Parapsychology
A Handbook for the 21st Century
Edited by Etzel Cardeña, John Palmer and David Marcusson-Clavertz
McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers
Jefferson, North Carolina
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The editors dedicate this volume to the memory of the
SPR pioneers in the study of psi phenomena, including such
luminaries as William James and Eleanor Sidgwick, and to
two more recent pathbreakers, William Braud
and Robert L. Morris.
Etzel Cardeña also dedicates the book to his beloved,
the perennially precious playful poet and
psychologist Sophie Reijman, and to all beessies
who are part of the unveiled reality.
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Table of Contents
Preface: Reintroduction Parapsychology
(Etzel Cardeña, David Marcusson-Clavertz and John Palmer)
Part One: Basic Concepts
1. An Overview of Modern Developments in Parapsychology
(Nancy L. Zingrone, Carlos S. Alvarado and Gerd H. Hövelmann)
2. Parapsychology in Context: The Big Picture
(Edward F. Kelly)
3. The Case Against Psi
(Douglas M. Stokes)
Part Two: Research Methods and Statistical Approaches
4. Experimental Methods in Anomalous Cognition and Anomalous
Perturbation Research
(John Palmer)
5. Research Methods with Spontaneous Case Studies
(Emily Williams Kelly and Jim B. Tucker)
6. Macro-Psychokinesis: Methodological Concerns
(Graham Watkins)
7. Statistical Guidelines for Empirical Studies
(Patrizio E. Tressoldi and Jessica Utts)
Part Three: Psychology and Psi
8. Psychological Concepts of Psi Function: A Review and
Constructive Critique
(Rex G. Stanford)
9. States, Traits, Cognitive Variables and Psi
(Etzel Cardeña and David Marcusson-Clavertz)
10. Ariadne’s Thread: Meditation and Psi
(Serena M. Roney-Dougal)
Part Four: Biology and Psi
11. Psi and Biology: An Evolutionary Perspective
(Richard S. Broughton)
12. Drugs and Psi Phenomena
(David Luke)
Part Five: Physics and Psi
13. Quantum Theory and Parapsychology
(Brian Millar)
14. Physical Correlates of Psi
(Adrian Ryan)
Part Six: Psi Phenomena: Anomalous Cognition, Perturbation and
Force
15. Explicit Anomalous Cognition: A Review of the Best Evidence in
Ganzfeld, Forced Choice, Remote Viewing and Dream Studies
(Johann Baptista, Max Derakhshani and Patrizio E. Tressoldi)
16. Implicit Anomalous Cognition
(John Palmer)
17. Psi and Psychophysiology
(Dean Radin and Alan Pierce)
18. Experimental Research on Distant Intention Phenomena
(Stefan Schmidt)
19. Macro-Psychokinesis
(Stephen E. Braude)
20. Micro-Psychokinesis
(Mario Varvoglis and Peter A. Bancel)
21. Implicit Physical Psi: The Global Consciousness Project
(Roger D. Nelson)
22. Experimenter Effects in Parapsychological Research
(John Palmer and Brian Millar)
Part Seven: Psi Phenomena: Research on Survival
23. Mental Mediumship
(Julie Beischel and Nancy L. Zingrone)
24. Reincarnation: Field Studies and Theoretical Issues Today
(Antonia Mills and Jim B. Tucker)
25. Ghosts and Poltergeists: An Eternal Enigma
(Michaeleen Maher)
26. Electronic Voice Phenomena
(Mark R. Leary and Tom Butler)
Part Eight: Practical Applications
27. Psi in Everyday Life: Nonhuman and Human
(Rupert Sheldrake)
28. Exceptional Experiences (ExE) in Clinical Psychology
(Martina Belz and Wolfgang Fach)
29. Applied Psi
(Paul H. Smith and Garret Moddel)
Part Nine: To Sum It Up
30. On the Usefulness of Parapsychology for Science at Large
(Gerd H. Hövelmann)
31. On Negative Capability and Parapsychology: Personal Reflections
(Etzel Cardeña)
About the Contributors
List of Names and Terms
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Preface
Reintroducing Parapsychology
ETZEL CARDEÑA, DAVID MARCUSSON-CLAVERTZ and JOHN
PALMER
The report of my death was an exaggeration.—Mark Twain, May
31, 1897
Parapsychology is the scientific study of ostensible parapsychological
phenomena such as telepathy and psychokinesis (see below). As with the
report of the death of the great ironist Mark Twain while he was alive, the
reports about the demise of parapsychology (e.g., Hyman, 2010) have been
greatly exaggerated. There are at least three good reasons why this is the
case.
First, reports of meaningful and extraordinary events such as Mark Twain’s
dream that seemed to anticipate in detail the death of his brother (Kripal,
2014), or in which some individuals seem to have precise knowledge not
attributable to their senses or logical reasoning (e.g., Lloyd Mayer, 2007)
continue to occur and are widespread across the globe (Watt & Tierney,
2014). When one inquires, it is not unusual to have people mention that
they seem to have extraordinary coincidences with someone close to them,
or that they dreamed about an event that happened in the future but could
not have been reasonably anticipated. Although some of these experiences
may be the result of selective reporting or a bad estimate of probabilities,
others can hardly be explained away as “mere coincidence,” even
considering the law of large numbers and the occurrence of very unusual
events just by chance (cf. Dyson, 2004; see also chapter 27, this volume).
From its onset as a scientific discipline, parapsychology (or psychical
research) considered “chance” as an alternative explanation and rejected it
only after evaluating its probability (Holt, Simmonds-Moore, Luke, &
French, 2012). It is thus not surprising that psi phenomena are seriously
contemplated not only in science but also in art and culture at large
(Cardeña, Iribas, & Reijman, 2012; chapter 30, this volume).
Second, as most of the chapters in this volume attest, there are various
parapsychology research paradigms (e.g., ganzfeld, dream, remote viewing,
presentiment) that control for chance and support the existence of psi
phenomena using the same criteria as those for mainstream topics. Even
Richard Wiseman, a foremost critic of parapsychology, is on record stating
that “by the standards of any other area of science … remote viewing is
proven” (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-510762/Could-prooftheory-ALL-psychic.html).
Third, although some parapsychology critics have been vociferous and
often persecuted those who dare to conduct research in the area, previous
surveys and a recent letter written by 100 academics show that many
researchers have not been persuaded by their rhetoric (Cardeña, 2011,
2014). Furthermore, a number of recent books have taken these critics to
task for their double standards and misrepresentation of the results of psi
research (e.g., McLuhan, 2010; Storr, 2013).
These arguments do not deny that the field faces considerable challenges
including lack of funding and gaining greater acceptance as a topic of
investigation (McClenon, 1982), but they reject an unjustified closure of
phenomena that continue to interest both laypeople and scientists, and have
important theoretical and practical implications. Although we are far from
having a full understanding of psi phenomena or being able to provide a
perfectly replicable experiment, there have been a number of empirical and
theoretical advances in the last few decades, described in this book.
What Is Parapsychology?
To communicate and transact with the world, humans use a number of
senses to gain information from it and muscles to act upon it. Commonly
reported, however, are experiences of phenomena in which information or
energy seems to have been apprehended or transferred without the operation
of the known senses or logical inference, and these are usually referred to as
psi phenomena (Bem & Honorton, 1994). Parapsychology is the scientific
study of these phenomena, and it includes consideration of both common
psychological explanations (e.g., inferential mistakes) as well as
explanations in which mind may be a basic, irreducible aspect of reality (cf.
Nagel, 2012) that may transcend the perceived limitations of the body
(Sidgwick, 1932). Prospective research not only on psi but on near-death
experiences (e.g., Parnia et al., 2014) suggests that the relation between the
brain and the mind is far more complex than the usual “brain creates mind”
dictum [chapter 2, this volume].
Traditionally, psi phenomena have been classified according to the
ostensible source and direction of the communication. In telepathy,
information appears to be received directly from another mind, such as
sensing that a loved one is calling for help from a distance. In clairvoyance,
information appears to be received from a distant event or object, such as
sensing that there is a fire in another city in the absence of any news about
it. In precognition information appears to be received from a future event,
such as dreaming about a disaster that occurs later that same day. In
retrocognition, a person may seem to know what occurred in the past
without using the senses or logic, as in providing precise information about
a crime that occurred earlier. It is worth mentioning that retrocognition and
precognition are not orthogonal to clairvoyance or telepathy since an
experience could be labeled as either precognitive–clairvoyant or
precognitive–telepathic. It is common to group these categories as forms of
extrasensory perception or ESP. In psychokinesis (PK) it appears that our
minds have a direct energetic effect on matter, such as a watch stopping at
the time of someone’s death. Parapsychology also includes the scientific
study of the possibility of survival of consciousness after bodily death, such
as apparent communication with a deceased person or memories of a past
life.
Some of these labels have been criticized for being burdened with
theoretical assumptions about the underlying mechanism (May, Utts, &
Spottiswoode, 1995; Palmer, 1992), and since there is debate as to the
nature of psi, it may be advisable to use more neutral terms. For instance,
the term “extrasensory perception” implies that there is a perceptual ability
other than the usual senses at work, although there is reason to suppose that
psi is not perceptual [e.g., chapters 9 and 14], so alternative terms have been
offered. May and colleagues (1995) proposed instead of ESP the term
anomalous cognition (AC) to refer to ostensible acquisition of information
in ways that are currently unexplained, and the term anomalous
perturbation (AP) to refer to ostensible influence of mind on matter in ways
that are currently unexplained, but this term applies only to what has
traditionally been called micro-PK (effects on microscopic systems,
typically random number generators). The term does not seem applicable to
what is traditionally labeled as macro-PK (effects visible to the naked eye,
such as levitation of objects), for which we propose the neologism
anomalous force (AF).
Many of the authors in this volume, however, have used the terms for the
standard subcategories of ESP: telepathy (AC when the source is another
person’s mind), clairvoyance (AC when the source is an external object or
event), and precognition (AC when the source is in the future). We use psi
and anomalous mental phenomena1 interchangeably as neutral umbrella
concepts that include AC, AP, and AF. Moreover, we make a distinction
between explicit and implicit anomalous mental phenomena. In the case of
explicit anomalous mental phenomena, individuals consciously intend to
interact with other systems (e.g., attempting to retrieve information via
telepathy). If the process is implicit there is no conscious awareness of the
phenomenon occurring but individuals nonetheless respond to the
information, for instance physiologically.
Throughout its existence, parapsychology has often been discussed as an
independent science or discipline, but it is more precise to think of it as a
transdisciplinary topic that is relevant to a number of disciplines including
psychology, anthropology, physics, biology, and the humanities. Although a
major component of research in the area revolves around what we could
call the “psi hypothesis,” namely that sentient beings are able to obtain
information not mediated by the senses or reason, or act on matter directly
independently of known physical mechanisms, there are works that leave
that question aside and focus on, for instance, the sociocultural or aesthetic
impact of ostensible parapsychological experiences or beliefs (e.g., Cardeña
et al., 2012; Owen, 1990).
In surveys of general samples and of academics, majorities have reported
for decades that parapsychology is a legitimate scientific undertaking, and
that psi phenomena is established or a likely possibility
(http://en.wikademia.org/Surveys_of_academic_opinion_regarding_parapsy
chology), with psychologists having been noticeably more skeptical than
other disciplines (Wagner & Monnet, 1979). McClenon (1982) also found
strong and widespread skepticism among Council members and section
committee members of the American Association for the Advancement of
Science, especially in sections that emphasize theory/philosophy or basic
research as opposed to application. It is instructive that a skeptic of
parapsychology has commented that “most psychologists could reasonably
be described as uninformed skeptics—a minority could reasonably be
described as prejudiced bigots—where the paranormal is concerned”
(French, 2001, p. 7). And despite the notoriety of the professional magician
and debunker “The Amazing Randi,” surveys have shown that the majority
of magicians believe the phenomena to be valid or likely (Carter, 2012).
There has also been a very vehement and at times aggressive set of critics
of the psi hypothesis, some of whom have made a career out of their
critiques (Cardeña, 2011; Zingrone, 2004). They have repeatedly stated that
there is no empirical evidence for the psi hypothesis and/or that the
hypothesis is by definition impossible and any attempt to test it is foolish if
not outright dishonest. In this volume, we present a comprehensive survey
of the field, including a chapter by a critic, so that readers can evaluate the
evidence and arguments for and against psi and make up their own mind.
We are by no means the first to attempt to give an empirically-based and
comprehensive overview of the field at a particular point in time. Joseph
Banks Rhine, the best-known psi researcher in the middle of the 20th
century, and his associates provided a number of summaries of their
extensive research work (e.g., Rhine, Pratt, Stuart, Smith, & Greenwood,
1940). There have also been later comprehensive synopses of the field by
experts, including one directed to a general readership (Broughton, 1991)
and a more technical one (Radin, 1997), both having the advantages and
disadvantages of a single-authored work.
A Comparison with the 1977 Handbook of Parapsychology
The most direct precedent and inspiration for our work is the 1977
Handbook of Parapsychology, edited by Benjamin B. Wolman, with Laura
A. Dale, Gertrude R. Schmeidler, and Montague Ullman as associate
editors. Its 11 parts (history; research methods; perception, communication,
and parapsychology; parapsychology and physical systems; parapsychology
and altered states of consciousness; parapsychology and healing; survival of
bodily death; parapsychology and other fields; parapsychological models
and theories; soviet research in parapsychology; and suggested readings and
glossary), comprising 36 chapters, was an attempt to provide a “state of the
science” account, with many of the most eminent researchers and
theoreticians as contributors.
Although there is much overlap between the chapter topics in the 1977
Handbook and this volume, there are also some differences. In most cases,
they reflect changes that have occurred in the field over the years. We will
run through the most noteworthy differences in order as defined by the
Table of Contents of the 1977 Handbook. The first difference is that the
1977 Handbook has no chapter on methodology for studying AF effects,
and these were not addressed in the Experimental Psychokinesis chapter
devoted to results. We see this as a simple oversight rather than being due to
an increase in the amount of anomalous force (AF) research being
conducted. It also may have something to do with the fact that at that time
many parapsychologists felt that most AF effects (poltergeists being a
notable exception) were fraudulent and did not want parapsychology to be
identified with ostensible AF manifestations. This in turn may have been
influenced by the considerable media attention devoted at the time to the
psychic Uri Geller, whose AF exhibitions were widely (but not universally)
considered to be fraudulent. On the other hand, the 1977 Handbook did
include a chapter on paranormal photography, devoted primarily to the
exploits of the psychic Ted Serios, so the oversight was not total.
Although both volumes contain chapters on experimenter effects, Rhea
White (1977) explicitly excluded discussion of experimenter psi, claiming a
lack of space. This decision nonetheless speaks to her priorities and reflects
the discomfort that most parapsychologists have always had with this topic
as an explanation of psi effects in the laboratory. It is only in the 1980s,
with the research on the checker effect [see chapter 22, this volume] that
experimenter psi began to be reflected in the literature, and now it has
become a virtual obsession with some. Another major difference in
coverage, which is related to experimenter psi and may contribute to the
growing interest in it, is the distinction made only in the current volume
between implicit and explicit psi, with separate chapters devoted to each.
Until the introduction of the psi-mediated response model in the 1970s,
parapsychologists took it for granted that participants in laboratory studies
had to intend to produce psi for it to occur. This has changed to such an
extent that the three most prominent methodological paradigms in recent
years—the Global Consciousness Project, the presentiment effect, and
retroactive psi influence on psychological tasks [see chapters 16, 17, and
21]—all involve implicit psi.
Although both volumes contain chapters on poltergeists and hauntings, the
chapter in the 1977 Handbook by William Roll, entitled simply
“Poltergeists,” had only one page devoted to the latter. To some extent this
reflects his interests at the time, but we have noticed a drop-off in published
poltergeist cases since 1977, offset by an increase in reports of haunting
cases. A prime example is Roll himself, whose more recent investigations
were of apparent hauntings (e.g., Roll, Maher, & Brown, 1992).
In keeping with the upsurge of interest in popular culture in technology and
electronics associated with the computer age, psi researchers in recent
decades have shown a renewed interest in the role that physical energies
might play in mediating psi effects, the prime example being the earth’s
geomagnetic field. This interest is reflected by chapters in this volume on
physical energies and psi and, to a lesser extent, electronic voice
phenomena. The 1977 Handbook did not have chapters covering empirical
research on these topics, although relevant theories were covered at some
length in the chapter by C. T. K. Chari.
At the time the 1977 Handbook was published there had been little research
involving psychophysiological variables either as predictors or measures of
psi. The terms DMILS and presentiment were not yet part of our vocabulary.
Discussion of what little research there was consumed only five pages in a
chapter entitled “Parapsychology, Biology, and Anpsi” by Robert L. Morris.
Since then, psychophysiological variables have become extremely
prominent in parapsychology, mostly as psi measures. Thus, in the current
volume no less than three chapters are devoted to such research. A topic
that was not nearly as known in 1977 as now is near-death experiences,
which have received an inordinate amount of media attention. Besides their
relevance to the study of consciousness in general, they have at times
included accurate and corroborated reports of anomalous cognition
(Greyson, 2014), and most recently a prospective study had one such report
(Parnia et al., 2014) [see also chapter 6].
The previously discussed differences involve topics that are represented in
the current volume but not in the original one. The final example is the
opposite. It concerns DMILS research aimed specifically at curing some
kind of physical disease or malady, in other words, psychic or spiritual
healing. The 1977 Handbook contained a chapter on this topic, but the
current volume does not, despite a huge upsurge in such research in recent
decades. Nor is such research covered in the chapters devoted to psi and
psychophysiology. The main reason for this omission is that this work has
been published almost exclusively in alternative medicine or other medical
journals rather than parapsychology journals. In practice, the domain of
parapsychology is partly defined by what gets published in the specialized
journals, and we followed that convention for our current volume.
Advances in parapsychology since 1977 are also reflected by differences in
the contents of chapters on a common topic present in both volumes. For
example, the statistics chapter in the present volume devotes considerable
attention to meta-analyses and Bayesian statistics. These topics are not
covered at all in the statistics chapter of the 1977 Handbook because they
were not on parapsychology’s (or mainstream psychology’s) radar screen
even though Bayesian stats had been discussed earlier (e.g., Bakan, 1973).
This comparison of the two volumes belies the claim of some critics (e.g.,
Hyman, 2010) that parapsychology is a field that has stagnated or even
died. Because there is no space to reiterate the comprehensive reviews in
the 1977 Handbook and developments since then, we have asked our
contributors to briefly summarize the relevant previous sections from that
book before focusing on developments in the last 40 years.
Some Invalid Criticisms of Psi Research
The scientific method demands a skeptical (i.e., open but critical) attitude
toward both cherished and abhorred hypotheses. A discussion of alternative
explanations and potential problems with previous studies or analyses is
healthy and necessary in scientific discourse. We do not refer to that
necessary aspect of science in what follows, but rather to a number of
specific invalid criticisms of parapsychology. Some of these are outright
false or very questionable despite being often repeated, especially in the
echo chambers of some blogs and “skeptical” magazines (we strongly
recommend that the seriously interested reader skip Wikipedia and these
sources, which are often blatantly biased, and consult instead primary
journal sources). We list here some of the most common ones along with an
explanation of why they are unfounded:
(a) Psi research is not scientific because it is not published in scientific,
peer-reviewed journals. This is a false but not uncommon belief, despite the
fact that it can be easily disproven. Despite the strong bias by some editors
against the field, psi work has been published in major transdisciplinary
journals such as Nature and Science, as well as in top-tier disciplinary
journals such as American Psychologist, Behavioral and Brain Sciences,
Psychological Bulletin, the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology,
and Physics Letters. In addition, the major parapsychological journals still
being published including the Journal of Parapsychology, the Journal of
the Society for Psychical Research, and the Journal of Scientific
Exploration have been peer-reviewed for decades, and have published
failures to replicate and criticism of studies from both proponents and
critics of the psi hypothesis.
(b) The previous criticism at times has been paradoxically paired with this
one: Psi research is not scientific by definition and should not be published
in scientific, peer-reviewed journals. The catch-22 logic behind this
statement is that psi research is not scientific because it is not published in
peer-reviewed journals (false, but never mind that), while simultaneously
maintaining that such research cannot be published because it is not
scientific (see Cardeña, 2011, for various examples of this [il]logic).
(c) Also related to the notion that parapsychology is unscientific is the
assertion that psi research does not use the scientific method. In fact, since
the founding of the Society for Psychical Research (SPR) in 1882,
parapsychological research has strived for unbiased testing of the psi
hypothesis through the scientific method, even though (as in other scientific
fields) it has not always been applied properly. The SPR and other societies
have included as members very eminent scientists (including various Nobel
prizewinners) who have used the methodology and skills learned in their
respective scientific disciplines to conduct their psi research (e.g., Cardeña,
2013). A perusal of any of the main parapsychology journals shows that the
basic elements of the scientific method such as hypothesis testing, designs
that seek to eliminate confounding variables, and statistical analysis typify
research in this field, a fact that allowed the professional organization of
parapsychology, the Parapsychological Association, to become an affiliate
of the American Association for the Advancement of Sciences (AAAS) in
1969. Not only that, but some techniques now regularly used in mainstream
disciplines such as meta-analysis and masked designs, were created or
developed by psi researchers (Watt, 2005).
(d) Another false assertion is that only individuals without a scientific
background endorse psi. This is clearly not the case, given the number of
past and present academy-based researchers who have done research in the
field. More insidious is the sometimes implied notion that although these
researchers may conduct themselves scientifically in their mainstream
fields, they become unscientific when they conduct psi research. An
example of this is the opprobrium that the eminent psychologist Daryl Bem
received after he published a paper supportive of the psi hypothesis with,
among others, Douglas Hofstadter referring to it as “a cutoff for craziness,”
and David Helfand as “an assault on science and rationality”
(http://www.nytimes.com/roomfordebate/2011/01/06/the-esp-study-whenscience-goes-psychic). A perverse link of this vicious circle is that whereas
successful researchers in other areas are assumed to become unscientific
once they endorse parapsychology, other researchers who opine on nonmainstream fields without becoming knowledgeable in them are not
assumed to be unscientific even though they “fail to do their homework” in
the words of Carl Sagan (1976, p. 2). It is very unlikely that those scientists
would approve of colleagues in other fields judging their areas of expertise
unless the latter had thoroughly studied the literature in that field, yet some
critics of parapsychology seem to have no problem doing so.
(e) A somewhat tangential but very popular point, especially among
nonacademic critics of parapsychology, is that the “Randi prize,” a cash
award created by a magician who has made a career out of exposing
fraudulent performers, has never been awarded. Thus, some conclude from
this that psi phenomena do not exist. Nonetheless, both psi proponents and
critics have remarked that such a challenge has nothing to do with how
science tests hypotheses, and the circumstances of awarding it are
completely controlled by Randi, making the prize a publicity stunt rather
than an impartial test (McLuhan, 2010). We should also mention that the
vast amount of evidence covered in this volume refers to consistent results
deviating from randomness—the kind of evidence often used in many other
disciplines, including psychology, medicine, biology, and physics—rather
than showing an exceptional ability on demand such as “reading a person’s
mind” or making a table levitate.
(f) Some in the general public whose only contact with science may be the
popular press think that if one or a group of scientists opine something (for
instance the notion that psi is a pseudoscience), then all scientists in that
field surely must agree with that opinion. In reality, there are contentious
disagreements among experts even on mainstream topics (Feyerabend,
1975), so there is no single scientist or even a group of them who can speak
for all experts in a field. When a scientist makes a portentous statement
such as the existence of psi would annul science or go against the “laws of
nature,” there is a good reason to question whether all or even most
scientists in the area would agree with the statement. For example, although
ostensible precognitive abilities seem to go against the current folk
understanding of physics, they do not prima facie contradict block models
of time or backward causation, which are currently discussed within
mainstream physics [see chapter 13]. Furthermore, the idea that science
would disown relativity theory, for example, if psi were established as real
to the satisfaction of currently skeptical mainstream scientists is ludicrous.
As Braude (1986) has pointed out, parapsychology and these other theories
are not mutually exclusive because they account for different domains of
phenomena.
(g) Another false notion is that only individuals with poor reasoning skills,
cognitive biases, and/or mental disorders support the existence of psi
phenomena. We have already mentioned that scientists of extraordinary
intellect have endorsed psi, but there is a more general version of the
criticism, namely that psi supporters in general have cognitive deficits
and/or psychological problems. A number of studies (reviewed in Watt &
Tierney, 2014; see also chapter 10) do not support this explanation. Of
course, there are individuals with reasoning deficits or psychological
problems who support psi, but there are also individuals with those
problems who do not support psi. As for a general cognitive bias, the most
relevant study to date used signal detection analysis and found that whereas
psi supporters in general tend to report false positives in a relevant task, psi
disbelievers show the opposite bias of reporting false negatives (Riekki,
Lindeman, Aleneff, Halme, & Nuortimo, 2013, but see also Van Elk, 2013).
Relevant to this finding is a study that showed that both psi-prone and psiagainst individuals tended to rate papers with results incongruent with their
beliefs as being of poorer quality (Roe, 1999), a result consistent with
research showing that people use differential criteria for conclusions they
dislike than for those they prefer (Ditto & Lopez, 1992). This is further
confounded by the replicated finding that in controlled psi studies “sheep”
(those who believe in the reality of psi phenomena) tend to perform
significantly better than “goats” (who do not believe in psi). Thus, the
actual (conscious) experience of psi phenomena may partly depend on
previous beliefs, and such phenomena may be evaluated in a biased way by
both psi-supporters and psi-critics individuals. A true skeptic may be a very
rare creature indeed.
(h) Then there is the claim that psi critics have explained away the
statistical evidence for psi. However, a parapsychology critic (who later
retracted the paper from his own webpage), when confronted by a very
knowledgeable statistician took the position that although he could not
explain away favorable psi results, in principle a future argument could
explain them away (Hyman, 1995). This argument is undoubtedly true, but
it also applies to every single study and theory in mainstream science; any
study could someday be refuted or better explained by a future theory. More
recently it has been stated that if parapsychologists used Bayesian rather
than frequentist statistical techniques, their results would evaporate. This
argument is refuted in chapters 7 and 15 in this volume.
(i) A not uncommon position taken by more knowledgeable critics is that
even if most research and analyses in parapsychology are well conducted,
psi requires exceptional evidence because it is an exceptional claim (e.g.,
French & Stone, 2014). There are a number of problems with such
assertion. The first one is that it misrepresents what the coiner of the phrase
meant. Contrary to the way it is usually interpreted, the agnostic author
Marcello Truzzi (1978) coined it to declare that there is nothing unscientific
about the psi hypothesis, but that “it is actually quite scientifically proper if
all ordinary explanations for an established extraordinary event have been
found inadequate” (p. 13). But even if we were to misconstrue Truzzi’s
phrase, we would encounter the difficulties of having to determine what
constitute “exceptional claims” (consider that many common phenomena
such as electricity or airplane flying would have been considered
exceptional if not impossible in the past). And there is the parallel problem
of what would constitute “exceptional evidence,” a concept so flexible that
it could be used to either keep changing the evidential goalpost
permanently, or to propose such levels of evidence that would make it
practically impossible to have evidence for the psi hypothesis no matter
how much of it accumulated, as Wagenmakers, Wetzels, Boorsboom, and
Van der Maas (2011) do. The artificially created “law” that the evidence for
psi phenomena should follow some (unspecified or impossible to fulfill)
higher criteria than the own research of the critics is a particular example of
a more general practice in which some critics use a double standard by not
applying the same standards of evidence that they seek to impose on
parapsychology to other areas (see Zingrone, 2014). Palmer (1987) has
shown that applying this version of the extraordinary proof criterion to
publication of scientific research would lead to biases in the literature that
would give an unfair advantage to ostensibly well-established theories, and
it would greatly increase the likelihood of Type II errors (cf. Fiedler,
Kutzner, & Krueger, 2012).
(j) A more technical argument is that even though there is statistical
evidence for psi phenomena it can be explained by what has been called the
“file-drawer effect,” namely that only studies supporting psi tend to get
published whereas failures to find evidence for psi are not submitted for
publication [see chapter 3]. There are four main counterarguments to this
assertion: first, parapsychology has actually been ahead of psychology and
other fields in encouraging the publication of replication failures in its
specialized journals. (By the way, the current realization that some
“findings” cannot be replicated on demand or at all in a number of areas, cf.
Schooler, 2011, shows that the problem is not unique to psi.) Second,
considering the very small number of researchers in the field and the fact
that most of them do not have independent means or receive research
funding through the usual channels, it is very unlikely that they would
spend considerable time and effort conducting a study and then not present
it at least to their peers in their meetings, which ipso facto means that the
results of their studies are retrievable by any conscientious researcher. Even
a brief perusal of the parapsychology journals shows that failures to
replicate have been published throughout the history of parapsychology.
Moreover, as various chapters in this volume attest, although replication on
demand has not been demonstrated for psi, neither has it been demonstrated
for many accepted effects in mainstream psychology, and meta-analyses
have confirmed the replicability of small effects in several psi research
paradigms. Third, there is a reverse kind of file drawer effect, namely that
of researchers not publishing or reporting studies supportive of psi, as
chapter 27 in this volume describes (see also, for instance, Ertel & French,
2012). Fourth, meta-analyses of various psi areas, including at least one by
a critic (Blackmore, 1980), have calculated the number of studies that
would be needed to invalidate results supportive of psi, finding it to be a
very unlikely explanation (see also Mossbridge, Tressoldi, & Utts, 2012;
and chapter 16).
(k) An extreme example of not playing the science game fairly is reporting
fraudulent data. Here it is important to distinguish whether the source of the
fraud is the participants or the researchers. In parapsychology, the strongest
risk of fraud has been in the case of séances conducted by individuals who
do this professionally. Throughout the history of parapsychology there have
been individuals who engaged in these practices, but it bears mentioning
that from the inception of the SPR parapsychologists have been
instrumental in revealing such frauds (Gauld, 1968). Then there is the
scientifically more dangerous possibility of a scientist being the perpetrator
of the fraud. In the history of parapsychology there are two well-known
cases [see chapter 3] that, it bears mentioning, were unveiled by other psi
researchers. Moreover, the possibility of fraud exists in every field and
parapsychology does not seem to stand out. Nonetheless, both psi critics
and proponents agree that psi (and other types of) research would benefit
from such good research practices as multi-site and multi-experimenter
testing and a pre-registry of research designs and hypotheses. These
practices would improve estimates of the file-drawer effect and reduce the
likelihood of fraud and of misreporting the original hypotheses.
(l) Finally, we should mention that it is not infrequent for critics to assume
that mentioning an alternative explanation to the psi hypothesis, no matter
how unfounded or unlikely, suffices to discount the latter. Already Hume
and other philosophers had shown that all statements of knowledge are
potentially false since circumstances in the future can change. Probably the
most extreme exponent of arbitrary explanations to psi was C. E. M.
Hansel, whose strategy was to assume that “trickery would be the only
alternative explanation to ESP” in a well-conducted psi experiment showing
high odds against chance, not withstanding the implausibility or lack of
evidence for it (Hansel, 1989, p. 265). He concluded more generally that
coming with a possible, no matter how implausible or trivial,
counterexplanation for a psi effect would suffice to discredit the latter, an
unfalsifiable line of reasoning that even the psi critic Hyman found
indefensible (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=McVY5ogi_q8).
In other areas of science, it is expected that a critic who proposes an
alternative explanation will carry out a new project or a reanalysis, but
critics of parapsychology sometimes state an alternative explanation
without testing it, or if they carry out a replication study and get results
supportive of psi they change the criteria of success or propose ad hoc
explanations (Carter, 2012; and chapter 28). A good example of a follow-up
study showing that a skeptical explanation for a psi effect was not adequate
is Palmer’s (1983) research in which results in a ganzfeld study could not
be explained away by the potential accidental marking of target images.
Previously, critics had proposed, but not tested, that hypothesis as an
explanation for significant results (see Bierman, 1999, for another example
refuting critics’ dismissal of ganzfeld results). Although psi critics seem
especially vexed by the possibility that supportive psi results might be false
positives, they do not consider the also very serious problem of not
rejecting a null hypothesis when it should be rejected, or false negative
findings (Fiedler et al. 2012).
We have spent some time detailing what we consider to be unfair criticisms
of parapsychology, but there are some with which we agree. First, although
some inroads have been made in discussing ways to enhance the typically
small effect sizes found in psi research—for example, selecting research
participants considered more likely to produce psi in the lab and using
psychophysiological indicators of psi instead of, or in addition to,
introspective reports—parapsychology has not developed a reliable
indicator of who is likely to perform consistently well in psi experiments.
This contrasts with other research areas such as hypnosis, which took off
mostly after the development of valid and reliable measures of hypnotic
suggestibility (Cardeña, 2010).
Second, although there has been in the past programmatic research of many
years duration, as in the work of the Rhines and their associates (Rhine et
al., 1940) and Honorton (e.g., Bem & Honorton, 1994; Honorton et al.,
1990), the critique that often times the few psi researchers extant seem to
jump to a new research strategy rather than pursue a systematic program of
research (Wiseman, 2010) is not off-target.
Third, especially considering the typical small effects found in psi research
(but not unlike those found in, for example, social psychology, see Richard,
Bond, & Stokes-Zoota, 2003), many studies in parapsychology are clearly
underpowered (as are typically studies within neuroscience, see Button et
al., 2013). Thus, developing collaborative, multi-site research should be a
priority in the future, despite the scarce resources in this area.
Fourth, although there have been attempts to discuss the place of psi
phenomena within larger disciplines such as psychology (e.g., Cardeña,
Lynn, & Krippner, 2014; Carpenter, 2012) and physics (Kaiser, 2011), the
field clearly needs to become more integrated with more established
disciplines. It has often been pointed out that terms such as parapsychology
elicit in some a very negative reaction, and that we would do better by
coining other terms with less baggage, which may be more theoretically
neutral and have less of a bias against it. The current consideration of
“anomalistic” (or “anomalous”) psychology as part of the elective
curriculum in United Kingdom universities is a path-breaking example of
normalization of this area.
Fifth, up until a few years ago many psi studies were published exclusively
as conference proceedings, mostly from the Parapsychological
Association’s annual meetings, including some with rather striking results
not published anywhere else. Although proposals to these meetings undergo
peer-review, this process has been uneven and generally not as rigorous as
that of journals, and has contributed to marginalize psi research since
findings in most other scientific areas are not only reported as proceedings.
Finally, although psi papers have been published in various mainstream
journals, more research should be submitted to these forums and not only to
specialized parapsychology journals so that researchers in other topics have
the opportunity to acquaint themselves with research on this area.
Summary of Chapters
This handbook contains 31 chapters divided into 9 sections, and we have
added cross references within square brackets [ ] in each chapter to lead the
reader to related materials in other chapters. The first section sets up the
stage for the remaining of this book. Following this chapter, Nancy L.
Zingrone, Carlos S. Alvarado, and Gerd H. Hövelmann provide an
overview of research trends in parapsychology since about 1977. Among
the trends are the rise of anomalous or anomalistic psychology, which seeks
to discuss psi experiences and beliefs from conventional psychological
theories (although not necessarily discarding the hypothesis of psi
phenomena), and the development of theories relating psi phenomena to
contemporary physics. The rise and fall of various institutions, journals, and
funding sources are also considered. Edward F. Kelly, in chapter 2,
critically reviews the prevailing physicalist view in neuroscience. He
discusses a number of observations in parapsychology and other fields that
challenge this approach. In the next chapter, Douglas M. Stokes takes a
critical stance against experimental parapsychology. He discusses the
prevalence of scientific misconduct in mainstream research and in
parapsychology before presenting a simulation in which a hypothetical
distribution of experimenters designated as “filers” (who only publish
studies with significant results), “non-filers,” and frauds is compared to that
of a recent empirical meta-analysis. Stokes makes the case that the
empirical data matches what would be expected if there is no psi and
recommends parapsychologists to increase their use of pre-registrations of
studies and of multiple experimenters and records to reduce the likelihood
of biased file-drawers and scientific misconduct.
The second section includes four chapters on research methods and
statistical approaches. In chapter 4, John Palmer provides an introductory
guide to experimental methods in AC and AP research. In addition to
guidelines about eliminating alternative non-psi explanations, he discusses
many of the choices that parapsychology researchers are confronted with,
such as whether to present the target using telepathy, clairvoyance, or
precognition paradigms, or whether to ask the participant to choose an
alternative among a set of pre-given ones (forced-choice) or to freely report
any impression that comes to mind (free-response). He also discusses how
to select participants and prepare them for the experiment. In the next
chapter, Emily Williams Kelly and Jim B. Tucker give an overview of
methods to study spontaneous cases of psi, with the aims of understanding
the meaning the experience has for the experient (experience-based) or
testing the veridicality of the phenomenon (evidence-based). The types of
cases they review include deathbed visions, synchronicity (meaningful
“coincidences”), and mystical experiences. In chapter 6, Graham Watkins
deals with methodological concerns when studying macro–PK (or AF). He
discusses some of the most famous cases, including that of Ted Serios, who
allegedly produced images on polaroid film through mental means, and Uri
Geller, who allegedly bent objects like spoons through mental means. He
also discusses the methods used when testing so-called “psi-wheels,” which
have gained public interest lately. In their contribution, Patrizio E. Tressoldi
and Jessica Utts present a guide on statistical approaches to answer
quantitative research questions. They provide numerous recommendations
on how to report descriptive statistics, handle outliers, conduct null
hypothesis significance testing, measure effect-sizes, and analyze data with
a Bayesian approach, among other statistical issues.
The third section includes three chapters on psychology and psi. Rex G.
Stanford, in chapter 8, examines two seminal frameworks, the psi-mediated
instrumental response and the first sight models. Both models purport that
organisms use psi, often implicitly, to serve adaptive or personal
dispositions. Stanford scrutinizes the assumptions of each framework and
evaluates their clarity and empirical support. In the following chapter, Etzel
Cardeña and David Marcusson-Clavertz review the research on states,
traits, and cognitive predictors of performance in psi tasks. They begin by
clarifying some of the common conceptual confusions when studying
alterations in consciousness before reviewing the association between psi
performance and these alterations, as well as other common predictors such
as extraversion and belief in psi. They also summarize common measures
of psi experiences and beliefs. In chapter 10, Serena M. Roney-Dougal
summarizes the research on meditation and psi, a topic that has reclaimed
interest during the last decade. She reviews research that has focused on
comparing psi performance of meditators and nonmeditators, noticing
differences particularly between very long meditators and other meditators.
The fourth section includes two chapters on biology and psi. Richard S.
Broughton provides an evolutionary perspective and reports that since 1977
biology and parapsychology have moved closer to each other, especially
with the emerging trend in using neurophysiological measures to detect AC.
He examines the research on brain structures and psi and how they may be
affected by environmental factors. In chapter 12, David Luke reviews
empirical work on psychoactive substances and psi phenomena. His chapter
integrates findings from fieldwork, surveys of psi beliefs, and laboratory
parapsychology research.
The fifth section contains two chapters on physics and psi. Brian Millar
explains how knowledge from physics can help parapsychologists. He
compares two frameworks that are frequently used in parapsychology, the
observational theories and decision augmentation theory. The review will
likely clarify the meaning of central physical constructs that psychologists
might confuse with similar psychological terms (e.g., “feedback-loops” and
“observation”). In chapter 14, Adrian Ryan summarizes research on
physical correlates of psi. He shows how seasonal variation (e.g., higher psi
performance in August compared to other months) might explain the
association between psi performance and local sidereal time. He then
proceeds to review the association between psi performance and
geomagnetic activity as well as fluctuations in the magnetic field related to
solar activity, and shows that the magnitude of the association is
promisingly large.
The sixth section contains 8 chapters that evaluate the evidence for psi
phenomena across various research paradigms. Johann Baptista, Max
Derakhshani, and Patrizio E. Tressoldi provide a comprehensive metaanalytic review of four dominant paradigms for testing explicit AC:
ganzfeld (i.e., sensory homogenization), dreams, forced-choice tasks, and
remote viewing. They also analyze a number of moderators, such as study
quality and whether investigators recruited participants with particular
characteristics or used a convenience sample. The authors provide
guidelines to increase the likelihood of detecting a psi effect. Much like
Stokes, they advise researchers to preregister their studies and make their
data available to other investigators. John Palmer, in chapter 16, provides a
literature review of implicit AC, which has increased in popularity in the
last few decades when Stanford introduced a model that emphasizes the
prevalence of implicit psi, and culminated with the widely debated
publication of Bem (2011). Palmer distinguishes between research that falls
under (a) Stanford’s model, (b) Bem’s experiment series, and (c) others, and
reviews the evidence for each class.
In the next chapter, Dean Radin and Alan Pierce summarize research on
implicit anomalous physiological phenomena, such as the apparent ability
to physiologically react to randomly selected arousing stimuli a few
seconds before they are shown (presentiment or pre-stimulus response).
This paradigm suggests that a large amount of psi activity occurs without
conscious awareness. They also review research on whether changes in
brain states, such as electroencephalograph (EEG) frequencies and eventrelated potentials, can be used to detect anomalous mental phenomena. In
chapter 18, Stefan Schmidt evaluates research on a purported phenomenon
known as direct mental interaction in living systems (DMILS). In these
studies, participants are designated as agents or percipients and the former
are asked to attempt to influence the physiology or behavior of the latter at
a distance, typically in one of three ways: activate or calm the percipient,
stare or not stare at the percipient, help or not help the percipient focus their
attention on a certain object. Usually electrodermal activity (EDA) is
measured in the percipients as a measure of arousal, but behavioral
responses are common in the helping protocol. Schmidt summarizes metaanalyses of all three protocols.
In the next chapter, Stephen E. Braude reviews research on macropsychokinesis (macro–PK, or AF). He begins by critically discussing the
common distinction between micro-psychokinesis (micro–PK, or AP) and
macro–PK, whether the concepts reflect qualitatively different phenomena
or are in a continuum. He next argues against the most common critiques of
eyewitness testimony, such as the human bias to “see” things that one is
motivated to see. At the end, he presents a number of recent cases on
macro–PK. Mario Varvoglis and Peter A. Bancel review in chapter 20
evidence for micro–PK (or AP). They address four central research
questions: (a) is there a genuine psi effect?; (b) if so, is this effect
attributable to receptive (AC) or expressive (AP) mechanisms?; (c) what are
the psychological and physical moderators of this effect?; and (d) to what
extent is the effect replicable across experimenters?
In chapter 21, Roger D. Nelson presents research on implicit anomalous
physical phenomena. Research in this domain investigates whether
individuals can influence physical systems (e.g., random number
generators, RNGs) by mental means even if there is no conscious intention
of doing so. The Global Consciousness Project (GCP) has been evaluating
whether the occurrence of events that engage people worldwide (e.g., the
terrorist attacks on the 11th of September of 2001) are associated with
deviations in the output of RNGs spread out across the globe. In the
following chapter, John Palmer and Brian Millar deal with the observation
that some researchers consistently get better results than others
(experimenter effect). They focus on two main explanations of this effect:
that experimenters differ in the ways they motivate participants or make
them feel relaxed, confident, and so on (experimenter behavior hypothesis),
or that experimenters differ in the ways they use their own psi abilities to
influence the outcome (experimenter psi hypothesis). Palmer evaluates the
evidence from the experimental literature and Millar discusses it in light of
observational theories and decision augmentation theory.
The seventh section contains four chapters on research on survival. Julie
Beischel and Nancy L. Zingrone summarize research on mediumship,
another topic that has regained interest during the last decade. They review
the protocols of recent proof-oriented studies with various levels of
masking and the findings of those studies. Process-oriented and qualitative
research is also given attention, such as investigations of neural correlates
of mediumship and the phenomenology of mediumship experience. Antonia
Mills and Jim B. Tucker, in chapter 24, review research on cases suggestive
of reincarnation. They present an example of a young boy who apparently
remembered details of a past life as a war pilot. Although research on
spontaneous cases like this faces many methodological challenges, this case
report illustrates the remarkable richness of details in some of the
correspondences between past-life memories and events. The authors report
on general trends in spontaneous case data and discuss a variety of
explanations, such as cryptomnesia (learning the information through
normal means but then forgetting the source), fraud, psi, and reincarnation.
In the following chapter, Michaeleen Maher reviews research on ghosts and
poltergeists and compares the characteristics of people reporting them. She
also summarizes the methods of investigation, such as the increasing trend
of using various technological applications. As with other chapters, the
evidence for diverse explanations is reviewed. Mark R. Leary and Tom
Butler, in chapter 26, discuss research on anomalous voice-like sounds
heard through electronic equipment (electronic voice phenomena). The
chapter describes a number of methodological pitfalls to avoid mistaking,
say, mundane radio interferences or physical sounds for anomalous voices.
They also discuss research on the tendency for individuals to find
meaningful patterns in random noise. They evaluate mundane and
parapsychological hypotheses (AP and discarnate voices).
The eighth section contains three chapters on practical applications. Rupert
Sheldrake summarizes research on psi phenomena in everyday life. He
reviews research on nonhuman animals such as dogs that seem to know
when their owners are coming home. Dogs are not the only animal with psi
abilities it seems, with similar observations being reported for parrots, cats,
and horses. He then reviews research on anomalous mental phenomena in
humans, such as the feeling of being stared at, and the experience of
thinking about a person right before that person calls you on the phone. In
chapter 28, Martina Belz and Wolfgang Fach discuss anomalous or
exceptional experiences in clinical settings. They summarize their
characteristics and the people who report them, focusing on specific
phenomenology and the motives and goals of the person. Because some
individuals who have these experiences feel confused and frightened about
them, the authors describe how to best offer counseling to these individuals.
In the following chapter, Paul H. Smith and Garret Moddel summarize
potential practical applications of psi phenomena. They include the use of
psi in the military (e.g., the well-known Star Gate project), finance and
investing, criminal investigations, and archaeology. They also discuss a
number of promising future mobile apps that may be just the beginning of a
new research trend in parapsychology.
The ninth section contains two chapters that offer an integrative summary
of the field. In chapter 30, Gerd H. Hövelmann explains the usefulness of
parapsychology for science at large. He makes a distinction between
science as an “institutional phenomena” and as a “distinguished form of
knowledge” and evaluates how parapsychology relates to these aspects of
science. He next reviews several contributions from parapsychology to
other fields, such as the pioneering of various statistical analyses and
multiple contributions to psychology including research on dissociation. In
the final chapter Etzel Cardeña gives his personal impression on patterns
found throughout the volume in the context of the limitations of human
knowledge.
Note
1. Notice that the concept of anomalous phenomena (assumed to be
consensually observable events) differs from that of anomalous experiences
(subjective experiences that may or may not be consensually verifiable)
(Cardeña, Lynn, & Krippner, 2014).
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OceanofPDF.com
Part One: Basic Concepts
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 1
An Overview of Modern Developments in Parapsychology
NANCY L. ZINGRONE, CARLOS S. ALVARADO and GERD H.
HÖVELMANN
In his chapter in Wolman’s (1977) Handbook of Parapsychology, the late
John Beloff (1977) reviewed the history of parapsychology from its origins
to the mid–1970s. As was usual, he placed the start of modern
parapsychology with 18th-century Mesmerism and 19th-century
Spiritualism. An “Heroic Age” (1882 to 1930) followed, consisting mainly
of the work of the Society for Psychical Research. From there, Beloff
covered work with mediums and psychics, the research program of J. B.
Rhine and his associates (1930 to 1960), closing the chapter with a review
of what was then the contemporary scene. Our temporal remit is also large
(1977 to 2014) with space constraints that require a telegraphic treatment of
the period at hand. Unlike Beloff, we do not conceive of our chapter as
history per se, but rather as an overview of research and institutional trends.
We return to earlier topics not covered by Beloff (1977) and overlap
somewhat with his (1993) general history of parapsychology. We include
various approaches that have influenced the content and direction of
modern parapsychology such as anthropology, clinical psychology, and
quantum mechanics as well as trends in education, funding, and the rise of
new laboratories and other institutions. Phenomena not mentioned in the
previous Handbook or not planned for the present one are mentioned
briefly. Finally, we endeavor to venture beyond the narrow Anglo-American
focus of the original Handbook.
Because of the breadth of this review, we have dealt with our materials
concisely, on occasion redirecting readers to other chapters in this volume
for greater depth. We ask readers to remember that each study, event,
development, or reference mentioned serves as an example of many more.
To avoid repetition, we have used “e.g.,” “such as” and “among others”
sparingly. However, when our list seems too brief, it is likely that the one
we listed was chosen from among many. Furthermore, we have not dealt
with validity, ambiguities, or opposing trends.
Research Topics and Approaches
Since 1977 general trends have emerged from the literature. It is safe to say
that the emphasis has been on experimental studies of ESP and PK. Less
well-examined—although not insignificant—have been single case studies
and case collections of spontaneous phenomena, surveys of experiences,
and investigations into psychological states/traits found among experients
and high-scoring experimental participants. Archival research has been the
least used methodology over the recent history of the field, although among
the few studies that re-examined already published materials, meta-analyses
on major experimental methodologies has been the most important.
Over the last nearly 40 years, experiments have commonly involved
unselected participants, not known to have special abilities, with some
interesting exceptions including healers (Higuchi, Kotani, Higuchi,
Minegishi, & Momose, 1999), psychics like Matthew Manning (Braud,
Davis, & Wood, 1979) and Alex Tanous (Osis & McCormick, 1980),
mediums (Beischel & Schwartz, 2007), and suspected poltergeist agents
(Roll et al., 2012). In other research, samples have been selected on the
likelihood of claiming specific experiences including readers of New Age
publications (Alvarado & Zingrone, 1999), twins (Parker & Jensen, 2013),
and performing arts students (Schlitz & Honorton, 1992).
ESP Experiments
Similar to the pre–1977 era, most experiments have focused on ESP.
However, modern experiments have largely been conceptual or
methodological extensions, or conceptual replication attempts. Few studies
have used forced-choice methodology (Carpenter, 1983), while the majority
have been free-response, such as those conducted with mediums (Kelly &
Arcangel, 2011) or using the ganzfeld (Williams, 2011) or remote viewing
methodologies [chapters 15, 23, and 29, this volume].
Many experiments have been conducted to explore such psychological
correlates as moods (Carpenter, 1991), extraversion (Parra & Villanueva,
2003), experimenter effects (Schmeidler & Maher, 1981), and defense
mechanisms (Watt & Morris, 1995). In particularly interesting work,
Honorton (1997) explored ESP in relation to four participant characteristics:
previous experience of spontaneous psi experiences; scores on the MyersBriggs Type Indicator, especially the Feeling/Perception scale; previous
ESP testing experience; and previous practice of meditation [see chapter 10,
this volume] or other mental disciplines.
Another important research trend examined whether a psi-conducive state
—especially an altered state—of consciousness influences experimental
results. This notion has been studied in ganzfeld experiments (Bem &
Honorton, 1994), in dream ESP studies (Sherwood, Dalton, Steinkamp, &
Watt, 2000), by assessing hypnotizability and dissociation and their impact
on ESP results (Marcusson-Clavertz & Cardeña, 2011), and through the
correlation of EEG measurements with ESP tasks (McDonough, Don, &
Warren, 2002) [see chapters 9 and 11, this volume]. The influence of
physical variables on ESP results has also been a topic of research. Local
geomagnetic activity (Haraldsson & Gissurarson, 1987), atmospheric
electromagnetics (Houtkooper, Schienle, Stark, & Vaitl, 1999), Shannon
entropy (May, Spottiswoode, & James, 1994), and local sidereal time
(Spottiswoode, 1997) have all been examined [see chapter 14, this volume].
Also important has been the influence of psychological research methods.
In one area of research, study participants were kept unaware they were
being tested for ESP [see chapters 8 and 16, this volume]. Bem (2011)
pioneered a line of research focusing on “anomalous retroactive influences
on cognition and affect.” Other researchers embedded ESP tests in, among
other contexts, tasks involving preference ratings of fractal images (Luke,
Delanoy, & Sherwood, 2008), and perceptual switching of Necker cube
images (Bierman, 2011).
Also important across this period were experiments that employed
psychophysiological measures as a test of unconscious ESP (Haraldsson,
1980; Radin, 2004; Tressoldi, Martinelli, Semenzato, & Cappato, 2011) [see
chapter 17, this volume]. A significant overall effect was found in a recent
meta-analysis of studies of predictive physiological anticipation using such
measures as electrodermal activity, heart rate, and electroencephalographic
activity (Mossbridge, Tressoldi, & Utts, 2012; for an exhaustive overview
of physiological measures applied in parapsychology and other areas of
anomalistics, see Ambach, 2012).
Psychokinesis (PK) Experiments
Although, similar to the previous period, PK was less frequently studied
than ESP, important work has been conducted, the most notable of which
used random number generators (Bösch, Steinkamp, & Boller, 2006; Jahn,
Dunne, Nelson, Dobyns, & Bradish, 1997; Nelson 2013) [see chapter 21,
this volume]. Potentially psychokinetic effects on target systems have been
also explored in various areas of behavior and biology (Braud, 2003)—
although in some experiments it is difficult to determine whether the effects
were due to PK or ESP. The list of target systems has varied considerably,
among them, cancer cells in mice (Bengston & Krinsley, 2003), hemolysis
in human red blood cells (Braud, 1990), human electrodermal activity
(Braud & Schlitz, 1983), outcomes in patients with bloodstream infection
(Leibovici, 2001), and the growth or deterioration of vegetables (Minami,
Usui, & Kokubo, 2014) [see chapter 18, this volume]. Other experiments
have related PK scores to the lability of targets (Braud, 1980), geomagnetic
field activity (Braud & Dennis, 1989), a relaxed mind-set (Debes & Morris,
1982), previous PK experiences (Gissurarson, 1990–1991), visual imagery
strategies (Morris, Nanko, & Phillips, 1982), and neurophysiology (Roll et
al., 2012).
Out-of-Body Experiences (OBEs)
Most modern out-of-body experience (OBE) research has been conducted
through questionnaire studies of spontaneous experiences, guided largely by
a psychological approach (Murray, 2009). For example, investigators
related OBEs to reports of lucid dreams and imagery (Blackmore, 1982)
and hallucinations (Parra, 2010), to scores on the five factor model of
personality (Alvarado, Zingrone, & Dalton, 1998–1999), absorption (Irwin,
1980), and dissociation (Richards, 1991). More recent research has
attempted to redefine the OBE in terms of the effect of neuropathology on
body image (Blanke, Landis, Spinelli, & Seeck, 2004), and other
proprioceptive disturbances (Braithwaite, Samson, Apperly, Broglia, &
Hulleman, 2011). Only a few OBE experiments have been conducted since
1977. In one of these, attention was paid to psychophysiology (Osis &
Mitchell, 1977). Two others focused on veridical perception and detection
of the OBE state (Morris, Harary, Janis, Hartwell, & Roll, 1978; Osis &
McCormick, 1980).
Near-Death Experiences (NDEs)
Although Moody (1975) was the first to call attention to near-death
experiences (NDEs) in modern times, the scientific study of NDEs began
with the work of such individuals as Greyson and Stevenson (1980), Ring
(1980), and Sabom (1982). Their studies opened the way to later work that
expanded our understanding of the content and circumstances of the NDE,
as well as of its relation to physiological, psychological, and cultural
variables (Hou, Huang, Prakash, & Chaudhury, 2013; Owens, Cook, &
Stevenson, 1990; Van Lommel, Van Wees, Meyers, & Elfferich, 2001).
Some NDE work has also been devoted to the important, but generally
neglected, issue of veridicality (Ring & Lawrence, 1993).
Mediumship
The study of mental mediumship has re-emerged recently. Some studies
have focused on veridicality (Beischel & Schwartz, 2007; Kelly &
Arcangel, 2011), and others on psychological variables (Moreira-Almeida,
Neto, & Cardeña, 2008; Roxburgh & Roe, 2011) and on
psychophysiological and neurophysiological variables (Delorme et al.,
2013; Peres, Moreira-Almeida, Caixeta, Leao, & Newberg, 2012) [see
chapter 23, this volume]. In contrast, physical mediumship has rarely been
investigated (but see Keen, Ellison, & Fontana, 1999; Nahm, 2014) [see
chapter 19, this volume].
Other Phenomena
Since 1977, only a few researchers have conducted single case studies or
case collections of spontaneous phenomena, among them Hearne (1982),
Novelletto (1980), Piccinini and Rinaldi (1990), and Stevenson (1992). The
most common methodology used has been print-based or web-administered
questionnaires. ESP experiences, OBEs, and apparitions have all been
studied this way. Palmer’s (1979) survey has been the most influential of
these. Other studies drew samples from Brazil (Machado, 2010) and
Germany (Schmied-Knittel & Schetsche, 2005). Some studies have
investigated the relation of psychic experiences to dream recall and lucid
dreams (Alvarado & Zingrone, 2007–2008), cognitive and emotional
empathy (Parra, 2013), dissociative experiences (Richards, 1991), positive
schizotypy, complex partial epileptic-like signs, boundary thinness, and
transliminality (Simmonds-Moore, 2009–2010).
Schouten (1979, 1981, 1982) explored previously collected ESP experience
case reports from different countries and eras in a search for commonalities.
Schriever (1987) investigated the precognition experiences of a single
individual over several decades. Apparition experiences that occurred
around deathbeds (Osis & Haraldsson, 1997) and in other contexts
(Haraldsson, 2012; Piccinni & Rinaldi, 1990) have also been studied.
Maher and Hansen (1995) developed new ways to assess the features of
hauntings.
Gauld and Cornell’s (1979) exhaustive study of poltergeist and apparition
case features provided the data for re-analyses of haunting apparitions
(Alvarado & Zingrone, 1995; Biondi & Caratelli, 1993). New poltergeist
case collections have appeared (Huesmann & Schriever, 1989), as well as
analyses of cases based on such specific features as fire (Andrade, 1984),
raps (Colvin, 2010), and water (Nichols, 2000).
In the modern period, Stevenson continued to investigate children who
claimed to remember previous lives, extending his analysis to birthmarks
and birth defects thought to be related to the death of the previous
personality (Stevenson, 1997). European and North American cases were
also published in this period (e.g., Stevenson, 2003; see also Hassler, 2013).
New in reincarnation research has been a shift from a primary emphasis on
veridicality and other features to the psychological profile of children who
report these experiences (Haraldsson, 2003). Several new researchers have
also emerged in this area (Mills, 1988; Pasricha, 1990; Tucker & Keil,
2013) [see chapter 24, this volume].
Researchers have also focused on phenomena neglected prior to 1977.
Cassoli (1979) documented several cases of psychic healing. More recently,
Moga (2014) related the effectiveness of psychic healing to magnetic field
activity. Zingrone, Alvarado, and Agee (2009) studied the relation of aura
vision to other types of phenomena and to the psychological states/traits of
aura viewers. Alvarado (1987) analyzed published cases of luminous
phenomena. Joines, Baumann, and Kruth (2012) conducted experiments to
detect an increase in photons while self-identified psychics and healers
attempted to interact with equipment in a darkened room. Stevenson (1984)
investigated xenoglossy cases. Colvin (2010) conducted a unique study in
which raps were recorded and analyzed. Piccinini and Rinaldi (1990)
investigated physical events reported around the death of a distant person
such as falling objects and clocks stopping. Finally, Sherwood (2000) began
a multi-method investigation of apparitions of black dogs.
Scholarly Work: History, Religion and Other Disciplines
Philosophy
Among the philosophers in the field, Braude (1997, 2002) has clarified and
criticized such concepts as synchronicity, the memory trace ideas of ESP,
and physical models of psi. Others have argued that philosophical
discussions of parapsychology enable us to evaluate the current paradigm
and “form within an entirely naturalistic framework, … a conception of
human life that is spiritually no less satisfying than any theology formulated
in terms of some version of supernaturalism” (Griffin, 1997, p. 4).
Steinkamp (2002) reminded us that the philosophy of mind has been
important in both careful speculation about, and the analysis of phenomena
and findings of the field.
History
Although many useful overviews of psychical research have appeared since
1977 (e.g., Beloff, 1993; Inglis, 1984), one of the first fine-grained
scholarly histories appeared in 1980, emphasizing the work of J. B. Rhine
and his associates (Mauskopf & McVaugh, 1980). Other histories of
importance have been Biondi (1988) on Italy, Lachapelle (2011) on France,
and Wolffram (2009) on Germany. These works provide insight into
institutions, professionalization, and the rise and fall of research programs
and research schools. Cultural historical work has also been done by
Duplessis (2002), Gauger (1980), and Méheust (1999), among others.
Lamont (2013) recently examined aspects of the acceptance and rejection of
“extraordinary” beliefs using conjuring theory, frame and discourse
analysis.
The relation of psychology to parapsychology has also been analyzed
(Sommer, 2012; Wolf-Braun, 1998). Crabtree (1993) and Plas (2000), for
example, argued that parapsychological research has contributed greatly to
psychology, especially to the understanding of the subconscious mind.
Alvarado (2002) made similar points for the understanding of dissociation.
These histories of modern research have illustrated how far
parapsychologists’ interests have broadened since J. B. Rhine (1959)
considered the future of the field. Finally histories of gifted subjects
(Gregory, 1985; Méheust, 2003) and of the work of important past
contributors to the field have also appeared, among them, Hövelmann (in
press) on Max Dessoir, Junior, Araujo, and Moreira-Almeida (2013) on
William James, and Rabeyron and Evrard (2012) on Sigmund Freud and
Sándor Ferenczi.
Sociology
Sociological perspectives have proved useful in studies of the field. Gavilán
Fontanet (1978) surveyed parapsychologists’ motivations, while McConnell
and Clark (1980) investigated training, beliefs, and intellectual conflicts.
Milton (1995) investigated publishing and funding while Zingrone (1988)
looked at the relation of gender to authorship in two American journals of
parapsychology. Schouten (1993) compared access to funding and other
resources in psychology to that of parapsychology over a similar period.
Mayer (2003) covered the depiction of parapsychology and other
disciplines in specific popular German publications. Hansen (2001) argued
that psychic phenomena are intrinsically associated with patterns of
disorder and destructuring that prevent both systematic study and
acceptance. Various analysts have used parapsychology as a case study,
examining its rejection by mainstream science as well as the strategies by
which proponents and debunkers defend or condemn the field (Allison,
1979; McClenon, 1984; Pinch, 1979; Pinch & Collins, 1984; Zingrone,
2006).
Religion
J. B. Rhine (1977–1978/1987) argued for a parapsychology of religion. In
the last twenty years others have highlighted the relation between religion
and parapsychology, among them Kripal (2008) and Grosso (1997).
González Quevedo (1996) and Schwebel (2004) argued that much of what
passes for religious miracles may be accounted for by psi from the living. It
has also been argued that supernatural forces may be distinguished from
living-agent psi (Bouflet, 2006; González Quevedo, 1996).
Many authors have discussed phenomena reported around Christian saints.
Bouflet (2001–2003) compiled a three-volume work of such phenomena as
immunity to fire, inedia, incorruption of the physical body, levitation, lights,
multiplication of food, the odor of sanctity, stigmata, and walking on water.
Similarly, Grosso (in press) has investigated the levitation associated with
Saint Joseph of Copertino, Laurentin and Mahéo (1990) have examined
bilocation, and White (1982) reviewed ESP in the lives of Catholic saints.
In addition, work has been done on representation of seemingly psychic
phenomena in the fields of literary criticism as well as in art and theater
history and criticism, but a review of these literatures is beyond the scope of
this chapter.
Conceptual and Disciplinary Approaches
Although the previous Handbook included research into possible psi in
animals (“anpsi”), much less has been done along these lines in recent times
(Dutton & Williams, 2009). This may be due to the additional problems
with which experimenters who work with animals have to cope
(Hövelmann, 1989a, 1989b), such as the virtual unavoidability of Clever
Hans cueing artifacts (Rosenthal, 1965) and of subtle dressage and
expectancy effects. Among the studies done, Chauvin (1986) investigated
PK with mice, Peoch (1988) with chicks, and Sheldrake and his colleagues
studied ESP in dogs (Sheldrake & Smart, 1998), and in a parrot (Sheldrake
& Morgana, 2003) [chapters 11 and 27, this volume].
Psychological Theories
Much of the work conducted since 1977 has been psychological. Efforts
have been made to develop psychological models of ESP and PK, among
them Irwin (1979) on information-processing, Stanford (1990) and
Thalbourne (2004) on dispositions and needs, and Carpenter’s (2012) First
Sight model in which the core idea is that psi processes are in operation all
the time, influencing our behavior and thinking at an unconscious level [see
chapter 8, this volume].
Clinical Concerns
Attention to clinical issues raised by ostensible psychic phenomena has
grown significantly in recent decades (Coly & McMahon, 1993) [see
chapter 28, this volume]. Among the specific concerns voiced are
experients’ worry about their psychological health, and the differentiation
of pathological from nonpathological experiences (Belz, 2009; Evrard,
2014; Iannuzzo, 2008; Kramer, Bauer, & Hövelmann, 2012). Clinical
parapsychology does not seek to establish the veridicality of the
experiences being reported. Rather, the point is to support troubled
experients through counseling, psychotherapy, and other interventions.
Related to this are seemingly psychic phenomena reported in
psychotherapeutic or psychoanalytic contexts (Rosenbaum, 2011; Servadio,
1978). Mazza (1995) has argued that therapists should be aware of the
presence of psychic phenomena when working with clients. In addition,
some have tested for the presence of ESP phenomena in clinical populations
(Iannuzzo, 1978, working with patients with anxiety neurosis) or for
pathological conditions among psychics and mediums (e.g., MoreiraAlmeida, Neto, & Cardeña, 2008).
Anthropology
Beginning with Long (1977), a number of anthropologists (Giesler, 1984;
Winkelman, 1982) and psychiatrists (Iannuzzo, 1984) have shown an
interest in the development of an anthropological subspecialty that centers
on psychic phenomena. Giesler (1985a, 1985b, 1986), for example,
developed field-testing procedures that incorporated the belief systems of
the participants.
Shamanism and psi, long thought to be connected (Bernardi, 1986), have
been subjected to sustained research in recent years (Hunter & Luke, 2014).
Several authors have argued for the utility of an anthropological approach
(Caswell, Hunter, & Tessaro, 2014; Hunter, 2010), noted relations between
anthropology and parapsychology (Luke 2010), and pointed out the
importance of taking the beliefs and experiences of other cultures seriously
(Turner, 2006). In 2010, the journal Paranthropology (Anonymous, n.d.c.)
was founded by Jack Hunter and colleagues. As Hunter (2010) argued: “Not
only does anthropology provide a promising methodology for our
elucidation and understanding of the paranormal, but the paranormal also
presents an opportunity for anthropology’s theories and techniques to be
tested and expanded” (p. 2).
Survival of Death
Interest in investigating the survival of bodily death has not waned in the
modern period (Braude, 2003; Gauld, 1982). Although Gauld (1982)
defended the notion that some phenomena indicate the possible presence of
discarnate agency, others have favored alternate explanations (presented
and discussed by Braude [2003], although he favors slightly the survival
hypothesis; see also Rock, 2013; Roll, 2006). Still others have argued that
the survival hypothesis is scientifically untestable and, consequently, should
be set aside as an unproductive area of research (Hövelmann, 1983; Irwin,
2002; Krippner & Hövelmann, 2005).
Influential Conceptual Frameworks
In this section we review theoretical ideas that have become conceptual
frameworks in the modern era, and in some cases, have reached the level of
testable hypotheses. These topics are anomalistic psychology, quantum
mechanics, and the nonphysical mind.
Anomalistic Psychology
Since 1977, attention to conventional explanations of psychic phenomena
has increased. Reed (1988) and Zusne and Jones (1989) provided the
starting point for anomalistic psychology as a subspecialty. Research from
this perspective (French, Haque, Bunton-Stasyshyn, & Davis, 2009) seeks
“to explain anomalous experiences and paranormal beliefs in terms of
known psychological and physical factors” (Holt, Simmonds-Moore, Luke,
& French, 2012, p. 5) such as fraud, suggestion, hallucinations, and
unconscious misperceptions or misinterpretations of sensory input. Other
researchers have placed equal emphasis on conventional and
unconventional explanations of seemingly psychic phenomena under the
term (see Roe, 2009; Zangari, 2011, and the influential anthology of
Cardeña, Lynn, & Krippner, 2014).
Active engagement with conventional explanations has always been an
important part of parapsychology. For example, Braude (2000) discussed
such capabilities of the mind as the subconscious creation of personalities
and literature. Stevenson (1983) was well aware that cryptomnesia might
best explain some phenomena, including some cases that seemed to provide
evidence for reincarnation. Although critics have generally speculated on
conventional explanations for seemingly psychic phenomena, they have
rarely done research on the topic (Hansel, 1980; Wiseman, Smith, &
Kornbrot, 1994). On the other hand, parapsychologists have actively
experimented with, and uncovered evidence for, the operation of
conventional processes throughout the history of the field. For example,
Bierman (1999) and Palmer (1983) investigated conventional explanations
for ESP results [and found them insufficient], Alvarado and Zingrone
(1997–1998) discussed NDE cases, and Schouten and Stevenson (1998)
reincarnation-type cases.
Quantum Mechanics
In the 1970s, serious interest in the relation of physics and parapsychology
began to grow, especially in the area of quantum mechanics (Oteri, 1975).
Engaging the literature and findings of quantum mechanics has led many to
speculate about consciousness and its relation to psychic phenomena,
including Walker (1975, 2000), Mattuck (1984), and Schmidt (1978).
Observational theories (Millar, 1978) and discussions of entanglement
(Radin, 2006) resulted from this fruitful collision of parapsychology with
physics [see chapter 13, this volume].
In 1975, Lucadou proposed one of the most important theories in his Model
of Pragmatic Information (MPI). In 2013, he provided a concise statement
of his model:
The most important aspect of [my] Model of Pragmatic Information …
is the so-called “NT-Axiom.” It assumes that the origin of psi
phenomena is not signals but entanglement correlations created by the
“meaning” (pragmatic information) of the situation. Further, MPI …
assume[s] that the entanglement correlations cannot be used as signal
transfers or causal influences. The axiom leads to a naturalistic
explanation of the decline effect and of the displacement effect … and
to [an explanation of] the temporal development of RSPK phenomena
[Lucadou, 2013, pp. 410–411; see also Lucadou, 1995; Lucadou &
Kornwachs, 1983].
The Nonphysical Mind
Another—albeit contentious—concept that has been around since the
beginning of the field is the idea that psychic phenomena support the
concept of a nonphysical mind separate from the physical body. Beloff
(1990), Schwartz and Dossey (2010), Stevenson (1981), and Tart (2009), to
name a few, have made strong arguments for this idea. The most important
contribution to the topic, however, has been Irreducible Mind (Kelly, Kelly,
Crabtree, Gauld, Grosso, & Greyson, 2007). The authors strongly defended
the theory that mind exists separately from, but is expressed through the
brain [see chapter 2, this volume].
Other authors (van Lommel, 2013) have argued that NDEs provide
evidence that mind is independent of the body. As Greyson (2010) wrote:
“The challenge of NDEs to materialist reductionism lies in asking how
complex consciousness, including mentation, sensory perception, and
memory, can occur under conditions in which current physiological models
of mind deem it impossible” (p. 43).
Methodological and Statistical Developments
The Impact of Computers
In 1977, very few individuals in the field had access to computers. As
Broughton (1982) and White (1990b) have said, the impact of the
proliferation of computers on parapsychology has been transformational.
This profound impact is nowhere more visible than in the efficiency and
security of data recording, the speed at which studies might be run and large
data sets analyzed, and in the presentation of quick or immediate feedback
to experimental participants (Dalton et al., 1994; Honorton et al., 1990).
The selection of targets is now routinely computerized, one result being the
ability to develop and share experiments that use standardized digital
procedures (Goulding, Westerlund, Parker, & Wackermann, 2004), allowing
more effective direct replication attempts (Bem, 2011; Bem, Tressoldi,
Rabeyron, & Duggan, 2014). The importance of the ability to analyze large
data sets cannot be over-emphasized, having been foundational to much
productive research on micro–PK (Jahn, Dunne, Nelson, Dobyns, &
Bradish, 1997) and to the rise and international dissemination of the Global
Consciousness Project (Nelson, 2013).
Other Technology
The development of instrumentation for use in research on physical effects
(Joines, Baumann, & Kruth, 2012; Minami, Usui, & Kokubo, 2014) and
psychophysiological research (Modestino, 2013; Schmidt & Walach, 2000)
has also been profound. The full impact of neuroimaging techniques is just
beginning to be felt in studies of ESP (Bierman & Scholte, 2002), distant
intention (Achterberg et al., 2005), and brain states during mediumship
(Delorme et al., 2013).
Statistics
From its inception, parapsychology has been at the forefront of adopting (or
developing) new statistical methods (Hövelmann, 2012, pp. 311–314). Such
an emphasis is still in evidence. A recent controversial development has
been the introduction of Bayesian statistics. Although parapsychological
researchers have been criticized for not using this approach (Wagenmakers,
Wetzels, Borsboom, & Van der Maas, 2011), others have countered by
acknowledging the advantages of the Bayesian approach while outlining its
limitations (Bem, Utts, & Johnson, 2011). The application of Bayesian
statistics to our field has also highlighted the subjectivity of one of its
foundational steps, that of articulating an acceptable a priori probability.
The impact of meta-analyses in the recent period has also been profoundly
important. Although susceptible to subjectivity as well, the method has
underscored not only the existence of an extensive database of findings in
parapsychology but also uncovered overall significance in major
experimental areas of the field. As Jessica Utts (1991) argued:
The recent focus on meta-analysis in parapsychology has revealed that
there are small but consistently nonzero effects across studies,
experimenters and laboratories…. It may be that the nonzero effects
observed in the meta-analyses can be explained by something other
than ESP…. Nonetheless, there is an anomaly that needs an
explanation [p. 377].
Many meta-analyses have been conducted since the 1980s [see chapters 15,
17, and 18, this volume]. In addition to the well-known Bem and Honorton
(1994) meta-analysis of ganzfeld results published in Psychological
Bulletin, other research programs thus analyzed include: precognition
(Honorton & Ferrari, 1989), psychokinesis on dice (Radin & Ferrari, 1991),
distant intention effects on individuals (Schmidt, 2012), free-response and
forced-choice ESP (Storm, Tressoldi, & Di Risio, 2010, 2012), and
physiological measures (Mossbridge, Tressoldi, & Utts, 2012). Such
analyses have, by no means, ended the controversies surrounding these
topics, but instead have inspired critiques and re-analyses (Bösch,
Steinkamp, & Boller, 2006 vs. Radin, Nelson, Dobyns, & Houtkooper,
2006a, 2006b; Hyman, 2010; Milton & Wiseman, 1999).
Qualitative Research
Qualitative methodology has been present in parapsychological research
across its history in the sense that case studies have largely been descriptive
and in many cases preserved the original testimony of the experient
(Hearne, 1982; Piccinini & Rinaldi, 1990; Stevenson, 2003). Where the
difference lies between the old and the new is the use of methodologies
developed in ethnography, anthropology, sociology, history, and literary
criticism, among other fields. Rhea White (1990a) was the first in
parapsychology to recognize not only the power of qualitative methodology
but its relevance to our work. A recent editorial published in Qualitative
Research Psychology (Murray & Wooffitt, 2010) supports White’s
contention. The authors argued that qualitative research of the topics we
study “begin from the assumption that anomalous experiences are
fundamentally meaningful events, symbolically mediated through language
and communication, … inextricably enmeshed in the fabric of interpersonal
actions in social settings, and reflect their broader historical and cultural
context” (p. 1). Modern examples include the work of Heath (2011), Rock,
Beischel, and Schwartz (2008), Roxburgh and Roe (2013), Virtanen (1990),
and Wooffitt (2006).
Social Aspects: Criticism and Institutional Developments
Criticism
Parapsychology is continuously involved in controversy that ranges from
methodological concerns and the interpretation of data to accusations of
fraud [see chapter 3, this volume], not to mention what seem to be neverending paradigm wars (Alcock, 1981; Bunge, 1991; Diaconis, 1978;
Hansel, 1980; Hyman, 1989; Kurtz, 1985). In the 1980s, a commission of
the National Research Council of the National Academy of Sciences in the
U.S. was asked to analyze the field’s entire body of literature, assessing the
weight of the evidence. They concluded that there is “no scientific
justification from research conducted over a period of 130 years for the
existence of parapsychological phenomena” (Druckman & Swets, 1988, p.
22). The report was roundly criticized in parapsychology for, among other
problems, the refusal either to incorporate or to print as appendices the
positive reviews written by dissenting members of the commission (Palmer,
Honorton, & Utts, 1989).
The persistence of controversy in parapsychology has been discussed from
a variety of perspectives (Bauer, 1982; Carter, 2012; Hövelmann &
Michels, in press; Krippner & Friedman, 2010; Zingrone, 2010). For
example, many have characterized parapsychology as a marginal discipline
that exists beyond the boundaries of mainstream science (Allison, 1979;
Hess, 1992, 1993; Zingrone, 2002). As such, Hess (1992) has argued that
parapsychologists are often penalized for working in the field, suffering
barriers to, or the loss of scientific careers.
The rise of organized skepticism over the last nearly forty years has
impacted the field and its research negatively in a variety of countries. In
the U.S., organized skepticism began with the Committee for the Scientific
Study of Claims of the Paranormal (CSICOP) founded in 1976. Pinch and
Collins (1984) first discussed its agenda followed by Hansen (1992) who
analyzed it more deeply. Although CSICOP claimed its purpose was to
provide, based on objective and original research, a rational
counterargument against phenomena and fields characterized as pseudoscientific, the organization’s magazine, Skeptical Inquirer, from its
beginnings, published mainly articles debunking the topic at hand, rather
than reporting disconfirmatory evidence. The Committee’s “true” goal was
characterized by one of its founders as “not inquiry but [rather] to serve as
an advocacy body, a public relations group for scientific orthodoxy”
(Truzzi, 1991, p. 25).
From our perspective, parapsychology has taken internal and external
criticisms (Milton & Wiseman, 1997) and conceptual prescriptions
(Hövelmann, 1983; Morris, 2001) very seriously. Because of criticism,
ESP-testing methodology was improved by advances in automated ESPtesting systems (Dalton, et al., 1994; Honorton et al., 1990),
psychophysiological measurements were refined (Schmidt & Walach,
2000), and the recording of PK experiments was modified (Schmidt,
Morris, & Rudolph, 1986). An active tradition of self-criticism (Akers,
1984; Hansen, 1990; Hövelmann, 1984) also exists and detailed replies to
critics have been undertaken (Hansen, 1991; Honorton, 1993; Stanford,
1982; Zingrone, n.d.). This mix of internal and external criticism has had
some definitional consequences, however: A proper distinction between
“parapsychologist” and “skeptic” is lacking and seems to be anybody’s
guess (Hövelmann, 1988).
A recent strong defense of parapsychological research (Cardeña, 2014)
included 100 names of academics and scientists from prestigious
universities who support the movement of our research from the margins to
the mainstream. The author argued:
Increased experimental controls have not eliminated or even decreased
significant support for the existence of psi phenomena … data
supportive of psi phenomena cannot reasonably be accounted for by
chance or by a “file drawer” effect…. The effect sizes reported in most
meta-analyses are relatively small and the phenomena cannot be
produced on demand, but this also characterizes various phenomena
found in other disciplines that focus on complex human behavior and
performance such as psychology and medicine … [the findings of psi
research] do not prima facie violate known laws of nature given
modern theories in physics [p. 1].
A wide variety of overview articles designed to open dialogue and bring
parapsychology closer to mainstream science have also been published in
refereed journals of other disciplines. Examples include articles about the
interaction of psychology and parapsychology (Alvarado & Zingrone,
1998), dream ESP (Child, 1985), psychiatry and parapsychology (Pasricha,
2011), psychokinesis (Radin & Nelson, 1989), survival of death (Stevenson,
1977), statistics (Utts, 1991), and magic (Winkelman, 1982). Also
published have been articles that focus on research results (McClennon,
1988; Tressoldi, Martinelli, Semenzato, & Cappato, 2011) and metaanalyses of such topics as free-response ESP (Storm & Tressoldi, & Di
Risio, 2010) and presentiment (Mossbridge, Tressoldi, & Utts, 2012). In
addition, articles about parapsychological research have also appeared in
anthologies of other disciplines (Bender & Bauer, 1977; Ullman, 1980), and
some authors have highlighted the contributions the field has made to
knowledge in general, and to psychology in particular (Alvarado, 2003;
Child, 1984; Hövelmann, 2012; Watt, 2005). Although this neither implies
acceptance nor progress, some inroads have been made when papers on the
topic have appeared in the journals of other disciplines, or when such
journals as Brain and Behavioral Sciences (1982), the Journal of
Consciousness Studies (2003), and Qualitative Research in Psychology
(2010) have devoted entire issues to the topic.
But even with the attention paid to criticism, the methodological
improvements, and the attempts to make rational arguments for the validity,
reliability, and even the amount of positive research findings in the field,
progress from the margins to the mainstream has been minuscule. Palmer
(2009) noted that persuasive efforts have largely been unsuccessful, and, in
fact, as Storm (2009) argued: “psi research [has failed] to overthrow the
long-suffering ideological intolerance and prejudice that have been thrust
upon it” (p. 199). The editors of the current volume of Advances in
Parapsychological Research (Krippner, Rock, Beischel, Friedman, &
Fracasso, 2013) emphasized the deadening influence of rhetoric, a topic
also analyzed by others in the field as well (Honorton, 1993; Zingrone,
2010). Krippner and colleagues (2013) argued that although it may be said
that psi is established, “parapsychologists are mindful that evidence will
remain ineffectual when refracted through the epistemological lenses of a
counter-advocate who privileges rhetoric over substance” (p. 7). Indeed,
most critics and skeptics insist that the data is not convincing for scientific
reasons (Hyman, 2007).
Parapsychology as an International Community
Parapsychology suffers from a language barrier that is particularly
noticeable when English-speaking researchers ignore work published in
other languages (Alvarado, 1989; Hövelmann, 1986). This is particularly
obvious in the reference lists of overviews of the field (Irwin & Watt,
2007). English-language journals, similarly, seldom review books published
in other languages.
Yet interest has grown in international collaboration, even though such
alliances can be fraught with cultural complications (Varvoglis, 1990–
1991). A number of recent publications are evidence of this, among them
Moreira-Almeida, Neto, and Cardeña (2008), Mossbridge, Tressoldi, and
Utts (2012), and Storm, Tressoldi, and Di Risio (2012). Although much
more is needed to knit the international community together, an important
and very positive change has been the increase in non–Anglo-American
venues for the Parapsychological Association’s annual convention, for
example, Iceland (1980), Germany (1991), Holland (1994), Austria (2004),
France (2010), Brazil (2011), and Italy (2013). Equally positive has been
the increasing presence of non-native speakers of English on the PA Board
of Directors.
In the last 20 years, more English-language articles have been published by
non-native speakers of English as well (Moreira-Almeida, Neto, &
Cardeña, 2008; Parra & Villanueva, 2003). The field benefits greatly from
the work of these multilingual researchers. Sadly, only one Englishlanguage journal in the field (the Journal of Parapsychology) routinely
publishes non–English language abstracts (albeit only in French, German,
and Spanish), while the German journals—Zeitschrift für Parapsychologie
und Grenzgebiete der Psychologie, and the Zeitschrift für Anomalistik (ZfA)
—publish English abstracts for all major articles and some discussions. In
such exceptional cases as an international prize essay competition, the ZfA
publishes full articles and discussions in English. Cross-translation practices
are so limited in the field, however, that much important work (Piccinini &
Rinaldi, 1990; Huesmann & Schriever, 1989; Machado, 2010; Zangari,
2007) has gone unnoticed by monolingual English-speakers.
Institutions
Many institutions of the field founded before 1977 are still active today,
such as the Centro Studi Parapsicologici (Center of Parapsychological
Studies, Italy), the Institut für Grenzgebiete der Psychologie und
Psychohygiene (Institute for Frontier Areas of Psychology and Mental
Health, Germany), the Institut Métapsychique International (International
Metapsychic Institute, France), the Rhine Research Center (formerly
Institute of Parapsychology, U.S.), and the Society for Psychical Research
(England).
Some have ceased to exist, and others have declined, we hope, temporarily,
in activity. One of these, the Parapsychology Foundation (PF), made
important contributions to the support of the field as a global enterprise in
direct funding and through its international conference program (Alvarado,
Coly, Coly, & Zingrone, 2001). Fifteen of these conferences have been
hosted since 1977. The Foundation’s last major contribution to the field was
the 2008 conference “Utrecht II: Charting the Future of Parapsychology.”
New organizations have been established including the Instituto de
Psicología Paranormal (Institute of Paranormal Psychology, Argentina), the
International Society for Life Information Science (Japan), and the
Windbridge Institute for Applied Research in Human Potential (U.S.). The
presence of university-based research has also changed. Some units have
disappeared, others persisted, and new ones have been founded.
The University of Edinburgh is still a seat of research in the field. The
Koestler Parapsychology Unit, a research group in the Department of
Psychology, owes its existence to the endowment of the Koestler Chair of
Parapsychology. The late Robert L. Morris held the chair from 1985
through his untimely death in 2004, after which the University decided not
to seek a new candidate. However, two faculty members attached to the
KPU obtained permanent faculty appointments ensuring the persistence of
research relevant to the field in the department at least while they still hold
their positions. As for Morris, like Beloff before him, his principal
achievement at Edinburgh was mentoring more than 20 doctoral students.
Because a good number of these new PhDs have been able to obtain
mainstream faculty positions in psychology in the UK and elsewhere, new
research units have been established as well as new sites for post-graduate
student supervision (Carr, 2008). In fact, at this point, several generations of
PhDs can trace their intellectual genealogy back to Morris (Hövelmann &
Schriever, 2004).
In 2005, another important chair was established at Lund University. One of
the editors of this volume, Etzel Cardeña, holds the Thorsen Professor of
Psychology at Lund and is also head of the research group Center for
Research on Consciousness and Anomalous Psychology (Anonymous,
2012).
At the University of Virginia, Jim B. Tucker, Benner-Lowry Associate
Professor of Psychiatry and Neurobehavioral Sciences, heads the Division
of Perceptual Studies (formerly called the Division of Parapsychology) that
was founded by Ian Stevenson in the late 1960s. The research unit now
includes a neuroimaging laboratory and has expanded its traditional
emphasis on spontaneous case investigations to include experimental
research (Anonymous, 2014). Other important institutional developments
have taken place in a variety of countries, but due to space constraints we
will focus on four countries as exemplars of the rest.
France. New approaches to psi testing have emerged at the Institut
Métapsychique International, among them the development of the Cin-EEG
(PK) and the Sharefield (similar to the ganzfeld) projects. Communication
with, and involvement of, the public has also expanded (Varvoglis &
Evrard, 2010). Similarly, the Groupe d’Études et de Recherches en
Parapsychologie (Group of Study and Research in Parapsychology), which
focused on theoretical and conceptual discussions and was active from the
1970s through the 1980s, was re-imagined (Evrard, 2010). Currently, a new
group concerned with clinical aspects of psychic phenomena, the Centre
d’Information, de Recherche et de Consultation sur les Expériences
Exceptionnelles (Center of Information, Research, and Consultation about
Exceptional Experiences) has begun operating (Anonymous, n.d.a.).
Germany. The Institut für Grenzgebiete der Psychologie und Psychohygiene
(Institute for Frontier Areas of Psychology and Mental Health; IGPP) was
founded in 1950 as an independent non-profit organization by Hans Bender.
Since 1992, because of funding from the Asta Holler Foundation, the
institute has expanded considerably. Today, the main part is still located in
Freiburg and consists of four departments that focus on data analysis,
psychophysics, cultural studies and social research, and historical studies
that includes the archives and the library. In addition, IGPP supports the
Bender Institute for Neuroimaging (BION) at the University of Giessen (for
more information see Bauer, Hövelmann, & Lucadou, 2013; IGPP, 2010).
Since 1957, the IGPP has also published the Zeitschrift für Parapsychologie
und Grenzgebiete der Psychologie.
Founded in 2001, the Gesellschaft für Anomalistik (Society for
Anomalistics or GfA) is considered to be the second major organization in
Germany. The scope of the GfA covers astrology, ufology, cryptozoology,
and other fields of anomalistics in addition to parapsychology. The GfA
publishes the Zeitschrift für Anomalistik (Journal of Anomalistics) and
holds annual conferences. Finally, the Wissenschaftliche Gesellschaft zur
Förderung der Parapsychologie (Scientific Society for the Furtherance of
Parapsychology; WGFP) is also known as the “German SPR.” The WGFP
founded and continues to support the Parapsychologische Beratungsstelle
(Parapsychological Counseling Center) directed by Walter von Lucadou.
Brazil. At the University of São Paulo in Brazil, Wellington Zangari
introduced the discipline of “anomalistic psychology” to the psychology
department, defining his remit to include both conventional and
parapsychological approaches. In 2010, working with Fátima R. Machado,
he established Inter Psi-Laboratório de Psicologia Anomalística e Processos
Psicossociais (Inter Psi-Laboratory of Anomalistic Psychology and
Psychosocial Processes) at the University. Inter Psi brings together students
and interested others to explore the whole range of anomalistic psychology
(Zangari, 2011). In recent years a number of publications have come from
this group (e.g., Machado, 2010; Zangari, 2007).
The psychiatrist Alexander Moreira-Almeida has recently established at the
Federal University of Juiz de Fora in Brazil an interdisciplinary institute
called Núcleo de Pesquisa em Espiritualidade e Saúde (Research Group on
Spirituality and Health; Anonymous, n.d.b.). In addition to research on
spirituality, the Núcleo also covers topics of relevance to parapsychology.
Funding Sources
Finally, it is important to note those institutions that have supported the
field’s research in the modern period. Although the Parapsychology
Foundation had been a significant source of funding from 1951, the size and
extent of its research grants declined significantly over the modern period
(Alvarado et al., 2001). The Society for Psychical Research and the PerrottWarrick Fund in England expanded their grants programs over the same
period, with the former focusing on funding for students and research, and
the latter establishing Perrott-Warrick Research Units in the UK as well as
providing additional funding to an international group of researchers. In
recent years, the Parapsychological Association has also established
research grants through such small bursaries as the PARE, Roller, and other
funds.
Since 2005, the Johan Borgman Foundation in the Netherlands has
sponsored a number of parapsychological publication projects and four
substantial conferences, three on clinical parapsychology and one on
preserving the historical collections of parapsychology, as well as hosted
and co-funded the Parapsychology Foundation’s “Utrecht II” conference.
The Fundação BIAL (BIAL Foundation) from Portugal has provided
significant research funding for research in the field since 1994. In addition
to its bursaries, BIAL hosts a biannual conference at which scientists
working in parapsychology present their research alongside grantees who
toil in more conventional, primarily psychophysiological, fields. Since the
mid–2000s, Bial has become the most important source of financial support
for international researchers in the field (Parra, 2012).
Education
Although a number of universities were mentioned in the section above,
very few university-based educational opportunities existed for students
prior to 1977. Some faculty mentors in Australia, the U.S., but most
especially in Europe, supervised masters or doctoral students in the earlier
period (Hövelmann, 2010). A study guide published in the early 1980s
(American Society for Psychical Research, 1983) listed 66 schools globally
that offered at least a single course in parapsychology. Schools that offered
some kind of program included Franklin Pierce College in New Hampshire
(now Franklin Pierce University, with an undergraduate concentration in
parapsychology through the Psychology Department), and John F. Kennedy
University in California (a Masters in Science in parapsychology). Among
those who supervised students in their own departments (primarily
psychology) were Gertrude Schmeidler at the City Colleges of New York,
Stanley Krippner at Saybrook Institute (now Saybrook University), Rex
Stanford at St. John’s University in Jamaica, New York, Charles Tart at the
University of California at Davis, John Beloff at the University of
Edinburgh, and IGPP staff who supervised masters and doctoral work
through the University of Freiburg. But the bulk of the opportunities listed
in the 1983 guide were adult education courses, with the most intensive
offering being the Institute for Parapsychology’s Summer Study Program
(in operation from the mid–1970s through the early 2000s) in Durham,
North Carolina. So unless a student was able to secure a faculty mentor at a
university, education in the field was obtained mainly through a single
university course, independent study, membership in and attendance at the
events of such organizations as the Society for Psychical Research, or
through the use of such lending and/or read-in libraries as the
Parapsychology Foundation’s Eileen J. Garrett Research Library in New
York City and the Fanny-Moser Library in Freiburg.
By comparison, a recent review (Zingrone, 2011) found that 43 universities
offered some form of formal education in parapsychology or anomalistic
psychology; 13 of these providing a single course, 18 post-graduate degree
supervision, and 12 a combination of both. Although a few of the
institutions listed in 1983 still have faculty members who supervise students
(such as the University of Edinburgh and the University of Freiburg), new
opportunities have sprung up. New opportunities are available in the UK at
the Universities of Greenwich, Hertfordshire, London (Goldsmith’s
College), and Northampton (among others), and in Sweden at the
Universities of Gothenburg, Lund, and Stockholm, as well as at other
universities in other countries. Therefore, although the number of
institutions offering at least a single introductory course has decreased by
30 percent, the number of university-based post-graduate degree programs
and faculty mentoring available these days is significantly greater than in
1977.
Journals
Similar to other fields, parapsychology has always had specialty journals.
Many of these have persisted from earlier days, such as the Journal of
Parapsychology, the Journal of the Society for Psychical Research, and the
Zeitschrift für Parapsychologie und Grenzgebiete der Psychologie (Journal
of Parapsychology and Border Areas of Psychology). Several others have
appeared since 1977 and are still in existence: Australian Journal of
Parapsychology (Australia), E-Boletín Psi (Argentina), Journal of
Exceptional Experiences and Psychology (U.S.), Journal of Near-Death
Studies (U.S.), and Paranthropology (England). Other journals—in the
U.S., Explore: The Journal of Science and Healing, and the Journal of
Scientific Exploration (JSE), and in Germany, Zeitschrift für Anomalistik
(Journal of Anomalistics)—publish papers relevant to parapsychology but
also cover other topics. Several other journals, such as the European
Journal of Parapsychology, the Journal of the American Society for
Psychical Research, the Journal of Theoretical Parapsychology (formerly
Psychoenergetic Systems), Revista Argentina de Psicología Paranormal,
and the Synchronicity Research Unit Bulletin (SRU Bulletin), ceased
publication at various points over the last forty years. The International
Journal of Parapsychology restarted in 2000, but only two volumes were
issued before it ceased publication.
Sustained Lines of Investigation
Other chapters in this volume flesh out in greater depth the areas of the
research we have reviewed, but before we close our chapter we want to
emphasize some remarkable researchers whose programs have had a
significant impact on the field as a whole. One of these is the systematic
program of research that was carried on by Robert Jahn, Brenda Dunne,
Roger Nelson, and others at the Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research
(PEAR) Laboratory for over 25 years. The PEAR Laboratory focused
primarily on a very productive line of PK research, and to a lesser extent
pursued remote perception research (Jahn & Dunne, 2005). Another
remarkable line of research that was active for over 35 years was the work
of Ian Stevenson who focused mainly on spontaneous cases, especially on
the study of children claiming to remember previous lives (Tucker, 2008).
Finally, several other researchers deserve to be mentioned for their
systematic contributions since the 1970s: William Braud (2003) whose
work focused on distant mental influence on living systems; Bruce Greyson
(2014) who has investigated near-death experiences; Roger Nelson (2013)
who founded the Global Consciousness Project; William G. Roll (2003)
whose major contributions were in the area of poltergeist research; and of
course, the ganzfeld and other internal attention work conducted by Charles
Honorton (Rao, 1994).
Concluding Remarks
The comments we have presented here are far from an exhaustive review of
the research and institutional history of the field. Nonetheless, we hope we
have shown that a great deal of work has been done, both in and outside the
laboratory, in scholarly contributions, in the professionalization of the field,
and on related topics.
Although we have not performed a systematic analysis of trends in the
literature, it seems to us that the shape of the field has not changed much
since the earlier period. Not only are we still emphasizing experimental and
quantitative work over spontaneous cases and qualitative approaches, we
are still battling armchair skeptics who refuse to do research—a fact that
makes the skeptics who do conduct research (e.g., French, Haque, BuntonStasyshyn, & Davis, 2009; Hövelmann & Michels, in press) all the more
appreciated. Our primary problems remain: the lack of researchers; the
difficulty of obtaining or maintaining a normal academic or scientific life
while dedicated to the field; the unavailability of mainstream funding; and
the social, financial, and intellectual disadvantages of being involved in a
hotly contested science.
There are also some striking differences. Some positive trends, such as the
increased use of meta-analysis in the recent period, may eventually
ameliorate at least some of these problems with mainstream science, but
whether or not that happens, meta-analysis has facilitated our own
understanding of our increasingly consistent and positive database as well
as highlighted the pluses and minuses of our current methodologies.
We can say that parapsychological research is more varied, more
interdisciplinary, and more international than in the earlier period. More of
our articles now appear in mainstream journals in psychology, physics, and
other disciplines, for example in Brain; Dreaming, History of Psychiatry;
Imagination, Cognition and Personality, Journal of Consciousness Studies;
the Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences, Journal of the
Scientific Study of Religion; Memory and Cognition; Psychological
Bulletin, Psychonomic Bulletin and Review, Religious Studies Review, and
many others, including several sections of the widely-read Frontiers
journals series.
Our research constituencies have also broadened: Instead of the small group
of parapsychologists who published mainly in parapsychology journals,
today researchers in our field have wider professional identifications and
broader agendas. Many of these who regularly contribute to our literature
do not consider themselves to be parapsychologists. This is certainly true of
many of the physicians who conduct NDE and distant healing research, as
well as the historians, anthropologists, and sociologists who have dealt with
mediumship, spirit possession, Spiritualism, and Spiritism.
Specific interests have also expanded. While proof-oriented studies are still
conducted, many of us have set that issue aside to investigate the features of
claimed experiences, and the psychological correlates of experients and
successful experimental participants. The importance of clinical research
and its integration into clinical practice has also increased.
Still, with the weight of continued criticism and the debilitating advent of
organized skepticism, it does not seem likely that the field will be accepted
as a part of mainstream science any time soon. This is especially true of the
subspecialties in the field that emphasize evidentiality or seek a mechanism
that cannot, as yet, be explained in a way that is coherent or persuasive to
most scientists. It is possible, however, that the research that does not
assume evidentiality, or that deals only with correlates of, or relations with,
psychological, sociological, or anthropological variables—such as aftereffects, meaningfulness, personality and cognitive variables, discourse, or
culture—present less of a perceived threat to the mainstream. It may be that
for these areas, at least, the road ahead may be smoother.
Acknowledgments
We thank Massimo Biondi, Renaud Evrard, Andreas Sommer, and
Wellington Zangari for providing us with information relevant to this
chapter. The second author gratefully acknowledges financial support by
the Society for Psychical Research.
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OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 2
Parapsychology in Context
The Big Picture1
EDWARD F. KELLY
Our point of departure is the currently prevailing scientific conception of
the brain/mind relation. Most contemporary psychologists, neuroscientists,
and philosophers of mind subscribe—explicitly or implicitly—to some
version of ontological physicalism, the modern philosophical descendant of
the materialism of previous centuries. Physicalist conceptions of human
mind and personality vary significantly in nuance and detail but are
fundamentally alike insofar as they conflict sharply with traditional and
common-sense notions and run instead along roughly the following lines:
All facts are determined by physical facts. Thus we human beings are in the
end nothing but extremely complicated biological machines and everything
we are and do is explainable, at least in principle, in terms of local
interactions among self-existent bits of matter moving in accordance with
mathematical laws under the influence of fields of force. Some of what we
know, and the substrate of our general capacities to learn more, are built in
genetically as complex resultants of biological evolution. Everything else
comes to us directly or indirectly by way of our sensory surfaces, through
energy exchanges with the environment of types already largely understood.
All aspects of mind and consciousness are generated by, or supervenient
upon, or in some mysterious way identical with, neurophysiological
processes occurring in the brain. Mental causation, free will, and the self are
mere illusions, by-products of the grinding of our neural machinery. And of
course since mind and personality are entirely products of our bodily
machinery, they are necessarily extinguished, totally and finally, by the
demise and dissolution of the body.
Views of this sort hold sway over a great majority of contemporary
scientists, and mass-media science reporters routinely pass them along
without question or hesitation to the public at large. They seem to most
observers to be supported by mountains of evidence. Nevertheless, I submit
that such pictures are not only seriously incomplete—which few if any
would deny—but at a number of critical points demonstrably incorrect.
My reasons for believing this are spelled out in detail in Irreducible Mind
(Kelly, Kelly, Crabtree, Gauld, Grosso, & Greyson, 2007, henceforth IM),
which builds upon Human Personality and Its Survival of Bodily Death, the
extraordinary magnum opus of F. W. H. Myers (1903) to assemble in one
place many lines of empirical evidence and argument demonstrating the
inadequacy of contemporary physicalism. Myers, one of the founders in
1882 of the Society for Psychical Research, had systematically collected
evidence of human capacities that resist understanding in conventional
materialist terms, and on that basis he advanced an expanded model of mind
and consciousness that was greatly admired by many leading
contemporaries including William James. James himself had also gone on
to apply this model explicitly to his later work on religious experience and
metaphysics.
Our original plan for IM was to take advantage of the centennial of Myers’s
landmark contribution by revisiting and re-evaluating it in the context of the
subsequent century of relevant psychological and neurobiological research.
This proved to be a mammoth project—far larger than we imagined at the
outset—and we missed our target date by almost four years. The resulting
book is over 800 pages in length, and its initial hardback version also
included on CD a complete digital copy of Myers’s Human Personality
itself (1400 pages in two volumes) plus its five most significant
contemporary reviews. Parenthetically, IM has subsequently been released
in paperback without the CD, but all of that supplementary material and
several other relevant scholarly resources are now freely available on the
website of Esalen Institute’s Center for Theory and Research
(http://esalenctr.org).
I believe IM accomplished its central objective of demonstrating
empirically the inadequacy of conventional mainstream physicalist
conceptions of the brain/mind connection. Not everybody has sufficient
time or interest, of course, to work through that mountain of material in
detail, and I will therefore summarize here in condensed outline form its
central arguments. I will do this under ten major headings representing the
main types of empirical phenomena we regard as difficult or impossible to
explain in conventional physicalist terms. More detailed presentations and
discussions of relevant evidence, and abundant supporting references, can
be found in IM itself, which provides the real authority for most of the
views expressed here.
1. Psi phenomena. The basic phenomena in question here involve, by
definition, correlations occurring across physical barriers that should be
sufficient, on presently accepted physicalist principles, to prevent their
formation (“basic limiting principles” as formulated by Broad, 1962, and
refined by Braude, 2002). In the context of this volume (and its
predecessor) I can therefore simply appropriate in service of my central
thesis the entire body of evidence that has been adduced in the course of
well over a century of competent scientific effort by workers in psychical
research and its narrower modern descendant, experimental
parapsychology. In my opinion, the existing large volume of peer-reviewed
research involving experimental, quasi-experimental, and case studies of
various kinds has produced cumulative results sufficient to demonstrate
beyond reasonable doubt—at least to open-minded persons who take the
trouble to study it—that the sheer existence of the basic input/output
phenomena is a fact of nature with which we must somehow come to
scientific terms (Radin, 2006; Tart, 2009). Indeed, I predict with high
confidence that future generations of historians, sociologists, and
philosophers of science will make a good living trying to understand why it
has taken so long for scientists in general to accept this conclusion.
All psi phenomena are theoretically important by virtue of providing
examples of human behavioral capacities that appear impossible to account
for in terms of presently recognized psychological, biological, or classicalphysics principles. Even more important for theoretical purposes, however,
is the large further body of evidence suggestive of post-mortem survival,
the persistence of elements of mind and personality following bodily death.
It is simply false to declare, as does physicalist philosopher Paul
Churchland (1988, p. 10), that we possess no such evidence. We in fact
possess a great deal of such evidence, much of it of very high quality. The
historically most important lines of such investigation, including studies of
trance mediumship, cases of the reincarnation type, and crisis apparitions,
are covered in Part 7 of this volume.
This work unfortunately is practically unknown outside the small circle of
persons professionally involved with it. Ironically, the primary threat to its
survivalist interpretation arises not from considerations of evidential quality
—problems of fraud, credulity, errors of observation, or memory and the
like—but from the difficulty of excluding alternative explanations based
upon psi-type interactions involving only living persons (the survival vs.
super-psi debate).
Either horn of this interpretive dilemma—survival or psi—seriously
threatens the prevailing physicalist brain/mind orthodoxy, and this
undoubtedly helps explain the hostility of its dogmatic defenders to both. It
should also be evident that compelling evidence for post-mortem survival,
an element of belief common to all of the world’s great religious traditions,
would demonstrate clearly the inadequacy of present-day mainstream
physicalism. In my judgment we are at or very close to that point—close
enough, certainly, to justify rational belief in the possibility if not indeed the
likelihood of one’s own personal survival.
Evidence for the occurrence of psi phenomena in general and post-mortem
survival in particular played an important though largely tacit role in the
overall argument of IM, and my efforts here will be rewarded if they lead
scientifically-minded readers to take these subjects more seriously than they
otherwise might. It is crucial to recognize, however, that psi cannot be
isolated and quarantined as though it were the only serious threat to
contemporary physicalism. The many other kinds of evidence surveyed in
following sections point in the same general direction.
2. Extreme psychophysiological influence. Under this heading are a
variety of phenomena especially suggestive of direct mental agency in the
production of physiological or even physical effects (for a comprehensive
review see IM Chapter 3). Placebo effects and related kinds of
psychosomatic phenomena, to begin with, have long been informally
recognized and are now widely accepted, but they were accepted by modern
biomedical science only grudgingly, as new mechanisms of brain-body
interaction came to light that seemed potentially capable of explaining
them. In particular, psychoneuroimmunology has demonstrated the
existence, previously unknown, of interactions between the central nervous
and immune systems. Nevertheless, the adequacy of such explanations even
for some kinds of placebo effects remains in question, and there are many
kindred phenomena that pose progressively greater challenges to
explanation in such terms. The following examples will serve to capture
their flavor.
Both Sigmund Freud and F. W. H. Myers were impressed by “glove
anesthesias,” in which a patient loses sensation from the skin of a hand in
the absence of identifiable organic lesion. In such cases the anesthetic skin
region typically corresponds only to a psychological entity, the patient’s
idea, in complete disregard of the underlying anatomical organization. At
the same time, curiously, something in the patient remains aware of the
afflicted region and protects it from injury.
Related phenomena have often been reported in the context of hypnosis.
Highly suggestible persons who can vividly imagine undergoing an
injurious circumstance such as receiving a burn to the skin sometimes suffer
physiological effects closely analogous to those that the physical injury
itself would produce, such as a blister. More rarely, the correspondence
between the hypnotic blister and its imagined source extends even to minute
details of geometric shape, details too specific to account for in terms of
known mechanisms of brain/body interaction. Similarly dramatic
phenomena have occasionally been documented in psychiatric patients in
connection with exceptionally vivid recall of prior physical trauma (see IM
pp. 156–158). A closely related and well-documented phenomenon is that
of stigmata, in which fervently devout or pious believers in Christ develop
wounds analogous to those inflicted during his crucifixion. The injuries are
again localized and specific in form, vary in locus and character in
accordance with the individuals’ differing conceptions of Christ’s own
injuries, and appear and disappear, often suddenly and regularly, also in
accordance with their expectations.
The conventional hope, of course, is that even the most extreme phenomena
of the sorts just mentioned will ultimately prove explainable in terms of
physiological processes alone. Continuing allegiance to this hope, despite
the indicated explanatory difficulties, is undoubtedly encouraged by the fact
that the phenomena described so far all involve the effects of a person’s
mental states on that person’s own body. Still more drastic explanatory
challenges are posed, however, by phenomena in which one person’s mental
state seems to have directly influenced another person’s body. These
include “maternal impressions” (unusual birthmarks or birth defects on a
newborn that correspond to an unusual and intense experience of the mother
during the pregnancy), distant healing (including studies of effects of prayer
on healing), experimental studies of distant mental interaction on living
systems [chapter 18, this volume], and cases in which a child who claims to
have memories of the life of a deceased person also displays unusual
birthmarks or birth defects corresponding closely with marks (usually fatal
wounds) on the body of that person (Stevenson, 1997) [chapter 24, this
volume]. In addition, there has been a considerable accumulation of
spontaneous cases and experimental evidence demonstrating the reality of
psychokinesis (PK), which by definition involves direct mental influence on
the physical environment [chapters 19 and 20, this volume].
3. Informational capacity, precision, and depth. A number of welldocumented psychological phenomena involve levels of detail, precision, or
logical depth that are difficult to reconcile with what can be achieved by a
brain that must operate in statistical fashion with neural components of low
intrinsic precision and reliability. Here are some examples:
The first involves a case of “automatic writing” observed by William James
(1889). The subject wrote with his extended right arm on large sheets of
paper, his face meanwhile buried in the crook of his left elbow. For him to
see what he was doing was “a physical impossibility.” Nevertheless, James
continues: “Two or three times in my presence on one evening, after
covering a sheet with writing (the pencil never being raised, so that the
words ran into each other), he returned to the top of the sheet and
proceeded downwards, dotting each i and crossing each t with absolute
precision and great rapidity.”
This remarkable episode illustrates two features that have often appeared
together in the large but neglected scientific literature dealing with
automatic writing (Stevenson, 1978): The person is in an altered state of
consciousness and the motor performance, itself remarkable, is apparently
guided by an extremely detailed memory record, an essentially
photographic representation of the uncompleted page.
The latter property relates to the phenomenon of eidetic imagery, the most
dramatic demonstration of which has been provided by Charles Stromeyer
using Julesz stereograms (Stromeyer, 1970; Stromeyer & Psotka, 1970).
These are essentially pairs of computer-generated pictures, each of which
by itself looks like a matrix of randomly placed dots, but constructed in
such a way that when viewed simultaneously (by presentation to the two
eyes separately) a visual form emerges in depth. Stromeyer presented
pictures of this type to the eyes of a gifted female eidetiker, at different
times, ultimately as much as 3 days apart. Under these conditions, she could
extract the hidden form only if she could somehow fuse current input to one
eye with an extremely detailed memory-image of previous input to the other
eye. Remarkably, she was able to succeed under a wide variety of
increasingly demanding conditions: The original stereograms, for example,
were 100 × 100 arrays, but she eventually succeeded under double-masked
conditions with arrays as large as 1000 × 1000, or a million “bits,” viewed
up to 4 hours apart. These results were understandably shocking to many
psychologists, who sought to escape their force by pointing to the
dependence on a single participant and the absence of replications. At least
one successful replication has subsequently occurred. Crawford, Wallace,
Nomura, and Slater (1986) demonstrated that their highly hypnotizable
subjects were able to succeed with small stereograms, but only when
hypnotized.
The literature already contains many additional examples of prodigious
memory. Stromeyer and Psotka themselves mention the famous mnemonist
studied by Luria (1968) and the case of the “Shass Pollaks,” who
memorized all 12 volumes of the Babylonian Talmud, and Oliver Sacks
(1987, Chapter 22) has reported a similar case of a person who, among
other things, knew by heart all 9 volumes and 6000 pages of Grove’s
Dictionary of Music and Musicians. Other examples could easily be cited.
Prodigious memory of this sort is a real psychological phenomenon.
Third in this group is the family of “calculating prodigies.” Of special
interest is the “savant syndrome,” often associated with autistic disorders, in
which islands of spectacular ability appear in the midst of generalized
mental disability (Treffert, 2010). The abilities are of many types but almost
invariably involve prodigious memory. The depth of the problems they pose
for brain theory is exemplified by the case of “The Twins,” also described
by Sacks (1987). These profoundly impaired individuals, unable to perform
even single-digit additions and subtractions with any accuracy, nonetheless
proved able to generate and test prime numbers “in their heads.” Sacks was
able to verify the primacy up to 10 digits, but only by means of published
tables, while the twins themselves went on exchanging numbers of steadily
greater length, eventually reaching 20 digits. Sacks makes the intriguing
suggestion that they cannot literally be calculating these enormous
numbers, but may instead be discovering them by navigating through some
vast inner imaginal landscape in which the relevant numerical relations are
somehow represented pictorially. The twins themselves cannot say how
they do it.
Phenomena of these sorts seem hard to explain in terms of brain processes.
The most serious attempt to do so known to me (Snyder & Mitchell, 1999)
is in fact devoid of specific neural mechanisms. Its central argument is
rather that early-stage brain processes like those subserving visual
perception, for example, must also be savant-like in terms of their speed,
precision, and informational capacity. What is unusual about savants,
therefore, might consist merely in their access to these mechanisms. This
“explanation” of course presupposes a positive answer to the fundamental
question at issue, whether the brain alone can accomplish any of these
things including ordinary perceptual synthesis itself, and in a later section I
will explain my doubts about that.
As proved long ago by mathematician John von Neumann, the only
practical way to get increased arithmetical precision out of individually
unreliable computing elements is to use more of them. This
biocomputational perspective clearly implies that calculating prodigies must
use large portions of their brains in very abnormal ways to achieve the
observed effects, but the few neuroimaging studies currently available
provide little if any support for that expectation (Corrigan, Richards,
Treffert, & Dager, 2012; Treffert, 2010). Furthermore, although the
cognitive deficits that typically accompany autistic-savant skills could
conceivably reflect such substitutions, we must remember that comparable
skills have sometimes occurred in geniuses such as the mathematicians
Gauss, Ampére, and Ramanujan, as well as von Neumann himself.
4. Memory. The previous section focused on phenomena such as highprecision calculations and prodigious memory that appear incompatible
with the physical properties of the brain considered as a kind of computing
device. Problems also arise, however, in regard to memory in its more
familiar and everyday forms.
Memory is increasingly recognized as central to all human cognitive and
perceptual functions, yet we remain largely ignorant of where and in what
forms our past experience is stored and by what means it is brought to bear
upon the present. Generations of psychologists and neurobiologists have
taken it as axiomatic that all memories must exist in the form of “traces,”
physical changes produced in the brain by experience and carried forward
more or less reliably in time, but there has been little real progress toward
scientific consensus on the details of these mechanisms despite many
decades of intensive research.
Significant progress has been made, to be sure, in regard to “learning” and
“memory” in simple creatures such as the sea-slug, and more generally in
regard to what might be called “habit memory” (Bergson, 1908/1991), the
automatic adjustments of organisms to their environments. But these
discoveries fall far short of providing satisfactory explanations of the most
central and important characteristics of the human memory system,
including in particular our supplies of general knowledge (semantic
memory) and our ability to recall voluntarily and explicitly our own past
experience (autobiographical or episodic memory). Furthermore, recent
functional neuroimaging studies, although generating vast amounts of data,
have yielded little if any progress toward a comprehensive and coherent
account of memory based on trace theory.
Meanwhile, deep conceptual problems have been identified in trace theory
itself (Braude, 2002; Bursen, 1978; IM Chapter 4). For example,
autobiographical memory clearly involves something more than mere
revival of traces of past experiences, something that allows us to interpret
what we experience now as a representation of our own past rather than a
contemporary perception, dream, or hallucination. Traces as such, that is,
provide only memory-aids rather than memories per se, and it has proven
extremely difficult to specify in conventional physicalist terms what that
extra something is, without falling into regressive forms of explanation that
presuppose and hence cannot explain the phenomenon of memory itself.
Similarly, the content of a concept or semantic memory typically transcends
any finite set of experienced circumstances that can plausibly be imagined
as having deposited corresponding “traces” in a form capable of explaining
its future deployment in an unlimited variety of novel but appropriate
contexts, including metaphorical contexts.
Most challenging of all to current mainstream views is the large body of
evidence suggesting that autobiographical, semantic, and procedural (skill)
memories sometimes survive bodily death. If this is the case, memory in
living persons presumably exists at least in part outside the brain and body
as conventionally understood. These conceptual problems regarding trace
theories of memory have deep connections with issues raised in Section 9
below, and as shown in Chapter 4 of IM, similar issues arise in relation to
allied components of current cognitive theory such as “information” and
“representation.”
5. Psychological automatisms and secondary centers of consciousness.
Phenomena catalogued under this heading involve what looks like multiple
concurrent engagement, in potentially incompatible ways, of major
cognitive skills (linguistic skills, for example) and the corresponding brain
systems. I will next explain in more detail what this means and provide
relevant examples.
Current cognitive neuroscience pictures the mind or “cognitive system” as a
hierarchically ordered network of subprocessors or “modules,” each
specialized for some particular task and corresponding (it is hoped) to some
particular brain region or regions. Leaving aside major issues regarding the
details of its specification, this picture seems broadly consistent with the
overall manner in which our minds seem ordinarily to operate. Our basic
way of consciously doing things is essentially one at a time in serial
fashion. Although psychologists recognize that with suitable training people
can do more things simultaneously than they customarily suppose, this
generalization applies mainly to relatively divergent things, and
conspicuously fails as the simultaneous tasks become more complex and
more similar.
Nevertheless, a large body of credible evidence, some dating back to the
late 19th century, demonstrates that additional “cognitive systems,”
dissociated psychological entities indistinguishable from full-fledged
conscious minds or personalities as we normally understand these terms,
can sometimes occupy the same organism—not in alternation, moreover,
but concurrently—carrying on their varied existences as it were in parallel
and largely outside the awareness of the primary, everyday consciousness.
In essence, the structure that cognitive neuroscience conventionally pictures
as unitary, as instantiated within and identified with a particular
organization of brain systems, can be functionally divided—divided,
moreover, not “side-to-side,” leading to isolation of the normal cognitive
capacities from each other, but “top-to-bottom,” leading to the appearance
of what seem to be two or more complete cognitive systems each of which
includes all of the relevant capacities. Emergent “multiple” or “alter”
personalities also can differ widely, not only in demeanor and knowledge
but even in regard to deep involuntary physiological characteristics such as
visual defects and susceptibilities to allergies. Secondary personalities are
also sometimes markedly superior to the primary personality in knowledge,
skills, and creativity, as in the cases of Victor Race, “Hélène Smith,” and
Patience Worth described in IM (pp. 447–450). More challenging still, it
sometimes happens that one of these personalities has direct access to the
conscious experience of one or more others, but not vice-versa (Braude,
1995; IM Chapter 5).
Two brief examples drawn from an enormous literature will help convey a
more concrete sense of the character of these phenomena. The first comes
from a report by Oxford philosopher F. C. S. Schiller on automatic writing
produced by his brother (Myers, 1903, Vol. 2, pp. 418–422). As is
characteristic of this genre of automatisms, the writer was typically unaware
of the content of his writing, which went on continuously while he was
fully and consciously engaged in some other activity such as reading a book
or telling a story. Of particular relevance here, however, were occasions on
which he wrote simultaneously with both hands and on completely different
subjects, one or the other of these streams of writing also sometimes taking
mirror-image form.
Second is the case of Anna Winsor, described by William James (1889) in
his report on automatic writing. This case was protracted and bizarre, and
only superficially resembles the neurological “alien hand” syndrome. Its
central feature is that the patient, Anna, at a certain point lost voluntary
control of her right arm, which was taken over by a distinctive secondary
personality. This personality, whom Anna herself named “Old Stump,” was
benign, often protecting Anna from her pronounced tendencies toward selfinjury. As in the case of Schiller’s brother, Stump typically wrote or drew
while Anna was occupied with other matters. But Stump also continued
writing and drawing even when Anna was asleep, and sometimes in total
darkness. This secondary personality also remained calm and rational
during periods when Anna was feverish and delusional, and it manifested
knowledge and skills—such as knowledge of Latin—which Anna herself
did not possess.
6. The unity of conscious experience. Under this heading I will briefly
address two interrelated problems. The first and narrower is the so-called
“binding” problem, which emerged as a consequence of the success of
contemporary neuroscientists in analyzing sensory mechanisms, particularly
in the visual system. It turns out that different properties of a visual object
such as its form, color, and motion in depth are handled individually by
largely separate regions or mechanisms within the brain. But once the
stimulus has been thus dismembered, so to speak, how does it get back
together again as a unit of visual experience?
Only one thing is certain: The unification of experience is not achieved
anatomically. There are no privileged places or structures in the brain where
everything comes together, either for the visual system itself or for the
sensory systems altogether. Some early theorists such as James and
McDougall had argued that the evident disparity between the multiplicity of
physiological processes in the brain and the felt unity of conscious
experience could only be resolved in materialist terms by anatomical
convergence, and since there is no such convergence, materialism must be
false. This argument, although ingenious, relied upon the faulty premise
that the only possible physical means of unification must be anatomical in
nature. All current neurophysiological proposals for solving the binding
problem are instead functional in nature: The essential concept common to
all of them is that oscillatory electrical activity in widely distributed neural
populations can be rapidly and reversibly synchronized, particularly in the
gamma band of EEG frequencies (roughly 30–80 Hz), thereby providing a
possible mechanistic solution.
A great deal of sophisticated experimental and theoretical work over the
past 30 years has demonstrated that such mechanisms do in fact exist in the
nervous system and that they are active in conjunction with normal
perceptual synthesis. Indeed, contemporary physicalism has crystallized
neurophysiologically in the form of a family of “global neuronal
workspace” theories, all of which make the central claim that conscious
experience occurs specifically—and only—in conjunction with large-scale
patterns of oscillatory neuroelectric activity capable of linking widelyseparated areas of the brain at frequencies extending into the gamma band
(e.g., Crick, 1994; Dehaene & Naccache, 2001; Edelman, Gally, & Baars,
2011; Engel, Fries, & Singer, 2001; Laureys & Tononi, 2009; Singer, 2007;
Varela, Lachaux, Rodriguez, & Martinerie, 2001).
The neurophysiological global workspace, however, cannot be the whole
story, because a large body of recent research on “near-death experiences”
(NDEs) demonstrates that elaborate, vivid, and life-transforming conscious
experience sometimes occurs under extreme physiological conditions—
including conditions such as deep general anesthesia, cardiac arrest, and
coma—that preclude normal workspace operation (cf. Laureys & Tononi,
2009). Moreover, the more extreme transformations of consciousness
associated with NDEs extend deep into the mystical realm, sometimes
include veridical psi elements, and more commonly occur when the
individuals are in fact physiologically closer to death (see IM Chapter 6;
Alexander, 2012; Holden, Greyson, & James, 2009; Owens, Cook [Kelly],
& Stevenson, 1990; Van Lommel, 2010, 2013).
In short, it appears that McDougall and James were right after all, albeit for
the wrong reason. In effect, I believe, recent progress in biomedical science
has provided new means for falsification of mainstream physicalist theories
of the brain/mind relation. We can expect to see many more such cases as
our technical capacity to retrieve human beings from the borderlands of
death continues to improve (Parnia, 2013).
Availability of this emerging evidence emboldens me to make some further
and more contentious remarks regarding the larger problem of ordinary
perceptual synthesis, and the direction in which things seem to me to be
moving. It is an historical fact that mainstream psychology has always
tended on the whole to try to solve its problems in minimalist fashion and
with as little reference as possible to what all of us experience every day as
central features of our conscious mental life. The early workers in
mechanical translation, for example, imagined that they could do a decent
job simply by constructing a large dictionary that would enable substitution
of words in one language for words in the other. This approach failed
miserably, and we were slowly driven, failed step by failed step, to the
recognition that truly adequate translation presupposes understanding, or in
short a full command of the capacities underlying the human use of
language.
A similar evolution is underway in perceptual theory. Following the lead of
Marr (1982), most work to date has taken a strongly “bottom-up” approach,
which views perceptual synthesis as a kind of exhaustive calculation from
the totality of input currently present at our sensory surfaces. Machine
vision and robotics, for example, necessarily took this approach, and even
in neuroscience it seemed to make sense to start with the most accessible
parts of the perceptual systems—the end organs and their peripheral
connections—and work our way inward. The great sensory systems
themselves—vision, audition, somatosensation, and so on—were also
presumed to operate more or less independently and were in fact typically
studied in isolation.
A separate tradition dating back at least to Kant and the early Gestalt
theorists, and carried forward into the modern era by psychologists such as
Ulric Neisser and Jerome Bruner, has been sensitive to the presence of “topdown” influences, both within and between sensory modalities. Although a
few perceptual subsystems (such as those that engender incorrigible visual
illusions) may be truly autonomous or “cognitively impenetrable,” these
seem to be isolated and special cases. A very different overall picture of
perceptual synthesis is currently emerging in which top-down influences
predominate. On this view perceptual synthesis is achieved not from the
input, but with its aid. This is necessarily the case for example in regard to
ambiguous figures such as the Necker cube, where the stimulus information
itself is insufficient to determine a uniquely “correct” interpretation. More
generally, we routinely ignore information that is present in the input and
supply information that is not, speed-reading providing a characteristic
example. Note here too that phenomena such as externalized eidetic images
and especially crisis apparitions (Tyrrell, 1953) sometimes partly or wholly
override current stimulus input. Something within us, a sort of cosmogenic,
world-generating, or virtual-reality system, is continuously updating and
projecting an overall model of the perceptual environment and our position
within it, guided by very selective samplings of the available information
(Simons & Chabris, 1999; Tart, 1993).
As in the case of understanding spoken or written language, an enormous
amount of general knowledge is constantly mobilized in service of this
projective activity, which freely but selectively samples the information
potentially available to it. Top-down and cross-modal sensory interactions
have recently been recognized as the rule rather than the exception in
perception, and neuroscientist Rodolfo Llinás and his co-workers have even
advanced the view, which I believe is profoundly correct, that dreaming, far
from being an odd and incidental part of our mental life, also reflects the
workings of this projective activity. Ordinary perceptual synthesis, on this
inverted view of things, amounts to oneiric (dreamlike) activity constrained
by sensory input (Llinás & Ribary, 1994). Psychoanalyst Ernest Hartmann
(1975) has proposed similar ideas in regard to hallucinatory activity more
generally, dreaming included: On his view such activity is again a
ubiquitous and fundamental feature of our mental life and the critical
question is not “why do we sometimes hallucinate?” but rather “what keeps
us from hallucinating most of the time?” The answer, he suggests, lies in
inhibitory influences exerted by the brain activity that accompanies ongoing
perceptual and cognitive functions of the ordinary waking sorts. Similar
arguments for the primacy and importance of this sort of cosmogenic
imaginative capacity have been advanced by persons as diverse as Brann
(1991), Corbin (1997), and Globus (1987).
So far so good, but where exactly is the “top,” the ultimate source of this
top-down projective activity? The mainstream scientists who have already
recognized its existence invariably presume that it arises entirely within the
brain itself, in accordance with conventional production models of the
brain/mind relation. However, evidence such as that of near-death
experiences occurring under extreme physiological conditions, and the
more direct evidence of post-mortem survival, indicates that it actually
originates outside the brain as conventionally understood, in accordance
with the alternative Myers/James “permission” or “filter” model advanced
in IM.
7. Genius-level creativity. Any scientific theory of mind and personality
truly worthy of the name surely must help us to understand this humanly
vital topic, but by this standard we have so far made distressingly little
progress. The main reason for this failure, in my opinion, is that for the
most part we have tried to understand the exceptional—real genius, in its
fullest expressions—as an amplification of the commonplace—“creativity,”
or even “talent,” as found in convenience samples of undergraduates and
the like.
Consider for example some recent work on the closely allied topic of
“intuition.” Several recent treatments by mainstream psychologists and
neuroscientists essentially ignore the vast historical literature on this subject
and seek instead to reduce it without residue to “unconscious
cerebration”—the automatic, fast, parallel, cheap, and often-reliable but
sometimes error-prone out-of-sight operations of a nervous system tuned to
its environment by factors such as genetics, learning and conditioning,
priming, and so on (Eagleman, 2011; Kahneman, 2011; D. G. Myers, 2002).
There is undoubtedly much truth in this picture, especially in the context of
everyday life and ordinary cognitive function, but it does not by any means
exhaust the subject matter. Indeed, as reviewed in Chapter 5 of IM, we’ve
had this conversation before: Specifically, at the end of the 19th century F.
W. H. Myers and William James found the unconscious cerebration doctrine
then being advanced by W. B. Carpenter, T. H. Huxley, and others
specifically unable to account for well-documented empirical phenomena
such as the highly developed secondary personalities that sometimes also
displayed paranormally acquired knowledge in the context of automatic
writing. Many social psychologists in particular appear to have forgotten
James’s counsel that postulation of unconscious mental states “is the
sovereign means for believing what one likes in psychology, and of turning
what might become a science into a tumbling-ground for whimsies” (James,
1890, vol. 1, p. 163).
The farther reaches of intuition and creativity include much more than psi
phenomena, too, as recognized clearly by more traditional authors such as
Wild (1938), who surveyed the long philosophical history of the subject and
its deep association with unusual states of consciousness and unusual forms
of cognition. Her work complements that of F.W.H. Myers and William
James, who similarly upended the modern “deflationary” approach by
consciously and deliberately focusing on extreme examples of genius that
point in the direction of the enlarged conception of human personality they
were struggling to articulate. Myers himself specifically targeted “what the
highest minds have bequeathed to us as the heritage of their highest hours”
(1903, vol. 1, p. 120). Responding to the cultural levelers of his own era, he
encapsulated the main features of his picture of genius as follows:
Genius … should rather be regarded as a power of utilizing a wider
range than other men can of faculties in some degree innate in all;- a
power of appropriating the results of subliminal mentation to subserve
the supraliminal stream of thought;- so that an “inspiration of Genius”
will be in truth a subliminal uprush, an emergence into the current of
ideas which the man is consciously manipulating of other ideas which
he has not consciously originated but which have shaped themselves
beyond his will, in profounder regions of his being. I shall urge here
that there is no real departure from normality; no abnormality, at least
in the sense of degeneration; but rather a fulfillment of the true norm
of man, with suggestions, it may be, of something supernormal;- of
something which transcends existing normality as an advanced stage
of evolutionary progress transcends an earlier stage [p. 71].
The deeper forms of subliminal uprush, moreover, are notable both for their
typically involuntary character and for their “incommensurability” with the
individual’s characteristic forms of mentation. Myers saw both of these
properties as present in germ in the case of calculating prodigies (Section
3), but he also pointed to the existence of a “mythopoeic” realm of
heightened imagination potentially available to all of us. In this he echoed
the views of Romantic poets such as Blake, Wordsworth, and especially
Coleridge, who distinguished between the imaginal and the imaginary—
between Imagination, which he regarded as a higher faculty of the mind,
and mere Fancy or fantasy (IM, pp. 454–457)—and anticipated the views of
contemporary scholars such as Brann (1991), Corbin (1997), and Globus
(1987), noted in the previous section.
All of the challenging phenomena surveyed in this chapter—including
extreme psychophysiological influence, psychological automatisms and
secondary centers of consciousness, flashes of inspiration involving unusual
forms of thinking and symbolism, prodigious memory, spontaneous psi
phenomena, and altered states of consciousness sometimes overlapping the
mystical realm—are inescapably bound up with genius in its fullest
development, but these connections go virtually unmentioned in
contemporary mainstream discussions (see IM, chapter 7).
A particularly dramatic case in point is that of the Indian mathematician
Ramanujan, rated by his distinguished British sponsor Hardy as standing
alone at 100 atop a scale of mathematical ability on which most of us lie at
or near zero, Hardy himself at 25, and the magnificent David Hilbert,
Ramanujan’s nearest rival, only at 80. Replete with demonstrations of
prodigious memory, psychological automatisms, mathematical discoveries
presented in the form of dreams, and profound and beautiful intuitions of
hidden but ultimately verifiable properties of the physical world, this
astonishing case fairly beggars the theoretical apparatus currently available
to cognitive science and could well serve as a kind of reality check and
navigational aid for this important field of study (Eysenck, 1995; Kanigel,
1991).
To put the central point of this section in more general terms, the speed,
precision, complexity, novelty, and truth-bearing character of these
“subliminal uprushes” reveal the presence within human beings of
something that radically transcends ordinary cognitive capabilities and
forms, and something moreover that is rooted more deeply than ordinary
experience in the world in which we find ourselves embedded. This leads
directly to our next topic, with which genius is profoundly connected both
psychologically and historically.
8. Mystical experience. Experiences of this type have deeply influenced
the world’s major religious traditions and civilizations, and have occurred
throughout history and across cultures. Their existence as a distinctive and
important class of psychological phenomena can scarcely be denied.
Nevertheless, they have largely been ignored by modern mainstream
science, and the few previous commentators from the viewpoints of clinical
psychology, psychiatry, and neuroscience have almost invariably sought to
devalue and pathologize them. Even when acknowledging that such
experiences are typically life-transforming and self-validating for those who
have them, the historically standard epistemological approaches in
psychology and philosophy treat them as purely subjective events having
authority only for those who experience them, and thus deny their objective
significance and the testability of the associated truth-claims.
However, a large though scattered literature testifies to the common
occurrence in such experiences, or in individuals who have them, of geniuslevel creativity, spontaneous psi-type events, and many other unusual
empirical phenomena of the sorts catalogued in this chapter (Marshall,
2011). Mystical-type states of consciousness are also now known to be at
least partially reproducible by psychedelics (“entheogens”) such as LSD
and psilocybin, and they can be induced by protracted self-discipline
involving transformative practices such as the various forms of meditation
[see chapters 10 and 12, this volume]. A more objective, informed, and
sympathetic appraisal of mystical experience thus finds within it much
additional support for an enlarged conception of human personality, and
many new opportunities for empirical research (see IM Chapter 8).
Furthermore, insofar as it may provide direct experiential access to aspects
of reality that remain hidden to us in ordinary states of consciousness, this
region of human experience appears especially germane to efforts to
identify a metaphysics more comprehensive and satisfying than that of
contemporary physicalism (Marshall, 2005).
9. The heart of the mind. In this section I will comment briefly on a
hornet’s nest of issues lying at the core of human mental life as all of us
routinely experience it, every day of our lives. These issues have been the
focus of extensive recent debates, especially in the philosophical literature,
precisely because of their resistance to understanding in conventional
physicalist terms. The issues are deep, individually complex, and densely
interconnected, and what I can say here will necessarily amount to little
more than a summary of my own opinions. The crucial point I want to
make, especially to my fellow psychologists, is this: Our a priori
commitment to conventional physicalist accounts of the mind has rendered
us systematically incapable of dealing adequately with the mind’s most
central properties. We need to rethink that commitment.
Consider first the issue of semantic content, the “meanings” of words and
other forms of representation. Throughout our history, we have tried
unsuccessfully to deal with this by “naturalizing” it, reducing it to
something else that seems potentially more tractable. An old favorite among
psychologists and philosophers, traceable at least as far back as Locke and
Hume, was the idea that representations work by resembling what they
represent, by virtue of some sort of built-in similarity or structural
isomorphism, but any hope along these lines was long ago exploded (see for
example Braude, 2002; Goodman, 1972; McClendon, 1955). The central
move subsequently made by classical cognitive psychology is essentially
the semantic counterpart of the prevailing functionalist doctrine in
philosophy of mind: Meanings are not to be conceived as intrinsic to words
or concepts, but rather as deriving from and defined by the functional role
those words or concepts play in the overall linguistic system. Similarly,
there is currently great interest in “externalist” causal accounts of meaning:
In connectionism, dynamic systems theory, and neuroscience, for example,
the “meaning” of a given observed response (such as the settling of a neural
network into one of its attractors, or the firing of a volley of spikes by a
neuron in the visual cortex) is identified with whatever in the organism’s
environment produced that response. But this simply cannot be right: How
can such an account possibly deal with abstract things, for example, or nonexistent things? Responses do not qualify ipso facto as representations, nor
signs as symbols. Something essential is being left out. That something, as
John Searle (1992) so effectively argued, is precisely what matters, the
semantic or mental content.
Closely related to this is the more general and abstract philosophical
problem of “intentionality,” the ability of representational forms to be about
things, events, and states of affairs in the world. Mainstream psychologists
and philosophers have struggled to find ways of making intentionality
intrinsic to the representations themselves, but again it just does not and
cannot work, because something essential is left out. That something is the
user of the representations. Intentionality is inherently a three-way relation
involving users, symbols, and things symbolized, and the user cannot be
eliminated. As Searle puts it in various places, the intentionality of
language is secondary and derives from the intrinsic intentionality of the
mind. Searle thus agrees in part with Brentano (1874/1995), for whom
intentionality was the primary distinguishing mark of the mental, but he
ignores the other and more fundamental part of Brentano’s thesis, which is
that intentionality cannot be obtained from any kind of physical system,
including brains (but see for example Dupuy, 2000 for an opposing point of
view).
Talk of “users” and the like raises for many contemporary psychologists
and philosophers the terrifying specter of the self as a homunculus, a little
being within who embodies all the capacities we sought to explain in the
first place. Such a result would be disastrous, because that being would
evidently need a similar though yet smaller being within itself, and so on
without end. Cognitive modelers seeking to provide strictly physicalist
accounts of mental functions must therefore do so without invoking a
homunculus, but in this they routinely fail. Often the homuncular aspect is
hidden, slipped into a model by its designers or builders by covertly
enlisting the semantic and intentional capacities of its users or observers.
Much contemporary work on computational modeling of memory,
metaphor, and semantics harbors subtle problems of this sort (see Chapters
4 and 7 of IM for examples). Sometimes, however, the homunculus is more
brazenly evident. Searle (1992) uses as an example the influential account
of vision by David Marr (1982), which applies computations to the twodimensional array of retinal input in order to generate a “description” of the
three-dimensional world that produced it, but then needs somebody else to
read and interpret that description. Another is Stephen Kosslyn’s model of
visual imagery, which essentially puts up an image on a sort of internal TV
screen, but then needs somebody else to view the image.
Particularly in its more blatant forms the homunculus has attracted the
attention of physicalist philosophers such as Daniel Dennett (1978), who
have attempted to remove its philosophic sting. Dennett’s solution is to
“discharge” the homunculus by a process of “recursive decomposition.” His
basic idea is that the “smart” homunculus appearing at the top of a model
can be replaced by progressively larger numbers of less-smart homunculi at
lower levels until we get to a vast bottom layer corresponding to the
“hardware” level of computer flip-flops or neuron firings. But as Searle
(1992) pointed out, this maneuver fails, because even at the bottom level
there has to be something outside the decomposition, a homunculus in
effect, that knows what those lowest-level operations mean.
Cognitive models cannot function without a homunculus, I believe,
precisely because they lack what we have—conscious minds, with their
capacities for semantics, intentionality, and all the rest built in. No
homunculus problem, moreover, is posed by the structure of our conscious
experience itself. The efforts of Dennett and others to claim that there is
such a problem, and to use that to ridicule any residue of dualism, rely upon
their deeply flawed metaphor of the “Cartesian theater,” a place where
mental contents get displayed and we then supposedly pop in separately to
view them. But we and our experience cannot be separated in that way.
Descartes himself, James, and Searle, among others, all have this right:
Conscious experience comes to us whole and undivided, with the
qualitative feels, phenomenal content, unity, and subjective point of view all
built-in, intrinsic features.
Finally, I wish simply to record, without argument, my own deepest
intuition as to where these issues lead. All of the great unsolved mysteries
of the mind—semantics, intentionality, volition, the self, and consciousness
—seem to me inextricably interconnected, with consciousness the supreme
mystery at the root of all. The consciousness I have in mind, however, is
emphatically not that of people such as David Chalmers (1996), irreducible
but ineffectual, consisting merely of phenomenal properties or “qualia”
arbitrarily tacked on to some sort of computational intelligence that
supposedly does all the cognitive work. Ordinary perception and action are
saturated with conceptual understanding, and conceptual understanding is
saturated with phenomenal content. Volition too has an intentionality
aspect, for one cannot just will, one must will something. And as William
James so forcibly argued at the dawn of our science, all of this perceptual,
cognitive, and volitional activity somehow emanates from a mysterious and
elusive “spiritual self,” which we often sense at the innermost subjective
pole of everyday conscious experience—the “something more” that James
himself traced in his later years into the depths of Myers’s subliminal
consciousness as revealed in mystical experience (Leary, 1990; IM chapter
8).
Consciousness, in short, far from being a passive epiphenomenon, seems to
me to play an essential role—indeed the essential role—in all of our most
basic cognitive capacities. I applaud the trenchant conclusion of
philosopher E. J. Lowe (1998, pp. 121–122), which encapsulates my own
views: “Reductive physicalism, far from being equipped to solve the socalled ‘easy’ problems of consciousness, has in fact nothing useful to say
about any aspect of consciousness.” I find it astonishing, and predict that it
will be found so as well by our intellectual descendants, that so much of
contemporary science and philosophy has sought—consciously!—to slight
or ignore these first-person realities of the mind, and sometimes even to
deny that they exist. There is perhaps no better example of the power of
pre-existing theoretical commitments to blind us to countervailing facts.
10. Quantum mechanics and its implications. It cannot be emphasized
too strongly that these unresolved explanatory problems concerning
consciousness, the heart of the mind, and all the other empirical phenomena
surveyed above have a common source in the narrow physicalist consensus
that undergirds practically everything now going on in mainstream
psychology, neuroscience, and philosophy of mind. But that consensus
itself rests upon an outdated conception of nature, deriving from Galileo,
Descartes, Newton, and Laplace, that began its career by deliberately
banishing conscious human minds from its purview! And as I will next
briefly explain, that sort of physicalism is itself incompatible with the
deepest of our current physical sciences.
William James, like Newton and Leibniz before him, clearly recognized the
impossibility of explaining consciousness and allied phenomena within the
framework of classical physics. James himself cautioned that its underlying
physical-science concepts were “provisional and revisable things,” but he
had no good alternatives in sight. As he clearly and correctly anticipated,
however, that classical conception of nature was soon to be undermined by
a tectonic shift in the foundations of physics itself—specifically, the shift
driven in particular by the rise of quantum mechanics early in the 20th
century.
The founders of quantum mechanics discovered to their horror that
applying to the subatomic world the fundamental ideas of classical physics
were not just limited but wrong, leading repeatedly to predictions that were
falsified by experiments. The theory they were ultimately driven to in
response, quantum theory, is a more fundamental physical theory that
explains everything explainable in classical terms and a host of additional
things as well, often to extraordinary levels of accuracy. No prediction
made by it has ever been experimentally falsified.
Furthermore, the rise of quantum theory demonstrates that the undeniable
experimental and practical triumphs of classical physics were not sufficient
in themselves to validate the associated physicalist ontology. It may in the
past have seemed appropriate to say, as did Burtt (1923, p. 305) just prior to
the advent of quantum theory, that “it has, no doubt, been worth several
centuries of metaphysical barbarism to possess modern science,” but the
situation now is radically different. Despite many remaining uncertainties
regarding its proper interpretation, quantum theory clearly impacts our most
fundamental ideas about the nature of reality and opens the door to radically
different overall conceptions of nature (Rosenblum & Kuttner, 2011).
Conventional physical realism has been undermined, and “matter” as
classically conceived shown not to exist. Quantum theory essentially inverts
the priority of the mental and physical aspects of nature by shifting the
focus of physics itself to regularities in the connections between
psychologically described events—i.e., conscious experiences of human
observers. Mathematical physicist Henry Stapp (2007), for example, has
proposed an interpretation in which the conscious human mind with its
powers of attention and decision-making plays a critical role in completing
the quantum dynamics. As a corollary, the classical doctrine of causal
closure or completeness of the physical, which underwrites contemporary
physicalist denials of free will, collapses. It also appears likely that many of
the “rogue” empirical phenomena cited above, from stigmata and hypnotic
blisters to psi phenomena and even post-mortem survival, are potentially
accommodated within broader conceptual frameworks of this sort.
Where Is This All Headed? The empirical challenges systematically
marshaled in IM and sketched above seem to me sufficient in themselves to
compel, and to some extent foreshadow, a radical reworking of
conventional production models of brain/mind relations along the
alternative lines envisioned by Myers and James, among numerous others.
But it is also vital to recognize that a scientific psychology enlarged in these
ways will likely prove not less but more compatible than current
mainstream doctrine both with everyday human experience and with our
most fundamental physical science!
In effect we have taken a hundred-year detour. Myers and James were
scarcely in their graves when their fledging “transmission” or “permission”
or “filter” theory of the brain/mind relation was pushed aside by the
aggressive rise of behaviorism and psychoanalysis. Although
psychoanalysis has subsequently faded (in the U.S. at least), behaviorism
maintained its original hegemony within academic psychology well into the
1960s, and it has perpetuated itself since then by evolving into more
sophisticated forms, in particular the “Computational Theory of the Mind”
(CTM) in its main variants—classical cognitivism, connectionism, and
most recently dynamic systems theory—which have now become deeply
allied with developments in neuroscience under the umbrella of the thriving
academic industry known as “cognitive neuroscience.”
I believe we have come full cycle since Myers and James, to the
corresponding point at a higher turn of an evolutionary spiral. This centurylong detour was painful but also historically necessary, because the
mainstream physicalist approach to psychology that arose in the late 19th
century, self-consciously seeking to emulate the astonishing triumphs of
classical physics, had to exhaust its resources and expose its own intrinsic
limitations before anything else could realistically hope to take its place.
That first century has also undeniably produced many genuinely positive
developments including the contemporary explosion of knowledge in
neuroscience and neuropsychology and associated technical contributions
such as the rapidly evolving methods for functional neuroimaging and
indeed the whole diversified apparatus of modern statistics-based
experimental science.
Conventional production models of the brain/mind relation and the
associated metaphysics of classical physicalism are inadequate and must be
rejected, but what should take their place? Here I wish to offer in general
terms some fairly radical personal opinions. Many parapsychologists will
no doubt regard these as excessively radical, but I share with philosopher
Thomas Nagel (2012) the strong sense that the failure of physicalism to
explain the brain/mind relation generally (let alone the various supernormal
phenomena catalogued above) casts a shadow retrospectively on other,
intertwined aspects of the received physicalist conception of reality, and
that to remedy this situation will require some kind of major conceptual
revolution.
Let us begin from the theoretical situation in parapsychology itself.
Everybody agrees that we need good theories of psi, and accounts can be
found elsewhere in this book of many previous attempts to provide them. I
do not wish to demean these efforts, but my own driving intuition is that
theories or conceptual frameworks capable of accommodating more
extreme phenomena, for example precognition and macro–PK in the arena
of psi (Braude, 1995), will in general accommodate simpler or lesser ones
of related type. I also believe that this principle should be applied more
widely, and thus, rather than starting with a theory or conceptual framework
that deals with psi phenomena alone, or perhaps even some subset of these,
I think it makes sense to look from the beginning for some more
comprehensive framework that can potentially accommodate not only the
full range of psi phenomena but other related things as well, including in
particular mystical experiences and higher states of consciousness (see
Marshall, 2005, 2011), along with the unexplained phenomena at the heart
of the mind that so trouble Nagel and other contemporary philosophers.
What we are groping toward here is a correct or at least useful abduction in
the sense of the American logician and philosopher Charles Sanders Peirce
—in effect, an educated guess as to how reality as a whole must be
structured in order that the targeted phenomena can occur. In a theoryoriented follow-up book to IM (Kelly, Crabtree, & Marshall, 2015) we have
reviewed a variety of past and present abductive efforts of this sort, all
starting from a synoptic empiricism that specifically includes “rogue”
phenomena of the sorts described above, and on that basis I believe we can
glimpse at least roughly what that overall constitution must be like—
specifically, a panpsychist pluralist or panentheist metaphysics of the sort
William James was attempting to articulate in his most mature
philosophical work (James, 1909/1971). As James fully understood, the
underlying issue here is not whether we will have metaphysics, because we
inevitably will, but whether we will have good metaphysics or bad.
For details of that theoretical exercise I must refer readers to our new book
itself, but in closing I wish to say just a little bit more about its implications
for research. To expand upon views expressed previously (Kelly & Locke,
1981/2009; Cardeña & Winkelman, 2011), it now seems to me that further
research on mystical experience, and on the known means of facilitating it
—in particular, deep meditation and the major psychedelics—is of the
highest priority, scientifically speaking, affording numerous opportunities
for ground-breaking research with potentially profound implications for
human development and the effective use of human potentials. Work of that
sort can certainly be conducted without prior commitment to the sort of
metaphysics indicated here, and it also is likely in my opinion to bring with
it, as a corollary, stronger sources of psi for future experimental
investigations.
Note
1. I wish to thank Rowman & Littlefield for permission to use material from
Beyond physicalism (Kelly, Crabtree, & Marshall, 2015) in preparing this
chapter.
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OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 3
The Case Against Psi
DOUGLAS M. STOKES
In this chapter, I will argue that the experimental evidence for psi
phenomena amassed by parapsychologists strongly supports the conclusion
that psi phenomena (such as telepathy, clairvoyance, precognition, and
psychokinesis) do not exist. At the very least, their existence has not been
experimentally demonstrated. The existing body of evidence does not
conform to the pattern that would be expected if psi exists and is susceptible
to experimental study, but it does conform to the pattern that would be
expected if a small minority of psi researchers has engaged in fraud. I have
reached this conclusion reluctantly after four decades of involvement in the
field of parapsychology. Of necessity, this chapter will recount my personal
journey in confronting this question. Over the past few years, I have moved
from a position of agnosticism regarding the existence of psi to one of fullfledged atheism (or should I say “a-psi-ism?”). At the very least I have
retreated to the psi equivalent of radical Unitarianism.
For more than 20 years, I reviewed the published proceedings of the
Parapsychological Association for the Journal of Parapsychology, at the
request of the Editor, stopping only when the Research in Parapsychology
series ceased publication. In those reviews and other publications (e.g.,
Stokes, 1997b, 2007), I have presented critiques of the experimental
methodologies used by many parapsychologists. However, my conclusion
that the body of experimental findings points to the nonexistence of psi is
not based on methodology flaws but on much wider grounds.
Spontaneous Psi
Before addressing the experimental evidence, I will first consider the
evidence for psi provided by spontaneously occurring events in the “real
world.” Consider the following seemingly precognitive dream, taken from
Louisa Rhine’s collection. It was provided to Rhine by the district manager
of a sheet and tin plate company. The experience occurred shortly before he
and several business associates were to return home from a two-week
vacation in the wilderness, where they had been cut off from all news
sources:
The night before they were to return home, the district manager had a
dream, so clear, so vivid, he could not sleep afterward. In it, he writes,
“one of our locomotive cranes that was unloading a car of scrap iron,
together with the car, was on the track near the bank of a river
alongside the water tower which served the locomotives. For some
unaccountable reason, as the huge magnet swung around with a heavy
load of scrap, it suddenly toppled over the river bank. The operator,
whom I called by name, jumped clear of the crane and landed below it
as it came bounding, tumbling and bouncing down the river bank, and
he finally disappeared from view as the crane came to rest twenty feet
below at the water’s edge. I particularly noted the number of the crane
and the number and positions of the railroad cars, and was able to tell
how the crane operator was dressed. Furthermore, I noticed the
approximate damage done to the crane. I did not know, however, what
had finally happened to the operator. He had disappeared under or
behind the crane after it had come to rest. In other words, I was
observing the accident from somewhere in or across the river.
Upon my return to the mill the following day, the first man I met was
the master mechanic. He told me to come with him to inspect the crane
of my dream, to talk with the operator who had emerged from the
accident without a scratch. The operator explained his lack of injury by
the fact that the crane had fallen over in front of him as he made his
last jump and as it made its last bounce. The record showed the
smallest detail to be as I had dreamed it, with one exception. The
exception was that the accident had happened two hours after the
dream” [Rhine, 1961, pp. 43–44].
There are a number of problems with accepting this dream at face value.
The manager may have embellished the dream. His memory may be
unreliable and perhaps the dream occurred after he learned about the falling
crane. He may be constantly worrying about such accidents and may have
similar dreams on most nights. He may have subconsciously been aware
that the crane operator was sinking into alcoholism. He may have fabricated
the whole incident.
To address such concerns, many parapsychologists have chosen to use
experimental methodology to study psi processes so that one can be sure of
the order of events, that the psi experience is not due to the unconscious
processing of sensory information, that the event is not merely a
coincidence (as the probability may be computed), and that the event has
not been fabricated out of whole cloth (unless the experimenter has engaged
in fraud, as discussed in more detail below).
There is a cost associated with the experimental approach. Without
spontaneous case investigations parapsychologists would be unaware of the
evidence suggesting that dream experiences tend to be precognitive in
nature, whereas waking intuitions generally involve events occurring at the
same time (Stokes, 1997a). Many spontaneous cases involve macroscopic
physical effects, such as portraits falling and clocks stopping at the time of a
person’s death. Such effects are not generally amenable to experimental
study and involve primal emotions and events such as those associated with
death or severe injury that are not easily reproduced in an experimental
study and would likely be banned as unethical by contemporary ethical
review panels. For a review of such spontaneous phenomena and research
based on them, the reader is referred to my previous works (Stokes, 1997a,
1997b, 2007, and 2014), as well as to other chapters in this Handbook.
Many parapsychologists contend that spontaneous cases may be explained
by normal processes such as those discussed above. In my opinion this
dismissal of the evidence from spontaneous cases may be a bit cavalier,
especially in light of the weakness of the experimental evidence as
discussed below. I myself continue to work in the area of the survival
problem, which often involves apparent cases of spontaneous psi (for a
progress report, see Stokes, 2014). This is the reverse of the typical pattern
for a parapsychologist, which is to abandon the survival problem for the
apparently more tractable field of experimental psi research.
A Priori Skepticism
Many skeptics reject psi based on the fact that psi phenomena are
inconsistent with the findings of modern science. It is indeed difficult to
explain causal signals that seem to travel backward in time (as in
precognition and retroactive psychokinesis) as well as apparent instances of
telepathy between people separated by great distances.
Some skeptics who reject psi phenomena out of hand are seemingly mired
in the classical, deterministic Newtonian billiard ball physics they learned
in high school. The non-physicists among them do not seem to be aware of
the implications of quantum mechanics, despite the fact that the basic
theory of quantum mechanics was developed in the first half of the last
century. Quantum theory paints a picture of the universe in which
seemingly isolated events are connected in a nonlocal manner. This
universe would appear to be much friendlier to psi phenomena than is the
billiard ball world of Newtonian mechanics. However, these nonlocal
interconnections between separated physical systems cannot be used to
transmit a psi signal between them, as the two observers will see only a
sequence of random, albeit pair-wise correlated, events. The only way to
send a signal would be if the sender could psychokinetically impose a
pattern of outcomes on these random events. But this would be using psi to
explain psi. It is thus extremely difficult to explain psi phenomena on the
basis of currently accepted scientific theories. This is a legitimate basis for
skepticism regarding the existence of psi, but not for the a priori dismissal
of psi as impossible. In fact, this very difficulty is precisely the allure of psi
phenomena.
The theory of quantum mechanics is inconsistent with Einstein’s theory of
relativity. Attempts to unify the two have failed. Thus, the picture of the
universe painted by currently accepted theories of physics is an inconsistent
and perhaps even contradictory one. Is the physical world screaming at us
that it does not exist? Psi phenomena may point the way to extending our
understanding of the universe to encompass mind and consciousness as well
as matter. That is why they are so important (if they exist). If psi exists, the
world would be a far more interesting place than it appears to be based on
the outdated Newtonian physics subscribed to by most a priori skeptics.
I remember my graduate advisor at the University of Michigan asking me
why, granting that psi phenomena exist, they would be of any importance,
given the slight signal-to-noise ratio of the psi process. This reflects the fact
that he was an experimental psychologist focused on understanding
psychological processes in general, whereas I had evolved (or possibly
devolved) into an ontologist (one who is concerned with the very nature of
reality).
No satisfactory, well-tested theory of psi has been developed, although
many have been proposed (see Stokes, 1987). Of course, it is next to
impossible to refine any theory about phenomena that are not stable or
replicable. If psi phenomena do not exist, it would of course be a pointless
exercise to develop a theory about their operation.
Methodological Flaws
Some critics ascribe the experimental evidence for psi to methodological
flaws committed by parapsychological researchers, leading to the witticism
that ESP stands for “error some place.” In general, parapsychologists have
tightened up their methodology over the four decades I have been involved
in the field. However, studies with egregious methodological flaws continue
to be reported. Most remote-viewing studies are based on procedures that
provide sensory cues as to the correct target to supposedly masked judges as
well as the nonrandom selection and construction of targets (see Stokes,
1997b, 2007 for the details). Papers are even now being published on ESP
tests in which the participant pulls numbered balls out of a bag, sometimes
at home and without supervision (Storm, Ertel, & Rock, 2013). Space
restrictions prohibit a detailed analysis of methodological flaws in this
chapter.
Many meta-analyses have found no evidence for a positive relation between
methodological flaws and the size of reported psi effects. This is true of the
meta-analysis of experimental studies of forced-choice ESP experiments
reported by Storm, Tressoldi, and Di Risio (2012), which we will use as an
example in the discussions below. Of course, people who report fraudulent
results may also report more perfect methodology than was actually used
(assuming that the experiment was even conducted).
In the following analysis, we will make the conservative assumption (from
the skeptical point of view) that all parapsychological experiments have
been conducted with perfect methodology. Even under this assumption, the
existing evidence for psi most strongly supports the hypothesis that psi
phenomena do not exist, as will be shown below [but see chapter 15, this
volume].
Experimenter Fraud
There is always the possibility that the experimenters themselves might
engage in fraud. A major scandal in parapsychology in 1974 involved
Walter J. Levy, Jr., a young medical school graduate. Levy had recently
been appointed as Director of J. B. Rhine’s Institute for Parapsychology,
and many people regarded him as Rhine’s heir-apparent.
When I joined Rhine’s research staff in 1974 shortly after completing my
own doctorate in experimental psychology, one of the primary things that
lured me to the lab was Levy’s active and hugely successful program in
investigating the psi powers of animals, including the precognitive abilities
of jirds (a fancy name for what are essentially gerbils) and the
psychokinetic powers of rats and chicken embryos. The hapless little jirds
had to use their ESP to avoid getting zapped by an electrical shock by
moving to the part of their cage or exercise wheel that would not be
shocked. The chicken embryos (still of course encased in their eggs) had to
use their PK powers to get a random event generator (REG) to turn on a
light to warm them up in lieu of a hen. The rats had to use their PK to
convince an REG to send them a jolt in the pleasure center of their brains.
The rat experiment proved to be Levy’s undoing. I recall one night when he
showed me a live data feed indicating that a rat was getting about 25 jolts to
his pleasure center in a row. This was most remarkable, as the rat should
have been getting a joy burst on only about half the trials by chance. Levy
asked me what I thought, and I told him he should check to see if his
equipment was functioning properly. Unfortunately, he had already taken
this hint a little too much to heart as we shall see.
Levy used to take the laboratory staff out to lunch and excitedly read us
passages about the fraudulent cancer research of William Summerlin, which
was big news in the pages of Science and Nature at the time. At one such
lunch, I asked the research team whether they could rule out the possibility
that one member of the research team might be doing something to fake all
the spectacular results they were getting. I never suspected Jay Levy
himself, as he seemed to work too hard. Having newly arrived in Durham, I
was Levy’s roommate for a period while I searched for my own apartment.
He worked day and night. He read constantly. It is still not clear to me why
a person engaged in fraudulent activity would put in such long hours at it. If
I were to perpetrate a fraud myself, I would surely get home soon after 5:00
p.m. Levy was energetic, charismatic, and a strong leader. Sadly, based on
my reading of the literature over the past four decades, these traits are
characteristic of many fraudulent researchers in mainstream science who
have been exposed over the years. It is easy to be fooled by such persons.
Three researchers on Levy’s team (Jim Kennedy, Jim Davis, and Jerry
Levin) noticed him frequently puttering around the equipment when
experiments were in progress and there would normally be no reason to
interact with the experimental apparatus. To see if he were up to some
monkey business, they secretly wired up the computer to make a duplicate
record of the output of the REG. This second record showed the output of
the REG to be perfectly random, while Levy’s official record showed that
the rat was getting jolt after jolt to his pleasure center and obtaining truly
prodigious PK scores in the process. It transpired that Levy was
disconnecting the wire that recorded the trials on which the rat was
unsuccessful and shorting it out on the side of the computer for brief
periods of time, thus making it seem as though the rat was achieving
remarkable PK success. Doug Richards, another researcher at the Institute,
told me that he should have known something was wrong with the chicken
embryo experiments when the eggs continued to get good scores even
though they were quite malodorous (that is, the embryos had long since
died). Confronted with the evidence of his crimes, Levy was forced to
resign as Director of Rhine’s Institute and returned to the practice of
medicine (see Rhine, 1974, 1975 for a discussion of the Levy case). Shortly
after the discovery of Levy’s fraud, Helmut Schmidt (one of the primary
pioneers of psi research using REGs) came into my office for a brief
conversation about the Levy affair. “How could he [Levy] be so stupid?” he
asked me. I found Helmut’s choice of questions to be an intriguing one,
which is why I have remembered it to this day.
Experimental studies of telepathy by S. G. Soal (Soal & Bateman, 1954),
long regarded as among the studies providing the most impressive evidence
for ESP, have been demonstrated through statistical analyses by Scott and
Haskell (1974) and a computer analysis of Soal’s target series by Markwick
(1978) to be due to a crude form of fraudulent alteration of the experimental
data by Soal.
I was tasked with presenting the Scott and Haskell study to a lunchtime
gathering of Rhine’s research group. I remember J. B. Rhine rising at the
end of my presentation and saying that he had long suspected that Soal’s
research was fraudulent. Someone later suggested that Rhine’s reaction may
have reflected lingering animosity toward Soal, triggered by Soal’s initial
inability to replicate Rhine’s card-guessing experiments and his early
skeptical criticisms of Rhine’s work (see Hyman, 1986).
In my second book, I came to the following conclusion regarding
experimenter fraud in parapsychology:
In view of the fact that most investigators are not able to obtain
reliable and replicable experimental evidence for psi, the possibility
that the most striking evidence for psi is due to experimenter fraud
should not be completely discounted. If such is the case,
parapsychology would stand head and shoulders above the typical run-
of-the-mill case of experimenter fraud in terms of the large number of
investigators and studies involved. It would be fraud on a scale that is
unprecedented in the history of science [Stokes, 2007, p. 80].
Sadly in the past two years, it has been discovered that fraud is rampant
even in orthodox scientific fields. My newfound skepticism regarding the
existence of psi is not based on any new concrete evidence for fraud among
parapsychologists, but rather on a general lowering of my respect for all
scientists, especially in terms of their honesty and desire to seek out the
truth, regardless of its impact on the scientist’s curriculum vitae. The level
of experimenter mendacity needed to explain the experimental evidence for
psi pales in comparison to the skullduggery being perpetrated on a daily
basis by psychologists and medical researchers. There is no shortage of
fraudulent experimenters in today’s world. To paraphrase Special Agent
Mulder, the fraud is out there.
For instance, a news item in Science (Anonymous, 2013) reports the results
of an analysis of scientific misconduct in biomedicine by John Krueger of
the federal Office of Research Integrity. His analysis indicates that the
number of published retractions in biomedicine have climbed from 254 in
2011 to 348 in 2012. The percentage of biomedical publications that are
retractions has steadily climbed from 0.5 percent in 1996 to 4.5 percent in
2012. Fang and Casadevall (2013) note that there has been a ten-fold
increase in the retraction rate in the life sciences over the past two decades
and that most such retractions are the result of uncovered fraud. It should
also be noted that these retractions represent only exposed fraud. If one
assumes that only half of fraudulent experimenters are actually caught, then
the rate of fraud in biomedical search would be 9 percent based on
Krueger’s analysis. This fraud does not come without costs. In one such
case involving medical research on beta-blockers, the cost is estimated as
800,000 lives lost (Vogel, 2014). The chief harm caused by most fraudulent
parapsychological research is to lure young experimenters away from
promising lines of research into parapsychological careers that will be futile
and heavily punished by the academic community. However, fraudulent
parapsychological research could also kill large numbers of people (such as
those who forgo mainstream treatments based on reported research on
psychic surgery, psychic healing, the power of prayer, etc.).
In an anonymous survey of over 2,000 psychologists, John, Loewenstein,
and Prelec (2012) found that approximately 10 percent of research
psychologists have introduced false data into the scientific record and that a
majority of research psychologists have engaged in questionable practices
such as selective reporting, not reporting all dependent measures, deciding
whether to collect more data after determining whether the results were
significant, reporting unexpected findings as having been predicted, and
excluding data on a post hoc basis. The authors conclude that the results of
their survey may explain why there are so many failures to replicate
psychological studies. It also would explain the decline effect, in which the
effect sizes decrease with subsequent attempts at replication, which is also a
pattern seen in parapsychology.
Pashler and Harris (2012) argue that use of the traditional 0.05 level of
statistical significance as the criterion for the admission of a research
finding into the academic literature will result in a majority of the published
findings being false, once false positives are taken into account.
Simulations by Simmons, Nelson, and Simonsohn (2011) suggest that given
typical practices, 60 percent of the findings in psychological journals
represent false positives. Ioannidis (2012) estimates that 56 percent of
published findings in psychology are false positives that go unchallenged,
as few replication studies are reported in psychology, due to publication
biases against them. He estimates that 95 percent of the published findings
are fallacies, based on these biases.
Parapsychology’s record seems no worse than this. However, there are
generally only a handful of parapsychologists who regularly obtain
significant effects, which is cause for concern. This pattern is called the
“experimenter effect” in parapsychology and is often attributed to the
experimenter’s own psi influences on the results or to the effect of the
experimenter’s personality on the performance of volunteers. Of course, a
more parsimonious interpretation is that psi-conducive experimenters are
those willing to engage in fraud and/or data selection
One method of minimizing the possibility of experimenter fraud, which was
endorsed by J. B. Rhine, is to run experiments in such a way that the
integrity of the procedures and data is under the control of several
observers. Experiments can (and have been) designed in such a way that no
one member of an investigating team could fraudulently generate a
significant result. In such experiments, a determined skeptic would have to
postulate a conspiracy among all the members of the investigating team,
which is of course much less plausible than the allegation of fraud against a
single person.
Some experiments along this line have been reported (e.g., Schmidt, Morris,
& Rudolph, 1986). In light of the vast number of researchers in the general
scientific community that appear to be willing to engage in fraud and other
questionable practices, it is important to ensure the integrity of the data and
adherence to the described experimental procedure. This might be achieved
by having multiple parties observe the experiment and receive the primary
data through secure and separate data streams, as J. B. Rhine suggested.
The Effects of Fraud and Data Selection in Psi Research
What pattern of results might we expect if there is no psi but a substantial
number of psi researchers are frauds or are guilty of data selection?
Suppose that experimenters may be classified into three types.
The first category comprises “frauds.” We will assume that frauds typically
report a z-score of 2.58, a psi-hitting rate that will be just significant at the
0.01 level under a two-tailed test (a cheater would not want to get too
fancy). This is likely a conservative assumption.
The second category of investigators comprises “filers.” Filers do not
fabricate results, but only publish experiments that are significant at the
one-tailed 0.05 level. This may reflect a combination of the filers’ decisions
not to submit their own nonsignificant studies and journal editors’ rejection
of such papers. In the absence of psi, the median z-score reported by filers
would be 1.96 (the median score in the upper 5 percent of the distribution in
the absence of psi, which is also happens to be the z-score for a two-tailed
0.05 level test).
The third category of investigators comprises non-filers, who publish all
their findings without regard to significance. In the absence of psi, the
median score reported by non-filers would be expected to be zero.
Suppose that 100 experiments are conducted, four by frauds (4 percent), 80
by filers, and the remaining 16 by non-filers. The mean z-score for the four
fraudulent experimenters will be 2.58. The 80 filers would be expected to
report only 5 percent, or four, of their studies. The typical z-score for these
four studies is expected to be 1.96. The remaining 76 studies by filers
would not be published. The 16 non-filers will report typical z-score of 0
(remember, we are assuming psi does not exist). Thus, only 24 of the 100
conducted studies would be published and the mean z-score for these
studies would be expected to be around 0.757. When combined, the
Stouffer z-score for the 24 published experiments would be 3.707, which is
highly significant. This, however, is not evidence of psi, as the above
estimates are based on the assumption that psi does not exist.
Parapsychologists often compute the size of the “file drawer” or the number
of nonsignificant and unreported studies that would be needed to reduce the
overall significance levels to nonsignificance (i.e., to a Stouffer z-score
below 1.645). Most often, this is computed using the method developed by
Robert Rosenthal (1976), probably for ease of computation. Rosenthal’s
method is based on the assumption that the unreported studies have an
average z-score of 0. However, this assumption is not met if the “filers”
selectively publish only those findings that are significant at the one-tailed
0.05 level. This would result in a median z-score of -0.063 rather than 0 for
the unpublished studies. Thus, Rosenthal’s estimate is an overestimate of
the size of the file-drawer required to explain the results of psi experiments.
For the present example, the Rosenthal’s file-drawer estimate is 98
unpublished studies, whereas the actual number of unpublished studies is 76
[see chapter 15].
In their meta-analysis of forced-choice ESP experiments, Storm, Tressoldi,
and Di Risio (2012) reported an average z-score of 0.570. This is typical of
the small average psi effects found in statistical meta-analyses. Please note
that this falls below the estimated average z-score of 0.757 in the above
example (which assumes that psi does not exist). Storm et al. report a mean
effect size per trial of 0.01 standard deviations. This is equivalent to a hit
rate of 50.5 percent in guessing an electric coin toss.
Statistical significance is an estimate of the probability that an effect of the
given size would arise by chance. This is equivalent to the assumption that
all the experimenters are non-filers who are honest and publish all of their
studies. If frauds and filers lurk among the experimenters, then all bets are
off. A non-zero effect size would be expected in the absence of psi if there
are frauds and filers among the researchers. Such non-zero effect sizes will
reach higher and higher significance levels as the number of published
studies increases. Traditional significance tests are irrelevant if there are
scoundrels in the pot.
In this context, it should be noted that more orthodox areas of research such
as psychology and medical research suffer from exactly the same problems
of fraud and selective publication as does parapsychology. In fact, my
analysis above has been largely based on reports in these two fields and is
thus applicable to these fields as well.
As a means of addressing the file drawer problem, Bösch (2004) suggested
that psi experiments be preregistered before the data collection process.
Kennedy (2011) proposes that parapsychology adopt the standard used in
the pharmaceutical industry and that research protocols be developed and
registered and calculations of statistical power (the ability to detect an effect
of the predicted size) be performed prior to the data collection process.
Caroline Watt (2013) has just established such a preregistry of
parapsychological experiments, which should prove very helpful in
addressing the issue of underreporting of nonsignificant studies.
However, such preregistration does not address the problem of fraudulent
experimenters. Preregistration could be “gamed” through registration on
multiple sites. Also a semi-fraudulent researcher might run “practice
studies” to perfect the experiment (i.e., until significant results are obtained)
and only then “preregister” the experiment and report the results on a timedelayed basis. Such experimenters might even convince themselves that
they are engaging in only a “white lie” so that their magnificent evidence
may be published and taken seriously.
Given the recent avalanche of exposed fraud in mainstream biological and
psychological science, there is no doubt that parapsychologists will be
increasingly scrutinized for possible fraud, even if fraud has not been
explicitly exposed. Thus, parapsychologists would do well to adopt some of
the fraud-resistant procedures discussed above (e.g. multiple observers and
records, and independent and publically-verifiable data streams).
The Repeatability Problem
One of the reasons why parapsychology has not been embraced by the
scientific establishment is that many or most researchers have been unable
to obtain reliable evidence of psi. In the critic’s mind, this raises the
suspicion that the evidence for psi may be due to undetected
methodological errors, data selection, or possibly even fraud on the part of
the experimenters. Parapsychologists have been quick to point out that
many naturally occurring phenomena, such as ball lightning and meteorite
landings, are not reproducible on demand but are nonetheless real.
Interestingly, both ball lightning and meteorites were initially disputed by
many scientists in much the same way as current scientists reject psi
phenomena.
What Pattern of Results Would Be Expected If Psi Does Not Exist?
If psi does not exist, one would expect to see a series of fraudulent
experimenters entering the field one by one. These individuals would be
expected to exhibit the charisma, charm, narcissism, and ethical standards
typical of psychopaths (Dutton, 2012). They would claim to have
discovered marvelous experimental evidence of psi. To enhance the
perceived originality of their research (as well as to dismiss the prior body
of experimental psi research), they might be expected to coin a new term
for psi, which they would then lay claim to as its discoverer.
Nonfraudulent experimenters might then abandon lines of psi research that
seem to have dried up to the point of sterility and jump on the new
bandwagon in the hope of obtaining a significant result. As they do, the size
effects in the new paradigm would be expected to decline, as more and
more researchers would report an inability to replicate the new psi effect.
On the other hand, the statistical significance level in the meta-analysis
might be expected to increase as the sample size grows larger and larger.
However, this would reflect the continuing presence of frauds and filers in
the sample of experimenters rather than the existence of psi.
The cycle would renew when another fraudulent researcher bursts upon the
scene, setting in motion another growing snowball of wasted effort and
time. If this is true, parapsychology’s heroes may be in fact its primary
villains. However, even in this analysis most parapsychologists are assumed
to be basically honest, and I think they are. However, contra Donny
Osmond, “one bad apple do spoil the whole bunch, girl.”
What Pattern of Results Would Be Expected If Psi Does Exist?
What would be expected if psi does exist and could be manifested under
conditions of experimental control? I for one would have expected that
during the contagious public “ESP fever” that followed the publication of
Rhine’s card-guessing results at Duke University, many more high-scoring
individuals would have been discovered among the public. (My own sixth
grade teacher tested me with Zener cards, long before I had heard of
Rhine’s results). The silence from the general public on this issue is
deafening. Similarly, I would have expected that efforts to boost scoring
rates by selecting participants and experimental conditions that are psifavorable would have eventually led to the discovery of a psi effect that is
replicable by the vast majority of qualified, independent investigators. This
has not occurred.
Does Psi Exist?
To me, this question is a no-brainer. The pattern of experimental results is
exactly what would be expected if there is no psi and quite different from
the pattern that would be expected if psi exists. Fraud at rates known to
occur in other disciplines is a much more parsimonious explanation of the
data than is the postulation of mysterious and inexplicable psi powers.
The only rational conclusion is that psi does not exist. However, at times I
wonder if I am really rational
Could the Existence of Psi Be Established?
The answer is yes. New studies of spontaneous psi are needed. Collections
of such cases can provide clues as to how psi operates, as suggested by
Louisa Rhine. The usual counterexplanations of such cases, including fraud,
false memory, and sensory cues, might be addressed through the thorough
investigation of such cases, including interviewing witnesses. Striking,
well-attested cases might further the acceptance of psi. Long forgotten
phenomena, such as psi-trailing in animals (see Rhine & Feather, 1962)
could be reinvestigated. Such reinvestigation would be facilitated by the
Internet. Experimentally, the existence of psi could be established through
experiments that are free from methodological errors and that could be
repeated by the vast majority of competent scientists.
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OceanofPDF.com
Part Two: Research Methods and Statistical
Approaches
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 4
Experimental Methods in Anomalous Cognition and
Anomalous Perturbation Research1
JOHN PALMER
The purpose of this chapter is to introduce the wide variety of methods
parapsychologists have developed over the years for testing anomalous
cognition (AC) and anomalous perturbation (AP) in controlled laboratory
situations, and to serve as an introductory guide to those who may wish to
attempt such tests themselves. To choose intelligently which method to use
in a particular experiment, it is first necessary to specify as clearly as
possible the objectives of the research. Then it is necessary to determine
what characteristics the test must have to meet these objectives and, finally,
which available procedure includes the greatest number of these
characteristics.
The chapter is restricted to methods for testing psi, the dependent variable
in most psi experiments. However, much modern psi research is aimed at
understanding how psi works by manipulating test conditions or exploring
the relation of psi scores to scores on personality tests or rating scales. The
additional methodological principles needed for such studies are generally
the same as those employed in mainstream psychology experiments and
will not be covered here.
Anomalous Cognition
Illustration: A Card Guessing Test
A simple example that illustrates many of the basic principles of an AC test
is card guessing. As we will see later, the following example is not state-ofthe-art methodology, but it will suffice for present purposes. Take a deck of
ordinary playing cards, shuffle it thoroughly, and place it face down on the
table in front of you. Write down on a sheet of paper your guess as to the
suit of the top card. Then remove the card from the deck, turn it over, and
record its suit next to your guess for that card. Repeat this for the remaining
51 cards. The cards are called targets and your guesses are called responses.
The 52 guessing events are called trials, and trials completed successively
without a break are called a run. Thus, you completed one run. Next, count
up the number of times your guess was correct. These correct guesses are
called hits.
The question you want to answer is whether you got enough hits to provide
evidence of AC. To answer this question, we must apply statistics. This
topic will be addressed in detail in chapter 7 in this volume, but it is
appropriate to review some of the basics here. First, we must specify the
number of hits you are likely to get by chance, which is called mean chance
expectation or MCE, defined as the number of trials divided by the number
of target alternatives, which in this case is four (the four suits). Thus MCE
is 52/4, or 13. Note that MCE is only the mean (or average) number of hits
you would obtain by chance if you completed a very large number of runs.
On any given run, you are likely to get slightly more or slightly fewer than
the 13 chance hits assuming no AC. An estimate of how much, on average,
the number of chance hits is likely to deviate from MCE is reflected by the
standard deviation.
The question now becomes how likely is it that the number of hits you
actually obtained, compared to MCE, can be attributed to chance.
Following a somewhat arbitrary convention adopted by psychologists, we
reject the chance or null hypothesis if the probability of your score being as
far away from MCE as it was is less than one in 20, or .05. This is often
expressed as p < .05. In our example, if you scored 20 hits or more, we
would conclude (based on appropriate statistical analysis) that you had
obtained a significant score and demonstrated AC. This is because a score
that high will occur less than one in 20 times by chance. It of course is also
possible to get fewer than 13 hits. This will occur by chance a little less
than half the time, but if the score is low enough (in our example, 6 or less)
we would attribute it to AC operating in a negative direction, somehow
causing you to consistently avoid the target. This form of AC, called psimissing, occurs rather frequently.
If we have theoretical or empirical reasons to predict in advance the
direction of scoring, we would be entitled to apply a so-called one-tailed
statistical test, which doubles the probability of statistical significance if the
results are in the predicted direction. Ideally, one should only use a onetailed test when one is willing to ignore a significant outcome in the
“wrong” direction, but there is some disagreement among parapsychologists
(and statisticians) about how strictly this rule should be applied.
Eliminating Alternative Interpretations
Actually, it would be premature to conclude that a score of 20 or higher (or
six or lower) on our card test means that you have demonstrated AC. A
statistically significant score only indicates that the score probably cannot
be entirely attributed to chance. We must be able to rule out other
reasonable alternative interpretations of the extra-chance scoring before
concluding that AC has been demonstrated.
Sensory cues. The most common alternative interpretation of AC results is
sensory cues. We must be sure that participants have no sensory contact
with the targets, or with persons having knowledge of the targets or target
order, prior to making their responses. This means that in a telepathy test
the sender must have no sensory contact with the receiver; at the very least,
they should be in separate rooms. In fact, they should be far enough apart so
that even subliminal auditory cues are eliminated. If the sender must be
within a few rooms of the participant, it is recommended that the sender be
in an acoustically shielded room or chamber. Also, any experimenter who is
in sensory contact with the person making the guesses (hereafter referred to
generically as the participant) should be unaware of the targets or target
order. Elimination of sensory cues is primarily common sense, but that is
not to say that such cues are always apparent. Any sensory cue hypothesis,
however far-fetched, is likely to be preferred over the AC hypothesis by
most mainstream scientists and some parapsychologists.
Recording and scoring errors. In our card guessing example, you have to
double check (or, ideally, have someone else check) the accuracy of your
recording of the hits to be sure you end up with the correct number.
Nowadays, such scoring is commonly done by computers. Although this
goes a long way to solving the problem, you have to be sure there are no
bugs in the programs you use to record the targets and responses and to
score the test.
Nonrandom target sequences. It is also important for the target sequence
to be unpredictable, or as random as possible. This is particularly crucial if
the test is designed such that the participant is informed after each trial what
the target for that trial was. If this modification were to be introduced into
our card test and the target sequence had some nonrandom feature (e.g., no
suit ever turning up twice in a row), participants might use this information
to improve their scores. As soon as they caught on, perhaps unconsciously,
they would avoid calling the same suit twice in a row. This would
effectively increase the probability of a hit on each trial.
Although logical inference is not usually a serious problem in tests without
such trial-by-trial feedback, a related problem can occur if a bias in the
target sequence happens to match a bias in the sequence of the participant’s
responses. For example, if there were an excess of hearts at the beginning of
the deck and you called a large number of hearts early in the run and then
tried to compensate by calling few hearts toward the end of the run, an
artifactual (i.e., illegitimate) excess of hits could result simply by a
matching of the corresponding biases in the target and response sequences.
Some Basic Distinctions and Choices
A researcher confronted with the task of designing an AC test faces a
number of choices. In the next main section, these choices will be outlined
in a more or less sequential order. However, there are several major choices
germane to our card-guessing example that it is appropriate to introduce at
this point.
Mode of Target Presentation: Telepathy, Clairvoyance, or Precognition
Telepathy, clairvoyance, and precognition are philosophical or, more
precisely, ontological distinctions that derive from the often implicit
assumption some parapsychologists have made that AC is a quasiperceptual process. In practice, it is impossible to entirely isolate these
subspecies of AC. If we modified our card test so that your friend “sent”
you the cards, you could get the information either from your friend’s mind
(telepathy) or from the card (clairvoyance). In either case, your friend could
access the information as it existed at the time of the response or as it would
exist at some future time (precognition). Strictly speaking, telepathy is
impossible to demonstrate because there must be some objective record of
the target sequence (even if it is coded) for purposes of scoring.
Clairvoyance can be isolated from telepathy by generating the targets by a
computer and destroying the target sequence as well as information about
which trials were hits after the test has been scored and before anyone has
seen these data. However, this assumes that a summary of the results is an
insufficient telepathic source. Precognition can be isolated from
contemporaneous AC if the target sequence does not exist and cannot be
inferred from information available at the time the participant makes the
response, but it is not possible to rule out using anomalous perturbation
(AP), traditionally called psychokinesis, to affect a future target series to
match the responses. The participant could use AP retroactively in the same
way to succeed in a clairvoyance test. Because of these problems, it has
become increasingly common for parapsychologists to define the types of
AC operationally rather than ontologically. If a test involves a sender
observing a target and trying to send it to a percipient, we call it telepathy.
If no one is trying to send the targets to the participant, we call it
clairvoyance. If in either case the target is not generated until after the
participant makes the response, we call it precognition. There is no clear
evidence that participants score better on one kind of test than the other, so
the choice often depends on the personal taste of the researcher.
Precognition tests have the advantage of eliminating sensory cues, because
the target does not exist at the time of the response. Telepathy tests are the
most difficult to control against sensory cues because of the need to prevent
sensory contact with the sender. On the other hand, telepathy is more likely
than precognition to seem plausible to participants.
Trial-by-Trial Feedback
Another choice faced by the researcher is whether or not to inform the
participant after each trial that the response was a hit or a miss and/or the
correct identity of the target. Such feedback might be useful if the objective
is to train AC. Some parapsychologists suggest that such feedback
heightens participants’ motivation and interest in the task (Tart, 1966)
whereas others contend that it is likely to be distracting, frustrating, or
anxiety-arousing (Kennedy, 1980b). A meta-analysis has shown that
feedback improves scoring in forced-choice precognition experiments
(Honorton & Ferrari, 1989).
Modes of Response: Forced-Choice and Free-Response
Testing procedures in which the participant’s responses are limited to a
fixed set of alternatives, as in our card guessing test, are commonly called
forced-choice tests. However, parapsychologists have turned increasingly to
another kind of procedure in which the participant is allowed to report any
impression that comes to mind. These free-response tests commonly
employ more complex targets than playing cards to capitalize on the
richness of the participant’s impressions. To score free-response tests, it is
common for a judge (who might be the participant) to match or to otherwise
assess the correspondences between a series of targets and responses. I will
describe these procedures in more detail later in the chapter.
Free-response tests have several advantages. By allowing participants to
explore their minds freely, they capture the spontaneity characteristic of AC
as it usually occurs in real life. They are generally more appealing to
participants than forced-choice tests, which tend to get tedious after a while.
They are especially appropriate if you want to study complex mental
imagery in relation to AC. On the other hand, forced-choice tests are much
easier to score than free-response tests. Because a large number of trials can
be accumulated over a short period of time in forced-choice tests, they are
ideal for comparing a participant’s performance on two or more sets or
types of trials, or for assessing changes in scoring over time. In freeresponse tests, it is customary to conduct one trial per session.
Duration or Length of Test
In determining the length of a forced-choice test (i.e., the number of trials),
one must strike a balance between competing considerations. If the test is
too long, the participant is apt to become fatigued and scores might decline.
Such “decline effects” have often been noted in psi tests (Palmer, 1978). On
the other hand, enough trials must be accumulated to provide a relatively
reliable measure of the participant’s AC. As a general rule in psychological
testing, the longer the test the more reliably and accurately it measures the
ability or trait tested. In AC tests, this is especially true if the number of
target alternatives is large, say ten or greater. (For example, 52 trials would
be too short in our card test if you guessed the ranks of the cards instead of
their suits.)
Researchers have adopted no strict convention regarding the length of
forced-choice tests, but tests of between 50 and 100 trials per session are
common, with a pause of a couple of minutes between each 25-trial run.
The important principle, though, is to give as long a test as possible without
fatiguing the participant. But always be sure to set the number of trials in
advance and stick to it. Otherwise an artifact due to optional stopping may
result, that is, stopping the test at a point which just happens to coincide
with a higher than chance score. As mentioned earlier, free-response tests
usually consist of one trial per session. They have been known to last
anywhere from 5 to 45 minutes each. The principle here is to allow
participants enough time to fully develop their impressions of the target.
Such impressions do not always pop up right away, so both the
experimenter and the participant need to be patient.
Steps in an AC Test: Decisions and Tradeoffs
In the remainder of the chapter, I will review in more detail and roughly in
chronological order the steps a researcher must follow in designing and
executing a good AC test and the decisions to make along the way.
Selecting the Participants
Psychics or “gifted” participants. The most obvious choice would seem to
be to test someone who is “psychic,” but this is trickier than it seems. A
person who has had many seemingly psychic experiences may not
necessarily be able to produce AC on demand under laboratory conditions.
Fortunately, there are a small number of people who seem to have at least
some control over their AC faculties, and some of them have been willing
to explore these apparent talents with scientists. However, working with
talented participants is not always an easy task. They are often very
sensitive people who have been ostracized because of their “gift.” As a
result, the researcher may need a great deal of tact and interpersonal skill to
do effective research with them. Many psychics have strong feelings about
the kinds of tests in which they are willing to engage, and the researcher
must be able to accommodate these preferences while still maintaining rigid
experimental controls.
On the other hand, some people who claim to be psychic are deluded or are
charlatans out to exploit the field for fame and fortune. Such “psychics”
may seek credibility by “triumphing” in scientific tests. Some may be
hybrids: people with genuine psi abilities who supplement real AC with
pseudo–AC when the situation requires it. These charlatans employ
standard magic or mentalist tricks to mimic AC. Thus, the parapsychologist
should have some familiarity with these techniques and be willing to
consult with skilled magicians or mentalists when appropriate [chapter 6,
this volume]. If a professed psychic is a stage performer or is known to
have a magician’s skills, particular caution is required. Results with such
persons are likely to be suspect regardless of how well controlled the test
appears to be. Such skepticism may not always be logically justified, but it
is a good reason to consider whether research with such participants is
worth the effort. Finally, some psychics, particularly those who earn a living
at it, may be tempted to seek publicity that might misrepresent or
exaggerate the outcome of the research, or otherwise embarrass the
investigator or the field of parapsychology.
Special participant populations. An alternate approach for obtaining
talented participants is mass screening. Tart (1976), for example, gave a
short card guessing test to hundreds of students in classes at a large
American university. Recognizing that a few would obtain significant
scores by chance, he retested the “successful” students on another forcedchoice test. Those students who continued to score significantly were then
chosen for more extensive investigation. Yet another approach is to work
with participants who may or may not appear to be talented but who have
other skills or attributes that would make them especially suitable for AC
research. Honorton (1997) found that successful participants in a freeresponse test called the ganzfeld (see below) had four characteristics:
previous psi testing, previous psi experience, practice of a mental discipline
such as meditation, and “feeling” and “perceiving” personality styles as
measured by the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. There also is evidence that
people with artistic skills perform especially well in the ganzfeld (Dalton,
1990; Schlitz & Honorton, 1992) [see chapter 9, this volume].
Unselected participants. Although research with talented participants
captures most of the public attention, the bulk of the research in
parapsychology has been conducted using ordinary people who volunteer
out of curiosity or interest in psi, or college students who may get academic
credit for participating in the study. This research strategy is predicated on
the assumption made by most—but not all—parapsychologists that psi is an
ability common to all and distributed in the population much like
intelligence. Although few such persons are likely to be psychic enough to
score significantly on their own, collectively the total or average of their
scores may be high (or low) enough to achieve significance. Because of the
large number of scores obtained in such group experiments, a lower total or
average score is required for statistical significance than ordinarily is the
case in research with a single participant. Working with unselected
participants requires patience, as the magnitude of the results is likely to be
small and studies do not replicate as consistently as we would like. On the
brighter side, unselected participants are readily accessible, relatively easy
and pleasant to work with, and their results can be generalized more readily
to other people than those obtained from more specialized populations.
Animals as subjects. A final option available to the researcher is to test
animals. This choice assumes, of course, that animals are capable of
manifesting psi. The evidence we have suggests that if psi exists, animals
probably have it as well as humans (Morris, 1970) [see chapters 11 and 27].
There is no intrinsic reason to choose one species over another, but most
“anpsi” research has been conducted with rodents, cats, and dogs, largely
for reasons of convenience. The most obvious reason for testing animals is
an interest in exploring AC in a particular species. Second, a researcher
may wish to examine the relation between AC and relatively simple
motivational or cognitive factors without having to deal with the
complexities of these characteristics in humans. Finally, certain studies
involving drugs or noxious stimulation such as electric shocks might be
prohibited with humans for ethical reasons, but not with animals. On the
other hand, many people (including many scientists) consider such studies
to be unethical even with animals unless substantial and tangible benefits
from the research can be foreseen. Parapsychologists tend to be a rather
humane lot, so one finds very little research of this type in the
parapsychological literature.
Selecting the Target Material
The choice of target material for AC tests is limited only by the creativity of
the researcher. Although the exercise of such creativity is often beneficial,
the use of standardized targets has the important advantage of allowing
greater comparability of results across experiments. In this section I will
examine some of the various types of target material used in AC
experiments.
Forced-Choice Tests
Types of targets. In forced-choice tests, the standard targets for many years
consisted of a deck of 25 cards containing five of each of five symbols:
circle, cross, waves, square, and star. J. B. Rhine (1934/1973) selected these
symbols after consulting with a perceptual psychologist, because they were
simple, easily discriminable, and emotionally neutral. Discriminability, at
least, is still considered an attribute of good forced-choice targets, but they
need not be dull. It sometimes may be advantageous to use targets with
multiple attributes, each of which can be scored independently. These are
called multiple-aspect targets (Kennedy, 1980a). An example is the deck of
playing cards in our earlier example, where the independent attributes are
suit and rank. The multiple-aspect nature of such targets can be capitalized
upon by having participants respond to each attribute on each trial. We can
then compare the results on the different attributes and also assess whether
participants obtain more exact hits than we would expect by chance given
their rate of success on the component attributes.
Physical cards have given way for the most part to computer displays of
targets, with the order determined by an electronic random event generator
(REG) or a mathematical algorithm activated by the computer software.
These mechanisms, described more fully below, generate a target for each
trial and then record the targets, responses, and hits. The graphics
capabilities of computers give the researcher tremendous flexibility in
creating appealing and motivating target displays. Finally, AC targets need
not be visual. In one study, the targets were five musical selections recorded
on tape (Keil, 1965). In short, any discriminable stimulus is a potential AC
target.
Number of target alternatives. The number of target alternatives in a
forced-choice AC test generally ranges from 2 to 10. A smaller number of
alternatives is easier to keep track of and may be more reinforcing or
encouraging to participants because they provide a greater proportion of
hits. They also may decrease the possibility of participants confusing their
impressions of one target symbol with those of another. Tests with a smaller
number of alternatives are also easier to evaluate statistically if the number
of trials is small, because the distribution of scores more readily
approximates the normal curve, a mathematically defined, bell-shaped
distribution of numbers required for the application of many statistical tests.
A large number of alternatives has the advantage of reducing the proportion
of chance hits relative to AC hits. This is especially a consideration in
training projects in which the participant receives feedback after each trial
and is asked to try to discriminate internal sensations or impressions
associated with correct as opposed to incorrect responses; chance hits in
such a context provide the participant with false feedback that makes such
discrimination difficult. In practice, most researchers split the difference
and use tests with four or five target alternatives.
Free-Response Tests
Types of targets. Free-response targets are generally richer and more
complex than forced-choice targets. Examples from past experiments
include line drawings (e.g., Stuart, 1945), magazine photographs (e.g.
Stanford & Palmer, 1975), postcard prints of famous paintings (e.g. Ullman,
Krippner, & Vaughan, 1973), movie clips (Honorton et al., 1990), and
geographical or architectural sites (Targ & Puthoff, 1977).
Researchers agree that free-response targets should be motivating or
arousing to participants, but they disagree on how best to accomplish this.
Some believe that the targets should represent emotional or archetypal
themes likely to stimulate unconscious mental processes and bring latent
imagery to the surface. Such targets are especially appropriate when
studying AC in altered states of consciousness, particularly dreams. On the
other hand, researchers who use geographical sites as targets stress that their
realism and the potential practical application of identifying real targets is
an important motivating factor that is absent when the targets are not real
(Targ & Puthoff, 1977). May, Spottiswoode, and James (1994) have argued
based on theoretical considerations that remote viewing targets should be
characterized by a high change in Shannon’s entropy such as change in
color intensity across pixels in a photograph.
Size and structure of the target pool. Whatever type of target material is
selected, it is good to have a large pool of potential targets to draw from, so
that a full range of content is represented. If possible, the pool should
consist of at least 50 potential targets. Because free-response tests are
usually evaluated statistically as if they were forced-choice tests, it is often
desirable to divide the pool in advance into sets of from 2 to 10 pictures
each. The members of each set should be as discriminable as possible in
terms of semantic content, geometric form of objects, and type of emotion
the picture is likely to evoke. Getting a group of judges to make similarity
ratings of all possible pairs of pictures is a time-consuming but effective
way of helping to assure that sets meet this criterion.
Determining the Sequence of Targets
As noted earlier in discussing our card guessing example, it is important
that participants not be able to infer the order of the targets. Such inference
is less of a problem in free-response experiments with only one trial per
participant, but it is still important that each picture have an equal
opportunity of being selected as the target for each session. The best way to
assure that this condition is met is to select the sequence of targets in as
random a manner as possible.
Methods of Randomization
Shuffling. In card tests, the traditional method of obtaining a random
sequence of cards is simply to shuffle the deck thoroughly and cut it.
However, shuffling is not a reliable method of assuring randomness and it is
not used in modern AC research.
Random algorithms. A more reliable method is to use an algorithm, a
mathematical formula that produces a sequence of random numbers. The
numbers that appear in published random number tables are produced in
this way. There are also algorithms in the form of computer programs that
can be accessed directly. It is usually required to start the process by
entering “seed numbers.” In either case, it is necessary to assure that the
algorithm’s output has been thoroughly checked for randomness by
statistical tests. An algorithm by Marsaglia and Zaman (1987) has become
something of a standard in parapsychology because of how thoroughly its
output was tested for randomness. Such output usually consists of digits
that are then translated into the corresponding targets according to a
predetermined code. For example, in our card guessing example, the code
might be: 1 or 2 = spade, 3 or 4 = heart, 5 or 6 = diamond, 7 or 8 = club,
with 9 and 0 skipped over.
Random event generators. REGs generate outcomes electronically, often
at a very rapid rate, most commonly using either electronic noise (like radio
static) and/or the emission of electrons from a very weak radioactive source
(e.g., strontium 90) to assure random selection (e.g., Schmidt, 1970). The
researcher can cause the machine to select a single target or a whole
sequence of targets by simply pressing a button. Unlike most other kinds of
forced-choice tests, in REG tests it is common for the REG to select the
target before each trial, rather than the full target sequence being generated
beforehand. The implications of this feature are greatest in precognition
tests, because the time interval between response and target designation is
considerably shortened.
Confirming randomness. When using an REG it is imperative that you
perform extensive randomness tests at the beginning and end of the
experiment to be sure that the device is creating random outputs. The
researcher should also conduct a randomness test of the target sequence
actually used in the experiment, summed across all participants and
sessions, to be sure that at least each possible target and target pair appear
an equal number of times.
Contamination by experimenter psi. All of the above procedures have to
a greater or lesser extent a potential drawback that becomes an issue
whenever it is important to isolate the source of psi in an AC experiment.
The problem is that the experimenter, or whoever else generates the target
sequence, might use his or her own psi to produce a sequence that happens
to match the participant’s response sequence to a greater than chance
degree. The problem is most severe when the targets are produced by an
REG and there is no good way to overcome it. Thus, I recommend never
selecting AC targets this way, using an algorithm instead. But with this
method you must be sure to select the seed numbers in a way that is not
susceptible to influence by psi. In most of my studies I seed the Marsaglia
algorithm with the numbers 1 and 2. Experimenter psi becomes particularly
problematic if an REG is used to assign participants to experimental and
control conditions. This mistake was made in a prominent psychic healing
study in which participants in the group that received healing may have
shown more improvement than the controls not because they were healed
but because the experimenter could have unconsciously used his or her own
psi (AP) to influence the REG to place those who would have the milder
symptoms in the experimental (healing) condition (Sicher, Targ, & Moore,
1998).
Forms of Target Dependency
Random selection of targets generally guarantees that the targets will be
independent of one another, that is, no target can be predicted from
knowledge of the others. However, certain research designs impose limits
on target independence even when the selection procedure is otherwise
random. We will now discuss the two most prevalent of these research
designs.
Closed versus open decks. The most common procedure that limits target
independence is the use of a closed deck. A closed deck is a target sequence
in which the number of times each target appears is stipulated in advance. A
playing card deck is a closed deck because, for example, each suit appears
exactly 13 times, only the order of their appearance is randomized. In
contrast, sequences derived from random algorithms or REGs are generally
open decks; each alternative can appear any number of times, although in
most situations they will tend to appear with about equal frequency.
In free-response tests, a closed-deck target sequence is one in which each
picture is the target for one and only one trial. This procedure is sometimes
called selection without replacement, because once a picture is selected for
a trial it is not put back in the pool and thus is not available for subsequent
trials. On the other hand, an open deck is generated by selection with
replacement: Once a picture is selected it is put back in the pool and has as
much chance as any other picture of being selected for a subsequent trial.
The concept of target dependency in closed decks can be readily grasped by
considering a standard AC card guessing test in which the participant is
informed of the target after each trial. By keeping track of how many of
each symbol has appeared, the participant can identify with certainty the
target for the last trial of the run; in other words, the 25th target is
predictable from knowledge of the preceding 24. This could only happen in
a free-response test if participants knew in advance which pictures were to
be included in the target set. But if the pictures in the pool are not highly
diversified and participants receive trial-by-trial feedback of targets, they
could increase their chances of getting a high score on the test by avoiding
mention of characteristics present in earlier targets. For example, if the
target picture on trial 1 included a bridge, participants could improve their
scores artifactually by not mentioning bridges in their responses on later
trials. The upshot of all this is that closed decks should be avoided in
experiments where participants are given trial-by-trial feedback of targets.
Closed decks can be used when such feedback is not given, but corrections
may need to be applied to the statistical evaluation of the results.
The stacking effect. Another kind of target dependency occurs when more
than one participant responds to the same target sequence. In
parapsychological jargon this is called the stacking effect. It is most likely
to occur when participants are tested in a group setting such as a classroom.
The target sequence in effect is being duplicated for each participant in the
experiment, hence the dependency. The bias is relatively minor in forced
choice tests with relatively long target sequences, but it can be a serious
problem in free-response testing in which the target “sequence” might
consist of only one trial. Say, for example, a test is given to a class of 30
students in which the target happens to be a scene of a lake with trees near
it. Because many people automatically think of such things when asked to
spontaneously generate mental imagery, you could end up with a lot of hits
having nothing to do with AC. (Likewise, if the target happened to be
something obscure, you might get pseudo psi-missing). As more targets are
included in the test, such biases eventually wash out. To be safe, it is best to
avoid the stacking effect whenever possible, even in forced-choice tests. In
group clairvoyance or precognition tests, the best solution is to simply
generate a separate independent, target sequence for each participant. This
becomes more of a problem in telepathy tests because a separate sender for
each percipient is required.
Preparing the Participant
Putting the Participant at Ease
Experimenters’ interactions with their research participants should be
conducted in a friendly and supportive manner that puts the participant at
ease and inspires confidence. Such an approach is not only mandated by
humanistic considerations, but it is also likely to help participants achieve a
high score. The idea of psi can be threatening to people, perhaps at an
unconscious level, and most parapsychologists believe it can be suppressed
if the social and (to a lesser extent) the physical environment is not
supportive.
The only exception to this advice would be experiments in which the social
or physical situation is to be manipulated to test an experimental hypothesis
about the effect of such a manipulation on AC scores. But even in this case
a humanistic approach should be adopted as much as possible, and the
experimenter should explain to the participant at the end of the session why
the manipulation was necessary.
One should also avoid testing contexts that participants find uncomfortable.
For example, it is not a good idea to give computer tests to participants who
are uncomfortable with computers. Also, participants who are even a little
claustrophobic are unlikely to give you good results if you test them in an
fMRI chamber, as was done in a famously nonsignificant experiment by
Moulton and Kosslyn (2008). When it is necessary to test participants in
unfavorable circumstances to evaluate a hypothesis, the experimenter
should ask participants to rate their discomfort and use these ratings as a
control variable in the statistical analysis.
Inducing Altered States of Consciousness
In some experiments, the researcher may wish to further prepare the
participant for the AC test by inducing an altered state of consciousness
(ASC). Such inductions are particularly common prior to free-response
tests, where ASCs may help the participant to access complex imagery or
impressions that might be relevant to the target. Not all ASCs are
considered to be psi-conducive. Those commonly induced by psychedelic
drugs such as LSD, for example, may be too extreme and disorienting for
AC testing. The participant must be able to maintain enough alertness and
self-control to orient toward the test while at the same time being free from
the constraints of overly structured thought processes [see chapters 9 and
12, this volume]. This is a delicate balance that can best be achieved
through less extreme ASCs induced without chemicals.
Types of ASC inductions. Traditionally, the most common procedure used
to induce an ASC in AC research has been hypnosis. However, the two
most popular procedures in recent years have been progressive relaxation
and the ganzfeld. Progressive relaxation was developed by psychologist
Edmund Jacobson (1938/1974) to help people cope with stress. The person
is asked to alternately tense and relax a sequence of specific muscle groups
(e.g. toes, calves, thighs, etc.) and to notice the contrast between the
feelings of tension and relaxation. The body can become extremely relaxed
following this procedure. A modification of the procedure that is sometimes
used in AC experiments is to have participants simply imagine relaxing
their muscles without actually doing so. The progressive relaxation exercise
is customarily followed by stilling the mind by having the participant
imagine relaxing scenes.
The ganzfeld procedure is based on the principle of perceptual deprivation,
eliminating sources of patterned or meaningful stimulation from the
external environment. Patterned visual stimulation is eliminated by affixing
acetate hemispheres (halves of ping-pong balls) over the participant’s eyes
and shining a moderately bright white or colored light (red is generally
used) through them. Patterned auditory stimulation is eliminated by playing
white or, preferably, pink noise (which sounds like a waterfall) through
comfortable headphones. (If pink noise is used, waterfalls should be
avoided as potential targets!) No formal attempts to exclude tactile
stimulation are usually included, but the participant should either be lying
down or seated in a comfortable reclining chair. The participant is left in the
ganzfeld between 20 and 45 minutes. Participants are generally asked to
observe and/or report their imagery during the reception period. Other
induction procedures used include meditation and brainwave biofeedback,
particularly alpha and theta frequencies [see chapter 10, this volume].
Are ASCs necessary? Not all parapsychologists are sold on the value of
ASC inductions. Advocates of the remote viewing procedure, for example,
insist that equally good results can be obtained in normal waking
consciousness (Targ & Puthoff, 1977), although I know of one case in
which a prominent reviewer admitted to me that he enters an ASC, unaided
by any props, before a trial. In fact, artificial induction techniques should
not be used with persons who have developed their own procedures for
entering an altered state; an induction such as the ganzfeld may only get in
the way. ASCs are likely to be most effective when the target material is
abstract, archetypal, or dreamlike, whereas they may be less psi-conducive
when the targets are realistic.
Testing and Response Procedures
The procedures for standard forced-choice tests are fairly straightforward
and I have nothing further to say about them here. I do have some
additional points to make about free-response testing.
Free-response methods. The participant should be asked to carefully
observe whatever impressions come to awareness. These include sounds,
bodily sensations, and emotions, as well as visual images. It is
recommended that participants avoid censoring their impressions, and for
remote viewing studies it is additionally recommended that they minimize
interpreting them (McMoneagle, 2000). Often, for example, a participant
will correctly apprehend the shape of a target object but be led astray by an
improper interpretation or labeling of it. It is also best to allow images to
come independently of one another and to avoid trains of logical
associations. Participants can either write down their impressions or report
them orally. In the latter case, the experimenter can either transcribe them
directly or record them on tape for later transcription. It is sometimes a
good idea to have participants draw their impressions, particularly in remote
viewing studies.
The researcher must decide whether to have participants give ongoing
reports of their impressions during the reception period or wait until
afterwards. Ongoing reporting helps assure that the participant will not
forget to report some impressions, but it also can be distracting and
interrupt the flow of imagery or the altered state, especially if the
participant is inexperienced. Another decision the researcher faces is
whether to be present in the room with the participant during the reception
period. Some participants may find the experimenter’s presence reassuring
while others may find it uncomfortable or distracting. The alternative is to
have the experimenter in another room monitoring the participant via
intercom, and that is the most commonly used procedure.
It is often desirable for the experimenter to ask participants to elaborate on
their impressions or to describe them more precisely, generally after the
reception period. In the latter case, the experimenter should read the initial
reports back to the participants to jog their memories. Obviously if the
experimenter interacts with participants in such a way, he or she should not
know the identity of the target. Ideally, the experimenter should not even be
aware of the target pool. For example, if the participant accurately
apprehends one aspect of the target, a careless experimenter who knows the
target pool might guide the participant to elaborate this imagery in such a
way as to artifactually increase its degree of correspondence to the target.
Thus a modest hit comes to look like a striking hit. Participants, of course,
can do the same thing on their own, and this is one reason for keeping even
participants unaware of the target pool in free-response experiments (Irwin,
1980). A second reason is that the less participants know about the target
pool, the less their responses are likely to be biased by logical constraints;
one key to successful performance on AC tests seems to be spontaneity
(Stanford, 1975).
Physiological Response Methods
In most AC tests the participant makes an overt, behavioral response
representing some conscious impression of the identity of the target.
However, parapsychologists have theorized that AC information may exist
unconsciously but fail to reach consciousness because it is repressed or
because it is distorted when it interacts with other mental processes (e.g., L.
E. Rhine, 1962). Can such information be retrieved?
One solution is to tap the involuntary physiological processes of the
participant. More often than not, the choice has been the activity of the
autonomic nervous system [see chapter 18, this volume]. This system,
among other things, controls our physiological reactions to stress or danger.
The autonomic measures most commonly used by parapsychologists are the
plethysmograph (a measure of changes in blood volume in the finger due to
constriction or dilation of blood vessels) and the electrodermal response (a
measure of the activation of sweat glands). Because these responses reflect
emotional arousal, the target sequence must consist of a random ordering of
emotionally arousing and emotionally neutral targets. Examples of
emotional target stimuli are index cards containing names of significance to
the percipient mixed in with blank cards or cards with neutral names (e.g.,
Schouten, 1976). The design of the experiment is thus basically the same as
in any forced-choice test; the participant’s score is a function of the degree
of physiological response on the emotional trials as compared to the neutral
ones. Nowadays the most common methodological paradigm is
presentiment, a precognition procedure in which differential electrodermal
responses to observed emotional or neutral pictures have been found 3
seconds before the picture selected by the REG [see chapter 18, this
volume]. Less frequently, brainwaves (measured by the
electroencephalograph, or EEG) are used as the response measure. In one
study, a strobe light was flashed into the eyes of an agent on randomly
selected trials, disrupting her normal resting EEG pattern. A similar effect
was noted in the EEG record of a percipient seated in a different room
(May, Targ, & Puthoff, 1976).
In the case of presentiment, parapsychologists have discovered that in some
cases participants can demonstrate a significant result because of a “logical”
but invalid expectation that the next stimulus will be reliably different than
the immediately preceding one in terms of emotionality. There is currently a
debate about the best way to handle the problem (Dalkvist, Mossbridge, &
Westerlund, 2013; Kennedy, 2013.)
Covert Test Methods
One characteristic generally shared by the tests we have considered so far
(with the exception of some tests employing physiological responses) is that
the participants are quite aware that they are being tested for AC and that
their responses are potentially AC-mediated. However, this often is not the
way AC operates in the real world. For example, a person may dream of an
airplane crash and not realize that the dream may have been psychic until
reading about the crash in the newspaper the next day. Conventional AC
tests also may engage conscious or unconscious psychological defenses
capable of blocking AC.
Recognizing these difficulties, parapsychologists have devised ingenious
procedures for testing AC covertly. These procedures rely on other kinds of
tests structured in such a way as to be scoreable for AC. For example,
Johnson (1973) adapted an envelope test to an exam in a psychology class.
Instead of a sequence of AC symbols, each opaque envelope contained
answers to a randomly selected half of the exam questions. The exam itself
was taped to the outside of the envelope. The students had no idea that their
exam was a covert AC test. Their scores were the differences between their
test scores on the items “answered” inside the envelopes and their scores on
the other items. Recently, Bem (2011) reported a series of precognition
studies in which stimuli that have been shown to affect performance on
standard cognitive psychological tasks (e.g., a list of words to memorize)
are presented after the performance test instead of before [see chapter 18,
this volume].
A disadvantage of fully covert tests is that they require the experimenter to
deceive the participant about the nature of the study. Some researchers
consider such deception to be a breach of ethics. With academic exams,
there is a potential ethical problem if the manipulation could influence
students’ grades in the course.
Test methods with animals. AC tests with animals can be considered
examples of covert tests because animals are not aware they are being
tested for psi. In this case, parapsychologists have borrowed procedures
from experimental psychologists who study animal learning. For example, a
rat can be taught to discriminate levels of brightness by placing it in a box
containing two adjacent bars with an illuminable disk above each one. On
each trial the two disks light up. One is brighter than the other, which one
being determined randomly on each trial. The rat must learn to press the bar
under the brighter disk. If it does so, it receives a food pellet as a reward. To
turn this into an AC test, it is only necessary to equate the brightness of the
two lights, forcing the rat to use AC to determine which bar to press.
Another example is avoidance learning. In an ordinary psychology
experiment, the experimenter might place a rat in a cage with an electrified
grid floor and a short barrier dividing the cage into two equally sized
compartments. The rat must learn that whenever it hears a certain sound
stimulus it has 5 seconds to jump the barrier to the other compartment. If it
fails to do so, it receives punishment in the form of a shock. To make this an
AC test, the floor of the box can be attached to an REG which randomly
chooses one of the two compartments to receive shock on each trial (Duval
& Montredon, 1968). The rat must use precognition to locate itself in the
other compartment. As the avoidance learning procedures involve pain to
the animal, it would seem ethically advisable to use procedures in which the
reinforcements are positive.
Scoring the AC Test
Forced-choice tests. Scoring of forced-choice AC tests is usually a
straightforward matter. If the test is conducted with an REG or computer,
the machine can do the scoring. It is also important to be sure that scores
are transferred properly to all statistical software programs or data sheets
during data analysis.
Free-response tests. Scoring of free-response tests is much more
complicated than scoring of forced-choice tests. Most free-response scoring
methods require that a judge, who may or may not be the participant, assess
the degree of correspondence between the participant’s impressions on a
given trial and the target for that trial. If a closed-deck target selection
procedure is used, the judge may be asked to match up the targets and
responses over a series of trials. At least one of these sequences must be
randomized. If an open-deck procedure is chosen, the judge might be asked
to pick out the target for each trial from among the members of a set of
potential targets for that trial. The location of the target within the judging
set must be randomized, separately for each trial. If the responses consist of
psychic readings for a group of individuals, each reading may be broken
down into component phrases and the judge asked to determine whether or
not each phrase applies to each individual.
No one really has any clear idea what specifically to look for in judging
free-response correspondences, and the nature of the correspondence is
likely to vary depending on the individual participant and the nature of the
targets and test procedure. This is a problem that can only be solved by
more research. In the meantime, common sense is the best guide for the
prospective judge.
A different approach to scoring free-response tests is to define a set of target
characteristics (e.g., buildings in a remote viewing experiment) and then
code each target for the presence or absence of each characteristic. The
judge then codes the participant’s response for the presence or absence of
the same characteristics. The participant’s score is the number of correct
matches. This approach has been applied to both the ganzfeld (Honorton,
1975) and remote viewing (Jahn, Dunne, & Jahn, 1980; May et al., 1990)
paradigms. A drawback of this atomistic approach is that it fails to make
use of the judge’s capacity to integrate the information presented in both the
target and the response. For instance, in an informal ganzfeld trial I
conducted using Honorton’s (1975) pool, the participant correctly identified
the target as Santa Claus but only matched 3 of the 10 target characteristics
correctly, receiving a below-chance score for the trial! The problem is
somewhat less severe in remote viewing studies because the presence or
absence of features is closer to what the viewer is aiming for than it is with
the ganzfeld.
Participant judging versus independent judging. A controversial issue
among parapsychologists is whether it is better to have participants serve as
judges of their own responses or to employ independent judges who are not
otherwise involved with the experiment. As usual, each alternative has its
advantages. One obvious advantage of having participants be the judges is
that they are the ones most intimately familiar with their own impressions.
Even if they describe their impressions in great detail for independent
judging, something is bound to be lost in the translation. Moreover, only the
participant is likely to be able to evaluate symbolic correspondences,
especially if the symbolism is personal. For example, an independent judge
is unlikely to give a high score to a response with a religious theme if the
target was a bluebird. Yet the participant might give this correspondence a
very high score if the bluebird happened to be the symbol of a religious sect
to which he or she belonged. But independent judging also has its
advantages. Persons can be selected who seem to have particular skill in
judging or who have been trained to look for particular things in the
protocols. If a group of participants is being tested and each participant is
the judge for his or her own trial, the differences in the scores are likely to
be influenced by differences in the styles or skill of the (participant) judges.
These judging idiosyncrasies are eliminated if the same (independent) judge
scores all trials. In scoring methods that require the participant as judge to
examine pictures in the target pool other than the target, these other pictures
might serve as unintentional precognition targets that could influence the
participant’s impressions. In other words, the participant might look ahead
precognitively to the judging task during the reception period. If
independent judges are used, the participant need be shown no other picture
than the target.
Finally, in studies where it is important to identify the specific source of
AC, there exists the problem that AC might contaminate the judging
process per se. If the participants are the judges, there is little the
investigator can do to detect this. If independent judges are used, persons
who seem to have minimal AC ability themselves can be selected. The
possibility of contamination can be reduced further by using several judges
and averaging the scores they assign to each trial. Not only does this
procedure improve the reliability of the final scores, but if the scores
assigned by one judge are contaminated by AC in the judging process this
effect is likely to be washed out by the scores assigned by the other judges.
Sources of judging bias. It is obviously essential that the judge have no
information about the identity of the target for each trial during the judging
task, that is, the judge must be “masked” or “blinded.” One potential source
of such information is available in telepathy studies in which the participant
handles a target picture that is later included among the set of materials
given to the judge. For example, the picture might reveal extra signs of
handling (e.g., bent edges, fingerprints) or the odor of a perfume or cologne
that the agent was wearing (Palmer, 1983). One way to avoid such
contamination is to have duplicate sets of target materials, one set to be
handled only by agents and the other set only by judges, but a better way is
to present the judging set by computer.
When the judge is someone other than the participant, careful attention
must be paid to how the transcripts of the participant’s responses are edited.
As a general rule, the transcripts should not be edited at all; even remarks
that on the surface might seem to be irrelevant to the task might reveal
emotions or attitudes that have something to do with the target.
On the other hand, transcripts sometimes contain comments that could bias
the experiment, especially if the same participant is completing more than
one trial. In remote viewing experiments, for example, a participant might
refer to “that lake which was the target yesterday” or comment that “I can’t
see the target very well because it is raining.” An alert judge could use such
information to help identify the target. For example, the judge could rule
out a lake as being the target in the first example if he or she knew that a
closed deck target selection procedure had been utilized. The judge could at
least narrow down the choice of possible targets in the second example if
photographs of the target sites taken by the agent at the time of the trial
constituted the target material given to the judge. These artifacts became a
topic of considerable debate about the SRI remote viewing experiments
(Palmer, 1986). The researcher or some person not otherwise involved in
the experiment should carefully examine transcripts to eliminate potentially
biasing statements prior to the judging.
Anomalous Perturbation
In this section, I will examine methodological issues pertaining to the other
major branch of parapsychology, anomalous perturbation (AP), which has
traditionally been called micro-psychokinesis (PK) [see chapters 20 and
21]. Anomalous force (AF) effects on larger systems (erstwhile macro–PK)
are discussed in chapters 6 and 19. Many of the principles and
recommendations described earlier in this chapter for AC tests also apply to
AP tests.
The participant’s task in an AP or AF experiment is to paranormally
influence the state or motion of a physical object or system. In so doing, the
participant must be rendered incapable of exerting any physical effect on
the object or system. This includes indirect influence by means such as
magnets or the induction of air currents as well as by direct touching. As for
the participant’s orientation to the task, most parapsychologists would
recommend an attitude of passive volition. But the evidence on this point is
by no means conclusive and different strategies may work best for different
people.
AP effects can rarely be identified as such by the naked eye and usually
require the application of statistics for their detection. Because they are
readily adaptable to laboratory procedures, the methods for investigating
them tend to become standardized and generally adopted.
Targets and Test Procedures
In AP research, it is important that the object or system to be influenced be
sensitive or labile, that is, it should require a minimal amount of physical
energy to change it from one of its potential target states to another one.
Random Event Generators
By far the most common method of testing AP in modern parapsychology
is to have participants attempt to influence (hardware) REGs. In
conjunction with computer graphics, REGs can readily be adapted for AP
testing by having the participant aim for a given outcome to be generated on
each trial or group of trials. Many REGs can produce sequences on their
own without the participant pressing a button to activate each trial, often at
very rapid rates (e.g., 300 per second) that allow large quantities of data to
be accumulated in a short period of time. Some physicists are particularly
interested in those REGs in which the outcomes are determined by the
emission of electrons from a radioactive source, because the influence of
such a subatomic process is especially relevant to quantum mechanics.
Other REGs use electronic noise sources such as Zener diodes that are
sufficiently sensitive for AP testing. In addition to giving ongoing feedback,
REG tests that take advantage of computer graphic capabilities can provide
the participant with a goal that is more comprehensible and psychologically
captivating than the behavior of the REG per se. A particularly appealing
option in this regard is to have participants play video games in which
winning the game requires influencing the output of the REG (Honorton &
Tremmel, 1980).
Another desirable feature of REGs is that they can be attached to peripheral
equipment that can segregate test trials that are generated at moments when
the participant is thought to be in a psi-conducive state. In one successful
application of this principle, trials were classified according to whether or
not the participant’s brainwaves at the time were in the alpha range
(Honorton & Tremmel, 1979).
Movement of Objects
Different procedures are needed if the investigator wants to study effects on
objects that can be seen with the naked eye. To qualify as AP rather than
AF, the attempt must be to influence the movement of an object already in
motion. The traditional way to test this kind of AP is dice throwing. Having
a person throw the dice as in a casino is taboo, because the person’s skill at
dice throwing provides an obvious alternative to the psi hypothesis. Thus, in
tests of this type the dice are thrown by a machine. The participant
presumably influences the dice after they are ejected by the machine, but in
theory they could be influencing the operation of the machine itself. An
alternative type of test is the placement test. The dice machine can readily
be modified for placement testing by dividing the surface onto which the
dice are ejected lengthwise into two halves. The participant’s task is to
make the dice fall more frequently on one side than the other, the
probability of a hit thus becoming one-half for each trial. An example of
this principle in the modern era is the use of a 10' × 6' “random mechanical
cascade” (Dunne, Nelson, & Jahn, 1988). Nine thousand Styrofoam balls
are released and cascade downward into 19 collection bins such that they
tend to form a Gaussian distribution. However, because this ideal
distribution can be compromised by various environmental factors such as
temperature and humidity, results are compared not to theoretical chance
but rather to the differences among three participant intentions: bias the
distribution to the right, bias it to the left, and no intention (baseline). This
form of analysis should be applied in all placement tests, regardless of the
particular apparatus.
Ambient Energy
A procedure based on physical principles similar to those governing the
REG is to attempt AP influence on various forms of ambient energy. The
easiest of such energies to isolate experimentally is temperature. Schmeidler
(1973) asked participants to use their AP to modify the temperature at a
specific point in space and measured the result with a highly sensitive kind
of thermometer called a thermistor, which was sealed inside a thermos
container to eliminate the effect of outside room temperature. As an
additional control, other thermistor units were placed elsewhere in the
room. A trial was considered a hit if the temperature change recorded by the
target thermistor was greater than the changes recorded by the controls.
Biological Systems
The growing interest in the possibility of psychic healing has led many
parapsychologists to explore AP effects on biological systems, now referred
to as distant mental interactions with living systems (DMILS) [chapter 18].
The basic strategy is similar to that used by Schmeidler in her thermistor
experiment. Separate target and control systems, initially in the same
biological state, are assigned to each trial. The participant attempts to exert
an AP effect on the target system. If the degree of change is greater in the
target than in the control system at the end of a specified period of time, the
trial is scored a hit. The target systems used in such experiments have
ranged from hemolysis of red blood cells (Braud, 1990) to plants (Grad,
1963) to mice (Watkins & Watkins, 1974). In another application similar in
concept to the placement test, a participant attempted to use AP to cause
tiny one-celled organisms called paramecia to migrate from the center of a
Petri dish into one of its four quadrants (Richmond, 1952). Although
simplicity is generally the goal in selecting biological target systems,
humans have occasionally been studied in such experiments. For example,
Braud (1978) successfully activated or suppressed the electrodermal
responses of participants in a free-response AC test. In such studies, it is
necessary to compare trials in which influence is attempted with trials in
which it is not. The order of these trials should be randomized. If the person
to be influenced is not aware of whether a given trial is experimental or
control, each type of trial should occur an equal number of times. If the
person is aware, the randomization should be open-deck.
The same principles apply when one seeks to influence a participant’s
behavior or cognition. For example, Watt and Baker (2002) had “helpers”
try to assist “helpees” maintain concentration on a candle, as in meditation,
by concentrating on the candle themselves via a computer monitor in
another room during help trials. The sequence of help and control trials was
randomized with the helpee masked to the order.
Some Adaptations of Testing Procedures
Hidden Target and Covert Test Methods
AP tests can be successfully conducted without participants being given
complete information about the task. For example, the researcher can
decline to tell participants the identity of the target process, asking them
simply to “make it come out right.” This helps make the test less
cognitively complicated for the participant. In most such tests the
participant is informed of the general kind of effect desired (e.g., make the
dice come up with a certain face uppermost) but not the specific effect (e.g.,
make them come up “six”). However, it would be theoretically possible to
deny the more general information as well (e.g., fail to tell the participant
that you are scoring for placement of the dice as well as their faces). In the
more extreme kinds of covert AC tests, participants are not informed that
they are participating in a psi test at all. REGs are excellent for this purpose
because they can easily be left running out of sight of the participant while
the latter is engaged in some other task. This principle has been applied in
the global consciousness project, in which REGs are left to grind out data
during events in which a large number of people are absorbed, such as a
World Cup soccer match. The theory is that their collective consciousness
biases the normally random output of the REG (Nelson, 2001; chapter 21,
this volume).
Time-displaced AP. If we are willing to assume that AC can violate the
conventional laws of time by extending into the future (precognition), it is
no less absurd to assume that AP can violate these same laws by extending
backwards in time. Parapsychologists have studied the latter possibility,
which they call retroactive AP or simply retro–AP (Schmidt, 1976). A
retro–AP experiment is conducted by generating the event sequence prior to
the time that the participant attempts to influence it. For example, we might
have an REG generate a sequence of binary numbers and store electrical
signals representing those numbers on magnetic tape such that no one
observes them. Later a participant listens to the tape, on which the ones
might be heard as clicks and the zeroes not heard at all, and tries to increase
or decrease the number of clicks by, in effect, influencing the production of
the numbers by the REG at the earlier time. If a covert test is desired, the
participant can simply be told to listen to the clicks or to count them for
some other purpose.
There is no conclusive way to rule out that the experimenter or even the
participant might use AP to influence the sequence of numbers at the time
they are generated. As noted above, a person need not be aware of the target
or even consciously attempt an AP effect in order to exert one. So again, we
must resort to defining retro–AP operationally rather than theoretically.
Of course, AP might extend into the future as well as the past, and here our
problem is a good deal simpler. All we need to do is measure the event a
predetermined amount of time following the attempted AP influence. Such
delayed AP effects are customarily called linger effects or lag effects when
they persist after attempted influence has ceased (e.g., Wells & Watkins,
1975) and release-of-effort effects when they commence following
attempted influence (e.g., Stanford & Fox, 1975).
Determining the Event and Target Sequences
At this point it is necessary formally to introduce a terminological
distinction between events and targets. Events are the sequence of outcomes
upon which the participant attempts to exert influence. The targets are those
particular outcomes the participant attempts to create.
The events in AP tests should be independent of one another, like open
decks in AC testing. This is automatically the case when different target
objects or systems are used for each trial. It is also the case with properly
functioning REGs. Lack of independence is most likely to be a serious
problem in ambient energy or psychophysiological studies, in which the
event sequence might be, for example, electrodermal responses. It is also
necessary that in the absence of AP influence each possible outcome in the
event sequence occurs an approximately equal number of times, according
to the laws of randomness. Thus, in a standard dice test each die face should
be the target an equal number of times, and in a placement test each
location should be the target an equal number of times. In other words, the
sequence of targets should be a closed deck.
How exactly should the target sequence be determined? At least in overt
tests, it is not a good idea to select a target separately for each trial. This
forces participants to shift their focus after each trial, which of course is
impossible anyway in REG studies in which trials are being generated at a
rapid rate. If the target sequence is selected randomly, the possibility is also
enhanced that the person generating the target sequence might use his or her
own psi to match the event sequence. A better solution is to have each
target alternative be the target for a particular group of “block” of trials. For
example, a 60-trial dice test might be divided into six 10-trial runs with
each face being the target for one run. But how do we determine the order
of targets? The important principle here is to avoid sequences that might
mimic a naturally occurring fluctuation in the system (which could mean
that there is an intertrial dependency problem) or an internal scoring trend
of possible interest. For example, if dice are used (you must always assume
they are biased) and the target sequence is 6,5,4,3,2,1, the overall score will
be properly close to MCE if no AP is operative, but the scores might
decline significantly from psi-hitting to psi-missing. This decline effect
would of course not be real evidence of AP, but simply an artifact of the
biased dice. The best way to overcome this problem is not through
randomization but through counterbalancing, such that each possible
permutation of the six die faces is assigned to one and only one of the
blocks. Even though you can demonstrate that REGs are unbiased by
control tests, it is still a good idea to have participants aim for high and low
scores (1s and 0s in a binary REG) for an equal number of trials. By having
two investigators separately generate the aim sequences (targets) and the
event sequences in a retro–AP experiment, Schmidt, Morris, and Rudolph
(1986) were able to claim that neither investigator by himself could have
compromised the integrity of the significant results (i.e., cheated).
Note
1. This chapter is an update of parts of two chapters by the author that
appeared in Foundations of parapsychology (Edge, Morris, Palmer, &
Rush, 1986).
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OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 5
Research Methods with Spontaneous Case Studies
EMILY WILLIAMS KELLY and JIM B. TUCKER
In this volume, as in the first Handbook, the chapter on studying
spontaneous experiences has been placed in the general section on
Methodology. Throughout the nearly century and a half of research on psi
and related phenomena, the methods for studying spontaneous experiences,
as well as experimental methods, have been broad and varied and have
evolved along with the technological resources available. One important
point remains unchanged, however: Methodology—how one studies a
phenomenon—is derived from, and hence secondary to, the question of
what one studies—that is, the types of phenomena—which in turn derives
from the question of why one is studying them—that is, the issue or
theoretical question one wishes to address. We want therefore from the
outset to make clear four major premises on which our discussion of
spontaneous case research is based.
First, we do not think that psi research should be defined as the study of
isolated anomalies that cannot be explained by ordinary sensorimotor
processes. Instead, we define it more broadly as the science that studies
phenomena suggesting the active, primary role of consciousness, and
especially volition, in the external world. It is important to emphasize that
by “consciousness” and “volition” we are not referring just to what F. W. H.
Myers (1903) called the “supraliminal” aspects of consciousness, those
mental processes of which we are aware, but instead to the much more
extensive “subliminal” contents and activities of consciousness.
Second, we think that spontaneous experiences provide a broad base on
which to both generate and test hypotheses, models, and theories of the role
of consciousness in the physical world, simply because they occur in the
broad context of naturally occurring conditions. Additionally, as we hope to
make clearer later in the chapter, we think that the base of spontaneous
cases themselves must be expanded beyond the traditional psi categories of
ESP, PK, and survival-related phenomena such as apparitions to include
other related phenomena that themselves suggest the active, primary role of
mind.
Third, we recognize that people come to the study of spontaneous
experiences with different purposes. In particular, these divide broadly into
the evidence-based approaches and the experiential-based approaches. The
former seek to understand what these phenomena are and what they have to
say about human nature and its place in the world. The latter seek to
understand the meaning of experiences in the lives of the people who have
them. Both are important endeavors, but in our view the latter fall into the
domain of clinical or sociological questions. We unabashedly adopt the
approach of, and define psi research as, studying the phenomena for what
they have to tell us about the theoretical question of the nature of the
relation of consciousness and matter.
Finally, we think that methodology involves a continuum of complementary
approaches. There is no either/or choice to be made between, say,
spontaneous case studies and experiments, or between investigating
individual cases and amassing large case collections. Similarly, there is no
linear progression or “advance” in science from an “anecdotal” stage to an
“experimental” stage, or from “proof”-oriented to “process”-oriented
research. Individual researchers will choose one or another approach for
their own work, but psi research as a whole must involve a constant
interplay of methods and approaches, working in tandem and informing
each other.
These general comments apply to the science of psi research as a whole, but
in this chapter we will limit our discussion in the following ways. First, as
with the chapter in the original Handbook, we are here dealing only with
non-recurrent spontaneous experiences and thus will not include field
studies of recurring phenomena such as poltergeist or haunting cases, nor
will we deal with near-death experiences (NDEs), out-of-body experiences
(OBEs), or cases of the reincarnation type, although they are relevant to this
chapter, because some of them are covered in other chapters. Second, this
chapter is by no means meant to be a review of all pertinent studies carried
out in the nearly four decades since 1977. Instead, we aim only to give
enough examples of relevant research and publications to illustrate what we
view as the most important points about method and theory.
Summary of Louisa Rhine’s 1977 Chapter
Louisa Rhine’s chapter on spontaneous cases in the original Handbook, and
indeed all her work on spontaneous cases, was based on her conviction that,
whatever value such cases might have, the study of them was “peripheral”
to experimental studies of psi (p. 77). They are, she said, “peripheral …
because science in general has now advanced from the anecdotal stage to
the experimental.” They are also inherently weak, primarily because of the
unreliability of human testimony (p. 61), and therefore “case studies must
always be peripheral [because] they never prove anything by themselves.
They can only suggest … [and] give tentative hints on which the slower
methods of experimentation can capitalize” (p. 78).
With that premise, she devoted most of her chapter to contrasting the “old”
methods used by the early psychical researchers and her own “new”
methods. The old methods consisted of the authentication and verification
of the accounts reported because, she said, the primary goal of the psychical
researchers was “to prove that telepathy occurs … preliminary to the great
question of [proving] survival” (p. 61). She explained that the weakness of
this approach was, first, that one could never eliminate errors of testimony
to the point of proof and, second, that the investigators limited their
purview by excluding the many reports of experiences that did not fit the
criteria set for cases to be considered adequate for the intended goal. The
Phantasms of the Living collection, for example, included only cases that
fell within a certain time span (12 hours before or after the related event)
and emphasized waking experiences over dreams.
After reviewing some older research intended to overcome some of the
weaknesses of the old method, Rhine then turned to a brief summary of her
own “new methods.” She admitted that her original intent in studying
spontaneous cases had been to use analyses of them only to generate
hypotheses for experimental work, but later, “with psi experimentally
established, emphasis was shifting to a study of its nature,” to which
“spontaneous cases might give clues” (p. 69). Her method was to broaden
the base of cases examined by including all reports sent to her if the
description fit the definition of psi, and if the letter seemed to have been
written “intelligently … and in apparent good faith” (p. 70). This meant, in
practice, that over half of all accounts sent to her were eliminated because
of “obvious weaknesses” (p. 69), although she did not specify exactly what
those weaknesses were. Nevertheless, the database of cases was extensive,
eventually growing to more than 14,000 (Feather & Schmicker, 2005).
Rhine did not, as we will later discuss further, investigate or follow up on
the accounts she received, explaining that this “method could not have been
used 50 years earlier, before psi was established experimentally.” Unlike the
early psychical researchers, she said, she no longer needed evidential
“proof” of psi, and so she could dispense with proof-oriented investigations
and concentrate on process-oriented analysis. In a rather odd twist of logic,
she went on to say that, because psi was now experimentally established, “it
was necessary to conclude that psi must also occur spontaneously” (p. 70).
The persisting question was whether any given experience could be
attributed to psi or was a chance coincidence, but she believed that non-psi
cases would be cancelled out, for purposes of describing psi processes, in
large-scale pattern analyses.
Comments on Rhine’s Chapter
Although Rhine’s extensive research and classification system of
spontaneous cases were valuable contributions, we would challenge her
position on several important issues. In general, we believe that behind
much of her attitude was a narrow understanding of the nature of science.
First, she placed a misguided emphasis on the concept of “proof.”
Throughout her chapter, she used the word numerous times, especially in
alleging that only statistics and experiments, and not unreliable eyewitness
testimony, can ever “prove” psi. Second, she believed that science
progresses from an anecdotal to an experimental stage, and from “proof”oriented to “process”-oriented research. However, as Ian Stevenson pointed
out frequently (e.g., 1968), there is no “proof” in science; the concept of
proof belongs only to mathematics. Science consists most fundamentally
not of experiment and “proof,” but of increasing or diminishing
probabilities of hypotheses or theories by “testing interpretations of
observed phenomena against further observations until one interpretation
emerges as the best” (Stevenson, 1999, p. 257).
Because of this mistaken notion about “scientific proof,” Rhine strictly
dichotomized the “old” anecdotal methods of psychical research and her
own new methods, but in doing so she seriously misunderstood much of the
work that preceded her. She believed that experimental studies had
conclusively “established” the existence of ESP, clairvoyance, and PK (p.
69; see also 1981, pp. 47, 205), and therefore that “the reality of psi and the
field of parapsychology are gaining wider acceptance” (1981, p. 7). In
contrast, the early psychical researchers “knew nothing of psi,” although
they “did suspect that telepathy does somehow occur” (1981, p. 121). They
were “not informed of or not in sympathy with the experimental kind of
inquiry,” and their methods, “fixed by tradition,” were “a remnant of a day
long before any type of extrasensory perception had been established and
when the concept of telepathy was not accepted in orthodox scientific
circles” (1977, p. 60). Moreover, she believed that the psychical researchers
were interested only in certain religious or philosophical questions (read,
post-mortem survival), and not in “psi as a human ability,” or what she
labeled “process” research. As a result, it took “investigators in the
laboratory … to recognize that psi operates unconsciously” (1981, p. 81,
166).
There is probably no need to comment on Rhine’s belief that experimental
studies had led to the acceptance of psi in “orthodox scientific circles.” But
others of her remarks are similarly mistaken. To say that the early psychical
researchers “knew nothing of psi” is odd, as they invented the concept, and
even the term, “telepathy” and published numerous papers not only on it but
on PK (or “telekinesis”), clairvoyance (or “telesthesia”), and precognition.
The whole premise of Phantasms of the Living was to see how far the
hypothesis of telepathy could go in accounting for apparitions and other
such experiences. Rhine’s remark that the psychical researchers were
ignorant of or “not in sympathy with” the experimental method is off base
as well; they in fact carried out numerous experimental studies, including
some with quantitative or statistical evaluations. Perhaps most egregious of
all, anyone aware of the Subliminal Self theory of Myers must feel a bit
stunned when Rhine gives credit to experimental parapsychologists for
“discovering” that psi is an “unconscious” process.
Moreover, although some (but not all) psychical researchers were certainly
interested in the survival question, this interest was part of a broader
motivation. Myers’s theory of the Subliminal Self is in fact a complex
theory of human personality, examining a wide range of normal, abnormal,
and supernormal psychological phenomena and the processes by which they
occur (see Cook [Kelly], 1994; Kelly, Kelly, Gauld, Crabtree, Grosso, &
Greyson, 2007, Chapter 2; Myers, 1903). More specifically, a review of the
broader methods and approaches adopted by the psychical researchers
reveals work that predates Rhine’s own classification methods and
“process-oriented” research by decades (Alvarado, 1987, also makes this
point). Myers, for example, published “Specimens of the Classification of
Cases for ‘Phantasms of the Living,’” a series of nine papers (1884–1885)
setting out a classification system for a wide range of cases, those
evidentially weak as well as strong. The psychical researchers did not, as
Rhine stated (1977, p. 69; 1981, pp. 32–33), ignore cases not meeting
certain evidential standards and thereby prematurely narrow the type of
cases considered. On the contrary, they took into account as wide a range of
cases as they received, because “our aim is not only evidential, but
theoretical” (Myers, 1884–1885, p. 54). In complete opposition to
narrowing their base of cases, a major purpose was to expand the base, so
that new cases could be compared to the classification system and
hypotheses suggested by the old cases, and the system and hypotheses
modified accordingly.
Expanding Contemporary Research on Spontaneous Cases
Our intent is not to dwell on either the accomplishments or the mistakes of
the past. Unfortunately, as Alan Gauld (1993, p. 256) has cogently
observed, even though spontaneous case research has continued, it is in
many respects “static” because, with just a few exceptions, in recent
decades it has “greatly diminished” in quantity, and qualitatively it does
“not seem to carry us substantially beyond the point that had already been
reached at the beginning of [the 20th] century.” Gauld cites a number of
political and sociological reasons for this stagnation that have been
detrimental to psi research in general. We believe further that factors
internal to the field have contributed to the decline of spontaneous case
studies. Interest in spontaneous cases among psi researchers has nearly died
away because most of them have adopted attitudes similar to Rhine’s,
particularly with regard to the concept of “proof” in science and the
accompanying rejection of “anecdotes” as scientific evidence. The
overwhelmingly predominant attitude toward spontaneous case research
today is that it is—at best—“peripheral” because there has been “a clear
progression [italics added] in parapsychology from the collection of
anecdotal material to the experimental investigation of laboratory analogues
of psi phenomena…. [A] field of research that has any scientific merit must
be represented in the laboratories of recognized universities” (Irwin & Watt,
2007, pp. 247–248).
As we explained earlier, we emphatically reject attitudes that dichotomize
unscientific, unreliable, anecdotal methods and “truly scientific” (Irwin &
Watt, 2007, p. 248), statistical, laboratory methods as a parochial remnant
of a narrow view of science. To those who simply rehearse the old
arguments about the unreliability of eyewitness testimony (e.g., Irwin &
Watt, 2007, pp. 40–45; Morris, 1986), we would reply, as Gauld (1993, p.
260) does, that they apparently “have not done the relevant homework” of
studying the detailed discussions by Gurney and others about this issue. As
Stokes (1997) further points out, the frequently invoked counterexplanations of fraud, unreliable testimony, or coincidence are always
possible “for any given case,” but they often involve “a considerable
amount of mental gymnastics” to make them plausible, and he rejects this
essentially knee-jerk reaction to spontaneous cases as “far too cavalier an
approach” (p. 65) [see chapter 3]. Moreover, to those who dismiss
spontaneous cases because one cannot “specify the statistical probability of
the event’s occurrence by chance” (Irwin & Watt, 2007, p. 44), we would
reply that the scientific method is not most fundamentally one of
quantification, but of systematization, that is, bringing meaningful order to
events, particularly those that are not by nature quantifiable (Braude, 1992,
p. 227; Cook [Kelly], 1991, p. 191; Grimaldi & Engel, 2007; G. Murphy,
1953, p. 101).
In short, we have emphasized this simplistic and erroneous view of science,
adopted by psi researchers and critics alike, because a major objective in
this chapter is to argue that the issues raised by psi require a broad-based
and expanded approach, and our view is that any science that ignores its
“ethology” (Stevenson, 1968, p. 123), or naturally occurring phenomena,
and limits itself to observing artificially produced phenomena, whether in a
lab or in a zoo, is doomed to failure.
Reasons for Studying Spontaneous Cases
All good science begins, not with a phenomenon or a position that one
wishes to “prove,” but with a question or unresolved issue that one wishes
to address. In the case of psi research, that issue is, broadly, the place of
consciousness, and particularly volition, in the physical world, and the
question is, what is the nature of mind-brain correlation? Is mind produced
by the brain, as the vast majority of scientists today assume? Or is it instead
limited, shaped, or “filtered” by the brain, as suggested by James
(1898/1900), Bergson (1913), Huxley (1954/1990), and others (see Kelly et
al., 2007, for further discussion and references to these two models of mindbrain correlation)? [see chapter 2, this volume] This large question about
the nature of consciousness looms over neuroscience, psychology, and
philosophy, and psi research has a central role to play in addressing it—
once parapsychologists themselves recognize that the issue is not one of
“proving” psi but of addressing this fundamental, wholly unresolved
question.
But spontaneous case research also has a central role to play in unresolved
issues in psi research itself. Much effort has been expended in connection
with experimental studies of psi to determine conditions under which psi is
most likely to occur, especially altered states of consciousness and internal
attention states, such as hypnosis and the ganzfeld [see chapters 9 and 15].
Spontaneous case research had already identified such states as being
frequently associated with psi experiences, and we would argue that such
conditions are more likely to be identified under natural, and not artificial,
circumstances.
Similarly, there has been much research on personality characteristics
associated with psi, but most of it has involved either experimental
participants or people who claim psi experiences. Unfortunately, many
claims of experiences do not correspond to what a researcher would
consider psi; we remind readers that Louisa Rhine (1977, pp. 69–70)
discarded about 60 percent of the letters sent to her as not meeting her
definition of psi. A big gap should be filled by examining the personality
characteristics of people reporting experiences whose descriptions fit the
kinds of cases we are actually interested in studying. Along with Haight’s
(1979) use of a personality questionnaire with high school participants of
“good” psi cases, much more work could be done on the correlates between
spontaneous psi experiences and patterns on standard personality
instruments.
We would argue, however, that an even bigger gap remains to be filled. All
“process-oriented” work on identifying conducive conditions and “good”
experimental participants has been aimed at improving the “hit” rate, or
evidence for psi. We believe that describing conditions and personality
characteristics associated with psi ought to be carried further and
undertaken with a theoretical aim in mind. Process-oriented research aims
at seeing patterns in the data. Theory-oriented research asks why those
patterns occur. For example, a major part of a “filter” view of mind-brain
relations is that psi experiences occur more readily in people for whom the
psychological boundaries between supraliminal and subliminal regions of
consciousness are more “permeable,” such as fantasy-proneness,
dissociative tendencies, and transliminality, and that these boundaries are
further relaxed under conditions such as drowsiness, hypnosis, or sensory
deprivation. Thus, certain personality characteristics and conditions that
have been repeatedly associated with the occurrence of psi are not only
conducive, but are so in a way that makes sense within the theoretical
framework of a “filter” theory of consciousness.
Another perennial problem in psi research, no closer to being solved now
than when it was first raised in the late 19th century, is what is known as the
“source of psi” question, an issue toward which Palmer (1992, p. 234)
thinks “surprisingly little empirical research has been directed,” given its
central importance to the field. As Louisa Rhine (1981, p. 196) put it,
“which of the two persons ‘did it’?”; and in recent decades a third person—
the experimenter—has been added as the possible active party.
The issue of whether the percipient or the agent is the active party became
of central importance to Rhine. She argued throughout her career that the
percipient was the active and important party, drawing this conclusion
primarily because in clairvoyance and precognition cases there is no agent
(she assumed) and even in many telepathy cases there is no evidence that
the ostensible agents were trying, or even motivated, “to send their thoughts
to the percipient” (1981, p. 126).
Stevenson (1970) stressed the dangers of drawing conclusions, as Rhine
did, from cases in which the percipient’s point of view is the primary, even
only, one the researcher sees and takes into account. Stokes (1997) noted
that, in attributing agency to the percipients, Rhine herself showed a
“reverse prejudice” (p. 47) in apparently ignoring findings that complicate
her conclusion. Weiner and Haight (1986) similarly believed that Rhine
“did seem to stack the deck against an active-agent hypothesis” (p. 25).
Such cautions, however, have not stopped some contemporary researchers
from asserting that one of her “most interesting ideas” was that the
experience was “instigated by the experient” (Irwin & Watt, 2007, p. 37).
An “active-percipient” hypothesis was not, in fact, original with Rhine.
Myers (1884–1885) raised the issue of whether the percipient or the agent is
the active party by asking: “Are we to suppose … that potential telepathic
impressions are perpetually flying about, but only certain minds can catch
and develop them? or are we, on the contrary, to assume that it is only the
one rare mind here and there which has the power of projecting an
impression sufficiently vigorous to be felt by another?” (p. 80). He
tentatively suggested that the limited evidence to that point suggested the
percipient as the important party, because percipients often report more than
one experience, whereas agents do not seem to figure in more than one (pp.
80–81).We would argue, however, that the crucial point to keep in mind is
the need to evaluate cases from both perspectives, and not to defend
prematurely one or another as universally correct. Moreover, some early
psychical researchers considered an interesting third possibility, one that we
believe remains a vitally important one to explore, both in spontaneous
cases and experimental research. Is “percipient or agent” another false
dichotomy? Is it neither one nor the other alone, but something about the
interaction or interconnection of the two that is the important factor?
Eleanor Sidgwick (1922, pp. 420–423) suggested that some kind of direct
“contact” between or “merging” of minds in varying degrees was a better
model than a transmission-through-space model. Myers also proposed a
kind of psychological link, or rapport, between subliminal minds (see Kelly
et al., 2007, p. 90). As he quickly pointed out, a difficulty arises when one
considers cases “between persons who not only are not thinking of each
other at the time, but who are absolute strangers … where no pre-existing
rapport can even be suggested” (1884–1885, pp. 121–122). Clearly, the
matter is more complicated than one of kinship or affection, of motivation,
or of the direction of attention (pp. 100, 121). Perhaps additional to—or
instead of, in some cases—these factors, there may be a kind of “diffused
excitement” surrounding the nature of the event itself that spreads, even to
strangers who are, in some as yet unknown way, connected psychologically
to that event (p. 123).
Without abandoning attempts to “pinpoint” the source of psi, a more
promising approach might be to examine more fully this third possibility
that something about the relationship, interaction, or interconnectedness of
all parties involved is the primary factor. In his evaluation of “The
Importance of Spontaneous Cases,” Gardner Murphy (1953) thought that
their importance might well lie in “a systematic and intelligible picture of
what happens in the deep-level interactions [emphasis added] of human
beings” (p. 101). Of particular interest, given the prominence of
contemporary ideas about “non-locality,” might be the suggestion of Myers
and Gurney that this conjectured link or rapport could be the conceptual
equivalent in psychology of gravitation or molecular attraction in physics
(Gurney & Myers, 1884, pp. 814–815; Myers, 1903, vol. 1, p. 38). In 1919
the biologist Paul Kammerer, who was interested in coincidences, expressed
a similar idea of “an a-causal principle active in the universe, which tends
toward unity. In some respects it is comparable to universal gravity … but
… acts selectively on form and function to bring similar configurations
together in space and time; it correlates by affinity … ‘bringing like and like
together’” (Koestler, 1972, p. 86). Perhaps asking “which person did it?” is
a bit like asking “what is the sound of one hand clapping?”
Such explorations indicate that research on spontaneous cases has much to
contribute to a better understanding of consciousness, if we carry the
research beyond the question of whether certain conditions or people are
associated with psi experiences, and ask also the theoretical question of why
they are so associated.
Methods Used to Study Spontaneous Cases
As White (1992) outlined, there are many ways of studying spontaneous
experiences; most of the methods she described approach cases from an
“experiential” point of view. For those of us interested primarily in the
theoretical issue of what spontaneous experiences tell us about the nature of
consciousness, there are several methodological approaches one can take—
all, we again emphasize, to be undertaken as contributory steps in an
ongoing process, and not in isolation—but the primary question is how best
to identify cases and gather data relevant to the question one is asking.
Surveys
In recent decades one frequent approach has been the survey method, with
questionnaires being administered to a (usually) random sample of people,
often to learn the prevalence of particular types of experiences in that
population. One of the earliest such surveys was that of McCready and
Greeley (1976), sociologists who, in the context of a larger study of values
in America, asked several questions related to psi phenomena. They found
that 59 percent reported experiencing déjà vu, 58 percent ESP, 35 percent
mystical experiences, 27 percent contact with the dead, and 24 percent
clairvoyance. Palmer (1979), who surveyed a population of students and
non-student adults in Charlottesville, Virginia, asked about similar types of
experiences, as well as poltergeists, OBEs, past-life memories, and auras,
and similarly found that many people reported them (82 percent of the adult
sample and 96 percent of the student sample).
Haraldsson has reported the largest and most widespread surveys on psirelated experiences. In a 1985 paper he compared data from six surveys in
Iceland, the U.K., Sweden, the USA, and 16 western European countries
about beliefs as well as experiences of psi phenomena. Perhaps the most
striking finding of these studies was the wide variation in prevalence of the
various types of experiences reported in different countries. Not
surprisingly, the different surveys asked different questions, and such
differences “have made direct comparisons across countries both difficult
and highly tentative” (Haraldsson & Houtkooper, 1991, p. 145).
In another large survey, the European Value System Study Group,
undertaken under the auspices of Gallup and its affiliates, cross-cultural
comparisons were somewhat easier because the three questions on
telepathy, clairvoyance, and contact with the dead devised by Greeley
(McCready & Greeley, 1976) were used in all countries (Haraldsson &
Houtkooper, 1991). In this study, there were 18,607 respondents in the USA
and 13 western European countries. In the USA, 60 percent reported at least
one such experience, and in Europe 46 percent did, ranging from 24 percent
in Norway to 60 percent in Italy. With more consistency in the questions
asked, Haraldsson and Houtkooper could use the data to look at the effect of
other variables, including demographics, beliefs, and psychological wellbeing.
Other surveys have focused, not so much on prevalence, but on factors
pertinent to a particular hypothesis about the experiences. McClenon
(1994), for example, undertook random surveys using Greeley’s questions
about déjà vu, ESP, and contact with the dead, as well as questions about
OBEs, sleep paralysis, belief about ESP, and religion. His purpose was
primarily to evaluate the “cultural source” hypothesis, which says that the
occurrence and nature of spontaneous psi experiences are shaped entirely
by culture, especially religious background and needs and the extent of
one’s exposure to scientific education. Questionnaires were distributed to
Caucasian-American, African American, Chinese, and Japanese students at
seven colleges and universities in the USA, China, and Japan. In general,
he, like others before him, found little support for the cultural source
hypothesis (pp. 117, 128). Instead, he argues that psi experiences are
associated with psychological characteristics such as hypnotic
susceptibility, absorption, fantasy-proneness, and dissociative tendencies,
among the characteristics we mentioned earlier in connection with the filter
theory of mind and brain and a “permeable” boundary between the
supraliminal and subliminal areas of consciousness.
Ross and Joshi (1992) conducted a random survey to look further at
observations they had made, primarily in a psychiatric context, of a relation
between dissociation and reports of psi-related experiences. They
administered the Dissociative Disorders Interview Schedule, including
questions about various psi-related experiences, to 502 adults in Winnipeg,
Canada. Of these, 66 percent reported at least one experience, and the
reports of psi experiences correlated with childhood abuse and dissociative
tendencies. The authors propose that “paranormal experiences are not
necessarily pathological in nature … [but] an expression of normal
dissociative capacity” that can be “activated by trauma” but also occur “in
highly dissociative individuals who are healthy” (p. 360). They also insist
that “paranormal experiences are so common in the general population …
that no theory of normal psychology or psychopathology which does not
take them into account can be comprehensive” (p. 360).
Surveys can tell us how many people believe they have had certain
experiences, and they may be useful in identifying reports that can be
followed up to learn details about what actually happened. West (1995),
however, has cautioned about the limited use of survey studies, based on his
own experience. In addition to his earlier attempt (1948) to replicate the
original SPR Census of Hallucinations, he conducted two studies, one was
not a random survey (West, 1990), the other one was (West, 1995). In the
1990 study, respondents were asked about four kinds of experiences
(apparitions, precognition, PK, and NDEs), and also asked to give a brief
description of the experience. In the 1995 study, simple “yes” or “no”
responses were given, with no further elaboration. On the basis of
descriptions given in the first study, West found that many of the “yes”
answers did not in fact correspond to an experience that a researcher would
consider an example of the phenomenon in question. In the 1995 study,
internal evidence suggested similarly that the “yes” answers were
artificially inflated, perhaps because respondents had a different
understanding of the terms and concepts being used. West’s (1995)
conclusion is one that we endorse fully: “Simple questionnaires, … when
not followed by further detailed inquiries into the exact nature of the
experiences reported, can be misleading…. The combined survey and case
study is a better way to research spontaneous experiences” (p. 171).
Case Collections
Single in-depth case studies are still occasionally carried out, such as those
reported by Osis (1986) and Stevenson (1995). Regrettably, few
contemporary case collections involve such extensive investigation. (A
major exception is the collection of cases of the reincarnation type and
related phenomena assembled by Ian Stevenson and his colleagues,
discussed in chapter 25).
Unlike a survey, which systematically canvasses members of a defined
population, most case collections have resulted from appeals for
experiences to the general public through various forms of the media, or
from self-reports by people who have read or otherwise learned about a
researcher’s particular interests. Hearne (1984), for example, asked in a
newspaper for experiences of premonitions. Out of 450 letters received, he
chose 127 for further study, and the respondents were sent a questionnaire
about their experiences as well as the Eysenck Personality Inventory. The
reports were not investigated, but based on the descriptions given Hearne
determined, among other things, that 85 percent were associated with death
or other unpleasant events, 54 percent occurred in dreams or hypnagogic
imagery, and the vast majority of respondents (90 percent) were women.
Virtanen (1977/1990) likewise collected experiences primarily by placing
requests in newspapers and magazines. She asked for reports of
“simultaneous informatory experiences,” by which she primarily meant
crisis-type cases (p. 24). As a folklorist in Finland, she, like Hufford (1982),
McClenon (1994), and Schouten (1983), wanted to evaluate the cultural
source hypothesis, whether “traditional beliefs determin[e] the nature of our
strange experiences,” or whether instead “traditions may arise after the fact
to explain the strange experiences we have already had” (p. xvi).
Recognizing that spontaneous experiences can never “prove the existence
of ESP” and that any explanation, normal or paranormal, can only be
judged “more or less probable,” she also focused her research on “the study
of regularities observable in the experiences themselves” (p. 7). For the first
objective, she looked at 865 experiences reported to her, supplemented by
older cases and folklore accounts in Finland. For the second objective she
analyzed the 865 questionnaires (together with data from some interviews)
she had collected. Like Hufford, McClenon, and Schouten, she concluded
that “the experiences are not dependent a priori on folk belief or the
percipient’s repertoire of traditional belief” (p. xvii). She also found that the
experiences were overwhelmingly (95 percent) negative in content, about
deaths, accidents, or illness. About half of the experiences occurred in a
waking state, the rest in dreams or borderline states, but “the nearer the
percipient is to the normal waking state,” the more limited in details and
more symbolic in nature was the information obtained (pp. 132, 148). The
experiences took many forms, including dreams, hallucinations, intuitions,
somatic sensations, physical phenomena, or unusual behavior of animals or
birds.
Haraldsson (1988–1989) is one of the few contemporary researchers—if not
the only one—who has taken responses to surveys and systematically
followed up the claims of experiences with some in-depth investigation. In
a random survey in Iceland, 181 respondents had answered “yes” to a
question of whether they had ever “experienced or felt the nearness of a
deceased person.” Two years later Haraldsson attempted to contact all of
them; 127 were reached and agreed to be interviewed. Of these, 27 reported
experiences not of the kind being sought and these experiences were
omitted from the survey. Of the remaining 100, 84 were sensory in nature,
whether visual, auditory, tactile, or olfactory, and 16 involved a vivid sense
of presence. In 13 cases the percipient did not know that the deceased
person had died (p. 10). Thirteen other cases were collective, in that more
than one person had the experience; these other persons were interviewed
whenever possible. But perhaps the major importance of the study is that
the investigator did not stop with unexamined survey data, but followed up
with detailed questionnaires and interviews, eliminating reports that were
not relevant to the questions being addressed, and then looking for patterns
in the cases that remained.
Haraldsson (1994, 2009, 2012) also conducted another study, in which a
brief questionnaire was placed in several magazines in Iceland, again asking
about experiences of perceiving or feeling the nearness of a deceased
person. Over 700 replies were received, but again some responses were
discarded as inappropriate for the study. Over 300 respondents were
interviewed by telephone until resources for the study ran out. Additionally,
the investigators were able to check the accuracy of the names, dates of
death, and mode of death of the deceased persons involved, and in the
collective cases they interviewed as many other witnesses as possible. As in
Haraldsson’s first study, most of the experiences (90 percent) were sensory,
especially visual, and 10 percent involved a vivid sense of presence. Most
of the deceased people in both studies were male. Moreover, the mode of
death was violent in a disproportionately large number of cases: 30 percent
of those verified by the official records. High proportions of male agents
and of a violent mode of death were also found in cases of Phantasms of the
Living (Schouten, 1979; Stevenson, 1982). Other important factors that
Haraldsson looked at were the state of consciousness of the percipient,
whether the experience occurred in daylight or darkness, the relationship
between the percipient and the deceased person, the time elapsed between
the death and the experience, and in how many cases other persons were
present and did (or did not) share the experience. Again, the specific
findings are less important to comment on here than the fact that the
experiences were investigated in enough detail to allow such features to be
examined.
We agree with West (1995) and Stevenson (1987) that what is most needed
now are “systematic survey[s] of cases, combined with the careful
investigation of every case identified in the survey” (Stevenson, 1987, p.
103). More generally, we agree with the arguments of two biologists who
recently published a paper entitled “Why Descriptive Science Still Matters”
(Grimaldi & Engel, 2007). Their attempt to clear up the “chronic
misunderstanding as to what descriptive science actually is, and …
ignorance of its significance” (p. 646) was addressed primarily to the
sciences of astronomy, oceanography, and biology, but it applies fully to the
study of spontaneous experiences in psi research. First, descriptive science
is a “comparative method [that] assesses variation among individual things
[e.g., experiences], and organizes it into systems and classifications that are
used for making predictions … as descriptions become more refined and
thorough, so do the systems of organization” (p. 646). Second, they point
out that major scientific accomplishments have been achieved using “quaint
tools,” including “old-fashioned natural history observations” (p. 646).
Finally, the quality of a theory depends entirely on the quality of “the
evidence (i.e., descriptions) that supports it … no theory is more profoundly
explanatory than evolution,” and it succeeded so well because Darwin
“assembled and explained vast descriptive evidence” (p. 647). The science
of spontaneous psi experiences, we believe, has potentially an equally
central role to play in the ultimate development of an equally profound
theory of consciousness.
Types of Spontaneous Cases Studied
Descriptive science is, according to Grimaldi and Engel, first and foremost
a comparative method, in which something is studied in its broader context
of related phenomena. We would suggest that the study of traditional psi
experiences should be expanded to examine them comparatively in the
context of other phenomena that are related because they too bear on the
issue of the nature of consciousness in relation to the physical world. The
range of phenomena of interest to psychical researchers was much wider a
century ago than in most of current parapsychology, and they were seen as
“by no means isolated, but touch[ing] each other and mingl[ing] with each
other in a variety of ways” (Myers, 1884–1885, p. 142). Stevenson (1990)
described the “break-up” of the field, “rather in the manner of the AustroHungarian Empire after World War I,” so that areas once considered
important parts of psychical research, such as hypnotism, unusual healings,
lucid dreams, multiple personality, mystical or religious experiences, and
what we now call NDEs, have all broken away into separate research
arenas. This fragmentation has occurred in part because psychical
researchers themselves “have come to identify the field of its endeavors as
narrower than it once was or should now again become” (pp. 159–160).
Perhaps one of the most important reasons for once again broadening the
base of spontaneous case research, and rebuilding empirical and theoretical
connections with these other areas, is to emphasize that none of these
phenomena can be isolated, but that they fall on a continuum, adequately
understandable only as they relate to each other death-related phenomena.
One of the largest of these “breakaway” fields is that of near-death research,
which has succeeded in attracting the attention of numerous scientists,
primarily medical scientists, neuroscientists, and anthropologists, and is in
large part carried out by persons not affiliated with psi research or its
organizations. Many other phenomena besides NDEs, however, have been
noted and studied in the broader context of death and dying. One area that
has thus far received surprisingly little attention includes what are
sometimes called death-bed visions, that is, the experiences of people
shortly before they actually die. These experiences most often take the form
of a dying person seeming to see or speak with someone who is not
(usually) perceptible by others. From what the dying person says, others
present are often able to identify this person as a deceased loved one.
Occasionally the dying person will describe seeing a place that is also not
seen by others.
These experiences were of great interest to some of the early psychical
researchers (e.g., Barrett, 1926; Bozzano, 1906; Hyslop, 1908), and several
decades ago Osis and Haraldsson (1977/2012) conducted surveys of doctors
and nurses in the United States and India to learn about their exposure to
such experiences among their patients. Although hospice workers have long
stated informally that such experiences are common, little systematic
research has been conducted. One exception is that of Peter Fenwick and
his colleagues, who have recently begun studies among hospice and nursing
home caregivers in the U.K. They conducted a pilot study at a palliative
care unit, in which nine medical personnel were given a questionnaire and
then interviewed in person (Brayne, Farnham, & Fenwick, 2006). Three
additional studies were conducted at a nursing home and two hospices, with
38 medical personnel (Fenwick, Lovelace, & Brayne, 2010). All
interviewees had learned of such experiences, either directly from patients
or from family members, and most of them distinguished clearly between
these “meaningful” experiences and the confusional states accompanying
drug-induced hallucinations.
In addition to the dying person’s visions of people and places not physically
present, other kinds of phenomena have been reported at or near the time of
death. On rare occasions, a bystander will have a vision, or share the dying
person’s vision (e.g., Fenwick et al., 2010, p. 176; Stevenson, 1995, pp.
359–363). Bystanders also occasionally report seeing an unusual light
around the dying person at the time of death (Fenwick, 2005, p. 152;
Fenwick et al., 2010, p. 176), a phenomenon that may prove of particular
interest, given the frequent association of light with deep hypnotic states
(Cardeña, 2005), NDEs, psi experiences, and mystical experiences.
Bystanders also sometimes report seeing something leaving the body
(Alvarado, 2006; Fenwick, Lovelace, & Brayne, 2007).
Another phenomenon, apparently well known among physicians of the 18th
and 19th centuries, is of particular interest theoretically. In some instances a
dying person will recover his or her mental, or even physical, faculties
shortly before death. The eminent early American physician Benjamin Rush
(1812) observed that “most of mad people discover a greater or less degree
of reason in the last days or hours of their lives” (p. 257). Such cases are of
special interest when the disease in question involves clear destruction of
brain tissue, as with Alzheimer’s patients. A striking example of this sort
was reported recently by a surgeon whose patient was dying of a cancer that
had eaten away most of his brain tissue, and yet he awoke from a coma to
say goodbye to his family shortly before he died (Haig, 2007). Clearly, the
importance of such cases lies in what they may have to tell us about the
adequacy of the theory that consciousness is the product of the brain and
nothing else (Kelly et al., 2007). Michael Nahm and his colleagues have
published several papers reviewing the medical and scientific reports of
such “terminal lucidity” cases (Nahm, 2009; Nahm & Greyson, 2009;
Nahm, Greyson, Kelly, & Haraldsson, 2012). Moreover, Fenwick and his
colleagues have also learned about such cases in their hospice and nursing
home studies (Brayne, Lovelace, & Fenwick, 2008; Fenwick et al., 2010).
Systematic studies in connection with hospices and nursing homes looking
at experiences among the bereaved have recently been conducted as well. In
an exploratory study undertaken by palliative care workers (Barbato,
Blunden, Reid, Irwin, & Rodriguez, 1999), questionnaires were mailed to
100 people a month after their relative or friend had died in the palliative
care unit of St. Joseph’s Hospital in Auburn, Australia. Forty-seven people
returned the questionnaire, and of these 23 (49 percent) had some kind of
experience to report: 11 of the 23 reported that the dying person had had
some kind of experience, usually of seeing a deceased loved one, and 18
people had themselves had one or more experiences after the death,
including a sense of presence of the deceased person, a hallucination
(auditory, olfactory, or visual) of the deceased person, or unusual movement
of objects associated with the deceased person. One person also reported a
“crisis” dream that had alerted the dreamer to the person’s death. The
authors stressed the need for palliative care workers, patients, and families
to recognize that such experiences “are not uncommon” (p. 231).
Likewise, from the beginning of their studies in hospices and nursing
homes, Fenwick and his colleagues started learning about a phenomenon
familiar to psychical researchers, one Fenwick calls “coincidence” cases
and psychical researchers call “crisis” cases (Brayne et al., 2008; Fenwick
et al., 2010), in which someone, usually a family member, has a dream, sees
an apparition, has a telepathic impression, or experiences a PK event such
as a picture falling or a clock stopping, at a time closely coinciding with the
patient’s death. Moreover, because of the publicity their palliative care
research has generated, many people have contacted Fenwick to tell him
about their experiences, not only of deathbed visions, but also of crisis, or
coincidence, cases (Fenwick & Brayne, 2011).
The experiences of bereaved persons have received a lot of attention in the
popular press in recent years as “after-death communications” (Arcangel &
Schwartz, 2005; Guggenheim & Guggenheim, 1995; LaGrand, 1997). In
the medical and psychiatric literature, however, other than the palliative
care research of the Barbato and Fenwick groups, interest in the unusual
experiences of bereaved persons has been confined to studies of one
population—widows and widowers. An extensive study was undertaken by
Rees (1971), who interviewed nearly all (293, or 94 percent) widowed
persons in a particular area of mid–Wales who were fit enough to be
interviewed. Rees was particularly interested in learning about hallucinatory
experiences, and he found that 47 percent of his respondents reported them.
Of these, 39 percent reported a sense of presence, 14 percent saw the
deceased spouse, 13 percent heard him or her, and 3 percent reported a
sense of being touched by the deceased spouse. The hallucinations often
lasted 10 or more years. Most people found them positive or helpful but had
told no one else about them.
Other researchers have successfully replicated Rees’s study. Olson,
Suddeth, Peterson, and Egelhoff (1985) interviewed 46 widows in two
nursing homes in North Carolina. In this sample, nearly two-thirds (61
percent) reported hallucinations of their deceased spouse, including 79
percent visual, 50 percent auditory, 21 percent tactile, and 32 percent a
sense of presence. Similarly, Grimby (1993) interviewed 50 randomly
selected widows and widowers in Sweden, who were initially contacted
within the first month after the death of their spouse. Of them, 82 percent
reported experiencing a sense of presence or some form of hallucination,
and many continued to have the experiences throughout the year that they
were followed. Olson and his colleagues and Grimby learned, as Rees had,
that the overwhelming majority of the widows and widowers had found the
experiences to be positive and helpful, but that few of them had told anyone
else about their experiences. As a result, these authors, like Barbato and his
colleagues, echoed Stevenson’s (1983) call for a word to replace
“hallucination” for such experiences that are clearly not pathological but, in
contrast, psychologically helpful.
Perhaps one of the most cogent conclusions to be drawn from the few
studies so far of spontaneous experiences of dying and bereaved persons is
the importance of predicting where phenomena of interest are to be found,
and looking for cases there, rather than in random samples. Psi experiences
occur most frequently in the context of death and other strongly emotional
situations (Stokes, 1997, pp. 35–39). Where, then, are we more likely to
learn about spontaneous psi experiences than in hospices, palliative care
units, nursing homes, and bereavement support groups?
Psychophysiological Phenomena
As we made clear earlier, we define psi research as the study of phenomena
that might throw light on whether consciousness is a by-product of the brain
or is itself a primary, active agent in nature. Central to this theoretical issue
is the question of volition. Is a sense of being able to think, choose, and act
simply an illusion accompanying the inevitable grinding of stimulus and
response in the neural machinery? If not, what is the nature of the
connection between the “thought” and the “act”? Conclusions about the
nature of mind-body correlation are often made on the basis of observations
in which, in essence, brain is the independent variable and mind the
dependent one: A change is introduced to the brain, and the change in
behavior or consciousness is noted. What do we observe, however, when
we reverse that procedure, when we induce changes in the mental or
psychological state and observe changes in the body? There is, in fact, a
vast range of phenomena in which beliefs, expectations, intentions, intense
imagery, or strong emotional states seem to have generated a physiological
reaction. Some of these phenomena have been induced deliberately, such as
by hypnosis, meditation, or in experimental settings such as DMILS studies
(for a review of many of these phenomena, see Kelly et al., 2007, Chapter
3), but our focus here is on ones that occur spontaneously [see chapter 18].
Psychoneuroimmunology has shown that the nervous system and the
immune system, once thought to operate in isolation, in fact interact
(Sternberg, 2000). Thus, many phenomena once dismissed as “folklore,”
such as the effects of bereavement on mortality, the association of
depression or hopelessness with cancer or heart disease, and even so-called
“voodoo” or “hex” death, can now be accepted as the result of biochemical
changes in the immune system resulting from stress or strong emotion
(Kelly et al., 2007, pp. 122–129). A similar but opposite process can be
conjectured to explain the association of positive emotions with healing,
such as Norman Cousins’s (1976) well-known cure of his own illness
through daily doses of humor.
Such an explanation may seem adequate when the physiological state in
question is a general, systemic one. Problems begin to arise, however, as the
physiological responses become more targeted and specific in location.
There are numerous reports of specific spontaneous healings, either by
another person such as a “faith healer” or at a site such as Lourdes. Many
such cases have been rightfully criticized as inadequately documented
medically, or as probably involving a “functional” rather than “organic”
disease, but by no means are all cases so easily dismissed. At Lourdes, for
example, an international team of physicians has been in place since 1954,
gathering the medical documentation and determining, among other things,
the exact nature of the disease and how sudden, complete, and long-lasting
the cure was. Between 1954 and 1984, 19 cases were judged “medically
and scientifically inexplicable” (Dowling, 1984, p. 637). Nor were the
diseases in question “functional”: In two cases, for example, there was
recovery of bone that had been almost completely destroyed by cancer
(Kelly et al., 2007, pp. 138–139).
Another well-known phenomenon is that of stigmata, in which a person
regularly develops marks, blisters, or bleeding at sites, such as the hands,
feet, or sides of the torso, where the person believes Christ suffered wounds
at the crucifixion. Like reported healings at Lourdes, reports of stigmatics
are routinely dismissed as hagiographic myths, but, again like Lourdes,
there are in fact a substantial number of well-documented cases. Margnelli
(1999), for example, reported the case of a 64-year-old woman whose
stigmata began in 1990, appearing the first Friday of every month and
disappearing after 2 to 3 days. Margnelli followed her closely for 5 months,
taking infrared and color photographs, measuring physiological reactions
such as temperature, blood flow, and electrodermal response, and
administering psychological tests.
Similar cases have been reported in nonreligious contexts, but again in
association with some strongly emotional situation (Kelly et al., 2007, pp.
156–159; Stevenson, 1997, pp. 68–78). Moody (1946, 1948) reported cases
in which patients, reliving the memory of a traumatic experience, developed
marks corresponding to wounds suffered at the time of the trauma. One
patient, for example, developed weals on his forearms, corresponding to
rope marks. On one occasion Moody himself witnessed the marks
developing, and he published photographs taken at that time showing the
many indentations on the arms resembling rope marks.
Still other cases occur when a person’s emotional reaction to another
person’s pain or suffering produces a comparable physical reaction in the
first person (Stevenson, 1997, pp. 54–56). In some cases one person knew
normally about the second person’s pain, as in the case of a mother who
saw her child’s middle three fingers cut off by a falling window, and
subsequently developed swelling and inflammation on the same three
fingers of her own hand (Stevenson, 1997, p. 55). In other cases the first
person did not know normally about the second person’s pain. Rhine (1967)
published a report of 169 cases in her collection of what she called
“psychosomatic psi.” A typical example was that of a woman who
developed severe pain in her hip, which lasted several hours until she
received a long-distance phone call telling her that her mother had fallen
and broken a hip. Mann and Jaye (2007) published a more recent study of
20 pairs of twins who reported 50 instances of one twin experiencing pain
or other bodily sensations similar to those being experienced by the other
twin, although the first twin was not aware normally of that pain.
From a general, systemic response to stress to the specific localized
production of rope marks corresponding only to an idea and not to any
anatomical pattern, all these phenomena raise the fundamental question of
how an idea generates a physiological response. Many contemporary
scientists attribute such psychophysiological reactions to a “holistic,” nondual “brain-mind.” Such a proposal is no answer, however, but an evasion
of the question: How does “a person’s belief in a sham [placebo] treatment
… send a message to his or her pituitary gland to release its own
endogenous pharmaceuticals” (Harrington, 1997, p. 5)? What, Margnelli
(1999, p. 464) asked about his stigmatic, “activates the nerve trunks, the
contained areas of the lesions, the wound’s topographic precision and their
long duration”? Psychophysiological cases involving two people also raise
a question implicit in all psi experiences: As Mann and Jaye (2007, p. 193)
put it, examples such as their twin cases “clearly ‘trouble’ the ontological
separation of ‘A’ and ‘non–A.’”
Synchronicity Experiences
Additional experiences trouble the ontological separation of A and non–A,
and these are what are vaguely called “coincidences,” or in more theoryladen terminology “synchronicities.” Jung, with a strong emphasis on the
importance of meaning, defined synchronicities as coincidences between a
psychic state and one or more external events that appear as meaningful
parallels, his most famous example being when a scarabaeid beetle began
knocking against the window of Jung’s office as a patient was relating a
dream of receiving a golden scarab. He proposed that synchronicity was an
“acausal” factor in nature in addition to physical cause and effect (Jung,
1952/1970).
Psi experiences are, by definition, coincidences because they involve the
meaningful connection between two events in which the ordinary
sensorimotor means of connecting the events are ruled out. As such, they
suggest that there may be some “cause” connecting the events that we have
not yet discovered. Although, of course, “psi” is not a “cause” but simply a
term designating what we presume is some as yet unknown causal factor or
interplay of factors, what we call synchronicities seem to extend the range
of those experiences to ones in which even “psi” becomes difficult to
conjecture as an etiology.
Psi researchers have grappled with the problems of chance, coincidence,
and causality since the beginning of the field. One of the earliest people to
try to systematize the problem was Alice Johnson (1899), in a paper
specifically devoted to “Coincidences,” and she clearly recognized that
some coincidences push the limits beyond conjectures about “psi”
processes. A recent volume on the topic of synchronicity (Storm, 2008)
makes clear that there is much disagreement about the relation, if any,
between synchronicity and psi, but the disagreements seem to stem
primarily from whether one limits synchronicity to Jung’s concept.
Mansfield, Rhine-Feather, and Hall, for example, believe that “archetypal
meaning [is] the sine qua non for synchronicity” (Storm, 2008, p. 138), and
differentiated psi and synchronicities accordingly.
Beitman (2011) has proposed that a new field be devoted to “coincidence
studies,” which he believes should go beyond Jung’s concept of
synchronicity. We agree and prefer an open-ended approach that asks
whether both “meaningful coincidences and psi phenomena [may be] telling
us something fundamental about the nature of consciousness and the
structure of what we call reality, that goes beyond archetypes, and … may
not be strictly acausal” (Nachman, 2010, pp. 390–391). We can do no better
than John Beloff (1977) in stating the importance of incorporating the study
of synchronicity into psi research:
The literature of synchronicity has contributed to parapsychological
knowledge in at least two important ways…. [I]t has drawn attention
to real-life coincidences which, putting it at its lowest, provide a
baseline for evaluating spontaneous cases of psi and, putting it at its
highest, may have extended the scope of psi by demonstrating its
unconscious manifestations. Secondly, it has emphasised again the
futility of trying to explain psi in mechanistic terms. It has not …
eliminated the concept of causality from the field; but the type of cause
that we are left with is very different from the type of cause we
associate with mechanical forces of attraction and repulsion. Further
research may show that psychic causation has more in common with
Aristotle’s formative or final cause than with his efficient cause [pp.
581–582].
Mystical Experiences
Another large group of spontaneous experiences that we believe to be
significant for psi research is mystical experience, also sometimes referred
to as “religious” or “transcendent” experience or “cosmic consciousness,”
after Bucke’s (1901/1969) famous study. Myers and James certainly
included such experiences in their conception of psychical research, but
mystical experiences unfortunately became one of the casualties that
Stevenson (1990) lamented in his description of the “break-up” of the field.
As we hope to make clear, there are important reasons, both empirical and
theoretical, for psi researchers to once again expand their domain to include
mystical experiences (see also Marshall, 2011).
A mystical experience is generally understood to be “a strong impression of
having encountered a reality radically different from the sensory-based
world of everyday experience” (Wulff, 2014, p. 370). Perhaps the best
overall definition of a mystical experience is that it “commonly brings
unity, profound knowledge, and a sense of contact with reality” (Marshall,
2005, p. 26). Mystical experiences have been studied from many
perspectives, from the theological to the neurobiological. Following Stace
(1960/1987), they have generally been divided into two broad categories,
introvertive and extrovertive. Generally speaking, in extrovertive
experiences “the ordinary perceptual world remains, but in transfigured
form,” where in introvertive experiences “one’s perceptual world is not
merely transfigured but abolished,” resulting in a “pure, contentless,
undifferentiated, unitary consciousness” (Kelly et al., pp. 505–506).
Because introvertive experiences occur most frequently among long-term
contemplatives and meditators, whereas extrovertive experiences often
occur spontaneously among apparently ordinary persons, we focus here on
the latter (for a recent general review of both types, see Kelly et al., 2007,
Chapter 8; see Marshall, 2005, for an in-depth study of extrovertive
experiences in particular).
One of the most basic of the empirical arguments for studying mystical
experiences in association with psi is that those who report having
experienced one type are likely also to report the other. Blackmore (1984),
Kohr (1980), and Palmer (1979) all reported positive correlations between
the two kinds of experiences. Moreover, case collections of mystical
experiences include many accounts of spontaneous psi experiences. The
majority of these collections are based, in whole or in part, on reports
collected by Alister Hardy and his colleagues at the Religious Experiences
Research Unit, now the Alister Hardy Research Center (AHRC), first at
Oxford, now at the University of Wales (Cohen & Phipps, 1979; Dinnage,
1991; Hay, 1990; Koestler, 1973; Maxwell & Tschudin, 1990). From the
beginning of Hardy’s research, psi-type experiences have been frequently
reported, including “warning” cases, OBEs, sensing the presence of or
perceiving a deceased person (including crisis cases), PK events, healing,
and precognition.
People reported such experiences to the AHRC because they considered
them somehow “mystical.” The line between psi and mystical experiences
becomes even more difficult to draw with any precision when one realizes
that the two classes share some important features. The experience of
seeing an unusual light is “a major feature of classic mystical experiences”
(Wulff, 2014, p. 395), and light is similarly reported in connection with
many psi experiences, particularly accompanying apparitions or at
deathbeds. A sense of presence is another commonly occurring feature of
mystical experiences (Maxwell & Tschudin, 1990), and, as we have seen, a
sense of presence figures frequently in telepathic impression or other crisis
cases and among the experiences of bereaved persons. The sense of
presence is often felt as vividly real, even as being physically located in
space. The presence “is experienced paradoxically as ‘sensory’ yet
unaccompanied by any of the normal sensory inputs” (Hay, 1994, p. 17).
This sense of “reality” is another characteristic shared by mystical and psi
experiences: “I remember it as the most real and living experience I have
ever had” (Hay, 1990, p. 33). The line between psi and mystical experiences
becomes particularly fuzzy with regard to NDEs, in which unusual light,
sensing the presence of deceased loved ones or other figures, a strong
feeling of the “realness” of the experience, psi cognitions, and a noetic,
“mystical” component can all figure prominently. Perhaps one person
reporting a mystical experience to AHRC summed it up best: “I am sure
there is a difference between religious and ordinary psychic experience, but
I don’t think it would be wise to draw an artificial dividing line” (Maxwell
& Tschudin, 1990, p. 15).
Other findings suggest that studying the two phenomena in conjunction
with each other could shed important light on both. First of all, mystical
experiencers seem to share many of the personality characteristics we have
seen in connection with most of the other spontaneous phenomena
discussed in this chapter, such as hypnotizability, absorption, creativity, and
transliminality (Wulff, 2014, pp. 380–381). Because many of these same
characteristics are found among schizophrenics and other persons suffering
mental illness, the overwhelming tendency for many years has been to
pathologize mystical experiences (Hufford, 1985). Yet research suggests
that those having mystical experiences may even be, on average, better
adjusted than others (Kelly et al., 2007, p. 555). Myers and James
recognized what contemporary researchers are rediscovering, “the paradox
that although religious experience and schizophrenic experience seem to
have similarities, they have opposite effects” (Hay, 1994, p. 13). This
observation led Myers to conjecture that the psychological mechanism
behind psychic, creative, and mystical experiences, as well as pathological
ones such as the dissociative disorders, was the same, but could take
“evolutive” as well as “dissolutive” forms (see Kelly et al., 2007, pp. 83–
86, 470–481). Modern researchers on mystical experiences have echoed this
hypothesis of a “personality trait [that] could be associated with both a
proneness to having healthy spiritual experiences and, in some cases, a
proneness to having psychotic breakdowns” (Maxwell & Tschudin, 1990, p.
7).
Psi and mystical experiences also seem to share many of the same
“triggers” or conducive conditions. Like psi experiences, mystical
experiences often occur at times of stress or bereavement (Dinnage, 1991;
Hay, 1990; Maxwell & Tschudin, 1990). Psi and mystical experiences also
suggest the importance of an altered state, or the abeyance of ordinary,
supraliminal consciousness. For example, both mystical and psi experiences
tend to occur when a person is alone. Moreover, the association of psi, or
siddhis, and mystical experiences, particularly as expounded in the Yoga
Sutras of Patanjali, led psi researchers to adopt conditions conducive to the
latter in ganzfeld research (Honorton, 1977).
Marshall (2011) has argued that the empirical connections between psi and
mystical experiences suggest the “need for an explanatory framework able
to account for both…. An explanation that might seem reasonable for one
may come to grief over the other” (p. 9). The personality characteristics and
conducive conditions associated with both types of phenomena support the
theory that a psychological “permeability” between the subliminal and
supraliminal aspects of consciousness, together with the relaxation of the
ordinary sensorimotor “filter,” can allow access to aspects of reality not
usually accessible. We also called attention earlier to the idea that psi
suggests, not stimulus and response, but an interconnection between, say,
the percipient and the target person or object. In mystical experience there
is “a sense of being unified with natural objects” through a “breakdown of
boundaries between consciousness and object … the self is experienced as
larger, expanded beyond the usual boundaries…. One’s boundaries become
as if permeable, connected with the objects of the world” (Forman, 1998,
pp. 198–199). This interconnectedness is, we believe, fundamental to psi,
mystical, and all the other experiences we have been discussing in this
chapter, and should form the bedrock of all theorizing about them.
Conclusion
The study of spontaneous experiences is of far more import than as, at best,
a way-station or, at worst, a detour on the road to scientific respectability.
Others before us have emphasized the methodological importance of
studying psi phenomena in their natural context and the probable futility of
ever understanding psi without doing that. More generally, we believe that
in modern psi research we need to reemphasize a theoretical orientation
sufficient to define, both for ourselves and for others, what exactly it is that
we are studying, and why. Our conviction is that the theoretical issues
behind psi research are those of volition and the mind-brain relation. We
believe that clearly situating the phenomena we study in this broader
theoretical context will help dispel the misperception that we are just
studying “anomalies” like ghosts and mind-reading, and will instead attract
the attention of what we think is a slowly growing number of scientists,
philosophers, and others who recognize the incompleteness and inadequacy
of the currently dominant physicalist model to account for consciousness.
Whether we lead the way toward a more comprehensive model of
consciousness, or remain marginalized, is up to us.
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OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 6
Macro-Psychokinesis
Methodological Concerns
GRAHAM WATKINS
“Macro-PK” is a term used to describe ostensible psychokinetic effects
(PK) so strong or so dramatic as to require no use of statistics. In practice,
these effects have manifested in such ways as “table-tipping” (or complete
table levitation), the movement of objects apparently by mental effort alone,
the bending of rigid objects such as spoons, and levitation. Some other
effects, such as quick and dramatic healings, creating images on
photographic film, or the spontaneous starting of fires, can be included as
well. In a few cases, apparent teleportation of objects (or perhaps
spontaneous creation of objects or materials) has been observed. Whether
all these are one unified process or several different processes is at present
completely unknown, since currently there are not even testable hypotheses
available concerning possible mechanisms.
At first glance, it would seem that large-scale PK is an ideal phenomenon
for study, far better than the “micro–PK” seen in experiments with random
number generators or dice, in which the effects are small but statistically
significant [see chapter 20, this volume]. It is an area, though, that is rife
with problems for the researcher. Up until the 18th century at least, the
literature does not contain much that might be ascribed to PK effects—
probably because any such events were not seen this way. An event we
would in modern times refer to as PK would in the year 1000 AD have been
seen as either a miracle (that is, credited to a deity) or as witchcraft/sorcery,
depending on the context.
Some phenomena have been recorded from societies other than Western
industrialized ones that might have been due to PK. One of the best
examples of this was the Indigenous Pawnee “doctor performances,” which
were held annually and which were observed by a number of outsiders, in
particular Major Frank North and his brother Luthor. Frank North was the
army officer in charge of the Pawnee scouts (allied with the army in the
wars against the Sioux, Cheyenne, and other plains tribes). These shows by
the “doctors” (shamans) were intended as both ritual and entertainment.
Although there can be little question that some of the effects were
accomplished by the same sort of sleight-of-hand that later magicians
would use on stage —Franz Boas noted that this was commonly done, as
shown by a shaman having his hands tied before “going into trance” and
then claiming the spirits untied him (Boas, 1974)—there were some which
were very difficult to explain considering the simple setting. Among these
is the “mud duck” performance, in which a model of a duck is made from
mud and apparently comes alive when placed on water, quacking and
moving about—only to turn back into mud when removed from the water.
Frank North records having seen this done by one of the “doctors” quite
casually, without setting or preparation—a handful of ordinary mud is
shaped like a turtle and then comes alive, after which it was converted back
to a lump of mud. When North asked what would happen if the shaman left
it as a live turtle he was assured it would soon die, and North states that this
is what happened. In another performance, a boy or girl, clad only in a
loincloth, was attacked and disemboweled by a “bear person” (a man
dressed in a bearskin using knives as claws) that then ate some of the
victim’s entrails. North could not see how this could conceivably be done
under the circumstances unless the victim was actually killed, but the victim
was always seen alive and well at the end of the performance (Weltfish,
1965).
The shamans described above were the healers of their tribes (who often
referred to themselves as “doctors” when speaking English). These were
men and women with extensive knowledge of herbal medications and an
understanding of surgical procedures. Just as important though, if not more
so, was their role as mediators between the world of ordinary reality and the
spirit world, a world believed to be inhabited by deities, nonhuman entities
of various sorts, and the spirits of the dead, especially tribal ancestors. In a
sense, the mediums that came to prominence during the 19th and early 20th
century as part of the Spiritist movement were doing the same sort of thing
as the shamans, acting as intercessors between the ordinary world and a
presumed spirit world. Emanuel Swedenborg, whose works from 1741 to
about 1770 are often cited as the foundation of the Spiritist movement,
recited large numbers of dreams and visions that seem to correspond rather
closely with the experiences of shamans (Crompton, 2005).
Beginning in the middle of the 19th century, serious attempts at
understanding these phenomena from a scientific perspective began. Quite a
variety of investigators studied the “physical mediums,” common in the
years between the 1850s and 1920s, who produced various physical effects
at their séances, such as movement of objects (table-tipping), levitations,
“materializations” and “apports” (the appearance or transportation of
objects), unusual sounds, and the production of “ectoplasm” (said to be a
physical manifestation of spiritual energy). Fraud was common in these
performances, and was exposed many times. In some cases the mediums
themselves admitted that their performances involved fraud (Keene, 1976).
As a result, especially given that physical mediums are quite rare today, the
general perception, by the public and the scientific establishment in general
is that all mediums were merely duping a gullible audience. But for some
fraud was never proved; perhaps most notably in the studies of D. D. Home
done between 1870 and 1872 by noted physicist William Crookes (Crookes,
1874), which serve as early examples of how such studies should be
conducted.
As the 20th century continued, the physical mediums began to disappear.
There were a few more, notably Eusapia Palladino, but by the 1940s the
spectacular feats Home seemed capable of were no longer seen. Braude
(2007) has suggested that this was because the interpretation of the
phenomenon had changed, that the events were no longer seen as the
actions of spirits but rather as psychokinetic (then normally called
“telekinetic”) actions on the part of the medium—meaning the medium was
responsible for them, and thus he/she could not claim to being a mere “tool”
of the “spirits.” To be sure, séances are still held, but with few exceptions
little attention is paid to them [but see chapters 19 and 23].
In the years following the end of the era of the mediums, only a handful of
individuals apparently capable of anything close to macro–PK have come to
the attention of science, and practically all of them fall into two categories:
those who believe that they can do unusual things and present themselves to
researchers, and those who witness someone else doing macro–PK and
believe that they can do it as well. There are also those who are unable to
control their presumable PK abilities, and most of these, of course, are
normally regarded as poltergeist cases. There are a few others—for
example, the case of noted theoretical physicist Wolfgang Pauli (one of the
pioneers of quantum physics)—who did not fit the usual model of the
poltergeist. There was such a strong tendency for equipment to break or
malfunction, often for no known reason, when Pauli was around that
experimental physicists banned him from their labs and dubbed the
phenomenon “The Pauli Effect” (Enz, 2009). Pauli himself believed that
this effect might be caused by PK and had considerable interest in the
subject (Roth, 2002).
One of the earlier examples of the first type was Ted Serios (Eisenbud,
1967), who was apparently able to produce images on Polaroid film. Others
included Nina Kulagina, who was brought to the attention of the West by
Ostrander and Schroeder in their book Psychic Discoveries Behind the Iron
Curtain (1970).
Although Kulagina became well-known, easily the best-known of the
psychics at this time, and perhaps of all time, was Uri Geller. Geller became
famous for a number of demonstrations, including remote-viewing and
dowsing, but is most remembered for his alleged PK performances,
particularly the bending of keys and, most notably, spoons. He was studied
extensively at Stanford Research Institute (Targ & Puthoff, 1974), observed
by a range of other scientists, and performed on various shows on television
and in person for several years continuing to the present (although he now
calls himself simply an entertainer and a “mystifier” rather than a psychic).
Even so, “spoon bending,” popularized by Geller, has become almost
standardized as a paradigm for macro–PK. “Spoon bending parties” are
fairly common, continuing to the present. Author Michael Crichton (1988)
reported success at one of these, as did researcher Dean Radin (2006),
among many others. The experience reported is that the spoon (or other
piece of tableware) rather suddenly becomes slightly warm and then quite
soft and pliable, so that it can be bent effortlessly. At times spoons and such
have been seen to droop and sag without any pressure at all being applied,
as if the metal had become molten (Joines, 2014, personal communication).
Interestingly, a successful spoon-bender at one of these parties was Michael
Shermer, founder of the Skeptic’s Society and editor of the magazine
Skeptic. In a posted video (Shermer, 2007) he is seen folding the bowl of a
heavy spoon he initially could not bend at all. He then had the bend
analyzed at a metallurgical laboratory, where it was determined that the
bend was caused by physical force, not heat—which Shermer interprets as
“proof” that this was done “simply by adrenalin, induced by the crowd’s
enthusiasm” rather than PK. It should be apparent that showing that a spoon
was bent by mechanical force and not heat does not allow us to determine
whether it was or was not bent by PK, since we know almost nothing about
any mechanism that might mediate the forces seen in PK phenomena. Other
examples include Elmer Green’s (Green, 1977) studies with the yogi Swami
Rama, the mouse-ether experiments (Watkins & Watkins, 1971; Watkins,
Watkins, & Wells, 1972), and Felicia Parise (Honorton, 1993; Wells &
Watkins, 1974).
A few patterns should be apparent in the studies described above. First, they
are primarily observational, the only “experimentation” done consisting of
such things as placing the person inside a Faraday cage; but to be fair, with
no theory of the mechanism of PK on the horizon, other than preliminary
ideas advanced by Brian Josephson and others connecting paranormal
phenomena with quantum concepts such as entanglement and the nonlocality implicit in Bell’s Theorem (Josephson & Pallikari-Viras, 1991),
meaningful experiments are not easy to design.
The second is that anything like a high-profile demonstration will be
instantly and persistently attacked by skeptical critics, and historically these
critics manage to convince the public—and by extension the larger
scientific community—that such demonstrations are the result of error or,
more commonly, fraud. This is done by showing, or at times by merely
suggesting, that the phenomena can be emulated by stage magic techniques.
In doing so, inconvenient facts—such as Ted Serios’s “error” pictures—are
simply ignored. Beyond that, there is a logical error in this thinking, rarely
mentioned; the fact that a stage magician can more or less duplicate the
phenomenon does not prove that the original demonstration was
accomplished by the same means. It would be a simple matter to construct
an apparatus that would cause a basketball to go through the hoop when
thrown toward it from a distance, but this does not mean that every college
and professional basketball player who shoots a three-point shot is cheating.
But because the “cheating” hypothesis is the easier of the two to accept, it is
the task of the researcher to create, whenever possible, situations in which
cheating, at least cheating by the participant, is simply not possible.
Adding to the difficulties is the fact that many of the gifted participants one
must work with in this area are eccentric, to say the least. This is very well
illustrated by the enigmatic case of Ted Owens, the “PK Man” (Mishlove,
2000). Owens appeared to be able to cause—or perhaps predict, sometimes
with startling accuracy—major weather events, plane crashes, blackouts,
and in particular the appearance of UFOs. At first Owens himself attributed
his talents to PK, but later claimed that space aliens, with whom he claimed
to be in constant contact, were mediating these events. However, not all of
the effects predicted by Owens actually took place—at least not in the way
he had predicted, and he had a tendency to take credit for events in the past.
The Owens case is difficult to evaluate. On the one hand, it is hard not to
take seriously someone who can cause or predict lightning strikes with
precision, as Owens is stated to have done. On the other, realistic statistical
consideration of possible simple coincidence in such cases is virtually
impossible; if, for instance, very large numbers of such predictions are
made, and those that were accurate selected for, then the case for actual
psychokinesis or precognition becomes weak. But if Owens was able to do
what he is credited with by PK, then his abilities were similar to, or even
greater than, the apparent abilities of physical mediums such as D. D.
Home. Interestingly, this fits well with Braude’s theory, mentioned above,
that the physical mediums might have disappeared when it was no longer
felt that the “spirits” were causing the phenomena—in the case of Owens it
was not spirits but rather alien intelligences.
Also showing similarities with some of the performances of the 19th
century mediums was Katie, the “Gold Leaf Lady,” a Florida housewife on
whose skin gold-colored foil appeared, at times virtually right in front of
investigators. This of course is very similar to the materializations and
apports of the mediums. Katie was not limited to just the production of this
foil, she also commonly received other apported objects, was said to be able
to bend metal and to cause seeds to germinate in her cupped hands, and at
times worked successfully with police in solving crimes. Analysis of the
“gold leaf” that appeared on her face and body showed that it was not gold,
but rather brass foil, also called “Dutch leaf” or “composition metal.”
Although noted skeptic Paul Kurtz assured TV viewers she was merely
attaching it to herself with some material like hair spray, no traces of
adhesive were found in the analyses (Braude, 2007).
More recently, experiments have been conducted using a “psychic healing”
technique to treat cancer in mice (Bengston 2010; Bengston & Kinsley,
2000). In these, mice were infected with mammary adenocarcinomas of a
type well known to cause the death of the mice within 27 days. These mice
were then treated by “laying on of hands” (although the mice were in plastic
cages and never actually touched) for one hour per day. In the course of a
number of experiments, more than 85 percent of the treated mice showed
remission and survived. Oddly, almost 70 percent of control mice that were
housed in the same lab (and were “visited” by the healer, although not
“treated”) also showed remission and survived, while other controls, sent to
a different site, all died well within the 27-day limit.
The “healing technique” Bengston describes was learned from a New York
healer who in the end did not actually participate in the experiments. It
involves a series of routine mental tasks not directly related to the process
or idea of healing the mice; Bengston states that it takes “several weeks” to
learn it. He also notes that “disbelievers” actually tended to do better (or at
least as well) as believers in this task, in contrast to the usual “sheep-goat”
effect seen so often in parapsychology (Schmeidler & Murphy, 1946) [see
chapter 9, this volume].
In the experimental mice, the tumors followed an unusual pattern. After ten
days, a “blackened area” developed in the vicinity of the tumor, which then
ulcerated—and, in spite of the alarming appearance of these tumors, the
mice did not seem especially distressed. These ulcerations then cleared up
and healed, allowing the mice to live out their normal life span. Beyond
that, it appears that the mice that had been healed were now immune to the
adenocarcinoma, that is, they did not develop new tumors when reinfected.
As of the present there has been no attempt to replicate these experiments in
other laboratories.
Experimenting with healers of various disciplines and using pieces of
ordinary cucumbers as targets, Hideyuki Kokubo (2013) has demonstrated
some interesting effects. The healers’ efforts have been measured in three
ways: by the detection of biophoton emissions, by fluorescence, and by
analysis of the gases emitted by the cucumber pieces—that is, their odor.
Not only was Kokubo able to show an effect, but he has derived from his
experiments an equation defining what he calls the J value, which is the
natural logarithm of the ratio between control samples and experimental
samples and which Kokubo suggests defines the strength of the
phenomenon. In his experiments the effects were initially minor or
negligible, but rose to a peak more than five hours after the healing session
took place, after which they declined gradually. By using large numbers of
slices in an array around the healer, he was also able to show a spiraling
wave pattern of effects. Depending on the position of the cucumber slice in
the spiral, the effect could be positive, negative, or zero. Averaged together
the values tended toward zero. Relating this to quantum physics, Kokubo
suggests that “there are plural unknown factors which cannot be
understood, and that those unknown factors follow their own physical laws”
(Kokubo, 2013).
But even so, if Kokubo’s results can be confirmed there are several
profound implications for future research. Although psi phenomena in
general and PK specifically cannot be shown to be distance-dependent,
exact distances may matter, as is the case with effects related to sound,
especially in the lower frequencies. Second, as Kokubo points out, multiple
healers or other PK agents may interfere with each other (depending on
spatial arrangements). These findings might explain why some séances
showed very dramatic effects and some none at all, and may also serve to
explain why a particular experiment seems to work in one environment and
not in another.
At present, there is considerable public interest in a device commonly
called a “psi wheel” (Norris, 2007). These are simple in construction, little
more than a pyramid-shaped cap of paper or aluminum foil balanced on the
top of a needle that has been fixed in an upright position. The user then
attempts to make the cap spin. Advocates claim it can be used to train
psychokinetic powers; critics point out, correctly, that it can easily be made
to spin due to the rise of heated air at the base, which will occur if warm
hands are placed close to the wheel. The wheels are also quite sensitive to
static electricity, although exactly how this could make them spin (without
systematic circular movements of a charged object) is not clear. A
commercial version called the Egely Wheel (Egely & Dus, 1991) uses
internal electronics to measure the rotation of the wheel and display it in
visual or audio format (it is marketed as a “vitality meter”). Little or no
formal research has as yet been done with psi wheels/Egely Wheels, but
they do offer a possible vehicle for the testing of psychokinesis, as it is not
difficult to eliminate heat and other air currents, static, or vibrations as
causative factors in any observed movements of the wheel.
Since two models of the commercial Egely wheel are available essentially
world-wide and are standardized devices, they represent a better tool for
parapsychologists than the individually-produced “psi wheels.” The first
steps in this sort of research, of course, is finding a participant who can
consistently make the wheel move and setting the stage so that any sort of
cheating is simply not possible. To this end, the researcher must be
cognizant of any normal ways the wheel can be made to move—for
example, the Egely wheels are very easily controllable by directed air
currents (i.e., simply blowing on it) and therefore must be isolated from the
individual’s air space. This isolation must be complete—a mask such as the
one Swami Rama was asked to wear (Green, 1977) is inadequate, as are any
sort of simple air barriers. A method such as placing the wheel under a bell
jar that is then sealed to the table is preferred. Wheels belonging to the
participants should not be used and they should not be permitted any
physical contact whatsoever with the wheels used in the formal trials.
It has been argued (Truzzi, 1997) that the researcher who studies
phenomena like macro PK should enlist the help of persons skilled in the
techniques of stage magic, since the average scientist cannot be expected to
know these and in many cases the purported effect can be simulated by a
stage magic performer. There can be benefits in this, as there are quite a
number of more or less standard tricks that most magicians would be
familiar with, such as, for example, “invisible string.” Caution is still
needed, however, since magicians are constantly inventing new tricks, and a
potential participant may very well have created an illusion not known to
the consultant. In general, the better approach is simply to eliminate any
and all potential for intentional fraud or tampering, and this can be done.
Perusing a text like Magic and Showmanship: A Handbook for Conjurers
(Nelms, 2000) will offer a general picture of most of the general principles
used in stage magic, and it will become apparent that, if the participant has
no access of any ordinary sort to either the targets or the staging area,
deceptions cannot take place. Caution should be used to take such effects as
static and magnetism (which may not require direct contact) into account.
Wiseman and Morris (1995) also provide good guidelines on managing
selected participants.
In experiments like those using the Egely wheel, taking steps to ensure that
fraud is not possible is not difficult. Any and all equipment used should be
kept under the absolute control of the researcher, nothing owned or
provided by the participant can ever be used, and s/he should not be
allowed any direct contact with the equipment—especially not when out of
the researcher’s sight. Stage magic tricks are done in three primary ways:
by the use of hidden or unseen equipment, by sleight-of-hand, and, most
commonly, by misdirection—that is, the observer’s attention is directed
away from the location where the real effect is taking place (Nelms, 2000).
In the case of a study using a device like an Egely wheel, the researcher
should take all steps to ensure that forces that can affect it are both known
and absolutely blocked off, as noted above with respect to air currents, or
measured during the experiment. As an example, if it were to be discovered
that the Egely wheel was sensitive to magnetic forces (it is not), then steps
would have to be taken to ensure that it was not being controlled by
magnets on the participant’s person or hands, and the best way to do this
would be to set up equipment to measure magnetic fields. Beyond matters
like these, it should be clear that complete isolation of the apparatus from
the participant at all times can render standard stage magic tricks
impossible.
In some case like spoon-bending, in which the participant has to be allowed
to handle the materials, this is much more difficult. Here the advice of
experienced magicians might be helpful, but, as noted above, even they
cannot be assumed to know all the possible ways a trick can be
accomplished. For these reasons, paradigms like these are not the best
choices.
In general, however, the experimental setting should be as comfortable as
possible for the participant. As noted previously, talented individuals often
have unusual personalities, and processes like these are fragile, easy to
disrupt. As long as it does not compromise the soundness of the procedure,
participants should be made to feel at ease and allowed to work in their
preferred style. One example is Crookes allowing D. D. Home to dangle an
accordion (that the “spirits” would then play) under the table rather than
over it—after having taken precautions to eliminate the chance of fraud
(Crookes, 1874).
Once volunteers are located and the phenomenon can be reasonably
consistently produced, various parameters and corollaries that should
eventually shed light on the nature of macro–PK, and, by extension, psi in
general can be explored. Examples include studies on the physiology or
psychology of the participants—how and why they differ from average
people, as was done in the mouse-ether experiments (Watkins et al., 1972).
The authors found that successful participants showed changes specifically
in fingertip plethysmography (an increase in peripheral vasoconstriction)
and in the T waves of the EKG, changes not seen in unselected (and
unsuccessful) volunteers. Similar physiological changes were seen during
the experiments with Felicia Parise (Watkins & Watkins, 1973).
Additionally, the researcher should look for post-effects such as the linger
effect described by Watkins and Watkins (1973) in the experiments with
Felicia Parise, by Watkins et al. (1972), and by Wells and Watkins (1974) in
the mouse-ether experiments. Both studies showed effects continuing after
the volunteers had not only ceased their efforts but had left the room, effects
that decayed gradually over a period of approximately 30 minutes.
Additionally, in the case of Felicia Parise the compass needle she
apparently caused to move remained off north and was not responsive to a
magnet when it was in the location where she had concentrated on it, but
moved back to north and became responsive to a magnet when moved
away. Additionally, possible pre-effects, while not shown in any current
studies, might be considered as well. Arrays of Egely wheels might be used
to determine whether the spatial and temporal effects reported by Kokubo
(2013) apply.
Finally, the effects of various physical phenomena such as electromagnetic
fields, whether generated during the process or affecting the PK process
either positively or negatively are ripe for exploration once a reliable
procedure is established, taking examples from the literature such as the
observation that Kulagina was negatively affected by thunderstorms
(Parodi, 2005). That something seems unlikely to affect the process does
not mean it should not be observed, since at the moment we know
essentially nothing about how these processes work. It could be thought that
almost any phenomenon which has been witnessed by a number of trained
observers, photographed and filmed, and demonstrated in laboratory
experiments under controlled conditions would be accepted by science as a
reality, even if the phenomenon is elusive and occurs somewhat
unpredictably, and even if it might require a reconsideration of some of the
basic laws of physics. But the specter of fraud, as was unquestionably the
case with some of the physical mediums, hangs over this area of research
like some dark cloud.
But the simple fact is that almost any psychokinetic effect a person might
produce can be emulated by a sufficiently skilled illusionist, especially one
who has had opportunity to set up the environment. Given that a stage
magician can cause the Statue of Liberty to apparently vanish means there
are few, if any, limits. In today’s technological world, no picture or film can
be accepted as evidence of anything at all, virtually anything can be faked if
desired. In the future, we may—we almost certainly will—see people like
Nina Kulagina and Felicia Parise producing effects in the laboratory, but,
since stage magicians can emulate such feats, science will not accept them
as real. This problem can be expected to persist as long as macro–PK is the
exclusive province of a few exceptional individuals, which makes ordinary
replication experiments very difficult. Compounding this is the possibility
that the experimenter, not the individual, is the actual source of the
phenomena, something that, given our present state of knowledge of the
subject, cannot ever be ruled out [see chapter 22, this volume].
Also, it should be understood that there probably are no demonstrations that
will not be dismissed as fraudulent by skeptics and stage magicians. Stating
that controls were in place to prevent illusions has never been accepted in
the past and probably will not be for the foreseeable future. None of this
means that such phenomena should not be reported in the literature. The
building of a “natural history” of these phenomena will contribute to the
future understanding of the parameters and dynamics surrounding them,
and will certainly suggest future experimental approaches.
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OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 7
Statistical Guidelines for Empirical Studies
PATRIZIO E. TRESSOLDI and JESSICA UTTS
Premise
Carrying out parapsychological investigations requires the same level of
expertise and the same methodological and statistical tools necessary to
investigate non-parapsychological phenomena. We are confident that in the
near future parapsychological investigations will be one of the many lines of
investigation about the human mind and its relation with the biological and
physical world. Our view is that what differentiates parapsychological from
non-parapsychological investigations is the content and not the procedures.
In this sense, even though this chapter is part of a volume on
parapsychology, its content is useful for every investigation using human
participants.
Aims of the Chapter
The principal aim is to offer clear and practical advice on basic
methodological and statistical practices used to answer the more frequent
questions researchers ask when working with data. We hope to convince the
reader of the importance of adopting sound methodological and statistical
principles as described in this paper. Further readings are suggested that
provide mathematical and statistical details, with links to reliable webpages.
When available, we will suggest freeware software to be used to apply our
statistical recommendations. We will provide examples for our
recommendations, mostly drawn from the parapsychological literature,
underlining their strengths and their limitations, and offering suggestions on
how to overcome the limitations.
What Researchers (Usually) Ask About Data and How to Answer
Scientific research is conducted for a variety of reasons, but the underlying
theme is that there is a question that cannot be answered in any other way.
The answers to many of those questions can only be found by examining a
sufficient amount of data, collected using unbiased and otherwise
appropriate methods. Once data have been collected, the appropriate
statistical analyses depend on the nature of the research question(s) and the
type of data available.
The two basic categories of statistical methods are descriptive and inferential
statistics. Descriptive statistical methods are used to answer questions only
about the data in hand. They are not meant to answer questions about the
larger framework from which the measurements were collected. Inferential
statistical methods are designed to answer questions about the larger
framework. Traditionally, the two basic categories of inferential statistics
have been null hypothesis significance testing (NHST) and confidence
intervals. We will address the uses and misuses of these methods, and
discuss some additional inference methods that are becoming more common.
Summary of Data and Descriptive Statistics
The most basic statistical analyses are simple numerical and graphical
summaries. These are appropriate whether data represent measurements on
an entire population, a sample from a larger population, a sample that is not
representative of any larger population, or a situation that is observable and
repeatable across time. Some of the reasons for performing simple
descriptive analyses include:
• Identifying mistakes in the data due to the recording apparatuses and/or
experimenter error (such as switching the digits when a number is entered
into the computer), which often are revealed using simple graphs of one or
two variables. Mistakes sometimes become obvious when data points are in
numerical regions where measurements are not expected to occur.
• Identifying outliers, which need to be handled appropriately, as described
in the next subsection.
• Determining whether the conditions are met for performing the proposed
statistical analyses. For example, one condition for using many statistical
inference procedures is that the data set is approximately normally
distributed or bell-shaped, or at least does not have any large outliers or
asymmetry.
• Obtaining descriptive summary information about the data, such as the
average score on a test, or the proportion of successes in a guessing
experiment.
Handling Outliers
There is no specific definition of an outlier in a data set and some judgment
is needed in how to handle them. In general, an outlier is a datapoint that
does not fit with the pattern of the rest of the data. For instance, in
measurements of height a male who is 2 meters tall (6 feet 7 inches) would
be an outlier in a college classroom, but not in a professional basketball
team.
Common reasons for outliers and what to do about them are:
• A mistake was made in measuring or recording the data. If a mistake was
clearly made, the data point should be corrected or removed. Of course if a
value is removed it should be mentioned in the report of the analysis.
• The data value represents natural variability. In this case, the outlier should
not be removed. For most statistical methods an estimate of natural
variability is part of the information used to answer questions. Removing an
outlier will result in an underestimate of natural variability and thus could
lead to erroneous conclusions. For example the suggestions to trim the data
to estimate the central tendency of the parameters of interest (i.e., mean,
correlation) is not recommended in this case. If it appears that there are
outliers because the underlying population is highly skewed (rather than
symmetric and/or bell-shaped), then a transformation such as the natural log
can be used, and inferences can be made on the transformed data. It also
makes more sense to use inferences on medians rather than on means for
highly skewed data, or to make inferences on the mean of the logtransformed data instead of the original data.
• The individual is from a different population than the majority of
individuals measured. For instance, in a study that uses university students
as participants, one of the variables measured might be age. A student
returning to school after retirement might have an age of 65 or higher. That
student represents a different population, and if age is a relevant variable in
the study, a separate analysis might need to be performed for the population
of older students. In that case, it would be acceptable to remove the
individual as long as the process of doing so was reported. A different
sample consisting only of students who are much older would then need to
be obtained if information about that age group was desired.
One situation that must be addressed in psi (and other) research is when one
or a few effect sizes in a meta-analysis are outliers. Just as when dealing
with outliers in a single data set, an effect size should never be removed
from the analysis just because it is an outlier. Instead, possible explanations
for the unusual effect size(s) should be investigated, and then these outlier
effects should be handled using the above general criteria for handling
outliers.
A common practice in meta-analysis is to remove the top and bottom 5
percent to 10 percent of effect sizes. But this practice is too simplistic, and is
not recommended. There was a strong push in statistics in the 1980s to use
these “trimmed means” in all statistical inference, but as analysis methods
became more sophisticated these “robust” methods were abandoned in favor
of more complex analyses, such as using random effects models,
transformations, and so on.
Modeling Data and Processes
Most statistical methods require that a model be proposed for the population
or process that generated the data. For example, in a simple survey to
estimate the proportion of voters who favor a particular candidate, the model
is that every time a person is selected for the survey there is the same
probability that the person selected will be someone who favors the
candidate. The true population proportion that favors the candidate is some
fixed but unknown value between 0 and 1, and the responses to the survey
are used to estimate that parameter. (Parameters are fixed but with unknown
population values, such as means or proportions.) A “margin of error” is
given with the estimate, to indicate how accurately the estimate reflects the
true population value, but the margin of error cannot be computed unless the
“model” about the selection process is assumed to be true.
Statistician George Box made an astute observation that was something like
“No model is correct, but some are useful.” All of statistical inference relies
on positing a model that is at least a good approximation of the truth.
Otherwise, results of any analysis will be completely misleading. In the
example of the poll of voters, if the sample was chosen using a biased
method then the model will be incorrect and the results will be meaningless.
For instance, if the poll is posted on an internet site and people are asked to
respond if they are interested in doing so, then only those who feel strongly
about the election will respond and the true proportion of the population who
favors a candidate cannot be estimated.
Example: Suppose we are interested in knowing if it is possible to identify
an image at a distance beyond the range of our sensory organs, that is, if
extrasensory perception is possible. From the literature we read that if
participants are placed in a ganzfeld environment their probability of
correctly identifying the targets is higher than chance, and it is also higher
than it is in a nonganzfeld condition (e.g., Storm, Tressoldi, & Di Risio,
2010, 2013). In this case, an experiment would be done by conducting
multiple trials in the ganzfeld environment. The simplest model is that there
is a probability of correctly identifying the target on each trial in the
experiment, and that the probability is the same for each trial. The parameter
of interest is the probability of correct identification and the question of
interest is how that probability compares with what is expected by chance.
The data available after conducting an experiment would be the percentage
of correct identifications in the experiment. A second goal might be to
compare the probability of correct identification in the ganzfeld and
nonganzfeld conditions, in which case trials would be done under both
conditions and the parameter of interest would be the difference in
probabilities of a correct identification under the two conditions. The null
hypothesis in that case would be that the difference is 0.
Most models used in parapsychological research rely on comparing observed
data to a known probability distribution of values that would occur if chance
alone could explain the results. Common statistical procedures that result
from these simple models include exact binomial tests, one and two-sample
t-tests, and chi-square tests for independence. There are many more complex
models in statistics, such as structural equation models (Yuan & Bentler,
2007), multivariable regression models, logistic regression models (Harrell,
2001), and so on, but they are rarely used in parapsychology. Perhaps this is
because it is important to keep the experiments relatively simple and
straightforward if they are to be understood by the general scientific
community.
Questions of Interest
After measuring the variable(s) of interest, the typical questions differ
depending on the type of measurements taken. For numerical measurements,
the usual questions are: What is the overall mean or median? What is the
distribution of the data? What is the average dispersion of data around the
mean or median? For categorical measurements, the questions of interest
include: What proportion of responses fall into each category? How do the
proportions in the different categories compare to each other? Do the
proportions agree with what is expected by chance? In the special case of
nominal variables (two categories only), the usual question is simply what
proportion of responses fall into each of the two categories. Sometimes it is
of interest to compare them to what is expected by chance.
If two or more variables are measured, then questions may be somewhat
more complicated, such as: What is the difference in means for the two
variables? What is the degree of association between the two variables? If
one variable is categorical and the other is numerical, a question might be
whether the means for the numerical variable are the same for the categories
of the other variable. An example is whether mean blood pressure is the
same for people who meditate regularly (one category) and people who do
not (the other category).
It is important to examine the distributional characteristics of the data. Even
if this practice is not customary, we emphasize its importance. Examination
of the characteristics of the data is fundamental for the following reasons: a)
to check if there are artifacts, wrong, or missing data; b) to observe if and
how large are the differences among individual values; c) to evaluate the
shape of the data distribution.
The importance of point a) is obvious. The importance of point b) is relevant
in order to understand if the individual differences are a consequence of
cognitive or personality characteristics of participants and/or of different
strategies adopted in solving the task. The importance of point c) is
fundamental for testing the conditions required for inferential statistics if we
want to use them to generalize the data obtained in our sample to the
population from which it has been drawn. For example, if we want to use a
binomial statistic for data obtained with the experiment using ganzfeld to
test ESP, it is necessary to check the following requirements:
• There are n “trials” where n is determined in advance. (No “optional
stopping” allowed.)
• There are the same two possible outcomes on each trial, called “success”
and “failure” and denoted S and F.
• The outcomes are independent from one trial to the next. Knowledge of
one does not help predict the next one.
• The probability of a “success” remains the same from one trial to the next,
and this probability is denoted by p. The probability of “failure” is (1-p) for
every trial.
Inferential Statistics
As mentioned earlier, the two traditional inferential statistical methods are
null hypothesis significance testing and confidence intervals. We discuss the
weaknesses of hypothesis testing, and suggest some other methods of
statistical inference.
The Limitations of Null Hypothesis Significance Testing (NHST)
Kline (2004), Nickerson (2000), and Cumming (2012) provided detailed
explanations of the problems of NHST, whose typical use was termed the
“null ritual” by Gigerenzer, Krauss, and Vitouch (2004), and described as (a)
set up a statistical null hypothesis of “no mean difference” or “zero
correlation”; (b) do not specify the predictions of your research hypothesis
or of any alternative substantive hypotheses; (c) use 5 percent as a
convention for rejecting the null; (d) if significant, accept your research
hypothesis; and (e) always perform this procedure.
For the purposes of this chapter, we will mention six of the limitations of
NHST that seriously undermine its scientific value and consequently the
reliability of results reported in studies that rely on NHST. The first is that
NHST centers on rejection of the null hypothesis at a stated probability
level, usually .05. Consequently, researchers can at most obtain the answer
“Yes, there is a difference from zero.” However very often researchers are
primarily interested in a “No” answer, and are therefore tempted to commit
the logical fallacy of stating: “if H0 is rejected then H0 is false, if H0 is not
rejected then H0 is true” (Nickerson, 2000). A p-value > .05 does not mean
that the null hypothesis is true and can be accepted. Failing to reject H0
should usually be regarded as an open verdict, no conclusion is justified.
The second limitation is that the p value is very likely to be quite different if
an experiment is repeated. Cumming (2008) presents the following example.
If the difference between two independent samples with n = 32 and an
estimated population effect size, d = 0.5, gives a two-tailed result p = .05,
there is an 80 percent chance the one-tailed p value from a replication will
fall in the interval (.00008, .44), a 10 percent chance that p < .00008, and a
10 percent chance that p > .44. In other words, a p value provides only
extremely vague information about a result’s repeatability. Many researchers
do not appreciate this weakness of relying on p-values (Lai, Fidler, &
Cumming, 2012).
The third limitation is that the conclusion “Yes, there is a difference from
zero” is almost always true. In other words, the null hypothesis is almost
never exactly correct. The probability that H0 will be rejected increases with
the sample size (N), so the result of NHST says as much, or more, about N as
about a hypothesis. One example is that a very low two-tailed correlation
coefficient r = .10 is not sufficient to reject the H0 of a zero true correlation
with p < .05, up to N = 380 participants. Above this number, H0 can be
rejected. Another example is that 40 percent of correct responses obtained
with 10 trials (i.e., 4 hits out of 10) with a MCE of 0.25, yields a one-tailed
p-value of .224. In contrast, the same percentage obtained with 100 trials
(i.e., 40 hits out of 100), yields p = .0007.
This limitation is a consequence of the statistical power of the chosen
statistic (for a more complete description of the statistical power see Faul,
Erdfelder, Lang, & Buchner, 2007). In summary, statistical power depends
on three numerical values: (1) the significance level (i.e., the Type I error
probability) of the test, chosen by the experimenter and typically .05; (2) the
size(s) of the sample(s) used for the test; and (3) an effect size (ES)
parameter indexing the actual degree of deviation from H0 in the underlying
population. Power analysis should be used prospectively to calculate the
minimum sample size required so that one can reasonably detect an effect of
a given size. Power analysis can also be used to calculate the minimum ES
likely to be detected in a study using a given sample size.
In most experimental designs, the accepted probability of making a Type I
error is α = .05 and the desired power is not less than .80. However, in order
to define how to obtain such a level of power, it is necessary to specify the
ES of the phenomena being identified. It is intuitive that the smaller the
phenomenon, the greater the sensitivity to detect it needs to be. This analogy
is similar to the signal/noise relationship. The smaller the signal, the stronger
must be the means to detect it in the noise. In psychology, the means of
detection are the number of participants taking part in the study and the
number of trials they are requested to perform. Because the true effect size
cannot be known (or there would be no need to do an experiment), power
analysis is usually done by specifying a minimum effect size that the
researcher would like to be able to detect and then calculating how large the
sample would need to be to have adequate power to detect it.
There is no formula that can be used directly to calculate power, because it
depends on finding probabilities of various outcomes, which usually requires
finding areas under probability curves. But power is completely determined
by specifying α, ES, and N, so if we know the estimated ES of a
phenomenon, after the definition of the desired power and the α level, the
only free parameter is N, that is, the number of participants or trials.
Referring to our hypothetical binomial experiment (such as ganzfeld with 4
choices), figure 1 illustrates power as a function of the actual probability of
success p for samples of size N = 20, 50, and 100. The null hypothesis value
is .25 and α = .05. Notice how the power increases with the number of
participants for any specific value of the true probability p. As an example,
power is shown for the three samples sizes when the true hit rate is p = .33.
Notice that even with a sample of 100 trials, the power, which is the
probability of rejecting the null hypothesis, is only .54. In other words, the
chance value of .25 would be rejected in only about 54 percent of all
experiments with 100 participants, even if the truth is that the population hit
rate is 33 percent instead of the chance value of 25 percent.
A free applet to calculate power online is available here:
www.stat.uiowa.edu/~rlenth/Power/index.htlm. The free software GPower is
available here: http://www.psycho.uniduesseldorf.de/abteilungen/aap/gpower3.
The fourth limitation of NHST is that it does not provide an estimate of the
difference from H0, which is a measure of effect size, even when the answer
is “Yes, there is a difference from zero.” A p-value < .05 does not mean the
effect is large, even if the p-value is much smaller than .05. Again, this is a
consequence of the fact that the p-value depends heavily on the sample size
for all situations except when the null hypothesis is exactly true. (When the
null hypothesis is true, the probability that it will be rejected, erroneously, is
the probability of a Type 1 error, which is α, usually set at .05.)
Figure 1. Power values with respect to the number of participants
(trials) with a .33 hit rate.
The fifth limitation is that NHST does not provide any information about
precision, meaning the likely error in an estimate of a parameter, such as a
mean, proportion, or correlation. Any data set measuring physical,
biological, or behavioral values will contain natural variability, so the
estimate of a population parameter will contain error. It is fundamental to
know how large this error is likely to be. The error depends on both the
sample size and the natural variability. One way to estimate the error and
thus overcome this limitation is by the use of confidence intervals (CIs), see
below.
The sixth limitation is that researchers often test many hypotheses without
correcting for the fact that they are performing multiple tests, each of which
could produce a false result just by chance. If all null hypotheses are true and
α = 0.05 = 1/20, then by chance alone about one in 20 independent
hypothesis tests (i.e., about 5 percent) would yield a “false positive” result of
rejecting the null hypothesis. In an experiment that tests many different
hypotheses the test statistics used are generally not independent so the
problem can be even worse. There are procedures that can be used to correct
for multiple testing, but they are rarely used and they suffer from some of
the same problems identified above for using a single NHST.
Some Examples of Shortcomings Consequent to the Limit of NHST
Here are some hypothetical examples of wording typical of what we have
seen in the parapsychological literature, where the shortcomings of the
NHST are not considered. (Although we have found actual quotes similar to
these we have decided not to use them so as not to single out individuals
who have published them.)
No explanation or rationale for how the sample size was chosen.
Example 1: No rationale for the choice of sample size that makes the study
have very low power: “The study sample size was predefined to be 25 pairs
of participants. We sought out volunteer pairs who had a positive
relationship, were open to psi and were in good health both mentally and
physically. ”
Post-hoc instead of planned statistical power calculation. Example 2:
Power analysis could and should have been done before deciding on the
sample size and conducting the study. “The fact that this study failed to
achieve statistical significance is probably due to low statistical power. A
post-hoc analysis showed that if the hit rate observed in the study is the true
population hit rate, with a sample of this size the power would only have
been .15. So there would only have been a 15 percent chance of rejecting the
null hypothesis.”
No type I error control from multiple testing of the same hypothesis.
Example 3: Testing many hypotheses in the same study and not accounting
for the increased risk of making a Type 1 error. “We hypothesized that the
scores on the physiology reaction measure would correlate positively with
the subscales for the paranormal experiences questionnaire. Although all of
the correlations were positive, they were not all statistically significant:
telepathy (r = .12, p < .05), precognitive dreams (r = .18, p < .01), reading
auras (r = .08, n.s.), out-of-body experiences (r = .03, n.s.), spontaneous PK
(r = .09, n.s.).”
Use of p < .05 as cutoff. Example 4: The temptation to use an α larger than
.05 when the p-value is just slightly above .05. It would be better to simply
report the p-values and let readers draw their own conclusions, instead of
using terms like close to significance. “The difference in effect sizes
between the two conditions was 0.10, z = 1.40, p = .081, one-tailed. The null
hypothesis is not rejected, but the difference is close to significance.”
Accepting a null hypothesis. Example 5: Misunderstanding of what
conclusion can be made when the p-value is too large to reject the null
hypothesis. It is never appropriate to accept a null hypothesis. Concluding
that there is “no difference” is not the same as concluding that there is no
statistically significant difference, or as epidemiologists phrase it, lack of
evidence is not the same as evidence of lack. “When the four conditions
were compared using analysis of variance, no differences were found
between the means for the conditions (F = 1.90, df = 3, 30, p = .15).
Therefore, we can conclude that the population mean scores for the four
conditions are equal.”
Are There Alternatives to the NHST?
Statistical Recommendations from Professional Associations and Journals
To reduce the impact of the limitations of NHST, psychological and medical
professional associations and journals have made statistical
recommendations to be adopted by all editors and reviewers. For example,
for psychology, the 6th edition of the American Psychological Association
Publication Manual (2010) emphasizes the prospective estimation of
statistical power “…take seriously the statistical power considerations
associated with the tests of hypotheses” (p. 30), the use of confidence
intervals (CIs) and effect size “complete reporting of all tested hypotheses
and estimates of appropriate effect sizes and confidence intervals are the
minimum expectations for all APA journals” (p. 33), and, especially:
“Wherever possible, base discussion and interpretation of results on point
and interval estimates [i.e., confidence intervals]” (p. 34). In other words,
researchers should base their conclusions on their observed effect sizes
(point estimates), and the CIs (interval estimates) of those effect sizes.
For medicine, the International Committee of Medical Journal Editors
(ICMJE) released the Uniform Requirements for Manuscripts (URM). In the
statistics paragraph of the updated April 2010 version, it is recommended
“When possible, quantify findings and present them with appropriate
indicators of measurement error or uncertainty (such as confidence
intervals). Avoid relying solely on statistical hypothesis testing, such as pvalues, which fail to convey important information about effect size” (p. 13).
Similar recommendations are emphasized in the CONSORT Statement
(Schulz, Altman, & Moher, 2010): “For all outcomes, authors should
provide a confidence interval to indicate the precision (uncertainty) of the
estimate. A 95 percent confidence interval is conventional, but occasionally
other levels are used” and “Although p-values may be provided in addition
to confidence intervals, results should not be reported solely as p-values.
Results should be reported for all planned primary and secondary end points,
not just for analyses that were statistically significant or ‘interesting’” (item
17a).
Confidence Intervals (CI)
A confidence interval is an interval of values computed from sample data
that is likely to include the true population value. The confidence level
(often 95 percent) for an interval describes our confidence in the procedure
we used. We are confident that most of the confidence intervals we compute
using appropriate procedures will contain the true population value, where
“most” is defined by the confidence level (for a more complete description,
see Cumming, 2012). The width of a confidence interval is determined by
(a) sample size (N = number of trials), a larger N provides greater accuracy
and a narrower interval, and (b) confidence level, higher confidence, for
example 99 percent instead of 95 percent, requires a wider interval. Useful
demonstrations of the confidence interval concept are available here:
http://www.rossmanchance.com/applets/NewConfsim/Confsim.html and
here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ez4DgdurRPg.
There is a direct correspondence between a confidence interval and the
rejection of the null value for a two-sided alternative hypothesis of the form
“Population value ≠ null value.”
• If the null value is covered by a 95 percent CI you cannot reject the null
hypothesis at .05. The null value is a plausible value.
• If the null value is not covered by a 95 percent CI you can reject the null
hypothesis (and accept the alternative) at .05.
For a one-sided alternative hypothesis, the correspondence is similar but
requires care to make sure the interval is in the same direction as the
alternative hypothesis. For instance, for the alternative hypothesis of the
form “population value > null value” use a 90 percent CI and reject the null
hypothesis at .05 if the entire interval is above the null value. You could also
compute a one-sided confidence interval, but that is not standard.
Confidence intervals give the magnitude of the effect and are easier to
interpret than the results of hypothesis tests. The width of a confidence
interval illustrates how much uncertainty there is; the wider the interval, the
less accurately the parameter is estimated.
Effect Size
An effect size measures how far the true parameter value is from the null
value, usually in terms of standard deviations or amount of variance
explained. Just as with the population parameter, the population effect size
cannot be known exactly but can be estimated. Effect sizes are easier to
interpret than p-values, they give more information because they reveal how
far the null value is from the true parameter value, and they are not as
heavily influenced by the size of the sample.
There is a direct relationship between the z and t test statistics and common
effect size measures. For instance, for a t-test of a single mean, the test
statistic is
and the effect size is
Notice that the effect size measures how many standard deviations apart the
sample mean and null value are from each other.
The “hypothesis testing paradox” illustrates why effect sizes are more useful
than p-values. Suppose a researcher conducts a t-test for one mean with n =
100 and finds t = 2.50, p = .014, so the null hypothesis is rejected. Just to be
sure, the experimenter repeats the experiment with n = 25, but to her dismay,
she finds t = 1.25, p =.22, and she cannot reject the null. The effect has
disappeared! To salvage the situation, she decides to combine the data, so
now n = 125. Now she finds t = 2.80, p = .006! How could a second study
that did not support the statistically significant result of the first study
somehow make the result stronger when combined with the first study?
Here is the paradox: The 2nd study alone did not replicate the finding of
statistical significance, but when combined with the 1st study, the effect
seems even stronger than the 1st study alone (p goes from .014 to .006)!
What is going on? The problem is that the test statistic and p-value depend
on the sample size. In fact in this example, both studies have the same effect
size. See Table 1 for a numerical explanation. Note that the effect size is the
test statistic/√n.
Table 1. Hypothetical Example of the Relations among Statistic, p, and Effect Size
Unlike p-values, effect sizes do not depend on sample size (but accuracy of
estimating them does). They are a measure of the true effect or difference in
the population. They can be compared even when different units or different
tests are used. Easy and free ways to calculate effect sizes and their
confidence intervals are indicated in the web resources.
Think and Act Meta-analytically
Evidence is supported only by cumulative and independent replications and
not by a single even if seemingly perfect study. It follows that it is necessary
to think about how to cumulate results both if obtained by a single study or
by different ones.
Figure 2 (drawn from Cumming, 2012) shows an example of reporting
results from multiple studies in the form of a forest plot, and adding the
results of a new study, “Mine, 2011” in the figure, to the results that had
been accumulated to date. Each horizontal line represents one study and the
diamonds represent accumulated results over multiple studies. Each line
shows the range of a 95 percent confidence interval for the parameter of
interest, based on a single study (lines with squares) or multiple studies
(diamonds). The size of the square is proportional to the sample size used for
that study, with a larger square indicating a larger sample size. The diamond
shown just below the middle of the figure is the confidence interval for the
combined results of the six studies above it, labeled as “Past research, metaanalyzed.” The next line with the square shows the confidence interval for
the new study by Mine and the diamond at the bottom represents a
confidence interval for the parameter after adding the new study. It is not
obvious from this figure because of the relatively small study being added,
but in general each new study added will reduce the width of the confidence
interval represented by the diamond because the accumulated sample size
keeps growing.
Figure 2. Example of a meta-analysis forest plot. Squares represents the
means of single studies with their corresponding CIs, whereas diamonds
correspond to meta-analytic mean estimates.
Thinking and acting meta-analytically can include calculating an effect size
measure with the corresponding confidence intervals for each study and
using a model to summarize all available evidence. Guidelines on how to
carry out a meta-analysis of psychological studies are presented in the MetaAnalysis Reporting Standards (MARS) specified in the APA Manual (APA,
2008, pp. 251–252). Further sources are Borenstein, Hedges, Higgins, and
Rothstein (2009) and Cooper, Hedges, and Valentine (2009).
The Bayesian Approach
Here we will give only a brief introduction to the logic of the Bayesian
approach offering some further readings to expand the knowledge of this
statistical approach. A good reference for nonstatisticians is the book
Bayesian Ideas and Data Analysis: An Introduction for Scientists and
Statisticians by Christensen. Johnson, Branscum, and Hanson (2011).
Similar to NHST and confidence intervals, Bayesian analysis often focuses
on estimating a parameter of interest. But unlike those methods, the
Bayesian approach results in a distribution of possible values for the
parameter, along with associated probabilities. To find this “posterior”
distribution, the Bayesian approach uses a combination of the data and prior
information or beliefs about the possible values for the parameter. This is a
radical difference from the NHST approach, which only allows us to find the
probability of observed data (or data more extreme) under the assumption
that the null hypothesis is true (i.e., the p-value).
To test hypotheses using the Bayesian approach there are two types of prior
information or belief that must be specified. Each individual can specify his
or her own beliefs, but ultimately, with enough data, the conclusions reached
will be the same. The first specification is to assign prior probabilities to the
null and alternative hypotheses. For instance, in the ganzfeld example a
disbeliever might assign a probability of 1 in a million to the alternative
hypothesis (that psi exists) where as a true skeptic might assign a probability
of 1 in 1000, and a believer might assign a probability of ?.
The second assignment of probabilities that must be made a priori is trickier
and often hidden in the analysis. In this step, the analysts must enter a
distribution of possible effect sizes that corresponds to what they think the
effect size is if in fact the alternative hypothesis is true. (Specifying a single
value is not good enough—a distribution of possibilities must be specified.)
In our example, the analyst must answer the question “If the psi hypothesis
is true, how large do you think the hit rate is? (Or, what do you think is the
probability of a hit?)” The technical details are cumbersome, but the
specification of these probabilities can be elicited by answering a few simple
questions, such as “What is your best guess at the true value of the hit rate?”
and “What is the value that you are 95 percent sure the hit rate will exceed,
and at the other end, 95 percent sure it will not exceed?” For the binomial
situation represented in the ganzfeld example, the website
http://www.epi.ucdavis.edu/diagnostictests/betabuster.html provides
software for this purpose.
It is important that a reasonable distribution of possibilities be used for this
prior distribution. In the ganzfeld example, if the distribution under the
alternative hypothesis has most of the weight given to very high hit rate
values, then almost no one would believe the alternative hypothesis to be
more likely than the null hypothesis. In other words, if the choice is between
a chance hit rate or a hit rate on the order of 70 percent to 100 percent, then
most people would place their bets on the chance hit rate. And if the data
were used to choose between those two possibilities, it would also favor the
chance (null) hypothesis. This kind of misleading Bayesian analysis was
used by Wagenmakers, Wetzels, Borsboom, and Van der Maas (2011). Two
examples of appropriate Bayesian analysis in parapsychological
investigations are reported in Utts, Norris, Suess, and Johnson (2010) and in
Bem, Utts, and Johnson (2011).
Bayesian models comparison. In one Bayesian approach to assessing null
values, the analyst sets up two competing models of what values are
possible. One model (the null model) posits that only the null value or a
range of values is possible. The alternative model posits that a broad range
of other values is possible. Bayesian inference is used to compute which
model is more credible given the data. This method is called Bayesian model
comparison. The result of this comparison is a value called the Bayes factor.
The Bayes factor is heavily dependent on the a priori distribution specified
for the alternative hypothesis, as just discussed, but does not depend on the
prior odds placed on the two hypotheses. That part of the analysis comes
after the Bayes factor has been found.
Once the Bayes factor is found it can be used by each individual to find the
“posterior odds” of the null versus the alternative hypothesis being true. The
Bayes factor represents the odds of one hypothesis to the other for someone
who had placed equal prior probabilities on the two hypotheses. For
everyone else, the prior odds held by the individual are multiplied by the
Bayes factor to find the posterior odds for that individual.
For instance, if the Bayes factor for the alternative compared to the null is 5,
it means that someone for whom the prior probabilities were equal would
now conclude that the alternative hypothesis is 5 times as likely to be true as
the null hypothesis. But for someone for whom the prior odds were 1 (for the
alternative) to 100 (for the null), the posterior odds would only be Bayes
factor × prior odds = 5(1/100) = 1/20. So for this person the null hypothesis
would now seem to be 20 times as likely to be true as the alternative
hypothesis. This person has had their odds shifted from 1 in 100 to 1 in 20,
but would still not be convinced that the alternative hypothesis is likely to be
true. Notice that if someone starts with prior odds of millions (for the null) to
1 (for the alternative) then it would take a very, very large Bayes factor (and
thus a very, very large amount of data) to convince them that the alternative
is more likely to be true than the null. One of the nice features of the
Bayesian approach is that it requires people to be up front about their prior
beliefs.
Example: “The results showed approximately 20 percent of correct hits
above the chance level of 50 percent for the threatening stimulus, and
approximately 17 percent of correct hits below the chance level for the
neutral stimulus. The Bayesian parameters estimation of these results
(BFH1/H0 = 200 and 50 respectively) give strong support to the alternative
(hits above chance level) hypothesis.” Notice that in this example the Bayes
factor is 200 for the threatening stimulus, and 50 for the neutral stimulus.
Bayesian parameter estimates. In a second Bayesian approach to assessing
null values, the analyst simply sets up a range of candidate values, including
the null value, and uses Bayesian inference to compute the relative
credibility of each of the candidate values. This method is called Bayesian
parameter estimation. A posterior distribution is found for the parameter of
interest by combining the prior distribution placed on the parameter with the
data observed in the experiment. This distribution contains 100 percent of
the possible values for the parameter and shows how the possibilities are
distributed over the number range. This distribution generally includes the
entire possible number line, i.e., 0 to 1, or 0 to infinity, depending on the
situation. Of course it does not help much to say that we are 100 percent sure
that the true value (for instance, for a hit rate) is between 0 and 1—we don’t
need data to tell us that! So what is used instead is an interval that contains a
specified proportion of the possible distribution, usually 95 percent. This
interval of possible values is called a “highest posterior density interval.”
This is similar to a confidence interval in frequentist analysis.
Example: ”Bayesian estimation provides information about the possible true
effect sizes that is not available from examining Bayes factors, much like
frequentist confidence intervals provide information that is not available
from hypothesis testing. In this analysis the parameter of interest is the true
probability of success. Following Kruschke (2011), we use a Bayesian
hierarchical model in which the number of hits in study j is a binomial
random variable with success probability θj, possibly different for each
study. The values of θj are sampled from a beta distribution with mean μ, and
we want to estimate μ. It represents the average of all the possible success
probabilities. To be conservative, we used a noninformative beta distribution
on μ, with a = 1 and b = 1 (i.e., a uniform distribution), and a gamma
distribution on the dispersion” (from Storm, Tressoldi & Utts, 2013).
Figure 3 shows the results of the Bayesian parameter estimation of μ (where
chance = 25 percent, or 0.25). The entire range of possibilities actually goes
from 0 to 1, but anything outside of the interval from about 0.24 to 0.36 has
such low probability that it is not shown. The distribution of possibilities has
a mean of 0.297, and the middle 95 percent of possibilities range from
0.2654 to 0.329. This is the 95 percent highest posterior density interval
(labeled HDI for high density interval) for μ. The interval excludes the
chance value of 0.25 and hence supports the hypothesis that ESP may be
real.
Figure 3. Bayesian Estimation of the Hit Probabilities with
Corresponding High Density Interval (HDI).
The Problem of Replication
The gold standard to define the reliability of any finding in science is its
replicability. No phenomenon can be considered real if it cannot be observed
repeatedly. The lack of consistent replication undermines the foundations of
any discipline, from psychology to medicine to physics. However, the
definition of replicability must be made in the context of statistical
variability. The hypothesis testing paradox discussed earlier reveals the
dangers of defining replication based on p-values.
A better approach is to look for similar effect sizes across studies, but even
that approach has problems. First, effect size estimates are exactly that—
estimates of a population effect and therefore not precise. Also, when a study
has a large enough effect size to be considered interesting, it may be that
chance variability produced an effect size in the “tail” of the possible effect
size estimates for that situation. Therefore, further studies would be expected
to produce smaller effect sizes, even if they are generated from the same
population. This idea is similar to the well-known idea of “regression to the
mean.” If a new study finds a smaller effect size than the original study it
does not necessarily mean the new study is a failure to replicate the original
finding. It could be because there is statistical variability and the initial study
was at one end of the range of that variability.
The problem of replication has received considerable attention in
psychology recently, as witnessed by a recent special section of the journal
Perspectives on Psychological Science titled “Replicability in Psychological
Science: A Crisis of Confidence?” edited by Pashler and Wagenmakers
(2012). Apart from calling for the importance of exact and conceptual
replications and inviting all researchers and journal editors to invest more on
this kind of research activity, the crucial question is how to define whether
the results of an experiment can be considered a replication or a failure to
replicate previous findings.
When the evidence of a phenomenon is supported by quantitative statistical
analyses, the criteria to define whether a new experiment replicates the
evidence observed in previous studies are only statistical. Given all the
limitations of the NHST described in the previous pages, at least one thing is
clear, the conclusion about whether a successful replication has occurred
cannot be established by referring to the p-values!
If p-values cannot be used to define the validity of a replication, the solution
must be found in the NHST alternative options. For example, replication
could be defined as getting approximately the same effect size, taking into
account its precision defined by its confidence intervals but subject to the
idea that an initial attention-grabbing study may reflect the tail of a
distribution. As is hopefully clear by now, the answer to the question of
whether a follow-up study “replicates” an original study should not be
answered with a “yes or no.” It is more complicated than that, and science
progresses by noticing and explaining both similarities and differences
across studies. For an extended discussion on how to carry-out and compare
the results of replications, see Brandt et al. (2014).
In the case of a Bayesian approach we can define a replication success or
failure by referring to Bayes factor values, again taking into account the
natural statistical variability in any data-calculated value. For instance, if in
the original experiment BF(H1/H0) was 20 and in the replication it was 3, it
seems clear that they are different. A more refined method is presented by
Verhagen and Wagenmakers (2014).
Another option is to see if the HDIs overlap with the original ones. Yet
another option is to use the new study or studies to update the Bayesian
results. Similar to the meta-analytic updating method shown above, with
Bayesian analyses it is straightforward to simply keep accumulating
evidence and updating the results.
To conclude this chapter, we suggest some simple recommendations that
could become requirements for each proposal of publication in a journal. We
are sure that if applied most of the NHST limitations and negative
consequences will be solved.
Methodological and Statistical Recommendations
We make the following recommendations for all studies. These include
recommendations for issues that must be considered before the study, during
the analysis phase, and in the reporting of the results.
• Make explicit the difference between exploratory or pilot experiments and
formal ones;
• Make explicit the primary and the secondary hypotheses to be tested
before collecting any data;
• Report all experimental conditions, including failed manipulations;
• Make explicit the initial choice of the sample size(s), and provide an
explanation if it was not met;
• If possible, explain the rationale for the sample size(s), including a power
analysis;
• Whenever possible, report confidence intervals and effect sizes along with
or instead of p-values;
• If Bayesian methods are used, be explicit about all priors, including the
prior distribution represented in the alternative hypothesis;
• Exact and conceptual replications are welcomed, but explain which one is
being attempted;
• Pre-registration of confirmatory hypotheses is recommended, for example
posting them on http://www.openscienceframework.org
• and/or http://koestlerunit.wordpress.com
Statistical analyses reporting. When using the frequentist Null Hypothesis
Significant Testing approach, adopt the APA 2010 and APS statistical
guidelines (Cumming, 2014): Consideration of whether or not to reject the
null hypothesis should be carried out using parameters’ confidence intervals,
equivalence testing or model comparison procedures (see suggested readings
and resources), except for hypotheses that are not about a single parameter,
such as chi-square goodness-of-fit tests or tests based on the sum of ranks.
References
APA (2010). Publication manual (6th ed.). Washington, D.C.: American
Psychological Association.
APA Publications and Communications Board Working Group (2008).
Reporting standards for research in psychology. Why do we need them?
What might they be? American Psychologist, 63, 839–851.
Bem, D. J., Utts, J., and Johnson, W. O. (2011). Must psychologists change
the way they analyze their data? A response to Wagenmakers, Wetzels,
Borsboom, and Van der Maas (2011). Journal of Personality and Social
Psychology, 101, 716–719. doi: 10.1037/a0024777
Borenstein, M., Hedges, L. V., Higgins, J. P. T., and Rothstein, H. R. (2009).
Introduction to meta-analysis. Chichester, UK: Wiley.
Brandt, M. J., IJzerman, H., Dijksterhuis, A., Farach, F. J., Geller, J., GinerSorolla, R., … and Van’t Veer, A. (2014). The replication recipe: What
makes for a convincing replication? Journal of Experimental Social
Psychology, 50, 217–224.
Christensen, R., Johnson, W., Branscum, A., and Hanson, T. E. (2011).
Bayesian ideas and data analysis: An introduction for scientists and
statisticians. Boca Raton, FL: Chapman & Hall.
Cooper, H., Hedges, L. V., and Valentine, J. C. (Eds.). (2009). The handbook
of research synthesis and meta-analysis (2nd ed.). New York: Russell Sage
Foundation.
Cumming G. (2012). Understanding the new statistics: Effect sizes,
confidence intervals, and meta–analysis: www.thenewstatistics.com
Cumming, G. (2014). The new statistics. Why and how. Psychological
Science, 25, 7–29.
Cumming, G. (2008). Replication and p intervals: p values predict the future
only vaguely, but confidence intervals do much better. Perspectives on
Psychological Science, 3, 286–300. doi: 10.1111/j.1745–6924.2008.00079.x
Faul, F., Erdfelder, E., Lang, A.-G., and Buchner, A. (2007). G*Power 3: A
flexible statistical power analysis program for the social, behavioral, and
biomedical sciences. Behavior Research Methods, 39, 175–191.
Gigerenzer, G., Krauss, S., and Vitouch, O. (2004). The null ritual what you
always wanted to know about significance testing but were afraid to ask. In
D. Kaplan (Ed.). The Sage handbook of quantitative methodology for the
social sciences (pp. 391–408). Thousand Oaks CA: Sage.
Harrell, F. E. (2001). Regression modeling strategies: with applications to
linear models, logistic regression, and survival analysis. Berlin, Germany;
Springer-Verlag.
Kline, R. B. (2004). Beyond significance testing. Washington, D.C.:
American Psychological Association. doi: 10.1177/1094428107307913.
Kruschke, J. (2011). Bayesian assessment of null values via parameter
estimation and model comparison. Perspectives on Psychological Science, 6,
299–312. doi: 10.1177/1745691611406925
Lai, J., Fidler, F., and Cumming, G. (2012). Subjective p Intervals.
Methodology: European Journal of Research Methods for the Behavioral
and Social Sciences, 8(2), 51–62.
Nickerson, R.S. (2000). Null hypothesis significance testing: A review of an
old and continuing controversy. Psychological Methods, 5, 241–301. doi:
10.1037//1082–989X.5.2.241.
Pashler, H., and Wagenmakers, E. J. (2012). Editors’ introduction to the
special section on replicability in psychological science. A crisis of
confidence? Perspectives on Psychological Science, 7, 528–530.
Schulz, K. F., Altman, D. G., Moher, D., and CONSORT Group (2010)
CONSORT 2010 Statement: Updated guidelines for reporting parallel group
randomised trials. PLoS Med, 7(3): e1000251
doi:101371/journalpmed1000251
Storm, L., Tressoldi, P. E., and Di Risio, L. (2010). Meta-analysis of freeresponse studies, 1992–2008: Assessing the noise reduction model in
parapsychology. Psychological Bulletin, 136, 471.
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(2010) meta-analysis using Bayesian and frequentist approaches: Reply to
Rouder et al.(2013). Psychological Bulletin, 139, 248–254.
Utts, J., Norris, M., Suess, E., and Johnson, W. (2010). The strength of
evidence versus the power of belief: Are we all Bayesians? Proceedings of
the Eighth International Conference on Teaching Statistics (ICOTS8, July,
2010). Voorburg, The Netherlands: International Statistical Institute.
Verhagen, A. J., and Wagenmakers, E.-J. (2014). Bayesian tests to quantify
the result of a replication attempt. Journal of Experimental Psychology:
General 143, 1457–1475.
Wagenmakers, E J., Wetzels, R., Borsboom, D., and Van der Maas, H.
(2011). Why psychologists must change the way they analyze their data: The
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(pp. 297–358). Amsterdam, Netherlands: North-Holland.
Some Web Resources
Frequentist statistics
handbok.docxhttp://statpages.org (provides links to hundreds of free online
resources for statistics)
http://vassarstats.net
http://www.danielsoper.com/statcalc3/default.aspx
Estimation of frequentist parameters
Effect size calculator:
http://www.campbellcollaboration.org/resources/effect_size_input.php
Confidence intervals calculator:
http://www.latrobe.edu.au/psy/research/projects/esci
Bayesian resources
http://bayesfactorpcl.r-forge.r-project.org
http://doingbayesiandataanalysis.blogspot.it
OceanofPDF.com
Part Three: Psychology and Psi
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 8
Psychological Concepts of Psi Function
A Review and Constructive Critique
REX G. STANFORD
This chapter will focus on two broad conceptual frameworks: The psimediated instrumental response model (PMIR; Stanford, 1974a, 1990,
2006, and a revised version in this chapter) and the first-sight model and
theory (FSMT; Carpenter, 2004, 2005, 2008, 2012). Both PMIR and FSMT
integrate ideas and findings from psychology and psi-research into a broad
framework for understanding psi in a wide range of life situations, where it
is presumed to subserve, usually unconsciously, the adaptational and/or
personal inclinations of the organism. Both PMIR and FSMT are built on
the conviction that developing a workable scientific understanding of psi
events (both receptive and active psi, ESP and PK) requires examining
them in a far broader context than in the past, when experimenters tried to
force psi to manifest itself in the laboratory through tasks that required
subjects to use psi in a very deliberate fashion.
Looking Back at the 1977 Handbook of Parapsychology
The 1977 Handbook of Parapsychology had a chapter (Stanford, 1977)
entitled “Conceptual Frameworks of Contemporary Psi Research.” Like the
present chapter, it focused on studies based on psychological concepts. One
focus of that chapter was the concept of internal attention states, which was
developed by Charles Honorton and guided most of the research intended to
enhance performance on cognitive-perceptual, fully intentional, ESP tasks.
The other focus was my model of psi-mediated instrumental response
(PMIR). It represented a very fundamental conceptual shift relative to both
traditional psi theorization and conventional psi-research methodology,
because its primary focus was on understanding the potentially adaptive
role of psi in life situations in which most of us certainly are not striving to
make conscious use of psi. It proposed psychological mechanisms through
which psi might function in the service of personal dispositions and needs
and delineated how PMIR might efficiently serve those functions without
any conscious effort to activate psi function or awareness of its occurrence.
The Receptive-Psi (Extrasensory) PMIR Model: Some Reflections and Updating
The first PMIR model was published 40 years ago (Stanford, 1974a, 1974b;
the former concerned receptive psi, ESP, and the latter, active psi, PK).
Elaborated and/or revised versions of the receptive-psi model were
published (Stanford, 1977, 1982, 1990) that incorporated not only the
organism’s needs as subserved by PMIR, but, more broadly, its dispositions.
A more recent paper (Stanford, 2006) detailed PMIR’s ramifications for
modeling receptive psi using memory-related concepts. Arguably my most
complete, detailed, and deeply reflective presentation and review of the
PMIR model (Stanford, 1990) was an examination of evidence, both from
psi studies and psychology, bearing on the credibility of the assumptions of
the model and on the methods used to investigate it. The model’s
innovative, experimentally testable proposals strongly encouraged research
on unconscious, adaptation-relevant receptive psi.
Within the last 15 years or so there has been an upsurge in experimental
study of hypotheses directly based on the PMIR model and on ideas, though
possibly not derived from it, that nonetheless seem fully consonant with its
proposals. There will be no attempt to review or even to list and cite all of
that work here, but PMIR-inspired research has been done in several
university settings. What follows are the assumptions of the latest PMIR
model, which has been revised, usually in the interest of further delineating
the implications of the model.
ASSUMPTION 1: Fundaments
Through psi the organism is able to respond to circumstances with which it
lacks sensory contact if those circumstances are of a kind to which it would
respond if it had sensory knowledge of them. Further, the
approach/avoidance character of the organism’s psi-mediated response or
response disposition to such a circumstance will tend to parallel those it
would have if it had sensory contact with that circumstance, but that
response of course will be shaped in consideration of its concerns relative
to the current sensory environment. Considering the above, there is no
implication here that PMIR invariably subserves what many people,
including biologists, tend to think of as adaptation, for an individual’s psimediated response may at times work contrary to such interests on account
of its existing dispositions and cognitive schemata relative to such
situations (see ASSUMPTION (7).
The term “adaptational,” as used in discussion of the PMIR model, refers to
psi-mediated facilitation of the individual’s typical or preferred outcome
relative to the situation apprehended unconsciously through psi. This is
because each individual has characteristic ways of adapting to particular
circumstances. It is supposed, though, that adaptation in the conventional,
normative sense is the usual function of PMIR for most individuals. The
term “circumstances” in this assumption refers not only to physical
situations, but also to the thoughts and/or intentions, conscious or
unconscious, of other individuals that have importance to the one who
potentially could respond to them via PMIR.
ASSUMPTION 2: Psi-Mediated State-Related Shifts as Preparation for or as the Actual
Adaptational Response
Preparation for PMIR involves psi-mediated state-related changes such as
motivational or emotional arousal and orienting responses related to
directing and focusing attention, as well as any other prerequisites for
executing an overtly behavioral instrumental response (i.e., one that
directly produces a personally desirable outcome relative to the psiaccessed material). In some instances such a preparatory-type
affective/emotional response may constitute the instrumental response itself,
specifically when the very nature of the psi-apprehended circumstance
makes behavioral intervention impossible, but affective adaptation to that
circumstance is possible.
The final sentence of this assumption needs some explanation. Occasionally
situations may exist to which a psi-mediated response might be helpful, but
obviating an unfortunate situation (e.g., unexpected death of a love one)
may be impossible under the circumstances. In such a case, advance
emotional or even cognitive (e.g., dream) psi-mediated apprehension of the
event may be adaptive if it subsequently helps the respondent to be able,
upon sensory confirmation of a disastrous event, to cope with it
psychologically and even behaviorally. Emotional/affective preparation as
PMIR is not new to the PMIR model (Stanford, 1990).
ASSUMPTION 3: Strength of the Tendency to Produce PMIR
The strength of the tendency to produce PMIR is positively related to (a) the
centrality and strength of the need(s) and/or dispositions that have
relevance to the circumstance(s) to which psi is responding; (b) the degree
of need-relevance or incentive value of that circumstance itself upon its
being encountered; and (c) the closeness in time to the potential encounter
with that circumstance, to the degree that earlier response to the
circumstance would have greater adaptive benefit.
This particular set of assumptions has been modified since its last
publication (Stanford, 1990). Originally, the first part of this assumption
indicated that the strength of the tendency toward PMIR is related “directly
and positively” to the situations indicated thereafter by items (a), (b), and
(c). The “directly” has been deleted from the current version because such
an expression often is used to mean “linearly,” but that is an assumption
that seems unjustifiable in the absence of relevant research or a cogent a
priori argument favoring linearity in this regard. Sub-assumption (c) has
been modified. Originally, it referred only to the closeness in time per se to
the potential encounter with the circumstance motivating the PMIR, but it
seems reasonable to assume that temporal closeness should be most
important when an earlier response would allow a greater possibility of
successful PMIR or would allow more efficacious PMIR.
ASSUMPTION 4: The Role of Automatic Activation in PMIR
Acting in interaction with the organism’s current action plans and
circumstances, PMIR is accomplished through the psi-initiated automatic
activation (or priming) of thoughts, feelings, desires, goals, situationally
linked behavioral patterns (i.e., scripts), associative networks, imagery,
and/or memories that may aid in the production of an instrumental
behavioral response or that may per se constitute such a response, given
those current action plans and situations. (See ASSUMPTION 2.) The
activation of such pre-existing mental features is presumed to be easier if
the structures or systems thus to be primed often have been utilized in
support of past activities and experiences and thus are composed of
associative linkages that relatively easily may be accessed and activated by
unconscious primes, including psi-related ones. Through such means psi
can directly facilitate or inhibit ideas or response tendencies if doing so is
important to realizing adaptational goals or protecting against harm to the
organism. PMIR also may facilitate response tendencies specifically to
counter ongoing responses that would work against the organism’s
adaptational interests relative to implicit, psi-derived knowledge.
In line with this assumption, sometimes PMIR will activate a well-learned
response tendency that will block, delay, or even supplant current action
plans if consequences of the original plans would, unaltered, work counter
to the organism’s adaptational interests in regard to the psi-accessed
information driving the tendency toward PMIR. Some such events may
manifest as serendipitous forgetting.
In my first PMIR model paper (1974) I related how a retired attorney from
New York City had one day boarded a subway train with the intention of
changing trains, in course, to get him to easy walking distance of the home
of friends whom he hoped to visit. When he got to the station where he had
planned to transfer to another train, he instead “absentmindedly” walked
through the exit gate and halfway up the stairs before realizing his mistake.
Instead of going back in and paying another fare for the originally planned
train, he decided to walk the six blocks to their place. As he walked up the
street he fortuitously encountered them heading for an appointment of
which he had been unaware. His mistake and the related change of plans
thus had enabled at least a short visit while walking with them that he
would have missed had he not forgetfully diverted from his original travel
plan. Serendipitous forgetting is just one of many forms that wholly
unconscious PMIR might take (see ASSUMPTION (5), but it may be fairly
common [see chapter 2 and 5, this volume].
Unconscious activation of routines in pursuit of goals appears not only to be
used in the pursuit of consciously activated goals but, also, in the pursuit of
at least some goals that have been unconsciously activated, such as by
subliminal stimuli or by unattended suprathreshold stimuli (discussion and
related research citations in Bargh, 1997; and in Hassin, 2013). The same
may be expected to happen via unconscious activation of a goal through psi.
The earlier, but now discredited, assumption of exclusively conscious
mediation of higher-level processing was largely a consequence of
modeling mental activity via computer processing which, at that time
(roughly mid–60s to mid–80s), was still serial in character, one process at a
time (Bargh, 1997; Kihlstrom, 1987). Serial modeling has the character of
conscious processing, namely, one thing at a time.
Rescue from the conceptual roadblock posed by exclusively serial
processing came with the idea of parallel processing and the development
of computer-based models of parallel distributed processing (PDP;
Rumelhart, McClelland, & the PDP Research Group, 1986). The term
distributed derives from the fact that in such models the representation of
something—whatever that might be—is spread across many units of the
network, not housed in just one locus (unlike in earlier models), and is
represented, specifically, by the pattern of activation/inhibition across many
units of the network. Simultaneous activity (i.e., parallel activity) is
widespread throughout the network. Models involving PDP are termed
connectionist models. They have numerous important advantages, but our
present focus is on the feature of allowing multiple processes, even
potentially complexly interrelated ones, to run at the same time, a feature
helpful in modeling unconscious processing. Such models have some
unique and notable advantages in successfully modeling how the brain’s
neural networks might handle problem solving of various kinds, including
learning and generalization of constructs. Goldstein (2008) has provided a
useful short description of PDP. Of course, models involving both serial and
parallel processing are feasible and for some purposes may be particularly
useful.
ASSUMPTION 5: PMIR as Flexibly Adaptive Response to Psi-Mediated Implicit Knowledge
PMIR often does, but need not always, occur (a) without any effort to use
psi; (b) without a conscious effort to fulfill the need being addressed
through PMIR; (c) without prior sensory knowledge of the existence of that
need-relevant circumstance; (d) without the development of any type of
conscious representation (e.g., image or thought) of the need-relevant
circumstance; and (e) without awareness that anything psi-related is
happening and often without even any sense of something unusual
transpiring. If adaptational response is possible via these subtle,
unconscious, and processing-efficient means, there ordinarily is no reason
and no inclination for receptive psi to take on a more cognitive-perceptual
manifestation. On the other hand, if unconsciously mediated adaptation is
in principle not possible or proves impossible, perceptual-cognitive
information may appear in consciousness. In that event, if the psi process
has elicited unusual, very unexpected, out-of-context thoughts, waking
imagery, or dream content related to someone or something of personal
concern, the experiencing individual may, prior to any contact with
confirming information, come to feel that some mysterious process of
knowing must have or might have occurred. This is because he or she
cannot otherwise account for the highly unexpected, unaccustomed
experience, let alone any such experience arising in this situational context
(see Stanford, 2006, pp. 137–139, for further discussion on the genesis of
conviction and of a sense of certainty in life and laboratory instances of
psi).
PMIR tends to operate as efficiently as possible to achieve the organism’s
adaptational goals relative to the information accessed via psi. One of the
most subtle, but conceptually powerful consequences of the assumptions of
this model is that the whole process of PMIR can, as stated in
ASSUMPTION 5, run off entirely unconsciously. One very fundamental
and important ramification of the model is that PMIR often can occur,
simply and efficiently, by altering the timing of what the organism is
engaged in doing. Depending on situational exigencies, PMIR can be
accomplished either by speeding up or slowing down one’s travel (e.g.,
while walking or driving).
This unconscious adaptive-timing implication of the PMIR model is
extremely important to the model’s conceptual power because timing often
conveniently can be adjusted via a variety of different tactics, on many
different accounts, thus offering a large number of potential options for psimediated adaptational influence via timing-relevant behaviors. Thus, if one
potential tactic is blocked, another might be possible. On the other hand,
conscious apprehension of the need-relevant event actually might disrupt
the occurrence of PMIR because of rumination, fear, or rationalization that
“It cannot be so!” It therefore is fortunate that PMIR often can occur
without the individual involved developing any idea at all of what has been
transpiring.
For such reasons, some of my earliest PMIR studies included timing as the
potential mechanism for PMIR (Stanford & Associates, 1976; Stanford &
Rust, 1977; Stanford & Thompson, 1974), and the mechanism proved its
utility in those studies. Subsequently, several laboratory studies addressed
the model’s assumption related to advantageous timing of response and
generally found support (Stanford, 1990). I have not subsequently
attempted a systematic review of such studies, but my impression is that
most subsequent PMIR studies have involved other approaches to PMIR
than the study of timing.
Of special interest may be a group of studies devoted to addressing a
particular proposed function of timing in psi research intended originally to
provide evidence of psychokinesis. This was work based on Decision
Augmentation Theory (DAT), that May, Utts, and Spottiswoode (1995)
termed “a logical and formal extension of Stanford’s … PMIR model” (p.
198). DAT, like the PMIR model, assumes that the timing of decisions may
unconsciously be guided toward favored outcomes through anomalous
cognition (AC, May’s term for receptive psi) [see chapter 13, this volume].
Research on this proposed adaptive timing mechanism has provided multistudy evidence (May, Spottiswoode, Utts, & James, 1995) indicating that
results of earlier work construed by investigators as exhibiting PK (in
May’s term, anomalous perturbation, AP) on random number generators
(RNGs) much more closely fit a model of psi-mediated advantageous
unconscious timing in the triggering of RNG trials than they do a model of
active psi-mediated physical influence on the RNG. The results, in short,
were compatible with the proposal of DAT that the times of initiating RNG
trials may be managed fortuitously (and unconsciously) by AC such that
those trials tend to sample chance-produced, but relatively target-matching,
sequences of RNG outputs, thereby simulating AP. Here we have an
instance of work that helps to decide between competing models or
theories. Palmer (2009) extended the application of DAT (and, thereby,
also, the PMIR adaptive-timing implication) by finding evidence supportive
of adaptive timing. In Palmer’s study the time-of-sampling requirement
entailed a much narrower temporal focus than was needed in the work
reviewed by May, Spottiswoode, et al. (1995), providing, thereby, evidence
of the psi-mediated timing mechanism’s remarkable adaptive power.
ASSUMPTION 6: Behavioral Dispositions That Can Block PMIR or Limit Its Efficacy
Certain behavioral dispositions tend to limit the effectiveness of or entirely
prevent PMIR. They include, but probably are not exhausted by, behavioral
rigidity, response inhibition, stereotypy, response chaining, and strong
preoccupations, including those engendered by worry or time pressure. The
response dispositions mentioned in this assumption may be temporary or
chronic and may be driven by or derive from immediate situations, from
enduring personal characteristics, and, very often, from their interaction.
Behavioral rigidity refers to dogged determination to follow preset plans,
allowing no deviations, not even slight ones, relative to substance, timing,
or circumstance. Response inhibition means the tendency to impose rigid
rational or stylistic constraints on one’s behavior, such that before getting
into action one must be sure of exactly what one intends to do and of how
and why it is being done, prior to getting underway, especially if what one
is considering doing is unusual or differs from what one usually does.
Acting on an impulse of the moment is unthinkable if such a disposition
rules one’s action. Stereotypy means the inclination always to do a given
thing precisely as it has been done before, such as rigidly adhering to the
route one always uses to get to a certain place. Response chaining means
that one particular action always follows a particular other one, such as
always stopping by a certain bookstore after attending the opera. Strong
preoccupations are present when some situation or activity, including
mental activity, preempts attention, thought, and/or action. In such an
instance one does not, or cannot, do something else that comes to mind that
might represent a push toward PMIR. There also are chronic preoccupations
that may be presumed to block or inhibit PMIR, such as obsessive, chronic
worry. Chronic worry, especially if it is strong, may be presumed to block
or inhibit PMIR because of its almost continual usurpation of attention,
affective resources, and thought. If the chronic worrier is able to perform at
all, the worry may enforce familiar routines that do not make heavy
demands on attention or thought. The adverse consequences of chronic
worry for PMIR may be deemed to parallel the consequences of worry for
performance on complex non-psi tasks, including problem solving, and for
much the same reasons. The demands of PMIR often will require a
readiness to act outside of everyday routine(s), including outside of routines
activated by the current situation. If one is chronically worried, acting
beyond everyday routines may be far less likely due, in part, to its
usurpation of needed mental resources and, in part, to the uncertainties
associated with acting in unaccustomed ways. Another way in which
obsessive worry may reduce the likelihood of PMIR is that it enhances the
level of arousal, sometimes to a very high level and consistently. There is
experimental evidence that high levels of arousal tend to activate dominant
responses (Spence, Farber, & McFann, 1956), and dominant responses
certainly include, for particular kinds of individuals, the PMIR-inimical
response dispositions enumerated in ASSUMPTION 6. Time pressure is
another factor that tends to activate dominant (e.g., overlearned) responses
(Horton, Marlowe, & Crowne, 1963), thereby working against any nonroutine thoughts and behaviors needed by PMIR. Therefore, just as time
pressure is known to disfavor creativity, living in the “pressure cooker” may
be deemed likely to block or greatly reduce the likelihood of PMIR and its
attendant benefits.
The dispositional constructs of ASSUMPTION 6 are predictor variables
that are proposed in the model to have adverse consequences for the
occurrence of PMIR. Testing the model’s prediction that these particular
dispositions are inimical to receptive psi is critical to assessment of this
aspect of the PMIR model. To do so, however, it is essential that what one
measures or manipulates experimentally in regard to these dispositional
variables is a valid instantiation of the construct at hand. Actual
performance measures of a dispositional construct, when carefully
developed and measured, arguably are apt, in most cases, to be more valid
reflections of such a construct than can subjective measures obtained via
self-reports in whatever format. Subjective measures are subject to a
number of biases, including social ones, inability to recognize or understand
what actually drives one’s personal behavior (Nisbett & Wilson, 1977),
and/or errors of recollection. Objective performance measures, which are
not subject to such reportage biases or memory errors, can be particularly
valuable when they are obtained unobtrusively in the course of the psitesting session. They reflect mental activity as it actually exists at the
moment of assessment and often their raw data (data from which scores are
derived) may be had unobtrusively simultaneously with measurement of the
dependent variable (the outcome variable). In-session performance
measures generally should be more efficacious as dispositional predictors
for a present-time task than should prediction from personality inventories,
which are not designed to measure the state of the organism at a particular
point in time, let alone at the desired moment. A paper by Stanford (2003)
provides in-depth discussion of this unobtrusive measurement strategy,
along with citations of evidence of its potential construct and predictive
validity. Studies in which unobtrusive, performance-based predictorvariable measures were taken while subjects did the ESP task have provided
for me, over the years, the most replicable effects in my work. As always,
thoughtful planning of such measures in the interest of construct validity is
essential. Two linked reports of a study of ESP in ganzfeld (Stanford,
Frank, Kass, & Skoll, 1989a; Stanford, Frank, Kass, & Skoll, 1989b)
illustrate approaches to assessment of spontaneity, arousal, and internal
attention state through verbal-transcript analysis of session utterances
(1989a) and the usefulness of such assessments in understanding samesession ESP-task performance (1989b). The following examples of other
unobtrusive ESP-task-based predictors all have shown replicated significant
prediction: (a) spontaneity, inversely indexed by call-balancing tendency
across ESP-target options, predicted magnitude of deviation from chance
expectation (reviewed by Stanford, 1975); (b) degree of upward shift in
frequency of occipital alpha (EEG) rhythms from pretest
relaxation/meditation to ESP testing predicted ESP-task performance
(reviewed and conceptually interpreted by Stanford, 1990); (c) ESP-task
response categories produced with relatively low frequency tend to show
positive ESP-task performance, presumably due, in part, to reduced false
alarms (reviewed by Stanford, 1975).
ASSUMPTION 7: Normatively Maladaptive Uses of PMIR in Personal Adaptation
If an individual is inclined through nonpsi means to harm self-interests of
whatever kind(s), PMIR unconsciously may be deployed, alternatively or
additionally, as a means to such ends. These self-harm-related interests
could range from physical, psychological, and social ones, even to personal
possessions (e.g., electing to own a vicious dog). This is a ramification of
the general role of PMIR in support of the personalistic adaptational
strategies and tactics of the individual. Thus, PMIR may be used in
normatively maladaptive ways in the case of psychopathological
dispositions.
Psi-related considerations aside, persons may tend, consciously or
unconsciously, to harm themselves and/or their possessions. The possibility
of self-harm being actualized unconsciously has been mentioned at least as
long as the writings of Sigmund Freud, for instance in his Psychopathology
of Everyday Life (1965/1901), a treatise that still merits reading, both for its
ideas and for an insight into the remarkable creativity of its author.
Contemporary psychologists have been puzzled at and sometimes debated
why depressed individuals often appear to affirm, through social
interaction, their negative self-esteem. Such seemingly counter-intuitive
behavior may suggest unconscious proclivities, but they need be neither
psychodynamic in character nor imply masochistic inclinations.
William B. Swann and colleagues, based on extensive research guided by
his self-evaluation theory as applied to self-esteem, have adduced evidence
(e.g., Giesler, Josephs, & Swann, 1996; Swann, Wenzlaff, Krull, & Pelham,
1992) that depressed individuals seek and welcome negative feedback about
themselves and that they may do so at least in part nonconsciously in the
interest of verifying their self concepts and thereby achieving a more stable
view of themselves and their social world. For example, Swann, Wenzlaff,
Krull, and Pelham (1992) commented, “We believe that depressives
actively (although not necessarily consciously or intentionally) evoke such
reactions as a means of verifying their self-conceptions” (p. 303). These
investigators see depressed persons’ verification of their self-conceptions as
bolstering their “perceptions of existential security and interpersonal control
rather than a conscious desire to flagellate themselves” (p. 304). Their
social world, it is suggested, thus appears to become more predictable.
These investigators’ discussions of self-verification theory suggest a role
for unconscious motivation in the ways depressed persons manage, through
social interaction, to affirm their negative views of themselves. If this
evidence of depressed persons’ active, albeit often unconscious, selfverification via social interaction is taken seriously, then depressed
individuals perhaps also use PMIR toward that same end. They, for
example, might use unconscious receptive psi as an aid in selecting things
to do or say and the times to say or do them such that they will be effective
in eliciting social verification of a negative self-concept.
Beyond such a role in depression, PMIR might also be used in support of a
variety of maladaptive dispositions. For example, it might be used, among
those with paranoid inclinations, toward such ends as fostering encounters
with information (e.g., remarks overheard) that easily could help feed
delusional thinking. If so, psi-mediated encounters with a selected slice of
“reality” could reinforce dispositionally delusional ideation.
PMIR as a Possible Shaper of Research Outcomes
Numerous psi researchers have commented that if the PMIR model is
correct, then investigator-psi influences on study outcomes should be
possible and, indeed, should occur (review by White, 1976) [see chapter 16,
this volume]. I agree, but a few points merit caution. Discussion of this
matter has tended far too often to focus exclusively, even obsessively, on
studies related to psi, although psi studies are not the only ones in which
this issue may be important. Psychology experiments often may provide
opportunities for psi-mediated influence from the researcher—as well, also,
for the non-psi subtle sensory influences that psi researchers routinely try to
control. Stanford (1981) argued the importance of making concrete efforts
to reduce potential experimenter psi in research and explained some
methodologies directed toward that end. That paper still has relevance
today. In our present ignorance of potential limits in the operation of psi, it
seems unrealistic to think that all possible loci of experimenter psi influence
can be obviated, but some of its possible routes certainly can be eliminated
or their effectiveness reduced. Cross-experimenter replicability of outcomes
may thereby be enhanced.
An Issue Not Broached in Recent Versions of the PMIR Model
In the present version of the PMIR model, as in its versions published in
1990 and 1982, none of the model’s assumptions is intended to address the
underlying character of whatever it may be that allows psi to work in the
service of the organism’s needs and dispositions. The PMIR model’s first
version (1974a), though, proposed a scanning mechanism related to needrelevant information. As was explained in my 1990 presentation of the
model, being thus presumptuous was a misstep. More than three decades
ago I concluded that the PMIR model is best left to do what I think it
always has done reasonably well, namely provide a psychological model of
psi as it serves the needs and dispositions of the organism.
First Sight Model and Theory (FSMT)
In preparing to discuss FSMT theorization I have consulted several of
Carpenter’s writings (2004, 2005, 2008, 2012). His book (2012) is a major
work and, at almost 500 pages, is a reflection of the depth and breadth of
the thought and extensive literature in both the parapsychology and
psychology that underpin this volume. Carpenter, who adopts a
phenomenological-existentialist approach to psychology, uses
corresponding terminology and sometimes writes in a style that some
readers at first may find difficult (he notes this himself). I have tried here to
make his ideas as easily and quickly understandable as I am able by using
some terms that may be more familiar. Carpenter’s discourse often is
wonderfully rich in meaning and nuance and I hope that my efforts to
communicate it tersely and at times a bit more familiarly have done it
justice. Apologies are due the reader and Carpenter if I have done
otherwise. Anyhow, I hope that my discourse here might encourage readers
to read his writings. Carpenter’s knowledge of and understanding of the
psychology of psi functioning is truly exceptional, and direct access to his
thoughtfully detailed discourse on these matters is indispensable for those
wishing to learn first-hand the rich potential insights about psi functioning
and relevant evidence conveyed in his writings.
My Synopsis of FSMT’s Central Concepts (based largely on Carpenter’s 2012 book)
Two truly foundational premises. What follows are two FSMT premises
that should be borne in mind at all times in studying this theorization.
Psi as fundamental and foundational in organisms. In all organisms psi,
which has unlimited reach in time and space, is a fundamental, continuously
causal element in every experience from the very start, whether such
experience involves mentation or action.
Unconscious functioning underlies conscious experience and action. The
mind operates unconsciously, not just consciously, and this continuous,
unconscious functioning acts in support of individual needs and
inclinations. Unconscious functioning does so in accord with the meanings,
for the individual, of information accessed by psi, which knows no
limitations of time and space. The results of such processing have a
foundational role in the development of all conscious experience and action.
This does not mean that the person necessarily becomes consciously aware
of such information, which presumably is the exceptional case, but
unconscious influences, including those made possible by receptive psi, are
foundational in the development of conscious experience. Additionally,
active psi (PK) influences are deemed to affect both neuronal activity and to
prepare the physical world for the physical body’s interaction with it.
Two fundamental analogy-based assumptions. The first of these
assumptions concerns receptive psi (called by some ESP, extrasensory
perception); the second, active psi (often called PK, psychokinesis) [see
Preface for alternative terms].
Analogical relationship of receptive psi and subliminal stimulation.
Receptive psi and response to subliminal stimuli are seen as analogous,
similar in their objective consequences and in their representation in human
experience (phenomenology). Receptive psi, for example, might promote
arousal suitable to an upcoming physical encounter of some sort, preparing
the organism to respond quickly to it at the time of that encounter.
Similarly, a subliminal affective prime might prepare someone to respond
affectively, rapidly, and in an appropriate way when a subsequent affectrelevant stimulus is presented.
Active psi as unconscious expressive behavior analogous to bodily
expression. Active psi is seen as a form of unconsciously expressive
behavior (e.g., a light bulb that explodes as you walk out of the boss’s office
consequent to his insulting you), an expression without bodily contact of an
unconscious affective inclination. Such active-psi events are proposed by
Carpenter as analogous to bodily expressions of feeling (e.g., an
inadvertent, momentary sneer on one’s face or a snort), which can occur
even if one is unaware of such expression and might not wish it to occur.
The Twelve Corollaries (Chapter 2)
The twelve corollaries are said (p. 17) to be elaborations of the two
assertions (based on analogies) discussed earlier. Carpenter indicates that
the bulk, but not all, of the testable implications of the corollaries are to be
found under those termed intentionality, switching, and liminality.
Personalness Corollary
How the organism interacts with the circumstances of the world, whether
they are accessed by extrasensory or sensory means, is determined by the
meaning(s) of the situation at hand for that individual at that time.
Carpenter’s remarks suggest that in writing of meaning he is referring to the
judgment-related consequences of automatic, unconscious processes that
determine the organism’s response to circumstances, including to
unconsciously apprehended extrasensory and/or preconscious sensory ones.
The meaning of such circumstances for the organism need not be
consciously apprehended for meaning-guided response to occur.
Ubiquity Corollary
Receptive psi is, as noted earlier, independent of time and space, so the
elements of the world relevant to personal meaning often are spatially
remote and/or temporally distant. This is not a problem because receptive
psi is an ongoing, constant process that precedes and guides sensory access
and response to information. In first sight perspective one cannot be without
psi because that is the way receptive psi operates, it leads the way.
PK is said to affect the functioning of the nervous system in accord with
intention, including the intention to act upon the world outside one’s own
body. In regard to the relevance of active psi to the external physical world
he notes that it acts on the object of one’s intention, whether that intention is
conscious or unconscious.
Integration Corollary
It is not just psi that contributes to the development of experience and
action. A wide range of other preconscious processes typically are involved.
These, for example, might include memories of past experiences, purely
imagined situations, personal motivations and enduring values relevant to
the situation at hand, as well as preconsciously processed information from
a variety of sensory sources. All would be accessed preconsciously, quickly,
and holistically in the development of integrated consequences relative to
action and experience.
Anticipation Corollary
Our minds need to be able to predict the circumstances of our personal
lives. Interpreting (“construing”) the meaning of our experiences supports
this goal, and our minds make use of preconscious processing in this regard.
Our minds, says Carpenter, use preconscious information (e.g., subliminal
or unattended sensory information, as well as extrasensory information) to
anticipate the meaning of subsequent experience. Past experiences, personal
concerns and interests, and psi-derived information all may prime, quite
unconsciously, a particular meaning of an otherwise ambiguous event. This
may influence subsequent behavior.
Weighting and Signing Corollary
This is one of the corollaries primarily intended to explain how unconscious
processing uses unconscious material in the development of conscious
experience and in the selection of behavior. All unconscious information,
whether it is of sensory or extrasensory origin, is unconsciously weighted,
early in processing, in terms of its potential relevance to the needs and goals
—thus, the intentions—of the organism at that time. Items thus weighted
more heavily will tend, in that degree, to be provided a higher priority in
unconscious processing. According to FSMT analysis, even a high-end
weighting does not mean that an item necessarily will be represented in
conscious experience or influence overt behavior. It may or may not have a
direct role to play in consciousness and/or behavior because, according to
FSMT, before an item enters consciousness it must, in addition to and
subsequent to weighting, be given a positive sign. Otherwise, it will be
given a negative sign and be excluded from conscious awareness. This is
termed signing and is posited to occur in the case of heavily weighted
items. It consists of assigning either a positive or negative value to the
information at hand. That evaluation, much like a directional highway sign,
is said to determine whether one’s tendency is to become further involved
with the information in question or to avoid it, whether in internal
representation and/or physically. Signing is said to be controlled
automatically by unconscious intention, but signing is posited always to
occur subsequent to weighting. Carpenter provided a detailed example of
this process (2012, pp. 23–24).
Questioning universality in the timing of signing. The following are my
ruminations. Should it be assumed that weighting and signing always are
separate processes, with signing always subsequent to weighting?
Presumably motivators and/or goals have a hierarchy, as some of
Carpenter’s comments indicate. Might it be that those on top in certain
types of hierarchies automatically command, at least, conscious attention (if
not a specific present-time action)? They may be part of an extant script for
such a situation. Experience, even vicarious experience, may teach us that
in certain situations specific responses are requisite, and survival/adaptation
interests would seem, in many instances, to favor the utility of such preexisting, circumstance-associated command tags (or signs). These could
preempt the need for a temporally separate signing (as per FSMT) in
particular situations. This could depend on the life experiences of the
individual or it might depend on evolution. People may create enduring
rules (required signage, if you will), consciously or unconsciously, for
certain situations, based on personal experience with them. It sometimes
may be very adaptive, in the interest of speed of response, not to have to
select a sign de novo on each encounter with an exemplar of a particular
construct. FSMT’s proposal about weighting-then-signing may well hold
for particular situations (e.g., sufficiently novel ones), but it seems
reasonable that alternatives may exist, such as those just mentioned.
Need for testing FSMT’s weighting-then-signing proposal. Carpenter
(2012, p. 21) states that FSMT’s weighting and signing proposal and his
switching proposal (see later) are his theory’s most important innovative
concepts. It would be interesting to know specifically how the proposition
that signing always follows weighting might be tested. Is that really, in
principle, a testable proposition (i.e., that a rule never has exceptions)? Be
that as it may, how might testing proceed simply to find evidence that
signing has followed weighting in at least some situations? If such as these
are fundamental assumptions, it would be good to consider how they might
be tested.
A survival-related issue. Carpenter’s discussion of the signing corollary
makes strong reference to the complexity of what must transpire in such
computation of priority or gating, even in everyday situations. What is
more, it is assumed that weighting and signing occur continually at both
conscious and unconscious levels. How is it assumed that all this complex
processing actually occurs? Is Carpenter positing that this processing occurs
in the nervous system, rather than via some magical psi process? If he is
proposing that, how might the brain accomplish all this? Optimally quick
response to certain types of situations means the difference between life and
death. The proposed serial character of the processing (i.e., weighting and
then signing), might take a while, given that both require time and that there
may be an inter-task interlude. On the other hand, if the organism were preset, whether by biological (evolutionary) endowment, via prior learning, or
via some combination of those, to use command tags that have been preattached to certain danger-related stimuli, then survival or harm-prevention
should be easier and quicker to accomplish. Recent research (reviewed by
Öhman & Mineka, 2001, 2003) with humans and other primates has
provided evidence suggesting that evolutionarily primitive emotion-related
brain areas may include an evolutionarily based “preparedness” module that
specifically elicits readiness for the development of a fear response to
phylogenetically survival-relevant animals (e.g., snakes). This module is
presumed to function at an unconscious level, both on conceptual grounds
and because, for example, it appears that it can be activated by stimuli that
are not processed consciously (e.g., subliminal stimulation with photos of
such an animal). Phylogenetically fear-relevant animals presumably can
elicit flight-preparatory response (and, presumably, fear or anxiety) without
the fear-related creature being consciously noticed. The result could be a
much quicker response in the face of an actual encounter. This evolutionary
hypothesis about a very specifically attuned unit illustrates a possibility
relevant both to Carpenter’s conceptualization and to my PMIR model
(Carpenter, 2012, discusses the evolutionary angle but does not cite the
potentially very useful research by Öhman and colleagues) [see chapter 11,
this volume]. A module such as that posited by Öhman might, I suggest, be
responsive to receptive-psi inputs, just as it can be activated by
preconscious sensory stimuli.
Summation Corollary
Carpenter tries here to explain how the unconscious mind reaches its
decisions (derived from many weighting and signing outcomes) on which
information will be allowed to influence unconscious attention and from
which it will turn away. To my mind Carpenter is not clear on the nature of
the supposedly arithmetic process of the unconscious mind reaching its
decisions of this kind. This corollary reiterates the essence of the ideas in
the previous corollary about weighting and signing. However, in discussing
how outcomes, implicit or conscious, are determined relative to various
sources of personal meaning, what initially seems intended as something
quantitatively precise dissolves, to my mind at least, into an unsuccessful
effort at precision and explanation and becomes imprecise through
declaring the processing to be holistic. Is precision a property of the
discourse when one ultimately has to proclaim some loose kind of
averaging process and then to declare that the whole thing is carried out,
across potentially huge amounts of information, in some kind of holistic
way? I was sorry to see the discourse invoke the ultimately unhelpful term
of holistic processing. Unless such a term is clearly specified as to meaning,
it seems to me an example of what Gigerenzer (2009), in discussing
surrogates for theory, terms one-word explanation (i.e., nouns with broad
meaning that, although presented as explanations, never specify an
underlying mechanism, so they cannot be said to provide a model).
Carpenter (2012) does cite many very useful resources related to
unconscious processing, including a masterful synoptic paper by
Dijksterhuis and Nordgren (2006) (his in-text citation, chapter note, and
reference listing all have the junior author, Nordgren, omitted). This cited
material, however, largely addresses unconscious thought in descriptive
terms concerning how, based on research, it is believed to function in
practice. Dijksterhuis and Nordgren do, though, opine that it may be best, at
present, to think of unconscious processing in terms of a computational
process and ask whether a connectionist concept might be useful in that
regard. That seems a very good start. I wish Carpenter had followed it by
saying something in that regard, rather than going no further than what
seems merely a summary term, “holistic.” Dijksterhuis and Nordgren used
the term “holistic” in their discourse, but their use of it was unequivocally
as a phenomenological term, not as an effort at explanation. (They had
asked their subjects in a study whether they had made their choice on the
basis of a relatively holistic judgment.)
In regard to such matters as processing of multiple strands of information, it
was surprising for me to see that, judging from the index of Carpenter’s
book (and my recollection of reading it), it never mentions the important
concept of parallel processing, much less the possibility that some kind of
PDP model might be developed that could address issues related to the
handling of psi-related information. The emergence of concepts and models
related to parallel processing has been seen as a major influence on initially
very skeptical psychologists in regard to their increased readiness to
consider the idea of unconscious processing (Kihlstrom, 1987). Some
discussion by Carpenter of parallel processing might have made more
understandable the possibility of handling a diversity of inputs—
preconscious or conscious—in expeditious ways because it would have
used modeling premises that, in the case of PDP, have successfully been
used to master some important human tasks (e.g., pattern recognition and
generalization of constructs; Rumelhart et al., 1986).
It might be of interest that one of the fundamental outcomes of PDP
processing is that if a concept already has been mastered by its network,
inputting only a part of it allows reconstitution of the original. Might this be
somewhat like what psi recipients would need to do? Both Carpenter’s
theorization and my PMIR model assume that psi activates extant memory
structures, but we know from many studies—and Carpenter discusses this at
length in his book—that the information retrieved even by talented psi
performers often is, initially, at least, fragmentary in character, sometimes
more of an intimation of the corresponding reality than like, for example, a
photo of it. If we assume that the construct appropriate to a psi target is
available (from past experience) in the brain and can be activated in the
brain by psi, but that only part of it initially is activated sufficiently for
retrieval on demand, then if the brain is operating in the way it is modeled
in PDP, perhaps the target construct ultimately may be more fully
reconstituted for conscious access. This may take a while. Indeed, initial
partial information in a free-response psi study often seems to develop into
a fuller impression if the mind is allowed to relax and its outputs quietly
observed (White, 1964).
Bidirectionality Corollary
This corollary simply elaborates on the implications of signing. This would
appear to assume that any element of unconscious experience that has
sufficient personal meaning will be evaluated (i.e., signed) either positively
or negatively. A positive sign means that the organism will tend to turn
toward (or “approach,” mentally and perhaps physically) the meaningful
circumstance/object that has been evaluated, and a negative sign, that it will
tend to turn away from (or “avoid”) that evaluated source. In FSMT, the
former is called “assimilation” and the latter “dissimilation.” (In some
cases, negative signing is said to produce contrast, rather than dissimilation,
although I am not sure of the rationale for the shifting terms.) In a freeresponse ESP test, if a cat were the target, complete assimilation would
include the response “cat,” however that construct might manifest in the
individual. With incomplete assimilation, relevant partial impressions, like
a long tail, might be reported. Dissimulation, on the other hand, would
entail a response very different than “cat.” In the case of an unconscious
behavioral receptive-psi task assimilation would be reflected in movement
in the direction of engagement with the target (e.g., finding a movie ticket);
with dissimulation, movement would be in some other direction. Carpenter
stressed the point (p. 24) that dissimilation is not the same as ignoring
something; rather it is as though the organism genuinely avoids it. In an
ESP test, this might entail statistically significant evidence of psi-missing
relative to a particular construct. I suggest that in such a case potential
interpretation(s) other than motivated avoidance should be considered and
empirically examined (e.g., consistent missing, which may involve
confusion of targets due to similarities of meaning, association linkages,
and/or visual similarity, i.e., cognitive, non-motivational, routes to psimissing; reviewed by Kennedy, 1979; see, especially, pp. 121–125).
Intentionality Corollary
This corollary largely elaborates on the implications of the Bidirectionality
Corollary. Assimilative and dissimilative tendencies, in a given situation,
are said to depend on unconscious intention relative to the personally
meaningful circumstance that has been evaluated. If that circumstance
unconsciously has positive incentive value for the individual in that
situation, a tendency to assimilate that circumstance will be present. On the
other hand, if that situation is unconsciously evaluated either to have no
incentive value or negative incentive value (i.e., is undesirable), then
dissimilation (or equivalently, contrast) is said to be observed.
Switching Corollary
The inclination toward assimilation (approach) or dissimilation (avoidance),
that arises and manifests unconsciously, may be relatively constant or may
switch over time, sometimes even oscillating between the two, sometimes
much like someone might vacillate in a situation that favors both approach
and avoidance, such as deciding to ask the boss for a raise or deciding on
whether to see the dentist. The switching-related processes discussed in
FSMT are deemed to be unconscious, and the constancy of a given
inclination (approach or avoidance) and the switching between those two is
governed by what Carpenter calls unconscious intention. Unconscious
intentions are determined by the strength of the incentive value
unconsciously associated with a given circumstance and, of course, by that
incentive value’s constancy or lack of it. The tendency to switch between
the two inclinations may be determined by a host of factors, many of which
are discussed in explaining the switching corollary. Those factors include,
but are not limited to, pondering via rational analysis, alertness, fatigue,
moods, personal styles or habits of thinking or acting, and changes in the
situation of the individual. Circumstances that are strongly relevant to an
individual’s central values are likely to garner unconscious attention and
there will be little or no switching until they are addressed. Situational
factors that plausibly might influence the inclination to switch or remain
constant are discussed at some length under this corollary. Also provided
are two lists of presumptively somewhat stable individual differences
deemed likely to influence the proclivity for switching. One such list
provides characteristics thought to favor switching (e.g., a strongly
cognitive-analytical orientation) and the other, those proposed to favor
consistency in such evaluation (e.g., persons dispositionally well focused
and less distractible). These make for interesting reading, and they might
provide some starting points for productive characterologically based psi
research [see chapter 9, this volume].
Studies of response dispositions (e.g., “traits”) and how they might relate to
psi-task performance can be vitiated by a failure to acknowledge via
research planning that it is dispositions actively engaged by the testing
situation and active within the actual psi-test itself that logically should
influence psi-task performance. Consequently, it is important (a) to ponder
under what circumstances and through what cognitive/behavioral means the
proposed disposition logically could and should influence psi-task
performance in a particular way, and (b) broadly to incorporate these
considerations into a conceptually relevant experimental design.
Carpenter’s discussion in his chapter on fear and psi (and elsewhere) makes
it clear that he appreciates the importance of such trait × situation
interactions and recognizes the importance of matching traits and traitrelevant situations through research design.
Extremity Corollary
The discussion of this corollary is focused very heavily on the
consequences for formal ESP-test performance of various kinds of
unconscious switching patterns. If readers are able to follow this discourse,
they may come to understand how the switching concept can explain certain
outcomes in psi experiments. Indeed, it may be an eye-opener about the
ways in which psi may manifest other than just the overall deviations from
chance that one typically encounters, about how such outcomes often
objectively derive from switching, and about the role that psychological
factors are deemed to play in controlling switching. One eye-opening
example is when scoring in a forced-choice task is so close to mean chance
expectation across each of a substantial number of testing units that this
result is, of itself, very improbable if only chance is operating. This
outcome is known by various names, including low variance (or low runscore variance in some forced-choice ESP research). Low variance is not
just a hypothetical outcome, for it has been observed to appear with some
degree of reliability in forced-choice ESP testing that engenders
rationalistic constraints upon the choice of symbols to be guessed in forcedchoice ESP testing (reviewed by Stanford, 1975). There is, as Carpenter
addresses switching, some discussion, but not sufficient in my view, of how
this construct might apply in everyday life experience as related to psi. Low
variance and statistical cancellation effects are cases in which I gained the
impression that the discourse stays too close for too long on laboratory
findings (e.g., low variance) without making very clear their potential
relevance to psi outside the laboratory.
Inadvertency and Frustration Corollary
The immediate consequences of receptive-psi influence on the mind take
the form that Carpenter (2004, p. 224) terms inadvertency. His definition
states, “Inadvertent psychological events are those that ‘just happen’ as
opposed to being experienced as things ‘I do’” (p. 224). Here is one
example (my own): A sudden, utterly unanticipated sense of sadness
permeates one’s consciousness. Inadvertencies emerge unexpectedly,
usually seeming to be disjunct from conscious wishes or the sensory
circumstances in which one finds oneself. They often, but not always, are
sudden. They may or may not have anything to do with psi influence, but
they often have a way of garnering attention. They are reminiscent of the
subtle effects of subliminal stimuli on, for example, feelings or
interpretations of later events. In studies of receptive psi, inadvertencies
typically are observed. They often are more like partial glimpses of
something than like a photographic view of a target, or they may be like
hints at its emotional tone or its sensory qualities (e.g., rough and jagged,
whereas the photo shows mountaintops). One would have liked a whole
picture, but that usually is not what one gets in such a setting. There are
subtle hints of the target, allusions to its meaning, and/or perhaps feelings
associated with it. Thus, one’s perceptual goal is in this situation is not
realized, but, in its lieu are intimations of what it might have been. This is
why the name of this corollary includes frustration.
Carpenter (2012, p. 32) suggests that persons who have many reasonably
consciously accessible inadvertencies, who are attentive to them, and who
are able to interpret them may be thought to be somewhat “psychic.” His
remarks suggest that this interpretational skill may be developed over time
(p. 32), and my discussions with some such individuals also suggest that.
His very interesting discussion of inadvertency is, to my mind, one of the
best in this volume.
Liminality Corollary
Carpenter thinks of the kinds of experiences discussed under the
Inadvertency and Frustration Corollary as liminal experiences. This term
relates to the hypothetical boundary between conscious and unconscious
awareness of material or thought. The thoughts underlying inadvertencies
are unconscious and thus are not amenable to conscious scrutiny. Their
existence and their influence, though, are revealed to consciousness
indirectly through inadvertencies. Many people notice such experiences,
and possibly everyone does at times. Some, however, pay more attention to
them, take much greater interest in them, gain understanding of their own
minds from them, and even have learned how to use them to advantage,
both in thinking about themselves and in applying their implicit meanings
constructively in their lives and work. Such individuals may be more likely
to become aware of when psi is influencing their thinking and behavior.
A major part of Carpenter’s discussion of the liminality corollary is devoted
to characterizing individuals who are relatively likely to become aware of
and even make use of such experiences. One such category consists of those
who regularly take an interest in such experiences because they have a
greater openness to unconscious thought, including to its psi-mediated
influences. He suggests that highly creative individuals tend to be interested
in personal inadvertencies and ready to make use of them in their lives and
work. One of my favorite examples is the poet who pens lines but only
recognizes much later that the words have more than one level of meaning,
some of them not recognized at the time of composition. This can only
happen to those willing and ready to give expression, in the first place, to
something that seemed to flow out of a deeper level of the mind. Carpenter
also discusses moods and readiness to notice and make use of liminal
experiences.
Conceptualization: Testability of Constructs in FSMT
Three bases for concern are discussed here:
Testability: One of the posited roles for PK in FSMT. Carpenter (2012,
pp. 93–94) indicates that just as receptive psi is considered unconsciously to
prepare the individual for experience, unconscious PK is deemed to prepare
the physical object of intention for the organism’s acting upon it with its
physical body. I have not succeeded in deriving any clear meaning from this
assertion. What does this mean? In what respect(s) is such prior PK
preparing the target of the physical action to be acted upon or is helpful for
the physical body to act upon the physical world? My concern in this regard
is not relieved by the subsequent assertion (p. 94) that this effect on the
object generally is invisible. If so, how might one know about this
preparatory effect? What kind is it? How might it be measured? In the
absence of elaboration as to what should be happening, under what
condition(s), and some statement of how this proposed action might be
studied, this seems an untestable proposition.
Testability: The blockage-required proposal for outside-body PK in
FSMT. Chapter 7 also proposes that one observes PK only when action
somehow is blocked. This at first seemed to me a very reasonable proposal,
one that might help explain a release-of-effort effect sometimes observed in
PK testing (Stanford, 1974b). Unfortunately, on more careful reading it
seemed clear that the implied interpretation of the concept of “blockage” is
so diffuse and flexible, that it, in principle, would fit any situation that one
could define as providing a legitimate test of PK. It is so malleable that it
can take on an indefinite number of forms, one of which presumably would
have to be present in any test of PK. Here are two examples (in my own
words) from two well-known PK research methodologies mentioned in
Chapter 7 in an apparent effort to illustrate that blockage would be present
in both of them. In a dice-rolling PK example it is said that upon the throw
of the dice they may come up showing the target, although we cannot,
thanks to this being a PK task, physically bring about what we wish. In the
case of a random event generator running when someone is trying to
influence which one of two outcomes it produces, the results may accord
with our wishes but we have no physical way to influence outcomes as we
would wish. These, it seems by my reading, are provided as examples of
blockage as it is present in two different PK test methodologies. If the lack
of opportunity, through non-psi means, to physically manipulate the target
system in a deliberate test of PK is a form of the blockage said to be
required for PK to occur, then it seemingly would be impossible to test this
proposal. There has to be a way to obviate physical influence on the target
system if someone is going to be properly tested for PK! How, then, does
one test for PK without creating, by definition, a blockage? Consequently,
any success would have to be regarded as support of the proposition put
forward about blockage. There seemingly would be no possibility of
falsifying the required-blockage proposal if there were adequate conditions
for testing PK. Consequently, this proposition, so far as I can see, cannot be
tested with a definition of blockage that has this ubiquitous form. One
reviewer of this chapter insightfully noted that this blockage proviso also
would appear to preclude using FSMT as an explanation of poltergeist
phenomena.
Testability: Universality and constancy of psi. Carpenter maintains as a
fundament of his conceptualization that psi is universal among organisms
and that it is a constant in basically all that happens with them, operating as
a forerunner for both sensory processes and motor response. Psi is affirmed
as a foundation, temporally, of all that happens, at least in the world of
organisms. This is an extraordinarily bold idea, but it seems to me that by
its very nature it may be an untestable proposition, for it would seem to
have no implications about boundary conditions for the operation of psi. I
therefore cannot imagine how it could be tested. A clear statement on
whether these fundaments are deemed testable ideas—and, if so, how they
might be tested—would have been helpful. There are many very
worthwhile and some very exciting ideas under FSMT’s conceptual
umbrella that can be tested, but I doubt that this is one of them. FSMT’s
many scientifically useful ones relate, in my view, to FSMT’s treatment of
the psychology of psi. FSMT at its intended deepest level, beyond its
psychology, perhaps is most useful, in its present form, more as a pointer
than as a true theory, an intimation of the deep and abiding significance of
what we study and of the extraordinary insights toward which psi events
may lead us at some point in our journey toward scientific understanding.
Assessments of Justificational Efforts
Needed caveats about a generalizable positive correlation of
extrasensory and subliminal sensory performance. One of the two
analogies around which FSMT is built is that the functioning of psi is
analogous to what is found in subliminal perception. Much of the power of
FSMT theorization hinges on the validity of that analogue. Carpenter
devoted chapter 10 of his book to the parallels between psi and
preconscious or subliminal sensory information, and that topic is revisited
numerous times elsewhere in that volume.
One section of the chapter discusses the correlation of ESP and subliminal
sensory scores, but it did not discuss or mention the two sections of my
1990 PMIR chapter that were devoted to that topic. Those sections included
(a) presentation of a meta-analysis of data bearing upon whether responses
to extrasensory information and to subliminal visual information are
correlated, and (b) methodological issues important in studying and making
inferences on such matters. My meta-analysis involved a rigorously
selected database relative to the question that motivated it, which was
whether there exists a correlation, as various commentators had suggested
on conceptual grounds, between accuracy of response to extrasensory and
to subliminal visual sensory information. My meta-analysis excluded
studies that did not report a correlation coefficient for these two variables or
that did not appear to test the relation of interest (e.g., presence of
confounding or of non-subliminal stimuli). It also excluded the single study
with auditory stimuli. My conclusion was concordant with Carpenter’s
ideas in this regard (but see caveat on generality below), and my metaanalysis found both an overall significant positive relationship and
homogeneity of effect sizes across studies. The number of studies involved,
though, was low, so more studies are needed for firm conclusions about the
existence of such a correlation and any circumstances that may moderate it.
A strong caveat must be voiced about any temptation to generalize the
implications of this database (Stanford, 1990) because subjects always were
asked to tell on each trial which of the several stimuli had been subliminally
presented, with all of the possible stimuli known in advance (i.e., forcedchoice methodology). Such work leaves unknown whether the results
would generalize to subliminal/ESP studies using other than forced-choice
methodologies. The ability, though, to generalize beyond forced-choice
situations would seem to be important for extrapolation to many of the
situations of life. Of course, also, no generalization from my meta-analysis
is merited about parallels between ESP and anything other than specifically
visual subliminal information. Even that generalization may be too broad
(or too coarse) in the absence of research carefully addressing potential
differences of the efficacy of various kinds of visual presentations (e.g.,
words vs. pictures; or static vs. dynamic material).
Errors in reporting and using specific literature. No systematic search
was undertaken to discover reporting errors. The two instances described
below involved my own work, where such problems were easy to recognize
and seemed hard to ignore. I felt I should alert readers to substantial errors
in the published description of my work rather than passively reinforce any
misconceptions created by erroneous reporting. These two examples may
interest readers because they relate to research on two topics that received
major treatment in Carpenter’s FSMT discourse, namely the roles of
memory and of anxiety/fear in receptive psi.
Incorrect statement of key methodology of the Stanford (1970) memory–
ESP study and inaccuracies in reporting its findings. Carpenter (2005)
incorrectly described a key procedure in the Stanford (1970) study of
extrasensory incursion into retrieval from incidental memory. Carpenter
(2005) stated that my “participants heard material which they were asked to
memorize (my emphasis) and about which they were later tested in a
multiple-choice questionnaire” (p. 76). In fact, no one was asked to
memorize anything in that study. Carpenter thus mischaracterized as a test
of explicit memory (i.e., of memory for information that subjects are asked
ahead of time to remember) a test of incidental memory (i.e., of memory of
events about which subjects did not expect, at the time of exposure, later to
be queried). This distinction is very important because the study was
designed to provide (a) a test of possible unconscious extrasensory
influence on retrieval of information from incidental memory, and (b) a
separate test of incidental memory skill that could be used to understand
how such skill affects extrasensory influence upon retrieval of items from
incidental memory. This independent measure of incidental memory skill
proved very important in understanding the role of unconscious
extrasensory influence on retrieval of information from incidental memory.
A test of explicit memory, which is what incorrectly was said to have
occurred, would not have been suitable for such a purpose.
There also were some serious errors in Carpenter’s reporting of the
outcomes of that work. He (2005, p. 75) described what were supposed to
be two closely related findings of Stanford (1970), but his descriptions of
them do not match any findings from that study. He said of the findings he
erroneously attributed to the study that, if they prove reliable, they would
accord with his hypothesis that “extrasensory and other sorts of
preconscious information should tend to be accessed in similar ways” (p.
75). In actuality, the Stanford (1970) study provided no support for that
proposition and the report stated that incidental memory skill per se was not
related to ESP performance (p. 177).
An error in reporting evidence on anxiety/defensiveness and ESP.
Carpenter (2012, p. 220) erroneously reported that Stanford and Schroeter
(1978) found statistically significant psi-missing among high-anxious (our
preferred term, high-defensive) subjects. In fact, our high-anxiety/defensive
group had not shown significant psi-missing, but scored at mean chance
expectation (ESP mean = .498, where mean chance expectation = .500).
Our low-defensive group, though, had shown significant psi-hitting, but the
difference of ESP performance for these two groups was not significant.
Adequacy of statistical information in support of inferences. Troubling
for me were statements, both in Carpenter’s 2012 book and in his FSMT
journal articles, that seemed to claim support, from the study at hand, for an
FSMT directional prediction (i.e., of psi-missing or of psi-hitting) when the
only direct evidence in a study for that was a nonsignificant deviation
below or above mean chance expectation in the predicted direction.
Adequacy of Cited Studies/Data in Support of Arguments
Potential problems related to explaining data ad hoc using motivational
constructs. It seems safe to say that Carpenter, in his presentations of his
model, has cited hundreds of psi studies, often claiming that their findings,
even if puzzling to the authors of the studies, fit well with his over-arching
theory, which he maintains makes sense of a very large number of these
puzzling findings. For example, he (2008) remarks, “Many of the various
proposals may serviceably account for their particular sets of results, but
none of them has the general capacity to account for almost all of these
findings in the way that the first sight model does” (p. 68). One has to be
very careful here. It can be all too easy to rationalize specific research
findings, after the fact, such that they seem compatible (or, at least, more
compatible) with personally preferred concepts, perhaps especially if those
ideas have high generality and breadth and/or have a diffuse or an elastic
quality about them.
Carpenter’s theorization seems to me to be built, first and foremost, around
motivation or intention, and much of its theoretical power centers on the
construct of bidirectionality, along with assimilation/contrast, and psihitting/psi-missing. Motivational constructs can be a slippery slope
conceptually, and a theorist must guard the justifiable margins of it with
some care. It may be very easy to suppose that certain feature(s) in a study
elicited one or another kind of motivation, intention, or emotion that can
then be invoked to explain the finding at hand. To me this seemed to have
been at work when Carpenter (2008), in discussing a finding from one of
my word-association-ESP studies (1973) remarked, “Thus, in general, more
meaningful material should evoke a tendency to psi-hit and less meaningful
material should evoke a tendency to psi-miss, and primary associates (being
generally more meaningful) should tend to express hits and secondary
associates should tend to express misses” (p. 67). This proposal about the
relative meaningfulness of primary and secondary associates was
unsupported by the cited empirical evidence. Very important, there was no
significant psi-missing on the secondary associates, despite Carpenter’s
supposition that there should have been. Carpenter assumes that a highcommonality response, as determined by word-association norms,
represents something intrinsically more meaningful than a lowcommonality response. Although primary associates often reflect high
familiarity, this need not mean that they have greater personal
meaningfulness. Often it may be quite the opposite. Carpenter’s supposition
about high-commonality responses reflecting greater personal
meaningfulness ignores that such responses reflect high commonality in a
population (i.e., are based on their word-association norms), which means
they may have little, if anything, to do with what drives one personally but
relate to what people often encounter in their culture. Although I was
involved with word association research for many years, I cannot think of a
way to make credible Carpenter’s claims about the relative personal
meaningfulness of high- and lower-commonality responses. Anyhow, a
typical example of a high-commonality STIMULUS-response pair is
TABLE-chair. Where is the substantial individual meaningfulness in such a
pair? Indeed, a lower-commonality response might get more at personally
meaningful, more idiosyncratic material. The assertion that sampling from
the top of the word-association norms reflects depth of personal meaning
seems conceptually and empirically untenable and was empirically
unsupported by Carpenter.
Information of which readers should be apprised to obviate
misinterpretation of correlational data. A source of concern about
Carpenter’s reporting of correlational results is that he at times reports the
p-value and signed direction of a correlation but provides little or no
additional information that could guide his reader toward an accurate
interpretation of the empirical and conceptual significance of that
correlation. In the example that follows, Carpenter (2012, p. 258) provided
a p-value of .000006 for the meta-analytic significance of the weighted-
mean, positive, extraversion–ESP correlation as reported by Honorton,
Ferrari, and Bem (1998) for 21 forced-choice ESP studies with individual
testing. Carpenter noted, also, that significant evidence of a correlation of
these variables was not found with group testing and that the difference of
the extraversion–ESP correlations for individual- and group-testing
situations was significant. These findings seem in line with his
conceptualization of extraversion as interacting with the characteristics of
social situations to influence psi-task performance.
Missing from Carpenter’s review of this important meta-analytic work,
though, are some facts that bear importantly on interpreting such a
correlation, especially given the presentation of a tiny p-value associated
with the extraversion–ESP correlation (in forced-choice studies with
individual testing). Providing a tiny p-value without supplementary advice
for potentially statistically naïve readers seems ill advised. Many of his
readers may be unaware that a small p-value can reflect simply a large
sample (as here) but a small effect size (as here). Unreported by Carpenter
(2012, p. 258) were (a) the magnitude of the average weighted correlation
(.15), so even the statistically sophisticated reader could not have inferred
that the correlation accounted for only 2.25 percent of the extraversion–ESP
covariation; (b) the information that the correlations across those studies
were significantly heterogeneous, placing thereby a serious limitation on
any effort to generalize the magnitude of correlation across studies; and (c)
mention that 31 forced-choice (FC) studies judged by the meta-analysts to
have acceptable protection against sensory leakage failed to show anything
even approaching a significant weighted-mean extraversion–ESP
correlation (r = .04); that the 14 forced-choice studies deemed potentially
subject to sensory leakage showed a small (.14), albeit significant,
correlation; and that those two correlations differed significantly. An
additional interpretational caveat that might have merited mention in
Carpenter’s discussion of this important meta-analysis concerns how
subjects got into their testing condition (i.e., either individual or group
testing). Individuals participating in individual or group testing were not
there by random assignment and were not “forced labor” but agreed to
participate in a given condition. Therefore contrasts of the extraversion–
ESP correlations for individual-testing versus group-testing circumstances
potentially were confounded by person-related differences (possibly, even,
by extraversion, given the social nature of the test situations) in
volunteering for a given condition.
There were other instances in Carpenters’ literature reviews in which I felt
that more information should have been supplied to help obviate overinterpretation or misinterpretation of the sometimes-scant information
presented. Such information, though, may be deemed even more important
in discussion of integrative findings, as with meta-analysis.
How Might a Central FSMT Construct, “Switching,” Be Conceptualized, Operationalized, and
Laboratory Tested for Its Relevance to Psi in Everyday Life?
Knowing Carpenter’s obviously strong desire to provide ideas with
relevance to life situations, I was disappointed not to find what I deemed
sufficient discussion of how a central construct of FSMT, switching, would
manifest in life situations, relate to adaptation, and might be empirically
studied. How might switching and a proclivity for (or against) it relate to
and affect adaptation, constructively or adversely, in particular kinds of
situations? There are many potentially interesting questions that might be
asked about this domain. I suspect that readers might have been intrigued
by this construct, amazed by its ramifications in, for example, forced-choice
ESP testing, but were left wondering about its relevance to everyday life.
How easily can one extrapolate to the situations of real life—where most of
the psi functions, according to FSMT, are unconscious—on the basis of
laboratory testing with largely non-meaningful stimuli and conscious
engagement with a multi-trial forced-choice ESP task? This, after all, was
the nature of the forced-choice ESP-test paradigm that was the birthplace of
the switching construct. How, in sum, does the switching construct translate
into testable inferences related to life situations, situations where one or a
very few trials may be allowed by the exigencies of life?
Potentially High Value of Carpenter’s Suggestions for Guiding Psi Research to Greater
Productivity at the Psi-Psychology Interface
Six general suggestions for guiding psi research are presented by Carpenter
(2012, Chapter 24). Each seems to hit directly on a high-value target
relative to some of the central methodological needs of contemporary psiresearch programs, and the diversity of focus of these suggestions is a real
strength of that chapter. This presentation is a very useful synopsis of some
of the key methodology-relevant implications of the last four decades or so
of innovative research and theorization, forthcoming from a substantial
number of researchers and theorists, that has brought attention to the
primarily unconscious functioning of psi and to its resonance with recent
developments in psychology.
Major Strengths of FSMT: Its Potential for Advancing This Field
Major strengths of Carpenter’s FSMT writings are their thoughtful, wideranging, and thoroughgoing efforts to bring together concepts and findings
from parapsychologists and psychologists. There is much promise, evident
in his writings, that these two closely related disciplines are increasingly
having something of interest to say to each other, both in terms of ideas and
research findings. Carpenter’s writings on FSMT would seem to have the
potential of helping to advance the perception of psi and psychological
research as potentially being mutually enhancing. He seems to be arguing
that this potential symbiosis is going to have to be seeded, in part, by
serious efforts from psi-researchers to address problems of interest to
psychologists, thereby making important contributions to psychology as a
science. The boldness with which Carpenter puts before his reader a vision
of psi as fundamental and important in the world of organisms is refreshing
and one that likely is shared by quite a few among us, whether or not we
agree with his particular vision.
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OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 9
States, Traits, Cognitive Variables and Psi
ETZEL CARDEÑA and DAVID MARCUSSON-CLAVERTZ
Researchers have examined a number of implicit and explicit psychological
predictors of psi performance. For instance, Honorton (1997) compared
different ganzfeld studies and concluded that there were four predictors of
successful psi performance: previous psi experiences, previous participation
in psi testing, involvement with a mental discipline, and being a
feeling/perception type on the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI). He
recommended that psi participants have as many of those features as
possible. The finding about previous psi performance has been replicated
(see below), and the facilitative effect of following a mental discipline was
partly supported by the finding of a ganzfeld meta-analysis that selected
participants, including meditators, performed significantly better than
unselected participants, but only when they were in the ganzfeld rather than
the control condition (Storm, Tressoldi, & Di Risio, 2010; see also chapter
10, this volume). We discuss feeling/perception below.
States of Consciousness
We initiate our review with transitory changes in states of consciousness. It
is often assumed that scientific and philosophical consideration of
alterations of consciousness were evoked by the popular interest in drugs
and Eastern philosophies of the 1960s, but they have a much longer history
in both Western and non–Western cultures (Cardeña & Winkelman, 2011a).
Just in the West, a discussion of the nature of alterations of consciousness
and their relation to reality can be traced back at least to Plato (Cardeña,
2009) and has been an important aspect of the thought of philosophers of
the caliber of Descartes (Windt, 2011). With regard to both research and
clinical psychology, hypnotically induced or spontaneously occurring
changes in consciousness were fundamental problems in the eyes of
foundational figures of the discipline including Freud, James, Janet, and
many others (Spiegel & Cardeña, 1991). Hypnosis and dissociation were
also core areas of research and theory for the British Society for Psychical
Research founded in 1882, and some of its researchers including Edmund
Gurney, F. W. H. Myers, and William James contributed to the study of
these phenomena and their potential relation to psi phenomena (Alvarado,
2014). This initial interest was, however, short-lived given the decades-long
dominance of behaviorism.
In the West, a sort of reawakening of interest in ASCs occurred in the 60s,
partly spurred by influential works by Ludwig (1966) and Tart (1975),
among others, which helped link this area to diverse subareas including
parapsychology, to which Tart has also been an important contributor.
Before reviewing the work on alterations of consciousness and psi
performance, we will aim to clarify some confusions that keep recurring in
the area: (a) biased or missing definitions, (b) reification of conscious
experience, (c) confusing an induction with an experience and ignoring
individual differences, and (d) disregarding the interactive co-creation of
conscious experience.
Definitional Absence or Bias
Defining states of consciousness need not be an exercise in obfuscation,
although that is sometimes what one finds in the literature. The concept of
altered state of consciousness (ASC) is fuzzy (Lakoff, 1973) as are so many
natural categories, but it need not be an unclear or biased one if a specific
use of the term is delineated (Velmans, 2009). We follow here Tart’s (1975)
definition of an ASC as a qualitatively different state of consciousness, or
unique pattern of psychological structures, that differs from the ordinary,
baseline, waking state of the person. His concept does not presuppose that
the altered (or alternate) state involves psychopathology or is a better or
worse way to apprehend reality. In contrast, some authors assume that
ASCs “misrepresent or create delusional beliefs of the surrounding world
and oneself” (Kallio & Revonsuo, 2003, pp. 141–142). This naïve realistic
assumption has a number of problems, including the assumption that a nonaltered state does not misrepresent reality, a supposition that clashes not
only with the whole idealist philosophical tradition since Plato, Kant, and
others, but also with the conclusion that evolution is likely to produce a
serviceable rather than a particularly accurate contact with reality
(Hoffman, 2008). The implications of contemporary physics (D’Espagnat,
2006) that the best we can aim for is knowledge about the outcome of
specific forms of measurement are also relevant [see chapter 31].
Another problem with the definition by Kallio and Revonsuo is that it
presupposes that ASCs cannot provide valid information not accessible
during the ordinary waking state, but research in parapsychology shows
exactly the opposite. Valid information has been obtained particularly when
techniques that have as a goal to induce an ASC have been used, including
hypnosis (see below), ganzfeld and dreaming (chapter 15, this volume),
drugs (chapter 12, this volume), and meditation (chapter 10, this volume).
When trying to determine the characteristics of a state of consciousness
(whether baseline or not), it is essential to try to obtain a comprehensive
description of the state. There are a number of introspective methods
available (Cardeña & Pekala, 2014), so ad-hoc questionnaires measuring
only unawareness of stimuli and confusion (e.g., Pérez Navarro & Cox,
2012; Pérez Navarro, personal communication, 2013) should not be used.
Nor should vague terms such as “trance,” which denote all kinds of
experiences from being absent-minded to being a medium for another
entity, be used, unless at the very least their referent is specifically
described.
Reification of Conscious Experience
The philosopher Mario Bunge (1980) drew attention to the fallacy of
reifying consciousness as an entity, rather than as an ongoing process. This
had earlier on led master phrase-maker William James to coin the metaphor
“stream of consciousness” to give a sense of the ungraspability of conscious
experience, paralleling the philosophy of constant change of Heraclitus
(James, 1890). A practical consequence of the reification of ASCs as
entities is that some authors take them as signifying unchanging, monolithic
states, making references to “the hypnotic state,” “the meditative state,” and
so on. This façon de parler veils two important sources of differences:
interindividual among experients, and intraindividual for “the same state.”
Hinterberger (2014) described strong phenomenological and
neurophysiological differences resulting from the same meditative practice.
Marked changes within a state have been described in relation to a “neutral”
hypnotic procedure (Cardeña, 2005), sleep onset (Foulkes & Vogel, 1965),
and psychedelic ingestion (Siegel & Jarvick, 1975), among others.
Confusing an Induction with an Experience and Ignoring Individual Differences
Following the previous point, another problem with talking about
“hypnotic,” (or “meditative,” or similar qualifiers) states of consciousness is
that they are often presumed to occur automatically after someone has used
a hypnotic (or meditative) procedure. Not so! A hypnotic or meditative
technique will have strong, medium, or negligible effects depending on a
number of long- and short-term factors including personality dispositions
(Cardeña & Terhune, 2014; Kumar & Pekala, 1988), and set and setting
characteristics (Tart, 1975). Furthermore, other contexts such as exposure to
traumatic events can elicit some of the same phenomena found within a
hypnotic context (Cardeña & Spiegel, 1993), and just asking some people to
use their imagination can produce similar effects to those of a hypnotic
induction (Hilgard & Tart, 1966).
Disregarding the Interactive Co-creation of Conscious Experience
Although the English cognate “conscious” refers to the having of joint or
common knowledge, one of the most neglected areas in the study of
consciousness is the interactive, interpersonal process involved in the cocreation of conscious experience. The literature on developmental
psychology and clinical practice commonly refers to the effect of the
“other” on what the child or the adult may be experiencing, but as we move
to other areas in psychology and parapsychology we usually encounter only
an abstracted “participant,” or “subject,” who seems to interact only with
thin air. This is despite the fact that many studies have shown important
experimenter effects on human and non-human animals (e.g., Silverman,
1974; Sorge et al., 2014). But even speaking of “experimenter effects,”
whether psychological or psi [see chapter 22, this volume], hides the notion
that what transpires in a study depends on the interaction of human beings,
even if only the characteristics of the “participants” are described in most
studies. We are very far from having developed a systems approach within
psychology or parapsychology, but there is some recognition of this need in
the hypothesis that some successful psi researchers exhibit certain
characteristics that make them more likely to obtain psi performance from
their participants (Schlitz, Wiseman, Watt, & Radin, 2006). Because
hypnotists and participants may get in rapport (harmony) and experience
some of the same alterations in consciousness during a procedure (Varga,
Józsa, & Kekecs, 2014), the concordance between researcher and
participant conscious experience requires investigation in parapsychology,
rather than assuming that psi phenomena reside only either in the
participant or the experimenter [see chapter 5, this volume].
Traits
There have been impressionistic assessments of who is likely to have
success in a psi experiment, such as a description of successful remote
viewers as “confident, outgoing, adventurous, broadly successful
individuals with some artistic bent” (emphasis in the original, Targ, Puthoff,
Humphrey, & May, 1980, p. 10), but such broad personal judgments would
likely have questionable reliability across different observers. Instead,
researchers in the field have investigated more discrete and measurable
personality traits. Traits have been defined as “relatively enduring,
automatic patterns of thinking, feeling, and behavior … elicited in trait
relevant situations” (Roberts, Donnellan, & Hill, 2013, p. 183). The last
qualifier is important because the greatest amount of behavioral variance
explained depends on the interaction between traits and situations
characteristics (Bower, 1973) [see chapter 8, this volume]. We review
below traits that have been related to performance in psi experiments.
Extraversion and Openness to Experience
A construct included in the “Big Five” personality traits, and measured by
the NEO Personality Inventory (Costa & McCrae, 1985) and the MBTI is
extraversion. Individuals who are extraverts tend to find gratification in
things outside of their selves, such as large social gatherings. In the context
of psi testing it has been conjectured that extraverts should perform better
than introverts because the former are more relaxed with the novel social
interaction that a laboratory test may provide (Palmer, 1977), but it has also
been proposed that extraverts should score better because they typically
have lower cortical arousal, which has been presumed to relate to psi ability
(Eysenck, 1967; Honorton, 1977). In a 1977 review, Palmer identified 33
experiments correlating extraversion with performance in mainly forcedchoice psi tests; 8 revealed a significantly positive correlation, 15 were nonsignificantly positive, and 10 were nonsignificantly negative. He noted that
group testing experiments generally obtained more negative correlational
results compared to individual testing, but this should be interpreted with
caution as most group testing experiments were contributed by only two
investigator teams.
Around two decades later, studies on extraversion and psi performance were
meta-analyzed by Honorton, Ferrari, and Bem (1998). The 59 studies with
almost 3,000 participants were categorized depending on whether they used
forced-choice or free-response designs, and whether they tested participants
individually or in groups. For individual testing, a weak positive correlation
was found across 21 forced-choice, r = .15 (95 percent CIs [.09, .22]), and
12 free-response studies, r = .20 (CIs [.11, .29]). For group testing there
were null results across 24 forced-choice tests, r = –.00 (CIs [–.06, .05]),
but only 2 free-response studies by one investigator team were identified,
which were non-significant, r = .19 (CIs [–.01, .37]). Thus, when tested
individually there was a weak positive association between extraversion and
psi. Honorton et al. identified a potential artifact for the forced-choice
studies as extraversion measures were often administered after psi testing,
making it possible that participants based their self-reports of extraversion
on the basis of their testing performance. Palmer and Carpenter (1998)
demonstrated, however, that this methodological flaw was more prevalent
in group testing studies and that it was individual vs. group testing rather
than the order of tests that mediated the relation between extraversion and
psi. Although there was a possible confound of sensory leakage in the
forced-choice studies, no methodological artifact was identified for the freeresponse studies.
In a study on presentiment [see chapter 17, this volume], Broughton (2004)
did not find an overall psi effect nor a relation between MBTI extraversion
and the psi task, but reported that the MBTI intuition type was related to psi
scoring. When subcomponents of extraversion were analyzed separately,
Van Kampen, Bierman, and Wezelman (1994) found that the relation was
restricted to two facets of extraversion, warmth and positive emotions.
However, they also found that the extraversion-psi correlation disappeared
when openness to experience was accounted for. Openness to experience
was significantly related to psi in a precognition test (Luke, Roe, &
Davison, 2008), not related in a replication, but related in both a metaanalysis of the previous two articles and a new one (Hitchman, Roe, &
Sherwood, 2012). Carpenter (1991) reported that factors consistent with
extraversion (being strong-willed and outgoing) and being in an altered
stated correlated with psi-hitting. There has been also some research on the
sense of personal luck and psi performance, with mixed results (cf. Luke et
al., 2008; Hitchman et al., 2012).
Clearly more research is needed to evaluate the robustness of these findings
and elucidate which specific facets or aspects of a trait are more closely
related to psi (see also, Carpenter, 2012 for a theoretical review of the
extraversion–psi relation). Honorton et al. (1998) argued against a filedrawer effect in the case of extraversion by performing a Rosenthal filedrawer estimate that indicated that for every free-response study 10
unreported ones with an average zero correlation would be needed to make
the effect disappear, although this estimate may be too liberal if unreported
results are below zero (chapter 15, this volume).
Neuroticism
Emotional instability, or neuroticism, may decrease performance on psi
tests by hindering the person from becoming comfortable in a relational,
testing situation. Palmer (1977) reviewed 24 studies on neuroticism and psi:
7 studies had a significant negative association, 11 were nonsignificantly
negative, and 6 were nonsignificantly positive, suggesting a negative
association between neuroticism and psi performance. Palmer noted that
studies that tested participants in groups, typically classrooms, usually
found nonsignificant positive correlations. He speculated that neurotic
persons may perform less poorly in those setting because the environment is
more familiar than the laboratory setting and they may feel less pressure
when others are tested at the same time.
Compared to extraversion, neuroticism has received less attention post–
1977 although a number of studies have been published in peer-reviewed
journals (Broughton & Alexander, 1997; Goulding, 2005; Houtkooper,
2003; Houtkooper, Schienle, Stark, & Vaitl, 2001; Roe, Henderson, &
Matthews, 2008; Roe, Holt, & Simmonds, 2003; Watt & Baker, 2002; Watt
& Brady, 2002; Watt & Ramakers, 2003). No meta-analysis has been
published, but in recent studies the correlation coefficient has generally
been close to zero and nonsignificant. A notable exception is Houtkooper
(2003), who found some complicated but interesting post-hoc results. He
administered a forced-choice psi task in two 40-trials runs with trial-by-trial
feedback, and together with neuroticism he measured standard psi
performance and forward displacement psi (measured by matching the
guess of the current trial with the two subsequent targets rather than with
the current one). For the first run of the psi task neuroticism did not
correlate with any of the psi variables but for the second run neuroticism
correlated negatively with standard psi scores and positively with forward
displacement psi scores. A speculative interpretation is that very neurotic
participants started to perform more poorly towards the end of the test after
receiving disappointing trial-by-trial feedback, but why it would be
accompanied by positive psi displacement is difficult to understand. The
finding of a null correlation indicates poor reliability and further
complicates the interpretation of the results; nevertheless, it would be
informative to replicate this paradigm and further test the relation between
standard psi scores, displacement scores, and neuroticism scores under
feedback conditions. In the literature there is no strong support for a linear
relation between neuroticism and psi (but see also Carpenter, 2012). We
encourage more process-oriented research that specifies under what
conditions the presumed negative relation between the two variables occurs,
with individual vs. group testing and the characteristics of the
experimenter(s) also evaluated.
Feeling/Perception
These two personality types are measured by the MBTI, whose validity and
reliability has been questioned (e.g., Pittenger, 1993). The inventory
evaluates four dichotomies: the social attitude of extraversion vs.
introversion, the functions of sensing vs. intuition, and thinking vs. feeling,
and the lifestyle of judging vs. perception. Replicating an earlier study by
Murphy and Lester (1976), Brugger and Baumann (1994) reported that
believers in ESP scored higher in feeling than nonbelievers. With regard to
actual performance in controlled experiments, after reviewing data from
different studies, Honorton (1997) indicated that individuals with the
combination of feeling (arriving at a decision through empathizing with
others and seeking harmony, rather than mostly basing the decision
exclusively on logic) and perception (a preference for using the senses and
intuition rather than just judging matters) performed better in ganzfeld psi
tasks. The feeling type was also found to be a positive predictor of psi
scoring by Parker, Grams, and Pettersson (1998), but was not significant in
other studies (Alexander & Broughton, 2001; Roe, Davey, & Stevens, 2004,
2005). Overall sample sizes and power have been very low (see Milton &
Wiseman, 1999, for a discussion on the original findings).
Although parapsychology has had an advantage over other disciplines of
encouraging publication of failures to replicate, given the possibility of
publication bias and selective reporting in the social and natural sciences
(e.g., Ioannidis, 2005; Rosenthal, 1979) a more convincing case for a
relation between personality traits and psi would be made by presenting
evidence from a pre-registered, open-source study with good statistical
power, or from a meta-analysis with a reasonable number of good studies.
The Propensity to Experience Alterations of Consciousness
In the West, from the Eleusinian mysteries experiences through the
medieval ecstatic or possessed people to the writings of the mesmerists,
commentators have remarked on important individual differences in the
ability to enter states of consciousness (Cardeña & Winkelman, 2011a).
More recent investigation on anomalous experiences has revealed as well
that individuals exhibit valid and reliable individual differences in some
constructs such as absorption, dissociation, dream experiences, and
hypnotizability, which can be partly traced to genetic and non-shared
environmental factors (cf. Dalenberg et al., 2012). These constructs are also
frequently associated with the propensity to have anomalous experiences
(Cardeña, Krippner, & Lynn, 2014), and neuroscientific research has started
pointing out potential genetic and neurotransmitters systems related to some
of these constructs (Cardeña & Winkelman, 2011b).
A recent study revealed the association among the following constructs:
hypnotizability (especially when measured as experiential alterations after a
hypnotic induction), absorption (adopting an experiential rather than a
conceptual mindset, becoming immersed in an experience), mental
boundaries (the permeability or communicability between psychological
processes or states of consciousness) and self-transcendence (the likelihood
of experiencing oneself as interconnected or transcendent) (Cardeña &
Terhune, 2014). Reports of ostensible psi experiences have been
consistently associated with fantasy proneness, dissociation,
hypnotizability, absorption, and similar constructs (e.g., Gow, Hutchinson,
& Chant, 2009; Pekala, Kumar, & Marcano, 1995; Richards, 1996;
Wickramasekera, 1993), but there has been little research on the possible
relation of these constructs and performance on psi studies. The construct of
transliminality, developed by psi researcher Michael Thalbourne, is based
on earlier ideas of F. W. H. Myers and purports to measure how easily
subconscious material can become conscious. It is related to thin mental
boundaries and the propensity to have mystical and another anomalous
experiences (Thalbourne & Maltby, 2008), and has been correlated with psi
scoring (Del Prete & Tressoldi, 2005), although Storm and Thalbourne
(1998–1999, 2001) could not replicate their initial positive correlation
between transliminality and psi scoring in a test loosely based on the I
Ching. Houran and Lange (2013) found that transliminality correlated
positively with New Age Philosophy and self-reported business intuition,
but the correlation with psi performance was marginally non-significant.
Others have tested the relation between transliminality and psi in ganzfeld
(Parker, 2000) and shamanic-like and control conditions (Rock, Storm,
Harris, & Friedman, 2012) with non-significant results. Rabeyron and Watt
(2010) reported that thin mental boundaries (measured with a different
questionnaire than that for transliminality) related to paranormal
experiences but not to a retro-priming psi task.
Alterations of Consciousness and Psi Performance
In a very influential chapter, Honorton (1977) summarized more than 80
experimental studies produced by 26 different laboratories and using four
different procedures: meditation, hypnosis, induced relaxation, and ganzfeld
stimulation. All of these paradigms produced highly significant results,
showing that chance could not reasonably explain the results.
In his summarizing comments, Honorton proposed four common
characteristics of what he considered noise-reduction, “psi-enhancing
internal states”: (a) a level of cortical arousal permitting conscious
awareness, (b) muscular relaxation, (c) reduction of exteroceptive
stimulation, and (d) attention toward internal processes. He reported other
important analyses, among them that the successful ganzfeld studies
typically had an average exposure duration of 37 minutes as compared with
an average of 22 minutes for the non successful ones, a significant
difference. He also pointed out that most successful ganzfeld studies had
used participants who had been in previous psi studies. He also referred to
the importance of keeping the mind “blank” or content-free to succeed in
psi tasks. Braud (1978) also proposed that noise-reduction processes may
work by increasing the expectation that the participant will succeed, and we
would propose that the increased sense of interconnectedness and decrease
of self-critical thought brought about by some of these procedures in
selected participants (e.g., Cardeña, 2005) may also foster psi performance.
Later research has generally supported a relation between alterations of
consciousness and successful psi performance. In a series of studies,
including one using the ganzfeld with meditators (Palmer, Khamashta, &
Israelson, 1979), Palmer found that deviations from chance were correlated
with experience of an ASC, with the direction associated with the arousal
level of the induction. Sargent as well conducted a number of studies
(Sargent, 1980) in which psi scoring was associated with shifts in states of
consciousness, although his methodology was criticized (Blackmore, 1987,
but see also Harley & Matthews, 1987). Being more specific as to what
alterations may be involved in psi scoring, Alvarado (1998) proposed that
time distortion and body awareness changes were related to psi scoring,
whereas Carpenter (2004) proposed self-transcendence experiences. In a
study using a valid and reliable measure of alterations of consciousness, a
number of alterations of consciousness measured during a ganzfeld session
that preceded the session in which psi was evaluated were significant
(Marcusson-Clavertz & Cardeña, 2011). We had initially predicted that high
hypnotizability and alterations in consciousness would be main effects in
the prediction of successful psi scoring. Although the main effects were not
significant, the interaction between these variables revealed a number of
interesting results. For high hypnotizables, but not lows, being in an altered
state in ganzfeld, reporting altered experience, and time alteration correlated
strongly with psi z scores. It is worth mentioning that although they did not
reach significance (the study had a small N), negative correlations with psi
scoring were related to processes related to rationality: decreases in selfawareness (significant for the whole sample of high and low hypnotizables),
and in rationality, volitional control, and memory. Contrary to Honorton
(1977), the correlation between arousal and psi scoring was close to zero.
In a study of which only the abstract has been published at this point, psi
scores related to greater absorption and decreased arousal and internal
dialogue (Roe, Hodrien, & Kirkwood, 2012). In one of three studies
investigating three “shamanic-like” procedures, psi performance was
related to experiencing alterations in time sense, perception, and
experience, overall, and (negatively) with memory (Rock, Storm, Harris, &
Friedman, 2013). There have also been other studies that did not find a
relation between alterations of consciousness and psi performance (da
Silva, Pilato, & Hiraoka, 2003; Pérez Navarro & Cox, 2012), but they
employed questionable, not validated measures. In sum, the results suggest
a link between psi scoring and experiencing alterations in consciousness,
along with decreases in rational, analytical processes, but much more
research using validated and reliable instruments is needed.
Hypnosis
Hypnosis as a procedure involves responding to suggestions to alter
experience, behavior, or physiology, following an induction procedure in
which the person is asked to disregard extraneous concerns and focus on the
hypnotist’s instructions to go into hypnosis (Barber, 1984). Hypnosis and its
predecessor, mesmerism/magnetism, were claimed during the 18th and 19th
centuries to give rise to extraordinary abilities including telepathy,
clairvoyance, and precognition (Crabtree, 1988; Dingwall, 1967–1968).
Many if not most earlier observations would not pass current
methodological muster, but there were still some cases such as that of the
19th century somnambulist Alexis Didier, or some of the later, more
systematic studies by Leonid Vasiliev that are far more difficult to explain
away (Cardeña, 2014; Méheulst, 2013; Vasiliev 1962/2002). The first
review of modern research (Van de Castle, 1969) concluded that hypnosis
facilitated psi performance. A more quantitative analysis was conducted by
Honorton (1977), who had a number of valuable observations. One was that
when a hypnotic condition was compared with a nonhypnotic one, the
former clearly and significantly produced more psi scoring. Another was
that the effect sizes of studies using free-response paradigms were one order
of magnitude greater than guessing studies. He also pointed out that the
ability to respond to hypnosis (hypnotizability) had been rarely assessed,
and that the specific hypnotic procedures administered had been rarely
described. Nonetheless he observed that specific positive suggestions to
enhance psi abilities used in two studies had enhanced psi scoring, and
concluded that a person × situation (or procedure) interaction was a central
consideration. After Honorton’s, two other meta-analyses (Schechter, 1984;
Stanford & Stein, 1994) confirmed a highly significant relation between use
of hypnosis and psi scoring that, furthermore, was unrelated to the quality
of the studies. Nonetheless, Stanford and Stein (1994) did find that the
studies conducted showed various flaws and that results varied considerable
across principal investigators, but concluded that their criticisms “did not
imply that hypnosis has no utility for enhancing extrasensory performance.
It is simply that the extant studies provide more puzzles than useful clues”
(p. 261), a conclusion with which we concur. Finally, in a study that used
hypnotic suggestions to foster psi scoring, the overall results were
significant and psi scoring related to the hypnotizability of the sender
(McBain, Fox, Kimura, Nakanishi, & Tirado, 1970), suggesting the
importance of studying all participants in the experiment [see chapter 22,
this volume].
Since those meta-analyses, only a few studies have continued to evaluate
the effect of hypnosis. Del Prete and Tressoldi (2005) reported that a
hypnotic procedure (incorrectly described as “hypnagogic,” which refers to
the state between being awake and asleep) emphasizing suggestions for outof-body experiences produced significant psi scoring whereas self-induced
relaxation did not. In a replication study (Tressoldi & del Prete, 2007) they
again found significant psi scoring under hypnosis, but only in the first of
two sessions, a pattern similar to that reported earlier (Parker & Beloff,
1970). In a precognition study grouping for hypnotizability and
dissociation, exposure to relaxing music revealed no main effect for
hypnotizability (Cardeña, Marcusson-Clavertz, & Wasmuth, 2009). In a
later study (Marcusson-Clavertz & Cardeña, 2011), mentioned earlier,
participants listened to a relaxation tape and although there was no main
effect for hypnotizability, there was an interaction between hypnotizability,
experiencing alterations in consciousness, and psi performance. There is
also a study by Parra and Argibay (2013) in which they claimed that high
hypnotizables scored significantly higher than low hypnotizables, but the
paper shows a misunderstanding of both hypnotizability (e.g., the authors
divide their group in highs and lows when the typical classification is high,
medium, and low hypnotizable) and the scale used (which the authors
claimed has a range from 5 to 55 when in reality it has a range from 0 to
12), so their conclusion is difficult to evaluate.
There have also been failures to replicate. A study, published so far only as
an abstract, found no relation between hypnotizability and psi performance
in a remote viewing experiment (May, Bányai, Vassy, & Faith, 2000)
although the senior author mentions problems with the psi procedure (May,
personal communication, 2008). In another study (Sondow, 1986), not
reported either in a peer-reviewed journal, hypnotizability did not predict
performance in a psi task, but no descriptive data were provided, making it
impossible for the reader to evaluate the results fully. Overall, there is good
reason to continue investigating the effect of hypnotic procedures on psi
performance among high hypnotizables and using suggestions to increase
performance.
Early Trauma, Loss, and Dissociation
One of the most innovative of Freud’s disciples, Sándor Ferenczi, wrote
(1955) that early trauma could give rise to both (dissociative) alterations of
consciousness and anomalous cognition. There is a positive association
between paranormal beliefs and history of abuse, such as having been a
child of an alcoholic and experienced physical abuse within family (Irwin,
1994). Although Lawrence, Edwards, Barraclough, Church, and
Hetherington (1995) replicated the correlation between within-family abuse
and psi belief, the latter did not correlate significantly with sexual abuse,
family loss or parental divorce. Instead, the strongest correlate of psi belief
was loss of property/home moving, r(80) = .38, p < .001. Moreover,
Lawrence and colleagues compared two models, one proposing an indirect
link between trauma and paranormal experiences mediated by childhood
fantasy, and another in which trauma directly influences paranormal
experiences without the mediation of childhood fantasy. The second model
provided a better fit to the data. Insofar as some psi experiences may reflect
genuine psi phenomena, trauma could make individuals more sensitive to
psi interactions, as Ferenczi had postulated. However, Rabeyron and Watt
(2010) found that childhood traumas and negative life events correlated
with paranormal experiences but not with scores on a psi task. It is also of
interest that they found a weak (r = .16) correlation between poorer mental
health and paranormal experiences, which disappeared when they
controlled for either childhood traumas or negative life events.
According to the model proposed by Irwin (2009), paranormal beliefs may
exist but remain inactive until some contextual stressor activates them.
Some related observations have been made about the relation between
trauma and paranormal beliefs in the context of attachment research and the
Adult Attachment Interview (AAI). During this interview, respondents are
probed about childhood experiences with attachment figures (mainly
parents or other caregivers) including potentially traumatizing experiences
of abuse or loss. In response to the trauma questions some adults seem to
shift momentarily in their state of consciousness and exhibit lapses in the
monitoring of reasoning and discourse (Hesse & Main, 2000), such as
providing incoherent information or shifting to eulogistic speech or going
into excessive details about irrelevant aspects of an event
(Unresolved/disorganized trauma or loss). Main, van IJzendoorn, and Hesse
(1993) observed that adults with Unresolved/disorganized trauma or loss
also tend to express paranormal beliefs during these interview moments
(e.g., “He died that night because I forgot to pray for him”).
Main et al. (1993) devised a self-report measure of Unresolved/disorganized
trauma or loss with two subscales: Unresolved State of Mind (e.g.,
Responsibility for tragedy, Uncontrolled memories, Memories Lost) and
Unusual Beliefs. They called it “unusual beliefs” but we will refer to it as
paranormal beliefs here as it includes astrology, telepathy, precognition, and
spiritualism. Paranormal beliefs correlated with an unresolved state of
mind, as assessed with both the self-report questionnaire and the
standardized discourse analysis coded from the AAI. Sagi, Joels, van
IJzendoorn, Joels, and Scharf (2002) replicated the correlation between the
two questionnaire subscales in an Israeli sample of mostly holocaust
survivors.
Disorganized attachment in childhood, indicated by disoriented or chaotic
behaviors when reuniting with attachment figures after a brief separation, is
a predictor of later dissociation (e.g., Lyons-Ruth, Dutra, Schuder, &
Bianchi, 2006), a concept that includes loss of continuity in subjective
experience, inability to access information, and a sense of experiential
disconnectedness (Cardeña & Carlson, 2011). Because dissociative
tendencies are moderately related to reporting anomalous, including psi,
experiences (e.g., Pekala et al., 1995), it is not surprising that Thomson and
Jaque (2014) investigated dissociation as a potential mediator between
Unresolved/disorganized trauma or loss and paranormal beliefs. They used
eight items from a fantasy proneness inventory that they labeled
“supernatural beliefs,” including items on out-of-body experiences,
precognition, telepathy, and religious belief. Results showed that
dissociation fully mediated the positive association between unresolved
mourning and paranormal belief. In sum, there is a relation between history
of childhood trauma and psi-related experiences and beliefs, with psi beliefs
being particularly strong in individuals with Unresolved/disorganized
trauma or loss and dissociation.
“Trance” mediums, who experience being affected by other entities and
some of whom have provided evidence for anomalous cognition (Gauld,
1982, also see chapter 23, this volume), should be considered by definition
as expressing dissociation, which was, in fact, one of the major areas in
which psychical research contributed to psychology in general (Alvarado,
2014, see also chapter 30, this volume). Van de Castle (1993) discussed a
severe variant of pathological dissociation (dissociative processes are not
necessarily pathological) called “multiple personality disorder,” nowadays
known as dissociative identity disorder. He cited a number of striking
ostensible psi instances from published accounts of therapists of individuals
with this disorder, besides describing his own. The first author has also
received various similar accounts from therapists specializing in the
treatment of dissociative disorders.
Individuals who believe in psi phenomena (Richards, 1991) and/or practice
as mediums or psychics report greater dissociation than the average nonclinical population but lower levels of dissociation than people with
dissociative disorders (e.g., Cardeña, Reijman, Wimmelmann, & Jensen,
2015), and out-of-body experients also report more somatoform and
psychological dissociation (Gow et al., 2009). Nonetheless, and despite a
plea by Irwin (1997), there has been almost no systematic study of a
possible relation between dissociation and psi scoring in the last few
decades. In a study from our lab (Cardeña et al., 2009), high
dissociative/high hypnotizable individuals had stronger psi belief than low
hypnotizables and marginally so than low dissociative/high hypnotizables
(p = .06). With regard to actual performance on the precognitive task, those
low on dissociation tended to have lower psi scores than those higher in
dissociation and scored significantly in the opposite direction of the psi
task. In a second study using a ganzfeld/telepathy procedure (MarcussonClavertz & Cardeña, 2011), although dissociation did not correlate
significantly with the psi z-scores, low dissociatives had slightly negative
scores whereas high dissociatives had slightly positive scores.
A different approach has been to elicit dissociative experiences in the lab
and measure their relation to a psi task. Following up on earlier work,
Palmer (2011) devised an alphabet board modeled after the Ouija in which
participants were asked to move around a pointer trying to select the letters
of a target word that had been randomly chosen. The experience of an
outside force moving the participant’s hand was correlated with scoring
significantly higher than chance, and higher than those who did not have
that experience, and a trait measure of dissociation correlated with the
experience of outside force. A later study (Palmer, 2013) had similar results
in that participants who experienced their hand being moved by an external
force had better psi scores than those who did not, and measures of
detachment also predicted positively psi scoring.
Judging from the scant research literature, two conclusions can be reached.
The first is that highly dissociative people clearly endorse having more psi
experiences in their everyday lives, but have not shown in the few studies
conducted so far that they can clearly perform well in psi tasks unless a
dissociative process is summoned. The other conclusion is that there is
some evidence that those low in dissociation may tend to score poorly in psi
tasks. A caveat is that the couple of recent quantitative studies on the
relation between dissociation and psi have used convenience, non-clinical
samples, rather than pathological (e.g., people with dissociative identity
disorder) or nonpathological (e.g., mediums) groups who routinely express
dissociative processes. Furthermore, because dissociation is a complex
construct that may involve different processes, future research would
benefit from specifying further which aspects of dissociation correlate with
which aspects of paranormal beliefs and experiences.
Creativity
The previous Handbook (Wolman, 1977) did not contain any discussion of
creativity or art, yet this seems to be a strong predictor of psi performance.
Targ et al. (1980) anecdotally mentioned it as an associated characteristic of
successful remote viewers, and there seems to be an overrepresentation of
artists among participants with a seeming talent for psi (Cardeña, Iribas, &
Reijman, 2012). Some personality characteristics associated with being an
artist, including being sensitive, independent, and nonconformist
(Abuhamdeh & Csikszentmihalyi, 2004), could relate to psi. In agreement
with this conjecture, Holt, Delanoy, and Roe (2004) found that ostensible
psi experiences loaded on a factor associated with being an actor and
including emotional creativity, internal awareness, and nonlinear cognition.
Holt et al. (2004) also reviewed the literature on psi performance under
experimental conditions and reported that artists had scored significantly
higher than non-artists in four free-response studies, and their scoring rate
in six additional ganzfeld studies was 40 percent, whereas the typical
scoring rate in different meta-analysis hovers around 33 percent [see
chapter 15, this volume]. Holt (2007) replicated a high scoring rate (44
percent) in a later study using an experience sampling technique. A striking
result came from a small study with Julliard performing art students whose
overall hit rate was 50 percent (75 percent among eight musical students;
Schlitz & Honorton, 1992) although no comparison group of non-artists
was tested. Moss (1969) had earlier found that the highest scores in one of
her experiments came from artists who believed that they had earlier
experienced psi. Of possible relevance, Van Kampen et al. (1994) found
that openness for aesthetics (see the earlier discussion on openness to
experience) was a significant predictor of performance in a ganzfeld psi
task, and another study found correlations greater than .3 (although not
significant after statistical correction) between three of four measures of
creativity and psi scores (Roe, McKenzie, & Ali, 2001). Whether these
results can be traced to a conglomerate of personality traits that artists share
and/or to a long-term systematic practice in becoming attuned to subtle
internal experiences remains to be elucidated. In any event, the results so
far recommend including artists as participants and researchers in psi
research.
Beliefs
Sheep-Goat Effect
A commonly examined hypothesis is that people’s attitude towards the psi
task at hand, or psi phenomena in general, is related to their performance on
the task. Schmeidler (1943, 1952) introduced the term “sheep” to refer to
those who accept the possibility of success on the given psi task and “goat”
to those who reject it, but there are variants of the definition (Palmer, 1971).
Palmer (1977) concluded that people who believe in ESP are more likely to
perform well in the lab than those who do not. Lawrence (1993) reported a
meta-analysis of 73 forced-choice studies on the sheep-goat effect,
including over 4,500 participants, in which 24 percent of the studies were
significant as compared with the expectable 5 percent by chance. The
average standardized effect size (ES) was very small, ES = 0.03, but
statistically very significant, p = 1.33 × 10–16, and did not covary with the
study quality. An artifact similar to that in the extraversion–psi literature
was evident in that out of the 65 studies that reported the order of measures,
15 administered the sheep-goat measure after the psi test. ES was slightly
larger in these studies but not significantly so.
The relation between believing in psi or success in a psi experiment and
succeeding has been replicated by some more recent studies (e.g., Luke,
Delanoy, & Sherwood, 2008; Marcusson-Clavertz & Cardeña, 2011; Parker,
2000; Smith, Wiseman, Machin, Harris, & Joiner, 1997) but not others (e.g.,
Broughton & Alexander, 1997; Cardeña et al., 2009; Hitchman, et al., 2012;
Schönwetter, Ambach, & Vaitl, 2011).
Given the very small overall effect-size of the sheep-goat effect, we
recommend further process-oriented research on possible moderators or
mediators of the effect. For instance, a study by Lovitts (1981) suggested
that the sheep-goat effect can be reversed if participants think that the task
is designed to disprove psi.
Measures of Psi-Related Experiences and Beliefs
A vast majority of measures of psi-related experiences and beliefs rely on
explicit self-reports, as opposed to implicit measures in which attitudes are
measured indirectly, such as by examining reaction times. In the
psychological literature there is evidence that implicit measures exhibit
predictive validity that exceeds that of explicit measures (Greenwald,
Poehlman, Uhlmann, & Banaji, 2009), but implicit attitudes have received
scant attention in parapsychology.
Explicit measures. Most measures of psi-related experiences and beliefs
include items on many other paranormal phenomena. For instance, the
widely used Revised Paranormal Belief Scale (RPBS; Tobacyk, 2004;
Tobacyk & Milford, 1983) includes the following subscales; Traditional
Religious Beliefs, Belief in Psi, Superstition, Belief in Witchcraft,
Extraordinary Life Forms, Spiritualism, and Precognition. The commonly
used global Paranormal Belief Scale has shown satisfactory reliability but
its dimensionality remains uncertain (Irwin, 2009). Lange, Irwin, and
Houran (2000) proposed a two-factor solution based on Rasch scaling: New
Age Philosophy (11 items mainly measuring beliefs in psi and survival of
bodily death) and Traditional Paranormal Beliefs (5 items mainly
measuring beliefs in witchcraft, devil, heaven and hell). The advantages of
these scales are that they have shown unidimensionality, predictive validity,
and minimal item response biases related to age and gender differences.
A recent alternative to the RPBS as a global measure is the Survey of
Scientifically Unaccepted Beliefs (SSUB; Irwin & Marks, 2013). The
authors argued that this measure is an improvement over previous ones as it
includes a substantial number of negatively-worded items, has negligible
item response biases while retaining a broad sample of paranormal items,
and satisfies criteria for being an interval measure, a high level of
measurement. The factor structure is similar to, and converges with, the
two-factor solution proposed for the RPBS, namely New Age Beliefs (15
items) and Traditional Religious Beliefs (5 items). Reliability estimates are
high for both scales.
For researchers interested in a narrower measure of beliefs in psi
phenomena, the Australian Sheep-Goat Scale (ASGS; Thalbourne, 1995;
Thalbourne & Delin, 1993) is one of the most popular alternatives. It
features 16 items on beliefs in ESP and PK and 2 items on beliefs in
survival of bodily death; the latter are sometimes excluded from the overall
score (e.g., Lange & Thalbourne, 2002). Lange and Thalbourne showed that
the scale has minimal age and gender biases and they recommended
recoding the responses of the commonly used visual analog scale to 0, 1,
and 2 to satisfy the assumptions of an interval level of measurement.
Irwin and colleagues developed a new questionnaire that distinguishes
between psi beliefs and experiences, the Survey of Anomalous Experiences
(SAE; Irwin, Dagnall, & Drinkwater, 2013). The vast majority of the 20
items address experiences related to psi or survival of bodily death, but
there are a few items on astrology and aura perception. Each item asks
whether the respondents have had a certain anomalous experience (e.g.,
sense of being stared at) and, if so, whether they attribute it to paranormal
events or not, with two scales: Proneness to Anomalous Experiences and
Proneness to Paranormal Attribution. Irwin, Schofield, and Baker (2014)
found that dissociative tendencies, sensory-processing sensitivity (low
perceptual thresholds for both internal and external stimuli), and aberrant
salience (interpreting as salient even subtle stimuli) correlated with both
anomalous experiences and paranormal attributions. A strength of the
questionnaire is that because it distinguishes between anomalous
experiences and paranormal attributions, it allows non-believers (or
skeptics) to acknowledge having had anomalous experiences without
having to label them paranormal. A potential issue is that when asked to
choose between the paranormal or normal explanation, the phrasing for the
former option is that “it must have been” a paranormal event whereas the
phrasing for the latter is “it was probably just” a normal event. A person
who believes that the paranormal explanation is the most probable, but is
not 100 percent certain may therefore choose the “normal” explanation. For
additional measures of paranormal phenomena, see Irwin (2009) and
Goulding and Parker (2001).
Implicit measures. In the Implicit Attitudes Test (IAT; Greenwald,
McGhee, & Schwartz, 1998) participants indicate as fast as they can
whether a stimulus belong to a certain category (e.g., white or black face,
positive or negative word). By combining categories it is purported to test
how strongly different categories are implicitly associated. There are some
versions adapted to measure paranormal attitudes (Irwin, 2014; Stieger &
Hergovich, 2013; Weeks, Weeks, & Daniel, 2008). For instance, Irwin
paired the category of paranormal (e.g., TELEPATHY) with synonyms for
accept (e.g., ENDORSE) or reject (e.g., CONDEMN). Generally, these
implicit measures have shown nonsignificant correlations with explicit
measures, but have shown some other promising results. Stieger and
Hergovich (2013) found a significant interaction between implicit and
explicit beliefs on the criterion measure of knowledge of paranormal
phenomena. Explicit New Age Belief, including psi, accounted for 4
percent of the variance in knowledge test scores, whereas the interaction
between explicit and implicit accounted for an additional 6 percent of the
scores, demonstrating the potential value of combining explicit and implicit
measures.
There are some conceptual problems with the IAT paradigm, though. One is
that the reaction time measure may depend on individual differences in
executive attention because participants are asked to quickly alternate
between different stimulus–response schemes (e.g., using the same response
keys for coding faces and words). Indeed, a study found that participants
who performed well on tasks measuring task-switching and workingmemory showed smaller IAT effects than those exhibiting low scores on the
executive tasks (Klauer, Schmitz, Teige-Mocigemba, & Voss, 2010). As
executive attention decreases with age, it is plausible that individuals with
equal implicit beliefs in paranormal phenomena will score differently on the
IAT versions of implicit paranormal attitudes because of their age or
executive attentional abilities.
Although the implicit measures are an intriguing addition to the explicit
self-report measures, further work is needed to understand their
psychometric properties. It would be interesting to examine if implicit psi
belief contributes significantly as a predictor in a regression model with
explicit psi belief as another predictor and psi task performance as the
dependent variable. Insofar as psi phenomena are valid, occur at an
unconscious level, and serve unconscious motivations [see chapters 8, 16
and 17, this volume], it would be instructive to examine unconscious
attitudes to psi phenomena in the context of psi testing (see also the
discussion on fear of psi, Carpenter, 2012; Tart, 1984).
Cognitive Correlates of Psi-Related Experiences and Beliefs
Many studies on cognitive correlates of psi beliefs, or more generally
paranormal beliefs, have been conducted on the assumption that psi
phenomena do not exist and that attributing experiences to them reflect
some kind of cognitive deficit. However, recent reviews (Irwin, 2009;
Wiseman & Watt, 2006; Watt & Tierney, 2014) have concluded that
research on associations between paranormal beliefs and measures of
intelligence, academic performance, and critical thinking, among other
cognitive variables, have yielded inconsistent results, failing to provide
clear support for the cognitive deficit hypothesis. We will focus here on
specific thinking styles or strategies that may be differentially used among
people varying in paranormal beliefs.
Processing Styles and Psi Beliefs
Given the large proportion of psi experiences that take the form of intuitive
impressions and are often reported with a high degree of conviction [see
chapters 5 and 27, this volume], it is plausible that individual differences in
trusting one’s intuitive impressions relate to belief in psi. Epstein and
colleagues distinguished between two processing styles: the rational style,
which is “conscious, relatively slow, analytical, primarily verbal, and
relatively affect-free,” and the experiential-intuitive style, which is
“preconscious, rapid, automatic, holistic, primarily nonverbal, intimately
associated with affect” (Pacini & Epstein, 1999, p. 972; see also Epstein,
Pacini, Denes-Raj, & Heier, 1996; Kahneman, 2011). They developed a
measure known as the Rational-Experiential Inventory (REI) to examine
individual differences in the prevalence of these thinking styles. The recent
version of the REI (Pacini & Epstein, 1999) has two subscales for each
processing style: Preference for Engagement, and Ability. For instance, one
might prefer solving complex problems over simple problems without
necessarily being particularly good at the former. Previous versions of the
REI (e.g., Epstein et al., 1996) do not make this distinction, and they
include more ability items for the experiential-intuitive (faith in intuition)
processing style and more preference items for the rational (need for
cognition) processing style.
Aarnio and Lindeman (2005) found a moderate positive correlation between
paranormal belief and experiential-intuitive processing, and a weak
negative correlation with rational thinking. Genovese (2005) found that
paranormal beliefs correlated with experiential-intuitive thinking, but not
with the rational one. Wolfradt et al. (1999) administered a modified
version of the Anomalous Experiences Inventory (Gallagher, Kumar, &
Pekala, 1994) to a college sample and found that experiential-intuitive
processing correlated weakly to moderately with anomalous beliefs, selfperceived abilities, and anomalous experiences. Surprisingly, anomalous
beliefs and abilities correlated positively, albeit weakly, with a rational
processing style, whereas anomalous experiences did not. They also found
significant evidence that participants scoring high on both thinking styles
were more likely to score high on anomalous beliefs, experiences, and
abilities.
Irwin and Wilson (2013) used the recent SAE and a version of the REI in
which items on preference but not ability for the processing styles were
included. The experiential-intuitive processing style correlated positively
with both anomalous experiences and paranormal belief, whereas the latter
two did not correlate with the rational processing style. Similar results were
obtained in a study (Irwin & Marks, 2013) in which the SSUB was used.
They found that the scale New Age Beliefs correlated positively with
preference for experiential-intuitive, but not with rational, processing style.
Beliefs in traditional religious phenomena did not correlate with preference
for either processing style. Although the aforementioned studies examined
psi beliefs and intuition processing style, it is worth mentioning that Houran
and Lange (2013) found a marginally significant correlation between actual
performance in a forced-choice psi test and a trait measure of business
intuition in a sample of hospitality executives.
Cumulatively, these studies support the notion that individuals who have a
preference for the experiential-intuitive processing style tend to have
anomalous experiences (see earlier sections) and attribute them to
paranormal phenomena. It seems that preference for rational processing
style is less clearly related to psi-related experiences and beliefs, with
studies finding both weak positive and negative associations. The studies
that have focused on the preference-subscale of the recent REI for rational
processing have not found a relation with psi-related experiences or beliefs
(Irwin & Marks, 2013; Irwin & Wilson, 2013), but investigations on the
ability subscale together with behavioral tests of intuitive and rational
processing would be a welcomed contribution to this literature.
Signal Detection and Psi Beliefs
A common psi experience is the sense of being stared at, which may make
the person turn around and sometimes find that someone is indeed staring
[see chapters 18 and 27, this volume]. This could be framed as a particular
case of signal detection, in which a starer could be detected (hit) or in the
case of a no-starer incorrectly identified (false alarm). Van Elk (2013)
argued that on the basis of evolution humans may be especially geared at
detecting the presence of others, because in scenarios in which a predator
animal is hiding in the surroundings it would help survival to detect the
threat but not cost as much to incorrectly perceive an agent when there is
none [see chapters 7 and 11, this volume]. In some contexts it seems that
humans indeed have a tendency to detect agents in the surroundings such as
the 40 percent false-alarm rate reported in a study on detection of faces in
random noise (Rieth, Lee, Lui, Tian, & Huber, 2011).
Whether paranormal believers differ in their signal detection behaviors
from skeptics has been put to test. One of the studies administered a task
that consisted of photographs, shown for 1s, that depicted an artificial face
or no-face (Riekki, Lindeman, Aleneff, Halme, & Nuortimo, 2013).
Participants responded to whether they saw an artificial face or not, and if
they claimed to see a face they had to indicate its location. As the authors
expected, paranormal believers committed significantly more false alarms
than skeptics, but believers also made significantly more hits by detecting
the presence and location of the artificial face. The groups did not
significantly differ in their overall performance or sensitivity. Thus, rather
than one group being generally better than the other at signal detection, it
seemed that believers were prone to making Type I errors (false alarms) and
skeptics Type II errors (misses). Other studies have found similar
preferences in the two groups (Blackmore & Moore, 1994; Krummenacher,
Mohr, Haker, & Brugger, 2010), with psi believers having significantly
lower response thresholds for responding “yes” to a trial compared to
skeptics. A third study (Van Elk, 2013) also found lower response criterion
in paranormal believers compared to skeptics in a sample of students and
paranormal fair visitors, but unlike the other studies they found significantly
better overall performance in skeptics than believers.
In sum, the results of these studies indicates that psi believers and skeptics
use different response criteria in signal detection tasks with believers
tending to make more false alarms and skeptics more misses. It would be
instructive to manipulate the cost of making a false alarm error or a miss to
investigate whether the two groups adapt their strategies accordingly.
Need for Control and Psi Beliefs
An important function that psi experiences or beliefs may serve, whether
accurate or not, is that they may provide a greater sense of control of
external events, as information may be obtained through psi. Similarly, a
belief in expressive psi experiences (psychokinesis, anomalous perturbation
or force) could provide the individual with a greater sense of influence over
events that would not be possible to influence by normal means. Irwin
(2009) hypothesized that childhood experiences of low control leads to a
greater need to feel control over external circumstances, and that
paranormal beliefs may increase the sense of control. For instance, the
ability to read people’s minds could help evade potential dangers.
Greenaway, Louis, and Hornsey (2013) investigated whether changes in
sense of control varied with changes in belief in precognition. In
Experiment 1, induction of low control was related to higher precognition
belief. In Experiment 2, participants reading a pro-precognition abstract
subsequently reported higher perceived control over their life than
participants reading a skeptical reply (perceived control was measured by
three items with high reliability, e.g., “I am in control of my life”). In
Experiment 3 they found that for participants who were asked to write
about low control, those reading a pro-precognition abstract reported higher
perceived control (expanded to five items) than those reading a skeptical
abstract and a third group reading an unrelated abstract. Greenaway et al.
concluded that when people are in a state in which they feel low control
belief in precognition increases perceived control. Given that the
precognition manipulation was immediately followed by the items on
perceived control but no other control items—and it surprises us that a
laboratory manipulation of reading an article abstract would substantially
change individuals’ perceived control of their own lives—future work may
benefit from examining potential demand characteristics of this approach
and using previously validated measures of perceived control. Watt,
Watson, and Wilson (2007) investigated retrospectively whether adults who
believe in paranormal phenomena perceived that they had high or low
control in childhood (e.g., “my parents tried to control everything I did”).
There was a weak negative correlation between perceived childhood control
and paranormal belief, but only the Traditional Religious Beliefs subscale
was independently significant, whereas the New Age Philosophy scale was
not.
Another correlate of psi beliefs is whether individuals perceive that they
typically can control events that occur to them (internal locus of control) or
not (external locus of control). Irwin (2009) has reviewed this research and
concluded that global paranormal beliefs, as well as psi-beliefs in particular,
correlate positively with an external locus of control. Another measure of
interest is tolerance of ambiguity. Individuals with high tolerance tend to
find ambiguous events more desirable compared to those with low
tolerance. Houran and collaborators found that those with high tolerance
reported more paranormal experiences and beliefs (e.g., Houran & Lange,
1998). Similarly, a later study on precognition (Watt, 2014) did not support
the hypothesis that being intolerant to ambiguity would predict
correspondences between participants’ dreams and the later-viewed psi
targets. In sum, findings suggest that psi beliefs are activated under induced
or experienced conditions of low control. Longitudinal research would
contribute greatly by assessing how this relation develops over time.
Conclusions
Our review of the literature does not reveal one or more psychological
variables that can be used to consistently and strongly predict performance
in psi tests, yet there is some regularity to the findings of various areas of
research. With regard to traits, it seems advantageous to have participants
who are generally more experientially-oriented, open to experience,
creative, and perhaps at least extraverted enough to feel comfortable in
some research situations.
As for alterations in consciousness, despite promising historical precedents,
parapsychology in general has been lax in actually evaluating them rather
than assuming that they are present just because a procedure like ganzfeld
or hypnosis was used. When actual measurements have been taken, an
overall pattern of being in an altered state (including specific alterations
such as those in the sense of time) has related to psi performance, whereas a
rational, controlling stance seems to be counterproductive. This is an area in
which far more investigation, including neurophenomenological projects
tying brain dynamics to specific experiences, is called for.
With respect to cognitive characteristics, there is some consistency in that
belief in personal success in psi tasks does slightly increase the likelihood
of doing well in them, but we need multivariate designs to find out if
interactions between that and other variables can increase the small size
effect explained by single variables. Research has shown that believers in
psi overall do not exhibit cognitive deficits, and if they have a tendency to
report false positives, this may be counterbalanced by a seeming tendency
of anti-psi believers to report false negatives. Future studies may want to
investigate under what circumstances one strategy is more advantageous,
than the other, and include implicit measures in their designs. There are
enough promising leads in our review to keep researchers busy for many
years.
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Personality and Individual Differences, 27, 821–830.
Wolman, B. B. (Ed.). (1977). Handbook of parapsychology. Orig. pub. Van
Nostrand Reinhold; repr. 1986, Jefferson, NC: McFarland.
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 10
Ariadne’s Thread
Meditation and Psi
SERENA M. RONEY-DOUGAL
History: In the Beginning
The study of altered states of consciousness has been one of the central
topics in parapsychology for the past 40 years. In the 1970s, Braud (1974,
1975, 1978) introduced the concept of the psi-conducive state. This model
has driven much of the parapsychological research into altered states of
consciousness and considers that psi functioning is enhanced when there is
(1) cortical arousal sufficient to maintain conscious awareness, (2) muscular
relaxation, (3) reduction of sensory input, and (4) internal attention. In other
words, psi is enhanced when the receiver is in a state of sensory relaxation
and is minimally influenced by ordinary perception.
Just prior to this theoretical development, White (1964) had initiated a
change in methodology from the forced-choice card guessing technique,
introduced in the 1930s, to the free-response method. Some of the many
states of consciousness explored were the effects of relaxation, dreaming, the
hypnagogic state, hypnosis, and meditation, and with this development the
free-response method thrived. In free-response sessions participants are
asked to draw and/or verbally describe the target during their session. The
target can be a picture, a video clip, or even a place being visited by another
person. At the end of the session participants may have to decide for
themselves from a pool of possible targets which was the target for that
session, as in ganzfeld research, or the person may see only the target itself
while another person has to independently try to correctly choose the target
from the pool of possible targets, as in the remote viewing protocol. This can
then be analyzed statistically, thus providing both quantitative and
qualitative data [see chapter 15, this volume].
There are many different meditation techniques, but essentially meditation
can be divided into two main types: concentration, or one-pointed awareness
(known in Sanskrit as shamatta or dharana, and in Tibetan as shinay), and
bare awareness (known in Sanskrit as vipassana or dhyana, and in Tibetan
as lahtong), in which one is merely aware of whatever occurs, though in
preliminary stages this can be combined with awareness of something, like
the body, breath, or mind. Typically, one learns shamatta techniques first and
the resultant calming of the mind enables the vipassana practices. Breath
awareness is a classic yogic and Buddhist meditation practice.
Transcendental meditation (TM) is a concentration meditation technique in
which one chants a particular sound, or mantra. Mantra meditation, often
combined with visualization, is used extensively in both yogic and Tibetan
Buddhist traditions. Mindfulness is one of the methods used in shamatta
practice to enable one to hold the focus by being vigilant to the wandering of
the mind and bringing it back to awareness of the practice (Lamrimpa,
1995), which may be watching the mind itself, as in mahamudra or
dzogchen.
Early Research
During the 1970s–1980s, several experiments suggested that meditation
might help attain a state of consciousness conducive to psi awareness. Psi
awareness is a useful term when describing free-response studies because in
them the participants are asked to describe their impressions of the target
prior to viewing it. Thus it is possible that, in line with yoga psychology
theory, there is some subliminal level of cognitive awareness of the target,
through psychic means, when the person accurately describes the target
during the session [see chapters 8 and 16, this volume].
In early research, the hypothesis was that practicing meditation as part of the
experimental session would enhance psi awareness. Most of that research
used beginning meditators, some had done only a week of practice. Most
experiments compared pre- and post-meditation psi scoring, in general
finding that before meditation participants scored at chance or in the psimissing direction, and after meditation they were psi hitting. The first such
study was by Schmeidler (1970), then three studies by Osis and Bokert
(1971), and three more by Dukhan and Rao (1973). Stanford and Palmer
(1973) monitored the EEG of the gifted participant Malcolm Bessent;
Stanford and Stevenson (1972) also used EEG data. Matas and Pantas (1971)
looked at psychokinesis (PK) in groups of meditators and Schmidt and
Pantas (1972) reported three PK experiments; the final study assessed was
by Honorton and May (1976) (Table 1). Honorton (1977b) conducted a
meta-analysis of all the research by 1976 and found that overall there were
nine significant meditation-psi experiments out of a total of sixteen
(although Honorton only reported on fourteen of these), giving an overall p
= 6 × 10–12.
Since the Previous Handbook
Around the time of the previous handbook, Honorton (1981) was developing
his model of internal attention states from his readings of the classic yoga
text known as Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras. These sutras (Satyananda,
1976/2000) state that, when one attains the state of consciousness known as
samadhi, the siddhis (psychic powers) manifest. Meditation techniques may
induce a state of consciousness that is considered traditionally to be a
heightened, or even advanced, state of consciousness. In meditation there is
internal noise reduction, as exemplified by studies on attention (Valentine &
Sweet, 1999), and various psycho-physiological correlates (e.g., alpha
rhythm, Cahn & Polich, 2006; decreased skin conductance, Shapiro, 1982).
These have all been associated with greater psi awareness (Schmeidler,
1994). Fuller discussions of Patanjali’s yoga sutras in relation to psi research
have been given by Braud (2002, 2006) and Radin (2013).
Receptive Psi
One of the first experiments reported after Honorton’s (1977b) chapter was
by Rao and Puri (1978), who tested participants for both subliminal
perception and psi before and after they had practiced TM for a week, with a
significant negative correlation between the subliminal and psi scores. This
study paved the way for Rao and Rao (1982), in which they also tested
people who had trained in TM, again only for a week, on both subliminal
perception and psi targets. They compared those who had done no
meditation with those who had done the one-week course. The meditators
scored above chance on both sorts of targets but only significantly so on the
subliminal targets while the controls scored at chance on both types of target.
In this study they found a significant positive correlation between the
subliminal and psi scores.
Roll, Solfvin, Krieger, Ray, and Younts (1980) continued the early line of
research comparing pre- and post-meditation psi scoring. They hypothesized
that meditation would enhance group psi, so that there would be more psi
scoring on group targets after meditation than before it, and obtained
significant scoring after one of the sessions for the group targets with a slight
negative score on the pre-session group targets giving a significant
difference between the two. Roll and Zill (1981) used the same method and
obtained significant results, with the participants once again scoring nonsignificantly below chance before the meditation and significantly above
after it. They did not specify the degree of meditation skill of the participants
and considered that these results could better be explained by the
participants’ conforming to the experimenters’ wishes than by the effect of
meditation per se, because the significance of the study was primarily due to
decreased scoring before the meditation. This was a common problem in
early research. Compliance with experimenters’ wishes is an effect of which
experimenters should always be aware.
Nash (1982) compared hypnotic induction with TM in a classroom test of
ESP and found that students’ self-rated impressions of a picture were more
accurate during the hypnotic induction than during the meditation session.
However, this was not a formal experiment so the results should only be
considered suggestive. Some experimenters worked with both forced-choice
and free-response methods. In forced-choice tests participants have to guess
the target from a limited set of choices known to them in advance, whereas
in free-response tests they have to describe the target in their own words or
drawings, without any knowledge of the potential targets. Rao, Dukhan, and
Rao (1978) used both methods testing participants both before and after a
half-hour meditation session, working with beginners and more advanced
meditators in an ashram in south India. The participants scored significantly
higher on both types of test after meditation, though once again there was
psi-missing prior to meditation. Harding and Thalbourne (1981) tested
people trained in TM by comparing three groups: non-meditators, ordinary
TM meditators, and siddhas (advanced TM meditators). They obtained null
results with both methods and considered that this was because the
meditators had not really wanted to participate and considerable persuasion
had been used.
Table 1: Honorton’s Database (1977)
An experiment with more advanced meditators (Palmer, Khamashta, &
Israelson, 1979) tested TM participants with from one to eight years of
practice in a precognition ganzfeld design. Results from the participants’
judging were below chance, but not significantly so, whereas independent
judges gave marginally significant positive results. Braud and Boston (1986)
used a free-response design with a relaxation tape session, and obtained
significant scoring (p = .025) with 25 meditators. They examined trained
meditators from the Center of Healing and Enlightenment in Houston, but
did not specify the extent or sort of meditation.
Rao and Rao’s (1982) study suggests that in meditation one learns to become
more aware of the contents of one’s mind at a subtler level—this awareness
and openness being a generalized form of sensitivity to incoming
information, whether of the subliminal or psychic form. Yogic teachings
stress again and again that one learns to become more aware at all levels and
that removing the noise of the internal dialogue allows greater sensitivity
and awareness in general, of which psi awareness is an aspect that occurs at
a certain stage in meditation attainment. Although meditation has been
linked with other psi-conducive techniques, such as the ganzfeld, it may
induce a very different state in that the person is being trained to go “beyond
mind,” into a state of pure awareness in which there is very little or no
thought. Bem and Honorton (1994), reporting on the ganzfeld database
collected during the 1980s, found that practice of a mental discipline in daily
life helped novice ganzfeld participants score better on their initial session.
However, meditation was not separated out from hypnosis, relaxation, or
biofeedback exercises, so it is not possible to discriminate the effect of
meditation on participants. Broughton and Alexander (1997), in their
replication of Honorton’s ganzfeld research, did not find better scoring for
those who practiced a mental discipline and psi scoring was not significant.
Schmeidler (1994) summarized the receptive psi research from 1978 to 1992
(Table 2a) and found that four of the six studies she looked at showed
significantly positive results. She concluded that meditation may be psiconducive when the meditators accept the testing procedure. However, there
were three studies, one that was not formal (Nash, 1982) and another that
was published in a difficult to obtain Indian journal (Rao & Puri, 1978),
which were not included in her summary.
Psychokinesis
Most of the experiments in this period looked at receptive psi. There were
only a handful of experiments looking at meditation and PK research. Braud
(1990) analyzed all the relevant studies reported between 1971 and 1988
(Table 2b), including those covered by Honorton (1977b): Matas and Pantas
(1971), Schmidt and Pantas (1972), and Honorton and May (1976). Braud
found that seven out of eight studies produced results in which meditation
practitioners showed a stronger PK effect at some point in the experiment.
Table 2a: Schmeidler’s Database (1992) + 3 studies
Table 2b: Braud’s PK review (1990) (+ Honorton PK studies above)
Braud and Hartgrove (1976) worked with TM practitioners who had
practiced meditation for at least 18 months and a control group of nonmeditators, asking them to both influence a random event generator (REG)
and do a free-response clairvoyance test of a picture in an envelope.
Participants scored at chance on the PK test but significantly above chance
on the clairvoyance test. The meditators did not score better than the
controls. Honorton (1977a) worked with a long-term practitioner and
instructor of TM, who obtained significant PK after meditation but not
before or during meditation. Winnett and Honorton (1977) worked with
meditators who were practicing the yogic meditation known as Ajapa Japa,
which they had only recently learned. Unusually, they got significant PK
scoring before the practice but not during or after the meditation! Schmidt
and Schlitz (1989) did a PK study in which the participant attempted to
influence pre-recorded targets of melodic tones and noises on a tape. The
participants were asked to try and extend the length of time they heard the
tone and shorten the time of the noise. There was an overall significant
effect, with meditators showing the greater significance at p < .001, while
the non-meditators scored at chance. In this study, the portioning out of
meditators was done by asking people in a questionnaire whether or not they
practiced meditation. Thus, there was no knowledge of the degree of
expertise of the meditators or what sort of meditation they practiced.
However, Braud (1990) noted that none of this research tells us anything
about what is the psi-conducive factor, whether it was prior meditation
history, the immediate effects of the meditation session, the meditator’s
personality and reasons for meditating in the first place, or a combination of
these factors. This is still the case. He further cautions that advanced
meditators may not be positively disposed to doing psi research. Although
both yogic and Buddhist traditions acknowledge that psi occurs as part of
one’s progress along the spiritual path of self-development, these
experiences are not to be cultivated for their own ends. The researcher’s and
practitioner’s motivation for doing the research must be clear, that it is for
the benefit of others and not for one’s own ego or self-aggrandizement. This
can produce conflicts in some people that can be to the detriment of
research.
In conclusion, between 1976–1992 there were 14 meditation and psi studies
of which nine tested receptive psi and five tested PK (one testing both
receptive and PK). Five of the receptive psi studies gave significantly
positive results and three of the PK studies did so. Therefore, meditation as a
psi-conducive procedure was again clearly confirmed.
Research Since the 1990s
During the 1980s and 1990s there was relatively little research on the effect
of meditation on psi. Interest has sparked once again in the new millennium,
working with more advanced meditators as a potentially psi-conducive
population has become more common, most of the research looking at PK in
contrast to the earlier research which focused more on receptive psi.
Psychokinesis Research
The positive relation between meditation and significant REG deviations
identified by Braud (1990) has continued. In an unpublished pilot study to
determine a suitable protocol that would be beneficial for working with
meditators, Bancel (1999) worked for two months with 18 Western
practitioners of Tibetan Buddhist meditation who had meditated for at least
15 years. During the experimental sessions, participants were told not to
meditate, but rather to watch a feedback display of the REG output while
attempting to bias the REG in a given direction, as per the standard
Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research (PEAR) protocol [see chapter
20, this volume]. The experiment thus allowed a comparison between a
homogeneous group of meditators and the unselected contributors to the
PEAR database. The protocol was adapted specifically to meditators by
holding experimental sessions in the participants’ homes, in their normal
practice setting, and by adjusting the rhythm of sessions to resemble that of a
normal meditation retreat day. Data were collected from most of the
participants on one day with three or four sessions, but for some participants
sessions occurred over two days. A mean difference was obtained, similar to
the normal PEAR data, but various factors (such as operator averages)
indicated that meditators influenced the REG more than non-meditators. For
example, the PEAR and the meditator data both showed a position effect in
which the participants’ first sessions had the highest effect size, on average,
compared to subsequent data sessions. A comparison of the first session data
found the meditator effect size was three times that of the PEAR effect size
for those sessions. The difference was significant.
Nelson, Jahn, Dunne, and Dobyns (1998) of the PEAR laboratory did a
series of experiments using a field REG (i.e., a portable REG) [see chapter
21, this volume], working with a variety of groups in different places. On
one occasion they assessed a group who meditated and chanted at several
temples and within pyramid chambers in Egypt. There is no mention of what
type of meditation was practiced and it probably depended on each
individual within the group. They obtained highly significant results, p =
.0004. On another occasion the field REG was taken to a spiritual training
course that included meditation among the various techniques being taught.
There was no significant deviation. In a preliminary step to the Global
Consciousness Project (GCP), data from several REGs around the world
were gathered at the time that people around the world were meditating for
world health and peace, the Gaia Mind Meditation, with an overall
significant effect.
Nelson (1999–2013), as part of the GCP, ascertained the effect of groups of
people all concentrating at the same time. Between 1999 and 2013 there
were 20 occasions when the GCP was alerted while groups of people
meditated together for a variety of reasons, such as world peace. Not all of
the experiments used formal meditation, and some of the studies involved
large numbers of people worldwide practicing visualization, prayer, or
meditation. They got mixed results: there were 4 events with significant
deviations from chance, 3 of which were in the positive (high) direction.
There were 5 events in the positive direction but non-significantly, with 1
giving positive significance during the peak period when 1,800 meditators
were present; there were also 6 events that produced non-significant results
in the negative direction. Therefore, although there was no clear outcome, a
formal analysis might reveal an overall positive effect of meditation.
Mason, Patterson, and Radin (2007) also looked at the effect of group
meditation on an REG and found that the REG significantly deviated from
chance output when the group, which involved hundreds of people at the
same time and place, were meditating. Ivtzan (2008) collected REG data
before group meditation and during meditation, as well as comparing groups
that were or were not aware of the REG in the room. Groups that were not
aware of the REG scored at chance while those who were aware of the REG
scored significantly during the meditation session, but only with the local
REG, not with a similar REG located at a distance.
In an experiment on distant intention effects, Radin et al. (2008) used the
Tibetan bodhicitta (compassion) practice of tonglen, in which one
consciously attempts to take on the suffering of another and then send out
positive energy to that person. In this study, partners of cancer patients were
taught the tonglen practice (and some other intention techniques) at a
workshop. They then practiced these daily for three months before the
experimental session. There were two types of control groups: in one group
(the wait group) the partners were taught the practices after the session, and
in the other (the control group) the partners were not taught any technique,
and neither person in the pair had cancer. The effects of the distant healing
intention were recorded using skin conductance response (SCR) of the
receivers, which increased during the healing epochs (p = .00009). The
greatest effect was found in the group trained in tonglen meditation, but
there was not a significant difference between them and the two control
groups. This study was in many ways similar to the Bali studies discussed
next, in that the meditator attempted to affect another person, but in this
study the measure was an autonomic physiological response.
A review by Schmidt (2012) discussed a new PK method termed attention
focusing facilitation, which was used in a series of 12 conceptually similar
studies between 1993 and 2006. This technique was pioneered by Braud,
Shafer, McNeill, and Guerra (1995) and assesses the ability of someone to
assist a distant participant to focus their attention on a candle flame.
Learning to maintain attention on a focus is a basic condition for the
meditation techniques that come under the general title of one-pointed, or
concentration, meditation. Concentration on a candle flame is a classic type
of pre-meditation technique that is very useful for beginners, although in
these experiments none of the participants were meditators. The participants
had to press a button every time they noticed that they had stopped
concentrating on the flame. On some occasions they were helped from a
distance by someone who was concentrating on them and assisting them to
maintain focus. A meta-analysis of the 12 studies revealed a small but highly
significant distant facilitation effect, in that the participants were able to hold
their focus longer when the other person was concentrating on helping them
from a distance (Schmidt, 2012). Four of the studies gave a significant
positive effect; the remainder were not significant, but were all in the
positive direction [see chapter 18, this volume].
Some of this research was conducted in Britain (Brady & Morris, 1997; Watt
& Baker, 2002; Watt & Brady, 2002; Watt & Ramakers, 2003), some in the
USA (Braud, Shafer, McNeill, & Guerra, 1995), and some in Bali (Edge,
Suryani, & Morris, 2007; Edge, Suryani, Tiliopoulos, Bikker, & James,
2008; Edge, Suryani, Tiliopoulos, & Morris, 2004). In the Bali studies the
distant facilitator was a meditator and the other participants were nonmeditators, as in the Western studies. Their initial pilot study found that the
strongest results were obtained when the helper was trained in meditation
(Edge et al., 2007), and so they continued using a meditator as the distant
facilitator for the whole series of experiments. In the pilot study, some of the
participants had two months of meditation training, but this was not found to
affect the results strongly, and so in the remaining studies only the helper
was a trained meditator. One interesting point to note is a clear difference in
the number of button presses between the studies conducted in Bali and the
ones conducted in the West. Participants in the Western world pressed the
button almost five times more often than participants in Indonesia. This
suggests a strong cultural difference: either that Balinese and Westerners
differ in their thresholds for judging mind wandering, their willingness to
admit to mind wandering, or their ability to maintain focus on the candle
flame. “Meditative prayer is a part of daily life in Balinese Hinduism, but it
may be that the Balinese are more adept through their cultural practices to be
able to engage in focus meditation in the experiment, even if they have not
been formally trained in meditation” (Edge et al., 2008, p. 38). Tibetan
monks who spend a considerable amount of time chanting prayers and
debating Buddhist scriptures consider that both of these practices prepare the
mind for meditation, so this may be a key point in the cultural difference.
Further, as noted by Schmidt (2012, pp. 532–533) “Many meditators report
having more stable attention when meditating in a group compared to
practicing alone (also called Sangha effect). While this might be explained
by a conventional psychologic mechanism, there might also be an additional
component through some type of distant intention effect. This is especially
true if the positive intentions of the meditation are emphasized not only for
oneself but, as is often done, also for others.” Eastern people who are
familiar with the concept of sangha might be more influenced by it.
In a series of studies looking at influence over quantum processes, Radin
(2008) asked participants to imagine that they could intuitively perceive a
low-intensity laser beam in a distant Michelson interferometer. If such
observation were possible, it would theoretically change the pattern of light
produced by the interferometer. Perturbation would produce a lower overall
level of illumination, which was predicted to occur during the blocking
condition. The light patterns were recorded once per second, and average
illumination levels of these images were compared in counterbalanced
mental blocking versus non-blocking conditions. The outcome was in
accordance with the prediction (p = .002). This result was primarily due to
nine sessions involving experienced meditators (p = 9.4 × 106); the sessions
with non-meditators were not significant. In a similar type of design, Radin
et al. (2012) used a double-slit optical system to test the possible role of
consciousness in the collapse of the quantum wave-function. The ratio of the
interference pattern’s double-slit spectral power to its single-slit spectral
power was predicted to decrease when attention was focused toward the
double-slit as compared to away from it. Six experiments testing this
hypothesis led to a highly significant effect in the predicted direction (p = 6
× 10–6).
In sum, in six experiments participants who practiced meditation were
compared with those who had little or no meditation experience. Only the
meditators gave significant results. In most of this research, no attempt was
made to distinguish among different styles of meditation or to formally
assess meditation expertise, but one experiment was conducted in a Zen
Buddhist temple working with Zen meditators.
A further series of experiments using this double-slit protocol (Radin,
Michel, Johnston, & Delorme, 2013) was done with 21 participants, most of
whom were meditators, but some of whom were musicians or other people
high in absorption. No information was given as to what type of meditation
practice the meditators used, nor were their results separated out from those
of the other participants. A highly significant effect was found; during the
concentration condition the photons displayed more of a particle type of
behavior, resulting in a decline in interference. In a second experiment, the
participants were not located near the double-slit system but were from
around the world and interacted via the internet. Again, highly significant
results were obtained: 685 people participated, of whom 451 stated that they
meditated, but there was no information as to how long they had been
meditating or with what type of practice. The meditators performed no better
than the other participants. In a third experiment there were 10 participants,
some of whom were meditators, and all practiced some form of mental
discipline. Again significant results were obtained, but results from the
meditators were not analyzed separately.
Receptive Psi Research
During this period there have been relatively few receptive psi studies and
many of these are unpublished. For example, in 1994, while working with
Honorton on the ganzfeld protocol, Bem (2013, personal communication)
ran 25 meditators and 25 non-meditators as receivers in a study. Both
receivers and two independent judges rated all the targets and decoys. There
were strong results, particularly for males, with meditators scoring
significantly better than non-meditators, using both receiver ratings and
external-judge ratings.
Much recent research in parapsychology has looked at subconscious
processes, in particular physiological responses to stimuli. In an unpublished
EEG study of visual evoked potential (Kozak et al., 2003), 15 participants
were trained for a month in Primordial Sound Meditation (similar to TM),
and both sender and receiver practiced meditation for half an hour prior to
the session. Each pair did three sessions, and in each session both members
of the pair acted as sender and receiver (two trials per session making a total
of six trials per pair). The study evaluated whether brain activation in the
receiver was higher when the sender was visually stimulated by a flickering
black and white checkerboard pattern. EEG data were collected
simultaneously from both sender and receiver, while the sender was
presented with alternating flicker and control conditions. Three measures of
EEG correlation, of recipient’s brain signal associated with sender’s flicker
condition, were analyzed. Overall, 31 percent of the receivers seemed to be
influenced during the flicker condition, a highly significant result [see
chapter 17, this volume].
Lobach (2010) presented participants with two pictures, one of which would
be chosen later as the target. Their heart rate was measured and found to be
higher when looking at the non-target picture, opposite to her hypothesis.
Some of the participants had experience with both yoga and meditation,
though no details were given, and their results were similar to the others.
In another method to test for non-conscious psi effects, the presentiment
effect, researchers make physiological measurements prior to the participant
consciously being exposed to a stimulus. It has been found that people
respond differently depending on whether or not the later stimulus is
emotional or neutral. In an experiment of this type, Radin, Vieten, Michel,
and Delorme (2011) worked with both meditators, who had an average of
20.8 years of active Zen-type meditation practice, and non-meditators. They
measured the EEG before, during, and after exposure to unpredictable light
and sound stimuli. They hypothesized that pre-stimulus differences should
be more apparent in meditators than in non-meditators. For the control
group, no EEG channels showed significant pre-stimulus differences
between light versus sound stimulus conditions, but for the meditator group
five of the EEG channels showed significant differences. Comparisons
between control and meditator groups showed significant pre-stimulus
differences prior to audio tone stimuli in 14 of 32 channels, of which eight
channels were significant.
In an unpublished pilot study, Bierman (2007) used SCR as a measure of the
participant’s presentiment to pleasant and unpleasant sounds. He also
measured habituation to the stimuli and found that the meditators showed
similar habituation levels irrespective of whether the person used a
concentration or a mindfulness meditation. This is contrary to the teachings
concerning these two types of meditation, which state that in concentration
meditation one shuts out external stimuli and so should habituate faster,
while with mindfulness one maintains awareness of stimuli and so should
habituate slower if at all. The meditators had a normal waking condition
compared to their meditation trials, the non-meditator participants had a
relaxation condition compared to the normal waking condition. There was
no difference between the meditators and the controls during the
relax/meditation trials, whereas in the normal waking condition there was a
significant difference in habituation, occurring much less for the meditators,
especially for the pleasant stimuli. There was a strong interaction between
state of consciousness and stimulus type; participants habituated to pleasant
faster during meditation, and to unpleasant sounds faster during the normal
waking condition. Although no presentiment main effect was found, some of
the meditators did exhibit typical presentiment effects, and these participants
were then asked to take part in the subsequent fMRI study.
In that study (Bierman, 2007), meditators were chosen as participants on the
hypothesis that they would be more likely to show a presentiment effect than
non-meditators. Eight meditators participated and were initially prepared for
the experiment by practicing meditation while playing a CD of the noise
made by the scanner. The presentiment stimuli were violent, erotic, or
neutral pictures and were presented both during meditation and in a resting
state. Eight non-meditator control participants also participated in the resting
state condition. Based on a qualitative analysis, only in the fMRI study was
there a presentiment effect, with twice as many responses prior to the violent
targets in the resting and control conditions. In the meditation condition
there was stronger presentiment prior to the erotic stimuli. Bierman (2007;
personal communication, 2014) reported that the meditators did not show a
greater presentiment effect than the controls.
Process-oriented research. In most of the above studies, meditators showed
stronger psi effects than non-meditators, but there has been no research
addressing what it is about meditation that makes it psi-conducive. The only
process-oriented research to date is a series of four studies in India,
conducted initially at an ashram with yogis (Roney-Dougal & Solfvin, 2006)
and then with Tibetan Buddhist monks (Roney-Dougal & Solfvin, 2011;
Roney-Dougal, Solfvin, & Fox, 2008). In this research, the yogic and
Buddhist teaching that more-advanced meditators would be more
consistently psychic than beginners was investigated. In Patanjali’s Yoga
Sutras (Satyananda, 2000) it is stated that the siddhis manifest upon
attainment of a certain level of samadhi. In the Buddhist teachings, it is
stated that when one reaches a certain level of enlightenment, clairvoyance
manifests (Conze, 1995). Therefore, the research question was whether
enhancement of psi scoring occurs only after the meditator had reached a
certain level of attainment, or whether this talent appears gradually.
Each participant completed 6 sessions in the yogic studies and 8 sessions in
the Tibetan studies. At the end of their series, each participant completed a
yogic or meditation attainment questionnaire (MAQ), which detailed the
types of practices they did, how often, and for how long. The questionnaire
measured practices such as yoga asana, pranayama, as well as various types
of meditation, such as mantra, visualization, mahamudra, bodhicitta, and
factors such as years spent in retreat and number of hours of practice.
All the studies showed a positive correlation between years of practice and
psi-scoring in a ganzfeld type free-response task. The correlation between
yogic attainment and psi was r = .57, p = .02 in Study 1, and non-significant
in the same direction (r = .15) in Study 2 (Roney-Dougal & Solfvin, 2006).
In a similar fashion, the significant correlation of psi score with years of
meditation found in Tibetan Study 1 (rho = .80, p = .05; Roney-Dougal,
Solfvin & Fox, 2008), was non-significant but in the same direction (rho =
.28) in Study 2, which gives an overall finding for both Tibetan studies of
rho = .74, p = .0005 (Roney-Dougal & Solfvin, 2011). The initial significant
correlations in both yogic and Tibetan studies were partially due to psimissing by the beginners. These results support the interpretation that, as
you practice meditation, the changes in consciousness occur gradually, rather
than psi manifesting reliably only after attainment of a certain level.
Using a different method of analysis to ascertain level of meditation
attainment, the participants were separated into three different groups
representing level of initiation. The advanced group of yogic monks and
nuns (swamis) scored significantly better than those initiated into a yogic
lifestyle (sannyasins), and than the students who had only just started yoga
and meditation practice in study 1, and in study 2 these differences were in a
similar direction but non-significant (Roney-Dougal & Solfvin, 2006). In the
Tibetan studies, the most advanced group, the lamas who had all completed
at least three years of retreat, was the only group to have independently
significant psi-hitting and significantly higher scoring than the other two
groups of monks (Roney-Dougal & Solfvin, 2011). Thus we found that the
meditators with more than 15–20 years of practice showed the most
consistent psi-hitting, averaging 33 percent direct hits and in some cases
reaching 50 percent, where chance is 25 percent. For those who had
practiced meditation for less than 15 years, the psi scoring was variable,
sometimes psi-hitting sometimes psi-missing, in a similar manner to that
found with non-meditators, but in those with more than 20 years of practice,
the results were all in the psi-hitting direction, with stronger and stronger psi
scoring as the years of practice increased.
The Tibetan research also started to explore which types of meditation
practice were most psi-conducive by comparing sessions in which
participants used a mantra meditation with sessions in which they used a
visualization practice. Years of practice of visualization, as measured by the
MAQ, showed a positive correlation with psi scoring (rho = .49). However,
no difference between the two techniques was apparent during the actual
sessions. It appears that the most important thing is to practice every day for
years rather than to use a particular technique. Sadly, this still does not tell us
what it is about meditation practice that is psi-conducive, merely that years
of continuous practice are required to make the change. However, recent
research using a similar design over a four-year period with long term
meditators at the Samye Ling Tibetan Center in Scotland did not replicate
the Indian results, with no correlation between years of practice and psi
score (Roney-Dougal, Ryan, & Luke, 2013).
Summary
There have been 43 meditation–psi experimental studies (see Table 3)
reported since 1992, some including several experiments (such as the GCP
research, which has 20 events counted as one study). Of these, 27 gave
significant positive results in at least one analysis. There were 38 studies in
which participants had practiced some form of meditation, sometimes over a
number of years, and had been chosen to participate on the assumption that
meditators are a psi-conducive group (“trait” studies); 22 of these studies
compared the meditators with controls, or compared advanced meditators
with beginners, of which 13 found that the meditators exhibited enhanced
significant positive psi scoring.
There were 25 studies in which the participants were asked to meditate as
part of the procedure (“state” studies), under the assumption that a
meditative state of consciousness would be psi-conducive. In 11 cases, these
experiments gave significant positive results for at least some of the
analyses. There were 14 studies in which both trait and state conditions were
evaluated. Of these six gave significant positive results for at least some of
the analyses. These results suggest that the continuous practice of meditation
is more psi-conducive than meditating as part of the session. However, there
is so far no way of knowing the degree to which the participant attained a
meditative state of consciousness during any particular session (cf. Cardeña,
2009), nor is there any clear measure of what trait changes have occurred
from practicing meditation over a number of years. These measures are in
process of development but still leave a lot to be desired. As Cardeña (2009)
also points out, personality traits, or in this case trait changes that have
occurred over the years of meditation practice, and state of consciousness
attained during a particular practice session are interactive processes.
Still to Be Done
The early work was primarily concerned with establishing that meditation is
a psi-conducive condition. This has been done satisfactorily. Much of the
more recent work has used meditators as a psi-conducive population for
investigating other questions in parapsychology, rather than exploring what
it is about meditation that makes it psi-conducive.
There is the problem in knowing what the actual effect of meditating per se
is. Transpersonal psychology research, which has started to look at the effect
of aspects of meditation such as mindfulness, has so far not satisfactorily
found any clear defining factors. Further, the term meditation has been used
in a very loose way (Roe, 2010). The experiments outlined in this chapter
have used many different forms of meditation, including mandala gazing,
kundalini yoga (which is primarily concentration on the chakras and the
energy channels between them), mantra yoga, which is sometimes known as
transcendental meditation (TM) and in which you repeat certain words either
mentally or out loud, karma yoga (which is where you are doing some
activity while keeping a focused awareness), Zen meditation, which is
primarily awareness of the mind, various Tibetan Buddhist practices,
vipassana, as well as meditation practices developed by the researchers, or
those known and preferred by the participants. Clearly, different techniques
may result in different states of consciousness, and meditation research in
parapsychology has been criticized for assuming that all meditation
techniques are the same (Roe, 2010; Schmidt, 2012). Recent research
looking at EEGs of meditators practicing a variety of techniques has found
that different techniques result in different brain patterns and rhythms: TM is
associated with alpha brainwave activity, concentration techniques with
beta/gamma, and open awareness with theta (Cahn & Polich, 2006; Travis &
Shear, 2010). Cahn and Polich (2006) caution that most EEG research has
used too few recording sites, with a variety of locations for us to be
definitive about this. Furthermore, most studies do not evaluate the various
meditation techniques sufficiently.
Table 3: Later Studies
There is thus a lot of work still to be done. Meditation may give rise to a
state of consciousness that may differ from other altered states that have
been found to be psi-conducive. It may give rise to focused attention and
stillness rather than the highly imaginative states found with psychedelics, or
dreaming. In hypnosis there are some reports of meditation type experiences
such as reduced awareness of the body, but this could be related merely to
the fact that the body is relaxed, and some meditation techniques actually
have the meditator focus on the body, as in some vipassana or yogic
exercises. Cardeña (2005) discusses similarities between experiences of
deeply hypnotizable people and some meditation experiences, such as
increasing absorption, but again this is true only of some types of meditation
practice, such as dharana, and not of others, such as dzog-chen. So we need
to be careful, people have certain experiences in different states of
consciousness but that does not mean that the state of consciousness is the
same. The aim and end result of meditation is very different from the aim or
end result of hypnosis despite there being certain similarities along the way.
Subliminal Processing in the Mind
One theoretical model of psi suggests that psi information is continuously
present at a subliminal level and that various methods of accessing this
information are similar to those used in accessing other subliminal processes
(Carpenter, 2012) [see chapter 8, this volume]. This approach was studied
considerably in the 1970s and 1980s (Roney-Dougal, 1986; Schmeidler,
1986). Comparison with subliminal perception research suggests that
methods of accessing subliminal material are very similar to those that
enable access to psi material. This research also found that participants who
were able to successfully bring subliminal material into consciousness were
best able to access psi material (Roney-Dougal, 1987; Carpenter &
Simmonds-Moore, 2009). Recent research into subliminal perception and
meditation found that meditation also appears to enhance awareness of
subliminal information (Strick, van Noorden, Ritskes, de Ruiter, &
Dijksterhuis, 2012). This may be why meditation enhances psi. It would be
instructive to do research that directly compares subliminal and psi tasks by
testing meditators. In yoga psychology the practice of meditation is
considered to enhance one’s awareness of subliminal states of consciousness
(Rao, 2014). According to the head of the Yoga Psychology department at
Bihar Yoga Bharati University, yogis have a saying that the nighttime of the
layperson is the daytime of the yogi, which implies that a yogi can become
consciously aware while dreaming and in a deep sleep state of consciousness
(L. I. Bushan, 2002, personal communication). As Bancel (1999, p. 7) has
said: “When mindfulness and awareness come together, they provoke a
sensitivity that, in various descriptions, often includes a feeling of
communication or interaction with the environment. In a sense, the
meditator’s goal is to develop this sensitivity to the environment, or,
equivalently, to lived experience. Meditation exercises are designed to help
the practitioner to integrate and hone these different qualities of keenness,
openness, etc. The real occupation of the meditator, however, is to extend the
sensitivity developed through exercises into his or her daily life.” In
mindfulness/awareness meditation, mindfulness refers to keenness and
stability of one’s attention, and awareness refers to an openness that is
unbiased and curious.
Increased Attention: Concentration and Focus
Another possible avenue to explore is that meditation increases the ability to
concentrate, with a concomitant increase in temporal attention (Kubose,
1976; Slagter, Lutz, Greischar, Nieuwenhuis, & Davidson, 2009), so that the
meditator has more stable attention overall. Could it be this increased focus
and concentration, together with increased awareness at all levels, that
enhances psi scoring? As part of the Shamatta project, Wallace and
collaborators (Wallace, 2006; Wallace & Shapiro, 2006) found that intensive
meditation training resulted in improvements in perceptual discrimination
and sustained attention (Maclean et al., 2010). In a review of mindfulnesstype meditation studies, Chiesa, Calati, and Serretti (2011) discriminated
between different types of attention, and found that only 2 out of 7
randomized controlled studies showed significant improvements in sustained
attention, whereas all 3 case-control studies found that long-term meditators
showed significantly higher levels of sustained attention. In studies of
selective attention once again it is the long-term meditators who show
significant effects. A common problem with many studies is the use of
novice meditators. Most significant results seem to be with long-term
meditators. Four studies have looked at attention switching and once again
only the study using long-term meditators produced a significant effect with
meditators identifying more alternative perspectives of ambiguous images
(Hodgins & Adair, 2010). Sauer et al. (2012) hypothesized that proficiency
in mindfulness would result in the ability to stabilize an ambiguous percept
and piloted a Necker cube test to measure this. Their findings suggest that
meditators are more able than controls to slow down the switching of the bistable Necker cube image when asked to do so, but again we are measuring
pre-meditation attainment rather than the ultimate meditation state of
consciousness. Despite the present difficulties assessing the effect of
meditation on attention, this is an avenue worth exploring in psi research.
State and Trait
Schmidt (2008) separated meditation-psi studies into two types: those that
used meditation as part of the psi task to help the participant attain a psiconducive state of consciousness in the moment (state experiments)—and
trait studies that used participants who were meditation practitioners but
were not asked to meditate during the session. Of central importance in all
the research studies mentioned here is that participants were considered as
having “meditated” because they were given instructions to do so, or they
stated that they practiced meditation, with no measurement of the degree to
which they were proficient in meditation (Tart, 2013, personal
communication). This is a huge problem, because, as mentioned earlier, no
clear method of measuring meditation attainment has yet been devised. And,
according to traditional teachings, most Westerners use concentration premeditation techniques (dharana) rather than meditation proper (dhyana) and
although there may be some Westerners who have attained samadhi, they are
keeping pretty quiet about it. As seen in the section above, most measures
assess attention or concentration, which is dharana rather than dhyana. As
Cardeña says, “Even within the ‘same’ state there are vast individual
differences” (Cardeña, 2009, p. 311).
An attempt to assess the participant’s meditation attainment was made in my
yogic and Tibetan research (Roney-Dougal, Ryan, & Luke, 2013; RoneyDougal & Solfvin, 2011), for which a meditation attainment questionnaire
(MAQ) was devised. But this was essentially a self-report questionnaire with
all of the problems of inaccuracy, forgetfulness, and difficulty to ascertain
the relation between the number of hours or years of practice and what effect
that had actually had on changing the person’s state of consciousness.
Walach, Buchheld, Buttenmuller, Kleinknecht, and Schmidt (2006) have also
created a self-report questionnaire (the Freiburg Mindfulness Inventory) that
shows some promise, but suffers from the fact that humility is considered in
the East to be an essential aspect of meditation. Thus, the better the
meditators, the more likely they are to report themselves as beginners, while
beginners often overestimate their level of meditation attainment! This is a
problem with all self-report scales. In the West we are at nursery school level
where meditation attainment is concerned—nowhere near the levels that the
Tibetans consider required for reliable psi. As reported in Roney-Dougal and
Solfvin (2011), discussions with two Tibetan Gelugpa Rinpoches (one of
whom was considered to be the top theoretician in the Gelugpa sect)
revealed that they consider it necessary to first attain the highest level of
concentration (shinay) before one can be fully mindfully aware (lahtong)
enough to enter the meditation state proper, which is beyond the thinking
mind (samadhi). Then one still has to overcome the obstacles of the realm of
desires before psi can be considered reliable!
Meditation-psi research will take a major step forward when there are
reliable independent measures of how successfully a given meditation
session actually affects the mind, and of the level of meditation the
participant has attained. In discussions with participants in my meditation
research they often stated that a session had or had not been a good
meditation. But no one has addressed this issue yet in any experiment.
Culture and Belief
Some of the research reported above has highlighted cultural differences in
the relation between meditation and psi. Is this another effect of belief, as in
the classic sheep-goat research (Lawrence 1993), or some other
characteristic of meditation?
As already mentioned in the Edge et al. (2004) Bali research, the helpees
were as much part of the psi process as the helpers—they were not merely
their physiology, as in the classic DMILS protocol. In none of the studies
were meditators used as helpees, even though they were employing a classic
concentration technique. However, the Bali helpees showed a very different
level of response to the practice from the Westerners who participated in the
USA and Edinburgh trials. This suggests that their ability to focus, or to
notice that the mind had wandered, or to admit noticing that the mind had
wandered, as measured by the number of button presses, was very different
from that of the Westerners. The helpers were key to the difference between
the help and control conditions, but not to the overall number of button
presses.
The more one meditates, the more one becomes aware of the subtler levels
of distraction. Beginners do not tend to notice the degree to which their mind
is distracted. Edge et al. (2008) point out that the Balinese had, from
childhood, taken part in daily pujas, and so on. When interviewing the
Tibetans (Roney-Dougal & Solfvin, 2011), we found that the importance of
prayer in training the mind for later meditation practice was highly rated. In
fact, some of the Tibetans considered pujas to be a preliminary type of
meditation. They also considered memorizing and debating their scriptures
to be a preliminary form of meditation. Edge’s helpees had been practicing a
preliminary to meditation since childhood, and thus it is possible that they
had more focused minds than the Westerners, who most probably neither
prayed, memorized scriptures, nor performed any other task to get their
mental abilities trained and under control.
It is also possible that the Balinese participants were conforming to the
experimenter’s wishes and thought that fewer button presses were
considered better and performed accordingly. In the East conformance to the
one in authority is far stronger than it is in the West. This was very apparent
with the students in my initial ashram research, and I think explains much of
the early meditation-psi research where there was psi-missing or chance
results prior to the meditation with above chance results after the meditation.
Research involving mind wandering and button presses has recently received
attention by meditation researchers, but only with regard to Westerners
(Baird, Schooler, Mrazek, Fishman, & Smallwood, 2013; Hasenkamp,
Wilson-Mendenhall, Duncan, & Barsalou, 2012).
Karma yoga has a number of attributes that may be found to be psiconducive. Karma yoga is a form of meditation in action. Equanimity is one
very important attribute in which one is not disturbed by either success or
failure; absence of expectation and right motivation are considered vital for
the correct attitude towards the tasks one is undertaking; and of course there
must be egolessness, an essential humility, so that you are not affected
emotionally by the outcome of the session. These are basic attitudes to life in
both Buddhist and Yogic cultures that may facilitate psi experience. All of
the Tibetan monks agreed to participate in our studies only on condition that
the essential motivation was to benefit all, while they remained incognito.
There has been no research on the relation between egolessness or humility
and psi, so these are merely speculations based on observation.
Further, in the East there is a different approach and attitude to experimental
testing. The yogis and Tibetans were at ease with doing psi—it was the
science that caused them concern (Roney-Dougal & Solfvin, 2011). Psi was
used extensively in traditional Tibetan culture. Most villages had someone
who practiced divination, and all the monasteries used to have an oracle, a
monk who went into an altered state for divination, as well as a monk who
practiced other forms of divination. Spiritual healing and astrology were
common practices in both the villages and the monasteries (Roney-Dougal,
2006). On the other hand, for the Western Buddhist meditators (RoneyDougal, Ryan, & Luke, 2013) we worked with in Scotland, the science was
no problem but the psi created much internal conflict. It is quite probable
that this cultural attitude affected psi scoring.
Setting
Another important point to consider when working with participants as
meditators is to create a setting that accords with their particular practice
experience (Bancel, 2013, personal communication). In the research with
meditators in India and in Scotland, all sessions occurred in a place that was
familiar and comfortable to the participants, either their own room where
they normally practiced, or a shrine room available for practice, or similar.
Many researchers, such as at the PEAR laboratory, make their participants as
comfortable as possible. But meditators find that doing their practice in a
specific place on a daily basis helps enhance their practice, and so doing the
experimental session in this place may well help to enhance psi.
Conclusion
All meditation traditions state that advanced meditators will exhibit reliable
and strong psychic phenomena. Most cultures in the world studied by
anthropologists are reported as having respected and honored their diviners
and oracles. The Dalai Lama (2002) stated that all Tibetan monasteries in
Tibet, prior to the Chinese invasion, had someone who practiced divination,
and that these people were highly respected members of their communities.
Western parapsychology research has, in the main, worked with relatively
untrained people who show a minimal level of very unreliable psi. The
research with meditators is very patchy and has not shown the levels of psi
traditionally reported for advanced yogis and lamas. However, these initial
tentative explorations into this area with Western practitioners, who by
Eastern standards are just beginners, does show potential. It is a thread worth
following.
Acknowledgments
Deep gratitude to all those who helped with this chapter: who sent me their
unpublished studies; who contributed thoughts and ideas about meditationpsi research; who sent me references to articles; and the three reviewers who
went through it with a fine tooth comb, and made many beneficial changes
and suggestions; the mistakes and shortcomings are all mine. May this work
be for the benefit of all beings.
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Part Four: Biology and Psi
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 11
Psi and Biology
An Evolutionary Perspective
RICHARD S. BROUGHTON
When the previous Handbook was published there was a general consensus
in the field that psi and biology were separate entities. Psi was the stuff of
the mind, of consciousness, and biology was the material world. That these
two entities might and probably did interact was assumed, and researching
these interactions would help us understand psi, but that is as far as the
relation could go. That view, I submit, seriously hampers our ability to
understand psi and how it works, and I suspect just plain wrong. Consider
this case from the collection of Louisa E. Rhine (1961) concerning a young
man in California:
One night in July of 1951 we had just finished supper, and my brotherin-law was getting ready to go to a meeting in San Jose, which is
twenty-five miles from our house. For no reason I started crying, me,
crying, twenty-five years old! I begged him not to go. Well there was
quite a fuss and I got everyone upset. Mom kept saying, “He will be all
right.” You know, the usual soft soap you give an upset person. This
went on for about fifteen minutes. Then the feeling left me, and I said,
“It’s all right for Bob to go now.”
By this time the fellow he was to ride with had waited at their meeting
place, but left before Bob got there, so Bob had to drive his own car
down. He got as far as Bayshore and Charter Streets, when the traffic
began to back up. A wreck, which is nothing unusual around here, but
when Bob got to the corner, he said he almost passed out. There spread
out on the highway was the man he was to have ridden with; his head
was half gone. The car was a total loss. They found later that his
brakes had locked on one side, and he flipped up in the air and came
down on the other side of the road to be hit head-on by another car [p.
127].
What is noteworthy about this case? There are no images in the young
man’s brain, no telepathic thoughts, no cognitive content at all. In this case
it is all emotional feelings; it is his body “responding” to a future event. It is
his biology that is responding. This is not a unique, unrepresentative case
either. After dreaming, which accounts for the largest proportion of reported
spontaneous ESP, the next largest category is that of intuitive impressions—
sudden hunches, gut feelings, or “just knowing” without any imagery or
reasoning process. I think this substantial subset (roughly one quarter) of
spontaneous cases indicates something that we have been missing for too
long. ESP is not simply a function of the mind or the brain, but it is deeply
rooted in our bodies, in our biology.
This chapter will cover similar territory to Morris’s chapter (1977), but
there will be a different orientation. Although it would be stretching the
point to say that the field has made many major advances in our
understanding of the fundamental workings of ESP, there have been
advances in our ideas about where we should be looking. The once
dominant notion that psi is some sort of signal or even a non-physical type
of communication between minds that are not necessarily embodied has
given way, at least in part, to models in which psi is a correlational process
between future and present, and the physiology of the brain (and perhaps
body) may be very much part of that process. Thus the relation between psi
and biology can be seen in a different light.
This chapter starts with a brief review of its predecessor, focusing on the
key elements that have carried research forward in the intervening years.
Next, the chapter will review research that has focused on the biological
aspects of psi in the years since the original book. Some topics are
discussed in separate chapters in this volume, but their connections with
Morris’s original perspective will be highlighted. In particular, I will look at
research examining brain function and psi, as well as physical influences on
brain and biology that may affect the utilization of psi. Next I will explore
how ESP can be incorporated into current thinking on human evolution,
arguing that ESP must be viewed within an evolutionary framework.
Finally, I shall offer some suggestions as to where future research should be
focused.
Parapsychology, Biology and ANPSI in 1977
Morris began with a discussion of communication and information transfer
with particular reference to the many channels of information flow with
which nature has endowed humans and other animals. Reviewing the
literature demonstrating that other species have sensitivities to
environmental information that go far beyond the ranges used by humans,
Morris highlighted the serious methodological challenges for those
investigating possible psi abilities in animals. If the basic requirement of psi
research is to eliminate all “normal” channels of communication, that
requirement can be particularly difficult to meet if one does not fully
understand all the possible channels of communication available to other
species.
In 1977 laboratory research on animal psi (or anpsi, a term largely fallen
into disuse today) was very popular. As with human research, the animal
research had its roots in a considerable literature of spontaneous cases of
animals apparently exhibiting ESP in various forms (J. B. Rhine & Feather,
1962). In some instances it appeared that the animals attempted to warn
their masters of impending danger, reacted to the death of the master at a
distance, or anticipated their master’s return. Cases of left-behind pets
tracking down their owners across considerable distances, called psitrailing, was thought to have a psi component, as was homing behavior,
though Morris noted that the latter no longer needs a psi explanation. Along
with the spontaneous cases were a very limited number of field
experiments, primarily with “talented” animals, but Morris concluded that
the totality of animal research provided little support for the notion of psi in
infrahuman species [but see chapter 27, this volume].
Morris’s chapter then surveyed the considerable amount of lab research that
was underway in the mid–1970s. Building on earlier research, the new
wave of animal research benefited from computer automation and the
development of digital random number generators (RNGs). Experiments
were demonstrating that animals (mostly rodents) could seemingly bias the
output of RNGs to increase rewards and reduce punishments, or that they
seemingly could use precognition to avoid shocks or get food, or even just
anticipate their own demise. Morris’s conclusion was that the animal psi
research was encouraging but the data were weak and the interpretation that
the animals were demonstrating psi was compromised by the growing
recognition of the possibility that the data were actually revealing the psi of
the experimenters rather than the animals. At the time the possibility of psibased experimenter effect had been recently highlighted in several key
publications (Kennedy & Taddonio, 1976; White, 1976a, 1976b) and was
supported by the newly emerging observational theories of psi [chapter 13,
this volume]. The impossibility of ruling out experimenter psi effectively
ended experimental animal psi research soon after the first Handbook was
published.
With regard to psi and human biology, at the time of Morris’s writing the
principal lines of research were (a) examining physiological characteristics
that may be correlated with psi performance, and (b) attempting to measure
a psi effect through physiological responses. In the former category, most
common were EEG studies that generally, though by no means universally,
showed that ESP success was better when participants were producing an
abundance of activity in the alpha brainwave frequency band. This, Morris
noted, simply showed that participants did better when they were relaxed,
something that was already known (more recent interpretations of the alpha
band have become more nuanced, see, for instance, Cooper, Croft,
Dominey, & Gruzelier, 2003; Klimesch, 2012). The latter category included
a mix of studies generally of a telepathy design in which something was
done to an agent while the recipient’s EEG or other physiological measure
was being monitored. Results were also a mix of successes and failures, but
at least one study is worth noting because it presaged a major research
effort today. Levin and Kennedy (1975) managed to demonstrate that the
contingent negative variation (CNV), an EEG response indicating
preparation for action, significantly anticipated a participant’s response to a
random stimulus (but only in one of two studies). Drawing his overall
conclusions, Morris noted that although the results were mixed, the direct
physiological measures that seemed to correlate with the onset of a target
event were quite promising because they suggested more direct access to
the psi information than verbal or behavioral responses [chapter 17, this
volume].
Morris’s (1977) summary position was very cautious. He noted that little
could be concluded from the research to that point, calling simply for more
data before one can “truly assess the extent to which psi communication
interacts with our presently known biological communication channels” (p.
710).
Developments since 1977
Animal Research
The considerable difficulties in interpreting the results of laboratory animal
studies, combined with the general inability to confirm earlier findings in
the wake of the discovery of data manipulation on the part of a leading
animal researcher Walter Levy (J. B. Rhine, 1974) [see chapter 3, this
volume], brought to a close any notions that animal research would be the
quick road to reliable psi results. Animal research largely disappeared from
the scene save for the efforts of a few individuals.
French researchers Remy Chauvin and René Peoc’h reported several
animal–PK studies in which mice (Chauvin, 1986) and chicks (Peoc’h,
1988, 1995) appeared to influence the behavior of a small self-propelled
robot-like device called a tychoscope. The tychoscope’s movements were
controlled by an RNG, and in the absence of influence it would describe a
random path (within a defined area). Chauvin’s mice were afraid of the
device and apparently influenced it to stay away from them to a statistically
significant degree. In his first study, Peoc’h took advantage of a chick’s
imprinting instinct by imprinting batches of chicks on the moving
tychoscope. Subsequently the chicks would be constrained from following
the device, but in that case the chicks apparently influenced the tychoscope
to approach them significantly more often than chance would predict
(Peoc’h, 1988). In a second study, Peoc’h mounted a candle on the
tychoscope and found that chicks that were raised in the dark would
influence the device to approach their cage to provide illumination (Peoc’h,
1995). As in previous laboratory animal studies, the possible influence of
the experimenter could not be ruled out (despite some attempts). Efforts to
replicate the imprinting work by other researchers were unsuccessful
(Green & Thorpe, 1993; Johnson, 1989), thus leaving laboratory animal
research in the same inconclusive state that it was in 1977.
Field research with animals, by contrast, has made some progress, at least in
terms of methodology, and some would argue in terms of results as well,
largely through the efforts of Rupert Sheldrake. Drawing on extensive
anecdotal reports of pets displaying apparently psychic abilities such as
reliably anticipating an owner’s generally unpredictable return home.
Sheldrake (1999) embarked on a variety of experiments to demonstrate
such abilities under controlled conditions. This ongoing research program
has generated a lot of data, as well as its measure of criticism, both of which
Sheldrake discusses in more detail in chapter 27 in this volume. A recent
comprehensive critical review of all the animal psi research to date
concludes that the overall evidence for psi in animals remains scant, but a
good case can be made for progress coming from studies looking for psi in
the relation between humans and companion animals (Dutton & Williams,
2009).
From Biology to Neuroscience
When the biological literature was surveyed in 1977, the research focus was
either on physiological states that might be associated with better scoring in
behavioral psi tests, or on changes in ongoing physiological processes
correlated with some target event, suggesting that ESP was being
“received” directly by the body. This approach had the benefit of providing
possible evidence of psi before it was subjected to cognitive processing,
with its potential for creating bias and confusion. The intervening years
have seen this useful, if somewhat simplistic, approach mature into a
neuroscience-based search for the mechanisms that may underlie the
processing of anomalous information and its mediation into conscious
awareness.
Presentiment
The Levin & Kennedy (1975) study and subsequent replication efforts by
Hartwell (1978, 1979) on CNV looked for evidence of precognition in a
brain signal that anticipates action. Overall, the results were ambiguous, but
the ideal of exploring whether human physiology could utilize future
information anticipated one of the principal developments in research on psi
and human physiology in recent years [see chapter 17, this volume].
The “orienting response” is a response to a change in the environment that
has its roots in the emotional system’s preparation for possible action. It is
the early stages of what can become the “fight or flight” response, which
occurs when a threat is detected. It involves characteristic momentary
changes in physiology, such as increased heart rate and an increased skinconductance response (SCR). The orienting response is commonly used to
study the effects of emotional stimuli, for example, pictures, by monitoring
SCR while the participant views pictures with varying levels of emotional
or startling content. Typically, whenever the participant first sees a new
picture, there will be an increase in SCR within a couple of seconds. If the
picture is not particularly emotional, a chair for example, the response will
be negligible, but if it is shocking, such as a close-up accident scene, the
SCR will be large. In the 1990s, Dean Radin looked at the orienting
response to see if there might be evidence of precognition in this
fundamentally unconscious and life-preserving bodily reaction. To do this,
he used the standard experimental design of presenting calm and startling
pictures to participants. In addition to looking at the expected SCR after the
picture was flashed, he looked at it just seconds before it was flashed. In a
series of increasingly sophisticated studies controlling for anticipation and
other artifacts, Radin found small but significant evidence that his
participants’ physiology anticipated the shocking pictures (Radin, 1997,
2004a). This effect, called “presentiment,” has been replicated by other
investigators and extended to other areas of physiology, becoming one of
the more important research areas in parapsychology.
Brain Activity and Psi
The situation regarding alpha waves and psi remains ambiguous, with very
little additional research to report. One single-subject study supported the
relation between higher alpha wave production and more successful
performance in psi tasks (Alexander, Persinger, Roll, & Webster, 1998).
May (2000) reported that a study of three top remote viewers showed no
increase in alpha during successful trials. Another brain-wave band,
however, has attracted the attention of a small team of researchers. After
noting that a special participant had displayed larger amounts of 40 Hz
(gamma) waves while in a mental state that he identified as one of his
“psychic” states, McDonough, Don, and Warren (1988) were able to
classify correct versus incorrect guesses by the presence of these 40 Hz
waves. This led to part of a broader study in which 20 frequent gamblers
performed a forced-choice precognition test, in which greater power in the
40 Hz band was associated with the correct responses to a significant
degree (McDonough, Don, & Warren, 2000). The role of gamma waves in
the brain is not well understood, but they are thought to coordinate focused
attention, particularly with visual stimuli, across the brain as a whole, and a
recent overview suggests gamma activity may overlap with muscle activity,
reviving the issue of relaxation and psi (Muthukumaraswamy, 2013). No
other researcher has explored the relation between psi function and gamma
waves, so nothing conclusive can be said about this, as Don himself notes in
a recent overview of his team’s research (Don, 2010), but recent evidence
that higher frequency brain waves are associated with deeper—and possibly
psi conducive—mental states continues to make this an intriguing research
topic (cf. Cardeña, Jönsson, Terhune & Marcusson-Clavertz, 2013).
Recent years have seen a number of efforts to use brain waves to detect
evidence of a telepathic “signal” from one person to another using the
event-related potential (ERP), a measurable brain response to a specific
stimulus. In a simplified version, a researcher might stimulate one member
of a pair of isolated respondents with a light flash, which causes an ERP in
that person’s EEG record, and then look for evidence of the ERP in the
other non-stimulated participant’s EEG. A successful outcome would
suggest a telepathic link. A study by Grinberg-Zylberbaum, Delaflor, Attie,
and Goswami (1994) examined the EEG recordings from seven pairs of
sensory isolated individuals, while one of the pair was being stimulated
with randomly spaced flashes of light. In one condition, the volunteers did
not know each other and in the other condition they were introduced to one
another and asked to meditate together to become “connected.” The flashes
produced the expected visual evoked response (VEP) in the stimulated
volunteer. The researchers claimed that a morphologically similar VEP was
found in the EEG of the non-stimulated person, but only in the “connected”
condition and when the interaction was “deemed successful” by the
researchers. The similar-looking wave-forms in the non-stimulated person
was called the “transferred potential.” Aspects of the methodology raised
serious questions and the method of analysis has been severely criticized
(May, Spottiswoode, & Faith, 2001), but the results were sufficiently
intriguing to spark efforts to replicate the findings.
Using improved methodology and statistics, Sabell, Clarke, and Fenwick
(2001) failed to confirm Grinberg-Zylberbaum’s findings. However, other
studies have found evidence of event-related correlations. Radin (2004b)
found very significant correlations in ensemble EEG variance between 13
pairs of friends when one was stimulated with the video image of the other.
Standish, Kozak, Johnson, and Richards (2004) stimulated one member (in
turns) of 30 pairs of volunteers with a reversing black and white
checkerboard pattern (stimulus on), comparing it with a static checkerboard
(stimulus off). Using a conservative statistical analysis, they looked for
evidence that the EEG pattern elicited by the two conditions in the
stimulated person was replicated in that of the non-stimulated participant.
Five of the 60 non-stimulated “receiver” individuals provided significant
evidence of higher brain activation during their partner’s stimulus-on
condition when compared to stimulus-off condition. A combined analysis of
all 60 participants in the receiver condition yielded highly significant results
for the stimulus-on condition, whereas the stimulus-off condition yielded
chance results. Four of the five significant pairs were able to return for a
replication study, and one pair was able to replicate their significant
performance.
A team led by Wackermann (Wackermann, Seiter, Keibel, & Walach, 2003)
conducted a very careful replication of the original Grinberg-Zylberbaum
study using a standard reversing checkerboard stimulus with 38 volunteers,
divided into two groups of 14 experimental participants each and one group
of 10 controls (who had no visual stimulation). One of the experimental
groups consisted of pairs of emotionally close individuals, and the other of
strangers. Using a robust and sophisticated analysis the Wackermann team
found significant evidence of an increase in EEG power in the nonstimulated participants during the periods when the other person was
stimulated; however this was not interpreted as a replication of the
Grinberg-Zylberbaum study as there was no evidence of VEP-like waveform (or “transferred potential”) in the non-stimulated individuals. This was
true for both experimental groups, suggesting that emotional bonding is not
a necessary condition for the observed increase in EEG power in the nonstimulated member of the pair. The publication of this study in a
mainstream journal attracted some thoughtful criticism (Kalitzin &
Suffczynski, 2003) that was incorporated in a replication study with 16
pairs of emotionally close participants. This replication produced somewhat
contradictory results that failed to replicate the original study (Wackermann,
Naranjo Muradás, & Pütz, 2004). Finally, Ambach (2008) attempted a close
replication of Wackermann’s studies using 17 pairs of related individuals.
Arguing that previous statistical methods were likely to lead to an
overestimation of significance, Ambach modified the analysis and found no
deviation from chance in his data (Ambach, 2008).
In recent years, fMRI (functional magnetic resonance imaging) has been
used in a few instances in an effort to detect psi-based correlated brain
activity in separated individuals. In a small pilot study with two
participants, Standish, Johnson, Kozak, and Richards (2003) found that
flickering checkerboard stimuli produced observable differences in the
fMRI response (blood oxygenation) in the non-stimulated individual. A
later study (Richards, Kozak, Johnson, & Standish, 2005) used two selected
volunteers from a previous EEG study who alternated in the roles of
stimulated and non-stimulated participant. Three of four sessions showed
significant differential activation in visual brain areas of the non-stimulated
person, but the low number of participants and the researchers’ use of a
non-random (alternating) stimulus sequence raise questions about the
generalizability of their findings. It should be noted in this context that
using fMRI to localize brain activity for any psychological behavior, let
alone psi, has come in for severe critical scrutiny in the mainstream
literature (Fiedler, 2011; Vul, Harris, Winkielman, & Pashler, 2009).
One recent fMRI study ambitiously attempted to resolve the “psi debate.”
Moulton and Kosslyn (2008) designed a study based on the assumption that
any event-synchronized psi-related activity must reveal itself in fMRI
scans. Testing 19 volunteers in an unusually designed psi-task, not
previously used in the field, they were unable to detect any evidence of psi
in the receiver participant’s fMRI record. Although the authors recognize
the logical argument that “absence of proof is not proof of absence,” (p.
183), they nonetheless concluded in the abstract that their own absence of
positive findings “…are the strongest evidence yet obtained against the
existence of paranormal mental phenomena” (p.182), making their paper in
a high-profile journal something of an “Exhibit A” for the argument that
mainstream journals have uneven refereeing standards.
Can we say that the efforts to find psi-based event-related correlations have
made progress? Although there has been improvement in methods and
analyses, the results remain inconsistent at best and, as Wackermann
observes in his critical review of the research, “The absence of a theoretical
background as well as the divergence of experimental designs and methods
are rather frustrating” (Wackermann, 2004, p. 119). Positive results are
offered as a “proof of principle” that brains or minds can communicate (or
be “entangled,” to use Radin’s terminology) without sensory connections,
but what does that mean in ordinary life? If an experimenter flashes a
checkerboard pattern at one person and another person’s brain shows more
EEG activity at the same time, are we to assume that everyone’s brain is
similarly affected, or only that one chosen by the experimenter? Clearly
future research could benefit from a more clearly articulated theoretical
framework (for a comprehensive overview of evidence of psi in human
physiology see Modestino, 2013).
Brain Structure and Psi
When the previous volume was published, studies of brain hemisphere
specialization were very much in vogue. Such studies sought to identify the
particular types of mental processing for which each hemisphere was
specialized. This extended to ESP research, in which there was a general
feeling that the constellation of specializations associated with the right
hemisphere were likely to facilitate ESP, although some researchers favored
the idea that any evidence of hemisphere preference in psi is task
dependent. Reviewing the evidence in 1983, I concluded that there was
insufficient evidence to confirm either view (Broughton, 1984). Since then,
there has been only one study addressing the issue. Alexander and
Broughton (2001) classified participants in a ganzfeld experiment according
to hemisphere dominance, the tendency to prefer the processing mode
associated with one or the other brain hemisphere. Although the overall
results produced nearly significant scoring, there was no difference between
the left and right dominant groups. Thus, the evidence for brain hemisphere
differences in the operation of ESP remains suggestive at best.
A number of researchers have explored the relation between dysfunction in
the temporal lobes of the brain and the tendency to report subjective
paranormal experiences (SPEs). SPEs are experiences that the person
deems to be paranormal, but there is no implication that they are necessarily
veridical. Following hints from earlier research, the first systematic
investigation of SPEs and temporal lobe dysfunction (TLD) was conducted
by Neppe (1983), who compared six members of the South African SPR
who reported numerous SPEs with six other members who did not. The six
who reported numerous SPEs displayed significantly more possible
symptoms of TLD than the control group. Persinger used similar
assessment tools with two groups of university students. In both samples he
found a significant positive correlation between the scores on the TLD
battery and the number and variety of SPEs (Persinger, 1984).
Subsequently, Persinger, who has suggested that micro-seizures in the
temporal lobes may contribute to SPEs, conducted a replication that
incorporated a measure of complex partial epileptic signs (CPES), and both
the TLD and CPES measures revealed significant positive correlations with
SPEs (Persinger & Vaillant, 1985). Most recently Palmer and Neppe have
been investigating the relation between TLD and SPEs with clinical
patients. In a carefully devised study, 60 patients with TLD reported
significantly more SPEs than 27 patients who did not have TLD, with
females reporting significantly more SPEs than males (Palmer & Neppe,
2003, 2004). Although the work of Neppe and Persinger is intriguing, it is
constrained by the fact that there is yet no experimental evidence that TLD
is associated with measures of psi function, only the respondents’ reports of
their SPEs, and even the researchers admit that many of these findings are
not very robust (Palmer & Neppe, 2003). Nonetheless, Palmer and Neppe
(2003) do note some promising circumstantial evidence in that people in the
artistic professions score high on Persinger’s TLD scales and are also
among the best participants in ganzfeld ESP experiments. Recently Cardeña
and Alvarado sounded a cautionary note regarding research using purported
questionnaires of TLD; for instance Persinger’s Personal Philosophy
Inventory, defined as a measure of temporal lobe lability, contains such
items as keeping a diary or reciting poetry, which are, to say the least,
unlikely specific measures of TLD (Cardeña & Alvarado, 2014, p 186).
An even more speculative connection between psi and brain structure
concerns the pineal gland, long thought in folklore and yogic traditions to
have a role in mystical or parapsychological experiences. Roney-Dougal
(1989) notes that the pineal gland produces or regulates a number of
neurochemicals, particularly the common neurotransmitter serotonin, which
at night is converted by the pineal gland into melatonin and pinoline.
Pinoline is a β-carboline, and the pineal gland may also make or store other
β-carboline compounds, which are similar to the active ingredients in
ayahuasca and other concoctions used by shamans for visions and
divination. Such shamanic divination while under the influence of these
substances often includes ostensible examples of psi according to
anthropologists’ reports (Roney-Dougal, 1989). The circadian rhythm of the
pineal gland might also play a role in the observation that the largest
percentage of spontaneous cases of ESP come during the night in dreams.
Although there has yet been no experimental research to test RoneyDougal’s conjectures, they remain important because they have the
potential to link the long tradition of anthropologists’ reports of induced psi
experiences among indigenous peoples to neurophysiological processes that
may facilitate conscious awareness of psi information in normal states.
Environmental Influences on Psi via Biology
Over the eons of evolution, human biology has adapted to the changing
environmental influences in which it is bathed. The regular ones are
reasonably well understood, but even basic adaptations including circadian
rhythms continue to throw up surprises such as the differing sensitivities to
medical interventions according to those rhythms. There are as well some
less obvious sensitivities being investigated by scientists, such as whether
humans react to magnetic fields, as do some animals.
In the 1980s scientists began to investigate whether changing levels in the
ongoing geomagnetic activity of the earth might affect psi. The earth’s
magnetic field is not a static field and its activity varies considerably,
primarily due to variations in solar activity such as sunspots and solar
flares. Variability due to solar influences is termed GMA (geomagnetic
activity). Adams (1986, 1987) first reported a relation between GMA in
remote viewing and ganzfeld research, namely that better psi scores were
obtained when GMA was low (quiet magnetic field). This sparked a
continuing flow of studies that examined the relation between GMA and
various measures of laboratory and spontaneous psi. Despite much diversity
in the studies and measures, the general finding was that better ESP is
associated with quieter periods of GMA. There were also suggestions that
higher GMA was associated with poltergeist cases. At best, the effects are
very weak, but sufficiently persistent to warrant further attention [see
chapter 14, this volume].
The Importance of an Evolutionary Framework
It is probably an indication of the then prevailing view of psi that the 1977
edition of the Handbook contained the word “evolution” on only two of its
roughly 900 pages, and those were in Wolman’s philosophical chapter on
mind and body near the end of the book (Wolman, 1977). As I observed in
1987, few parapsychologists consider why humans should have those
abilities we call psi, or how they would have come by them (Broughton,
1988), a notable exception being Rex Stanford, whose seminal thinking
reflected in his psi-mediated instrumental response (PMIR) model and its
successors (Stanford, 1974, 1990) was a primer for my thinking on the topic
[see chapter 8, this volume].
For the purposes of this section I shall limit my discussion to ESP or
“receptive psi.” Whether the large body of experimental PK research is a
separate phenomenon remains an open question (May, Utts, &
Spottiswoode, 1995), and I do not expect all the phenomena currently
covered by the term parapsychology necessarily to be understood within
one framework. If we are to take psi ability, however extraordinary it may
seem, seriously as an ability, there is only one way humans could have
acquired that ability—through evolution, which has endowed humans with
all the other abilities that we take for granted. For psi ability to fit into an
evolutionary model, it must serve to increase our fitness to breed and
survive, and to help ensure the survival of our offspring. Can we support the
argument that psi serves such an important function by looking at what
could be its evolutionary building blocks?
Looking at spontaneous cases, one might be tempted to think that a
communication function is self-evident, but that does not stand up to close
scrutiny, as the “communication” more often than not is very fragmentary
and unreliable. According to Stanford’s PMIR model (Stanford, 1974,
1990), ESP is part of a system that gathers useful information to serve
human needs, but what those needs are is not specified in the model. When,
following Stanford’s initiative, I argued that ESP must be seen in an
evolutionary context (Broughton, 1988), I was not able to be any more
specific than Stanford about the needs it serves.
Since then, there has been only limited interest in the usefulness of psi.
Taylor (2003) offers a comprehensive analysis of “need-serving” theories of
psi within an evolutionary context. He concludes that an evolved ESP
ability would necessarily be limited or imperfect and would probably
operate through an environmental scanning type of mechanism. Taylor’s
scanning mechanism, however, is not an active one, but rather “being in a
state receptive to any information that may serve the needs of the organism”
(Taylor, 2003, p. 11). McClenon (2002), on the other hand, plays down
what he calls “direct benefit” theories in favor of an evolutionary model
based on indirect and largely psychological benefits that would arise from
beliefs in the efficacy of healing and similar paranormal phenomena.
To advance an evolutionary understanding of psi we must identify the
specific and significant advantages that it might convey. For humans, this
will be more than just knowing where food can be found or predators lurk.
As early hominins gained mastery over their environment, social
competition between and within groups generated selective pressures for
increased intelligence, development of a theory of mind, and the memory
capacity to entertain alternative future scenarios and predict others’
behavior (Finn, Geary, & Ward, 2005). Although an evolutionary advantage
must be significant, it need not be a big advantage. Haldane (1927) has
calculated that just a 1 percent advantage could spread throughout the
population within the evolutionary time period for our own genus, homo.
Among psi researchers there is a growing consensus that the fundamental
form of receptive psi is precognition and other aspects of ESP can be
subsumed within this. This derives not only from theoretical models of the
phenomena (Bierman, 2010; May, Utts, & Spottiswoode, 1995) but also
from the simple realization that any ESP experience is not really seen as
anomalous until some point in the future when the experience is confirmed
by an event or additional information arrives through normal channels.
Thus, the fundamental extrasensory perception is that of seeing the future,
but not just any future. It is seeing one’s own future.
If psi has evolved to provide some information of the future, it need not
produce miracles to provide sufficient evolutionary advantage for selection
to work. The dramatic cases that attract our attention may not be at all
typical of the “normal” operation of psi (Broughton, 1988; Taylor, 2003).
More typical may be the hunches, feelings, or dreams that make sense only
when some future event provides corroboration, and many more may go
unnoticed. In the research realm, meta-analyses of the more successful
research lines have shown the effect sizes to be very small. The famed Star
Gate psychic espionage program was said even by its supporters to have
yielded actionable intelligence in only about 15 percent of the real-world
cases in which it was used (May, 1996), but when used as an adjunct to
traditional intelligence methods it was valuable [chapter 29, this volume].
This same perspective can be applied to ESP within the individual—it is not
a magic window into the future, but an occasional extra input to our normal
information gathering systems. The operation of psi may not be useful all of
the time, but it would have to be useful with sufficient frequency to be seen
as an advantage by evolutionary selection. The result might be that psi
would be virtually indistinguishable from normal intuition.
Recent developments in evolutionary psychology have provided some
important clues as to how psi fits into an evolutionary framework.
Suddendorf and Corballis (2007) have highlighted the role of what they call
mental time travel (MTT) in human evolution. Mental time travel is nothing
more than our capacity to imagine the future. There is growing evidence
that mental time travels into the past—memory—and into the future—
planning—are closely related both behaviorally and neurologically (Viard
et al., 2011). According to Suddendorf and Corballis (2007, p. 299), “the
ultimate evolutionary advantage must lie with the capacity to access the
future.” They make a compelling argument for the evolutionary importance
of MTT. The increased behavioral flexibility that humans have by means of
their ability to imagine, and therefore prepare for, the future seems selfevidently an evolutionary advantage of the utmost importance. They go so
far as to argue that our capacity for revisiting our past in memory is
essentially a by-product of evolution’s pressure to be able to predict the
future (Suddendorf & Corballis, 2007, p. 302).
There are important components common to both MTT and the little we
know about psi. MTT uses episodic memories as the building blocks for its
generated future scenarios. ESP has long been recognized to be based on
episodic memory (Roll, 1966). I have argued, independently of MTT, that
the experiences of ESP are assembled from memories and fragments of
memories to convey the anomalous information (Broughton, 2006). The
fragmentary and malleable nature of episodic memory may be crucial to its
evolutionary adaptiveness by providing a flexible “vocabulary” of memory
images from which possible futures can be assembled (Suddendorf &
Corballis, 2007, p. 303).
Another requirement for MTT, according to Suddendorf and Corballis, is
the capacity for offline processing, the ability to disconnect mental
representational space from constant sensory input so that memories can be
brought forward and combined into future scenarios. Suddendorf and
Corballis (2007, p. 307) offer dreaming and daydreaming as examples of
the offline capacity to assemble memories and merge them with recent
input to represent the future. Spontaneous case collections have shown that
ESP is most likely to occur during dreaming, followed closely by
daydream-like states. Parapsychology’s most successful research programs,
the Maimonides dream studies (Ullman, Krippner, & Vaughan, 1989),
ganzfeld experiments (Hyman, 2010; Storm, Tressoldi, & Di Risio, 2010a,
2010b), and the U.S. government’s remote viewing program (May, 1996)
all explicitly cultivate offline processing. Offline processing seems
fundamental to utilizing psi in both laboratory and life, and the role of psi
seems less like a communication channel and more like an assistive
technology for improved planning and decision making along the lines
suggested by decision augmentation theory (May et al., 1995) [see chapter
13, this volume].
The emotional system plays a role in the MTT process as well. Research by
D’Argembeau and Van der Linden (2007) suggests that the emotional
weighting of memories contributes to their likelihood of entering the
recombinatorial process that is MTT and, as proposed by Damasio (1994),
to the emotional weighting relating to an individual’s goals. Considerable,
though largely circumstantial, evidence suggests that a similar process
generates psi experiences, especially through the emotional components of
dreaming and the generation of anomalous feelings, including somatic ones
such as those in the case that opened this chapter (Broughton, 2006). The
presentiment studies described by Radin in this book provide more direct
evidence for the involvement of the emotional system in ESP.
The evolutionary framework sketched here covers only half of the process
involved in psi. Understanding the other half of the process—how events in
the future bring about what we recognize as psi in human behavior—is
arguably more of a challenge, and one that most likely falls within the
purview of physics. One such effort that neatly meshes with an evolutionary
framework is Bierman’s consciousness induced restoration of time
symmetry (CIRTS) model, which proposes that the brain processes that
sustain consciousness amount to a special system that restores time
symmetry (inherent in physics formalisms) and allows “advanced” waves
(coming from the future) to occur (Bierman, 2010).
What evidence is there of an evolutionary process for psi? The simple
answer is, not much, but that is probably because hardly any
parapsychologists have looked for it. There is a tradition of anecdotal
reports suggesting heritability that are backed up by one large survey of
Scottish “second sight” (Cohn, 1994). Several independent ganzfeld
experiment data sets have shown substantially better results when relatives
are used as the sender/receiver pairs, with parent-child and sibling pairs
doing far better than others, including spousal pairs (Broughton &
Alexander, 1997).
The principal objection to evolved psi is the idea that if evolution were
responsible for psi ability then it should be more highly developed and
more effective than what we find. At least one philosopher sees this as a
convincing argument for a dualist worldview (Levin, 1996). This sort of
argument is not particularly strong, as it is based on the dubious assumption
that evolution should produce something that conforms to our naïve notion
of what effective psi should look like. Several answers can be offered to
counter that objection. The first is that psi ability as we see it is the result of
the optimum functioning that can be derived from the underlying
mechanism. At present we have no idea what the underlying mechanism
might be, but should it be along the lines suggested by the CIRTS model
(Bierman, 2010) then we might be dealing with relatively weak
correlational processes (between present and future states) rather than a
direct causal process that evolution could have “scaled up” for strong
effects. So, in effect, what we see of psi ability might be as good as it gets,
but still enough to confer an evolutionary advantage. A second answer is
that psi ability is functioning at a level appropriate to an evolutionarily
stable strategy (ESS), which is a pattern of behavior (strategy) that, if
employed by all members of society, cannot be bested by another strategy
(see Broughton, 1988 for an elaboration in the context of ESP). A final
possible answer is that anomalous information may not have been evolving
so very long. Suddendorf and Corballis (2007, p. 312) argue that mental
time travel may have evolved comparatively recently, principally as a result
of an evolutionary “arms race” of cognitive and social abilities driven by
intra-species and perhaps intra-genus competition. If psi ability amounts to
a supporting subsystem of MTT, then its evolutionary history may be
correspondingly short.
Summary and Conclusions
Unfortunately, a further three and a half decades of admittedly sporadic
research on neurobiology and psi have not advanced the field any further
than the cautious position of the earlier chapter by Morris. Methodology
continues to improve, but few conclusions can be drawn. Much of the
research continues to try to use physiological measures as an indicator that
“psi happened” and typically yields ambiguous results about which a
pessimistic observer may wonder if there really is any signal emerging from
the statistical noise. Yet, some research lines have emerged that do hold
promise. These are the presentiment research, covered by Radin in this
volume, and the possible influence of geomagnetic variation on psi ability
covered by Ryan in this volume, both of which have the potential to help
understand the biological processes that underpin psi ability. To begin to
understand the connection between biology and psi research, we must move
from the “how does psi affect biology” approach of the past and look more
for how biology begets psi, how what we term psi ability arises from human
(and perhaps animal) biology, and to that end there is no scientifically
viable alternative than to use an evolutionary framework to guide the
search.
Clearly research into the neurobiological processes that underlie psi ability
must continue, but we must do more to avoid “spinning our wheels” with
inconclusive findings. To be taken seriously, future research must adhere to
the changing standards for experimental design and study preregistration
that are sweeping the medical and psychological sciences (Cardeña, 2014;
Eich, 2014). We know too little about the neurobiological mechanisms that
must be investigated to be specific, so the particular research questions will
depend on the ingenuity of the researcher. However, from my perspective
the most profitable questions will be informed by a thorough consideration
of the evolutionary context in which psi has emerged and the adaptive needs
it serves.
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OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 12
Drugs and Psi Phenomena
DAVID LUKE
This chapter investigates the relation between psychoactive substances and
psi phenomena falling within the study of parapsychology. It is only
concerned with so-called extrasensory perception (ESP)—telepathy,
precognition, and clairvoyance as opposed to other non-psi phenomena, such
as out-of-body experiences (which are reviewed in Luke, 2012).
Psychokinesis (PK) makes only a very limited contribution to this review as
it is seldom related to psychoactive drugs within the literature.
The chapter borrows widely, but by no means exhaustively, from
parapsychology as well as transpersonal studies, anthropology, ethnobotany,
phytochemistry, psychiatry, psychotherapy, psychopharmacology, and
neurobiology, particularly neurochemistry. It is organized into sections
relating to: the discussion of the chapter on drugs and altered states in the
original Handbook, an overview of the variety and effects of psychoactive
substances; neurochemical models of psi experience; field reports of
intentional and spontaneous psi phenomena incorporating anthropological,
historical and clinical cases, and personal accounts; surveys of paranormal
belief and experiences; experimental psi research with drugs; a
methodological critique of the experimental research with recommendations
for further work; and a summary and conclusions.
Drug-induced States of Consciousness in the Earlier Handbook
Originally written by Charles Tart, the chapter remit of the first handbook
differs somewhat from that of the current text in that it was originally
positioned within Part V of the book dealing with Parapsychology and
Altered States of Consciousness, and yet it focused primarily on handling
and mapping altered states of consciousness (drug states in particular) but
dealt only very cursorily with the demonstration of psi in these states. Tart’s
chapter essentially condemned the literature on drugs and psi up until that
point (1977), based on the assessment that all the research was
methodologically flawed due to a limited understanding of individual
differences in (psychedelic) drug experiences, particularly those due to set
and setting rather than substance. The present chapter will continue where
Tart left off with his, albeit very brief, overview of the experimental
literature on psi and drugs and present a condensed review of all the research
literature, not just the experimental findings, from its inception until the
present day (for a more expanded review see Luke, 2012).
An Overview of the Variety and Action of Psychoactive Substances
This chapter focuses primarily on the class of psychoactive substances that
largely induce visionary and intense consciousness altering experiences. For
the purposes of this review I include drugs and sacramentals such as
mescaline, lysergic acid diethylamide (LSD), psilocybin, ayahuasca, N,Ndimethyltryptamine (DMT), cannabis (which is treated here as a
psychedelic), and ketamine, but not opiates or cocaine. This class of
visionary substances has been termed differently by diverse authors, usually
depending on the connotation they wish to convey about the psychoactive
effects or how the substance is used. Within the literature reviewed here,
they have been termed “mind-expanding” (e.g., Palmer, 1979),
“psychodysleptic” (Cavanna & Servadio, 1964), and “hallucinogenic” (e.g.,
Lee & Roth, 2012). Finally, there is the most frequently used term,
“psychedelic,” created in 1956 by Humphry Osmond (1961, p.76) and
meaning “mind manifesting.” Where specified, the original term used by the
authors will be preserved to reflect their orientation to the issue. Elsewhere,
where appropriate, the more widely used and neutral term “psychedelic” will
be used.
A psychedelic substance is defined as:
one which, without causing physical addiction, craving, major
physiological disturbances, delirium, disorientation, or amnesia, more
or less reliably produces thought, mood, and perceptual changes
otherwise rarely experienced except in dreams, contemplative and
religious exaltation, flashes of vivid involuntary memory, and acute
psychoses [Grinspoon & Bakalar, 1998, p. 9].
However, this may not be strictly accurate as some substances that would
otherwise fit in this group can be somewhat addictive—though perhaps not
physically—such as ketamine, or some produce delirium, such as the
nightshade plants. There are numerous substances (chemicals or biological
matter) currently known to have psychedelic effects, with estimates of those
that have been tried and tested running to about 350, and these have been
increasing by an approximate factor of 10 every 50 years since 1900, when
there were only two such substances known within academia (Shulgin,
2010), so this is an ever expanding field of study.
Among these numerous substances there are several classes of known
psychedelics, usually classified by their nearest neurochemical relative, main
receptor site of action, or basic chemical structure. The most typical are the
classical tryptamine and lysergamide drugs, which have a core structural
profile like that of the neurotransmitter serotonin, including LSD, psilocybin,
and DMT. The current broadest class of psychedelics, comprising some
2000+ chemicals (many untested), are the phenethylamines (Shulgin,
Manning, & Daley, 2011), which are structurally more like dopamine and
include mescaline, MDMA, amphetamine, and the 2C family of chemicals
(e.g., 2CB). Then there is a class of dissociatives such as ketamine,
phencyclidine (PCP), and dextromethorphan (DXM), which primarily act by
binding to the N-methyl-D-aspartate (NMDA) receptor. Some of the oldest
known European psychedelics belong to a class of tropane alkaloids, such as
atropine, scopolamine, and hyoscyamine, derived from the Solanaceae
(nightshade) family of psychedelic plants (e.g., henbane, belladonna,
mandrake, and datura) and with anticholinergic neurochemical effects. There
are also several other psychedelics that do not easily fit within these
categories, such as the recently discovered salvinorin A, which is a kappaopioid agonist. An agonist activates a neurotransmitter receptor to produce a
response, whereas antagonists, such as ketamine, which is an NMDA
antagonist, block the action of an agonist.
In some cases, the neurotransmitter systems targeted by particular drugs are
well-known, as with the classical tryptamine psychedelics such as
psilocybin, which are apparently selective 5HT2A partial agonists (Lee &
Roth, 2012). The neural mechanisms involved continue to be debated, but a
recent BOLD fMRI study (Carhart-Harris et al., 2012) showed that, contrary
to expectations, psilocybin does not increase blood flow anywhere in the
brain but decreases cerebral blood flow to key regions, specifically the
thalamus, anterior and posterior cingulate cortex (ACC & PCC), and medial
prefrontal cortex (mPFC), the latter two of which are crucial regions in the
default mode network. Significantly, the usual positive coupling between the
mPFC and the PCC is reduced during the intake of psilocybin.
Not all drugs that have psychedelic effects are selective 5HT2A partial
agonists, however, and some chemicals, known as promiscuous drugs,
modulate a variety of neurotransmitters, or their mode of action remains
uncertain—a good example of both types (Ray, 2010; Wallach, 2009) is N,
N-dimethyltryptamine (DMT). Thus, the specific systems that possibly
mediate the induction of psi and related parapsychological phenomena may
be difficult to identify. However, a neurochemical taxonomy of action may
be possible once more is known about the action of these chemicals and the
specific types and features of paranormal experience that they induce (Luke
& Kittenis, 2005).
An Overview of Neurochemical Models of Psi Experience
At least 18 different reasons have been documented for why the states
induced by psychedelics may be conducive to parapsychological
phenomena. These reasons include increases in mental imagery, empathy,
absorption, attention, awareness, spontaneity, suggestibility and openness,
access to unconscious thoughts or memories, and transcendence of space and
time (for a review see Luke, 2012). Nevertheless, these factors remain
entirely speculative as no systematic research on this has been conducted. In
addition to these hypothesized state factors there a number of somewhat
more elaborate neurochemical models of psi experience that are extant and
are discussed in the following subsections.
Brain as Filter
The oldest, and indeed the simplest of these models pertains to the action of
psychedelics in a general sense and was proposed by the writer Aldous
Huxley following his mescaline experience with the psychiatrist Humphrey
Osmond—the man responsible for coining the term psychedelic. Osmond
also maintained that ESP was a proven fact and believed that psychedelics
could be used to induce the phenomena, having had such experiences
himself (Osmond, 1961; Osmond & Smythies, 1952).
Huxley (1954) was prominent in promoting Henri Bergson’s (1896/1990)
theory of the brain as a filter of memory and sensory experience that reduces
the wealth of information available to awareness, lest people become
overwhelmed by a mass of largely useless and irrelevant data not needed for
survival. Bergson suggested that if these filters were bypassed, humans
would be capable of remembering everything that had ever been experienced
and perceiving everything that has happened everywhere in the universe (as
in clairvoyance). Nevertheless, it was Huxley who applied this theory to
psychedelics by suggesting that these mind-manifesting drugs override what
he called the “reducing valve” of the brain (Huxley, 1954, p.12), allowing
humans access to both psychic and mystical experiences. Huxley (1954)
eruditely paraphrased this notion with the quote by the English poet and
mystic William Blake (1793/1906): “If the doors of perception were
cleansed, every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite.”
Huxley’s (1954) rather basic conception never received a more formal
operationalization of the specific drug actions that might be involved, but
research into the neurochemistry of psychedelics lends some support to his
notion. For instance, Vollenweider and Geyer (2001) proposed that
information processing in cortico-striato-thalamo-cortical (CSTC) feedback
loops is disrupted by psychedelics via 5-HT (serotonin) receptor agonism
(specifically 5-HT2A receptors). This disruption thereby might inhibit the
“gating” of extraneous sensory stimuli and inhibit the ability to attend
selectively to salient environmental features. Furthermore, psychedelics are
also thought to induce presynaptic release of glutamate from thalamic
afferents, leading to a simultaneous overload of internal information in the
cortex. It is thought that these combined information overload effects are at
least partly responsible for the “hallucinogenic” experience with these drugs,
which are known to induce greatly altered or amplified incoming sensory
information, as is indicated behaviorally by an increased startle effect
(Vollenweider, 2001).
Furthermore, the results of brain-imaging research discussed above (CarhartHarris et al., 2012) indicate that under the influence of psilocybin there is no
single brain region that increases in activity, but the brain’s activity is
reduced overall. Significantly, the usual positive coupling between the
mPFC and the PCC—which forms part of the default mode network thought
to be important in introspection and high-level constructs such as self and
ego—was reduced, leading to “a state of unconstrained cognition” (CarhartHarris et al., 2012, p. 2138).
This psychedelic disruption of the sensory gating function discussed by
Vollenweider (2001), and the reduction of activity in the default mode
network discussed by Carhart-Harris et al. (2012), could also underpin the
neurobiology of ESP. Such neurobiological processes may apply whether
elicited by any number of psychedelics or without the intervention of such
exogenous chemicals, though perhaps via endogenous chemicals such as
DMT. Some support for this is starting to emerge as brain imaging studies
have begun to explore exotic mental states, with no increase overall and
similar reductions in brain activity being found, for instance, in the ACC and
mPFC with experienced automatic writing trance mediums (Peres et al.,
2012), and a reduced global functional connectivity across the cortex
associated with transcendental experiences in deep hypnosis without
suggestion (Cardeña, Jönsson, Terhune, & Marcusson-Clavertz, 2013).
Indeed, like psychedelics, psi experiences and events have variously been
conceptualized in relation to an inhibition of the ordinary sensory inhibition,
such as with latent disinhibition (Holt, Simmonds-Moore, & Moore 2008),
transliminality (Thalbourne, 1998), boundary thinness and schizotypy
(Simmonds & Roe, 2000), and self-expansiveness (Friedman, 1983). It may
be noted that psychedelics have also been long associated with both
creativity (e.g., Krippner, 1985) and psychotic experiences (Osmond &
Smythies, 1952), although, as with paranormal experience (for an overview
see Irwin, 2009), the use of psychedelics is not related epidemiologically to
poor mental health (Krebs & Johansen, 2013).
Ultimately, despite the simplistic appeal of the anti-reducing valve action of
psychedelics as a neurochemical model of psi, considerable gaps remain in
our current understanding of the neuropharmacological action of
psychedelics in humans. Since the early 1970s and until relatively recently,
practically all psychedelic research had been conducted with animals, and no
definitive generalizations can be made about the main neurotransmitter
receptor sites involved, as psychedelics vary considerably in their chemical
makeup and their ligand affinity (Ray, 2010).
However, electrophysiology and receptor studies have revealed that both
NMDA antagonists (e.g., ketamine) and classic serotonergic psychedelics
(e.g., LSD) may actually enhance glutamatergic transmission via non–
NMDA receptors in the frontal cortex. Such dual action may indicate a
common mode of chemical action in the brain, responsible for similar
experiences with such divergent molecules (Vollenweider, 2004). This
serotonin/glutamate receptor-complex model of drug action is receiving
high-profile attention.
Despite the lack of understanding of the neurobiology of psychedelic action,
and the lack of generalizability across so many diverse substances, recent
advances would appear to support the Bergson-Huxley notion of the brain as
a filter capable of being deactivated by chemicals. Furthermore, this notion,
including the parts pertaining to ESP, is now gaining ground once more
among theorists of consciousness (e.g., Kastrup, 2012). Indeed, recent
theoretical developments (Smythies, 2011) suggest that NMDA antagonism,
such as via ketamine, bypasses the reducing valve/filter action of the brain.
Pineal Gland Neurochemistry Model
Advancing on earlier suggestions about the pineal gland’s involvement in psi
(e.g., Miller, 1978), Roney-Dougal (1986, 1989, 1991, 2001) has developed
an endogenous neurochemical perspective of psi based on the action of the
pineal and several hallucinogenic substances found in ayahuasca, the
visionary Amazonian brew reported to induce a range of paranormal
experiences. The common neurotransmitter serotonin is known to be most
active in the pineal gland, where it follows a circadian rhythm and is
converted at night into melatonin (5-methoxy tryptamine, or 5MT), and the
β-carboline, pinoline (6-methoxy tetrahydro-β-carboline, or 6-MeO-THβC),
which regulate sleep cycles.
The pineal gland may also create other β-carbolines, that block the neuronal
uptake of serotonin, making it available for use, and inhibit the enzyme
monoamine oxydase (MAO). Certain tryptamines, such as N,N-dimethyl
tryptamine (N,N-DMT, or simply DMT) and 5-methoxy tryptamine (5-MeODMT), are broken down by MAO. MAO inhibiters, such as pinoline or the
harmala alkaloids, make serotonin available at the pineal gland. Strassman
(2001) speculated that there, with the aid of methyl transferase enzymes,
serotonin can also be converted into 5-MeO-DMT, DMT, and bufotenine (5hydroxy-N,N-dimethyltryptamine, 5-HO-DMT), endogenous visionary
substances also found in certain ingredients (such as Psychotria viridis) of
ayahuasca brews and other shamanic visionary substances. In vivo
biosynthesis of DMT might also occur through the conversion of the
common, nutritionally essential amino acid tryptophan (Jacob & Presti,
2005; Shulgin & Shulgin, 1997).
However, these endogenous visionary tryptamines are not orally active, as
they are denatured by the MAO enzymes present in the stomach; but
ayahuasca brews also contain plant additives (such as Banisteriopsis caapi)
containing a range of harmala alkaloids that inhibit MAO and allow the
complementarily ingested visionary tryptamines to be active in the brain. It
is this action of the β-carbolines (particularly harmine) in ayahuasca that is
considered their primary purpose as admixtures in the brew (e.g., McKenna,
2004), though this may not always be the case as subjectively potent
ayahuasca decoctions occasionally do not contain DMT when analyzed
(Callaway, 2005).
Nevertheless, the harmala alkaloids are also known to induce visions
themselves, and Roney-Dougal (1986, 1989, 1991, 2001) originally
implicated β-carbolines, such as the endogenous pinoline and the exogenous
harmala alkaloids, as inducing psi-conducive states, either naturally during
dreams (Callaway, 1988) or artificially by causing waking dream states. She
(2001) also later acknowledged that the β-carbolines may exert their
visionary effects by potentiating the effects of ingested visionary tryptamines
like DMT or 5-MeO-DMT when consumed in combination with them, as in
ayahuasca. In essence, ayahuasca contains two types of visionary chemicals,
one type (β-carbolines, e.g., harmine) that helps to both create and potentiate
the effects of the other type (tryptamines, e.g., DMT), potentially mimicking
the nocturnal chemistry of the pineal gland and its supposed control over
natural visionary states such as dreams (Callaway, 1988), mystical
experiences, and NDEs (Strassman, 2001).
Roney-Dougal (1989, 1991, 2001) suggested that the pineal gland and its
neurochemistry is important in the occurrence of psi phenomena and points
to the association made by yogis between the pineal gland and the ajna
chakra, the proposed yogic psychic center that controls psi-experiences in
those with awakened kundalini (Miller, 1978; Satyananda, 1972). Naranjo
(1987) noted that both kundalini and ayahuasca experiences, being similar in
many respects, also feature the same serpentine imagery, further speculating
that they probably have the same neurochemistry and result in the same
“bioenergetic” activation, although this term is somewhat vague.
Furthermore, manifestation of very specific body vibrations said to be
classic kundalini symptoms are supposedly quite reliably induced with
substances such as DPT (N,N-dipropyl-tryptamine) and 4-Acetoxy-DIPT
(N,N-diisopropyl–4-acetoxy-tryptamine), which are even more obscure
psychedelic tryptamines than DMT, but close relatives of it (Toad, 1999a,
1999b). Similarly, Grof (2001) has reported spontaneous kundalini arousal
occurring during psychedelic psychotherapy sessions and surveys of
kundalini experiences indicate that they are related to drug use (DeGracia,
1995; Thalbourne, 2001).
Roney-Dougal (1989, 1991, 2001) has also indicated that the pineal gland is
sensitive to the same fluctuations in geomagnetic activity that appear to be
associated with spontaneous psi-activity (for a review see Roney-Dougal,
Ryan, & Luke, 2013) [chapter 14, this volume]. That the pineal gland is
central to psi is further supported by anthropological research—although
experimental evidence is lacking—that suggests that DMT and the harmala
alkaloids found in ayahuasca are psi-conducive, along with clinical research
that suggests that pinoline and melatonin regulate sleep cycles and dreaming,
during which spontaneous psi experiences most often occur (Roney-Dougal,
1986, 1989, 1991, 2001) [see chapter 15, this volume].
Some tentative support for the notion that ESP performance is directly
predicted by pineal gland activity is also evident from experimental research
that demonstrated that prepubescent children score better on ESP tests at 3
a.m. than at 9 p.m. when the pineal’s nocturnal chemicals (melatonin, etc.)
are supposedly at peak concentrations in the brain (Satyanarayana, Rao, &
Vijaylakshmi, 1993), This effect was not evident with a comparable group of
pubescent children, which the authors suggest might be expected because the
pineal gland is less active after infancy. A more extensive follow-up
investigated dream–ESP and circadian pineal rhythms among young adults,
finding a significant improvement in dream precognition scores at 3 a.m.
compared to 8 a.m. (Luke, Zychowicz, Richterova, Tjurina, & Polonnikova,
2012), with scores in the same direction but non-significant in a replication
study (Luke & Zychowicz, 2014), providing some tentative support for the
notion that ESP may be linked to circadian pineal rhythms.
Roney-Dougal (2001) also draws parallels between the ostensibly psiconducive nature of the shamanic, psychotic, psychedelic, and dream states,
which she suggests all belong to the same continuum—perhaps somewhat
akin to Thalbourne’s (1998) concept of transliminality, the proclivity for
psychological material to cross thresholds in or out of consciousness—and
that they all show suggestive evidence of being regulated by the same
neurochemical processes. Recently, the discovery of trace amine receptors in
the brain, for which DMT shows greater affinity than does serotonin—its
more common neuro-amine cousin—has lead to a resurgence of interest in
endogenous DMT in the mediation of mental health (Jacob & Presti, 2005).
Nevertheless, the use of psychedelics generally is not related to poor mental
health (Krebs & Johansen, 2013)
Evaluation of the Pineal DMT Hypothesis
In evaluating the role of the pineal gland and endogenous psychedelics in the
activation of psi, it has yet to be shown that psi can be produced with these
substances under controlled conditions. In addition, psi experiences may be
induced with other psychoactive substances, as shown in the following
sections. This criticism was countered by Strassman (2001) with the
argument that other psychedelic substances may also stimulate the pineal
and endogenous DMT by their action. However, this proposal is little more
than conjecture. Furthermore, although the hypothesis that DMT is made in
the human pineal is reasonable, it remains speculative.
According to Strassman (2001), although the lungs, liver, blood, and eye all
contain the enzymes necessary to convert tryptamine to DMT, the pineal
gland is especially rich in them and also has high concentrations of serotonin
ready to convert to tryptamine. So although the pineal–DMT hypothesis is
currently unproven, it is certainly feasible, especially when it is considered
that the chemical conversion of tryptamine to DMT can be demonstrated in
vitro. The only attempt thus far to support the hypothesis directly has been
Strassman’s attempt to isolate DMT from 10 human pineal glands extracted
from cadavers. No DMT was detected in the glands; however, neither the
bodies nor the glands were freshly frozen and any chemicals present may
have degraded before analysis (Strassman, 2001).
Thus far DMT has been found to be naturally occurring in the brain
(Kärkkäinen et al., 2005), most recently in the pineal glands of rodents
(Barker, Borjigin, Lomnicka, & Strassman, 2013), and in the highest
concentrations in humans in the cerebrospinal fluid (for a review, see Barker,
McIlhenny, & Strassman, 2012), but not the human brain, let alone the
pineal gland, as yet. Furthermore, although the pineal gland contains
methyltransferase enzymes, as Strassman (2001) indicated, the particular one
thought to be crucial for in vivo DMT production (indolethylamine Nmethyltransferase, or simply INMT) has as yet not been found in the human
brain or pineal gland although, curiously, DMT was found in rabbit brain
tissue, despite the absence of INMT (Kärkkäinen et al., 2005), perhaps
indicating that INMT is not necessary for the production of DMT after all.
Furthermore, most INMT mapping research only establishes where enzyme
translation is occurring, as it is based solely on INMT mRNA studies. A
recent study (Cozzi, Mavlyutov, Thompson, & Ruoho, 2011) using a
fluorescent INMT antibody found indication of the presence of INMT in
three Rhesus macaque nervous tissues samples, including the pineal gland.
Evidence of INMT in primate pineal glands potentially provides support for
Strassman’s human pineal–DMT production hypothesis. However, absence
of evidence is not evidence of absence, and the pineal gland is difficult to
research in vivo, and DMT is an under-researched substance, particularly in
humans. DMT is also difficult to detect (Barker et al., 2012) and belongs to
the most controlled category of drugs in most countries, so currently the jury
remains out on the pineal–DMT hypothesis.
Dopamine and Paranormal Beliefs and Experiences
Taking a purely materialist reductionist view of paranormal experiences by
attempting to account for them exclusively in terms of beliefs arising from
faulty cognitions—what Irwin (2009) calls the cognitive deficits hypothesis
—a loose neurobiological model for the explanation of paranormal beliefs
posits the dopamine neurotransmitter system as the primary facilitator. Put
forward by Krummenacher and colleagues (Krummenacher, Brugger, Fahti,
& Mohr, 2002; Krummenacher, Mohr, Haker, & Brugger, 2009), the theory
suggests that although activity of the neurotransmitter dopamine is
classically implicated in enhancing cognitive and perceptual decisions by
improving the signal to noise ratio of neuronal transmission, paradoxically
hyperdopaminergic activity is associated with psychotic symptoms,
schizophrenia, and schizotypy (for a brief review, see Krummenacher et al.,
2009), and so excess dopamine may account for delusional thinking
stemming from an increased tendency to find patterns in apparently random
data—what the psychiatrist Klaus Conrad (1958) called apophenia.
According to Brugger and colleagues (e.g., Pizzagalli, Lehmann, & Brugger,
2001) paranormal believers—and so most likely paranormal experiencers
too—have been shown to be more inclined towards apophenia than skeptics,
thereby accounting for the increased creativity apparently associated with
paranormal thinking and its similarity to some psychotic symptoms: because
a combination of creative and delusional dimensions are indicative of the
positive phenomenology of schizotypy (Eckblad & Chapman, 1983) [see
chapters 9 and 25, this volume].
Direct research into what might be most accurately called the
hyperdopaminergia-apophenia hypothesis is somewhat limited at this time,
consisting of only two studies, with somewhat mixed results. The first study
(Raz, Hines, Fossella, & Castro, 2008) attempted to relate paranormal belief
as a phenotype to hyperdopaminergia as a genotype via what Raz et al.
(2008) call the “COMT dopaminergic gene.” COMT (Catechol-O-
methyltransferase) is an enzyme that degrades catecholamines such as
dopamine, and the COMT protein is encoded by the COMT gene. Using
questionnaires of paranormal belief, 107 psychology students were
genetically screened for three COMT allelic forms, Raz et al. (2008)
successfully identified approximately one quarter of the sample with high
COMT activity, a quarter with low activity, and half with intermediate
activity. However, failing to support the hyperdopaminergia-apophenia
hypothesis, the authors found that those with decreased COMT activity, and
hence greater hyperdopaminergia, reported no more paranormal beliefs,
abilities, or experiences than the higher COMT activity participants.
Undeterred, they pointed to the observation that attempting to unravel links
between single gene polymorphisms that influence neurochemical function,
and consequently individual differences in cognitive function, may be
difficult when using distal phenotypes such as questionnaire measures, and
that more proximal measures such as brain imaging might be more
promising. Indeed, behavioral genetics is in a state of epistemological crisis
after the lack of hard findings from the recently completed Human Genome
Project (e.g., see Maher, 2008), so it may well be too soon to expect good
data relating paranormal beliefs to genes, particularly single genes, even if
they are related.
The second study, by Krummenacher et al. (2009), sampled 20 paranormal
believers and 20 paranormal non-believers and administered levodopa—an
active precursor to dopamine in the brain—in a randomized placebo
controlled between-subjects study. Participants were given two signal
detection tasks, one with words (tapping left hemisphere processes) and one
with faces (right hemisphere), that presented either word/non-word or
face/non-face stimulus pairs tachistoscopically for just 140 ms. Participant
responses were assessed for both their tendency to make correct guesses
relative to incorrect ones: their sensitivity index (d’), and their tendency to
respond with a positive or negative bias, or their response tendency (C). The
two measures were independent of each other. Findings indicate that skeptics
had significantly greater sensitivity to signal detection than believers in the
placebo condition but, contrary to expectations, increased dopamine led to a
significant decrease in sensitivity in skeptics but had no effect on believers.
These findings challenge the view that dopamine generally assists in signal
detection, and Krummenacher et al. (2009) suggested that the opposite may
actually be true in some cases, especially with presumed hypodominergic
individuals (i.e., skeptics). Additionally, the authors argued that the lack of
change in sensitivity in believers administered levodopa may be due to a
plateau effect caused by high cerebral dopamine baseline levels; however,
such a suggestion is somewhat post hoc and, even if it were true, the authors
do not comment on why the dopamine-enhanced skeptics had lower
sensitivity (i.e., greater sensory apophenia) than either believer group.
Whereas the sensitivity measure findings are puzzling, the response bias
measure results are somewhat more straightforward, in the control scenario
at least. As was expected, in the placebo condition believers had a greater
tendency to respond in the affirmative (favoring a Type I error strategy),
whereas skeptics had a greater tendency to respond in the negative (favoring
a Type II error strategy), the difference between the groups being significant.
However, against expectation, in the levodopa condition these tendencies in
each group were diminished so that there was no significant difference
between skeptics and believers, although the trend remained. Specifically,
compared to their placebo controls, dopamine-enhanced believers were more
cautious in making false positive decisions (i.e., more conservative), and
skeptics were less prone to make false negative decisions (i.e., more liberal),
so that in effect both believer groups were less polarized in their responses.
Contrary to the linear dopamine-apophenia relationship originally proposed,
these results may indicate differing baseline dopaminergic activity in
skeptics and believers and the possibility that there is a non-linear
relationship between task and dopamine levels, perhaps an inverted U-shape
modulated by individual differences in belief. However, these findings
should be replicated first and more direct measures of baseline dopamine
(e.g., spinal dopamine metabolic marker assays) should be made before
these findings and post hoc interpretations are given much weight.
Furthermore, as the authors noted, use of a between- rather than withinsubjects design is far from ideal, leaving too much faith in the randomization
of the small groups and no certainty in equivalence of baselines in dopamine
responsivity and behavioral performance.
Aside from the current lack of research on the hyperdopaminergia-apophenia
hypothesis and the somewhat confusing mixed results, this line of research
seems worthwhile pursuing further, although it suffers from additional
limitations. One is that it aims to boil down paranormal experiences to
misperceptions and misjudgments of the pattern recognition type. Even if we
allow for the fact that the authors a priori preclude the possibility of genuine
paranormal phenomena, this approach does not account for the swathe of
other cognitive deficits that are also given to account for paranormal beliefs,
such as poor judgments of probability and randomness, egocentric bias,
selective remembering, confirmation bias, and more (Brugger & Mohr,
2008).
Indeed a study investigating probability inferences in those under the
influence of ketamine, versus matched controls and schizophrenic patients,
showed that the ketamine group was no different from the placebo group,
whereas the patients exhibited a jump-to-conclusions response concerning
probability inferences (Evans et al. 2012). Although ketamine is primarily an
NMDA-antagonist, it also has direct effects on dopamine receptors (Kapur
& Seeman, 2002), so the lack of probability inference effect with ketamine
does not complement a dopamine explanation for paranormal experiences
within the cognitive deficits paradigm. Other psychological factors
supposedly related to paranormal experiences, such as the propensity for
false memories, also show no relation with self-reported recreational drug
use generally (Wilson & French, 2006).
In this respect the dopaminergic approach does not currently incorporate
many of the multitudinous psychological explanations for paranormal beliefs
and experiences. Furthermore, the wealth of evidence, to follow, relating
increased paranormal experience—and to some extent experimentally
controlled production of ESP—to the ingestion of psychedelic substances
does not particularly support a dopamine-based theory of paranormality
either, as dopamine activation is neither primary nor ubiquitous with
psychedelic substances. Typically, classic tryptamine psychedelics (such as
LSD and psilocybin) are thought to exert their effects via serotonin
receptors, particularly the 5-HT2A receptor subtype (Lee & Roth, 2012).
Nevertheless, it is thought that 5-HT2A receptor stimulation can activate
dopamine release (Diaz-Mataix et al., 2005), and Previc (2011) has asserted
that all the various psychedelic neurochemical pathways to “altered states of
consciousness with distorted reality” (p. 43) ultimately lead to elevated
levels of dopamine in the brain, although such reasoning rather ablates the
intricate nuances of psychopharmacology and disregards primary
neurochemical pathway activation as in any way important. Furthermore,
although some psychedelic substances (e.g., LSD, psilocin, DMT) do have
relatively high affinities for certain dopamine receptors (Ray, 2010),
dopamine is rarely considered to be a primary neurotransmitter site for
psychedelic effects. Indeed, the primarily dopaminergic recreational drugs,
such as amphetamine and cocaine, have been found to be either unrelated or
negatively related to paranormal experiences and beliefs (Luke, 2012),
contradicting the dopamine-paranormal belief/experience hypothesis.
Indeed, if Previc were right about psychedelics exerting their effects via the
dopamine system, we would expect amphetamine and cocaine to be
psychedelic too, which they are not.
Furthermore there are various psychedelics strongly associated with
paranormal experiences that do not have dopaminergic action, such as the kopioid agonist salvinorin A (Ray, 2010) and anticholinergic agents like
scopolamine and hyoscyamine, found in nightshade family plants like datura
(Katzung, Masters, & Trevor, 2012). Overall—with scant direct research,
mixed and complex findings, and poor generalizability of the hypothesis to
(a) other psychological explanations, and (b) most of the psychedelicparapsychology literature—at present, the dopamine-apophenia conjecture
remains very much rudimentary and unsupported.
Overview of Psychedelics/Neurochemical Models of Psi
The preceding sections outline several neurochemical models germane to
explaining psi experiences, namely the brain as filter, pineal gland
neurochemistry, and dopamine. The first two models draw upon the action of
psychedelic substances in particular and remain open to the possibility that
psi experiences may be genuine. Two other models, not reviewed here (but
see Luke, 2012), are sympathetic to the psi hypothesis but are primarily
concerned with near-death and mystical experiences and pertain to ketamine
and DMT as the key chemicals. It should be noted, however, that no one
psychedelic model might ultimately be the correct one, as psychedelics may
work in many ways (e.g., dissociatives are both NMDA antagonists, as well
as mu-opioid agonists). Nevertheless, these models provide important
avenues for future research and development of more complete
neurobiological models of apparent paranormal cognition or merely
paranormal belief, and, indeed, of more complete models of consciousness
itself. The importance of understanding the apparent psi-inducing effects of
psychedelics is clear and the evidence in support of this relationship is
reviewed and evaluated in the following sections.
Field Reports of Intentional and Spontaneous Psi Phenomena
Despite apparent traditional prejudices by anthropologists against reporting
such phenomena (Winkelman, 1983), the anthropological and ethnobotanical
literature remains replete with examples of ostensible psi phenomena
occurring with the indigenous use of psychoactive plants (Luke, 2010).
Archaeological evidence suggests that such practices have existed for
millennia (see Devereux, 1997). Since the discovery of psychedelic
compounds by the academic community and their popularization among the
intelligentsia, there has been a steadily growing number of reports of
paranormal experiences occurring with the use of these compounds. Several
parapsychologists and psychical researchers, primarily from the 1950s and
1960s when psychedelic research was at its peak, endorsed the research of
psi with psychedelics (Luke, 2012). Even J. B. Rhine, the father of modern
parapsychology, ran some informal psychedelic sessions in 1961 at the
Foundation for Research on the Nature of Man, in collaboration with then
Harvard psychologists Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert (Black, 2001),
although there was apparently too much spontaneous laughter erupting for
anyone to credibly test for anything (S. Abrams, personal communication,
August 14, 2006).
Notably, several other parapsychologists have reported personal ESP
experiences with the use of psychedelics (see Luke, 2012). Krippner’s
apparent precognitive vision of President Kennedy’s assassination while on
psilocybin serves as a good example. Krippner (1970) took the substance
while visiting Timothy Leary and his psychedelic research team at Harvard
in 1962, and reported a vivid trip including the following:
I travelled to the nation’s capital. I found myself gazing at a statue of
Lincoln. The statue was entirely black, and the head was bowed. There
was a gun at the base of the statue and someone murmured, “He was
shot. The President was shot.” A wisp of smoke rose into the air.
Lincoln’s features slowly faded away, and those of Kennedy took their
place. The setting was still Washington, D.C. The gun was still at the
base of the black statue. A wisp of smoke seeped from the barrel and
curled into the air. The voice repeated, “He was shot. The President was
shot.” My eyes opened; they were filled with tears. In 1962, when I had
my first psilocybin experience, I gave this visualization of Kennedy
relatively little thought, as so many other impressions came my way.
However, it was the only one of my visualizations that brought tears to
my eyes, so I described it fully in the report I sent to Harvard. Nineteen
months later, on November 23, 1963, the visualization came back to me
as I mourned Kennedy’s assassination [p. 38].
Similar reports of frequent ESP experiences with such substances from
various consciousness researchers, chemists, anthropologists, and
psychonauts are available elsewhere in the literature (for a review see Luke,
2012). A review of the clinical literature reveals surprisingly few published
psychiatric inpatient reports relating to psychedelics and paranormal
experience. This may be due to a number of factors, such as the lack of
spontaneous phenomena within the psychiatric population, or the
medicalization within psychiatry of paranormal experiences as delusions or
hallucinations. Indeed, Mogar (1965) noted that early psychoanalytic and
behaviorist researchers using LSD were prejudiced against ESP phenomena.
Yet, there is one study, a psychiatric-interview survey with users of LSD
(Abraham, 1983), that mentioned precognitive experiences as one of the
symptoms of the LSD flashback phenomena, now called hallucinogen
persisting perception disorder (American Psychiatric Association, 2013).
On the other hand, there are many accounts of paranormal experiences with
psychoactive drugs coming from psychedelic-assisted psychotherapy, with
every therapist in this field who has written about their work reporting such
experiences, and which tend to occur with greater frequency than in nonpsychedelic therapy (Luke, 2012). The psychiatrist Stanislav Grof, generally
credited with the greatest expertise in this field, having conducted more than
4,000 psychedelic therapy sessions over a two decade period, reported
observing patients experiencing ESP (particularly precognition) and accurate
remote viewing on a daily basis (Grof, 1975, 2001). The occurrence of
extraordinary coincidences or synchronicities was the most frequent type of
experience but, curiously, these occurred only among those clients who
experienced transpersonal breakthroughs within the psychedelic session
(Grof, 2001).
There is a wealth of reports of the spontaneous occurrence of ostensible psi
phenomena with the use of psychedelic substances, but such experiences are
not necessarily genuine psi events. Aside from the usual arguments for and
against spontaneous phenomena as evidence for the paranormal (e.g., see
Cardeña & Pekala, 2014; Stokes, 1997), the fact that respondents had
consumed a visionary substance may be reason to question their perception
and interpretation of the experiences, at least for those cases that are not
substantiated by evidence or independent observers. Nevertheless, Shanon
(2003) pointed out that the usual definitions of hallucination in the
psychological literature fail to adequately encompass the diverse and
complex nature of experiences that occur with psychedelics, nor can
assumptions be made about the ontology of such psychedelic-induced
visions. Indeed, many people who have had ostensibly paranormal
psychedelic experiences reported how real the experience seemed, often
being felt as more real than the ordinary waking experience (Shanon, 2003).
Further empirical research is needed to validate these claims.
Surveys of Paranormal Belief and Experience in Relation to Drug Use
Reviewing the survey research one immediately notices two trends. First,
virtually all of the 16 surveys reviewed were published since the 1970s, after
the period when most direct experimental psychedelic research was
conducted, although such research is now slowly resuming after a long
hiatus. Second, most of the surveys primarily focused on paranormal
experiences (9 surveys) and/or belief (7 surveys) and tended to record drug
use information as one of many possible co-variables (10 surveys), often
omitting to distinguish among the different substances. Only six studies
approached users of psychoactive substances as the target sample (for a
review see Luke, 2012).
The findings from the survey research indicate a small but consistent, and
typically significant relation (r = .16 to .25) between belief in the
anomalous/paranormal and drug use, with the size of this relation being most
pronounced for the marijuana users in Tart’s 1993 study. Furthermore, these
studies support the hypothesis that psychedelics can induce some paranormal
phenomena, although the same arguments for and against the genuineness of
field reports are also relevant here. Of the reviewed surveys, correlations
between the occurrence of paranormal experiences (including psi and
mystical experiences) and the use of all drugs (excluding prescription drugs)
ranged from r = .13 to .46 and were typically significant, and/or those
reporting ESP and anomalous/paranormal experiences were found to be
significantly more likely to use psychedelics. One study found the same for
recurrent spontaneous PK as well, although only tentatively (Palmer, 1979).
Furthermore, of those reporting the use of psychedelics, between 18 and 83
percent reported ESP experiences—most commonly telepathy but also
precognition—actually occurring during drug use, with heavier users
reporting more experiences. Yet, conversely, the occurrence of PK during
drug use was only reported to occur by between 13 and 22 percent of those
using psychedelics.
Weak relations between paranormal experiences, the use of psychedelics,
and kundalini experiences has also been found in two studies, and there is
also a weak, but repeated, correlation between transliminality, drug use, and
paranormal experience with Australian psychology students. Where
specified, the relation with paranormal experiences, belief in the paranormal,
transliminality, and tolerance of ambiguity is much reduced with cocaine,
heroin, and alcohol, compared to psychedelics, perhaps reflecting Metzner’s
(2005) classification of these former substances as consciousnesscontracting drugs. The same is also true for the negative relation with the
fear of psi and use of psychedelics, which is not apparent with heroin and
actually reversed with alcohol, although replication and analyses for specific
classes of drugs is necessary.
Correlations between self-reports of cannabis use and “thought
transmission” in psychiatric research are apparent, often indirectly, though
such experiences are also more widely reported in the apparent absence of
pathology, with or without cannabis. Most of the surveys failed to
adequately identify which substances lead to which experiences, although a
switch to such taxonomic research is now evident (Luke & Kittenis, 2005).
Substances particularly favorable to the experience of telepathy were
cannabis, MDMA and DXM. No one substance was particularly generative
of precognitive experiences, and possible candidates for clairvoyance were
cannabis, LSD, and psilocybin. As yet no research has explored state and
personality dimensions in relation to substance-induced psi experiences,
although such research is encouraged (Cardeña, 2009; Luke, 2011a).
Experimental Psi Research with Drugs
Published between 1943 and 1961, the earliest parapsychology experiments
with psychoactive substances were conducted with simple stimulants and
depressants, such as caffeine, amphetamine, alcohol, amytal, and quinalbarbitone. This work, which had mixed results, is not included here (for a
review see Palmer, 1978) as this overview is instead focused on the
visionary (i.e., psychedelic) substances, which are seemingly more favorable
to the production of psi.
So far there have been only 18 published papers, comprising 23 separate
experiments, on the efficacy of psychedelics for inducing ESP, primarily
with LSD or psilocybin, but also with mescaline, cannabis, Amanita
muscaria, and ayahuasca (for a summary see Table 1). The results of these
experiments, which began in the 1950s, varied in their degree of success,
most likely in relation to the methodology involved (for a review see Luke,
2012). The most successful experiments tended to have participants
experienced with the use of psychedelics, and also utilized free-response
testing procedures, with open-ended mentation regarding their internal state,
rather than forced-choice guessing scenarios, which tend to be repetitive and
thus rather boring “under the influence.” In retrospect it is easy to see how
the more naïvely-designed projects lost any hope of sensibly testing for
anything, let alone psi, once their inexperienced participants began
succumbing to the mystical rapture of their first trip.
These few experiments were also reported quite differently, sometimes as
entire monographs in excess of 100 pages or at other times as footnotes
within another published report, often without useful details and statistics.
The majority of these experiments were essentially pilot studies and were
mostly conducted during the psychedelic research period of the 1960s.
Table 1. Summary of All ESP Controlled Research with Psychedelics
Due to the exploratory nature of most of these experiments, it is difficult to
fully assess their efficacy in using psychedelics to produce ESP (no PK
experiments having been attempted). In most cases the study could have
largely been improved with an adequate control condition for order effects
(Palmer, 1978), and the masked use of decoy targets in the judging process.
Procedures using subjective probability estimates by experimenters (such as
Asperen de Boer, Barkema, & Kappers, 1966) are now virtually obsolete in
parapsychology because they are so difficult to assess and are prone to bias
(Parker, 1975). Of 10 ESP-card experiments, in the one that used a control
condition the scores in the psilocybin condition were significantly different
from chance and were also superior to the control condition, although not
significantly so (Asperen de Boer et al., 1966). Nevertheless, it is apparent
that experiments using forced choice ESP-card type symbol guessing
procedures were largely unsuccessful compared to chance expectation.
Indeed, the use of the symbol-guessing procedure has been widely criticized
for being far too mundane under the influence of psychedelics (Luke, 2012).
Even so, using Amanita muscaria, Puharich (1962) showed that forcedchoice procedures could be successful with picture-sorting tasks, although
there are concerns that his experiments were not well controlled for possible
sensory leakage.
Alternatively, more engaging, free-response procedures have demonstrated
at least some success in all but one of the four studies that used psychometry
—the supposed ability of psychically determining the provenance of a given
object—although rarely with any control condition for comparison. A clearer
indication of possible psychedelic-induced ESP, at times in comparison to a
control condition, comes from the four clairvoyance and four telepathy
designs, which were mostly positive (see Luke, 2012). Despite some
promising trends, however, replication is needed and, in some cases, with
better methodology and pre-planned analyses. It remains curious that no
formal explicit experiments with precognition or PK have been performed,
particularly the former because powers of divination are traditionally
attributed to many plant psychedelics.
A Methodological Critique of the Experimental Research and Suggestions for Future Study
When consideration is given to what has been learned from these largely
pilot studies, experimenters and commentators alike have highlighted the
difficulties involved in attempting to test for psi with participants who have
taken a psychedelic. Asperen de Boer et al. (1964) suggested that
participants’ willingness to perform in the task was important, but given the
difficulty to maintain alertness, self-control, focus, interest, and orientation
to the task (Millay, 2001; Rogo, 1976), it seems much more important to
consider the participants’ capability to perform in the experiment rather than
their mere willingness. Parker (1975) notes that a participant’s increased
sensitivity to subtle influences under psychedelics is both a boon and a bane
to research. Indeed, using psychedelics to induce psi is a double-edged
sword, chiefly because all of the reasons listed previously that make such
research alluring also may have the participants neglect the psi task while
they become absorbed in their aesthetic experiences (Osis, 1961; Smythies,
1960), the quest for philosophical knowledge (Osis, 1961), a deep soulsearching self-examination (Blewett, 1963), one’s own personal drama
(Millay, 2001; Parker, 1975), or flow of thoughts (Ryzl, 1968).
In addition, participants may have difficulty communicating because of the
lack of adequate language (Lilly, 1969), the overwhelming flood of ideas
and emotions (Ryzl, 1968), and the speed of change of the internal
experience (Blewett, 1961, 1963). The experience of dissociation (e.g., with
ketamine) can also hinder communication when participants are no longer
present or aware of their physical environment and, as Huxley (1961)
pointed out, there is a need to assure participants of their identity once
constructs of space and time disappear.
However, it is apparent that these obstacles to research may be greatly
alleviated or even eliminated if participants are experienced with the use of
psychedelics, as noted by Tart (1977) and others (Blewett, 1963; Parker,
1975). Indeed, about a quarter of inexperienced participants are expected to
have intense spontaneous mystical experiences during their first trip (Wulff,
2014). Yet, only 3 (Bierman, 1998; Masters & Houston, 1966; Wezelman &
Bierman, 1997) of the 19 studies reviewed here specifically reported the use
of participants experienced with these psychedelics, and it is worth noting
that those studies were relatively more successful at getting above chance psi
scores than those that used inexperienced participants. Further, it has been
suggested that experienced psychedelic participants can be trained more
easily to stabilize their experience (Levine, 1968; Millay, 2001; Tart, 1977).
Regardless of training, it has been strongly advised that participants be
allowed to stabilize their experience before testing begins (Blewett, 1963;
Millay, 2001; Parker, 1975; Tart, 1977).
Stabilization of the experience may even be expedited by inducing hypnosis
prior to drug administration (Parker, 1975; Tart, 1968) in what has been
called the “hypnodelic” state (Ludwig 1968). Alternatively, Ryzl (1968)
reported re-inducing LSD states through hypnosis, as is also reported
elsewhere, although it was uncertain how successful this was (Ludwig,
1968), though success inducing other drug states (e.g., MDMA, heroin) has
been reported (Hastings, 2006; Ludwig & Lyle, 1964). Perhaps, the entire
psychedelic experience can be later hypnotically re-induced in experienced
users so that no psychedelics are actually taken during the test procedure.
Testing for psi under such “controlled flashbacks” may overcome most of
the stipulated problems, and have the added advantage of investigating
Rogo’s (1976) question of whether it is the neurochemical action of the
drugs or the state induced that can seemingly produce psi. Nevertheless, this
research approach somewhat restricts participants to those who are both
experienced and comfortable with psychedelics and are highly suggestible.
Some researchers (e.g., Smythies 1960; Tart, in Levine, 1968) have
suggested that using good-psi scorers, psychics, and mediums in drug studies
would improve scoring, but Eileen Garrett (1961) noted that although LSD
enhanced her mediumistic experience it did not improve her forced choice
test-scores. Echoing this, Osis (1961) found that mediums did not prove any
more successful than normal participants in the other psychometry
experiments. This may be explained by all the problems that occur more
with inexperienced psychedelic users, indicating that sample selection
should primarily seek to identify experienced users over psi-effective
participants, although, presumably, ideal participants would be both. It is
also noted that among traditional shamanic cultures the use of psychedelics
and mediumship are seldom mixed (Luke, 2014).
Considering aspects of timing, several authors have offered advice, though
no formal studies have been conducted. Both Ryzl (1968) and Grof (2001)
suggested that the optimum period for testing psi during the LSD session
was towards the end when the effects were leveling off, as in the Masters
and Houston (1966) experiments, yet Pahnke (1971) disagreed. As regards to
the duration of the psi-task, rather than the extended test periods favored by
some researchers (e.g. Asperen de Boer et al., 1964; Tinoco, 1995), Osis
(1961) suggested 20 minutes should be the maximum for optimum
performance.
Some consideration has also been given to the optimal substance. Pahnke
(1971) recommended combining stimulants with psychedelics, whereas
Asperen de Boer et al. (1966) chose psilocybin over LSD, due to it being
milder, with which Cavanna and Servadio (1964) agreed. Indeed, LSD has a
much longer duration of action than psilocybin and, as Blewett (1963) noted,
10-hour trips are hard to staff. Ryzl (1968) also questioned the utility of LSD
in psychedelic psi testing and proposed that the ideal substance, if it can be
synthesized, should inhibit cortical activity to suppress the stream of
thoughts, depress sub-cortical activity to block incoming stimuli and excite
spheres of the cortex involved in ESP production, yet maintain rational
insight, and increase suggestibility. Such a designer drug is far in the future;
moreover, there is an increasing number of ethnobotanical substances that
have traditionally been used for psychic purposes, which have not yet been
thoroughly tested, or even tested at all (e.g., Salvia divinorum).
Tart (1993) further suggested that marijuana was an ideal substance for psi
experimentation because of its wide familiarity within the public, its mild
psychedelic qualities, and its reputed ability to induce psi, experientially at
least. Puharich’s (1962) apparent repeated success with Amanita muscaria
also needs replicating. Furthermore, other non-psychedelic chemical psi
research, such as de Pablos’s (2002) unsuccessful first-person precognitivedream drug-study, could also be replicated with the use of psychedelic
substances that have actually been reported to induce psi in dreams. For
instance, there are reports of precognitive dreams, by both traditional users
and by modern consciousness researchers, with substances such as Calea
zacatechichi (e.g., Devereaux, 1997; Díaz, 1979), Silene capensis (e.g.,
Hirst, 2000; Sobiecki, 2012), and tree datura (Brugmansia, e.g., Metzner,
1992).
Other substances seem best suited to other experimental designs too, for
example, telepathy-like experiments might also benefit from the
empathogenic effect of substances such as MDMA, as the one participant
under its influence in a remote detection experiment did exceedingly well
(Brown, 2012), and reports of telepathy are fairly typical with this substance
(Luke & Kittenis, 2005). Group telepathy with people under the influence of
DXM has also been independently reported by numerous survey respondents
(Luke & Kittenis, 2005). The use of a placebo in a double-masked or
masked control condition, as in Cavanna and Servadio (1964), is of
questionable utility in this type of experiment because at anything less than
sub-threshold doses the participant is likely to detect the effects of the drug;
nevertheless, researchers should be aware that placebo drug effects have
been demonstrated in ESP research when coupled with positive false
feedback on task performance (Pitman & Owens, 2004). One way in which
researchers have attempted to circumnavigate the poor disguise of
psychedelics and reduce expectancy effects in non-parapsychological
research is to tell the participant in advance that they may receive a placebo
or one of a number of different drugs, only one of which is a psychedelic,
though ultimately participants can usually tell when they get a psychedelic.
Several researchers have also commented on the importance of dosage (e.g.,
Levine, 1968). Indeed, Blewett (1961) warned that giving participants low
doses of LSD may not be sufficient to break through the barrier between the
normal and the full-blown psychedelic state and can be merely disorientating
rather than transformative. Support for this logic is also evident in escalating
dose research with DMT (Strassman, 2001). It was also advised in the
original Handbook that experienced participants control their own dosage
(Tart, 1977), as in the experiment by Wezelman and Bierman (1997).
Participants’ self-reports of the depth of the altered state were also
considered better than dosages as indicators of subjective effects (Tart,
1977). Self-reports using the Hallucinogenic Rating Scale were also
considered better indicators of dosage than physiological measures
(Strassman, Qualls, Uhlenhuth, & Kellner, 1994), though the use of a scale
of transpersonal experience, such as the Self-Expansiveness Scale Form
(Friedman, 1983), would also likely be fruitful in discerning the relevant
depth of the psychedelic ASC. Furthermore, some researchers (e.g., Parker,
1975; Tart 1968, 1977) have noted that the issue of dosage is largely
irrelevant in comparison to the influence of the psychological factors of set
and setting, as originally noted in psychedelic research by Leary, Litwin, and
Metzner (1963). Vayne (2001) suggested that the influence of psychological
factors on psychoactive drugs vary their effects so much that the drug can be
thought of primarily as an experience composed of set, setting, and
substance.
Factors considered important in determining psychological set include the
participants’ expectations, attitudes towards themselves, idiosyncratic
perceptions, and emotional orientation to the experiment (Levine, 1968; Tart,
1968). It is also deemed imperative to engender a sense of self-surrender,
acceptance, and trust (Blewett, 1963). Factors considered important in
determining psychological setting include those that are ordinarily
considered under demand characteristics (Parker, 1975; Tart, 1968, 1977),
particularly the experimenter’s attitude, which should be warm, friendly, and
supportive (Blewett, 1963). Psychological issues induced through
interpersonal relations within the laboratory become magnified when
participants are on psychedelics (Blewett, 1963; Parker, 1975). Indeed,
Cavanna and Servadio (1964) highlighted this when one of their participants
had an anxiety attack concurrent with their own anxiety, which led them to
advise that experimenters themselves should be experienced users of the
substance under investigation, as echoed by Strassman (2001).
Tart (1968) also recommended that the experimenter should guide the
experience towards the goal of the study, and has criticized previous work
for assuming psychedelic states to automatically induce psi, because, as
noted by Tart, Osmond, and Beloff (in Levine, 1968), in traditional scenarios
the shamans who use these substances usually have extensive training and
experience. It is further suggested that the experimental task be shaped to the
state of the participant, not vice versa (Tart, 1977), and utilize the strong
motivation, directed awareness, and complex ritual that is found in
shamanism (Grof, 2001; Tart, 1968). Grob and Harman (1995) have also
urged the integration of aspects from shamanic practices into scientific
procedure so that there is attentiveness to factors of set and setting, such as
intention, expectation, preparation, group identification, and formalized
structure, as well as the integration of the experience in the following
months. Indeed a multi-method approach to studying psychedelic shamanic
practices is advised, so that ethnography can inform suitable experimentation
(Giesler, 1984; Luke, 2010).
Nevertheless, Storm and Rock (2011) pointed out that, in psi research with
psychedelics, researchers need to be aware of the difference between
shamanic techniques and merely shamanic-like techniques; for example, the
latter may lack the purpose of serving one’s community. Furthermore, Tart
(1977) recommended the implementation of mutual research, where
participants are considered as co-investigators, to reduce experimenter bias
and enhance a sense of participation, trust, and motivation. One way to
ensure such congenial factors in the experimental setting may be to have an
experienced psychedelic user and parapsychologist as both the experimenter
and participant (Luke, 2011b), concerns over placebo effects
notwithstanding.
General Summary and Conclusions
Even though the subjective paranormal experiences, clinical observations
and anthropological reports are subject to all the usual criticisms and
rebuttals that apply to non-experimental cases (e.g., see Cardeña & Pekala,
2014) there is a growing body of reports, rooted in thousands of years of
traditional psychedelic use, that supports the notion that genuine psi
phenomena do occur in psychedelic states. Nevertheless, as evidence, these
data are not scientifically rigorous yet have great value in mapping the
phenomenological terrain of psi experiences with psychedelics. This body of
reports is further supported by correlations from surveys linking psychedelic
use with the increased reporting of psi experiences and belief in psi and the
paranormal, although self-reports have more phenomenological merit than
evidential value. Furthermore, even though it can be considered little more
than exploratory at this stage, the experimental evidence is more positive
than not and proves promising so far, illuminating both methodological
pitfalls and possibilities.
It is apparent that parapsychopharmacology is a multidisciplinary endeavor
pooling expertise from anthropology, ethnobotany, phytochemistry,
neurobiology, psychopharmacology, psychiatry, psychotherapy,
transpersonal psychology, and indeed parapsychology. It also owes much to
the non-academic explorers of consciousness, be they shamans, occultists, or
psychonauts. It is a branch of research that is still very much in its infancy
and, along with other fields conducting research with the use of
psychedelics, has been operating very quietly since the late 60s, until a
gentle turn in the tide during the last decade or so has seen experimental
research resume (Grob & Harman, 1995). Nevertheless, further experimental
research continues to need strict ethical and often governmental approval
before it can proceed, requiring lengthy applications (McKenna, 2004;
Strassman, 2001).
Tart (1977) recommended bypassing these difficulties by casually enrolling
participants who were already using psychedelics, rather than having the
experimenter administering the substances directly. An example of this kind
of experiment involved several thousand Grateful Dead fans, renowned for
their psychedelic consumption, who acted as senders in a series of dream
telepathy experiments with some success (Krippner, 1999). Indeed, taking
what Giesler (1984) calls a psi-in-process approach and keeping naturalistic
variables intact, group experiments may be one way to access the kind of
group telepathy experiences that people tripping in groups sometimes report
(e.g., Stevens, 1989) especially on DXM (Luke & Kittenis, 2005). However,
without the grounded and controlled atmosphere of a concert or shamanic
ceremony, psychedelic group ESP experiments run the risk of turning into
bacchanalian scenes, as reported by Puharich’s wife (Hermans, 1998).
Direct parapsychological research with psychedelics needs expanding
beyond the Netherlands and Brazil—the only places where experimental
psychedelic parapsychology research has been conducted since the 1970s.
Furthermore, treating these substances like any other drug worthy of
investigation within a medical or therapeutic context has recently proven a
fruitful means of inquiry for many researchers (Grob & Harman, 1995),
although psi research does not readily attract such funding at the present
time. Nevertheless, we should note that psychedelics are considered
sacramental by the spiritual and religious groups that use them and must be
treated and researched with respect.
It is also clear that besides trying to replicate the promising free-response
studies, further experimental psychedelic research should utilize protocols
that maximize psi effects, and this work can then simultaneously enhance
process research methodology by indicating optimal conditions for psi
through the psychologically magnifying effects of these substances. For
instance, Bierman’s (1998) psychedelic psi research may have revealed the
apparent psychic blocking of negative images, and from earlier experiments,
forced-choice tasks are clearly too mundane. Research should also seek to
study these substances in the shamanic context, in which they have most
effectively been used, designing appropriate test protocols for traditional
settings.
Additionally, following in the footsteps of William James, there has already
been some return to self-experimentation with psychoactive drugs by Pablos
(2002), who developed a viable protocol for testing one’s own precognitive
dreaming abilities with drugs, which might easily be adapted to waking
experimentation as well. All experimental research should also be designed
and conducted with an appreciative consideration of Tart’s proposals for the
creation of state-specific sciences (Tart, 1972). In the future,
parapsychologists might ask their participants about their drug use and
researchers investigating the use of psychedelics might once more include
questions relating to paranormal experiences (e.g., Echenhofer, 2005).
Furthermore, with an ever growing number of substances being discovered
and a large natural participant pool of psychedelic users, there is a need for
more thorough and focused phenomenological research that investigates and
identifies the types of paranormal experience that occur through the use of
each of these diverse psychedelic substances.
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Part Five: Physics and Psi
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 13
Quantum Theory and Parapsychology
BRIAN MILLAR
Those who talk about Psi without a theory literally don’t know
what they are talking about!
—Millar, 2012a
The topic of this essay is not entirely parapsychology, but emphasizes rather
what Carr (2008) calls paraphysics. The complication is that psi occurs in
people, not in simple physical systems. From the physical point of view, the
task of parapsychology is the pragmatic one of learning how psi can be
produced with sufficient strength and reliability. Once that is done the
(para)physicist can plumb its properties. The approach taken here distances
itself from the “search for the soul” goal that Alcock (1987) claims underlies
much of parapsychology: It is much nearer to mainstream science and
attempts to integrate psi within this larger picture. Here psi research is not
regarded exclusively as a “psychological science,” but is importantly also a
“physical science.” Psi research is interdisciplinary.
It is not possible within the limited compass of this essay to embrace all
quantum-inspired and related theories of psi. Most appear in the literature
once and are then never heard of again. Primary here are the Observational
Theories (OTs) (Houtkooper, 2002; Millar, 1978; Stokes, 1987). I also
consider Decision Augmentation Theory (DAT) (May, Radin, Hubbard,
Humphrey, & Utts, 1985, May, Spottiswoode, Utts, & James, 1995; May,
Utts, & Spottiswoode, 1995), despite it not being quantum-based. Detailed
evaluation of pure physics lies outside the scope of this essay, but the work
of Shoup (2011) is particularly close to the underlying theoretical position
taken here. Rather, the focus is on applied physics, the consequences of
practical relevance for the working parapsychologist. The reader should be
aware that the account given here is very much this writer’s own take.
Roots: Precognition and Quantum Theory
There are two main root sources for the theories discussed here: the
empirical evidence for precognition and the Measurement Problem in
quantum physics (OT only).
Precognition
From the very early days in parapsychology, it was recognized that it is not
possible experimentally to distinguish the various types of psi. Telepathy
could actually be clairvoyance, precognition could actually be psychokinesis
(PK). Virtually any experimental result could be a form of PK. Questions of
this type were put aside in favor of the more tractable examination of
psychological factors. But ask a parapsychologist of the Rhine school what
the core phenomenon is and he is likely to answer one of the real-time sort:
Although precognition may occur, it is in conflict with common sense and
may with impunity be ignored until later.
The non-local theories (NLT) consider this (temporally local) approach a
denial of the essential nature of psi. Precognition (and/or the logically
[nearly] equivalent retro–PK) seems to be experimentally as well established
as any other psi effect. The choice is open whether all apparent
manifestations of psi are equally artifactual (the standard scientific view) or
if precognition is the distinctive manifestation of psi that sets it aside from
(most) other physical phenomena. If forced to come to grips with
precognition anyway, why not make a virtue of it and consider it central? In
the framework of the NL theories, all psi effects are actually at root
disguised precognition. Something, which looks a lot like retro-action (but
isn’t quite), lies at the core of psi effects.
Measurement problem. In New Age accounts of Quantum Mechanics
(QM) it is often said that human observers bring the universe into being by
observing it. Their myth is that each person is a little God, moment by
moment creating his/her own universe in his/her own image. In the very
beginning of Quantum Mechanics, Bohr’s people tried to make sense of the
field and their loose consensus has become known as the Copenhagen
interpretation(s). The central problem was at what point does a system cease
to be described as a superposition of quantum waves and where do classical
laws take over. In this jargon, the wave changes to an event with the
“collapse” of the wave function. Most took refuge in ideas of
thermodynamic irreversibility. This was certainly rather vague and
unsatisfactory to mathematical sticklers such as Wigner (1961). Where,
indeed, does the buck stop? He asked what happens if we not merely have a
human observer who observes a quantum process, but we have a second
“over-observer” looking at the result obtained by the first (the paradox of
“Wigner’s friend”). Wigner did, initially, think that humans have some
special “consciousness” magic that is employed in “observation”: The first
human observer “collapses the wave function” to an event, which is
observed classically by the over-observer. Although he later abandoned this
idea the attribution has stuck.
Those days are gone: decoherence rules now. Although there are a few holdouts most physicists today consider “observation” by a photocell to be no
different than “observation” by a human. In the formalism of QM, when a
quantum system interacts with anything macroscopic (and noisy), the spooky
(off-diagonal) terms in the density matrix very rapidly get “randomized” out,
leaving only the classical behavior on the diagonal. The decoherence process
is something physically real: it can be described in terms of ongoing physical
processes, in contrast to the “collapse of the wave function” which cannot.
Decoherence does not account for actual collapse but only the appearance of
collapse. Although not all physicists are totally sold on decoherence, there is
widespread agreement that it forms an important part of the solution of the
measurement problem (Schlosshauer, 2004). A photocell is then in the same
sense as a human, a little God! There is, however, some truth in the New
Age canard: observation (whether machine or human) brings about
decoherence and turns a wave function into an event. Potentiality becomes
reality, probabilities become events. Although observation (by a human)
may conjure up an event, in current QM we are quite impotent to influence
the nature of that event. Consider a quantum system that will produce either
a left (L) or a right (R) polarized photon (light particle) with 50 percent
chance of each. Observation produces either L or R events but the observer
cannot make it either L or R: this is determined by pure random chance,
beyond the observer’s control. In conventional QM, the little human (or
photocell) God says only: “Let there be events!”
Observation in PK. It is evident that the measurement problem may have
direct relevance to psi. Parapsychological experiments suggest that, contrary
to standard QM, observers (a chosen few anyway) can at will slightly
influence the 50:50 distribution of L and R towards, say, more R. If the
experiments are correct, the question becomes how can QM best be extended
to incorporate PK? [see chapter 20, this volume]. Walker suggested the
addition of a nonlinear (information) term to standard QM. Because an event
only comes into existence when observed, an influence in the present seems
to have an effect on the past (the precognition connection). However,
physical experimenters have looked in vain for non-linear effects in QM. At
first sight, the change from collapse to decoherence seems to eliminate the
possibility of PK because now a human observer is, in principle, no different
than a photocell. However, the reverse is actually the case, as decoherence
(Gell-Mann, 1994) opens up new vistas for PK. If the observer is
structureless (a heat-bath or “reject” photocell), then standard QM holds. But
organisms are anything but random; they are highly structured, right down to
a (sub)molecular scale, and they do make surprising use of quantum effects
(Ball, 2011). Direct investigation of the quantum physiology of psi is
currently infeasible and another more immediate approach will be
considered.
EPR and proposed Walker-Schmidt coupling. The first proposal for nonlocal coupling of a quantum system to a measurement was in a paper by
Einstein, Podolsky, and Rosen (1935; EPR), written while the first author
was tilting at the windmills of QM. Decades went by before it gave rise to
practical implementations. A system breaks into two similar particles going
in different directions, subject to the various conservation laws. What EPR
showed was that systems of (two) particles that have interacted in the past
can continue to behave, in some respects, as a single entangled state even
though the two constituent particles are now far apart. Whenever the
experimenter chooses to measure an entangled property of one particle, the
corresponding property of the other one turns out also to be determined. This
looks initially very odd, because a quantum particle does not have a property
until it is measured. It gives the impression that the particles are somehow in
communication (Einstein’s “spooky action at a distance”). There are
correlations between the measurements of the two particles, quantified in the
Bell inequalities. However no message can be passed between them. The
two retreating particles have to be treated gently, for instance a good vacuum
must be maintained; if they interact with gas molecules along the way, the
entangled state rapidly decoheres into two classically separate particles.
It is instructive to see how far one can go towards a theory of psi based on
the (now) conventional physics of EPR. EPR alone does not cut it. The
investigation yields indications about the kind of physical interaction
“missing” in current QM that is needed for a proper theory of psi. Consider
giving both A and B a “box” containing one of a pair of entangled photons
on which they can make measurements. Each goes to a separate room. The
simplest two-player game would take up too much space to describe here,
but with a quantum assist they can make a match even though there is no
communication between them. This has become known as quantum pseudotelepathy (Brassard, Broadbent, & Tapp, 2005). The “pseudo” here signifies
that it just looks like a signal even though there is only a correlation.
In laboratory tests of telepathy, the “senders” cannot be allowed to send
whatever they like, because of possible shared behavior. Targets must be
determined by a (physically) random process, and to generate them a
Random Number Generator (RNG) is used. The purest kind uses radioactive
decay as the random source. The RNG is designed so that its output cannot
be affected by any past influence: it “insulates” the output from the past. The
RNG cannot be affected by non-locality introduced by an interaction in the
past. Lab-type telepathy consequently cannot be simulated using just EPR.
The RNG is designed so that (processed quantum noise) information can
freely be read out. The processing goes: quantum system → detector →
electronics → display → human observer. But this is in the wrong temporal
order. For psi to be able to “get at” the internal quantum process, a new kind
of non-locality is needed, induced by a future interaction that “propagates”
from future to past—in short, a kind of time-reversed EPR. I have elsewhere
(Millar, 1988) called this the Walker-Schmidt (WS) coupling. If this
hypothetical WS coupling should exist in nature, the RNG would be wide
open to influence from the future. It is ideally suited to detect any such
effect, because it is isolated from interference by the past and the chance
distribution is conveniently known.
The idea of WS coupling is attractively simple and it may underlie the
observed properties of psi but is there hard evidence of it in physics? Only
while writing this did I come upon a recent paper (Ma et al., 2012) that
builds upon an earlier proposal by Perez (2000). This purports to
demonstrate that non-local coupling can in fact be induced by a future
interaction. In this experiment the time was small by human terms (less than
half a microsecond) and a great deal more work needs to be done on these
lines before much can be said. Nonetheless, WS coupling is no longer
entirely an unsupported assumption.
There has been a great deal of loose talk about QM: a few enthusiasts have
gone so far as to embrace entanglement as a kind of (spurious) diplomatic
immunity, which ensures that “anything goes.” It should be realized that psi
is either classical signaling or a kind of quantum entanglement: the two are
mutually exclusive. Parapsychology cannot have non-local cake and eat
signals too.
NLT Guide for the Perplexed
It is useful, at this point, to set out in plain words what the NLTs actually
have to say. What varieties do they come in and how do they differ? The
NLTs are in agreement that the basic psi effect is that the future influences
(but does not change) the past: there exists a troubling non-local coupling
between future and past that is not explained within current physical theory
(Non-Local in time). The principal collection is known as the Observational
Theories (OT). I (contentiously) include Decision Augmentation Theory
(DAT), which is neither quantum nor observational, but nonetheless displays
deep philosophical as well as practical similarities.
The OTs came originally from the physics measurement problem in QM,
albeit tackled in substantially different ways by Walker (1976) and Schmidt
(1975). Both used the concept of PK, which can trivially be converted to
ESP (see below). The active element in the future influences the past by PK.
This element in the future cannot, however, work its magic on any random
system it wants to in the past; rather, it can only affect a system about which
it (later) gets information by normal means (through a feedback channel). In
the OTs, the world is not seen directly by ESP; rather, feedback about the
world is seen. Aristotle’s dictum (There is nothing in the mind that was not
earlier in the senses) may be neatly inverted for psi: There is nothing psiaffected that is not later in the senses. More crudely stated: to be able to PK
or precognize something you must later see how it turned out.
But just what information has to be given as feedback: does it have to be
trial by trial or is a total score sufficient? The traditional “peek and poke”
models (see later) of signal-based parapsychology suggest that only trial-bytrial feedback is likely to be effective. This impression was so dominant that
many parapsychologists apparently neglected to inform themselves what the
OTs have to say on the matter (e.g., Targ & Tart, 1985). The quantitative
models of Schmidt and Walker predict somewhat different relative sizes of
effect on different feedback levels. I am unimpressed by the mathematical
“guesses” of both theorists and take (for now) the merely qualitative view
that the amount of psi influence on a system is dependent upon the amount
of feedback information. As the feedback information degrades, psi scoring
drops off: less detailed information results in a psi effect which may be less
than if the feedback were trial by trial, but certainly not zero. From a
psychological point of view the OTs operate upon the global unit that is
meaningful for the (actual) agent.
The basic ideas of DAT are found in Stanford’s (1974a, 1974b) psychologybased Psi Mediated Instrumental Response (PMIR) model [chapter 8, this
volume]. Mathematical consequences were developed by May et al. (1985)
as Intuitive Data Sorting (IDS) and later as Decision Augmentation Theory
(DAT) (May, Spottiswoode, et al., 1995a; May, Utts, et al. 1995b). DAT is
based on the intuitive idea of precognition. However, precognition is not
likely to emerge as anything overt, such as a vision: much more frequently,
“precognizers” just unconsciously adjust their behavior in the present so that
“something good” happens in the future or “something bad” does not.
Suppose the precognizer must choose between two routes home (left or
right) and, unknown to her, the road to the right harbors an escaped lion: the
precognizer automatically turns left. Such unconscious (precognition-based)
behavior often involves timing, for example the precognizer may start out
for home only after the lion is recaptured. This principle may be applied to a
standard PK experiment: the participant/experimenter unconsciously chooses
to switch on the RNG at just the right moment when the total score will be
“something good.” The precognizer may be influenced by anything at all in
the future, without any physical restriction.
Both NLTs decisively reject the fundamental sensorimotor analogy that
dominates parapsychology: for DAT this is often expressed as “No Force,”
while OT formulates it as “No Message.” It is NLTs together versus the rest
of the parapsychological world. The theories agree that the basic effect is
some kind of time reversal. For OT, this is (retro-)PK and for DAT,
precognition. On OT, ESP can be built from PK: for DAT, PK can be built
from ESP (precognition). The NLTs spurn the assumption that the unit
affected by psi is (necessarily) the subject trial, but is rather of a more global
nature. The psi effect is (often) exerted on the experiment as a whole: this is
radically different from the standard sensorimotor model. For both NLTs the
source of psi is not necessarily the nominal individuals and (psychologically)
is likely more often the experimenter instead: in contrast, the standard model
automatically fingers the participants as responsible unless there is very
good reason to doubt it.
There is a whole field of similarities and differences between OT and DAT
that lie outside the scope of this essay. The defining difference between them
is the necessity for feedback (observation) for OT alone. It is necessary to tie
the magic of psi to the physical world that includes the RNG. If some such
feature is not present, then psi becomes untethered from the physical. For
the OTs the “binder of domains” is the (physical) feedback channel. The
situation envisaged for DAT is much more weakly specified than for OT. For
OT two specific physical systems are related—the guess and the feedback.
With DAT, in contrast, behavior may be coupled with any psychologically
relevant situation in the future, with no necessary physical connection
between them. DAT may be thought of as an incomplete OT, shorn of
observation. The OTs are potentially more powerful than DAT because the
OTs make the restrictive assumption that a feedback channel is necessary.
We may never know if this is true unless parapsychologists vigorously try
out OT in practice. If this shows that feedback is not, in fact, necessary, we
can always fall back on the less powerful DAT. In what follows, I have
attempted to use “OT” in the text where the necessity for feedback is clear
and “NLT” otherwise.
OTs: Formal Structure
At the center of Walker’s (1976) system was a theory of long distance
quantum coupling in the brain, which is no longer tenable: the strictly OT
part was just an offshoot. Schmidt’s model is pure OT, while Walker’s
system is a mixture of OT with extraneous material. Here I follow the road
sketched by Schmidt (1975).The thrust of this section is that, while the
physical background lies within QM, the OTs may be represented as a purely
(formal) logical system without any explicit mention of quantum mechanics.
A single OT axiom can be formulated: the quantum nature of the world is
then merely implicit in the elements of the theory. This is important for the
practical worker, who just wants to doodle a few lines, without constantly
going back to QM. Furthermore, this approach provides a convenient
framework to discuss properties.
A logical system is most rigorously expressed in symbolic logic, but this
would severely vex most readers. Instead, the various elements are reified as
inanimate devices. The term “machine” or “machine-like” is used to convey
this. Psi, at first sight, seems to occur only with humans, or at least with
living systems, but most of the properties of living systems are likely
irrelevant to psi. Furthermore, it is by no means certain that rudimentary psilike phenomena do not occur in purely inanimate systems. It is only possible
to detect psi in humans because it can (to some degree) be directed: “Wish
that more 1s than 0s are generated by this RNG.” It is just not possible to do
this with a crystal, even if it were, on the sly, teleporting atoms between
galaxies. Starting from human PKers everything is removed that makes them
human so that only the hard psi core of precognition or retro–PK remains. It
is not necessary to worry acutely about this radical amputation. In the next
section a start is made on reattaching the severed organs.
Schmidt invented diagrams useful for OT. It is no coincidence that these
resemble the schematics of electronics, since they effectively represent
elementary psi circuits. The diagrams used here are somewhat modified
from Schmidt’s originals, but most of the changes are purely cosmetic. The
only difference of importance is that the psi-source is shown as a two
terminal device, whereas Schmidt depicts only a single terminal, with the
“ground” line implicit. The change serves to make explicit that the psisource is an observer (in the physics sense). A psi source changes probability
distributions: to do so it needs to “see” the (binary) distribution at its
terminals, not just the “hits” but the “misses” as well. (This formulation too
limits human errors that tend to creep in when working without an explicit
“ground”). It should be noted that although now two terminals are used there
is still only a single information channel. One cable connects a light bulb to
the electricity outlet, but it comprises twin wires. At this point, like Schmidt,
the diagrams show only discrete (trial by trial) feedback. It should be clearly
understood that this is for simplicity only, to illustrate the underlying ideas
clearly. The diagrams are generally (much) more complicated for realistic
feedback, but this is a matter of engineering detail.
The first element, representing chance, is the Random Generator (RG), a
discrete binary RNG based on pure quantum noise without any bias at all;
modern state-of-the-art machines are not far behind. In general these come
with different output probabilities, but as this is not important here we take
the simplest (symmetrical) case, with p = .5. The Schmidt representation is a
triangle with face right: here there are two outputs “0” and “1.”
The novel non-conventional element is the psi source (PS), which represents
“magic” without intelligence, a naked psi machine. It is modeled after an
idealized successful PKer, but unlike a real PKer the PS scores at a constant
rate. The PS has two input terminals, which we label plus (+) and minus (-).
The PS is represented by a pair of interlocked triangles, suggesting its “Janus
face” to time. The nature of the PS is to change probability distributions.
Specifically, the probability of a signal on the + terminal is increased (- is
decreased): and this is expressed here by the term “+hunger,” which is used
in much the same impersonal sense as a black hole has “matter-hunger” (see
later).
The PS changes the probabilities of any RG to which it is connected. It is
often useful, however, to think about this from the point of view of the PS
itself: it acts locally (at its own terminals) to appease its blind +hunger. If
this is connected to an external RG this has no choice but to “follow” (one
end of a wire cannot be a logical “high” while the other end is “low”). This
is a loose description of an a-temporal whole in the (unsuitable) language of
causality and should not be taken too literally. On this way of thinking,
though, it is easier to see that from the point of view of the psi source it is
irrelevant what random elements in the external world are connected to it.
All the PS-machine does is to unbalance its own inputs and it neither “knows
nor cares” what (quantum noise) it is connected to. The psi-affected
probability of a + input is no longer p = .5, but (say) p1 = .51. This is not
directly observable, only the unbalancing effect on the external RG can be
seen.
OT Axiom: When the PS is connected to a quantum-based RG the psi
source inputs are unbalanced and consequently the RG too becomes
unbalanced.
But what is an appropriate connection? The third element in the OT scheme,
which represents (largely) deterministic systems, is the feedback channel, a
one-way communication channel from RG to PS. The feedback channel is
the business element of the OT circuit. Although it often masquerades as a
humble pair of wires, it is in general of some complexity and is usually an
information-processing device in its own right. Because of its diverse
construction the feedback channel is usually represented as a plain rectangle,
with indication of its function: sometimes hardware is explicit. Here it has
two inputs and two outputs.
For the purpose of illustrating the basic operation, a couple of wires (and a
wire-cutter) are adequate. It is clear that if the PS functions as advertised,
according to the OT axiom we can “magically” alter the output probability
of the RG as desired:
RG “1” output connected to PS + (and 0 to -) : p(1) = .51
RG “0” output connected to PS + (and 1 to -) : p(1) = .49
[Wires cut (disconnected) : p(1) = .50]
This is illustrated in Figure 1: at the top is shown the straight-through
channel (1s are enhanced) and at the bottom the cross-over channel (0s
enhanced): the psi-affected probabilities are shown as (small) vertical bars
on the RG outputs.
Positive Definition of Psi
The OT axiom directly yields a positive definition of PK, rather than a vague
negative definition “not this … not that.” If the wires of the simple feedback
channel above are swapped, the scoring excess follows whichever RG output
is connected to the +input of the PS. The defining feature of OT psi is just
that it follows the feedback rather than the more distal external world. Since
the OTs are based on PK, the definition generalizes to psi in general.
Probability—Not Events
The key concept of QM is probability. QM is a probability calculus: The
OTs are likewise a probability calculus. The prior (chance) distribution is
changed (usually just shifted) by psi to a posterior distribution. It is
important to note it is the probability distribution as such which is shifted,
not because it represents something: it may be anything at all provided it is
quantum-based. If the chance distribution is the same, all quantum-based
physical systems are equally susceptible to psi influence. What the
probability represents is irrelevant to the psi source: what it means to the
world is the work of the feedback channel (see later).
+Hunger was introduced above as a way of illustrating the probabilitychanging nature of PK. Physically this corresponds to the correlation term
introduced by the (hypothetical) physical process of WS coupling. Many
other possible formulations are logically equivalent; the +hunger
formulation is used only because it is particularly simple.
The OT structure is inspired by the basic experiment of QM, diffraction.
Consider a beam of (monochromatic) light that passes through a slit so that it
casts a thin vertical light bar on a screen, a single peak. Now insert a (closely
spaced) double slit in the light beam after the single slit: the single peak on
the screen breaks up into a whole series of peaks, due to successive
constructive and destructive interference between the light waves at different
angles (path length). The introduction of the double slit changes the light
pattern on the screen.
Figure 1. PK with Straight-Through and Crossed Feedback Channel.
Microscopically, the pattern consists of flashes in which individual photons
hit the screen. According to QM what the introduction of the double slit does
is change the probability distribution of photons hitting at a particular angle.
About an individual photon nothing more can be said. It is not like classical
physics in which, in principle, every particle can be followed individually; in
QM photons do not have individual trajectories. Events (flashes) are no more
than (noisy) markers of the underlying probability distribution.
In OT the probability distribution of RG outputs is likewise affected as a
whole through connection of a feedback channel to a PS. The effect of PK is
on the global probability distribution, or actually on its underlying quantum
representation. PK affects the quantum state directly (non-locally) and
events are merely indirect markers of the changed quantum state. For the
OTs psi is always global, even when, as here, it appears to work on a discrete
sequence of bits: there are no individual bits that are true psi-hits and true
psi-misses. This is hard going for naive intuition. For my part (after the
initial shock) the OT picture now seems quite natural.
From Logical System to Physical Theory
More is required of a scientific theory than a formal logical system. Axioms
become laws. Laws predict empirical consequences in the real world, and
these predictions must turn out to be correct. The real world version of the
OT axiom is the OT Law. This is used in the same sense as Newton’s Laws
—assumptions about the world, which on mathematical development allow
(quantitative) predictions. Psychology, understandably, makes little use of
this term.
The theoretical RG becomes a physical RNG. The theoretical PS becomes a
physical “black box” somewhere in the individual’s head. The feedback
channel splits into two. There is the external feedback channel (the wiring or
programming), which is accessible to direct manipulation. People are not
PSs; they may contain PSs. The internal feedback channel between the
senses and the PS lies within the brain. A large part of the internal feedback
channel is what is known to psychologists as the “cognitive system,”
embodied in the wet-ware of the brain. The psychology of psi is the work of
the cognitive system (internal feedback channel). The quantum weirdness
embodied in the PS is exploited by the cognitive system. Most of the
discussion here consequently involves the feedback channel of the OTs.
Probability Shifting: Quantum-like OT Mechanism
In classical physics an effect can only be obtained by the push/pull of each
individual bit by the application of a force. The conventional sensorimotor
idea of parapsychology is that PK is a kind of “astral finger” that pokes at
individual RNG bits, while ESP is an “astral eye” that peeks in turn at each
Zener card. This classical, almost atomistic viewpoint has been called the
“peek and poke” model (Burns, personal communication, 2014).
The OTs are something completely different. The basic mechanism is
“Probability Shifting.” How can something so apparently abstract as a
probability distribution be shifted directly? It is not possible to make an
intuitive model of that, the whole idea just does not make sense outside of
QM. But classical physics is (by definition) not adequate for the paranormal.
Figure 2 diagrams the very heart of OT—probability shifting.
Figure 2. Probability Shifting (+Hunger in Action).
“No Signal” Is the Message
If a signal is transferred via a communication channel, it is possible to use
the information of the message received in any desired way. This is the way
a radio works. The same information is received regardless of what happens
later. In the OTs, in contrast, the very existence of a (pseudo-psi) correlation
depends on later feedback (quantum observation). The information
associated with the correlation is of a purely formal nature: it cannot be used
consistently. Any attempt to use it as if it were a standard communication
channel tends to couple it to the “noisy” external world (observation in the
physicist’s sense), destroying the coherence on which the effect depends; psi
is labile. Messages cannot routinely be sent by this means, nor is it possible
consistently to make money by using psi to guide investments [but see
chapter 29, this volume]. Psi is just robust enough to produce (some)
impressively low p-values; but even here it may be best to keep it “under the
hat” and not tell too many people!
The Feedback Channel Is Physical
On hearing “feedback channel,” the psychologist involuntarily thinks of the
feedback loop involved in learning, but it is not psychological at all. The
term is borrowed from communications theory: Shannon’s math is a gift for
the psi theorist. The way it is used in the OTs goes somewhat beyond its
usual technical usage. The feedback channel in the OTs is a one-way
communication channel from RG to PS that couples the two together to form
a (temporary) single system. This total system displays properties that
neither of the two parts has when apart: in addition to its normal duties it
also functions as a quantum connection. The feedback channel is the link
between the randomness of the RG and the “magic” of the PS.
The provision of a feedback channel is not the same as listening to a radio
station. There can be a connection even if one does not hear anything
(though not the other way around). In fact, meeting the OTs’ requirement for
a feedback channel for psi is more like saying the (old fashioned) radio must
first be plugged in. Though at first sight it does not look like it: The feedback
channel is physical.
Psi Sources for Pleasure and Profit
The thrust of discussion here is that while the OT Law is physically simple,
the very complex human being takes every advantage of this little bit of
quantum weirdness to achieve his ends, by use of his internal feedback
channel. This is illustrated by a number of thought experiments, which
initially involve a hypothetical bare PS and work up to complicated human
agents.
Can anything interesting be done with a bare PS? Perhaps the engineer wants
a statue to levitate, so he sets it on an electric jack controlled by an RNG: a 1
output raises the statue 1cm, while a 0 lowers it an equal distance. He then
connects the RNG to the PS such that the 1 output gives a pulse to the +input
of the PS (0 to the -input). Depending on the strength of the PS, it may take
an awfully long time reliably to raise the statue an appreciable distance by
(machine) PK. If he switches the connection over (0 output to +PS) the
statue slowly lowers. It looks as if he can send a message by choosing the
way he connects the PS.
Now, connect 10 different RNGs to the inputs of a computer (programmable
external feedback channel) and connect an output to our bare PS. Any
programmer may change the program of the external channel to determine
what effect the PS has on the external world. If he wants to use (machine)
PK to obtain an excess of 1s on RNG3, the feedback channel computer is
programmed so that a pulse is sent from the 1 output of RNG3 to the
+terminal of the PS (and RNG 0 output to the -terminal of the PS): if the
programmer wants excess 0s on RNG5, it is programmed so that a pulse is
sent from the 0 output of RNG3 to the +terminal of the PS (1 to the terminal).
If the programmer wants to do ESP instead of PK he may program
“Schmidt’s mechanical paragnost” (Figure (3): this uses an RG to generate
the target, as well as a pseudo-random generator (P-RG) to make the
“guess.” Both the guess and the target are input to the feedback channel
computer; if they match, the program sends a pulse to the +terminal of the
PS (if no-match, a pulse to the -terminal). In this way, to satisfy its +hunger,
the PS magically enforces matches (hits) in the external world. The PS now
effectively works upon a (composite) RG, made from the target and guess
RG: this composite RG represents “hit” or “miss.” The PS unbalances its
own input terminals without reference to what it represents, a hit/miss RG is
no different from a standard 0/1 RG. It is worthy of note that this circuit
causes pure correlation, without biasing either RG, something quite different
to peek and poke models.
Figure 3. Schmidt’s “Mechanical” Paragnost.
Now connect the computer to the world wide web. In this way the
programmer can select any random process (or combination of random
processes) desired to PK-influence anything at all in the entire (internet)
observable universe. The programmer may, for example, choose that the PS
“observe” microscopic fission traces in 5 billion-year-old zircons or distant
quasars relayed from the Hubble telescope. (A programmable psi system is
not the ultimate secret weapon with which history can be changed: in fact
the programmer cannot change anything whatever, all he can do is introduce
correlations between apparently separate systems). The feedback channel
program can be changed by the programmer to cause any qualitative PK
effect required on any (combination of) external QM-noise based systems.
The program is designed so that it transforms success at the desired task into
pulses at the +input (and failure at the -input) of the PS. In this way the blind
“+hunger” of the PS is harnessed to influence the world in the manner
desired by the programmer.
But suppose the programmer works in Silicon Valley and wants an easier
way to do the programming rather than writing boring old code. She will
have to “make do” with a successful human participant who has an internal
channel/cognitive system and PS. In this case things are simple for the (ex-)
programmer: it is only necessary to instruct the participant: “Here is an
RNG: I want you to wish for an excess of 1s.” Internally the participant
associates (feelings? of) success with 1s (or failure with 0s) and a pulse
corresponding to each success is (unconsciously) sent to the +terminal of his
internal PS (and failure to the –terminal).
Likewise for ESP the “programmer” instructs the human participant: “Here
is an (open) pack of Zener cards, guess which symbol is on the top and I’ll
turn it over and see if you’re right.” To make the guess the participant
(unconsciously) consults a (p = 1/5) internal RNG and when the top card is
shown compares guess and target to see if there is a hit or miss (success or
failure). This success/failure information is passed on to the internal PS as
before, with success connected to the +input. This is just the same setup as
before with the external feedback channel, only now everything is internal.
Suppose the programmer tries to find out whether he can do the psi thing
himself and, somewhat to his surprise, finds that he can. He is now
simultaneously both programmer and programmed. The conscious part
decides what he wants to do and then (unconsciously) programs his own
internal feedback channel appropriately.
But humans do not split neatly into just two parts (conscious and
unconscious): rather there may be multiple levels of semi-independent
processing. The decision as to what psi effect is “wanted” does not need to
be conscious but can itself be the result of unconscious processing (another
level of control). This multi-level structure of human processing effortlessly
lends itself to much more complex psi tasks, such as (unconsciously) making
experimental outcomes conform to a cherished theory. There is negligibly
more processing required for a complex as compared to a simple psi task.
There remains the important question of just what makes one PKer
successful while a neighbor scores at flat chance. No purely physical theory
deals with the psychological (and physiological) variables. A complete
theory of psi must comprise both physical and psychological components.
The NLTs provide a convenient framework (see below) into which the
psychology can be fitted: the differences between participants are to be
sought in the internal feedback channel and its programming, the
individual’s cognitive system.
The NLTs Meet Psychology
The basic problem of the application of psychology to psi is that it attempts
to tackle a 20th (or 21st) century problem (temporal non-locality) with 19th
century conceptual tools. NLT is a product of thinking outside this limited
psychological box. There is a visceral clash between the non-local NLTs and
signal-based experimental psychology.
The Logical Problem and Lack of Performance
The methods of experimental psychology are based on the assumption that
adequate controls on information leakage can be implemented. But this is
true only if information can leak via sensory channels alone.
Parapsychologists postulate a (physically) new kind of (psi) interaction that
is (largely) independent of space and time limitations, it is nonlocal. The
psychologist does not know how to insulate against psi leakage: psi is
consequently able systematically to circumvent any control and multiple
blinding she can devise. On purely logical grounds psychology alone is
impotent to deal with psi.
Psi can get round all the normal safeguards of psychology, but does it? This
is the postulate of passive psi, the domain of the truthful. The alternative is
that psi scatters in all directions, like a flock of birds trying to evade the
hunter. This is the postulate of evasive psi, the domain of the “trickster”
(Hansen, 2001). Psi is an unconscious process, like dreaming, and dreams
are rarely ethical. Evasive psi is overwhelmingly more plausible (Kennedy,
2003). The psi pioneers pressed on regardless, possessed by the spirit of
psychology. Very rapidly the orthodox view in parapsychology became that
the expression of psi is primarily determined by a constellation of subtle and
largely unconscious psychological factors. By identifying and manipulating
the psychological factors, psi scoring could surely be brought under control,
but this increase in control did not materialize. Most experiments since
Rhine have looked at the effect of some psychological factor on psi [chapter
9, this volume]. Significant results have indeed been found (Palmer, 1979,
1982), but seem curiously limited to a few virtuoso experimenters. Despite
all this effort no psychological variable has (yet) been found that
parapsychologists agree has noticeably altered the overall proportion of
successful psi experiments. The early promise of psychology in
understanding psi has proven just that … promissory.
Experimenter Psi and the NLTs
It simply would not occur to any right thinking (signal-based) psychologist
to question who does the psi-ing: it is obviously the nominal participants.
The physics-based NLTs can hardly disagree more! There is no difference in
principle between all the personnel involved in the experiment provided they
get feedback of the results, all are observers. They may be participants,
experimenter, data analyst, etc., or conceivably even the lab dog, who is
petted and fed more treats when things are going well (Schmidt, 1984).
According to the NLTs there are
just a collection of people who are interested in the behavior of a random
generator. Who is called “participant” or “experimenter” is theoretically
unimportant. There are, however some practical differences between them:
a) E is usually considerably more motivated than P.
b) P is usually a first-time psi-er, while E is someone with a previous track
record in psi experiments.
c) P sees only a small part of the experiment (usually at the trial level),
while E sees it all, at each level up to the final statistic.
On the basis of the NLTs it comes as no surprise if Es typically have more
psi-influence on the results than Ps. Percipients may be expected to apply psi
at the level of the feedback they get (trial or sometimes total scores). The
experimenter is interested primarily in the whole experiment and gets the
total result directly as feedback, a random experiment generator. Further, in a
process-oriented experiment, E’s (implicit) goal is not merely to find
evidence of psi, but to confirm the hypothesis: to this end E may apply psi to
the end result as a whole, a random test statistic generator.
Experimenter psi goes together with NLT like peaches and cream. On these
theories experimenter psi is expected to dominate experimental results:
consequently a heavy experimenter psi contribution is evidence for the
NLTs. And if there is much experimenter psi the standard methods of
experimental psychology are undermined, experimenters may be
systematically fooling themselves. In this case application of the OTs offer
(perhaps the only) way out of the experimental impasse, by methods
involving feedback manipulation (see later).
Signal in Noise (SIN)
ESP is often described as a communications anomaly. The psychologists’
standard model of communication is that of Weaver and Shannon (1963),
which may be applied if information is already present in the central nervous
system but it says nothing about how it gets there. For psychologists the
mechanism can be none other than some unknown signal, as this is the only
possibility in 19th century physics. But as noted above, a major logical
assumption (only sensory leakage) on which experimental psychology is
based is blown away by the very existence of psi. So entrenched, however,
has the SIN model become in psychological thinking that it represents the
central dogma in current psychological theories of psi. Most standard
statistical methodology is based on the SIN model and it is almost
impossible to avoid using theory-loaded terms such as signal, message,
transmission, and information transfer. The standard effect size and standard
power are also implicitly based on the Shannon model.
Psychology—A Mixed Blessing
Parapsychology is indebted to psychology for most of its basic methodology.
It has, moreover, contributed considerably to the much needed
professionalization of the field. However, quite debatable assumptions have
been taken over, without due consideration of whether they are in fact
applicable to psi. Academic parapsychology has been largely dominated by
psychology, which held the purse strings. Most parapsychologists are
experimental psychologists by training. With this background it seems selfevident that the psychology of psi can be understood even if its mechanism
is unknown. The opposing view, subscribed to here, is: The psychology of
psi cannot be understood in the absence of reference to its physics.
Spontaneous cases involve large effects that are explicitly experienced by
the participant. Typical lab procedures reveal small effects that are
significant only when summed over participants, though no single individual
scores beyond chance level. This kind of result may be (partly or perhaps
principally) due to the nominal experimenter. It is usually assumed that
laboratory psi is in principle just a collection of artificially captured tiny
spontaneous cases. But spontaneous cases may well have a different nature
than experimental psi. For one thing, they seem to involve a greater amount
of information than is typical even for an entire successful lab experiment.
No one, as far as I know, has yet attempted to quantify this.
J. B. Rhine’s original intent in bringing the paranormal into the laboratory
was to shed light on the mechanism of real life spontaneous psi by
investigating it under simplified conditions. In most science the introduction
of an experimenter and evaluation by pooling have negligible effect on the
system studied. Ironically, in parapsychology the imposition of these
normally innocuous conditions may have radically altered the system being
observed to produce an artificial (pathological) field of study not found in
nature.
Perhaps the important factors in the manifestation of psi in the laboratory are
not the (hypothetical) delicate constellation of psychological variables in the
participant usually assumed. The basic problem is rather who does it—
participant or experimenter? This is unlikely to be resolved using the
methods of psychology alone, because the very existence of psi invalidates a
basic assumption of experimental psychology.
Empirical Evidence
For work in an established area it is possible to examine detailed
experiments. This can hardly be done for the NLTs since it is just that
groundwork that is in question. Very little experimental work has been done
in this area. Much of that was done by Helmut Schmidt: his results regularly
came out just as he believed and promptly changed when he changed his
mind. It is consequently hazardous to take his work at face value. Instead,
more general (and vaguer) criteria are necessary. Is the general picture of
experimental research consistent with the NLTs? The ecological validity of
the NLTs is first on the agenda; I note that although in the first instance it is
directly applicable to experimental psi only, it has considerable potential for
extension. The two things Rhineans are most reluctant to confront are the
experimenter psi effect and uselessness. These are “cornerstone” evidence
for the NLTs.
Ecological Validity
The OTs first came to the fore with the experiments initiated by Schmidt, in
which a PK volunteer sits in front of a display that shows prerecorded RNG
outputs (the individual typically believes the targets are being generated in
real time). This setup is sometimes referred to as “retro–PK.” This highly
technological type of experiment represents only a small part of
experimental parapsychology. It is natural to ask if this restricted and
experimenter-distorted area is at all worth getting hot and bothered about. Is
there any indication in the wider world that precognition/retro-PK might lie
at the core of psi? In the current jargon, do the NLTs have any “ecological
validity”?
Dunne long ago examined his own precognitive dreams. He dreamed of the
eruption of a volcano on a South Sea island in which 4,000 people died
(Dunne, 1929, p. 34). This seemed to correspond with a newspaper report
within a short period after the dream that reported an event then dubbed the
worst volcanic disaster of the 20th century, Mount Pelée on Martinique, in
1902 (Anonymous, 2014) with just this number of deaths. It later turned out
that Dunne had misread the newspaper, which reported 40,000 dead.
Dunne’s conclusion was that he precognized the newspaper report rather
than the event itself. There are a few similar cases in the literature. There is,
at least, a bit of ecological evidence for the core OT “handshake.”
(Restricted) Area of Application
The area of application of the NLTs is limited to statistical laboratory
experiments. It may (reasonably) be urged by those impressed by
spontaneous cases or mediumistic phenomena that these are quite
unrepresentative of the great mass of psi effects. It has been argued above
that lab psi may be essentially induced, artificially created by the very
methods of study. All the strong effects that suggest real message
transmission and real forces do not fit neatly into the NLT framework. We
may speculate that (if real) these are second tier effects, with further layers
of mechanism built on top of quantum level correlations. The policy adopted
here is “one step at a time”; we concentrate on lab psi and hope that if this
can be understood within the context of the NLTs, it may provide a basis for
further expansion.
Experimenter Proteus Effect
Experimenter effect is dealt with in more detail elsewhere [chapter 22] and
here I give no more than a few comments. It has often been felt, particularly
by skeptics, that the results of psi experiments just do not look like
mainstream psychological topics. A mere handful of experimenters regularly
report large effects and roundly significant statistics. The majority of
experimenters (and published studies) report inconsistent “so-so” results
that, even if sometimes nominally significant, are not really convincing. The
impression is of a small band of virtuosos who stand out from a chorus-line
of wannabes. Alarmingly, these virtuoso experimenters typically get just the
results they expect: the experiment seems to function as a kind of “crystal
ball” in which the objective external world mirrors the (otherwise private)
internal psychology of the experimenter. This character accommodation to
experimenter expectation is here dubbed the Proteus effect, after the shapeshifting Greek god.
The single best predictor of the outcome of a parapsychological experiment
is not the topic of research nor the hypothesis tested but most likely the
identity of the principal investigator. That experimenter effects are more
common and powerful in psi experiments than in psychology is a major
indication in favor of NLT. Experimenter effect is entirely natural within the
NLT framework, where it is simply experimenter-psi due to being an
observer of results.
Planned experimental comparison of experimenters is a rarity and most
apparent experimenter effects are just incidental observations. Whether the
mechanism is psi or sensory has received still less attention. Parapsychogists
have (with a few courageous exceptions) conspicuously avoided looking at
experimenter effect in the eye and there are weighty social reasons for this.
Stanford long ago asked “Are we shamans or scientists?” (Stanford, 1981).
If the answer is “shamans” then how many parapsychologists relish vacating
the halls of academia to nail up a “Psychic Readings” shingle instead?
This fear is, I believe, to some extent justified: it is given concrete form by
the career of Martin Johnson. It was based on a correlation between DMT
(perceptual defense) and ESP scores. Largely on this basis, Johnson became
professor of parapsychology in Utrecht. Only after his retirement did reexamination establish that these results were due to an experimenter effect
by Johnson (Haraldsson, Houtkooper, Schneider, & Bäckström, 2002). What
if this had come out earlier? Scenarios such as this illustrate the powerful
disincentive to examine too closely “the goose that lays the golden eggs.”
An important observation concerns the size of the experiment. If psi enters at
the level of the subject trial then clearly the more trials the better (z-score
increases linearly with the square root of the number of trials). If, on the
other hand, the experimenter (or someone else) has a psi influence on the
experiment as a whole, then the participants (and the number of their trials)
are irrelevant. The significance of an experimental result depends only on
the experimenter: the z-score is then roughly constant regardless of the
number of trials. This, above all, is the empirical background of DAT.
Current evidence is generally in favor of constant z, which implicates the
experimenter as the primary source of psi. That the psi effect is on the
experiment as a whole supports the global mechanism of the NLTs rather
than the conventional peek and poke model on the trial-by-trial level.
Are Applications of Psi Possible?—The Atlas Problem
According to OT lab ESP is actually a kind of pseudo–ESP, no signal—just
correlation. On this basis it is impossible (consistently) to send messages. In
an experiment technically beyond its time, Carpenter (1991) attempted to
transmit a five-letter word by ESP, using information theory techniques,
particularly a majority vote. The target word “PEACE” was apparently
successfully transmitted by this means. Given that this work was done
during the “hippy” years when PEACE was the slogan, the choice of target
word raises some doubt about the validity of the outcome: perhaps only
“BANTHEBOMB” could have been more likely.
Perhaps the most disturbing consequence of OT is that, if true, psi is nearly
useless (Bierman & Spottiswoode, 2012a, 2012b). This is in marked contrast
to signal theories that seem to offer unlimited possibilities for a psi
technology. If psi consists exclusively of nonlocal correlations it can hardly
be of more than theoretical interest: look too hard at it and it vanishes! Any
attempt to apply it to the world seems necessarily to involve some decay of
the coherent quantum state upon which the psi effect is supposed to depend.
The PS has not only to change the target quantum process but also has to
carry a chunk of (noise from) the external world with it, an “Atlas” overload
for a PS.
If there is no possibility of applications, no sustained external financial
support for parapsychology can be expected. It may be hoped that some way
may be found around this “Atlas Problem.” Perhaps techniques analogous to
those employed in QM to minimize measurement disturbance, such as
“interaction-free measurement” (Elitzur & Vaidman, 1993) or even
conceivably “weak measurement” (Aharonov & Vaidman, 2007) can be
adapted for psi use.
Selectivity
Point selectivity is characteristic of both NLTs: for OT this is primarily
determined physically by the feedback channel, while for DAT it is said to
be psychological (the result has to be “just right”). If such “Goldilocks”
selectivity is found in selected experiments, rather than a scatter around the
target, it argues for NLT. No systematic literature search has been undertaken
but one relevant experiment is known to me (May, Humphrey, & Hubbard,
1980), in which scoring appeared only on the bits designated as target and
not on adjacent bits which were generated within a few milliseconds. This
bull’s eye selectivity is sufficiently impressive to command attention and is a
strong argument for NLT against signal-based theories.
Complexity Independence
Although the terms “goal-oriented” and “complexity independence” are of
relatively recent coinage, the basic idea goes back to the early Rhine work. It
was originally called the unitary or diametric hypothesis (Foster, 1940; Pratt
et al., 1940). The idea is that psi goes for the goal without bothering with all
the intermediate steps of normal information processing. Because of their
precognition core, the NLTs are as goal-oriented as can be: psi works
directly on the final outcome (although each individual
experiment/participant construes that). The experimental work in this area
has been thoroughly reviewed by both Stanford (1977) and Kennedy (1978,
1979, 1995). They agree that psi shows considerable evidence of being goal
oriented.
In the specific context of RNG machines, the term “complexity
independence” is used. Schmidt was the first to ask the question of whether
internally different RNGs with the same display give rise to different PK
scores. He rather consistently found no difference between them (provided
they were pure quantum devices). There have, however, been a few reports
by other experimenters (particularly those who doubted complexity
independence) of differences between machines (e.g., Ibison, 1998).
OTs Falsified?
Experiments have been carried out to detect “pure clairvoyance” (e.g., Targ
& Tart, 1985), which is not physically possible in OT. Typically a random
physical process is used to determine targets, which are guessed. The
guesses are compared with targets by machine, which outputs only the total
hits. These studies suffer fatal weaknesses from the viewpoint of OT: the
principal of these is that it is assumed that no psi effect can be exerted via a
total score. On the basis of OT, on the contrary, most psi is likely exerted on
the total. The second weakness is one common to almost all psi experiments:
experimenters may have privileged access to more detailed information at
some point and exert their own psi effect then.
The DAT group does not spell out an explicit mechanism for the nonlocal
step, save that it is precognitive in nature. These theorists found
experimental reason for reticence about the OT handshake. The key novelty
in the experiment (May, Lantz, & Piantineda, 1996) was that feedback was
not all-or-nothing but instead graded over a fairly wide range by means of
tachistoscopic presentation at different intensities. If the OTs are correct, the
psi scoring rate should increase with the intensity of the (feedback)
presentation (how well it is observed). A key element in these studies was
that each of the small number of participants was an individually-selected
high scoring “remote viewer”; this was decidedly not the prototypical big
pot experiment. Only two of the participants were able to score significantly
overall under these conditions. For the more successful one there was a
nonsignificant increase in scoring with presentation intensity, but
unexpectedly there was a significantly negative slope for the less successful.
It would be interesting to know if perhaps this low-scoring person strongly
disbelieved in the importance of feedback and rather overdid it, in the same
kind of way as “goats” (disbelievers in psi) are believed to score below
chance. Although the first feedback was well controlled, no information is
given about any subsequent debriefing. Likewise, no information is given
about feedback to the experimenters or their expectations. It is public
knowledge that these experimenters were involved in psychic spying for the
U.S.: the dollar value of such activities would be severely curtailed if
success were possible only about events that are later verified in a normal
way. The May/Spottiswoode duo have themselves been suspected of
harboring a psi strength of the same order as their volunteers (Parker &
Millar, 2014), and it is conceivable that their failure to find evidence of the
OT handshake is actually a (negative) instance of the Proteus effect.
The Universal Key of the NLTs—ESP/PK Equivalence
Laboratory psi consists of a number of apparently very different effects,
telepathy, clairvoyance, precognition, retrocognition and micro–PK, to name
but a few. At first sight, it seems that each of these needs a novel physical
principle of its own to account for it: each psi mystery needs its own key.
But the NLTs unify all lab psi effects into minor variants of one single basic
mechanism, though that mechanism is somewhat different for OT and DAT.
The OT Law is a universal “skeleton” key that opens all lab psi locks.
According to the OTs, ESP is PK. The characteristic difference is that the
RNG worked upon at the earlier time the participants made their guesses is
not an external electronic device, but internal “wet-ware” in the brain. In this
case the participants’ intentions (at feedback) are not to get a 0 or 1 but to
get their wet-ware RNGs to produce (earlier) the right target.
According to DAT, PK is basically precognition and the ESP/PK
equivalence is expected to be strict if the external RNG is good. However, in
the OTs it seems quite implausible that a wet-ware RNG in the brain is as
good as a sophisticated electronic device, with which pains are taken to
assure that the output is (as nearly as possible) of pure QM origin. It is
known that human guessing does not produce a theoretically random
sequence (e.g., there is a strong tendency to avoid repeats). It might then be
expected from the OTs that ESP should produce a somewhat lower scoring
rate than PK. Walker (1975) made much of this difference and attempted to
explain the distribution of ESP in the population on this basis. Rhine (1964,
p. 98) remarked that in his experience PK ability (dice) seemed rather more
common than ESP (cards), but he himself seems to have been fairly good at
PK. In the “wild country” that exists outside the lab, paranormal
practitioners seem to have specialized either in ESP or PK; but typically at
least traces of the other have been reported as well. Schmidt and Pantas
(1972) did elegant experiments with (hidden) internally different machines
to test the idea, which panned out just as Schmidt expected.
Interim Verdict: NLT or Not?
The amount of experimental work done to look directly at NLT has been
very limited, especially when the data of Schmidt are disallowed. Few have
been moved to work in this area. The pure clairvoyance experiments to date
have been methodologically flawed. However the underlying idea is worth
pursuit, with manipulation of feedback on both trial and total to both
participants and experimenter. The biggest black mark against the OTs is the
lack of feedback dependence found by May et al. (1996). This, however, is a
single experiment, which should be repeated in simplified form by other
experimenters. There are also a few suggestions that signals can occasionally
be sent and money made, contrary to NLT. The paucity of proper scientific
reports of such effects is, however, striking. These are all isolated episodes,
more like the initial studies in a new line of research rather than (as yet)
sustainable techniques. My general impression is that parapsychological data
correspond strikingly to the NLT picture and rather poorly to signal-based
orthodoxy.
Prospective Research
The major question raised by the NLTs is where is the psi coming from—
participants or experimenter? Until this can be resolved parapsychology can
say little more than that psi effects seem to occur. To that end a number of
suggestions for prospective research are treated in chapter 22. Here we
consider exclusively prospective investigations that use the OTs as a tool to
tease out participant from experimenter. A few remarks are added on the
more general question of building a new psychological framework
appropriate to the NLTs, in place of the conventional signal-based model.
Routine Feedback Prespecification and Reporting
If feedback marks the handshake point for nonlocal coupling, as the OTs
maintain, then this provides a conveniently accessible handle to get a grip on
psi. Two otherwise identical experiments with different (unreported) internal
feedback arrangements may be expected to give quite different results. Such
feedback differences may erroneously be attributed to psychological factors.
Feedback to the various participants in psi experiments has typically not
been specified in advance, nor even formally reported. The OT requirement
for psi is the connection of a feedback channel. The simplest way to set
things up is to specify up front, as part of the experimental design, exactly
what set of data will be given as feedback to what participant at what preplanned stage.
The moment perhaps most susceptible to (experimenter) psi on the OTs is
when the data are all collected together and the results of the critical
statistical test are first seen. The unwritten psi-lab lore is that the
experimenter should preferably be in a calm, non-striving but expectant state
when he first views the final result of his labors. This is strikingly like the
advice sometimes given to participants in psi tests. Research conducted
within the NLT framework should routinely include a chronological record
of feedback at different levels to the various participants, in particular the
experimenter, as well as the nominal participants. Particular attention
should be paid to the initial feedback of the final statistic to
experimenter/analyst.
Feedback Splitting and Manipulation
Consider an ESP test in which 20 participants each guess through 4 (open)
packs of Zener cards, with immediate trial-by-trial feedback. Split these into
odd and even trials and total the number of hits in each set A and B. Send
total A to a virtuoso-experimenter and total B to a psi-challenged
investigator to observe. If the conventional signal model is true, then the two
parts are the same (within statistical fluctuation) and any psi score is due to
the participants. But if the major source is E-psi, exerted via the feedback
channel (by observing the total), as the OTs claim, then A will be significant
while B will be at chance level).
Straightforward feedback splitting is a very simple method that can be
incorporated in virtually all existing experimental designs, with little
additional labor. It is offered with the warning that it is only a very crude
initial survey method. If it should be found from a sufficiently extensive
application of systematic feedback splitting with successful experimenters
that this makes no difference whatever, then it may be concluded that in
practice OT is not to be taken seriously. I strongly suspect, however, that
splitting differences will turn out to be ubiquitous.
This provides a means (simple if imperfect) to detect where (who) the psi is
coming from. As such, it does not cure the repeatability problem, but if
application of the procedure suggests that the (primary) psi source is the
experimenter, then the OTs might just prevent announcing the (latest)
“repeatable experiment.”
Simply splitting the data is not logically sufficient to identify the psi source
unambiguously, because even after observation of two sets by two different
observers the data remain susceptible to psi input by still later observers.
There seems nothing to stop such a later observer from (say) psi-ing B
greater than A. Is there some way to eliminate (or minimize) the effect of
later observers? We need to be able to fix the data at some point, just as after
developing a photograph, residual light-sensitive material is washed away
with fixer. The OTs do have something to say about how this might be
achieved but this goes beyond the bounds of this essay. To get meaningful
and consistent results the OTs suggest experimenter feedback must be as
rigidly curtailed to known channels. That feedback to the experimenter
herself should be controlled and manipulated has little precedent in the
tradition of experimental psychology.
Deliberately planned feedback manipulation is discussed above. However,
inadvertent feedback manipulation may already have left characteristic
“fingerprints” in existing data. I published a number of “forensic” tests for
experimenter psi (Millar, 2012b). One class concerns mathematical
consequences if the experimenter inputs psi at the level of the whole
experiment, specifically if feedback is not a simple total but a statistic, such
as t or F. As illustration consider an experiment in which the hypothesis is
that 2 groups differ: the relevant final statistic is t. This is an (inadvertently)
manipulated form of the mean difference between the groups (delta):
specifically delta is divided by an estimate of the empirical sampling error
(SE). A large t can be obtained in two ways—increase delta or reduce SE
(which is normally impossible). Calculation shows that if the psi input is via
the feedback unit t, then both happen: as delta goes up standard error goes
down (in a mathematically known way). It looks superficially as if variance
is converted to deviation. This generalizes to ANOVA designs: psi input on
the F-statistic results not only in increase in the between-groups variance
(effect) but simultaneously decreases the within-groups variance (error
term).
Richard Broughton long ago drew my attention to a (then) mysterious
experimental result of his, where the within groups variance had nearly
vanished. According to the OTs, reduction of within groups variance is
expected in general where psi is applied via feedback of the F (or t) statistic
(to the experimenter). Reduced within-groups variance is a fingerprint for
experimenter psi. Furthermore, if this effect is real it may yield quantitative
evidence for the OTs. Meta-analyses of suitable existing data may confirm or
refute the theory, though this has not yet been done.
Psychology of the NLTs
The NLTs are incompatible with the “smuggled” importation of mainstream
psychological assumptions into the specialized area of parapsychology,
where they may or may not be relevant. The day of the unfettered dominance
of signal-based psychology is over once there is an established physical
theory. Bem (2012) already feels the future bastion shaken by decline and
experimenter effects:
I must admit that my nightly prayer as a mainstream social psychologist
is that both these effects will be found to rest upon mundane
“psychological” factors that we can eliminate, isolate, or incorporate
into our designs in ways already familiar to us. But I am increasingly
persuaded that one or both of them may well be intrinsic anomalous
properties of psi [pp. 11–13].
For a proper theory of psi it is necessary that both physical and
psychological factors be integrated. It may be suspected that many of the
apparent correlations of psychological variables with psi found to date are
not intrinsic but a mere Proteus Effect. However, there are surely also real
effects of psychological variables (though perhaps of the experimenter rather
than the nominal participants).
In contrast to the conventional signal-based peek and poke model, the NLTs
are relatively global: experiments are typically psi-influenced as a whole.
The quasi-mechanical concepts of the peek and poke model no longer
suffice: the corresponding psychology concentrates on discrete processes, at
a cognitively low level. A high level global psychological system seems a
more appropriate controller for a global psi. A nightly familiar candidate is
the “stage-manager” of dreams. This brings us back with a bump into the
area of dreams, fantasy, automatisms, etc., in short, all these processes which
are less than fully introspectable and which were in the beginning of the 20th
century brought together in terms of the notion of the subconscious,
subliminal, or psychodynamic processes. This kind of “theory” was too easy
to spin and did not lend itself to rigorous investigation with the
instrumentation of the day. Myers’s (1903) formerly fecund but now
severely outmoded model of the subliminal self may be extended with the
newer insights of the NLTs. Carpenter (2004, 2005) has recently emphasized
unconscious processing in psi, but this is not yet emancipated from the
standard SIN model of psychology. The possible role of (experimenter)
imaginal processes have been remarked.
Only now has an armamentarium of research techniques and machinery
become available that would have boggled Myers. Philosophers have asked
why Nature did not take the road of the unconscious “philosophical zombie,”
rather than a conscious human. Motor automatisms seem to be almost that,
directing the Ouija board but without (full) consciousness of doing it! Brain
scans of conscious pushing versus unconscious automatism may shed light
on consciousness. The area of unconsciousness/consciousness research is of
interest far outside the circumscribed area of parapsychology.
Parapsychology becomes again, to an important degree, an investigation of
just those unconscious (and semi-conscious) processes that have been
neglected by parapsychologists since the period of psychical research. Thus,
the rallying cry of parapsychology might well be unconscious processing.
If, as the OTs suggest, ESP requires sensory feedback of the target, then an
elementary consequence is that ESP must bear all the earmarks of that
sensory perception (or the same confusion matrix), so-called top-down
processes. ESP is considered by the OTs to have a two-step mechanism.
Guessing is first done by a random mentation generator (RMG) played upon
by a PKer who gets feedback of the actual target at some time in the future.
(For the ganzfeld we may perhaps talk about a “random fantasy generator”
or RFG). There is no physical reason, apart from convenience, that