bill was asked what would it take to convince him he was wrong, and he said, "One piece of evidence that couldn't be explained another way."  That's how I feel about pretty much everything.)

So if you have some evidence, let's hear it.  I promise I won't burn you up with the fire in my eyes.

The worst part is you're a teacher.  So you're influencing a whole generation of children who look up to you, inducing them to abandon God and putting them in danger of hell.  I can't think of anything worse.

This part made me think of how the author of this email must picture my classes.  What, do you believe that I run into my classroom every day, yelling maniacally, "THERE IS NO GOD!  WORSHIP SATAN!  BOW DOWN TO EVIL!  HA HA!" or something?  Let me tell you, with all of the actual science I have to cover, I simply don't have time to indoctrinate my students in Satan worship.

In fact, every once in a while -- this comes up most often in my Critical Thinking classes, although the question is sometimes raised when we're studying evolution in my biology classes -- some student will ask me if I'm religious.  My usual response is, "My own religious beliefs aren't relevant here."  I mean, given that my background is in evolutionary genetics, it's a pretty shrewd guess that I'm not a fundamentalist.  But other than that, I suspect the majority of my students don't have a clue about my own beliefs or lack thereof.

And that's exactly how it should be.

It's not too late for you.  You can still dedicate your life to Jesus.  The lost lamb can be found.  But not if you persist in your hateful, God-denying ways.  I'm asking you to repent and beg forgiveness, for your own sake. 

I will be praying for you daily that you will come back to your Creator rather than having to face him at the End of Days and be cast away in despair.

Well, I suppose that's all nice enough.  I'm not a big believer in prayer, myself, but I'll never turn away well-wishes in whatever form they may take.  And it's nice to know you don't want me to burn for eternity.  (And I have actually gotten emails of the "When you die I'm going to laugh because I'll know you're being tortured in hell" variety.  But they're not very common, which is rather heartening.)

The email wasn't signed.  It just sort of ended there, without a "have a nice day" or anything.  Although I can see that given what went before, that'd be a little ironic.

Anyhow, I suppose it could be worse.  At least there were no death threats.  And like I said, the writer seemed to be coming from a generally compassionate point of view, even if his/her interpretation of my beliefs was a few degrees off of due north.  So keep those cards and letters comin', although I'd prefer it if the "burn in hell unbeliever" and "I'm going to track you down and kill you" people would find another hobby.

Oh, and it was my grandma.  My grandma clearly had the best gumbo recipe.  Thanks for asking.

******************************************

This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is from one of my favorite thinkers -- Irish science historian James Burke.  Burke has made several documentaries, including Connections, The Day the Universe Changed, and After the Warming -- the last-mentioned an absolutely prescient investigation into climate change that came out in 1991 and predicted damn near everything that would happen, climate-wise, in the twenty-seven years since then.

I'm going to go back to Burke's first really popular book, the one that was the genesis of the TV series of the same name -- Connections.  In this book, he looks at how one invention, one happenstance occurrence, one accidental discovery, leads to another, and finally results in something earthshattering.  (One of my favorites is how the technology of hand-weaving led to the invention of the computer.)  It's simply great fun to watch how Burke's mind works -- each of his little filigrees is only a few pages long, but you'll learn some fascinating ins and outs of history as he takes you on these journeys.  It's an absolutely delightful read.

[If you purchase the book from Amazon using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to supporting Skeptophilia!]