Yesterday I had lunch with a couple of executives from the marketing department of a publisher we’ll call Universally Books (I trust there isn’t actually a publisher with that name). Their business is the computer books the company publishes; nonetheless, they quite naturally take an interest in the rest of the company’s output.

Well, they told me, when they went to a marketing seminar run by the company to present its upcoming releases and a speaker announced a book on spontaneous human combustion, they thought it was a joke. Apparently, the whole place rolled on the floor with laughter. Except it wasn’t a joke, and they’re now responsible for making the sales force feel enthusiastic about selling it. I won’t go into details about this book, but judging from the name of the author, this is very unlikely to be a book saying there’s nothing supernatural about spontaneous human combustion.

You have to understand: I’ve reviewed this company’s computer books, and they’re generally sound, well put together, technically oriented books. But other sections of the company are responsible for some of the best selling examples of what a lot of us skeptics like to call ‘tripe’.

The conversation quite naturally drifted from there into the question of publishers’ responsibility generally. Lots of people will tell you that book publishing these days has nothing at all to do with disseminating information and everything to do with marketing and what will sell. Judging from my conversation with these folks, this is pretty much true. Oh, they have the odd pang of conscience about it and they were certainly interested in seeing copies of Joe Nickell’s discussion of spontaneous human combustion (if you want to read it, it’s in Nickell’s Secrets of the Supernatural, published by Prometheus). But on the whole it seemed to them perfectly reasonable that after all, the company has to make a profit. 

This is, of course, something we’ve been hearing about for years. A number of the more visible skeptics think that one of the reasons New Age beliefs have become so respectable is the heavy promotion by major, often respected publishers. On the other hand, publishers put out those books because they sell. Which came first? Is it right just to tell people – through books – whatever they want to hear?

Talking about that raised the issue of censorship. I’m against that. At the same time, it’s frustrating to see the same myths perpetuated while hard evidence gets ignored. Universally is also publishing a creationist book which has already been torn to shreds by reputable scientists. My co-lunchers, who are by no means stupid people, admit that they’re not well enough educated in or knowledgeable about science to assess the claims made in such a book. Of course, they said, the publisher’s New York headquarters will have sent the book out to a scientific reader. But I’d say they’re guessing hopefully; they don’t really know.

The upshot of all this – as they told me quite plainly – is that skeptical books won’t get published, at least by them. Who’s going to buy a book that lays out the evidence in favour of evolution? Where’s the controversy in that?

I quoted them a passage from one of Shirley MacLaine’s books, the one that Henry Gordon made fun of in Channelling Into the New Age (Prometheus), about crystals amplifying thought waves and emotions just as the crystal in your radio set amplifies the sound. This was a sort of test they failed. They sort of thought crystals were no longer in radio sets (they were right), but didn’t know that crystals don’t amplify anything.

They were even less clear on the creationist arguments and their rebuttals. They had seen Richard Dawkins’ demolition of Richard Milton’s book on creationism, but were in no position to assess Dawkins’ arguments.

Now, I’m not too clear on a lot of those details myself. When I have to write about these things I look it up. In a book. And I trust the publishers of the book to make the book accurate. Except, as is patently obvious, you can’t trust any such thing.

These were marketing people, not the people who make the editorial decisions, granted. But these days in most publishing companies, a lot of editorial decisions come from the marketing department. I mean, there we were, talking about skeptical books and computer books, and they’re thinking in terms of what will sell, and how. That’s their job, and you can’t fault them for doing it.

But that’s the central problem: they don’t know. Like most people, they’re not particularly well trained in science or in thinking skeptically. They quite clearly have doubts about this stuff – but since they don’t really know, they say, as most reasonable people would, ‘Well, it could be true.’ Faced with a case argued with lots of details, they can’t come up with the information to refute it.

That’s where we come in. We can’t – or at least I won’t – advocate censorship. But we can argue for education so that the people who control what information is made available to the public can make informed decisions.

The post From the archives: The power of the publisher appeared first on The Skeptic.

Hanging in my living room is an American advertising poster from sometime in the late nineteenth century. It hangs in my house largely because of the wonderful artwork: a lovely, angelic, round-cheeked young girl, with blue eyes and curly blonde tresses and rosebud lips.

A vision of virginal Victorian virtue, the epitome of youthful innocence and beauty, a paragon of health and rectitude, she gazes serenely into the distance, head turned slightly to profile in a posture that conveys wonder and hope and a guileless and immaculate strength. A slight flush of rose in her cheeks reveals her energetic enthusiasm for life, for this child faces each new day with eager confidence. Her eyes betray no hint of worry or fear; she has never known disease or suffering.

In this painting is encapsulated everything a loving parent could possibly hope for his children. The artist – totally unknown, of course – had an enormous talent: the ability to distil the dreams and hopes and grandeur of a proud and growing culture from a palette of oil colours onto canvas. 

The portrait, naturally enough, takes up most of the poster: near life-size head and shoulders of the girl centred against a neutral background. Across the top, in tastefully bold-faced letters drawn in an eye-pleasing, jaunty calligraphy, not too large, not too bold, not too gaudy, is the name of the now-defunct American product Ayer’s Sarsaparilla. In the upper right and upper left corners, in slightly smaller, more sedate print, are the phrases ‘Makes the Weak Strong’ and ‘Improves the Complexion, Purifies the Blood’. Across the bottom is the slogan: 

‘How fair she grows from day to day.’
She Uses
AYER’S SARSAPARILLA

How quaintly absurd we find such claims today, for a simple beverage of mere flavoured water once dispensed as a ‘tonic’. The sophisticated citizen of today would of course scoff at such pretensions, even if truth-in-advertising laws let them slip through. We know better than to place our faith in wild claims of health and vigour from ordinary foods and beverages, and would no more believe that a common soft drink ‘Purifies the Blood’ than that Irn Bru is actually made from girders. We can smile at the naive charm of those simpler times, seeing through such transparent attempts to manipulate us as easily as a modern ten-year-old dispels the myth of Father Christmas.

Nowadays we would never be taken in by snake-oil incantations and absurd assertions from fast-talking medicine show hucksters. Today, people are vastly more aware, more perceptive than those simple-minded bumpkins of yore. We’re seasoned, sharp and cynical, educated, worldly.

We know about health and medicine and nutrition because there are thousands of books and magazine articles, talk show interviews and free government pamphlets, concerned co-workers and relatives and even complete strangers on the street to explain it to us. We can’t get through a day without being told a dozen times what’s truly healthful and what to avoid; we’re bombarded, lambasted, inundated with endless volleys of wellness programmes and organic vegetables, workouts and skin care, vitamins and minerals and high-fibre, low-sodium alternatives. 

We monitor our intake of caffeine and calories, sugar and sodium, and we scrutinise our cholesterol level; we abhor MSG and eschew carcinogens. We aerate, chlorinate, and fluoridate; we exercise and aerobicise. In even the smallest towns can be found a cornucopia of organic bean curd, hydroponic tomatoes, hand-made marmalade and high-protein low-fat tofu. In short, we are the most health conscious, medically aware, biologically in-tune society that mankind has ever produced, and no one could ever be deceived by so obvious a canard as ‘Purifies the Blood’. 

These days when advertisements proclaim that seemingly ordinary products will enrich our lives and ensure our health, we know that they can be believed, because cleancut, smarmy, bespectacled men with straight white teeth and conservative ties and white smocks stand before us, clutching clipboards like stone tablets handed down from the mount by the god of scientific scrutiny, with actual factual objective reports that prove it to be so.

Television advertising is awash in a veritable Sargasso Sea of graphs and charts and diagrams and reports, from medical experts, dental authorities, trained nutritional specialists and ubiquitous independent study teams, demonstrating to us with unimpeachable testimony that the products offered to us are blessed and beneficial. Keen scientific minds are diligently and tirelessly at work performing elaborate research, writing books, giving interviews, and providing a steady, lifegiving stream of facts and statistics to keep us healthy and prolong our lives.

A bowl of bran breakfast each day will add years to your life. The right facial cleanser will actually slow the aging process. Mothers who care about their kids would rather die than feed them the wrong brand of peanut butter. A simple shot glassful of cough syrup will eradicate a multitude of symptoms. Chicks dig guys who use tartar control toothpaste. The nutritionally correct choice of bread will build your body in a baker’s dozen ways. Just one of these pills will cause your body to burn away as many calories as if you’d run a marathon-and it’s COMPLETELY SAFE!

Indeed, you take your life in your hands if you use a product that isn’t doctor tested, clinically proven, medically effective, nutritionally beneficial, dentist approved and scientifically validated. 

Before the advent of television, it was easy for advertisers to dupe an unsuspecting public because reality could be modified or even fabricated by professionals who specialised in creating specific images. The angelic young girl on my antique sarsaparilla poster is an artistic creation, an idealised representation brought into existence solely for the purpose of selling a product. But today, the electronic marvel of television brings us visible reality, people who actually exist and who have clearly known the amazing benefits of the products they offer us. The faithful scrutiny of the camera brings the truth into our homes.

Yes, gone are the days of primitive hucksterism and those quaintly transparent claims of health and vitality from ordinary food and hygiene products. Health awareness has come of age. ‘Purifies the Blood’ indeed! 

The post From the archives: A healthy dose of sarsaparilla – snake oil for the nineties  appeared first on The Skeptic.

Some time ago, I was browsing through John Grant’s 1984 work Dreamers: A Geography of Dreamland, and came across a fascinating aside about the historical novelist Joan Grant (to whom Mr Grant is not related). Joan Grant claimed that all of her books were actually straightforward biographies of her many previous lives, which she had been remembering since childhood. According to John Grant, she was so ignorant about sex that for much of her life she believed it was some sort of disembodied etheric process that took place while both parties were asleep. Why, he asked, didn’t she remember anything about love-making from her previous lifetimes? 

This story brought to mind a TV programme about reincarnation that I had seen around 1984, and which featured a London man who claimed to be a reincarnated Lancashire farm-worker who had fought in the Napoleonic wars. The programme-makers brought this man to his (claimed) regiment’s HQ in Preston and presented him to a bunch of regimental historians who were amazed at the amount of detailed historical knowledge he displayed. I, on the other hand, was amazed at the credulity. 

For a start, the man’s ‘Lancashire’ accent was clearly derived from watching many episodes of Coronation Street, where the prevailing accent is a sort of modified Mancunian. Lancashire labourers would have been about as intelligible to modern Southern ears as Glaswegian Scottish is today. This at least proves that the man wasn’t a conscious fake, as ‘Lanky’ dialect dictionaries are fairly easy to find.

Finally, why didn’t the historians invite the man to prove his military credentials by taking up one of the antique muskets on display and demonstrating how it was loaded, fired and cleaned? 

At the moment, anybody who claims to have clear memories of previous lifetimes is required to prove it merely by reciting large amounts of facts, figures and anecdotes. Nobody concerned seems to realise that any archives that are available to historians are also available to writers of historical fiction, which is where most ‘reincamators’ undoubtedly pick up their knowledge. My proposal is that such people should be required to demonstrate practical skills which they would have used in their previous lifetime, but not in this.

For instance, somebody claiming to be a Victorian seamstress would be handed a roll of linen, scissors, needles and thread and asked to produce a hand-sewn Victorian-style shirt, somebody claiming to have been a 10th century Saxon farmer would be handed a live pig and requested to turn it into sausages and cured ham; a ‘medieval musician’ would have to convincingly play some medieval tune on a sackbut. And so on. 

An obvious drawback to this plan is that many ‘reincamators’ claim to have been queens, emperors, chief high priests etc. And for that sort of job you don’t really need much in the way of practical qualifications. You would, I suppose, put the ‘monarch’ on to a horse, get them to lead a cavalry charge and see how well they resemble Charlton Heston. And a Chief High Wotsit could be put into funny robes and told to proceed in a stately manner whilst simultaneously chanting and swinging a thurible.

None of that would be terribly convincing as proof – anybody who really wanted to could think themselves into behaving like Charlton Heston or the Archbishop of Canterbury. But I think I have the answer to that problem. One of my hobbies is home-brewing, and I am especially interested in old brewing recipes – the older the better. Every civilisation from the year dot seems to have evolved some sort of mindblowing hooch from any local grains, pulses or fruits available. In most historical periods, virtually every household brewed its own ale or wine. Brewing was so commonplace that even emperors and High Chief Wotsits would have witnessed the procedure.

So, an infallible proof of reincarnation would be for the reincarnator to provide the recipe for whatever their local brew had been then make a few gallons of the stuff. If an expert is needed to supervise the results, I shall be delighted to take on the task. Cheers!

The post From the archives: A Test for Reincarnation  appeared first on The Skeptic.

The near-death experience is much in vogue at the moment. It is what is termed ‘flavour of the month’. The reason for such experiences to be so named is somewhat obscure. It is very difficult to understand how anyone can know with any degree of certainty they are near death unless they have experienced the actual event. Death being by its nature and definition completely irreversible, there can be no-one who is available to testify as to the state of mind a few moments prior to the event.

Conventional folk wisdom has it that at the moment of death there is a flash of all life’s events passing through the conscious memory. This seems to be confirmed by the many people who have been in fear of their lives during moments of peril. 

For myself, and I offer my own experiences as valid to authenticate my first hand examination of the subject, I have been in such situations. I have suffered the effects of heavy bombing, I have been caught in mid-pacific on a burning liner, I have clung to a mountain-side by my finger tips, I have been frozen in the wastes of Canada and burnt in the heat of desert sands in Australia. And yes I have been in car crashes and I have been dragged across country for emergency operations. I think I well qualify as one who has faced death on innumerable occasions. I have impeccable qualifications for the subject. But the plain fact is, I have never yet died! 

So the first question is, have I ever been at the point of death? When the bombs fell and I was blasted across a fence, when I saw the vivid flash and was surrounded by debris, or when I was blinded by the headlights of the oncoming car, in that moment when I thought the end had come, was it truly a moment of near death? From a logical point of view it obviously wasn’t because I am still here. On these occasions of immediate danger everything happens so quickly. I saw no tunnels of light or dark. I had nothing other than an instinct of self preservation and the immediate apprehension of total catastrophe. When rubble was flying around my head, and I heard the grinding noise of bones crunching against the solid mass of metal, my dominant thought ceased to be fear – it was a reasoned acceptance that this was the end. I cannot believe I am unusual in this. 

It is all very well trying to analyse the experiences of others. Until you have been in the position of facing death you cannot know what actually happens. And this folk wisdom adds nothing, nor do all the reports collated bring any extra factual knowledge to a situation that is at once immediate and personal to the particular individual. 

Death is not a progressive process. You are either dead or you are alive. There is no in between. We have today the situation of people in hospital on life-support machines. The Courts are called upon to decide whether support machines should be turned off. The term ‘clinical death’ is used to sanction acts that otherwise would be termed ‘killing’. This does not mean anyone has truly found a test for death. The real test in such situations must be whether it is possible by the use of such machines to reactivate such bodies after the machines have been switched off and all signs of life have disappeared. There will be some who will say it is possible to reactivate apparently dead bodies. They however are talking of minutes, not hours and days. Death is an unknown quantity. All evidence suggests it is irreversible.

Before I move on let us have a look at this life story tradition. Can it be true that every single episode flashes before your eyes just before you die. First of all comes the obvious questions, why should they? Surely this is bound up with traditional religious concepts of guilt and punishment. The continuing image of the book held in the hands of the Angel Gabriel at the gates of heaven which holds your sins laid out in explicit detail. You have a mental review of all your sins which up to this moment you have kept hidden. Now could this be the source of this belief? 

Setting aside the idea of time, there is another problem. How is it possible to instantaneously assimilate everything that has happened to you in life? This must include all your education, the books, films, television and plays you have seen. The details of all the people you have met plus all those incidental experiences of life which go to make up your place in society. Is it seriously contended all this runs through your mind in order you can consciously assess it for the sole reason that you are about to die. 

In my experience, and I must remind you that I have had plenty of opportunity to study what happens at these critical moments of danger, such does not take place. Oh yes, I have had the quick flash-back to some isolated high point when I enjoyed a brief emotional experience. When the danger has been great and threatening ultimate extinction I have had the moments of regret at neglected opportunities – each item shooting up unbidden into my consciousness like cameo shots in a film. But whole sequences, never. 

And we come to this amazing tunnel; to the people who under the power of anaesthetic, or in some form or another lie unconscious and to all outward appearance dead. Well I’ve had that too. The amazing dream which explains the meaning of life, and the bright lights somewhat reminiscent of a migraine attack. Not once have I had any revelation of some other world or reason for living which was not based firmly in terms of my experience in this world. From what I have read all descriptions of an entry into the after-life follow the paintings and imagery of the major religions. This all suggests to me that there is little to be gained by this form of study. It is all internal and subjective. These are common experiences by reason of the common heritage of conditioning and common physiology. 

As a person who is very tall and living in a cottage which is very small I keep banging my head. In passing I can verify the Pavlovian reaction does not apply to humans, only dogs. In twenty years I have never managed to remember the beams are unduly low. Each time I bang my head I experience pain and a flash of light. Sometimes it is like an explosion and a great ball of white power rolls down from the point of impact. All memories are blotted out, then I remember, I have hit my head again. 

I attribute nothing to the lights inside my head except to conclude my understanding of the behaviour of electricity can produce similar results. I know what I see inside my head is not seeing at all. It is meaningless in terms of the mental process. One fine day I could crack my skull and kill myself. I cannot accept these lights are the forecast of an entry into another plane of life, nor that in the timeless void between life and death I will have revealed to me what lies in store, or what I have done. 

There is a curiously mistaken assumption that what is seen is what is there. What is seen is only the eyes as sensing devices interpret what is there is accordance with learning and conditioning. There is no film screen inside the head upon which a replica image of the world is placed. Seeing tunnels, bright lights or anything else is no more than illusion. Another part of the brain translates that illusion into some coded message that the brain endeavours to turn into some form of sense for the individual in terms of known experience.  For those who are firmly rooted in a tradition of an afterlife anything out of the ordinary can be interpreted by the brain as evidence for the belief. Tunnel vision is very comforting. Seeking a mystery in mundane experience is equally a form of tunnel vision, it perpetuates that desire to find niches in the world of learning. There are many mysteries in this world worthy of exploration, but the near-death experience is not one of them. The mystery is why anyone should think we are not all near death all of the time. 

The post From the archives: Tunnel Vision – Is the ‘near-death experience’ just an illusion?  appeared first on The Skeptic.

Although acupuncture continues to be practised all over the world by some medically qualified doctors, I had thought that at last in the 1990s the practice was beginning to be abandoned by the medical profession in the U.K. A sort of epitaph for it was recently published in The Lancet: 

Whilst careful scientific research can never entirely exclude the possibility that a dwarf is hiding in the corner of the room, many western researchers may now conclude that the existence of the dwarf approaches asymptotically to zero (Editorial, 1990) 

This editorial article examined the evidence for the therapeutic efficacy of acupuncture that had been published in more recent years, and found it sadly flawed. Western medicine has indeed had several periods of dabbling in acupuncture during the past two centuries, but in the last half century scientific method has elbowed its way, against some powerful opposition, into medicine, and acknowledgment of the placebo effect has now attained official recognition.

It was with some surprise, therefore, that on visiting my GP recently I found a folder marked ‘Acupuncture’ on display in the waiting-room for patients to consult. This medical group-practice has the policy of providing its patients with a wealth of popularly written books and folders in the waiting-room which present all sorts of guides to healthy living, and discussion of such topics as asthma, contraception and constipation. 

I looked at the ‘Acupuncture’ folder expecting it to give an informed and balanced account of acupuncture. Not a bit of it; all that the folder contained was material that was simply a glowing puff for acupuncture, such as might be issued by any commercial advertising agency.

Uninformed lay people might well suppose that acupuncture is a tried and tested technique approved by the British Medical Association, and therefore they should be as prepared to spend their money on lay acupuncturists, just as they might on any orthodox private medical practitioners The folder contained three leaflets, plus a list of ‘Useful Addresses’: Acupuncture in the UK Today, published by the British Holistic Medical Association (BHMA); Introductory Leaflet on Acupuncture, also published by the BHMA; and Traditional Acupuncture, published by the Traditional Acupuncture Society. I will describe these three leaflets individually. 

Acupuncture in the UK Today is by Richard James, Director of the Isis Centre for Holistic Health. He has genuine medical qualifications, but he also writes some letters after his name that presumably refer to qualifications in acupuncture. He informs his readers that “Acupuncture is now established as a profession independant (sic) of medicine in the UK”. The leaflet tells us that 

a growing number of doctors are doing very short courses (one weekend) and then taking up the practice of acupuncture. They are then entitled to become Full Members of the British acupuncture Society (MBAS) whose list is circulated to Family Practitioner Committees with the recommendation that GP’s (sic) should refer to acupuncturists on this list and no other. 

Thus, if Necromancy is a profession independent of medicine in the UK (as I’m sure it is ) any GP who wants to earn a little extra income can take a weekend course in it, and thus join the profession, write B. Nec. after his or her genuine medical qualifications, and then practise it in the surgery. 

The leaflet goes on to inform us that: 

This exclusivist position has been pursued aggressively, to the extent of refusing membership to doctor acupuncturists who associate with ‘Quackupuncturists’. The BMAS membership list is also available directly to the public, something for which the BMAS has severely criticised the BAAR in the past. 

The BAAR is apparently the British Acupuncture Association, to which non-medical acupuncturists belong, and which touts for custom, as they are entitled to do, along with iridologists, rediesthetists, reflexologists, naturopaths etc, etc. It is significant that they are being labelled as ‘Quackupuncturists’ by the weekend-course doctors, perhaps to make it quite clear that they, the medical acupuncturists, are not ‘quacks’, as some people might suppose. 

The second leaflet, entitled What is Acupuncture, sets out to inform lay people of the nature of acupuncture in very few words, and gives addresses of societies, both medical and non-medical, where they may apply for treatment. The third leaflet is issued by the Traditional Acupuncture Society, which is non-medical, and sets out to explain the nature of Chinese Medicine. It makes the point that: 

The Traditional Acupuncture Society requires members to have achieved a comprehensive understanding of the theory of Chinese Medicine and a high standard of clinical competence before beginning to practice as members of the Society. 

It does not outline how students receive their training, but presumably those who apply to its Registrar (whose address is given) receive details of how they may set about their studies in order to be accepted as members, and entitled to write various letters after their names. Here is a clear bid to set up the profession of Chinese medicine in the West as an alternative to that which has grown up here over the centuries, and has its roots in Greek and Arab science. 

The leaflet that I obtained from my local GP surgery is over printed at the foot with the address of the local Traditional Acupuncture Clinic, and gives the names of the four non-medical persons who are its staff. Presumably my local doctors pursue a policy of friendly co-operation, instead of outlawing these people as ‘Quackupuncturists’. 

Recent history 

The resurgence of medical interest in acupuncture in the UK was strongly associated with Dr Felix Mann‘s book Acupuncture: The Ancient Chinese Art of Healing (Mann, 1962) which was published at a time when various forms of alternative therapy were attracting attention, and the medical profession was concerned about its status. A considerable boost to acupuncture was given by those interested in pain control, for even though such oddities as diagnosis by means of 12 separate pulses could be dismissed as mere fantasy, it appeared that acupuncture actually could inhibit pain, and this was of considerable theoretical importance.

Researchers such as Melzack and Wall were striving to get their new look gate control theory of pain (Melzack and Wall, 1965) accepted in the face of the conservative opposition of those who favoured the old specificity theory of pain that still featured in most medical textbooks (Schmidt, 1972). Pain-control by means of acupuncture seemed to fit in very nicely with many of the new ideas, and Melzack in a series of publications (Melzack, 1973a; 1973b; 1973d) gave it new respectability among many scientifically oriented people, and with the lay public. His colleague, Patrick Wall, was not so keen to relate acupuncture to gate control theory, and in the course of an article in which he confused mesmerism with hypnosis (a very common confusion) he gave his opinion: 

Let us turn from the traditional acupuncture treatment of general disease, for which we have as yet no proof of therapeutic advantage, to examine acupuncture as a method of anaesthesia in surgery. We have now all heard evidence that it is dramatically successful. My own belief is that, in this context, acupuncture is an effective use of hypnosis (Wall, 1972). 

The evidence that acupuncture is ‘dramatically successful’ in producing anaesthesia or analgesia, raises some hollow laughs today. Felix Mann, who bears much responsibility for originally promoting acupuncture in the medical world, has been obliged to recant on much of his earlier work, and after 20 years he wrote: 

Acupuncture anaesthesia (really analgesia) works only, in my experience (though others who are experts disagree) in the hyperstrong reactor. In 1974 I reported the results of a hundred experiments in acupuncture analgesia and came to the conclusion that it worked reasonably, though not perfectly, in 10% of patients. Since then I have come to the conclusion that the criteria I used were a little optimistic, and the figure should be revised to a mere 5% (Mann, 1983, pages 44-45). 

When Melzack and Wall jointly revised the former’s book (Melzack, 1973a) and issued it as The Challenge of Pain (Melzack and Wall, 1982), they made no mention of the two articles I have cited earlier (Melzack 1973b, 1973c), and they admitted that: 

It became evident that the use of acupuncture to produce analgesia for surgery is relatively rare and undependable. In China, it is used for no more than five to ten per cent of surgical operations, and it is carried out on selected patients who have been thoroughly exposed to acupuncture methods (Melzack and Wall, 1982, p. 322). 

In contrast to the acceptance of acupuncture analgesia as a valid field for study by scientists such as Melzack and his colleagues, and by many clinicians who were less scientifically orientated, there was outright rejection of it by others. In the USA Sweet (1981), after a careful review of the available evidence, dismissed acupuncture as clinically worthless. Skrabanek launched an outright attack on acupuncture, stating: 

By ‘rediscovering’ the five vital principles of Chinese Medicine (equivalent to the four humours of the ancient Greeks) and Chinese acupuncture (equivalent to European bloodletting) we degrade medicine to shamanism. If we can now treat obesity or smoking addiction with a staple in the ear, why not a copper bracelet or red flannel for rheumatism next? Let us leave quackupuncture to quacks and let us tell the misinformed patient the truth, so that he or she can choose (Skrabanek, 1984, p.1171). 

With regard to what evidence there is that acupuncture can sometimes inhibit pain, Skrabanek points out that there is nothing new, or foreign to Western medicine, in the practice of needling to produce analgesia. It was known and written about in the nineteenth century by doctors who had no interest in Chinese medicine.

In modern times the gate control theory of pain would explain it by the fact that if a large-diameter non-nocioceptive sensory nerve fibre is stimulated, it will have an inhibitory effect on the different neural messages that produce the perception of pain. The same is true of ice-massage, transcutaneous electrical stimulation, and other methods that Melzack and Wall refer to as hyperstimulation analgesia, and are not related to the theory of acupuncture. In addition to the physiological effect of such methods, what they all have in common is the placebo effect that any impressive method will have on a patient in pain. 

We may ask why medical journals such as The Lancet still trouble to print articles and letters that mention acupuncture. Occasionally there are angry protests from correspondents such as Dr Day who writes: “Having read The Lancet for 60 years, I feel I have a right to criticise your editorial on acupuncture… I am sorry that you dignify this charlatanism by an editorial” (Day, 1987, p. 387). Occasionally there are letters in the medical press that treat the whole matter as a huge joke, a source of fun that lightens the serious world of medicine. One such lighthearted letter treats acupuncture as though it were a form of witchcraft: 

Sir – I am surprised that some of your correspondents still feel compelled to assert the efficacy of acupuncture… Not only does it work, but it works at a distance. During the 1950s the senior medical staff of a hospital with which I am acquainted kept in secret a small wax image of the then group secretary, into which from time to time sharp needles were inserted and waggled about. This practice was abandoned when it became clear that its only observable effect was to keep the so-and-so in the best of health (Zuck, 1984, p. 175). 

But Skrabanek is serious, and makes an outright attack on the mercenary motives of his colleagues who persist in claiming that acupuncture is of general therapeutic value in the treatment of diseases, including “viral hepatitis, malaria, hereditary ataxia, infantile paralysis, hydrocephalus, mammary hyperplasia… deafness… schizophrenia.” He writes that, “since the popular demand for acupuncture is great, it is not surprising that medically qualified acupuncturists are afraid of ‘non-professional’ competitors in the lucrative market”(Skrabanek, 1984, p. 1170). 

Is it all a financial racket then, in which mercenary doctors conceal the known truth from their patients, and con them into spending money on a useless treatment? It is not as simple as that. 

First, we must consider that no-one likes to admit to having been duped. The propaganda for acupuncture that emanated from Maoist China was sufficiently impressive to induce serious Western doctors to make the long journey East and visit their hospitals. Not all doctors are very good scientists, or adept in observing phenomena with the careful eye of a skeptic, so that sincere doctors such as Brown (1972) reported that perhaps as high a proportion as 90 per cent of Chinese patients underwent surgical operations depending solely on acupuncture analgesia. Now they are licking the egg off their faces, but naturally maintain that, still, there must be something valuable in Chinese medicine that the West could learn. 

Again, the charge of being moved by mercenary motives can hardly be levelled at the doctors in the practice I attend who actually advertise the local Traditional Acupuncture Clinic, where none of the staff is medically qualified. What is the truth of the matter? I shall attempt, as a non-medical man, to sum up the attitude of a skeptical doctor who permits, even encourages, the odd patient to try acupuncture for his ill-defined disorders: 

‘We live in an age of unreason where the public at large are sold on all sorts of superstitious ideas, and there is really nothing much we doctors can do about it. They come to us expecting miracles and refusing to accept the plain fact that we don’t know what’s wrong with a lot of them, and probably never will know, for many of their ills are engendered by their imagination, and the silly way they conduct their lives. We would like to operate within the bounds of rational medicine, but they demand that we act as shamans and priests. Medicine has done wonders for the population at large, but they want the impossible – always to be free of all pain and sickness. A lot of them privately sneer at the limitations of conventional medicine and want something better, hence their ignorant demand to have their Chi manipulated, and their yin balanced with their yang. They have read about it in some magazine. Well, if they want acupuncture, let them have it – and pay through the nose for it. If we keep it to ourselves, and discourage patients from going to lay acupuncturists, at least our medical colleagues will operate with aseptic needles and not give them hepatitis, AIDS or some other filthy disease. Also, they will be better able to diagnose when patients are really suffering from some recognisable disease, and not try needling them for miliary tuberculosis. But if we pursue this policy, then we are accused of pursuing restrictive practices, and selfishly stopping patients from receiving the benefits of all these lay acupuncturists who prattle on about yin and yang, feeling their twelve pulses, and calming the ‘triple warmer’. Perhaps a middle course is better; to shunt off all these hypochondriacal bores that clutter up our surgeries with nothing much wrong with them to local quack acupuncturists and let’s see whether the placebo response can help them. Meanwhile, we will get on with our proper job of promoting the health of those we can help.’ 

Well, what is an ethical course for the honest doctor to pursue in a society that is riddled with superstition? 

References

• Brown. P.E. ( 1972) Use of acupuncture in Major surgery. The Lancet. i. 1328-1330.
• Day, R.L. (1987) Acupuncture, The Lancet, i, 397. Editorial (1990) Many points to needle.The Lancet, ii, 20-21.
• Mann, F. (1983) Acupuncture: The Ancient Chinese Art of Healing. London: Heinemann.
• Mann, F. ( 1983) Scientific Aspects of Acupuncture. London: Heinemann. Melzack, R. (1973a)The Puzzle of Pain.
• Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Melzack, R. (1973b) How acupuncture can block pain.Impact of Science on Society, 3, 65-75.
• Melzack, R. (1973c) Why acupuncture works. Psychology Today, 1, 28-37,
• Melzack, R. and Wall, P.D. (1965) Pain mechanisms: a new theory. Science, 150, 97 1-979.
• Melzack, R. and Wall, P.D. (1982) The Challenge of Pain. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books.
• Schmidt, R.F. (1972) The gate control theory of pain: an unlikely hypothesis. In J.P. Payne and R.A.P. Burt (eds.) Pain. London: Churchill-Livingston.
• Skrabanek, P. (1984) Acupuncture and the age of unreason. The Lancet, i, 1 169-1 171.
• Sweet, W.H. (1981) Some current problems in pain research and therapy (including needle puncture, ‘acupuncture’). Pain, 10, 297-309.
• Wall, P. (1972) An eye on the needle. New Scientist, 20 July.
• Zuck, D. (1984) Letter, The Lancet, ii, 175. 

The post From the archives: Quackupuncture – A question of medical ethics  appeared first on The Skeptic.

I define ball lightning (if it exists) as an electrical discharge phenomenon. I question the existence of corona discharges in mid-air and not necessarily the existence of other luminous phenomena. 

The existence of ball lightning is not certain. Scientists have to be careful not to claim certainty. Truth cannot be discovered and nothing is certain. In practice of course many things are believed to be very nearly true, or approximately true. In effect one may say that the degree of certainty is proportional to the quantity of confirmatory data available. But there are dangers in the interpretation of data. Before the acceptance of continental drift, the data were seen to confirm the view that continents do not move. After the paradigm shift, the data were seen to confirm drift and plate tectonics.

In other words, data can be interpreted in various ways, depending on the beliefs of the interpreters. In the words of modern philosophers of science, ‘perception is theory-laden’ and even scientists can fall victim to their beliefs. Where hypotheses can be tested, erroneous beliefs can be exposed. However, belief in ball lightning is an example of a hypothesis that is hard to test. The data are sparse and inevitably open to various interpretations. In such a case it is most important to question the existence of the alleged phenomenon (see article by Frank Chambers in The Skeptic 6.4).

It is important to point out that the existence of ball lightning is an assumption! This is not emphasised often enough (or at all). Consequently the fundamental question about ball lightning concerns not its nature but its existence. Scientists often ignore the null hypothesis, the hypothesis which states that what they seek does not exist. They especially ignore it if it is unwelcome. Someone who has spent his life looking for something will not willingly accept that it does not exist.

However it is instructive to recall an earlier belief in the existence of an ether through which electromagnetic radiation could be propagated. In the 1880s, Michelson and Morley conducted an experiment which, although it ought to have detected the ether if it existed, found no evidence of it. Then in 1905 Einstein concluded that the ether did not exist and his view has been accepted. 

Scepticism regarding the existence of ball lightning goes back at least to Faraday and Arago in the nineteenth century. In 1839, Faraday, while allowing that balls of fire might appear in the atmosphere, doubted that they had anything to do with lightning or atmospheric electricity. More recently (in 1973), K Berger reported that, in over 20 years’ study as a meteorologist and lightning investigator, he had never observed ball lightning. He concluded that it did not exist. Other scientists have reached the same conclusion. Even James Barry allows that unbiased examination of reports leads to the conclusion that a great percentage are highly questionable and could be interpreted in several ways.

Among those ways is the persistence of vision theory proposed by Lord Kelvin in 1888. He claimed that the uniform size reported in many cases was ascribed to an illusion associated with the blind spot in the eye. Until a few years ago, most scientists agreed. Other sources of deception proposed have been will-o’-the-wisp and owls with luminous wings. Unfortunately, the existence of will-o’-the-wisp is as uncertain as that of ball lightning! I do not comment on owls. 

This raises all sorts of other questions relating to the reliability of reports and the nature of the objects reported (if they are not ball lightning). 

Reports of ball lightning (which do exist) suffer from defects inherent in the human perceptual and memory systems. Seeing takes place not, as many believe, in the eye, but in the brain. Because the brain (or rather the mind, the brain’s operating system) processes the sensory input, what we perceive is not necessarily what the sense organs receive. In the case of vision, the mind does a lot of guessing. This can be demonstrated by various well-known optical illusions. Not all need a laboratory: one can be seen on any moonlit night If there are clouds moving across the moon, it will be the moon that appears to be moving, not the clouds. This is because the mind guesses that backgrounds are usually stationary and it takes the moon to be an object moving in front of stationary clouds. It is difficult to overcome this particular illusion, even when you know that it is happening. 

Distant stationary lights are subject to several movement illusions, all of which attribute movement to the light. The most famous is the autokinetic illusion (in which a stationary light will appear to move about at random). 

The size and distance of a luminous object cannot be established by observers without additional information. Its maximum distance can be determined if it is seen in front of an object, the distance of which is known. However, where observers (mistakenly) place an object nearer than it really is, they may claim to have seen it in front of something when this was not the case. 

Usually observers make a guess about either the size or the distance of an object and then determine the other parameter from their guess. In fact both can be wrong. Objects seen near the horizon can be subject to the moon illusion (in which an object appears larger than it really is). This illusion is commonly seen in the moon. 

In general, observers cannot distinguish between change in size of an object and change in its distance from them. They are prone to interpret a change in size as a change in distance. A phenomenon called size constancy can interfere with size perception when either the size or the distance of an unidentified object is unknown. Estimates of altitude are similarly suspect; observers tend to exaggerate the altitude of objects near the horizon. 

Even estimates of time-span can be unreliable. An observer who is fascinated tends to underestimate the duration of the observation. Estimates of brightness are meaningless since brightness is a relative term; it is the result of contrast differences. Observers may also make false associations, drawing unwarranted conclusions from what they perceive. They may associate effects with the wrong cause. In short, human perception can be faulty and seeing is not necessarily believing. Take a look at Fig. 1. What do you see? An alien being peeping over a wall? Or perhaps a kneeling woman washing a floor, with her bucket beside her! 

In the case of anomalous luminous phenomena, observers will try to identify them by reference to the models they carry in their minds. They can only identify such a phenomenon as ball lightning if they have heard of it. Conversely, they are likely to identify a phenomenon as ball lightning simply because they have heard of it, and for no other reason. We all tend to see what we want to see! 

Nor is memory much more reliable than perception. Because memory is a process of reconstruction, it can be faulty. People who report ball lightning and who have heard of other reports may (inadvertently) draw on those previous reports for their own report. Tests show that reliability decreases with time, and it is strongly suspected that observers attempt to make facts fit theory. Consequently, anecdotal reports of ball lightning (supposing that they are genuine) must be regarded with suspicion. Observers are mostly unaware of the defects inherent in their perception and memory.

Worse still, asking people if they have seen ball lightning begs the question of its existence and ignores their inability to distinguish it (if it exists) from other phenomena. The question plants a concept in the mind, a concept which will distort memory of any genuine perception (itself of doubtful reliability). Consequently such a question should not be asked and surveys based on it are valueless. 

Proper identification of an aerial object (reported or recorded) depends on how many explanations the investigator knows. An investigator who knows many explanations will be able to explain the report or recording more satisfactorily than an investigator who knows only a few explanations. An investigator who believes in the existence of ball lightning is likely to overlook alternative explanations and believers are prone to ignore Occam’s Razor. 

Let me illustrate some reporting errors by example. Fig. 2 shows a drawing published by M W Haidinger in 1868. Indeed it was the first sketch of ball lightning to appear in a scientific journal. He claimed that it shows an ‘electric meteor’ which he saw during a thunderstorm in Vienna at about 5:15 pm on 20 October that year [1]. The sketch is well known and is often used to illustrate ball lightning; Singer reproduced it in colour and his publisher used it on the book’s dust jacket [2]. 

Of course one should be cautious in accepting a sketch, which may owe as much to the imagination of the reporter as to what he saw. However, there are other reasons for doubting that this shows ball lightning: 

• Haidinger admitted that he wanted to see such a ‘meteor’ ever since he heard about them in 1845. Consequently he was prone to misinterpret other phenomena for the one he sought. 
• It was seen for only 23 seconds and it did not move. 
• It was not associated with a lightning stroke. 
• Because he reported that he saw the moon in the same position (although later in the evening), it is clear that the object must have been seen in or against the sky, not in front of the house opposite. 
• As a result of an announcement in a local newspaper, Haidinger discovered that he was not the only observer. At least two other people reported seeing a similar object in the same direction, but from different parts of Vienna. One saw a dazzling object in the south-west before the storm broke.

All this points to the object being astronomical, even though it was observed during daylight and during a storm (a gap in the clouds could have given a brief glimpse of the sky). As a student of astronomical mirages (these are images of astronomical objects enlarged and/or distorted by lens effects in the atmosphere), I can tell you that it has all the necessary characteristics, especially the two slanting beams. Because Haidinger gave estimates of altitude and azimuth (which agree with his claim to have seen the moon in the same position) we can look for the source. At approximately the azimuth he gives (although a little lower in the sky) I found the first magnitude star Antares, a red star! I know of many reports of similar objects, some evidently of stars seen in daylight. The stars (sometimes planets) are only visible because of the magnification involved. However this is not the place to discuss another unusual phenomenon. I conclude that the object is very likely to have been a mirage of Antares. In any case, it is not safe to conclude that it was ball lightning. 

Many other reports of ball lightning may have a similar explanation. Indeed, I have explained one Russian report in this way. A Russian scientist reported that he and some friends from the Soviet Academy of Science saw the object shown in Fig. 3 early one morning from the bank of the River Oka near Ryazan. Since it appeared to be 70 metres away along the riverbank, they thought it was a torch. As they all stood up, it also rose up and appeared to come towards them, increasing in size. Then it slowly ‘swam’ horizontally and disappeared after 4 minutes. At its largest, a ring detached itself and vanished as it expanded. There had been no sound and there was no storm. Nevertheless, Mitrofanov reported the object as ball lightning, probably because he and his group had been testing Kapitsa’s ball lightning hypothesis [3]. 

Because Mitrofanov gave his exact position, the exact time and the approximate azimuth of the object, I was able to test for an astronomical explanation. Venus was just rising on the horizon in the direction in which they had been looking. It appears that what they saw may have been a mirage of Venus. The fact that the object rose up as they did tends to confirm this hypothesis. Only a very distant object would appear to move in that way. Astronomical mirages are fairly rare, but then so are reports of ball lightning. Perhaps some reports of ball lightning are actually reports of another rare phenomenon. 

Nor is mechanical damage reliable evidence for the existence of ball lightning. 

In 1973, damage to a window in the University of Edinburgh (see Fig. 4) was reported (by the head of the Department of Meteorology) to have been caused by ball lightning, although he did not see the damage occur. He was misled by an illustration in a book published in 1921 which showed such a hole and attributed it to the effect of lightning (although not to ball lightning). He was also misled by having heard of ball lightning [4]. Detailed investigation showed that the hole was caused by mechanical damage. In this case the window was probably struck by a glass marble thrown by children. Indeed, I found a marble below the window! 

I found many similar examples, some where the hole was the only damage. In all cases the missing disc of glass was found lying where it fell, usually inside the window. What many took to be glass fused by the heat of a lightning stroke (or the heat of ball lightning) was in fact a nearly circular crack propagating around a weak spot in the sheet. I have never seen any evidence that such holes in glass have been caused by lightning and I do not believe reports that ball lightning passed through closed windows [5]. 

Reports of extensive damage such as fires or explosions may just as easily, if not more easily, be explained as the result of ordinary lightning strikes. Such reports are not clarified by the popular conception that lightning strikes are the result of something called a thunderbolt. Some may believe that what we call ball lightning is in fact what they call a thunderbolt. 

I have defined ball lightning as an essentially electrical phenomenon. Consequently I allow the existence of chemical phenomena that have a spherical shape. In this way I can accept that a Smethwick housewife did encounter a luminous ball in her kitchen in August 1975 [6]. It was only described as ball lightning because it occurred during a thunderstorm. However, that appears to have been coincidental; there was no evidence of a nearby lightning strike.

More relevant was the fact that she had been attempting to light a gas ring and that the ‘ball’ appeared directly over the ring. Barry published a photograph of a long-lived illuminated ball phenomenon produced by the spark-initiated combustion of low-density hydrocarbon gas at atmospheric pressure (see Fig. 5) [7]. In the Smethwick case, the gas was methane. My guess is that the housewife had used a spark-type gas igniter and that she had operated it above the ring where some methane had escaped [8]. 

In 1979 I investigated a report from Crail in Fife that ball lightning had appeared on a crowded beach 11 years earlier. There were many witnesses; I had reports from five, all in different parts of the beach area, one in a house in the town. All agreed that there was a loud noise like an explosion. The main witnesses were in their beach cafe, where (so they alleged) the ball passed over a gas cooker; this was later found to be cracked [9]. In fact the ball may have emerged from the cooker and may have been a low-density gas combustion ball. Research should be conducted to establish whether or not such gas balls can exist in the open. It may explain some reports of ball lightning. 

Photographs alleged to show ball lightning are as suspect as anecdotal reports and sketches. The camera cannot lie, but what it shows can be misinterpreted and the photographer can lie. Until the early 1970s, Fig. 6, a photograph taken in 1961 at Castleford in Yorkshire, had been interpreted as showing the path of ball lightning. Indeed New Scientist described it as the ‘Path of a Thunderbolt’ (without even adding a question mark). Like Haidinger’s sketch, the picture was commonly used to illustrate ball lightning. In 1972 Davies and Standler claimed that it might show the pulsed trace from the street light visible in the picture [10]. 

In 1981 I demonstrated that Davies and Standler were correct. Furthermore, I showed how the picture came to be taken. The pulses were due to the periodic discharges of the lamp (100 times a second) and the shape of the track was caused by movement of the camera. The camera shutter was slow to close on release of the operating button [11]. It is quite easy to obtain such a trace and I have seen many other examples. A Russian photograph has the same explanation. Fig. 7 shows a picture taken by B V Davidov in Kharkov in 1957, allegedly during a thunderstorm. It was published the following year with an endorsement by Professor I S Stekolnikov of the Soviet Academy of Science [12]. His conclusion (that it showed ball lightning) was based on having seen similar pictures in a 1939 US journal [13].

The traces in the picture can be shown to have been caused by the light from stationary lamps tracking across the film. The two traces are identical; they have the same shape and orientation. One light source was in a room in the building opposite (here). The second source must have been some distance away on the right at a lower level. The lack of pulses shows that both lamps were incandescent. Evidently these traces were caught (again) because of slow shutter closure. The photographer moves the camera believing (mistakenly) that the shutter is closed. Considering that he drew attention to the constant width of the trace, it is surprising that Professor Stekolnikov did not see the simplest and obvious explanation – that the sources were at a constant distance from the camera. Misled by his photograph, Davidov went in search of evidence for ball lightning, and thought he had found it on a window of the block opposite. He found charring and soot which were more likely caused by a painter’s blowlamp. Misled by the American article, Stekolnikov drew the wrong conclusion. In fact, all the pictures in the article he saw appear to be traces of various lamps, some caused by movement of the camera, one by movement of a torch in front of a stationary camera! [14]. 

Some ball lightning photographs are deliberate fakes. Indeed, some of those identified as showing lamp tracks may be fakes. But a more subtle fake was produced in 1966 by a former Canadian Air Force pilot. Fig. 8 was alleged to show a UFO, but since it was taken over a thunderstorm, an American editor of Aviation Week and Space Technology (who also writes sceptically about UFOs) suggested that the bright object was a giant plasma or ball lightning about 15 to 30 metres in diameter. He described it as ‘a phenomenon not yet catalogued by science’ and his publisher used the picture on the dust jacket of one of his books [15]. 

I discovered many inconsistencies regarding the circumstances in which the picture was alleged to have been taken and that the pilot involved had a reputation for pranks. His former flight commander admitted that he had let him ‘have his fun’. It appeared that the pilot (R J Childerhose) had constructed the picture (perhaps by double exposure) to illustrate an article on flying saucers which he wrote for the Montreal Star [16]. Many other pictures are probably faked. 

Although it is fairly easy to take a photograph (or to fake one) which many mistakenly interpret as showing ball lightning, it should be less easy to produce a film or video sequence that could fool anyone. Moving image sequences contain so much more information. However, Fig. 9 is a still from a film sequence taken in 1973 by Peter Day near Aylesbury in Buckinghamshire. A bright ball of light moves steadily across the horizon for 23 seconds until it suddenly vanishes. Because it was reported as a UFO, the film has been shown many times at UFO conferences and has featured in the BBC programme about UFOs called Out of This World. However, it was also thought that it might show ball lightning and the film was shown to a group of interested scientists. All agreed that it did not show ball lightning. However they did not know what it did show. 

I have been able to demonstrate that the object is a mass of burning fuel from a damaged F-111 fighter-bomber. The jet was dumping fuel after taking off from Upper Heyford Airbase and the fuel was ignited by the jet’s exhaust. This is a permitted procedure, although it is not often used. The aircraft (invisible in the film, and unheard by Peter Day) was at least 6 kilometres away from him. It later crashed near Bedford [17]. 

So much for cine films. Videos fare no better. Bergstrom and I have recently explained a video recording taken by Ray Cahill in Kent in 1989. He videoed lightning seen during a thunderstorm and, although he did not see ball lightning, he later noticed the object shown in Fig. 10 on the recording. It moves across the screen from left to right in about 1.5 seconds. Apparently Cahill had heard about ball lightning and thought he had caught it accidentally. Some scientists (including Professor Roger Jennison of the University of Kent) agreed, and for a time it was accepted that the video did (uniquely) show ball lightning. It was shown on television in the south-east of England. 

I was not convinced, and attempted to locate a light or lamp that could have been caught accidentally as Cahill swung the camera across the scene. I found that the only lamps bright enough to show on the video were those of a motorway junction some 300 metres away and that one of these had been caught. Crucial to finding the right explanation was an understanding of the operation of the video camera, especially its autofocus mechanism. This defocussed the lens during the critical moments when the anomalous image was caught. 

However it was not just a matter of videoing a lamp out of focus. In video cameras, there is an extreme out-of-focus situation where a distant object evenly illuminates the stop plane, the latter being focused sharply on the picture plane. Because the stop plane usually contains a small shield that is not usually seen because it is completely out-of-focus, an image of this shield can be recorded. Fig. 11 shows an image of the shield and its support wires in Cahill’s video recorder. It is illuminated by one of the motorway lamps. Clearly this is the object which Cahill and others thought was ball lightning. The more complex the equipment used to record alleged ball lightning, the more careful we need to be in analysis of the results [18]. 

If we ignore anecdotal evidence because of the perceptual and memory problems involved, we have to rely on instrumental evidence for the existence of ball lightning. After all, if it really exists, some instrumental evidence must be available. In fact there is none! There is no photograph, film, or video recording which can be accepted unreservedly as showing ball lightning. This in itself points to the null hypothesis. We then observe that no theory exists which can explain all the reported characteristics of ball lightning and that no-one has been able to create ball lightning in laboratory conditions which simulate those in the open. These facts can be explained most simply by proposing that ball lightning does not exist! 

Perhaps I am influenced by the fact that all the cases which I have investigated have (or could have) a prosaic explanation. However there is no reason to suppose that my own experience is untypical or that I have not examined a representative sample. 

I do not claim that ball lightning does not exist; I merely propose the null hypothesis. Someone ought to advocate it, if only to keep a check on the believers. If you like, regard me as a Devil’s Advocate. I may be proved wrong, but the onus of proof is on those who advocate ball lightning’s existence.

References 

1. MW Haidinger (1868): ‘Elekstrische Meteore am 20. October 1 868 in Wien beobachtet.’ Sitzber. Math. Naturwiss. Kgl. Akad. Weiss. 58:II:761. 
2. Stanley Singer (1971): The Nature of Ball Lightning (Plenum, London). 
3. Aleksandr Mitrofanov (1982): ‘Vnimaniye: sharovayamolniya! [Attention: ball lightning] Zapozdalaya vstrecha [A delayed encounter]’ Tekhnika Molodezhi 7, p. 46. 
4. D H Mclntosh (1973): ‘Lightning Damage’, Weather 28:4:160 
5. S. Campbell (1981): ‘Not lightning damage’, Weather 36:3:66. 
6. Mark Stenhoff (1988): ‘Ball Lightning’, letter to New Scientist (Feb 11) p.69. 
7. lames Dale Barry (1980): Ball Lightning and Bead Lightning (Plenum, London), p. 172. 
8. Steuart Campbell (1988): ‘The Smethwick Ball Lightning Report’,The Journal of Meteorology, 13:134:391 
9. Steuart Campbell (1982): ‘Ball lightning at Crail – 1968 ‘, Weather, 37:3:75. 
10. D W Davies and R B Standler (1972): ‘Ball lightning’, Nature, 240 (Nov 17), p. 144.
11. Steuart Campbell (1981): ‘How not to photograph ball lightning’, The British Journal of Photography, 128:43:1096. 
12. B V Dovidov (1958); ‘… [Rare Photograph of Ball Lightning]’, Priroda, 47:1, between pp. 96/97.
13. RE Holzer and E I Workman (1939): ‘Photographs of Unusual Discharges Occurring During Thunderstorms’, Journal of Applied Physics, 10 (Sep), p. 659. 
14. Steuart Campbell (1987): ‘Ball lightning exposed! Another picture puzzle…’, The British Journal of Photography, 134:6645:1537. 
15. Philip I Klass (1968): UFOs – Identified (Random House, New York) 
16. Steuart Campbell (1988): ‘The Childerhose UFO: fact or fiction?’, The British Journal of Photography (Sep 29), p. 72. 
17. Steuart Campbell (1991): ‘Fireball by Day’, The British Journal of Photography (Apr 4), p. 22. 
18. Ame Bergstrom and Steuart Campbell (1991): ‘The Ashford ‘ball lightning’ video explained’, The Journal of Meteorology, 16:1 60:1 85. 

The post From the archives: The controversial phenomenon of ball lightning  appeared first on The Skeptic.

Skeptical principles are not always applied in science as rigorously as you might think. This is not usually a problem, because a lot of science involves filling in the gaps, checking that the predictions of theory really work. But when a new claim seems barely credible, almost paranormal, then the skeptical approach is exactly right. 

Over three years ago, a quick and easy way to cheap power was announced. Since then, the so-called discovery has been checked out, and generally discredited. Despite all the criticism, the original discoverers are still persevering. One of them, Martin Fleischmann, went to the annual meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, the BA, to report on progress. The problem for scientists and skeptics is to know how to keep the door open for unlikely but useful discoveries, but how to close it when the subject has become a waste of time and effort. 

It was in March 1989 that a British and an American scientist called a press conference to announce the discovery of the century. It had the potential to bring nuclear power without radioactivity. It could run from a gadget the size of a jam jar so that every home (perhaps every car) could have one; and best of all, it could run on water. 

This was no hoax. The discoverers were two chemists with valued reputations at risk. Furthermore, they could point to a theoretical basis for their work. The only controversy at that time seemed to be the fact that they had found a cheap and easy chemical way of doing what physicists were spending millions of pounds trying to do, and failing. 

Professor Martin Fleischmann came from Southampton University (the host for the BA meeting this year) and before that came as a child refugee from Nazism in Czechoslovakia. Stanley Pons was from North Carolina and then the University of Utah. They both (F&P) knew that nuclear fusion offered the best hope of cheap and clean power for the future. They also knew that a simple route to this involved fusing deuterium atoms together. Deuterium is a heavy form of hydrogen which can be isolated from sea water, given enough power, and they had found a way to get that power. 

The conventional physical route to fusion, still being pursued, is to use intense magnets to crush the deuterium atoms together. F&P could see another way. They knew about palladium and its behaviour as a catalyst for reactions involving hydrogen. It seemed to soak up hydrogen, H₂. like a sponge, so it should soak up deuterium, D₂, too. In fact it could soak up so much that the hydrogen or deuterium atoms must be partially inside the palladium atoms, tangled with their electrons. 

With the hydrogen atoms so close together, and their positive nuclei surrounded by a negative soup, F&P reasoned that it might take only a slightly greater push to fuse the two positive nuclei. As electrochemists they could produce the D₂ from D₂O, heavy water, and the palladium could double up as electrode and medium for the fusion. They also knew that electricity could create the same effect as very high temperatures. It might get the two nuclei to combine, and if those two nuclei were of deuterium then it would only take a few of them to bring about the solution to the world’s energy problems. 

At the BA meeting, Professor Fleischmann explained that the chances were low, but the implications of success would be tremendous. For about five years, the two had worked in secret. Then on 23 March 1989 they went public. They had seen their apparatus develop far more energy as heat than they had put in as electricity. On 27 August 1992 at the BA, the story was much the same. There were videos showing heavy water boiling in the tubes. Some showed the recent date of 23.6.92. F&P were still at work at a secret location with little progress to report despite all the publicity and criticism of the last three years.

During that time the excitement has largely died. One outcome of the 1989 press conference was that scientists throughout the world tried to repeat F&P’s experiments. The first results seemed to support the claims. Perhaps only their supporters went public quickly. Those who failed to reproduce their results kept trying. Later came the reports of those who could not substantiate the claims or their implications. There are three important requirements: the production of excess heat, the emission of neutrons and the formation of tritium or helium. Not all experimenters were equipped to deal with all three, and some looked for just one. The more features that they looked for, the less these tied in with each other. 

Eventually a consensus view emerged that this was not cold fusion. It might be something unusual, but it was not the answer to the world’s energy problems. Those who had been investing huge sums of money in the development began to cut their losses and F&P disappeared from the news and the scientific stage. The general expectation of most interested scientists was that after a few months or years, one of them would come up with an explanation of where their ‘excess’ energy had really come from (probably stored up in some part of the setting-up process). There might be the odd reference to some accident which produced apparently supporting evidence. Then we could all forget about it. 

All of this has been reported in detail in Too Hot to Handle, a readable account by a respected nuclear physicist, Frank Close. It was reviewed by Anthony Garrett in the March/April paperback 1991 issue of The Skeptic. It came out (Penguin, £6.99) on the same day as Fleischmann’s talk to the BA. This edition carries an epilogue to bring us up to August 1991, where we learn more of the personal passions but little more of cold fusion. Dedicated historians can find out more from over a thousand articles, tapes and disks in the Cold Fusion Archive collected by Bruce V. Lewenstein (Olin Library, Cornell University, Ithaca, N.Y.) 

The planned talk to the BA might have been Martin Fleischmann’s chance to set the record straight in some way. An estimated audience of 250 people came from a wide variety of scientific backgrounds. They were generally disappointed. Those who were looking for a rich scientific controversy saw little argument, just a few questions of the type ‘Couldn’t your results be explained by…’ (to which the answer was ‘no’). Those looking for the climb-down which would signal the end of the Cold Fusion Era received nothing. Finally, those hoping for the ultimate proof of the discovery of the century heard the same old assertions with just a few repeated experiments. Claims that others had done some of the confirmatory work were not clear, dramatic or numerous enough to carry conviction. 

Extraordinary claims demand extraordinary standards of confirmation. These were required three years ago following the original announcement. Now that these claims have largely been disproved, the standards required of any supporting work must be increased. Dramatic demonstrations of that standard were simply not given. There is a problem here for dealing with all extraordinary claims. It is relatively easy to specify general criteria for acceptance. It is more difficult to make them specific for any particular phenomenon, especially when the main supporters of the claim are the ones who do most of the testing. It is virtually impossible to decide who should be the final arbiter. 

In one particular respect, the perseverance of F&P gives heart to one form of skepticism. You must have heard some version of the story which I know as ‘the everlasting match’. This involves a minor invention that will make some aspect of life easier, such as one matchstick that can be struck as many times as you need a fire. Before the discovery is fully announced, the story goes, the inventor is bought out, even snuffed out in some versions, by commercial interests. The everlasting match story involves a consortium or conspiracy of match manufacturers, phosphorus producers and lumberjacks. 

The cold fusion version would involve uranium miners, car engine makers, coal miners and, biggest of all, the huge oil companies. Clearly this has not happened. F&P are still working. The conspiracy theory fails, or must become much more subtle. 

Scientists would like to think that the results of experiments are clear-cut and speak for themselves. With hindsight it can be easy to decide which results to believe, but not at first. It is not experiments but people who ultimately give their verdict. As often happens in claims of the paranormal, the supporters hang around to vote in favour, but the disbelievers drift away, unwilling to waste any more of their time on the issue. 

The post From the archives: Cold Comfort for Cold Fusion  appeared first on The Skeptic.

I first heard about Richard Dawkins’ notion of ‘memes’ from a collector of computer crime statistics in California who I interviewed for the magazine Personal Computer World. At the time, I found it hard to believe: my computer crime expert sounded as if he were suggesting that ideas had some kind of supernatural power to take over a ‘host’, and I found it hard to believe that such a respected scientific thinker as Dawkins would come up with such a theory. 

The reality is a bit different, but it’s easy to see how the misunderstanding comes about: Dawkins talks in metaphors, but never admits it. We do the same thing when we talk about computer viruses: we use the epidemiological model to explain how these bits of software work. We are not saying they are real viruses – although some anti-virus software suppliers say they do occasionally get people asking them if they can catch the viruses from their computers. So with Dawkins: he uses epidemiology and the workings of computer viruses to explain the transmission of religious ideas. 

On the 6th of November 1992, Richard Dawkins appeared at London’s Conway Hall to deliver the British Humanist Association’s 1992 Voltaire Lecture, entitled ‘Viruses of the Mind‘. During his talk, he spent some time developing this theme. All sorts of things are viruses: look, for example, at childhood crazes, which he described as ‘a form of behaviour that owes more to epidemiology than to rational choice’. Yo-yos, Hula hoops, pogo sticks (and, he might have added, the Rubik’s Cube) sweep through schools and leap from school to school. And so with religion – Dawkins argued that it’s clear that most people do not examine all the world’s religions and then make an informed choice; instead, most follow their parents’ religion. 

As skeptics, we generally don’t argue matters of faith; we stick to things that can be tested. What makes Dawkins’ argument suitable for discussion here is his ideas about the mechanism of belief (or ‘symptoms’, as he calls them). Faith that flies in the absence of evidence is more seen (to the infected) as more virtuous. Mystery, similarly, is thought of as a good thing – and the more mysterious the better. To quote Dawkins, ‘Any wimp in religion could believe that bread symbolically represents the body of Christ, but it takes a real, red-blooded Catholic to believe something as daft as the transubstantiation.’ 

As skeptics, we run into these arguments all the time. Why, we are often asked, should we seek to destroy someone else’s harmless belief in astrology? I usually say something about truth being important for its own sake. The people who ask this question then generally extrapolate from this that skeptics are so cold and devoid of imagination and any sense of fun that we wouldn’t allow a child to enjoy the fantasy of Santa Claus. 

I have several problems with Dawkins. The first is that he personifies exactly the skeptic the questioners in the last paragraph dislike so much. His viral description of irrational beliefs strikes me as mechanistic and cold; he makes no allowance for the human need for a community to belong to and the approval of that community. Most children follow their parents’ religion? I was raised an agnostic; does that make agnosticism (which is the absence of belief more than anything else) a virus, too? After all, I didn’t examine all the world’s religions and make an informed choice either. 

Second of all, besides the social aspects of religion, which Dawkins ignores entirely, he focuses his argument on essentially harmless beliefs. It hurts no one if Rabbis spend their time checking whether Chinese menthol is kosher. I don’t care if Catholics believe in the transubstantiation: it’s harmless. What’s harmful is the Pope going to Mexico, which suffers desperately from overpopulation, and preaching against the government-sponsored contraception program. The difference is a precise line that’s drawn at the point where the source of the belief – be it religious, political, social, or paranormal – starts interfering with your right to decide your own life. But Dawkins makes no differentiation of this kind. 

Dawkins frequently talked about ‘gullible’ children. This goes against most skeptics’ experience: not all religious beliefs are formed in childhood, and most paranormal beliefs are not. In any case, children aren’t gullible; you just can’t make that kind of blanket statement about people. Children are inexperienced, and have no context against which to judge what they are told; adults, when faced with unfamiliar phenomena, are similarly inexperienced. That does not make them fools. 

Dawkins has no suggestions for change; he doesn’t see that as his role. But as skeptics, it’s generally clear to us that the most important thing we can do is to spread information to help people make up their own minds. Describing any sort of belief as a virus – and remember, we have no medical cures yet for viruses – disempowers us all, skeptics and belief ‘sufferers’ alike. 

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A woman I know believes in the supposed prophecies of Nostradamus and Edgar Cayce, the esoteric teachings of Madame Blavatsky, psychic powers of diverse kinds, pyramid power, and the visitations of ancient as well as modem UFO aliens otherwise she seems quite rational and realistic – at least she doubts the infallibility of papal pronouncement.

Still having some optimism about the power of rational persuasion, I gave her a copy of Randi’s book Flim Flam! (Prometheus Books). Since it is, in my opinion, one of the most persuasive and entertaining antidotes to most recent forms of paranormal nonsense, I thought her days of credulity were probably numbered. However, I underestimated the power of credulity.

After I had given her several weeks to assimilate Randi’s work I telephoned, and in the course of small talk about insignificant things (world politics etc.) asked what she thought of the Randi book. Optimist that I am, I almost expected to hear her say she has seen the light and had become a born-again skeptic. Instead she said: “I don’t believe in any of Randi’s claims-I don’t like his attitude.” “His attitude?” I asked, hardly able to hide the contempt in my voice. There was a moment of silence on her end of the phone, so I could not resist a bit of logician’s pedantry: “What has his attitude got to do with his conclusions or methods of investigation?”

Her reply was interesting. It showed that I had missed an important consideration, namely the importance of psychological impact, of rhetoric versus logic. She said “Randi is merely a scoffer. He pokes fun at people and doesn’t have an open mind.” All the logical considerations I was able to suggest were fruitless; her mind was made up and Randi had no place in it.

I found this interesting, because it suggests some considerations which may be important to those of us who consider ourselves to be rational skeptics. Our consideration is conceptual. What does ‘skepticism’, in the sense we intend we use it, mean? How does skepticism, in this sense, differ, if at all, from ‘scoffing’? And, if they do differ, is there any necessary relationship between them? However, as interesting as such semantic considerations may be for those of us obsessed with language, there is another related consideration of greater practical importance to all of us: What is the most effective way to encourage critical thinking and to weaken credulity? 

The first group of questions – the conceptual ones – are not too difficult to answer, as long as we’re satisfied with somewhat superficial answers. A good dictionary is probably adequate in this case. ‘Skepticism’ may therefore be defined as doubt directed toward any claims which seem to violate either well-established scientific principles or the canons of logic or both; a rational kind of doubt requiring extraordinary evidence for extraordinary claims. Using the lexicon as our guide, ‘Scoffing’ may be defined as making fun of someone or something, focusing on ludicrous aspects. Now, if these or similar meanings are adopted, then it seems clear that, logically speaking, there is no necessary connection between skepticism and scoffing – they are logically independent. 

If, however, we shift our considerations from logic and semantics to human psychology, the questions are not as easily answered. This is why my credulous friend’s rejection of Randi and his investigations is interesting. Her rejection, on psychological grounds, represents a phenomenon which should make us focus on the most effective way to encourage rationality.

Is my credulous friend fairly typical of credulous people? Does scoffing, or even the appearance of scoffing – of appearing to poke fun at superstitious belief and cognitive methods – turn most credulous people off? Or, on the contrary, is humour actually the most effective way to encourage rationality in credulous people? 

I do not think there are any simple, universal answers to these questions. If we examine those who have been most effective in promoting rational criticisms – people like Robert G. Ingersoll, John Dewey, Bertrand Russell, and Paul Kurtz – it is obvious that quite different mixes of humour and reason have been successful.

But perhaps it isn’t a matter of humour (or scoffing) versus serious intellectual consideration that we should be thinking about. Perhaps what we need to aim for are approaches which manage to reveal the absurdity of positions without at the same time making the credulous person feel like an object of ridicule. However, I admit that I haven’t succeeded in doing this very well myself.

The post From the archives: Skeptics and Scoffers – making sense… or making fun? appeared first on The Skeptic.

Ann Moore was born in 1761 in Rosleston, Derbyshire, and had spent her working life firstly in service and later in the cotton industry. Early in 1807 she declared that she could live without food. At the time she was living in Tutbury, Staffordshire, and consequently became known as ‘The Fasting Woman of Tutbury’.

The first watch

Moore agreed to be subjected to a watch in order to prove her story, so in September 1808 she was taken from her own home to that of a local grocer, Mr Jackson. The event was supervised by a surgeon, Robert Taylor, but all inhabitants of the village were invited to help, and 80-90 participated. The fast lasted for sixteen days, though Moore was allowed some water on the first three days. Then she was taken home, having apparently succeeded in establishing her claim.

Taylor published an account of the proceedings, declaring that Moore had lived without food, liquid or solid, for thirteen days. Her window was always kept open, and the hypothesis was advanced by Taylor that she was somehow obtaining nutrients from hydrogen in the air. Other cases of people fasting for lengthy periods without ill effect were adduced.

The claim, now seemingly verified, was believed by many, and large numbers flocked to see her. They left gifts, ostensibly for her children, and these were estimated to amount to about 250 shillings in two years, and perhaps as much as 400-500 by 1813. Moore professed to be very religious, and would discuss theological matters with visitors, in order to add weight to a divine interpretation of her ability. But it was felt that this was a mask, as she was capable of ‘virulent’ language when challenged by skeptics. It was the case that prior to the advent of her fame she had been morally depraved; she had been separated from her husband for about twenty years, during which time she had lived in adultery with a man by whom she had borne two children.

From the time the watch ended, she claimed to have eaten nothing, a declaration which was clearly profitable. Indeed, she said that she had now lost the power of swallowing – if she attempted to do so, she would suffocate. As a corollary she had not urinated nor defecated during that time, neither had she slept. 

Various causes were advanced by Moore as to why she had been afflicted (or blessed, depending how one looks at it) in this way. To begin with she said that it had been caused by washing some clothes which had been used to bind the ulcerous wounds of a boy. Then, she said that it was due to extreme want. Latterly she stated that it had come on gradually, so that she ate less and less food, then took liquids only, then nothing at all.

The Henderson report

As a result of hearing of Moore’s fame, Alexander Henderson and two friends on holiday visited her at her home during 1812. They had previously canvassed opinions of the phenomenon, and found that whereas the medical community was skeptical, members of the general public were convinced of her sincerity, and pointed to the nine-day watch as definite proof.

On meeting her they gave her a full examination, and found her healthy. She was thin, though not abnormally so, and her stomach had not caved in as would be expected in a case of starvation. On the other hand the lower part of her body appeared to be wasted and paralytic. She produced plenty of saliva, and her bed stank of urine. In addition to her ability to survive without food, she still claimed not to be able to sleep. She did doze, she said, but was always conscious. She also stated that she was subject to fits, had problems opening her mouth, and had lost the use of all but the index finger on her left hand. She said that she had lost all feeling in her lower limbs. 

The party was not convinced and thought that she was fabricating her condition in order to ‘excite wonder and compassion’, in collusion with others. Henderson produced fourteen reasons in support of his contention that Moore was not telling the truth. Some were direct, others circumstantial, based on previous cases of lengthy fasting.

To begin with, there was the natural and healthy appearance of her face and the strength of her pulse, muscles and voice. Moisture in her mouth, nostrils, eyes and the surface of her skin did not indicate any desiccation. Her intellect had not been impaired. On a moral note, the dissolute conduct of her earlier life and the admission that she had once passed as religious for worldly gain did not inspire confidence in her probity. There was the vested interest she and her attendants had in perpetuating the deception, as well as the declaration that she had made that she thought that a time might come when God would restore her appetite. This would be a useful escape should she be caught eating.

Other factors militating against her were: evidence of the concealment of the evacuation of urine; her dread at a repetition of the watch; a general dread of experiments performed upon her; variations and contradictions in her statements, for example the date upon which she ceased eating, using a finger she had declared to be useless, and whether she did or did not perspire; the performance of actions which were inconsistent with her statements, such as drinking when she had declared that it caused her pain; and the fact that her bodily state was about the same as when she began her fast, yet case histories of starving people consistently found that physical deterioration occurred quickly. 

Instances of similar frauds from across Europe were discussed by Henderson, and it becomes apparent that there was a tradition of women claiming that they had not eaten for extended periods. He cites various cases of women who, like Moore, had been convincing at first, but had later been caught cheating. In any case, he continued, the previous scrutiny of Moore had only lasted sixteen days, which was not the same as five years, nor had it been scientific. 

The second watch 

Moore’s claims were treated with skepticism by the scientific community, so she was invited to participate in a second watch which would be better controlled than its predecessor. It was reported in a pamphlet published, like Henderson’s, in 1813. This was now six years after she first made claims of abstinence, and four and a half after the first watch. It was clear that despite these alleged privations she was still in good health. The Henderson pamphlet spurred her friends to encourage her to refute his allegations as quickly as possible. 

This watch was to be more rigorous than the first, so only Church of England ministers, medical men and magistrates, upright citizens all, were to be allowed to participate. The committee was headed by Sir Oswald Mosley, 2nd Baronet of Rolleston. It met on 20 April 1813, and agreed that Moore should be watched for one month. She refused at first, but the medically qualified members were adamant that no shorter time would suffice to test her adequately, so she was forced to agree. To begin with she was weighed and was put on a new bed which had a weighing machine attached. Moore was dissatisfied with these arrangements, and said that she expected to lose 2-3 lbs. The bed had been inspected and filled with chaff. The bedding was searched, and the move from the old to new bed watched. Her person was examined, as was the room. Naturally she was kept isolated, except for the investigators. 

At the end of seven days, an announcement was made that she had taken no food in that time. Moore’s supporters were confident that she would last the entire month, though it was clear to those observing that she was suffering, and had lost a lot of weight. She developed a fever, and asked for cloths dipped in a vinegar/water mixture with which she could wet her tongue and mouth. These were usually wrung out, but one watcher did not do so in order to see if she could swallow, despite her claim to the contrary. She swallowed the mixture avidly.

By the eighth day she was very distressed, and her pulse was registering 145 beats per minute. The day after she said that she had to give up the test as she was ill, and asked for her daughter to be sent for. The watchers were worried that she would die, and admitted the daughter. She, upon seeing her mother’s condition, ran to a neighbour’s house, but immediately returned, and it was supposed that she transferred a quantity of water from her own mouth to her mother’s under the pretence of kissing her. 

Moore was somewhat revived by these ministrations, and her daughter begged the team to leave the room, which they were loath to do. The daughter refused to assist her mother unless they did, and they felt that they had no choice as the doctors present opined that Moore appeared to have only a couple of hours to live. Her pulse was now 160 beats per minute in one wrist, and not discernible in the other. The watch therefore broke up, the daughter took charge, and Moore began to improve. 

The aftermath 

Despite the failure of the test, Moore said that she wanted to make an oath that she had taken no food during the preceding six years. This she did, no doubt hoping to retain her credibility. She might have succeeded in this endeavour, but Mr Bott of Tutbury, one of the investigators, discovered linen concealed in her room which seemed stained with urine and faeces. Her blanket was also wet through. When confronted, Moore broke down and made a written confession, dated 4 May 1813. At last she admitted that she had eaten during the six years, and asked forgiveness of the people she had deceived, as well as of God. She drank some milk in the presence of witnesses without difficulty, though when water had been placed in her mouth when she seemed to be dying she had imitated the act of suffocation and had brought up blood. 

Conjectures as to why she had succeeded during the first watch were put forward by the writer of this third pamphlet. One was the possibility that the huge number of watchers had included collaborators, although this had not been proved. Her linen had been brought and removed by one woman, and could have been used as a vehicle for food, but again nothing had been found when it was searched. The daughter could have helped, as she had visited every day and had been permitted to approach the bed. The conditions of the second watch ruled out this possibility. 

Any urine discovered during the first test would not have been seen as significant, as she had been allowed to drink during the first three days; it was only after the test ended that she claimed to have lost the power of swallowing. During it she took snuff, and also pretended to have a cold, so that she used nineteen handkerchiefs in two days. These were washed in case they contained starch, but were more likely used to absorb her urine. They would have been dried on her body before being returned, with the smell covered by the window always being kept open. She was also at first given hartshorn for a headache, the ammonia in which would have helped to disguise the smell of urine. This remedy was later withheld. 

With all these loopholes in the protocol of the first watch, Moore must have been confident of succeeding in the second, and it is unlikely that she would have agreed to participate had she appreciated how rigorous it was to be. During the nine days the only assistance she received was the supply of wet cloths. She was so grateful to Mr Wright, who had not wrung out the cloth he had given her, that she promised him her body for dissection after her death. 

The report acknowledged that people can survive on very little, and postulated that Moore, never a hearty eater, had been tempted to exaggerate this ability. Her daughter did admit that her principal source of sustenance was tea. The writer concedes that had she had access to water, she would probably have been able to survive the entire month. This admiration for her constitution is tempered with the declaration that Moore was an impostor, her deception made worse by its religious cover story. It had been impious of her to offer herself as a miracle. 

It is interesting to speculate on why Moore should have chosen to make such a preposterous claim. Apart from the monetary gain, which came after she had passed the first trial, she found herself an object of interest and celebration. Medical men came to visit her, which must have been gratifying to somebody who would not otherwise have been found interesting. Starvation, with all the discomforts it entailed, was one of the few ways for a working woman to gain social and financial advancement. 

It is possible too that the fraud got out of hand, so that something designed to impress the inhabitants of Tutbury blew out of proportion until it was a matter of national interest. On a larger scale, this was a time of uncertainty. The long war with France had created unrest and economic difficulties in the country, and industrialisation was affecting the cotton industry in which Moore worked. It is clear that fantastic claims flourish when times are hard.

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