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In Turkey, conspiracy theories about the Peace Treaty of Lausanne run riot

Serdar Basegmez
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In Turkey, conspiracy theories about the Peace Treaty of Lausanne run riot

The year 2023 began with a series of jokes in Turkey about people eagerly awaiting the start of the new year to begin digging in their gardens, hoping to uncover valuable resources, including gummy bears and rivers of crude oil. The running theme of these jokes is to poke fun at a conspiracy theory surrounding the Lausanne Peace Treaty, considered the foundational document of modern Turkey.

An internet meme circulating on social media as the secret appendix to the Lausanne Treaty. “Turkey cannot do anything until 2023.”
An internet meme circulating on social media as the secret appendix to the Lausanne Treaty. “Turkey cannot do anything until 2023.”

The plot asserts that there is a secret 21-article appendix signed in the cellar of the Lausanne Palace Hotel, and that the treaty will expire on its 100th anniversary. The further claims fall into two categories: First, some believe that with the expiration of the alleged secret appendix to the Treaty of Lausanne, the current government of Turkey will be able to access valuable boron minerals and oil reserves and collect taxes from the straits. The second and less prevalent belief is that the treaty’s expiration will cause Turkey to lose all of its accomplishments overnight.

These theories, while nonsensical to critical thinkers, are quite prevalent. A 2018 survey by Konda Research found that 48% of the sample population agreed with the statement, “The Treaty of Lausanne will end in 2023”. The belief in this conspiracy theory doesn’t appear to be limited to any particular ideology. The results are likely due to a broader narrative unfolding over 150 years of modern Turkish history.

Survey results showing that almost 50% of people in Turkey believe the Treaty of Lausanne will end in 2023. Similar numbers are seen in a variety of demographics including those with below high school or high school education (slightly fewer but still 43% of those with university education) and those of religious or traditional conservative politics. The lowest percentage belief (40%) exists in those with "modern" political beliefs.
Konda Barometresi – Populist Behavior, Negative Identification and Conspiracism, November 2018

Duel of Treaties: From Sèvres to Lausanne

Before delving further into this topic, it is helpful to review the history of the interwar period to understand the context better. In the aftermath of World War I, the Allied Powers and the Ottoman Empire signed the Treaty of Sèvres in 1920, intended to implement the partitioning of the empire’s territory that had been decided through secret agreements among western nations. Although the Treaty of Sèvres was never ratified, some historians consider it a contributor to the “Sèvres Syndrome“, a historical trauma for the Turkish nation. The negotiated map depicting the slicing of the nation by the “enemy” has been etched into Turkish people’s memories through history lessons taught in primary schools (Tziarras, 2022).

A typical “Sèvres Map” depicting the country sliced into influence territories (including a Greek Zone, Italian Zone, British Zone, Armenian Zone, French Zone, International Zone of the Straits and Remaining Turkish Territory). Source: TRT World, public news broadcaster.
A typical “Sèvres Map” depicting the country sliced into influence territories. Source: TRT World, public news broadcaster.

As discussions around the Sèvres continued, a spark of resistance emerged away from the capital. The Turkish National Movement, led by Mustafa Kemal (Atatürk), separated from the Ottoman Empire and established a new parliament in Ankara. The movement aimed to establish the National Pact (Misak-ı Milli) as its foundation, which rejected the Treaty of Sèvres and defined the borders of Turkey to the point when the Ottomans were surrounded. They eventually waged a War of Independence against occupying forces, which ended with a Turkish victory in the autumn of 1922. This conflict set the stage for negotiations that ultimately led to the signing of the Treaty of Lausanne in July 1923, which formally recognised Turkey’s sovereignty and set its borders.

The original treaty, on exhibition in France in 2018. Source
The original treaty, on exhibition in France in 2018. Source

The negotiation process was a lengthy and challenging ordeal that required compromises for the founding leaders of Turkey. Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, the first president of Turkey, appointed his right-hand man and Chief of General Staff, Ismet Pasha (İnönü), as the head of the Turkish delegation.

One of the major issues was the city of Mosul, which was part of the National Pact; the Turkish delegation tried, and failed, to convince Lord Curzon, the British Foreign Secretary, that Mosul should therefore be part of Turkey. Turkey also did not obtain complete control of the Bosphorus and Dardanelles, and had to give up additional territories from the National Pact.

Some of these issues were to be resolved in the 1930s, but the Lausanne delegation faced harsh criticism from Mustafa Kemal’s political opponents, known as the Second Group, during the conference. The arguments were so intense that a prominent member of the Second Group, Ali Şükrü, was assassinated by a former commander of Mustafa Kemal’s special Bodyguard Regiment. The opposition group was eliminated before the treaty was signed.

The cartoon of the Turkish delegation at Lausanne, by Alois Derso and Emery Kelèn. Shared by The Lausanne Project under CC BY-NC-ND license.
The cartoon of the Turkish delegation at Lausanne, by Alois Derso and Emery Kelèn. Shared by The Lausanne Project under CC BY-NC-ND license.

Pro-Lausanne vs Counter-Lausanne

As a significant symbol in the history of modern Turkey, the Lausanne Treaty represents a moment of victory after two centuries of decline, and an opportunity to start anew after the Ottoman Empire’s darkest times. The Empire had surrendered its resources and independence to its enemies, yet Turkey was the only country to avoid the Allies’ harsh terms, even though they had lost World War I. The treaty marked a turning point towards a new future for independent Turkey.

Before the emergence of conspiracy theories, a contrarian narrative started in right-wing circles based on the “Lausanne as a victory or defeat” discourse. This counter-Lausanne sentiment was represented mainly by ideologies such as Islamism and Neo-Ottomanism, and heavily influenced by the opposition of the Second Group to the withdrawal from the National Pact. However, there were other factors: the nostalgia and aspiration for the Ottoman Empire’s former glory and magnificence, the abolition of the sultanate and caliphate, and the strict (French-style) secularism implemented against the Muslim lifestyle and Islamic traditions have all contributed to the counter-narrative (Tziarras, 2022).

Jewish plot

At this point, those familiar with conspiracy theories may wonder where the Jewish plot comes into play. As Aaron Rabinowitz has often pointed out, there seems to be an “inverse Godwin’s Law” in which conspiracy theories tend to involve an antisemitic angle if they persist long enough.

Enter the Jewish plot into the conspiracy. One member of the Turkish delegation present in Lausanne was Chaim (Haim) Nahum, the Grand Rabbi of the Ottoman Empire. Nahum was known for his close relations with the British and the French. The Ankara government included him in the delegation to leverage his connections, and to signal their intention to reconcile with non-Muslim communities. However, this pragmatic decision has since been subject to conspiratorial interpretations. For example, another member of the delegation, Rıza Nur, wrote in his memoirs about a strange encounter with Chaim Nahum during the negotiations. He implied that Nahum, whom he referred to as a “seasoned Jew”, approached İsmet Pasha with his “typical Jewish pushiness”. Nur claimed that he saved İsmet Pasha from the Rabbi’s influence, but this incident added to the conspiratorial interpretations of Nahum’s presence at Lausanne (Gürpınar, 2020).

The rumours of a Jewish conspiracy gained traction in the counter-Lausanne narrative with the emergence of a series of articles titled “Expose” and “Ismet Pasha and the inside story of Lausanne” in 1949-50, written by an author using the pseudonym “Detective X One” in the Büyük Doğu (Great East) magazine. The true identity of “Detective X One” was Necip Fazıl Kısakürek (NFK), an infamous Islamist ideologue who used a pen name to shield himself from political persecution at the time.

The second series of articles written by Necip Fazıl Kısakürek, published by Büyük Doğu (Great East) in 1950, is the most comprehensive portrayal of the conspiracy. Source
The second series of articles written by Necip Fazıl Kısakürek, published by Büyük Doğu (Great East) in 1950, is the most comprehensive portrayal of the conspiracy. Source

NFK was already deeply entrenched in antisemitic conspiracy theories, having translated “The Protocols of the Elders of Zion”, a notorious antisemitic text. He was also a prominent supporter of replacing the secular nationalist republic with an Islamist one. Therefore, he framed the Nahum story following his ideology. According to his perspective, Nahum convinced Lord Curzon to agree to the Turkish delegation’s demands. In return, the Republic of Turkey would abolish the caliphate and distance itself from Islam.

According to journalist Yıldıray Oğur, İbrahim Arvas, niece of Abdulhakim Arvasi, the 33rd sheikh of the Naqshbandi order and also the teacher of NFK in the Naqshbandi order, may have been another potential source of the conspiracy theory. Arvas was an MP during the Lausanne negotiations. In his memoir, he listed some of these secret decisions made during the negotiations, including abolishing Islam and declaring Christianity in Turkey. NFK knew him very well, but the memoir was written after NFK’s articles. Therefore it is a valid question to ask who put the cart before the horse.

AKP and Erdoğan Rhetoric

While the lesser-known Islamist books and magazines were writing about all these conspiracies and ideas, Islamism began to rise in Turkish politics. The first wave was Erbakan’s Milli Görüş Movement, which joined a right-wing coalition in the 1990s. However, with strong opposition from the establishment, they were removed through a “postmodern coup“, which became a significant milestone for the Islamist movement and fuelled their desire for revenge.

The next phase saw the emergence of Erdoğan’s AKP (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi, Justice and Development Party), which appeared more compatible with the secular system. The leaders behind this movement were from the reformist wing of their predecessor party. The AKP did not adopt a Euro-sceptic stance and, from the outset, supported a liberal market economy while rejecting fundamentalism. After the financial crash of 2001, AKP rose to power in the 2002 elections. Over time, AKP’s initially liberal and “mildly Islamist” politics evolved into a personality cult centred around Erdoğan, with an increasingly anti-Western and nationalist discourse coupled with growing authoritarianism.

Modern Islamists in Turkey, including Erdoğan, have long viewed NFK as an ideological icon. Therefore, Islamist Erdoğan might have taken a more contrarian stance against the Treaty of Lausanne. However, the reality is more nuanced. Although his government frequently adopted a counter-narrative against the treaty, he, as a populist leader, also acknowledges its significance as a nationalist element in his discourse. The AKP has never officially used the Lausanne conspiracy. In April 2022, Presidential Communication Center (CİMER) responded to a direct question, “There are no secret articles in the Treaty of Lausanne, and there is no article that prevents us from mining.”

Erdoğan adopted a more practical strategy, applauding the treaty’s historical achievements on its anniversaries but promoting the counter-Lausanne narrative on other occasions. His revisionist tactics serve a dual purpose: for domestic politics, he can seek revenge against the old regime; for international politics, he can leverage the anti-Lausanne narrative to advance his Neo-Ottoman agenda.

In several instances, conspiracy theories were directly promoted by close circles of the AKP. For example, Yeni Şafak, a daily newspaper known for its hard-line support of the Erdoğan government and infamous for its fabricated “milk port” interview with Noam Chomsky in the past, claimed that Erdoğan personally instructed the Foreign Ministry to publish the secret articles of the Treaty of Lausanne. Many AKP supporters linked their hopes for a new and improved Turkey with the treaty’s expiration, in parallel with AKP’s Vision 2023 plan and the “New Turkey” sentiment. Conspiracy-minded secularists were not comfortable with the idea of the Treaty’s expiration and worried about Erdoğan’s possible secret intentions to replace Ataturk’s legacy.

With social media, the conspiracy theory was transformed from its original form. Rather than focusing on the “Lausanne as a victory or defeat” narrative, the theory began incorporating urban legends, such as foreign powers preventing Turkey from extracting boron or oil reserves. These urban legends may have diluted conspiracy theories that once accused the founding leaders. One speculation could be that the rise of ultra-nationalism on the left and within Islamist circles may have contributed to this change.

Conclusion

We aimed to trace the origins of the conspiracy theories surrounding the Treaty of Lausanne and uncover the political agenda behind them. These theories exemplify a tendency to interpret historical events imperfectly and with motivated reasoning rather than critically assessing historical sources. For some, an alternative explanation was necessary to sustain the anti-Lausanne narrative. For others, it was to conform to their ideological stance or predisposition towards victimhood. Eventually, everyone fabricated their own stories and provided a plausible rationale suited for themselves. As Rob Brotherton pointed out, “Conspiracism is just one potential product of a much broader worldview” (Brotherton, 2015).

While these narratives may seem amusing or irrational, they can have real-world implications and shape public opinion. Understanding the origins and evolution of these conspiracy theories is crucial to uncover the underlying social and political forces driving their popularity. This knowledge can offer insights to combat the spread of misinformation and promote a more informed and nuanced discourse.

Further reading

  • Zenonas Tziarras (2022), Turkish Foreign Policy, SpringerBriefs in International Relations – 2022
  • Gürpınar, Doğan (2020). Conspiracy Theories in Turkey, Taylor and Francis
  • Brotherton, Rob (2015). Suspicious minds: why we believe conspiracy theories. New York, NY: Bloomsbury Sigma

The myth of the well-filled slate: we shouldn’t discount the influence of society on our lives

Carlos Orsi
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The myth of the well-filled slate: we shouldn’t discount the influence of society on our lives

Twenty years ago, Steven Pinker published the bestseller “The Blank Slate” (2002) in which he argued that important sectors of the social sciences, psychology and political philosophy were making the mistake of insisting on a false and outdated model of human nature. According to this blank slate model, each human individual would be like a clean blackboard at birth, where the chalk of education, society, and culture could write anything — an infinitely malleable mass, whose only significant genetic inheritance would be that of belonging to the Homo sapiens species.

Perhaps the clearest articulation of the blank slate model came from the American psychologist John B. Watson (1878-1958) in 1924. Watson, founder of behaviourism, wrote the following (precisely, in a book entitled “Behaviorism”):

Give me a dozen well-formed, healthy infants, and my own specified world to bring them up in, and I’ll guarantee to take any one at random and train him to become any type of specialist I might select — doctor, lawyer, artist, merchant-chief and, yes, even beggar-man and thief, regardless of his talents, penchants, tendencies, abilities, vocations…

By combining Watson’s behaviourist radicalism with the hypothesis developed by anthropologist Franz Boas (1858-1942) — that the differences between human groups can be explained by their historical background and cultural habits, and not by some kind of ethnic “essence” — one arrives at the formulation that culture and education would be virtually omnipotent in the construction of human phenomena. By transforming education, the individual would be transformed. By transforming culture, humanity would be transformed, and the possibilities would be endless.

This is the blank slate model, which Pinker denounces as a kind of politically correct orthodoxy in the humanities, a well-meaning obscurantism that leads the “humanities guys” to ignore the theory of evolution, and to react with irrational horror to the mere mention of a biological hypothesis to account for a psychological or social phenomenon. Evidently, this idea — that human beings and their behavior are infinitely malleable, and that the only biological impositions we must submit to at birth are those that, for example, prevent us from flying or breathing underwater — is wrong, and has already caused great social and individual harm.

Pinker cites the case of a boy who suffered penile mutilation as a baby, and whose parents were instructed by their pediatrician to raise him as a girl. For many years, this story was presented as proof that gender is a product of socialisation, but only until a scientific article published in 1997 showed that the girl “Joan” had not only spent a good part of her life loathing the female identity imposed on her — to the point of rejecting the hormone treatment recommended for her at the onset of puberty — but had also completely reverted to her original masculine identity of “John” at the age of 16.

Models

One of the truest things about science is that all scientific models are wrong, but some are useful. Furthermore, their usefulness is only valid for very well-defined applications. A map depicting the Earth’s surface as flat is wrong, but it can be useful when traveling from São Paulo to Campinas.

The blank slate model, particularly as it was synthesised in the 1920s-30s, emerged at a historical moment when the alternative model was one of absolute biological determinism. In his masterful book entitled “The Myth of Race,” anthropologist Robert W. Sussman (1941-2016) explains that rediscovery of the work conducted by Gregor Mendel (1822-1884) on heredity, and the experimental finding that there was no genetic inheritance of acquired characteristics (e.g. children of muscular parents were not born stronger) led many scientists and intellectuals, mainly in the US, England, and Germany, to postulate that all behavioural and personality traits were hereditary and transmitted by simple Mendelian inheritance.

Culture would be a fixed characteristic of ethnicity, a collective phenotype, and education would be powerless in converting “savages” into “civilized people.” In other words, everything — even something like “thalassophilia” (a knack for maritime life), which presumably made good Navy officers — would be passed down from parent to child, according to the binary rules of dominant and recessive genes, those same rules that today’s students are required to know for their biology tests.

Compared to this alternative, the blank slate is an excellent model. Boas’s historical and cultural relativism, in particular, has proven to be much more successful empirically than Mendelian genetic determinism, in that it describes and explains reality far better. If we are to rely on oversimplification, the “everything is culture” idea provides a much more sophisticated and reliable map of the territory being explored than the “everything is genes” idea.

Levels

Even if a map is better than the alternatives available at a given historical moment, it can be corrected and improved later on. Pinker argues that the orthodoxy of the humanities has refused to update its map of social and psychological phenomena with the scientific facts that attest to the influence wrought by genetics and evolution on these phenomena, for eminently political reasons (namely, a commitment to the ideal of equality).

Undeniably, there’s still some resistance to incorporating biological considerations into the humanities, particularly in the areas more connected to public policy-making (e.g. policies for combating racial and gender discrimination), but it would be a caricature to attribute all of this resistance to mere political prejudice or unyielding leftism. There are a couple of good rational reasons for this. The first is the problem of the explanatory level. The second is the effect size.

The explanatory level refers to how far down the architecture of science one needs to go to find an adequate explanation for a given phenomenon. Societies are made up of human beings, in other words, biological entities who function based on chemical reactions governed by the laws of physics. From that perspective, it should be possible to use quantum physics to explain the start of World War I, but exactly what purpose would this explanation serve? Who would be capable of comprehending it? What would be its relevance?

Clearly, a “higher” science in the edifice of explanatory levels could never contradict a more fundamental result: the roof cannot stand without the foundations, and a sociological hypothesis that contradicted the Theory of Relativity would be stillborn. However, whether or not one should cite the foundation — rather than imply it — to describe the ceiling, only the particularities of each case can say, and this “case-to case judgement” will depend on the effect size. In other words, we would have to ask: can a phenomenon be explained based on the considerations of a more fundamental level? And, if so, would the explanation be at all helpful? When it comes to psychological or social differences, the answers seem to be ‘it depends,’ and ‘very little,’ respectively.

Most of the time, keeping biology as a silent backdrop when attempting to explain complex social phenomena is as reasonable as not considering subatomic interactions when trying to explain the outcome of the World Cup, and, for that matter, is just as devoid of any “obscurantism” or “ideological motivation.”

Well-filled slate

On publication, “The Blank Slate” prompted a series of criticisms towards anti-discriminatory public policies as being counterproductive because they would be unnatural — the sociopolitical equivalent of Watson’s crass behaviourism. If read carefully, Pinker’s book is more nuanced and subtle than that. However, a rushed reading of it has become a banner for conservatives who consider that Western society is the finish line of civilizing development, and that, not only is there nothing more to improve, but it is time to go back a few centuries. This is the well-filled slate crowd.

For instance, by stating that the professional preferences of men and women are different, because there are innate differences in personality, and that this is reason enough to adequately justify the disparities between the sexes — even better than the discrimination hypothesis — with respect to access to certain careers and income levels, Pinker bites off more than he can chew, and provides munition to those advocating the well-filled slate.

The misconception is not as gross as the one implied in saying that “being a ship’s captain is a Mendelian characteristic,” but it comes close. The fact that average differences in personality exist does not necessarily mean that they are innate — hence not produced culturally — or that they are relevant to all cases where discrimination is suspected, or even that their effects in today’s society are consistently greater than those of discrimination. 

Pinker gives special emphasis to opinion polls on work and career choices, where, in his words, “men and women say what they want.” However, he apparently fails to take into account the psychological question of desirability, i.e. the tendency of interviewees to respond to surveys according to what they imagine the interviewer expects or would like to hear, an issue that particularly affects surveys involving stereotypes and social roles. “Men, on average, are more willing to face physical discomfort and danger,” he writes. Are they really? Or do they just say they are, knowing that this is what is expected of a “real” man?

Then there’s the problem of generalisation, which hides behind the expression “on average.” The book “Brain Gender,” by neuroscientist Melissa Hines, discusses data from studies investigating the average differences between men and women in terms of standard deviations, as a means of assessing how much one population mean is different from another (technically, the author talks about a statistic called “Cohen’s d”, but we’ll skip the details).

The sexual orientation of men and women differs by six standard deviations: a very substantial majority of men say they prefer having sex with women over men, and vice versa. Height differs by two standard deviations: most men are noticeably taller than most women. In contrast, two cognitive and behavioural traits — mathematical prowess and physical aggressiveness — differ by less than half a standard deviation.

In an interview given to journalist Angela Saini (published in the book “Inferior”), Hines further adds that the difference between sexes in terms of the ability to empathise (which, according to the well-filled slate model, would explain why there are so many more female nurses than female engineers) is also about half a standard deviation. In an article published in 2005 by psychologist Janet Shibley, Hyde summarised the results of more than 40 studies on the differences in personality between the sexes, most of which were well below one standard deviation; a large number of these differences were in the second decimal place (0.07), including those regarding negotiation competitiveness.

Compared to these modest effects, the historical impact of discrimination takes on colossal proportions. In Brazil, there was only one woman trained in medicine in the entire country in the 1830s. In comparison, the first medical degree awarded to a woman in the US occurred in 1847. In 1910, female doctors accounted for 22% of medical professionals in Brazil. A hundred years later, this figure rose to 40%, and, in 2020, to 47%. It seems unlikely that the jump from a single female doctor in 1834 to nearly 223,000 in 2020 was caused by a change in hereditary, innate preferences, or in the effects of oestrogen on the central nervous system of the fetus.

The Polytechnic School of São Paulo, today part of the University of São Paulo (USP), was founded in 1893, and had only two female audit students (hence not actually enrolled) between the opening date and the 1920s. Only in 1928 would the first female engineer graduate there. Currently, 56 (13%) of the institution’s 415 professors are women. Of the 1,588 graduate students (master’s and doctoral), 417 (26%) are women.

Recognising that there are biological factors linked to personality, talents, and preferences does not mean that we have to accept these factors as the predominant cause of our current social arrangement, or that any deliberate sociopolitical effort to reduce glaring inequalities is a mistake or the result of ideological inflexibility. The evidence to this effect is far more precarious than what the well-filled slate upholders like to go around trumpeting about.

In view of historical experience, well-filled slate advocates make two seemingly extraordinary claims. The first is that social asymmetries — which suggest prima facie that there is unfair discrimination or cultural bias in place  — reflect some sort of biological “point of equilibrium.” The second is that the precise nature of human differences observed in Western societies has not only been unravelled, but is predominantly innate. As we all know, extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence. And theirs is flimsy at best.

This article was translated from the original Portuguese by Ricardo Borges Costa.

As a teacher, I wish I’d handled the conspiracy theorist in my class differently

Brian Montgomery
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As a teacher, I wish I’d handled the conspiracy theorist in my class differently

With the proliferation and popularisation of conspiracy theories on the rise throughout the world it is inevitable that educators will encounter them in the classroom. Here I recount one such encounter I had as a graduate student, explain how I handled it incorrectly, and provide some thoughts on how we all can respond better.

In 2012 I was in my last year of graduate work at the University of Missouri’s department of philosophy. Like most students completing their dissertations, I also worked for the university as a graduate instructor, often teaching large sections of introduction to philosophy. During the fall semester of that year, I had a student who stood out in the lecture. He would come to every session wearing a jacket that was an obvious imitation of the one that Ryan Gosling’s character wore in the film Drive from the previous year. He also differed from his peers in his interest and willingness to engage in the discussion.

As anyone who has spent time in front of an early morning college lecture hall can attest, students rarely want to say anything at all at 8:00 in the morning. But, not this student. He eagerly followed along with everything I said, while raising his hand for clarificatory questions and comments. Normally a professor would be thrilled to have such a student. However, this one presented a unique challenge in the way his contributions derailed the discussion.

I used to open my courses with a discussion of St. Anselm’s ontological argument. When making the distinction between things that exist in reality and things that exist merely in the imagination, he raised his hand to say that he understood the difference between the two because he could imagine a government that told the truth, but none exist in reality. While a jarring interruption, I dismissed it as an attempt at humour that fell flat, and we moved on. Subsequent discussion, however, showed this to be more than just an idiosyncrasy. When discussing how Descartes required an epistemic purgative to achieve the metaphysical doubt needed in his First Meditation, the student compared it to the time he learned falsehoods about the 9/11 attacks and decided to doubt all of the other “official stories” he believed. Many other such comments followed.

His fellow students quickly grew frustrated with his claims. It was not uncommon to hear one of them signal their exasperation when he raised his hand. They would often respond combatively, aggressively challenging him on the things he was saying, in a ridiculing way. I sometimes heard the anonymous “shut up” come from the back of the room when he spoke. No professor should allow any of their students to be attacked in class, so I would respond to such abuse when I heard it. But, truth be told, I understood their frustrations and shared them as well. We had a purpose in class, and his interruptions frustrated it. What is more, these conspiracy theories didn’t exist in a vacuum. The worldview he adhered to was dark, malevolent, and very clearly false.

It would have been easy to take the same track as the students, however, the responses I chose were no more productive than theirs. When the student began listing what he perceived as 9/11 anomalies, I told him (truthfully, but without trying to present myself as an expert on the subject) that all his claims had been debunked in materials that were widely available. When he cited Alex Jones as a credible source I pushed back against his veracity.

A few weeks into the course he stopped showing up for lectures. He also ceased doing the online components of the course without withdrawing. There’s nothing atypical about having a handful of students who do this in a large lecture course, yet I think about him more often than I do any other student who went this route. I clearly hadn’t responded to him in an adequate way. Several years later I learned that he had risen to a somewhat prominent position within the conspiracy community, and had multiple arrests that resulted from this. I often wonder what else I could have done to have stopped him from falling further down the rabbit hole.

At the time there was little research on how to break through to a conspiracy theorist. However, the topic has taken on a new gravity over recent years, and strategies have begun to emerge. We know, for instance, that attempts to rebut a conspiracy theorist’s claims with facts will sometimes cause the believer to entrench themselves in their belief. Even if the backfire effect is overblown, as some have suggested, it seems to have been what happened here. The other students in the class did not provide a welcoming environment, and feeling alone he seemed to have given up any chance at change.

So, what could I have done differently? First of all, without knowing the cause of and degree to which the student is engaged with their belief it’s difficult to provide a one-size-fits-all answer. Still, it should be rather clear that attempts to make the believer feel bad or wrong for holding their beliefs are bound to fail. Hence, the importance of providing a classroom experience that limits judgment insofar as possible is paramount.

Additionally, I would recommend that we treat them as we would any other student that is in distress. Every professor has the experience of dealing with students in crisis. We often meet with them during or outside of office hours and have long, emotionally open and welcoming conversations in which we identify the problems facing the student, as well as developing clear plans of action for addressing what’s holding them back. I’ve had such discussions with students experiencing living with illnesses both physical and mental, dealing with loss, on the edge of homelessness, and more.

Given the negative life path and impact on others that conspiracism can have, I suggest that we see their descent down the rabbit hole as an instance of a crisis event. Unfortunately, the conspiracy theory believer sees themselves as the ones in the right, and not in need of any help. Professors should have private, judgment free conversations in which they first build a rapport with the believer. Then, once that bond of mutual respect has been established, the professor may start questioning them on why they believe the things they do. If they’re willing to supply the answer, then the professor can begin to ask contextually salient questions to lead them to the contradictions of their belief system.

It is vitally important that you do not come off as having an agenda or antagonistic. Instead, it must be done in the same open and honest spirit of pedagogy that we must provide for all students. None of this is guaranteed to work, but it likely provides them with a better chance of a positive outcome than we had.

Three years later I began a new job at the University of Texas-El Paso. My first day of teaching I saw the Infowars logo spraypainted through a stencil at multiple locations around campus, and knew that this was a challenge that I would have to meet throughout my time in front of the classroom.

Fictional impressions: the shaky foundations of many common forensic science techniques

Dave Hahn
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Fictional impressions: the shaky foundations of many common forensic science techniques

My father was a cop. Specifically, he was an arson investigator which meant that after a fire was put out by the fire department, he was called to determine if the fire was arson (meaning it was deliberately set) or accidental. Sometimes, a very young me would get to come along for this dirty business. “Dirty” because it’s messy, everything is wet and covered in soot.

Part of the investigation is to find the point of ignition. The method is very simple, look for the room that is the most destroyed, and then look for the “v.” The “v” is where the fire started (if there is more than one, it was much more likely arson), because fire burns up and out in its nearly sentient search for fuel. You can trace it right down to the single place where the fire started, and then begin looking for other clues like if there is a gasoline smell to the room, if the copper wiring has melted (copper melts at about 1000C, meaning that it was a pretty hot fire), or if the fire traveled in an odd manner.

I describe this because this information is objective. Sure “odd” is an impression that one might come to, but if you understand that fire burns up and instead the burn pattern has it snaking across the floor, you will say that it is odd. 

In some cases (literally), there must be chemical analysis. Fire is a chemical reaction, and those reactions leave traces. Those traces will inform a person as to what burned and what, if anything, was used to “help” the fire along. Lab analysis in these cases is also objective, though I never witnessed any of these firsthand.

With every step in the crime scene investigation for this kind of crime an objective technique is used to reconstruct what happened. After that story is written (or more accurately re-written); the determination of arson or accident is made. There is very little room for subjective interpretation or bias to enter the case. The data is present—it just needs to be collected and arranged.

That whole story is to serve as a preface that we have all been taught, mostly through fictional portrayals, that this is how all criminal investigations work. We’ve seen the various techniques in so many different versions by different people that it’s hard to pin down a particularly jarring or incorrect show. The portrayal of forensic techniques in popular media is more like science fiction than reality; CSI’s green lasers are better at getting the writers out of the corners they wrote themselves into than the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver. This impression from years of film and television has served to remind us that committing a crime will get you caught. The impression here is that of a meticulous and scientific examination where the smallest particle of evidence is enough to find the perpetrator.

The impression has generated something known as the “CSI Effect.” There are two versions of this: the first is the one you may be the most familiar with—that prosecutors are often unable to get convictions because real forensic science isn’t as flashy as it is on the television show CSI, or that sometimes the evidence against the accused is a confession and an eyewitness not involving complex scientific testimony and CGI.

Studies into this effect though, have turned up empty. There was no finding that suspects were having their cases dismissed because a leggy blonde scientist wasn’t there to give a walk-through of blood splatter analysis. This CSI effect was no more than anecdotal complaints by frustrated prosecutors.

The second version is also anecdotal, but also more humorous, as the impression that these shows give leads perpetrators to try and coverup their crimes…but in doing so they provide more evidence to investigators.

Both descriptions should lead us to some heavy skepticism as to whether the effect is real though the latter one should give us more pause: we should never underestimate the effect pop-culture has on our perception of reality, i.e., a police officer does not have to tell you they are a police officer.

The list of forensic techniques at the disposal of the police includes, but is not limited to: fingerprint analysis, bullet analysis, object impressions, bite mark impressions, hair analysis, the polygraph testing, and DNA analysis. In this article let’s imagine that we have a gunshot murder (I do live in America after all), and that we are going to use each of these techniques to identify a suspect.

Let us begin our murder investigation with the discovery of a blood sample that has viable DNA on it, for the purpose of our fictional investigators this is great for the investigation. DNA currently sits as the gold standard in forensic investigations. It is the bar by which all the other standards are set. Most of my information is drawn from a report submitted to the American Justice Department by the National Academy of Sciences; where they performed a survey of studies on the forensic techniques used by law enforcement in the United States. I will note that despite the American focus of the report the problems described are not just American problems but cross the ocean to the UK as well.

The report sets DNA analysis as the epitome of a scientific forensic technique for a few reasons, to quote directly:

1] There are biological explanations for individual-specific findings; (2) the 13 STR loci used to compare DNA samples were selected so that the chance of two different people matching on all of them would be extremely small; (3) the probabilities of false positives have been explored and quantified in some settings (even if only approximately); (4) the laboratory procedures are well specified and subject to validation and proficiency testing; and (5) there are clear and repeatable standards for analysis, interpretation, and reporting.

One of the primary reasons that DNA can be relied upon is that the scientific principles which support it were hypothesized first and its application in forensic science followed it. This is not a case of a practical method which then found some post hoc justification later. What makes this feature interesting is that it is not how other techniques were developed. For example, there was never any science behind the polygraph machine (or lie detector) it was only justified because people felt that it could work. In some of the techniques I will discuss below, such as bullet striations, there is an impression that the technique can work but the conclusions that are derived from the method make much stronger claims than the method.

Page 133

DNA does not have this problem. Your DNA, minus some very odd cases, is your DNA. There is a connection between the sample and the person. Finding your DNA at a crime scene usually means that you were there. This connection brings us to (2) and (3), in the above quote, the methodology has been developed specifically to minimise false identification to a rare and quantified probability.

Importantly the last two factors generalise the science of DNA to the larger forensic world. For example, (4) claims that in order to be a DNA laboratory a facility must meet certain specifications. The person in the laboratory who conducts the tests must have a specific education and certification to be able to perform the test.

Finally, the fifth feature states what we assume is the case for all these tests: that the testing methods meet a scientific criterion of being repeatable. Two different people performing a DNA analysis on the same samples should reach the same conclusion. The problem, and what separates DNA testing from the following examples, is that this repeatability is not the case with other testing.

With DNA at the scene our murder suspect is going to have a difficulty in explaining how that happened. The report details several other techniques that are portrayed as reliable as DNA but have severe problems in meeting that threshold. Let’s roll a “chung chung” noise and return to our murder scene.

Our two detectives, one old and a recovering alcoholic (because this is the cliché) and his younger impetuous partner do not find DNA. They do have the bullet slug in the victim and a gun of matching caliber in the suspects’ flat. What follows is a scene so ubiquitous in police procedurals that it appears in everything from Law and Order to Law and Order UK. The pathologist has fired the gun into a tank full of ballistic gel and examined the slug. She seems reluctant to say it’s a match but the older detective explains that unless they get a match from the suspect’s gun they can’t make an arrest. The pathologist then offers some technobabble about striations and twist angles which the detectives use to get their arrest warrant. Then another “chung chung” and the crown is prepping their case.

The scene is as full of problems as it is clichéd. I’ll start with the science, “The fundamental problem with toolmark and firearms analysis is the lack of a precisely defined process (page 155).” A match involves the examiner concluding in which there is significant agreement between the slug pulled from the victim and the one from the recovered firearm. Yet the term “agreement” is ambiguous and changes between examiners. There is no definition of “agreement” to make a match. Further, even if there existed a 100% match, that only proves that the type of firearm was used in the crime, but not the token firearm held in official custody.

Guns aren’t made in a bespoken manner. They are mass produced. The barrel of the weapon, the thing which causes all the marks on the slug, are produced in long tubes and then cut for individual weapons. The slug can tell us the caliber of the weapon, which narrows the field; it can perhaps tell us the type of weapon if the number of grooves is particular to a type of gun. Generally, though, if we find out that the slug came out of a Glock-7 (the firearm of the UK army) then there are hundreds of thousands of possible matches save some deformity in the barrel. What our detectives have is a type of gun not a specific one. While ownership of the weapon by the suspect is a problem for the suspect it doesn’t prove they are the murderer.

Let us say that our detectives never found a firearm. Instead, they have a hair that does not match the victim but doesn’t have a follicle on it—so no DNA. Hair can tell us something, it can rule out a blonde if the hair is black. Shows like CSI give us the impression that a person can determine many more things about a hair, but none of that is borne out by the science. The report claims:

No scientifically accepted statistics exist about the frequency with which particular characteristics of hair are distributed in the population. There appear to be no uniform standards on the number of features on which hairs must agree before an examiner may declare a match

Page 160

Instead of a hair, our detectives find a clothing fiber. Not only do the same problems as before existing but there are more factors which can affect a fiber: sunlight exposure, cleaning, and wear. The only thing that can be determined by the examiner is that the fiber is artificial or natural, and sometimes what kind of fiber it is. Again, the portrayal of this in popular media is that a fiber match might as well be a video of the person committing the crime. The report is even more condemning of fiber analysis,

Fiber examiners agree, however, that none of these characteristics is suitable for individualizing fibers (associating a fiber from a crime scene with one, and only one, source) and that fiber evidence can be used only to associate a given fiber with a class of fibers.

Page 161

Let’s adjust our detective scenario one more time. Instead of submitting a hair or fiber, the detectives submit a fingerprint lifted from the scene and want a comparison with one taken from the suspect. You’re probably thinking that I’m some ACAB Antifa Anarchist who wants to discredit literally anything that the police do; surely fingerprint analysis is legitimate. We use fingerprints as an analogy for things that are unique.

Fingerprint analysis is properly called “Friction ridge analysis.” I want to get one thing out of the way immediately, I am not saying that fingerprints are not unique to the individual as the report admits,

some scientific evidence supports the presumption that friction ridge patterns are unique to each person and persist unchanged throughout a lifetime.

Page 143, 144

That much is true we can still use their uniqueness for analogies, but

Uniqueness and persistence are necessary conditions for friction ridge identification to be feasible, but those conditions do not imply that anyone can reliably discern whether two friction ridge impressions were made by the same person.

Page 144

At the risk of being repetitive, the issue is that no standardisation of the methods of comparison exist. It is up to the examiner whether they measure the swoops, the loops, or the number of ridges; between examiners though there is no agreement for standards. Scotland Yard may have a different standard than the FBI, but there is no good reason why the standardisation is different. If friction ridge analysis is a science in the same way that DNA is a science, there should be no differences in the analysis. The matches are determined through comparison of points, meaning that if a fingerprint has an “8 point” similarity with another one: that they share eight similar swoops or loops. France requires 12 points while the UK requires 16: this difference is nonsensical. The primary difference is that the UK police have a higher threshold for matching than France, which has a higher one than in the US (where the standard is up to the relative jurisdiction. Lowering the threshold only means that there is a higher likelihood of a false match which will lead to false arrests and accusations as was seen in the infamous arrest of Brandon Mayfield for the 2004 Madrid train bombings, where the US FBI was 100% positive that Mayfield’s print matched one from a piece of luggage found at the scene.

Consider the scenario: the fingerprint at the scene is on a drinking glass and it is getting compared with a print taken by the police. The police method of taking a fingerprint from a person is done in ideal conditions by someone trained to make the impression. They are comparing an ideal sample with a natural one. If you’ve ever fought with the fingerprint sensor on your phone/computer, you understand the problem. You set the sensor with a dead-on impression but when you unlock your mobile it’s not as flat and sometimes you have to hit it a few times.

Imagine that our older detective is sees a print on a high ball glass and calls for an examiner. There are several factors that can change the shape of a print. The material of the surface, the shape of the surface (i.e., if it is curved or not), the humidity, the temperature, etc. You can perform this at home: make a print on a piece of glass, then make another one a little firmer than that. They will not be significantly different, but they will be different. Now imagine that the print at the scene is a smudged partial on the rim of a highball glass and that partial has an eight-point match with the suspect. We don’t know if the match is because it was smudged or if it was a match regardless of the smudge. If we consider friction ridge analysis to be a science then the standards should be universal, the threshold should be the same across all jurisdictions.

The physical evidence aside, the other problem with that scene is the influence of the detectives on the examiner, this is a form of obvious bias. From a scientific perspective there exists no reason that the detectives are even discussing the situation with the examiner. The only purpose that serves is to bias the examiner into agreeing with the what the detectives, i.e., their co-worker, want. We would not tolerate this kind of influence, or even the appearance of it, in any other kind of scientific inquiry. This would be the same kind of interference as a CEO of a pharmaceutical company discussing the results of a clinical study with the people conducting the study.

For an honest examination the evidence should be submitted with only the absolute necessary information—in this case, two bullet slugs and then a chain of custody report. The examiner should not even be aware of what the case that samples refer to is. They shouldn’t know if it was from the famous murder or from the beer bottle someone throw at a referee. None of that information is relevant to whether the two samples match or not.

We as skeptics can claim what we do is important; that science, logic, and reason matter, that it is more than just explaining how a well-known psychic appears to be communicating to the dead, that facilitated communication has no scientific basis, or that homeopathy is literally nothing. Our skepticism is most important when people’s lives are on the line. In Democratic societies like ours, miscarriages of justice become the responsibility of the electorate. It is important to remember that when the crown, or the state, prosecutes a person suspected of a crime they are doing so on our behalf, and we bear a responsibility when innocent people go to jail.

Alternative medicine for animals: why we should keep quacks away from our furry friends

Edzard Ernst
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Alternative medicine for animals: why we should keep quacks away from our furry friends

We all know that so-called alternative medicine (SCAM) is currently a popular option for treating all sorts of human diseases. Therefore, it can hardly come as a surprise that a similar situation applies to animals. Consumers who are fond of SCAM are also likely to take their pets to SCAM practitioners when they feel that they are ill.

But SCAM for animals can be a rather tricky issue. Animals cannot consent to the treatments they are given. This can render the use of SCAM for animals ethically problematic: Where does the treatment end and the animal abuse begin? Which SCAM works for animals and which doesn’t? Which are safe and which harmful?

A recent systematic review assessed the evidence for the clinical efficacy of 24 SCAMs used in cats, dogs, and horses. The authors performed literature searches on Web of Science Core Collection, CABI, and PubMed. Relevant articles were assessed for scientific quality, and information was extracted on study characteristics, species, type of treatment, indication, and treatment effects.

Of 982 unique publications screened, 42 were eligible for inclusion, representing 9 different SCAMs:

  • aromatherapy,
  • gold therapy,
  • homeopathy,
  • leeches (hirudotherapy),
  • mesotherapy,
  • mud therapy,
  • neural therapy,
  • sound (music) therapy,
  • vibration therapy.

For 15 other predefined SCAMs, no study was identified. The risk of bias was assessed as high in seventeen studies, moderate to high in ten, moderate in ten, low to moderate in four, and low in just one single study. In those studies where the risk of bias was low to moderate, there was considerable heterogeneity in reported treatment effects.

The authors concluded that 

the present systematic review has revealed significant gaps in scientific knowledge regarding the effects of a number of “miscellaneous” SCAM methods used in cats, dogs, and horses. For the majority of the therapies, no relevant scientific articles were retrieved. For nine therapies, some research documentation was available. However, due to small sample sizes, a lack of control groups, and other methodological limitations, few articles with a low risk of bias were identified. Where beneficial results were reported, they were not replicated in other independent studies. Many of the articles were in the lower levels of the evidence pyramid, emphasising the need for more high-quality research using precise methodologies to evaluate the potential therapeutic effects of these therapies. Of the publications that met the inclusion criteria, the majority did not have any scientific documentation of sufficient quality to draw any conclusion regarding their effect. Several of our observations may be translated into lessons on how to improve the scientific support for SCAM therapies. Crucial efforts include (a) a focus on the evaluation of therapies with an explanatory model for a mechanism of action accepted by the scientific community at large, (b) the use of appropriate control animals and treatments, preferably in randomized controlled trials, (c) high-quality observational studies with emphasis on control for confounding factors, (d) sufficient statistical power; to achieve this, large-scale multicenter trials may be needed, (e) blinded evaluations, and (f) replication studies of therapies that have shown promising results in single studies.

Of particular interest was, I think, what the authors revealed in relation to homeopathy. The included studies, with moderate risk of bias, such as homeopathic hypotensive treatment in dogs with early, stage two heart failure and the study on cats with hyperthyroidism, showed no differences between treated and non-treated animals. An RCT with osteoarthritic dogs showed a difference in three of the six variables (veterinary-assessed mobility, two force plate variables, an owner-assessed chronic pain index, and pain and movement visually analogous scales).

Such findings are disappointing and should make SCAM-loving pet owners think again. Crucially, they are supported by another systematic review of 18 RCTs of homeopathy, representing 4 species (including two dog studies) and 11 different indications.

The authors excluded generalized conclusions about the effect of certain homeopathic remedies or the effect of individualised homeopathy on a given medical condition in animals. A meta-analysis of 9 trials with a high risk of bias, and two studies with a lower risk of bias, concluded that there is very limited evidence that clinical intervention in animals using homeopathic remedies can be distinguished from similar placebo interventions.

In essence, these data confirm what I have been pointing out repeatedly, for instance on my blog: SCAM for animals has one important feature in common with SCAM for humans – it is not evidence-based.

Could AI generated summaries of scientific consensus help tackle disinformation?

Alfie Hoar
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Could AI generated summaries of scientific consensus help tackle disinformation?

To anyone who campaigns against the influence of scientific disinformation – or frankly anyone who looks up a politically topical scientific field on social media – the emphasising of doubt and uncertainty by those who wish to undermine ‘mainstream’ science will be well recognised. It’s a very successful technique, and one that plays a central role in the Tobacco Industry method, which has been used by espousers of scientific disinformation for decades.

Emphasising doubt in science is a difficult thing to counter, since technically there is always doubt. It’s the nature of the scientific reasoning that ideas cannot be proved but rather supported or confirmed.

A common technique that is used to combat such rhetoric is to emphasise the mainstream thought within the scientific literature, either referencing widely accepted science or asking established scientists to refute the disinformation. However, this is more often than not spun into an idea of ‘debate in science’ – it’s happened to me! Again, this is frustrating because it’s widely known that there is debate in science and so it’s difficult to convey that this description isn’t an accurate description of the state of the science.

One of the major obstacles in these cases is being able to convey that the ‘debate’ here is not one between equally valid descriptions of the science – one take on the state of the science is a far more accurate description of the other. This is where the work of Consensus comes into play.

Consensus is a company based in the US which has the aim of democratising scientific knowledge. The company have developed a programme which is able to analyse a set of millions of scientific papers and generate a consensus response to a question posed to it. Thus it is able to identify the scientific consensus on a topic which is emergent from the scientific literature.

This idea of emergence is important, I believe, philosophically. A point which is often raised to dismiss the idea of a scientific consensus, normally around climate science, is that the very idea of consensus is unscientific. This often stems from the idea that uncertainty is inherent in science, or a Popperian idea that scientists should be constantly questioning the status quo.

However, this is a misunderstanding of what we’re talking about when we discuss a consensus in science. Any consensus we’re interested in here is about the convergence of the relevant literature around a certain position. This is what the programme Consensus has developed can provide.

It’s important to note at this stage that it’s early days for Consensus, with the programme only launching in early 2022. It cannot generate a consensus position on all questions yet, and sometimes the results generated when asking a question aren’t entirely representative of the scientific literature, but the programme is being continuously updated to improve the results generated.

Even at this stage, the usefulness of Consensus in tackling scientific disinformation can be easily seen. Take the recent press release from 2022 Rusty Razor winner Global Warming Policy Foundation, titled “Coral Reefs Are Not Declining”, which is to promote their new paper on the state of coral reefs globally. If one takes this press release title, and asks Consensus “are coral reefs declining?”, the result is a response showing that the scientific literature disagrees with the GWPF paper’s conclusion.

Similarly, we can take a topic which climate change denialists love to bring up: polar bears. The GWPF have run a series of papers arguing the polar bear numbers aren’t declining. If one asks Consensus “are polar bear numbers declining” one gets a response that, whilst not disagreeing with the GWPF’s stance as strongly as with regards to coral reefs, nonetheless shows that the scientific literature broadly holds that polar bear numbers are likely declining.

Again, I’m not claiming we should take these two results as a highly accurate description of the scientific literature at this stage. This test is simply designed to demonstrate the utility of such a programme in tackling scientific disinformation.

The examples above might seem like small fish to fry, but such disinformation has real-world effects. The GWPF, for example, regularly supply testimonies to UK Parliamentary committees, and so have a direct effect of climate legislation. It’s widely noted that politicians often don’t have the time or expertise to evaluate the accuracy of scientific advice given to them, often with such decisions relying on the credentials of the individual. With a disinformation network containing many scientists (often commenting on areas outside of their expertise, something that can be difficult for politicians to realise in a time-pressured environment) it’s understandable why anti-science promoters are often able to wrongly paint the situation as a debate amongst scientists, where the science unsettled.

A matured version of the programme from Consensus would go a long way in resolving this difficulty. Mainstream scientists could quickly demonstrate that their position is more reflective of the scientific literature to policy makers, making it far more difficult to construe this debate narrative and delay action.

There are still limitations to this, however. Firstly, climate science is a reasonably mature field with a consensus on topics going back decades. If we look back to the Covid-19 pandemic, research on some topics was very novel. Some initial ideas that seemed widely accepted changed, mainly due to how quickly the research was being done. The difference between these state of affairs needs to be recognised and qualified.

Secondly, it seems somewhat inevitable that the focus of doubt will shift away from the science and towards the algorithms being used. Promoters of scientific disinformation are likely to point to algorithmic bias if the programme is used to dismiss their position. Therefore, openness about how the programme works will be necessary if it’s going to be used to help inform policy makers. It also seems clear that this means that such a programme could never replace scientists advising policy makers. There will always be a place of scientists around the table, it’s just that a programme like Consensus would be a very useful tool for them.

I want to end this piece with a disclaimer. I don’t want this to appear as if I’m arguing that AI generated scientific consensuses will be the end of scientific disinformation. That’s far too optimistic. The networks that generate disinformation will evolve and will likely always exist. However, this work does provide some hope for those who wish to see such networks’ influence diminished, and our political system’s ability to respond to new scientific research improved.

Don’t call me skeptic! Should we embrace the label, or focus on the work of being skeptical?

Jack Lawrence
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Don’t call me skeptic! Should we embrace the label, or focus on the work of being skeptical?

The Twitter bio of the late anthropologist David Graeber long included a request not to call him “the anarchist anthropologist.” His reasoning for this was simple “I see anarchism as something you do not an identity.”

I think skeptics can learn a lot from this simple line. After all, much like anarchism, skepticism is also something you do, and “skeptic” an identity many claim. But is our use of the term really right? Does engaging in skeptical thinking or activism really entitle us to call ourselves skeptics? And perhaps more importantly, should it?

Definitions of “skeptic” abound. The American magazine Skeptical Inquirer posits that “skeptics are those who have devoted much of their careers to practicing and promoting scientific skepticism.” This definition seems fair, but tends to preclude those in the skeptical community who might actively take part in skeptical thinking and activism, but dedicate the majority of their careers to other areas. It’s certainly along the right lines, though.

While searching for other definitions, I realised that skeptics have a tendency to define themselves in the negative – in opposition to something else, such as poor reasoning, conspiracism, religion, or denialism. Most definitions are also at pains to stress that skepticism isn’t about engaging in some radical process of doubt, but a systemic approach towards certain knowledge and belief claims.

Many skeptics also harbour a well-intentioned desire not to cede the term to those ‘skeptical’ of climate change, or to conspiracists writ large. I think this position is fair, and that the label of “denialist” (as opposed to “skeptic”) is a better fit for those caught up in prolonged bouts of illogical or poorly evidenced thinking. Nonetheless, I think the battle for the term skeptic is one long lost. How often have you said, “Oh I’m a skeptic, but not one of those skeptics”?

In the 2010s, Youtube was teeming with channels debunking and mocking the claims of (largely) the American religious right. Their hosts – such as Carl Benjamin, now best known as a scandal-ridden failed UKIP candidate – claimed the mantle of “skeptic” and initially focused their ire on the religious. Soon, though, their focus shifted towards criticising “feminazis” or the “excesses” of the left, laying the groundwork for the rise of the anti-woke movement.

Most in the skeptic community rightly viewed the latter parts of this content as deeply unskeptical, and yet it served as an introduction to “skepticism” for many – particularly the generation coming of age in the era of Youtube. So why had these Youtubers so readily chosen the label skeptic? I think the biologist PZ Myers put it best when he said that it was because it offered them “a shortcut to the claim of critical thinking that didn’t require actually, you know, thinking.”

So how can we avoid the duelling risks of defining the term so specifically or vaguely that it becomes meaningless, and either excludes too many or includes too few? One approach is just not to use the term at all. The journalist and cohost of the Oh No Ross and Carrie podcast Carrie Poppy is someone often referred to as a skeptic. However she has publicly stated she dislikes the term and does not identify with it. “It’s either cynical or self congratulatory. I don’t know why anyone likes it!” she explained in one 2020 tweet adding, “it should reflect a (for-now) position someone has come to about one thing, not some fundamental idea about their personality/thinking.” While I initially struggled with this view, it is one I have latterly come to adopt myself.

When questioned on the topic of his disavowal of the term ‘anarchist’ by the New Internationalist magazine Graber (remember him from the start?) had the following to say:

“I’m not saying it’s totally meaningless to say you’re an anarchist if it’s not in any way reflected in your practice; you can look forward to a world without states and capitalism in the abstract, believe it would be better and possible, but not do anything about it. But it doesn’t really mean much. On the other hand, it’s possible to act like an anarchist – to behave in ways that would work without bureaucratic structures of coercion to enforce them – without calling yourself an anarchist, or anything else. In fact most of us act like anarchists – even communists – a lot of the time. To be an anarchist, for me, is to do that self-consciously, as a way of gradually bringing a world entirely based on those principles into being.”

Similar, to Graeber’s position I do not think it’s entirely meaningless to say you’re a skeptic – it can be a useful shorthand and community identifier. And is there not an irony in the fact that I am writing this article for a magazine called The Skeptic? If we just treat skepticism as something we do, not something one can be, do we run the risk of weakening the skeptical movement? I think it is fair to say we might.

The term skeptic clearly serves a useful purpose in community building and resource location. These benefits must not be dismissed, indeed realising that others share my outlook on issues of pseudoscience, conspiracism, and approach towards evaluating knowledge claims has been very important in my own life and intellectual development.

As such, my argument is not one for abandoning the term completely but more a reminder that we must never let a label excuse us from the hard work of living up to it. We should view our identification with skepticism not as something to be smug about but as an exhortation to constantly question our beliefs and assumptions – including those we make of ourselves.

The labels we give ourselves should motivate us to better ourselves and the societies we find ourselves in, rather than act as empty signifiers that help us sleep better at night. If we are to call ourselves skeptics, or feminists, or anti-racists, or supporters of trans people we cannot stop there. We actually need to be skeptical, to engage in feminism, to tackle racism wherever we find it, and to work to ensure transgender people can feel safe and supported to live and thrive in our society.

So, by all means, call yourself a skeptic if you wish, but don’t for one second allow it to get in the way of actually being skeptical.

The Transparent Psi Project: the results are in, so where are all the headlines?

Chris French
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The Transparent Psi Project: the results are in, so where are all the headlines?

Imagine the headlines if a massive and rigorous multi-lab replication attempt produced results that supported the hypothesis that people really can sense future events by means as yet unknown to conventional science – in other words, that precognition is real. One might expect such a study to receive massive amounts of media coverage, given the coverage that Professor Daryl Bem’s (2011) series of studies, published in the prestigious Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, received.

The findings from Bem’s series were seen by some as providing the strongest evidence to date that precognition is real and were reported by science journalists all around the world. Bem even discussed his results on the US national TV show, The Colbert Report.

Now imagine the headlines if that massive and rigorous multi-lab replication attempt produced results that failed to support the existence of precognition – if, in fact, it produced very strong evidence that the effect reported in the original study was not real.

As it happens, there is no need to imagine the headlines in this case because the results are in from the Transparent Psi Project which aimed at replicating the effect reported in Bem’s Experiment 1. This study was carried out Zoltan Kekecs of Lund University and a large international team of collaborators (there are no less that 30 co-authors on their paper recently published in Royal Society Open Science). The results pretty conclusively demonstrate that the technique used in the original experiment is not capable of demonstrating precognition, if indeed precognition really exists. Strangely, I have yet to see any reports in the media of this negative finding.

The plain word summary presented in the paper is worth quoting in full:

This project aimed to demonstrate the use of research methods designed to improve the reliability of scientific findings in psychological science. Using this rigorous methodology, we could not replicate the positive findings of Bem’s 2011 Experiment 1. This finding does not confirm, nor contradict the existence of ESP in general, and this was not the point of our study. Instead, the results tell us that (1) the original experiment was likely affected by methodological flaws or it was a chance finding, and (2) the paradigm used in the original study is probably not useful for detecting ESP effects if they exist. The methodological innovations implemented in this study enable the readers to trust and verify our results which is an important step forward in achieving trustworthy science.

This study was a truly impressive piece of work, setting a new standard for rigour and transparency, incorporating many measures to rule out any bias or questionable research practices. It was co-designed by a panel of 29 experts, 15 of whom were supporters of the paranormal interpretation of the original results, including Daryl Bem himself, and 14 of whom were sceptical. I was one of the sceptical members of that panel. Members were invited to assess the study protocol and, after two rounds of review and refinement, reached consensus that the protocol was of high quality and immune to virtually all questionable research practices.

Experiment 1 of Bem’s series was chosen as the target for a replication attempt because a recent meta-analysis by Bem and colleagues suggested that it was this experiment of the nine originally reported by Bem that had produced the largest effect size across 14 studies (involving a total of 863 participants).

This experiment involved getting participants on each trial to select one of two curtains displayed on a computer screen. Once the selection had been made, the computer randomly allocated one of the screen locations to be the one that would be reinforced by the presentation of an erotic image.

The hypothesis being tested was that participants would choose the to-be-rewarded location more often than would be predicted by chance alone (that is, about 50% of the time). Bem claimed that his participants chose the to-be-rewarded location on 53% of trials, a small but highly statistically significant departure from what would be expected by chance. As stated, a subsequent meta-analysis apparently supported his findings, making Experiment 1 the obvious choice for a large-scale replication attempt.

This replication attempt involved ten laboratories from nine different countries. A total of 2,115 participants contributed valid data to the study resulting in a total of 37,836 trials. This sample is more than 20 times larger than Bem’s original study and more than twice as large as all 14 studies combined using this methodology included in the subsequent meta-analysis. Zekecs and his many colleagues reported a success rate of 49.89%, very close to what would be expected by chance. In their words (p. 21),

Observing this percentage of successful guesses is 72 times more likely if the guesses are successful at random than if they have a better than chance success rate.

The steps taken to ensure that this study would be immune from criticism in terms of methodology or analysis go well beyond any other experiment that I know of. As already stated, the methodology used was approved by a panel of experts including both proponents of the paranormal and sceptics. Clear and explicit criteria of what would count as a successful or an unsuccessful replication were stated in advance. The agreed study protocol was preregistered. Several methods were put in place to ensure that no one could tamper with the data in any way including (but not limited to):

  • Direct data deposition: as data were collected they were immediately directed to a trusted third-party repository (GitHub);
  • Born-open data: data were made public as they were being collected;
  • Real-time research report: automatized reports were continuously updated as data flowed in.

The analysis plan allowed for very strong conclusions to be drawn either supporting or refuting the paranormal interpretation of Bem’s original study. As already stated, the authors concluded, “the original experiment was likely affected by methodological flaws or it was a chance finding”. It is rare in the social sciences that a conclusion can be drawn with such confidence.

Was it worth such a massive investment of time, effort and resources to refute a claim that many mainstream scientists would not have accepted in the first place? I would say it was. For one thing, the study was not simply aimed at replicating Bem’s Experiment 1 but also demonstrating the feasibility of applying the wide range of methodological tools used. It would clearly not be worth such effort in studies investigating non-controversial findings, but these same tools can be applied to investigate controversial topics in many areas of science not just parapsychology.

For those with an interest in parapsychology, the wider implications of these results are profound indeed. The original findings by Bem were reported far and wide as providing strong support for the reality of precognition. The effect was then apparently strongly supported by a subsequent meta-analysis based on the results from 14 studies. Even so, this massive and rigorous multi-lab replication attempt demonstrates as conclusively as humanly possible that the original effect is not real. So where are the headlines from the world’s science media?

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