Scientifical Americans

by Sharon A. Hill

  Public Interest Remains

  Even though the scientific community rejects an area of research as worthless, the public is undeterred in interest. To them, these topics are still “mysterious” and deserve attention. “Isn’t that what scientists do?” they ask, “Investigate the unknown?” People still report UFOs, ghosts, and Bigfoot and expect investigation of these mysteries by someone. Understandably, the public wants science to take a more serious interest in their favorite fringe subject, but they are unaware of the long history and issues I described above that limit modern scientific investment. Professional scientists focus on solvable problems and abandon dead ends. To dwell in fringe areas would be detrimental to their career. The evidence for paranormal ideas, unfortunately, failed to be extraordinary, so the scientists turned away (Marks 1986). As academic interest dwindled, the investigation and research on these topics shifted. Anyone who put in time and effort, without the requirement for higher levels of education, was free to establish himself as a researcher, writing or expounding on the subject—the amateur claimed the ground. With direct access to witnesses and the media, the fields evolved into a different niche that wasn’t science and, in many circumstances, rejects science outright. Views were diverted from naturalistic explanations as required by science to non-scientific speculation that resulted in recognition in society, media attention and, sometimes, even profits.

  If new evidence came to light regarding ARIGs’ areas of research, scientific experts would be all over it, jumping at the opportunity to take over from well-meaning, enthusiastic amateurs and a formal scientific process of meticulous collection, analysis, and publication would be enacted. If an amateur cryptozoologist caught Bigfoot, within days the study of Sasquatch would no longer be the realm of amateurs. ARIGs realize this, albeit somewhat grudgingly. At their point of highest success, it is a galling thought that they should have to turn to professional scientists who will vet, publish, and eventually attach their own names to any worthwhile findings. It seems unlikely that those invested in the pursuit would wipe their hands, say “Mission Accomplished,” and walk away. There is too much invested, emotionally, in this very involved hobby (Regal 2011). Ideally, scientists should graciously recognize contributions from amateurs as warranted, provide advice and opinions when requested (or when opportunities arise). Scientists would benefit from attempts to understand the amateurs’ goals and role with the public. However, scientists work long and hard, collectively and individually, to earn their place in the hierarchy of the knowledge process. They are the gatekeepers for what is in scientific interest. Amateurs can not gain that rank. Their contribution always remain one step removed.

  Higher Learning

  Several unaccredited universities and parapsychological institutes play the role of places of higher learning for fringe topics. Examples include the American Institute of Metaphysics,2 the Rhine Research Center,3 the Nevada Institute of Paranormal Studies,4 Flamel College,5 and the International Metaphysical University.6 A few religious-themed ministries offer an Internet course in demonology and exorcism (Krulos 2015). Obtaining credentials from such places may look impressive to some, but they hold little gravitas as they are not accredited as educational sources. There are no restrictions against offering such classes or certifications. There are not genuine experts in cryptids, ghosts, UFOs, or demonology because they have not been established as valid phenomena and, thus, there is no basis for their study. Without any standards and foundation, anyone can decide to call themselves an expert in a field that they contrive. Therefore, we see the low bar for participation in these fields. Self-directed learning is the norm. Unfortunately, not many ARIG members dig into the deep history of their fields to assess what has been done before. Use of the prior literature on a subject is a yardstick used by scientists to judge how competent a researcher is (Dolby 1975). Many ARIGs presenting to the public show superficial or incompetent knowledge of the long history of their these subjects, focusing only on the modern media era. Even today’s top paracelebs will be found woefully lacking in suitable background knowledge. My favorite shortcut to testing the knowledge of self-described expert ghost hunters is to ask about the work of the “SPR” and see if they have even heard of it.

  Personal Values

  ARIG participants express their personal value systems in their activities. Science should ideally by “valueless” in the sense that no particular value, except knowledge, guides the outcome. When values become enmeshed in scientific discussions, those discussions often become unresolvable and lead to animosity. A perfect example of a values-laden social issue that can’t be resolved is that of abortion. No amount of scientific facts will be able to resolve issues that are tied irrevocably to personal values and beliefs. The influence of values is also evident in the context of science and the paranormal.

  Early in the history of professional science, some scientists rejected the idea of materialism—the tenet that says all phenomena, including that of the mind, can be attributed to physical aspects of nature—and felt that a human was more than just matter. He also had a soul, conscience, or moral sense. When scientists studied psychic phenomena to find evidence of life after death, they insisted that there were forces yet to be discovered. Even at this time, some wanted the boundaries of science extended to include “supernatural” or non-material observations (Lyons 2009). The scientific community rejected this deviation and the rigid framework was retained. The same call to soften this structure is still heard today with allegations, especially from parapsychologists, that some phenomena are beyond the scope of reductionist science, and that it is folly to reduce everything to natural laws, matter, and mathematics.

  Alternative ideas about the natural world that were less than scientific became popular in the 1960s. These new fields, as alternatives to orthodox science explanations, were a means to connect to personal values systems (Thurs 2007). When scientific methods did not provide the answers that were sought, proponents found other ways of framing the subject, frequently venturing into supernatural explanations (Denzler 2003). Examples of this are abundant in New Age spirituality—astrology, astral projection, spiritual enlightenment, expansion of consciousness. Blended ideas of natural laws and spiritual suggestions permeated the UFO community in particular. Feel-good spirituality also seeped into concepts about hauntings and mystery creatures where psychic and trans-dimensional themes emerged. Aliens became our space brothers trying to warn us of coming disasters. Bigfoot became a person of the forest connected to nature, like humans used to be long ago. While this volume is not an appropriate place to address this complex subtopic, there is much to consider about the spiritual aspect of those who may replace traditional religious practices with paranormal beliefs. (Consider that the basis of most religions is supernatural, but we typically don’t think of religion as institutionalized supernatural belief.) Most people are invested in a belief system that gives their lives special meaning. They may be seeking an answer for some dissatisfaction in life. Some scholars suggest paranormal beliefs are adopted in response to a rejection or resistance to orthodox religious practice or rigid scientific materialism. Others say people turn towards fringe and occult ideas because they are disenchanted by science and a scientific world view. Narrative power is placed back in the hands of the individual instead of some institution (Jenzen & Munt 2013; Bader et al. 2010). At the intersection of leisure time, paranormal beliefs, and a search for meaning in life, the environment of “occulture” grew. Occult-related cultural items blend, disseminate, and became influential in society (Partridge 2013).

  It is useful to examine one time in American history when values held by the scientific community, the public, and an individual promoting an alternative to science clashed in a pop culture explosion. Not many ARIGs would know of the Velikovsky affair; they might find it unimportant and irrelevant, but the scenario and reaction that occurred is illustrative of the reaction to ARIGs, their subject areas, and their methods.

  The Ve
likovsky Affair, or How to Tell What Is Worthwhile Scientific Work

  A fascinating discussion by R.G.A. Dolby (1975) provides a guide to a case study about a popular idea that was nearly universally rejected by orthodox scientists, sold directly and successfully to the public by a non-expert, and even involved religious connections. Immanuel Velikovsky wrote in his 1950 book Worlds in Collision that a comet from Jupiter caused catastrophic disasters on Earth and Mars and eventually became the planet Venus. These disasters could be correlated to events in the Old Testament of the Bible. Velikovsky was not a scientist and provided a physical mechanism that was nonsensical to those knowledgeable in basic facts of nature. He used historical documentation and speculation instead of astronomical calculations or other quantifiable methods. Scientists didn’t take him seriously, rejecting this absurd tale out of hand. But Velikovsky supporters saw this new proposal as revolutionary science and the affair resulted in undermining the authority of scientific experts in popular culture. Dolby describes the rise of Velikovsky’s popularity and community conflict as an example of the social nature of science. There are so many individuals who present revolutionary ideas—how do we know which ones to take seriously? In a specialty scientific field, a contributor is expected to present their arguments and supporting evidence in a formal paper to a reputable journal and be subject to peer review. If the paper does get published, the idea is deemed worthy of consideration by this community. The proposed concept is expected to fit into the existing understanding of the field or improve upon what is known, citing literature of what has come before. Velikovsky’s proposal of catastrophism did not go this route. His unsupported theory spanned disparate fields of study. However, the literature cited regarding physical sciences revealed to Dolby that Velikovsky had no understanding of the foundations of the field.

  There were considerable objective reasons for the scientific community to reject the Velikovsky idea. The proposed theory, while explaining some anomalies, was too selective in scope and created more and greater anomalies than it solved; it did not address why the alternatives were not suitable and was not defendable with evidence or by argument. Velikovsky bypassed peer review, appealing directly to the public with a dramatic book. This created a subjective reason to reject it—it short-circuited and undermined scientific process and authority. His idea, thought ludicrous by reputable experts, was taken seriously by the public and became fashionable, making his book a blockbuster best-seller (Gordin 2012).

  The same scenario applies to ARIG theories. Ideas about alien visitation, Bigfoot, hauntings or demonic interference sound bizarre to scientific experts. But they become popular and the subject of media exposure because they serve a need in our culture. Ideas about paranormal activity also span disciplines, adding to the difficulty of fitting it into a scientific format. As proposed, spirit activities, anomalous aerial phenomena and trans-dimensional “zooform” (animal-like) creatures are challenging to explain in terms of modern scientific knowledge—they would be revolutionary discoveries that would change the current mode of thinking about the world. Looking back upon the history of psychical research, parapsychology, ufology and cryptozoology, they have not followed the path of a revolutionary shift in understanding. As Dolby describes, a revolutionary idea would result in a new stand-alone discipline that would eventually develop structure to generate and test hypotheses and, in time, progress in understanding. This new field would draw in researchers, it would flourish, gain respect, and generate new knowledge that would tie into existing knowledge to supply an overall cohesive view. It would make sense. Parapsychology was on its way along this path but stumbled and not progressed. Other fringe fields remain publicly popular but have also not generated reliable knowledge and have stagnated. This argument supports abandonment or wholesale change in pursuit of these fields. However, these fields and ARIGs’ pursuit of them have social value, so they continue to exist incommensurate with scientific study. They remain separate from scientific fields and processes and pursue their specific goals on their own terms with different language, methods and assumptions.

  Mind the Gap

  As with Immanuel Velikovsky’s idea about worlds in collision and catastrophic events in the solar system, ARIGs’ ideas about life after death, visitors transporting across our skies, and mystery animals hiding in the shadows resonate with many people. They are popular concepts regardless if they make scientific or logical sense. Normal people, not academics, are reporting these events and expressing the desire that they be investigated. Who can they report them to if not the scientific authorities? ARIGs provide considerable social function by serving as a source for those who have witnessed these events, other interested amateurs, and the media (Westrum 1977; Hynek 1972).

  The field of ufology is the product of social effort, not that of a cadre of intellectual elite (Blake 1979). Writer John Keel (1975), who was influential in UFO culture, described the UFO community at its peak as consisting of nonprofessional, nonsocial people with identity issues and a lack of higher education where active participation provided an ego trip and an escape from an “undistinguished life”—a harsh assessment but somewhat compatible with what I found with ARIGs as well. Because grassroots UFO groups did not use statistics or similar scientific methodologies to address anomalies, their work was not considered by scientific journals. Therefore, they started their own journals, establishing their own criteria for publication that was much lower than that of standard professional journals. UFO groups eventually became outwardly antagonistic towards each other and developed personality cults. It is fair to say the same thing is occurring with other ARIG areas such as ghost hunting and cryptozoology teams as certain high-profile people wish to gain a position as “the” top expert. Ufologists did it first. As with psychical research in the late 1800s, the mid–1900s was a time when credentialed investigators affiliated themselves with UFO organizations that addressed certain questions that science avoided or discarded –—reports of alien visitations, missing time experiences, abduction scenarios. It was an unexplored area, and perhaps these academic investigators presumed there was something to be discovered. The government, universities, and individual academics eventually retreated and only a few popular figures at least tangentially affiliated with science remained associated with ufology, which was now heavily weighted in discussion of alien visitation. Budd Hopkins, John Mack and Stanton Friedman wrote books and were treated as experts because of their credentials but they were ostracized by the scientific community. Instead, they appealed directly to the UFO advocates and garnered support for their questionable ideas. A similar pattern is seen in both ghost and cryptozoology research. Not many academics engage in serious ghost hunting but some have moved into the field of anomalistic psychology which takes these strange experiences seriously, not in terms of the supernatural elements, but in how our brain creates and perceives events we interpret as paranormal. Researchers in this area include Dr. Richard Wiseman and Dr. Christopher French in the U.K. For cryptids, notably Bigfoot, credentialed men such as Dr. Jeffrey Meldrum, Loren Coleman and Dr. Karl Shuker are cryptozoological advocates.

  Ghost investigators, most of which whom do not have higher education or professional standing, make their reputations via publicity from TV shows. There is a distinct disconnect between television and television-influenced paranormalists and academics working in parapsychology. This is dramatically demonstrated by consulting parapsychology references like Cardeña et al. (2015) and examining the work of the ASSAP (Association for the Scientific Study of Anomalous Phenomena) (ASSAP), the Koestler Parapsychology Unit (KPU) in the Psychology Department at the University of Edinburgh in the U.K., and the mediumship research at the Windbridge Institute in the U.S. ARIGs do not resemble these examples.

  ARIG communities are insular. Their ideas are not subject to criticism or peer review and do not become part of the overall intellectual discourse as scientific efforts would (Regal 2011). Scientists are skeptical of reports from out
side their community, in part because of fraud and error, but in the cases of amateurs or even those outside their professional field of expertise, various factors are at play that curtail progress of unorthodox ideas (Westrum 1978).