AT LAST. I’ve done it. I’ve thrown in the towel, kicked the habit and gone on
the wagon. After thirty years, I have escaped from a fearsome addiction.
To be truthful, I’m not really sure I’ve gone cold turkey yet. Only last
month I was at a psychical research conference. Only days ago, I emptied the
last of those meticulously organised filing cabinets, fighting the little voice
that warned: “Don’t do it, you might want to read that again” with a stronger
one that urged: “You’ve given up!” I threw paper after paper on ESP,
psychokinesis, psychic pets, aromatherapy and haunted houses into the recycling
sack. If cold turkey does strike, the dustbin men will have taken away my
fix.
Come to think of it, I feel slightly sad. It was just over thirty years ago
that I had the dramatic out-of-body experience that convinced me of the reality
of psychic phenomena and launched me on a crusade to show those closed-minded
scientists that consciousness could reach beyond the body and that death was not
the end. Just a few years of careful experiments changed all that. I found no
psychic phenomena—only wishful thinking, self-deception, experimental
error and, occasionally, fraud. I became a sceptic.
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So why didn’t I give up then? There are lots of bad reasons. Admitting you
are wrong is always hard, even though it’s a skill every scientist needs to
learn. And starting again as a baby in a new field is a daunting prospect. So is
losing all the status and power of being an expert. I have to confess I enjoyed
my hard-won knowledge.
Yes, I have read Michael Faraday’s 1853 report on table tipping, and the
first 1930s studies in parapsychology, and the latest arguments over
meta-analysis of computer-controlled ESP experiments, not to mention the
infamous Scole report
(Feedback, New Scientist, 22 January).
Should I feel obliged to keep using this knowledge if I can? No. Enough is enough. None
of it ever gets anywhere. That’s a good enough reason for leaving.
But perhaps the real reason is that I am just too tired—and tired above
all of working to maintain an open mind. I couldn’t dismiss all those
extraordinary claims out of hand. After all, they just might be true, and if
they were then swathes of science would have to be rewritten.
Another “psychic” turns up. I must devise more experiments, take these claims
seriously. They fail—again. A man explains to me how alien abductors
implanted something in his mouth. Tests show it’s just a filling, but it might
have been . . .
No, I don’t have to think that way. And when the psychics and clairvoyants
and New Agers shout at me, as they do: “The trouble with all you scientists is
you don’t have an open mind”, I won’t be upset. I won’t argue. I won’t rush off
and perform yet more experiments just in case. I’ll simply smile sweetly and
say: “I don’t do that any more.”