Among certain reputedly miraculous images of Jesus—said to be acheiropoietos or “not made by hands”—was the Image of Edessa, known later to the Byzantines as the Mandylion (or “holy towel”). I was able to view this image, part of a traveling exhibition of “Vatican Splendors,” in Cleveland, Ohio, on September 1, 2008. It bore the title “The Mandylion of Edessa,” although the official exhibition catalog held some surprise revelations (“Mandylion” 2008). I would discover others.

The Legend

The story of the Edessan Image is related in a mid-fourth-century Syriac manuscript, The Doctrine of Addai. It tells how King Abgar of Edessa (now Urfa in south-central Turkey), afflicted with leprosy, sent a messenger named Ananias to deliver a letter to Jesus requesting a cure. In the letter (according to a tenth-century report [qtd. in Wilson 1979, 272–290]), Abgar sends “greetings to Jesus the Savior who has come to light as a good physician in the city of Jerusalem” and who, he has heard, “can make the blind see, the lame walk . . . heal those who are tortured by chronic illnesses, and . . . raise the dead.” Abgar decided that Jesus either is God himself or the Son of God, and so he entreats Jesus to “come to me and cure me of my disease.” He notes that he has heard of the Jews’ plan to harm Jesus and adds, “I have a very small city, but it is stately and will be sufficient for us both to live in peace.”

Abgar, so the story goes, instructed Ananias that if he were unable to persuade Jesus to return with him to Edessa, he was to bring back a portrait instead. But while Ananias sat on a rock drawing the portrait, Jesus summoned him, divining his mission and the fact of the letter Ananias carried. After reading it, Jesus responded with a letter of his own, writing, “Blessed are you, Abgar, in that you believed in me without having actually seen me.” Jesus said that while he must fulfill his mission on earth, he would later send one of his disciples to cure Abgar’s suffering and to “also provide your city with a sufficient defense to keep all your enemies from taking it.” After entrusting the letter to Ananias, “The Savior then washed his face in water, wiped off the moisture that was left on the towel that was given to him, and in some divine and inexpressible manner had his own likeness impressed on it.” Jesus gave Ananias the towel to present to Abgar as “consolation” for his disease.

Quite a different version of the story (see Wilson 1979, 277–278) holds that the image was impressed with Jesus’ bloody sweat during his agony in the Garden of Gethsemane (Luke 22: 44). (This anticipates the still later tradition of Veronica’s Veil, wherein Veronica, a woman from Jerusalem, was so moved by Jesus’ struggling with his cross on the way to execution that she wiped his face on her veil or kerchief, thus imprinting it with his bloody sweat. Actually, the term veronica is simply a corruption of the Latin words vera iconica, “true images” [Nickell 2007, 71–76].) In this second version of the story, Jesus’ disciple Thomas held the cloth for safekeeping until Jesus ascended to heaven, whereupon it was then sent to King Abgar.

Significantly, the earliest mention of the Abgar/Jesus correspondence—an account of circa ad 325 by Bishop Eusebius—lacks any mention of the holy image (Nickell 1998, 45). Also, in one revealing fourth-century text of The Doctrine of Addai, the image is described not as of miraculous origin but merely as the work of Hannan (Ananias), who “took and painted a portrait of Jesus in choice paints, and brought it with him to his lord King Abgar” (qtd. in Wilson 1979, 130).

Historian Sir Steven Runciman has denounced all versions of the legend as apocryphal: “It is easy to show that the story of Abgar and Jesus as we now have it are untrue, that the letters contain phrases copied from the gospels and are framed according to the dictates of later theology” (qtd. in Sox 1978, 52).

The Mandylion’s Journey

Nevertheless, Runciman adds, “that does not necessarily invalidate the tradition on which the story was based ...” (qtd. in Sox 1978, 52). The best evidence in the case would be the image itself, but which image? There have been several, each claimed to be the miraculous original. Obviously, only one could be authentic, but does it even still exist?

The Mandylion has a gap in its provenance (or historical record) of several centuries. It was reportedly transferred in 944 to Constantinople, capital of the Byzantine Empire, along with the purported letter from Jesus to King Abgar. The image may once have been incorporated into a triptych of the tenth century. Its side panels, now reposing in the monastery of Saint Catherine on Mount Sinai, illustrate the pious legend of Abgar receiving the image. Interestingly, the panels portray Abgar as having the features of Byzantine Emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitos.

After the Venetians conquered Constantinople in 1204 during the Fourth Crusade, the Mandylion was reportedly transferred to the West, where its history becomes confused. Three traditions develop, each associated with a different “original” of the image:

1. Parisian Mandylion. Allegedly obtained by Emperor Baldwin II and sold or donated by him in 1247, this image was eventually acquired by King Louis IX (1214–1270), who had it installed in the Sainte-Chapelle in Paris. It was lost in 1792, apparently destroyed during the French Revolution (“Mandylion” 2008; Wilson 1991, 129).
2. Genoese Mandylion. Although this image reportedly can be traced back to the tenth century, its verifiable history dates from 1362 when then Byzantine Emperor John V donated it to Genoa’s Doge Leonardo Montaldo. After Montaldo died in 1384, the Mandylion was bequeathed to the Genoese Church of St. Bartholomew of the Armenians, arriving in 1388. It remains there, displayed in a gilt-silver, enameled frame of the fourteenth-century Palaeologan style. The image itself is on a cloth that has been glued to a wooden board (“Mandylion” 2008; “Image” 2008; Wilson 1991, 113–114, 137–138).
3. Vatican Mandylion. This image (figure 1) has no certain history before the sixteenth century, when it was known to be kept at the convent of San Silvestro in Capito. In 1517, the nuns were reportedly forbidden to exhibit it, so it would not compete with the church’s Veronica. And in 1587 it was mentioned by one Cesare Baromio. In 1623 it received its silver frame, donated by Sister Dionora Chiarucci. It remained at San Silvestro until 1870 when, during the war that completed the unification of Italy, Pope Pius IX had it removed to the Vatican for safekeeping. Except when traveling, it still reposes in the Vatican’s Matilda chapel (“Mandylion” 2008; “Image” 2008; Wilson 1991, 139–140).

These are the three Edessan Mandylions that have been claimed as original. Others—such as a seventeenth-century Mandylion icon in Buckingham Palace in London, surrounded by painted panels (Wilson 1979, 111)—need not concern us here.

Image Analysis

The Vatican now concedes (in the words of the official Vatican Splendors exhibit catalog [“Mandylion” 2008]) that “... the Mandylion is no longer enveloped today by any legend of its origin as an image made without the intervention of human hands....”

In the summer of 1996, the Vatican Museum’s chemistry and painting restoration laboratory analyzed their Mandylion. It was taken out of its baroque reliquary and removed from its silver-sheet frame (made in 1623). Glued to a cedar support panel was the linen cloth on which the face of Christ was clearly “painted,” although the non-destructive tests were insufficient to specifically confirm that the painting medium was tempera.

While “the thin layer of pigment showed no traces of overpainting,” there were nonetheless “alterations in the execution of the nose, mouth, and eyes” that were “observed in the x-rays and thermographic and reflectographic photographs.” Specifically, the nose had once been shorter, “so that the image originally must have had a different physiognomy” (“Mandylion” 2008, 57–58).

The museums’ scholars learned (according to “Mandylion” 2008, 56):

The version in the Vatican and the one in Genoa are almost wholly identical in their representation, form, technique, and measurements. Indeed, they must at some point in their history have crossed paths, for the rivet holes that surround the Genoese image coincide with those that attach the Vatican Mandylion to the cut-out sheet of silver that frames the image. ... So this silver frame, or one like to it, must also have originally covered the panel in Genoa.

Iconography

The Mandylion clearly has been copied and recopied, as if the different versions were just so many “icons” (as they are now called). It is not surprising that many of them appeared. According to Thomas Humber (1978, 92), “Soon the popular demand for more copies representing the ‘true likeness’ of Christ was such that selected artists were allowed or encouraged to make duplications.” Indeed, “there was, conveniently, another tradition supporting the copies: the Image could miraculously duplicate itself.”

Because icons were traditionally painted on wood, the fact that both the Vatican and Genoese Mandylions are on linen suggests that each was intended to be regarded as the original Edessan Image. That image was described in the tenth-century account as “a moist secretion without coloring or painter’s art,” an “impression” of Jesus’ face on “linen cloth” that—as is the way of legend—“eventually became indestructible” (qtd. in Wilson 1979, 273).

While the original image appears lost to history, Ian Wilson (1979, 119–121) goes so far as to argue that the Edessan Image has survived—indeed, that it is nothing less than the Shroud of Turin, the alleged burial cloth of Jesus! To the obvious rejoinder that the early Mandylions bore only a facial image whereas the Turin “shroud” bears full length frontal and dorsal images, Wilson argues that the latter may have been folded in such a way as to exhibit only the face. Also there is an eighth-century account of King Abgar receiving a cloth with the image of Jesus’ whole body (“Image” 2008). Unfortunately, the Turin cloth has no provenance prior to the mid-fourteenth century when—according to a later bishop’s report to the pope—an artist confessed it was his handiwork. Indeed, the image is rendered in red ocher and vermilion tempera paint—not as a positive image but as a negative one, as if it were a bodily imprint. Moreover, the cloth has been radiocarbon dated to the time of the forger’s confession (Nickell 1998). (Another image-bearing shroud—of Besançon, France—did not come from Constantinople in 1204 as alleged but was clearly a sixteenth-century copy of the Turin fake [Nickell 1998, 64].)

The evidence is lacking, therefore, that any of these figured cloths ever bore a “not-made-by-hands” image. Instead, they have evolved from unlikely legend to Edessan portrait to self-duplicating Mandylions to proliferating “Veronicas” to full-length body image—all supposedly of the living Jesus—and thence to imaged “shrouds” with simulated frontal and dorsal bodily imprints. Finally, modern science and scholarship have revealed the truth about these pious deceptions.

Acknowledgments

My wife Diana Harris accompanied and assisted me on this investigation. I am also grateful to Alan Zoppa for computer enhancement of the photo, which was taken under extremely low-light conditions.

References

• Humber, Thomas. 1978. The Sacred Shroud. New York: Pocket Books.
• Image of Edessa. 2008. From Wikipedia, available online at http://enwikipedia.org/wiki/Image_of_Edessa; accessed September 5, 2008.
• Mandylion of Edessa. 2008. Vatican Splendors: From Saint Peter’s Basilica, The Vatican Museums and the Swiss Guard. Vatican City State: Governatorato, 55–58.
• Nickell, Joe. 1998. Inquest on the Shroud of Turin: Latest Scientific Findings. Amherst, N.Y.: Prometheus Books.
• Sox, H. David. 1978. File on the Shroud. London: Coronet Books.
• Wilson, Ian. 1979. The Shroud of Turin: The Burial Cloth of Jesus Christ? Revised ed. Garden City, N.Y.: Image Books.
• —. 1991. Holy Faces, Secret Places: An Amazing Quest for the Face of Jesus. New York: Doubleday.

Although we moved to a large town about twenty-five miles away from Gettysburg several years ago, I typically continue to spend part of every weekend there. Sometimes it is just a quick trip to switch things around in our antique mall spaces. On other occasions, we make a day and/or evening out of the trip with a delicious pizza from Tommy’s, a walk on the battlefield, and shopping while dodging the regiments of ghost tours on the town’s sidewalks. On one unseasonably warm April Saturday, we drove over the mountain to spend the afternoon and evening with friends who were visiting Gettysburg for the weekend.

After consuming a table full of artery-clogging delights and good conversation at Hunt’s Battlefield Fries, we walked around town. I was excited to show our friend Ken Biddle (author of Orbs or Dust, a book about false positives) the newest ghost-themed tourist traps. It is always entertaining to watch him display his photo analysis skills to the orb-mongers and camera-strap aficionados who line Baltimore Street like some alternate universe version of the boardwalk, minus the ocean. The tour guides stand in front of the shops hawking their tours with overly enthusiastic salesmanship typically reserved for the red light district in Amsterdam. Somehow, the scene along this street appears even seedier. At least after you pay for a hooker and she closes her velvet curtains to hide you from the street, you have a reasonable expectation of some form of satisfaction. Here, you are only guaranteed to feast from a platter of overcooked fallacies, badly seasoned photography, and greasy charlatanism that inevitably leads to mental indigestion.

We wandered away from the more crowded area to Ecto Hauntings, one of the newest ghost tour companies in town. The shop, which suspiciously smelled of cat urine and wet dog, offered a variety of goods, including reenactment clothing and accessories, tickets for ghost tours, and paranormal paraphernalia. The front wall was lined with photos of dust, pollen, rain, hair, and camera straps, all known in certain circles as proof positive of the afterlife. I was immediately drawn to the counter, where they were selling a single bead tied on a string for $16.95. This item was packaged in a plastic bag with a little brochure titled “IT—Intuition Technology.” The front of the brochure claimed that one could use this item to detect spirit energy. Um, okay. I saw the rest of the group standing at the front of the store chuckling at a homemade, stapled-together booklet. As I approached, I heard Kenny say, “Everything you need to know to begin paranormal investigation ... and it’s only six pages long.” Wow. Everything you need to know, all in six pages ... a veritable bargain at the price of $6.95. And you don’t even need to be able to read very well. I figured it couldn’t get much worse than that, and we all exited the shop giggling like a gaggle of schoolgirls.

We walked around the corner to a shop with no name. There was signage, but it was written with a sharpie on cardboard. It advertised “Nightly Ghosts Talks” (figure 1). What kind of grammar is that? I looked at the sign on the very bottom of the door, underneath the very clear and professionally placed decals that showed that they accept MasterCard and Visa, reading “Come in and enjoy our FREE (museum)” (figure 2). Priorities, I suppose.

A self-proclaimed grammar Nazi, I am always on the lookout for printed and posted material that does not adhere to the established conventions of the English language. I am annoyed and fascinated by such blatant errors and always obtain some sort of masochistic satisfaction from noticing them and pointing them out to those around me. Was I to ascertain that we were going to enjoy something called a “free”? Was the museum an afterthought or a further explanation of what “free” meant, as his use of parentheses would indicate? Unsure of what to expect, we walked in the door.

Upon entering, we figured out that the owner claims to have two haunted objects in his museum. The rest of the objects are there as distracters in a modified game of Where’s Waldo, where guests are supposed to guess or “sense” which objects have spirits attached to them. Anyone sensing correctly is entered into a monthly drawing for a K-2 meter. I wondered why someone so sensitive would need a K-2 meter. And then I wondered how the owner determined which two objects were haunted in the first place.

Figure 2. Was I to ascertain that we were going to enjoy something called a "free"?

The items themselves were quite an odd assortment. Included in the guessing-game lineup were a child’s jacket, a metal lunchbox, an antique crutch, a safety belt, a mowing sickle, an ugly green glass lamp, an electric fan, antique ice tongs, a butter churn, a milk can, a rusty and well-worn sawmill blade, and a garden hoe that Miss Beavers loved until the day she died.

There were some rather confusing items as well. First, there were several old trunks, two of which were open to reveal their contents. The sign posted above one of the trunks told the story of the trunk and its former owner. The puzzling part of the sign was the part that read “contents unknown.” I was curious how the contents could possibly be unknown when anyone with reasonably good vision could look directly into the trunk to see what was there.

Particularly interesting was a series of African-inspired art not unlike the items one might find in a store like 10,000 Villages. The sign below these items clearly read “African Hand Cravings.” Cravings? Really? Kenny boldly asked the man working at the counter if they were supposed to be “carvings.” The man said, “No. They are cravings.” I turned around and walked to the back of the museum to hide the incredulous look on my face as Kenny continued to question him relentlessly.

Before we left the store, Kenny asked about the Nightly Ghosts Talks [sic] advertised on the sign in the front window. The man behind the counter stated that the owner would be giving a talk about real ghosts. Kenny asked, “Real? How do you know they are real?”

“Because they just are,” stated the heavily accented voice, which quickly added, “He experienced it. They are real.”

Kenny and I went back for the 7:30 pm talk, but nobody else was willing to shell out the $8.00 to promote this ridiculous sham. I did it for research ... and for the entertaining Ghost Diva blog it would surely inspire.

Plus, I had to spend the money to find out exactly what a “Real” was. I was curious. And, after all, the sign (figure 3) said that the speaker is “Renowned.” I had been wondering all week what it takes to become renowned. Apparently, all it entails is saying so and printing it on a sign full of grammatical and spelling errors. At least this one was made with a printer. Business must be picking up, I thought.

When 7:30 came, the renowned Allen Gross appeared from a door in the back of the storefront like the Wizard of Oz from behind the mystical curtain. I glanced around for flying monkeys and a source of water to throw on the wicked witch, just in case. Just as he was summoning us in, two other people came in to buy tickets. We all walked into the back room together, which was filled with folding chairs. In the front of the room were two televisions and a VCR, and a laptop was set up on a table in the back of the room. Gross told us that since the group was so small, he would actually be able to show us some pictures. He then recounted two instances of people “stealing” his photos in the past, which made him cautious about sharing them with people now. He was sure to let us know that they were copyrighted. He also said that no other paranormal researcher has a collection as substantial and thought-provoking as his. I wondered where he obtained this data and exactly who the judge and jury were who proclaimed his photographs so special. I vowed to try to listen to him with an open mind and to objectively look at his pictures.

Gross then began to talk about his experience on Sach’s bridge that very morning, wondering about the deserters who were hanged there. Kenny and I exchanged knowing glances and smirks, both well aware that this popular story has no basis in actual historic fact. There is no documentation showing that anyone was ever hanged on Sach’s Bridge. I started to say something but stopped myself because I preferred to continue the entertainment portion of the evening.

The next story almost caused me to get up and leave the building because it was so painful to hear. Gross said that a few years ago, his adult son called him and said that he wanted to take a trip to Gettysburg with him. Gross told him that he would pick him up and that they would be in Washington, D.C., in about three hours. His son was rightfully confused. Apparently, at the time, Gross thought that Gettysburg was in Washington, D.C., at the Lincoln Memorial where the Gettysburg Address is inscribed. He never knew that Gettysburg was a real place before then. Gross quipped, “I’m not an educated man.” Either this will be a lot of fun, or it will be like gnawing off my own fingertips, I thought to myself.

The renowned paranormal investigator and world geography expert told us about his first night in the Farnsworth House, located in Gettysburg. He told the often repeated story of Jeremy, a child who reportedly died after being struck by a horse on Baltimore Street. Supposedly, Jeremy was brought to the Farnsworth House, where he later died. Gross said that he knows that the boy’s father carried him back and forth between two rooms after his death. His proof for this statement was that a psychic told him so. I again bit my tongue, as we were less than five minutes into the presentation and I wasn’t ready to get kicked out of the building quite yet. As Gross continued his story, he cued up a video tape of him sleeping and ominously stated that we would have to tell him what we thought was being said on the tape by the mysterious voice. “Some people think it’s a foreign language,” he said. I listened to several seconds of him snoring, then to sounds of him awakening, rolling over, and stretching. “Right there! That’s it!” His eyes twinkled with pride as he pointed to the video tape with authority and conviction. The sound, in my opinion, was nothing more than him clearing his throat and stretching; it was much louder at that point because he rolled over in the bed and faced the video camera. “I sent this to an audio expert, and he confirmed that it isn’t natural.” My tongue was probably gushing blood at this point, but I continued to bite down. Hard.

Figure 3. Allen Gross: renowned—at least self-renowned—paranormal investigator

“Do you remember the story I told you about the father carrying Jeremy back and forth?” he asked. “Well, this was taken in that hallway between those two rooms.” He picked up two photographs from a stack of several and arranged them painstakingly. Then came the reveal. He showed us a photograph with a wide white glowing line going down the middle of the picture. “Do you know what that is?” he asked Kenny. Uh-oh, I thought. “Yes,” said Kenny. “It’s a camera strap.”

“No it isn’t,” retorted Gross, nervously licking his lip and seemingly flabbergasted that his evidence was being questioned by someone paying to attend his special ghost talk and learn from an expert. “Explain how this photograph shows the same thing when it was taken with 800 speed film instead of 400 speed.”

“Film speed has nothing to do with it ...” Kenny began, interrupted by the increasingly flustered self-proclaimed paranormal guru. “It was a different camera and four months later,” he proudly proclaimed. “That has nothing to do with it,” stated Kenny, who continued talking even though Gross tried to interrupt him. “All it means is that there was a camera strap on both cameras.”

“I sent this to experts, and they confirmed it,” he responded smugly. “Well, I’m a photographer,” said Kenny, “and in my opinion it is a camera strap.”

Gross retorted, “Well, just wait until my book comes out.” If all else fails while trying to put forth bad evidence as proof of ghosts, just say that an expert confirmed it for you. That always works. Unless, of course, you are talking to a smart person. You have to pull out the big guns and say that your book is being published. We all know that having a book published is not proof that you are right. Look at the abysmal book The Secret, for example, or the infamous travesty of common sense The Orb Project. Publishers want books that sell, not necessarily books that provide accurate information or evidence of an iota of critical thought.

The next photograph showed what appeared to be light reflecting off of a smooth surface. In the photograph, three mirrors were visible, and there were no reference photos showing the remainder of the room. This time, he turned to me for my opinion. I said I believed that it was likely a reflection. “Oh, are you a photographer, too?” he asked.

“No,” I said, wanting to add that I had common sense, which, in this case, is enough.

Gross relocated the remainder of the talk to the back of the room, where he showed us photographs on his laptop. He prefaced this portion of the presentation by saying that he does not believe in orbs and recognizes that they are typically dust. “Or pollen or rain or snow or bugs ...” continued Kenny. Ironically, the next photograph he proudly showed was an orb. “I believe this one is something because there is evil in it,” he uttered with gravity. “It is still an orb,” stated Kenny. “But you can see its shadow!” Gross exclaimed. Kenny pointed out, ever so patiently, that what he was likely seeing was nothing more than another piece of dust or pollen. “There are experts who would disagree with you,” Gross proclaimed.

Additional pictures showed orbs, a shadow that was most likely created by the person taking the photo in the first place, and creases in a man’s shirt. Kenny and I both questioned the creases in the shirt. “Well, I sent this to some experts, and they all had the same opinion.” When we asked what that opinion was, he said, “They all agreed that it was an ectoplasmic handprint.” At this point, I just openly laughed because I was almost hoping I would get kicked out of the room. I’d had enough of his mythology-inspired word vomit.

The talk ended with some stories about his experiences with psychics, which were confirmation of nothing other than coincidence. Telling someone to “look out for a rainy night, a curve, and a railroad trestle” is bound to end up with a confirmation at some point in that person’s life. It is a vague reference using typically dangerous conditions.

Before we left, Kenny told Gross that he should read a book about false positives in photography and gave him the title of his own book as an example, without telling him that he had written the book. Gross responded, “Oh. Yeah. I’ve read that a thousand times.” Allen Gross also claims to have been investigating for thirty-five years even though the oldest piece of “evidence” he showed us was from 2004. I highly doubt he has read Kenny’s book even once. As I walked out the door, I slipped a business card into his hand so he could read the blog his presentation had inspired. “What’s this?” he asked. I kept walking as I heard his words fade away in the distance: “I hope it’s money!”

I’m sure you do, Mr. Gross. I’m sure you do.

Lake monsters: they’re not just for Loch Ness anymore! Honestly, if Lake Champlain can have one, why can’t Cayuga Lake? Even Seneca Lake, just one finger over, reported a sighting of a lake monster around 1900. The captain of the paddle-steamer rammed it and killed it, according to all the passengers, but when they tried to haul it aboard, the rope broke. Can we believe such a story, knowing that the alcohol content of the combined passengers’ blood could have sanitized every Ozzfest Tour porta-john?

Luring a lake monster away from another lake is going to be tough enough, so let’s simply take every lake monster sighting as true and not let any facts that could make things harder get in the way.

To be blunt, anyone who works for the Museum of the Earth should stop reading immediately. You’re not going to be much help in enticing a lake monster to Cayuga by telling us how a prehistoric creature, such as a plesiosaur, simply could not live for millions of years in a freshwater lake without being found or that a family of twenty would be necessary to prevent extinction or that the fish population in the lake couldn’t support a family of monsters or that monster sightings are probably tricks of the light, logs, giant eels, sturgeon, standing waves, boat wakes, or outright hoaxes, regardless of how true those arguments likely are.

So, we’ve determined now that lake monsters exist based on the fact that we want one for Cayuga Lake ... not the most scientific approach, but science has failed to prove lake monsters exist for eighty-plus years now, so that approach isn’t helping us. Hey, listen, I told you Museum of the Earth people to stop reading two paragraphs ago. Just use your Occam’s Razor to slice this page out of the paper and recycle it. For your information, a world-famous, justly beloved astronomer who lived right here in Ithaca never once wrote the exact words “I absolutely do not believe in the Loch Ness monster or other similar lake creatures” in most of his books! (Hey kids—with a few deft word choices, you can make any claim appear to have support!)

Now then. We’ll never get Nessie to jump Loch, she’s got way too good of a gig going over there. If we look somewhat more local, we might be able to seduce “Champ” away from Lake Champlain. While he also has a modicum of fame, it’s nowhere near Nessie’s, and he’s also very close by. That could backfire, however, since Lake Champlain is just a few hours northwest of us. If we got him to abandon Champlain for Cayuga, our neighbors near Champlain would be furious for the loss. They’d have to rename all their Champ-themed bars and team mascots, and it’s only a short drive down to here where annoyed Champlainians could come and spread a rumor that a copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows with the original, unreleased ending is in the lake (in this version, Harry plays the “got your nose” trick on the wicked Voldemort, refusing to return the “nose” until he renounces evil).

What we’ll end up having to do is put together a great package to seduce a monster away from a lake where it feels unappreciated. And one of the main things that’ll help attract a monster to Cayuga Lake is a spectacular nickname, something catchy and memorable, something a monster would want to be called. The nickname is what often makes the difference between “local tall tale” and a money monster. “Nessie” rolls right out of the mouth and is quickly associated with Loch “Ness.” It also is just cute enough to be marketed as a stuffed animal. Lake Champlain went with “Champ.” That’s so-so, because it’s also an actual word that could be confused in conversation, as in: “I saw Champ!”

“Which one? Mohammad Ali? Kasparov? Navratilova? The Feldman’s dog?”

Cayuga Lake doesn’t provide much to offshoot in terms of names, though. “Cayugie” sounds like a nickname for a ballplayer from the 30s. “Cay” is a tad too short and ripe for misspelling with a “K.” “Cayugiathan” is a bit over-the-top dramatic.

So what will we do? If we don’t incorporate some part of “Cayuga” into the name, the market won’t associate the monster with “Cayuga Lake.” We can’t just name it “Mark” or “Eileen.” [Ok, maybe “Eileen.”]

Ithaca has been home to the famous before, and that might help convince a monster that we can handle the pressure. We welcomed the previously mentioned world-famous astronomer whose name I dare not write in such a vacuous story, both out of respect and for fear of pissing off the actual universe, which is bigger than me and might “get all hadron epoch” on my ass. We also hosted 1952 Ithaca College grad Gavin McLeod, who, as Captain Stubing, stole our hearts and let us find love for the price of a Princess Cruise. And Ricki Lake was an IC student for a short time in the late 80s, so we’ve even had prior experience with monsters.

Hang on a second.

I’ve just had a little look around the Internet, and it seems that there are hundreds of lakes claiming to have monsters. Looks like almost any body of water deep enough to float a rubber duck on is packing a plesiosaur. Scotland alone has eleven in addition to Nessie. Lake monsters are reported to ply the depths of lakes in Britain, Canada, the U.S., Argentina, Chile, Australia, China (seen as recently as June 17 in Sailimu Lake), Turkey, Sweden, Iceland, Ireland, Norway, Japan, Russia, Malaysia, Scotland, and even Kazakhstan, just for starters.

I’d thought lake monsters were rare, that one would make a lake exclusive, inimitable. But it turns out just the opposite is true: a lake without a monster is the rarity. So while Cayuga Lake does still possess the requisites to sustain Eileen, the lake is more unique without her. Wow. I feel like the kid in the movie who searches the world for something (love, home, the true meaning of a holiday) only to find out it was right where he began all along. A valuable lesson has been learned by that child, but what have I learned?

Cayuga Lake needs no monster to make it any more appealing. Mysterious creatures who vanish as quickly as they appear, leaving only an occasional fuzzy photo as evidence, probably bring more frustrating questions than thrilling intrigue and curiosity. But Buttermilk Falls would be an ideal home for a Bigfoot.

This piece originally appeared in the Ithaca Times newspaper in 2007 and is reprinted with kind permission.

From my own personal experiences I’ve had while teaching in faith-based schools, I’ve seen that religion and skepticism can coexist. I’ve attended skep-

tic conferences where skeptical people happily discuss their faith (Christianity, Juda­ism, etc.) over dinner; I’ve even heard the responses of those same people when presenters on a skeptic conference stage think they’re talking to atheist-only skeptics! Sure, the demographic of any sample-size of skeptics at a skeptical gathering will most likely contain plenty of atheists, but we cannot claim that those who hold religious beliefs don’t stand along with them.

My first experience with the “deist skeptic” question came from attending The Amazing Meet!ng 3 back in 2005. I recall some of the discussions that stemmed from that time—Penn Jillette made inflammatory comments about religious people from the stage, Julia Sweeney discussed her own journey of faith, and we spoke in person with the very approachable Richard Dawkins. Naturally, the question of whether skeptics could believe in God came up again and again, long after TAM3 ended, among skeptics online and in personal discussions.

There was even a panel discussion at TAM4 about deist skeptics—a podcast episode featuring Hal Bidlack on deist skeptics was presented on Skepticality. I’m certain that there are more and more people over time who will point out that Martin Gardner, the late Jerry Andrus, Harry Houdini, and even employees and forum moderators of the James Randi Educational Foundation believe in the existence of a god. I probably don’t have to point out the millions of blog entries online that approach skepticism with atheist leanings, but where are the blogs that acknowledge “the other side”? Where are the blogs that talk about how atheism and skepticism are not one and the same?

When it came to writing about religious and deist skeptics, I couldn’t resist writing to my friend Mark Henn about our shared experiences. He attended TAM3 and 4, was selected as a Fulbright scholar in 2008, and is a professor of psychology in New Hamp­shire. You can see his contribution to the first Skeptic Zone podcast episode as the interviewer of Mark “Gravy” Roberts, who presented a post-mortem of the “9-11 truthers” movement.

Kylie: A few years back, we attended the Amaz!ng Meeting 4, where there was a debate all about “deist skeptics.” I had heard one criticism of that presentation was that it only featured emotionally-based arguments for “believing in god and yet being a skeptic.” Can one actually be a skeptic and a deist due to other reasons?

Mark: Of course! Skepticism is a process, not a conclusion. The conclusions we reach through critical evaluation must necessarily depend on the evidence that is there for us. American culture, as an example, is thoroughly saturated with belief in god. A skeptical thinker (I am picturing a child, adolescent, or even a young adult) could ask the people known to be trusted and legitimate authorities in his or her community for evidence and opinion and be provided with information that is biased toward belief in a god. How is this person supposed to know better? Given the information provided to this person (and that information alone), perhaps a good skeptic would be forced to conclude that a god does indeed exist!

After that, the same belief perseverance mechanisms that we all have kick in. Once a belief is accepted, a skeptic will be willing to abandon it for another if evidence insists …  but frankly, it would not be terribly adaptive for us to have our fundamental beliefs flap with each breeze. There is a reason for the requirement that “extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence,” and evolution found that out before Carl Sagan did. We do not change our fundamental beliefs easily; many of us do not change them at all.

I know many skeptics who pooh-pooh religious belief but who simultaneously have no problem believing in a causal free will. Indeed, they will actively defend this utterly irrational belief and belittle me for my correct stance!

Kylie: Yes, that’s something that is often said by the likes of Skeptic.com’s Michael Shermer and Junior Skeptic’s Daniel Loxton—that “skepticism is a process.” Sometimes I wonder if it’s said enough! I’ve occasionally come across a rather “gung-ho” approach of “we must challenge religious beliefs, that’s what skeptics are about: critical thinking equals skepticism equals atheism” that often seems more limiting than productive. Does that really get religious people, let alone people sympathetic to those who believe in a god or even just open to the possibility, on our side?

Mark: Of course, critical thought is not a requirement for atheism at all!  Atheism is simply the privative condition, the negatively defined “none of the above” category designating no particular religious faith.  An individual may choose to be an atheist based on a great deal of critical thought, very little thought, or no thought at all!  All it takes is not being a member of any of the positively-defined belief categories (Muslim, Jew, Christian, etc.).

Critical thinking is not a prerequisite for atheism, nor is a lack of critical thinking required for any religious belief.  There may be correlations, but the assumption you are examining is that of identity—that all atheists are critical thinkers and that no religious believers are.  That, of course, is just plain wrong.

Kylie: ah, I see.…

Mark: We must also bear in mind that it would be extraordinarily rare for one’s religious beliefs to actually, meaningfully, be challenged. Deistic belief is often criticized (by the atheist skeptics you speak of) as being unfalsifiable, which of course it is. Modern deism posits a “hands-off” god, a god that therefore never strongly contradicts one’s work in chemistry, physics, biology … let alone plumbing, programming, or politics. A superfluous god is not problematic in the way that an interventionist god is, and while such a god may not be a necessary element to one’s work, neither is such a god obviously contradicted by one’s everyday observations (“hand me the pipe wrench and offer up a burnt offering to Thoth, and we’ll have that leak fixed in no time!”).

Our perceptual systems are geared toward seeing correlations—seeing what goes with what (this is arguably the basis for a good many superstitions, such as the belief that the full moon is responsible for … any number of things, actually). We are much worse at seeing what does not go with what (“it’s not what you did; it’s what you didn’t do”). A god who does nothing is not noticed but is not actively contradicted by observation. In the absence of such a challenge, it is not surprising that there is little change in belief.

Kylie: After attending a local atheist meeting, I had someone question me about whether the former Australian Skeptic of the year, Dr. Karl, had an opinion about faith and science—so I took the opportunity to ask him for the Skeptic Zone podcast. He spoke on a recent episode about how a well-known scientist in Australia (Laurie Peak) divides his views on faith and science. He said that in his view faith and science were “orthogonal and separate”—and he could not see why a population saw a conflict between evolution and religious belief. So, what is the big issue?

Mark: There is a conflict because not all religious beliefs are orthogonal to science. Religious belief varies tremendously, and while some (by some accounts, the vast majority of) religious believers hold views that are indeed independent of science, some hold beliefs that are in clear opposition to the knowledge base of science. This number may be a small percentage of believers, but in some places they hold disproportionately great political or social influence.

Different areas of science, too, differ in their independence from or relevance to religious belief. Experimental psychology, for instance, with its subject matter of sensation, perception, memory, cognition, belief, learning, and more, is uniquely suited to evaluate the sorts of individual, personal experiences that many claim as the reason for their belief.

Kylie: We’re sometimes presented by ex­tremist views of faith—that it’s “damaging and dangerous,” perhaps akin to a form of abuse to expose children to religion. Can deist skeptics really challenge what is rapidly becoming a popular stereotype of “skeptic equals atheist” and contribute to promoting science and reason despite an assumption that “their beliefs come first/will trump skepticism”?

Mark: Can one? Certainly. There is no reason to exclude such a person. There should be no reason to specifically include this person, either, because non-deist skeptics should understand the psychology that can lead to the tremendous variety of skepticism and belief. (I suppose a deist skeptic could be just as blind to that, come to think of it. Far more important than some nominal category is the ability to understand that list above … memory, cognition, belief, etc.…)

Kylie: With that last question, I admit that I’ve taken the position that a skeptic must contribute to “science and reason.” Are there really any “requirements” for one to be a skeptic anyway? After all, there’re plenty of people who care about frauds, scams, who fight for consumer awareness and rights, and their religious beliefs don’t get in the way of this.

Mark: There must be—otherwise it would be synonymous with “human.” We always say, “skeptics say ‘show me the evidence,’” don’t we? Skeptics are not merely cynics; skeptics don’t say “I don’t believe it!” They say “what is the evidence for it?” and if there is sufficient evidence, they change their belief. This is why, in question 1, it is not at all difficult to allow for skeptical deists.

Just as “believing” does not imply belief in any and every god, “skepticism” can only be applied to the topics we apply it to. If we have no reason to doubt a particular fundamental belief, why should we actively examine it? A person may be the best at applying skeptical thought to, say, the methodological flaws in Sheldrake’s “sense of being stared at” protocol and yet have never once had reason to critically re-examine her or his belief in a god. Beyond this, there are the social reasons to remain a member of a religious group, above and beyond belief with every tenet that group holds. I suppose these are similar reasons to remain a member of skeptical groups.…

Kylie: Finally, what, in your view, would be the best way for skeptically minded people to view religion? Is it really our “job” to limit skepticism and its reach?

Mark: Religion is … human. It is not any more (or less) fundamentally human than any number of other social activities. There is, as William James wrote, a variety of religious experience; any simplistic explanation of belief will at best explain only a portion. On the other hand, we should not shrink from studying religious belief; it makes a wonderful lab rat. We believe any number of things that are not true; here we have the luxury of self-identified samples that systematically believe a similar set of things. And of course, skeptical individuals who happen to be religious may have a unique and valuable perspective. For example—at what point in her odyssey did Julia Sweeney cross the line from believer to skeptic? My answer—she started being a skeptic very early on and quit being a believer very late in the process. Most of the journey, she wore two hats.

I wanted to test a pet psychic, but there was a slight problem. I didn’t have a pet.

Fortunately, my neighbors Matt and Bekah Johnson have two cats. There is Bizzy, a painfully shy toothless tabby, and Tennessee Jed, a plump, rambunctious tomcat. Since Bizzy rarely emerges from beneath the bed, Jed seemed the preferable feline subject for the investigation.

“Can I borrow Jed so I can test a pet psychic?” I asked my neighbors. “Sure!” they obliged, as though I’d asked if I could simply borrow a hammer or for the proverbial cup of sugar. I had the pet; now I needed a pet psychic.

Call it animal communication, animal whispering, or interspecies telepathic contact; this is big business for a clientele of doting owners, nervous trainers, and exasperated farmers. These psychic Doctor Dolittles claim variously to be able to perceive and understand the “words,” thoughts, and feelings of non-human animals (including deceased pets) using clairvoyance, clairaudience, telepathy, and channeling and often to be able to diagnose and treat their diseases. There are hundreds of pet psychics in California alone. Here are some samples of their claims.

Reverend Sylvia Shaules, pictured clutching a terrified-looking rodent, specializes in the mysterious-sounding “dreamtime messengers,” “totem animals,” and “Giving Your Animal a Voice” (yes, her voice). Animal analyst Patrice Ryan is pet psychic to the stars of Hollywood. For $400 per hour she’ll perform “energy healing” on your pet. This sounds vague, but Ryan enthuses, “It’s truly a profound and enlightening experience.” Lori Wright will practice hands-on or remote reiki on your kitty and claims to be able to contact deceased pets, but she won’t (can’t?) “consult on lost animal situations.”

Buddy Love is “California’s Finest Male Pet Psychic” for whom “no problem is to big” [sic]. Love’s client reviews accuse him of being a slow typist during chat room readings while user “mykidzrule” complained of Love’s reading, “Completely opposite of what he told me last time.” Paula Brown styles herself as an “animal feng shui expert” and prepares remedies for your pet’s health needs. Small animals have delicate constitutions, so this is a particularly dangerous practice, but since Brown’s preparations are “flower essences,” they probably only serve as pet placebos (or owner placebos).

Animal Intuitive Cindy Western claims the incredible ability to “hear the voices” of animals. She explains, “it’s like having a conversation with a person, but it’s a conversation between the minds.” Western “heals and cares” for your beloved pets with herbs, vitamins, aromatherapy, and massage (is that like patting?). Animal communicator Kazuko Tao offers pet acupuncture and chiropractic. As a registered veterinary technician, Tao should know better than to offer these integrative services.

Like Ace Ventura, Lydia Hiby fashions herself as a “pet detective.” A Dr. Kevorkian for pets, she advises clients “when it is time to put an animal to sleep.” Hiby further claims she can communicate with non-verbal people, including “comatose, stroke victims, autistic children, etc.” But she won’t read deceased pets. Instead she recommends the John Edward of pet psychics, Teresa Wagner. Wagner is a “grief counselor” and pet medium who conducts séances with animals that have “crossed over Rainbow Bridge.”

But don’t be concerned about these wild claims; the pet psychic industry is regulated by a stringent “Code of Ethics” devised by “pioneer animal communication specialist” Penelope Smith. Smith claims that telepathic communication enables “universal communication” across species. . . .

Unfortunately, these pet psychics were either too far away or unavailable. Instead, they all offered remote appointments, email or telephone readings upon supplying the name, age, sex, color, breed, and a photo of the animal. It was back to the clawing board for me. Finally, I located Reverend Ann Savino, “The Bay Area Pet Psychic.” Savino is a “professional clairvoyant and staff member of the Academy for Psychic Studies. Her advertisement beams, “Psychic readings for animals. Animal communication and healing. Pet readings lovingly done—Give to those who give so much to you.” For a fee of $80, Ann agreed to travel from Berkeley to San Rafael to read “my” cat. The following is a report of this appointment, laced with commentary and Matt’s responses to the reading. With Ann’s permission I video recorded the entire session.

On the appointed day, Bekah arrived with a very skeptical-looking Jed. He wasn’t happy about being wrenched from his turf. Released in my lounge room, Jed slunk around close to the ground and darted under a futon, where he stayed. Normally a cocky kitty, this behavior was highly uncharacteristic. At first, I indulged Jed’s shyness, hoping that he would quickly assimilate to his temporary environment. Then he fell asleep. The time drew nearer to the appointment, and I needed to extricate him from his hiding spot. It wouldn’t take a pet psychic to deduce that something was wrong.

I called his name excitedly, but he stared coolly at me. I tried to lure him out with a very fun-looking fuzzy pineapple toy and a tasty turkey snack to no avail. So I had to adopt the tough love approach. I dragged aside the futon, grabbed Jed, held him firmly on my lap, and began petting him enthusiastically. It worked! Within minutes he was purring, frolicking around, and rubbing against me.

I heard a knock at the door and did a last dash around the house, hiding copies of The Skeptic. Ann entered the room and Jed took one look at her before retiring to the corner, wrapping himself up in a ball and sleeping with one eye open, fixed on her. She seemed nervous, so I made small talk. “Have you ever read any bizarre animals, like a llama?” She seemed to relax a tad; “Mostly cats and dogs. Once I read a guinea pig.”

“I’ll need a few minutes to center myself and warm-up,” Ann explained. She sat there, eyes closed, hands outstretched as though she was warming herself over an imaginary fire. For five minutes. When she came to, like a mountaintop seer she asked sagely, “What questions do you have?”

“Can you tell me about Jed’s past?” I asked. Of course, this implied that I didn’t know Jed’s past.

“How long have you had him?” Ann asked.

“Can’t Jed answer that question for you?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m just wondering.”

“About six months,” I claimed, waiting for Jed to “speak” up.

“Is he from a shelter?” she asked.

“Can’t Jed tell you about his background?” I urged again, wanting to witness the psychic action.

“I think he’s from a shelter. I can tell you haven’t had him long,” she stated.

Matt comments: “The psychic guessed that one. We got him from a rescue society that got him from the pound. He was one of a litter of kittens someone brought in.” Cat adoption is popular here in the States. Pet stores regularly hold “rescue days” for abandoned cats and kittens that are typically tabby moggies like Jed. But can we count this as a “hit”? As rescuing is a common practice, this was a logical question, followed by “I think he’s from a shelter,” admittance of a cognition-based conclusion. Ann also assumed that I hadn’t owned Jed for a “long” period of time. Was this supposition based on my accent, that I “hadn’t been in the country very long” myself? Or because I implied that I was unaware of Jed’s past? Or was this an observation based on Jed’s size? The latter is suggested by the following exchange.

“How old is Jed?” I continued.

“He’s one year old,” Ann answered immediately, “but I can tell that by just looking at him.” Although not a psychic vision, this visual conclusion was inaccurate anyway. Matt reveals, “Jed is roughly three years old. We’ve had him since he was twelve weeks old.”

I was beginning to become frustrated with this un-psychic performance and Ann’s shameless questions. “How does Jed actually ‘talk’ to you?” I inquired.

She replied, “He sends me images. I read his aura. It’s like an energy field that contains pictures and information. I ask him specific questions and he shows me images.” So Jed “understands” Ann’s complex questions, uttered in her English-speaking “inner voice”? Then she offered a disclaimer, “This reading isn’t full of hard-wired facts. I see images, like Jed playing in the grass and rolling over.” If I had to visualize a specific cat, I’d probably “see” it playing, eating, sleeping, or enacting other such typical cat behavior too.

“Is Jed aware that you’re communicating with him?” I asked.

“Yes,” Ann replied. I looked across at Jed, who was fast asleep.

“Where was Jed born?” I asked.

Ann closed her eyes momentarily. When she opened them she announced, “He was born not far from here. It was here in Marin County. This was somewhere hilly, not downtown San Rafael. It was maybe a little north, like Petaluma. It was definitely in this area, within a 10–15 mile radius.” The truth was unpredictable. Jed wasn’t even born in California. Matt replies: “Jed was born in/around Jackson, Mississippi. This is over 2,000 miles from Marin and not so much as a large hill in sight.”

I asked next, “Does Jed feel at home here?”

“Let me tune into him,” she said as her eyes rolled back into her head. “He’s happy here. He feels secure and safe. He definitely feels at home.” She paused, “This is the most secure he’s ever felt. He knows that this is his home.” Surely, if Ann were psychic, she would “see” images of Jed’s real home and real owners? But then she really drove the nail in, “Jed’s secure, happy, and safe in this home. He knows he’s loved. He knows that you’re his mummy.”

This recalled to me the previous scene before Ann arrived. As Bekah left, she bent down towards Jed and said endearingly, “Goodbye son. I’ll be back soon.” It was very clear that she is the cat’s mother. Weeks later, I met Matt’s mother, Miss Linda, who said to me, “I hear you’re writing about our grandson.”

“I’m sorry?” I replied, confused.

“I hear you’re writing about Jed.” Either she wants grandchildren, or Jed is seriously entrenched as a member of the Johnson family.

But don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story. I allowed Ann to continue her storytelling. She began weaving a tale about Jed that would have been plausible if his past wasn’t known. “For the first few months Jed didn’t think he’d stay here with you. He used to live outside on the streets as a feral cat. He had to find food on his own. It was traumatic for him; a daily struggle for survival.” In reality, Jed’s daily struggle is trying to strategize how to eat his food and Bizzy’s.

In contrast, we know that Jed was taken straight to the shelter as a kitten and he barely spent any time there before being adopted by his existing owners. Matt comments: “He was the picture of health at 12 weeks when we got him, and was already house trained. He has no survival skills whatsoever and is embarrassing to watch in his attempts to ‘hunt’ bugs around the house.” A truly “traumatic” incident that Jed experienced in 2005 was Hurricane Katrina. Ann didn’t “see” that one, but according to her, Jed wasn’t even born yet.

In Ann’s story, Jed was impounded after a life on the streets. “He didn’t get a lot of attention in the shelter. There were lots of other cats.” He then became a foster cat foisted upon different homes. “He never had a steady owner before you. Until you, no one ever made the commitment to say, ‘You’re my cat.’ Now he’s confused. All the fuss and attention you give him, it’s all new to him. He’s had other owners but he’s never been someone’s pet before you.”

“Jed had other owners before me?” I repeated in surprise.

“Yes, Jed had three previous homes. They were all temporary, and they all neglected him. They didn’t give him any affection and then abandoned him,” she claimed. Jed had led quite an adventurous life during his first six months! I asked Matt if this could be possible: “No, other than the person that brought him and the other kittens to the pound when he was quite small.”

The story continued. “Jed also had three different names.” I asked her what these names were. She paused. “He was called something beginning with “P.” Also he was called “Buttons.” The previous owner just called him “Cat.” They didn’t care about him at all.” To me, “Buttons” doesn’t sound like the name of a neglected cat, but I asked Matt if Jed had any previous names of which he was aware: “Nope, just Tennessee Jed. (That’s if you discount profanities and vulgarities directed toward him almost daily from his loving parents.)” I asked Matt to specify the PG-rated names, and he replied, “We also call him Beastly One, Kingly One, Wretch, Tiger, Foul One, and Tubbs.” Among this lengthy list there’s no name beginning with “P,” no “Buttons” or “Cat.”

Eerily, Ann’s hand would occasionally float above her lap, but she’d continue to talk as though nothing strange was happening.

“Would he benefit from having another cat around?” I asked, seeing if Jed would tell Ann about his beloved Bizzy, whom Matt calls Jed’s “Sister-Wife.” Ann said, “Jed’s not a dominant cat. Another cat would freak him out. That would be too much of an adjustment for him now.” She advised, “This isn’t a good time for another cat. He would stay away from another cat. He’s shy. He’s now used to being the only one. In the past, other cats were his family, not people. The other cats were more dominant than him.”

Matt responds with: “My butt! Jed is delusional in thinking that he is ‘Shere Kahn’ from Rudyard Kipling’s Jungle Book. And he freaks out when Bizzy is not around. He searches for her and yowls pathetically when she is at the vet or when she was missing.”

Ann continued, obviously analyzing Jed’s current introverted behavior. “He’s very sensitive. He’s not the kind of cat that just walks up to people he doesn’t know. I know other cats like this too. My sister has a cat. He knows me well. He hides as soon as he sees me.” Who said pet psychics have a sensitive connection with animals?

Matt responds: “Jed can be shy, but that quickly diminishes into a forceful attitude as I’m sure you are aware. He lived with his grandparents for the summer and took over their home in about 10 minutes, re-arranging things to his liking. Some folks he likes, some he ignores, and some he attacks (mainly small children) with swift slaps to the top of the head.” I have personally witnessed Jed terrorizing Bizzy and attacking Matt, ambush style.

Ann began to wind down the session, “I’m going to take a look at your agreements; why you two came together.” Would Jed “say,” “we came together to be neighbors?” Or, “so Karen could investigate pet psychics for The Skeptic?” Ann closed her eyes and proceeded to gesticulate exaggeratedly with sign language-like motions. “You’re a healer, a nurturer. You like to save people. Jed needed saving.” Then she went into a surreal reverie. “I see Jed finger painting now. He’s creative and expressive. Now he can blossom. He has trust. He’s never had this before. He is now loved and safe. He is a sweet, sweet boy. He’s very gentle.” This comment reminded me of the time that Jed took a casual swipe at Matt, drawing blood as he lodged a claw in Matt’s eyelid.

“I’ll do some energy clearing and healing for Jed.” Now in her role as pet medical intuitive, she began clawing and flicking away the air with her fingers as she mouthed gibberish. Then she said calmly, “I can now confirm he’s 1 year old. One to 15 months.” However, we know that Jed is three years of age, therefore Ann was incorrect both in her psychic and visual verdicts. Then Ann had a message for me. “I just saw an image of your lower body lighting up, showing an issue down there. Did you lose a baby?”

“No,” I replied honestly.

“Oh,” she tried to recover, “Jed is showing me a picture of you being sad. He doesn’t like to see you sad.”

Then she diagnosed Jed. “There aren’t any blocks in his body. But there’s been something wrong with his stomach area.”

Matt responds: “He’s rather large, but not obese. We just found out that he has herpes, which is rather amusing. But other than that (which only results in an ulcer on his lip) he has never even had a good case of fleas. He likes to drag his butt on the ground. It is quite disturbing to witness but more than one vet has assured us that it is simply something he enjoys due to his perverse nature and not a sign of illness.”

In closing the session Ann asked, “Do you have anything you want to communicate to Jed?” He was still fast asleep. “Tell him, he’s home. He’s not going anywhere,” I said in a last attempt to see if Jed would reveal the truth.

“I gave him your message,” she announced.

“And what did he say?” I asked.

“He said, ‘I know that mummy.’” On her way out the door she stooped down and tickled Jed’s tummy, “You’ve never been anybody’s cat until now, have you? Now you’re somebody’s cat! Now Karen’s your mummy!”

Overall, the reading was characterized by Ann’s questions, assumptions, and generalizations and based simplistically in folkloric knowledge of cat behavior. Ann contributes to the online American Spirit psychic newspaper, where she conducts free readings for readers. There I found simple queries and answers about characteristic cat behavior, as though Ann were a pet psychologist. My reading with Ann was a cat cold reading.

Joe Nickell (2002) cites five general cold reading techniques that he has observed in pet psychics:

1. Noting the obvious.
2. Making safe statements.
3. Asking questions.
4. Offering vague statements that most people can apply specifically to themselves.
5. Returning messages to animals. (It was the message I received in response that invalidated this ability!).

On the basis of this session, Ann didn’t provide any evidence of psychic abilities but instead appeared to employ similar techniques, either consciously or not. As confirmed by Jed’s owners, Ann was completely inaccurate in her reading of Jed’s age, place of birth, background, behavior, health, and my health. The shelter “hit” was more miss, posed as a question, and then an uncertain claim with the caveat “think.” Most damning of all, Jed is not my cat, and my home is not his!

It’s an easy gig to speak on behalf of the voiceless. Animal communication, of a paranormal nature, presupposes that the pet is telepathic, is able to understand human language and thought, and able to “respond” in kind. “Interspecies communication” appears to be a visual and subjective or imaginative interpretation of the physical and behavioral traits of non-human animals. No matter how many commands your dog responds to, no matter how many words Koko can sign, no matter how many words your parrot can mimic, language is human-species specific. We don’t and can’t “know” what animals think. Despite our own linguistic abilities, it’s difficult enough to know what people think.

This article appeared in Summer 2008’s The Skeptic and is reprinted with kind permission.

Reference

• Nickell, J. 2002. Psychic pets and pet psychics. Skeptical Inquirer. 26(6) (November/December).

The puzzlement is nothing new—after all, polished surfaces have been in use for thousands of years. The problem has left many philosophers scratching their heads. According to Plato, “all such appearances are necessary consequences of the combination of the internal and external fire, which forms a unity at the reflecting surfaces.” Lucretius believed that the image “turns inside out.” And Kant reasoned that these objects were merely “sensuous intuitions, that is, appearances whose possibility rests upon the relation of certain things unknown in themselves to something else, namely to our sensibility.” (You probably have questions about these explanations. Can I get back to you?)

In modern times, the problem has not gone away. In the opinion of Martin Gardner in The Ambidextrous Universe (1964), it is all due to a “mental rotation,” and “the mirror has not reversed left and right at all, it has reversed front and back!”

Then in June 1987, there was a renewed flurry of interest when the subject cropped up in the letters section of New Scientist. The result of all this was that I happened to become involved in a three-way correspondence on the subject with Lewis Wolpert (currently emeritus professor of biology as applied to medicine at University College, London) and Richard Gregory (currently emeritus professor of neuropsychology at Bristol University).

By now a subsidiary problem had developed: why do mirrors switch left for right but not top for bottom? Was there some way a mirror could express a preference?

Lewis Wolpert insisted that left and right hands were really inverted. “I still think the real problem with mirrors,” he told me, “is about rotations, and the key thing one needs to explain is why clockwise looks anticlockwise.” What’s more, he maintained that if you rotate a book around its horizontal axis, its mirror image will be not only upside-down but also reversed left-right. To see that this is untrue, try the experiment yourself with this page.

Richard Gregory commented, “[Wolpert] is used to observing embryological, etc., structures, and evidently images are not in his or many other people’s cognitive maps of how things should be.”

Arthur C. Clarke opined that this all had something to do with gravity. Gregory told me, “Whether Arthur Clarke put this thing forward as a joke I am not sure: it was complete nonsense.” He wrote to Clarke, enclosing a typescript of the essay on mirror reversals in his book “Odd Perceptions” but received no reply.

So when you hold a book up to a mirror, what is it that causes the left-right transposition? The answer is . . . you do. What do you do when you want to show the mirror the page? You rotate the book around a vertical axis, switching left for right. And the mirror obligingly displays the result of your rotation. The text in the image reads from right to left.

Why can’t the mirror show an upside-down image? But it can. And once again you are the cause. Beginning with the page facing you, rotate the book around a horizontal axis, switching top and bottom. Once again, the mirror faithfully shows you an upside-down image. And you will notice that the text is not additionally switched left for right. Why should it be?

In case you are confused by the fact that a book is opaque and doesn’t allow you to see the printed page and its mirror image at the same time, imagine that you have written a single lower-case letter b on a sheet of glass. While the letter is still facing you, look at its mirror image: you will see that the letter and its mirror image are exactly the same—b. The mirror has altered nothing. Rotate the sheet of glass around a vertical axis, switching left and right. The letter on the glass has reversed and now looks like a lower-case letter d. And so does its mirror image—again, the mirror has not changed it in any way.

Go back to your starting position showing b, and this time, rotate the sheet of glass around a horizontal axis, switching top and bottom. The letter on the glass now looks like a capital P—and so does its image.

There is a final possibility. Begin with your starting position showing b and rotate the glass twice—once vertically and once horizontally. The glass will now show you what looks like a backwards capital letter P—and so does the mirror, so the letter and its image are still identical. In other words, it is your physical movement of the object that causes any reversals of the image.

Doubters have one further shot in their locker. “Stand in front of a mirror,” they say, “and wave your left hand. The image will wave back with its right hand. So the mirror does cause reversals after all.”

But this is mere word play. Get rid of the words “left” and “right,” and the problem disappears. Wear a wrist watch on your left hand and call this hand the wrist-watch hand. Wave your wrist-watch hand, and the image waves back at you with its wrist-watch hand. Nothing has crossed over. Richard Gregory wrote, “It is amusing that many extremely bright people—Kant, Plato, Martin Gardner, and more immediately some of my cleverest colleagues and students—have got this wrong in various ways.” And the final sentence in his letter to me was the one word: “Amazing.”

“Quack of Quacks”

Most sources, following an untrustworthy biography, give Cagliostro’s real name as Giuseppe Balsamo, born in Palermo in 1743. He often claimed to have been a gypsy and, indeed, “he might well have been” (Randi 1995, 52). Reportedly, by the age of thirteen he was a seminarian and soon thereafter turned his talent as an artist to counterfeiting theater tickets, then advanced to forging a will so that a marquis could obtain an illicit inheritance. Soon in and out of jail for various offences, he took up magic and fortunetelling, reinventing himself as a sorcerer by adding some chemical tricks he had learned. Using a version of the gypsies’ hokkani boro, “the great trick” (Nickell 2001, 179–184), he bilked a client of a sack of gold, which resulted in his first of many journeys to avoid arrest (King n.d., 21–60).

He became acquainted with alchemists in Messina and Malta, took the name Count Alessandro Cagliostro, and subsequently became a Freemason in London. His beautiful wife, Lorenza Feliciani (according to Guiley 1991, 77),

became his partner in various occult ventures, such as crystal-gazing, healing by laying on of hands, conjuring spirits, and predicting winning lottery tickets. They also sold magic potions, the elixir of life, and the philosopher’s stone. They held séances, transmuted metals, practiced necromancy, cast out demons, and hypnotized people.

Thomas Carlyle dubbed Cagliostro the “Quack of quacks” (1833, 31).

Before Cagliostro achieved fame, he and Lorenza lived a nomadic existence. According to Grete de Francesco in his The Power of the Charlatan (1939, 211–212):

The pair acquired consummate knowledge of their metier. After they had shown a materialization of the devil in one city, they entertained the next one with an exhibition of traditional magic art, changing hemp to silk, pebbles to pearls, powder to roses. They carried with them a mandrake root, locked in a casket lined with satin, and a crystal ball in which one could stare until one saw iridescent pictures: interiors of bedchambers, exotic landscapes, shapes of the past and future.

Here and there, the fake count and countess practiced the infamous “badger game,” a swindle in which a wife entices a would-be paramour into a compromising situation, whereupon her husband bursts in (usually with a witness) and badgers the victim into paying blackmail. Lorenza reportedly went on to have two actual affairs (King n.d., 69–70, 141–144, 206–207; cf. 267).

The pair staged theatrical deceptions—not only magic shows but séances in the form of elaborate suppers capped with spirit materializations. As well, Cagliostro used sleight of hand to cause “spirit writings” to appear on slips of paper (Waldman and Layden 1997, 85; Randi 1995, 53), foreshadowing similar trickery of the later Spiritualist movement (Nickell 2007, 39–47). They promoted their elixir of youth by personal example: Cagliostro claimed that he was centuries old, having even been witness to Jesus’ crucifixion, and that his beautiful wife, who was then in her twenties, was instead in her sixties (Randi 1995, 52–53).

In addition to his elixir, Cagliostro also claimed to possess the elusive materia prima, or “philosopher’s stone,” a magical powder capable of transmuting base metals into gold. By this supposed discovery, he laid claim to being the world’s true master alchemist. Actually, he learned that “It was only necessary to pretend that you possessed this secret, and immediately your house would be besieged by credulous dupes, eager to put down their money so that they might take a humble share in your success” (King n.d., 52). During one of his pretend transmutations, Cagliostro was observed slyly dropping a concealed lump of gold into a crucible before it entered the furnace (King n.d., 147).

A cleverer method that he may have used involved a crucible with a false bottom made of an amalgam with a low melting point. Beneath this was hidden some bits of gold. The phony alchemist would place some copper, chemical compounds, and his materia prima into the “empty” crucible, whereupon some gold would be found in the residue after it was heated. A similar trick was used to seemingly convert glass into diamonds (Gibson 1967, 35–36).

Strasbourg

Cagliostro and Lorenza frequently found themselves in trouble with authorities, but credulous patrons invariably came to their defense. Such a dupe was Louis René Édouard, the Cardinal de Rohan (1734—1803), who in 1779 had become bishop of Strasbourg, France.

From 1780 to 1783, Cagliostro and Lorenza resided in Strasbourg, living in a dwelling—now known as the Cagliostro House—at 12 rue de la Râpe. It was built in 1747, and its rococo portal (see figure 1) was inspired by paneling from a nearby palace (Strolling n.d.).

Cagliostro cultivated Cardinal de Rohan, who in any case could not have failed to learn of his alleged wonder-workings since Cagliostro had been initiated into the anticlerical Order of Illuminati (founded in 1776 by Adam Weishaupt), whose publicist had hyped the sorcerer’s arrival in Strasbourg:

The whole town was agog with excitement, awaiting the visit of the wonderful Count Cagliostro, the famous healer who performed miraculous cures for the sick, the practised sorcerer who controlled spirits both good and bad, the learned alchemist who could transmute base metals into gold. (King n.d., 155)

Cagliostro set up his own Egyptian Masonic Order, which he used to form bonds with the aristocracy. His healing services attracted hundreds of sick persons, and he took credit for the effects of the power of suggestion, the excitement-triggered release of endorphins that reduce pain temporarily, and the body’s own natural healing mechanisms. Like many modern show-biz faith healers (Nickell 2007, 95–103), he had a collection of cast-off crutches and canes. He also gave public séances on the order of today’s phony “psychic mediums” like John Edward and Sylvia Browne (King n.d., 154–161).

Riehen

Cagliostro’s fame spread to Switzerland. A wealthy ribbon manufacturer of Basel, Jakob Sarasin, sent his ailing wife to Strasbourg to be treated by Cagliostro. She stayed there from April 1781 to September 1782, eventually recovering. Meanwhile, her husband frequently visited her in Strasbourg, and Cagliostro and Lorenza often visited Sarasin at his Basel home in return. Through Sarasin, Cagliostro met other reputable men in Basel and decided to establish a summer home there. The residence still stands in the nearby village of Riehen at 13 Basel Street (see figures 2 and 3).

Perhaps as early as 1782, this Riehen residence was “used by the false Count Alexander Cagliostro for séances of his mysterious Egyptian Lodge” (“Map” n.d.). On occasion until 1786, the rituals (which continued until 1789) were personally directed by the Grand Kofta himself. The small structure has since been renovated several times, and nothing remains as a reminder of those days but “two small pictures”—one of “the self-confident-looking adventurer,” the other of his wife, “a southern European beauty” (Iselin 1923, 185–188).

The End

In 1785, Cagliostro stormed Paris. However, he was soon involved in the scandal known as the Affair of the Diamond Necklace, primarily due to his friendship with Cardinal Rohan. The cardinal, in attempting to ingratiate himself with Marie Antoinette, was duped by the Countess of Lamotte to purchase the necklace for the queen. However, the countess’s husband apparently absconded with the booty to London, and Marie Antoinette denied either authorizing the purchase or receiving the necklace. In 1786 the countess, Cardinal de Rohan, Cagliostro, and others were brought to trial. Rohan and Cagliostro were acquitted but exiled. The countess was sentenced to be flogged, branded, and imprisoned, although she later escaped. The affair added to the unpopularity of Marie Antoinette and thus contributed to the French Revolution of 1789–1799.

Cagliostro ended up in Rome but was arrested in 1789 for heresy as a Freemason. He was sentenced to death by the Inquisition, but the Pope commuted his sentence to life imprisonment. Lorenza was imprisoned in a convent, and Cagliostro died in prison in 1795 (King n.d., 217–251; Francesco 1939, 213–221).

Called “the Last of the Sorcerers” by his perhaps most sympathetic biographer, Frank King, Cagliostro died when science was already revealing the lies of the claims of sorcerers—from alchemists to zodiac forecasters. Yet belief in sorcery is far from dead, as a visit to any bookstore will confirm. There, we can open one of the current crop of uncritical books and see Cagliostro pop out like a jack-in-the-box—wearing the persona of a “psychic” or the guise of a medical quack or other hustler. It seems to me we are inundated with Cagliostros, and I include those TV producers who make endless shows and crockumentaries on the paranormal that are an affront to science. If nothing else, the review prompted by this brief pilgrimage to two historic Cagliostro sites serves as a reminder to be ever vigilant regarding extraordinary claims.

Acknowledgments

I am supremely grateful to John and Mary Frantz, whose creation of an investigative fund makes such investigative trips possible, and Martin Mahner of CFI/Germany, who escorted me around Europe. His skills as driver, translator, investigator, and traveling companion are inestimable. I am also extremely appreciative of the gracious hospitality of the Blochs, Michael and Katalin, who hosted us in Basel. Michael drove us to the Cagliostro house in Riehen and provided published information, which he and Martin translated. And once again I am grateful for research assistance from CFI Libraries Director Tim Binga and to the entire CFI staff.

References

• Carlyle, Thomas. 1833. Count Cagliostro. Frazer’s Magazine, July/August, 23–83.
• Francesco, Grete de. 1939. The Power of the Charlatan (translated from the German). New Haven, Connecticut: Yale University Press.
• Gibson, Walter. 1967. Secrets of Magic: Ancient and Modern. New York: Grosset and Dunlap.
• Guiley, Rosemary Ellen. 1991. Encyclopedia of the Strange, Mystical, and Unexplained. New York: Gramercy Books.
• Iselin, D.L.E. 1923. Gesschichte des Dorfes Riehen, (History of the Village Riehen). Basel, Switzerland: Helbing and Lichtenhahn.
• King, Frank. N.d. [1929]. Cagliostro, The Last of the Sorcerers: A Portrait. London: Jarrolds.
• Map of Riehen and Bettingen. N.d. [ca. 1955]. Basel: O.P. Schwarz. Translated for me by Michael Bloch, from his copy.
• Nickell, Joe. 2001. Real-Life X-Files: Investigating the Paranormal. Lexington, Ky.: The University Press of Kentucky.
• —. 2007. Adventures in Paranormal Investigation. Lexington, Ky.: The University Press of Kentucky.
• Randi, James. 1995. The Supernatural A-Z: The Truth and the Lies. London: Brockhampton Press.
• Strolling in Strasbourg: From the Middle Ages until today, the architecture of the city in 6 itineraries. N.d. Strasbourg: Office of Tourism. 1982.
• Waldman, Carl, and Joe Layden. 1997. The Art of Magic. Los Angeles: General Publishing Group.

The universal ethical principles of respect, integrity, and responsibility constitute Camp Inquiry’s philosophical foundation and undergird daily activities and curricula. To kick off the week, campers articulated and adopted these mutually agreeable moral ideals when they collectively authored and signed their camp constitution. “We decided that we should show respect for ourselves, our fellow campers, camp counselors, the camp site, and others’ property,” they wrote after a group discussion of their values.

On the first full day of camp, kids and counselors considered the intersection of scientific inquiry, imagination, and the narratives that chronicle our perceptions of the world. After examining journal entries of preeminent thinkers such as Leonardo da Vinci and Charles Darwin, campers began creating and collecting artifacts of their own, which they compiled into “inquirer’s notebooks” at the week’s end. In one such activity, campers constructed working pinhole cameras using black-painted oatmeal containers, golf tees, and photo paper onto which to capture and develop their own images of nature.

Between team sporting activities, water-balloon tosses, and shared meals in the rustic lodge, a number of special guests visited to facilitate an array of activities and interactive presentations. The week began with a focus on the elements of observation and the diversity of individual perspectives. Artist and educator Bruce Adams conducted a photographic art activity that focused kids’ imaginations on the pairing of evocative images and text, illustrating the power of our minds to make sense of the world and our place in it. Then, campers were treated to a talk by scientist Allison Hopper, who delivered a graphically-rich presentation about spirals in nature followed by a human reenactment of the big bang that, as the participant “particles” began spinning in unison, naturally resulted in the formation of a spiral of campers across the lawn. Adams and Hopper highlighted the human capacity for observation as the basis for scientific discovery, as well as an appreciation for the aesthetic splendor of the natural world.

With a focus on collaborative relationships, campers engaged with Musicians United for Superior Education in an introduction to the art of African drum and dance. Over the span of several days, campers learned and rehearsed a choreographed number that they performed for parents and guests during the closing ceremonies. In another teamwork-themed activity, campers were challenged to create an insulated “vehicle” that would protect a raw egg from cracking when dropped from a nearby bridge. Working within the constraints of a budget, kids selected from a variety of materials to create their landing modules and, as the project progressed, concluded that their best chance at success—and the candy bar prizes for intact eggs—was to collaborate, relying both on the disciplined approach of the scientific method and on the collective ingenuity of their teammates.

Campers dabbled in scientific discovery throughout the week, prompting discussions about the value of science as a method for understanding the universe and improving the human condition. A visit from the Buffalo Astronomical Association, complete with high-powered telescopes and demonstrations by astrophotographer Alan Friedman, sparked wonder and amazement, as well as contemplation of the origins of the universe and how humanists construct meaning without reliance on religious narratives.

Continuing the focus on scientific investigation, campers embarked on an outdoor hunt for the scattered bones of a small mammal, and having each found a section of its remains, teams gathered to assemble the bones and posit hypotheses about which animal they had discovered. Applying skeptical principles, participants suspended haphazard judgments about the identity of the skeleton and exercised inductivist methods for classifying the mystery species. Through careful examination of skeletal diagrams and protracted team discussions about the characteristics of various mammalian structures, campers concluded correctly: they had pieced together a rattus norvegicus. Other scientific explorations at camp included a fossil dig, a live-animal presentation by Nickel City Reptiles, and a spectacular physics show with visiting scientist David Willey.

Camp Inquiry focused youngsters’ attention on rational skepticism—the disposition of incredulity that calls for empirical evidence, rather than faith and other forms of uncritical thought, for the acceptance of a claim. And, in accordance with Carl Sagan’s seminal axiom, campers concluded that the more extraordinary the claim, the more cogent its evidentiary support must be. Venerable paranormal investigator Joe Nickell led an exploration of these principles, fascinating campers with an assortment of photos and stories of monsters, apparitions, aliens, mind-readers, and sundry pseudoscientific claims that he has examined throughout his career. Nickell narrated his investigative methodologies for each case, noting that he aims not simply to debunk; the scientific skeptic seeks verifiable and naturalistic explanations to mysterious claims rather than swift a priori dismissal based on ostensible implausibility.

Later, while the younger campers enjoyed the tales of storyteller Karima Amin, teens gathered in the pavilion for an open discussion of skepticism with D.J. Grothe, illusionist and host of Point of Inquiry. Campers examined the nature of skepticism as a kind of intellectual self-defense, as Grothe called it, against the bombardment of specious claims in our society. Campers shared the ways in which they apply critical evaluation to various facets of their lives, ranging from the assessment of teen-targeted advertising campaigns to the critique of religious precepts.

To conclude the evening, Grothe performed a magic show that left campers and counselors transfixed. Eager to learn his sleight-of-hand secrets, the audience paid close attention as Grothe revealed his method for making coins dramatically disappear and again materialize. Tricks that had initially seemed to onlookers as physical impossibilities were, by the conclusion of the demonstration, easily explainable by the basic principles of psychology and physics. Grothe and Nickell underlined the notion that a healthy dose of skepticism should be applied to epistemological and ontological claims that conflict with natural laws. However, as both speakers demonstrated, the skeptic regards factual knowledge as provisional and is open to new ideas and evidence uncovered by disciplined examination.

Camp Inquiry integrates the elements of a memorable camp experience for kids—roasted marshmallows, pillow fights, and new friendships—with the tenets of rational skepticism and secular humanism, including making ethical choices, taking naturalistic approaches to garnering knowledge, tapping into our boundless imaginations, and applying science and reason to human quests and dilemmas. It’s a place for children to think, question, and grow.

Since it came to light in 2004, it has become the quintessential holy image to appear on an item of food: the face, many say, of the Virgin Mary on a grilled-cheese sandwich. While it has sparked little piety—the Catholic church has not sanctioned it as divine—it has become the subject of controversy and ridicule and has even suffered insinuations of fakery. I once had custody of the curious item, and I was actually able to photograph and examine the image under magnification (figures 1–2). Here are my findings.

Background

The image reportedly appeared ten years earlier in the Hollywood, Florida, home of Gregg and Diana Duyser. Mrs. Duyser, fifty-two, said she had grilled the sandwich without butter or oil and had just taken a bite when she noticed—staring back at her—the image of a woman’s face in the toasting pattern. She perceived it as the face of “The Virgin Mary, Mother of God” and, placing it in a plastic box with cotton balls, kept it enshrined on her night stand.

Duyser was impressed that the sandwich never molded. However, toast and hardened cheese that are kept dry naturally resist molding.

The Duysers received $28,000 when they auctioned the sandwich on the Internet site eBay. The site had initially pulled the item—which supposedly broke its policy of not allowing “Listings that are intended as jokes”—but the couple insisted that the item was neither a joke nor a hoax. Soon the “‘Virgin Mary’ sandwich” was back, attracting bids. It was purchased by an online casino—GoldenPalace.com—whose CEO, Richard Rowe, stated that he intended to use the sandwich to raise funds for charity (“Virgin Mary” 2004).

Simulacra

The image-bearing sandwich received—possibly outdistanced—the notoriety accorded other sacred food icons. They include Maria Rubio’s famous 1977 tortilla that bore the face of Jesus, also in the pattern of skillet burns; a giant forkful of spaghetti pictured on a billboard in which some perceived the likeness of Christ; and the image of Mother Teresa discovered on a cinnamon bun (see Nickell 2004).

Queried by the Asso­ciated Press during the holy-grilled-cheese brouhaha, I explained that such images are nothing more than evidence of the human ability—termed pareidolia—to interpret essentially random patterns, such as ink blots or pictures in clouds, as recognizable images. The most famous example is the face of the Man in the Moon.

Perceived pictures of this type are called simulacra, and many are interpreted as religious images (a female face becoming “Mary,” for example). These are perhaps most often associated with Catholic or Orthodox traditions, wherein there is a special emphasis on icons or other holy images (Nickell 2004; Thompson 2004).

In the wake of the grilled-cheese image came others, one on a fish stick hailed as “the son of Cod” (“It’s” 2004), another a pair of images on a pancake. A woman interpreted the latter duo as Jesus and Mary, while her mother, the actual flapjack flipper, thought it resembled a bedouin and Santa Claus (Nohlgren 2004). The grilled-cheese icon even helped inspire an entire book: called Madonna of the Toast (Poole 2007), it treats both “Secular Sightings” (e.g., Myrtle Young’s famous collection of pictorial potato chips) and “Forms of Faith” (including the previously mentioned Mother Teresa “Nun Bun”—missing since it was stolen in 2005).

A Hoax?

The Duysers’ grilled-cheese Madonna was lampooned on Penn and Teller’s Bullshit! series on the Showtime Network (2006) and elsewhere by other debunkers (Stollznow 2006). Some of them found clever ways to make fake images on toast. One method involved a custom cast-iron skillet molded with Jesus’ face, another a yeast extract used to paint pictures on bread before toasting (Poole 2007, 88–89). A Holy Toast!™ “miracle bread stamper” was even marketed in 2006.

But was the image due to possible trickery, as some implied? The rush to suggest fakery antecedent to inquiry is a most unfortunate approach. It is certainly not the method of a serious, intellectually honest investigation.

Figure 2. Close-up photograph reveals spotty, accidental nature of image: a simulacrum. (Click to view larger image; photo by Joe Nickell)

As it happens, I was able to examine the grilled cheese in question in 2005. I had custody of it for the better part of a day, January 14, courtesy of its Las Vegas-based owners who loaned it to the Penn and Teller show’s producer who in turn entrusted it to me. I was in Las Vegas to tape segments for that popular program, the timing of which coincided with the James Randi Educational Foundation’s annual conference, The Amaz!ng Meeting 3 (held at the Stardust Resort & Casino). There, I shared the framed pop icon with other skeptics who eagerly posed with it, including Michael Shermer and Steve Shaw (aka the mentalist Bannacek). No one thought the image looked like the Virgin Mary (as her visage is imagined in art); instead some suggested it resembled Gretta Garbo, Marlena Dietrich, or other celebrities.

Eventually I retired to a suite where I could study the controversial sandwich. It was in what appeared to be its original plastic box, surrounded with cotton balls, and set in a deep frame. I placed a forensic centimeter scale thereon and photographed the sandwich using a 35mm camera and close-up lenses (again, see figures 1–2). I also examined it macroscopically, using a 10x Bausch & Lomb illuminated coddington magnifier.

I observed that the surface had a spotty, heat-blistered appearance (again, see figure 2). The spots making up “eyes,” “nose,” and “mouth” are similar to those elsewhere on the toasted bread. There was no apparent difference or incongruity with regard to hue, sheen, form, or indeed other characteristic. That is to say, there were no facial areas that seemed more linear or in any way drawn or added (as by, say, use of a woodburning tool or by any of various other means I considered). Therefore, it is consistent with a genuine (accidentally produced) simulacrum rather than a faked one.

Moreover, a careful close-up look at the “face” reveals it to be far less perfect than it may at first sight appear. (Those who suggest that hoaxing may have been involved, please take notice.) The features really consist only of some squiggles, a fact perhaps best appreciated by turning the picture ninety-degrees. The nostrils are missing, yet the mind—“recognizing” a face—fills them in. Again, there is a pronounced extraneous, curved mark on the lady’s right cheek, yet the mind tends helpfully to filter it out (or perhaps interpret it as, say, a curl of hair). In short, the image seems a rather typical simulacrum.

Nevertheless, Diana Duyser certainly acts as if she believes that the “Virgin Mary” image on the grilled cheese is, as she says, “a miracle.” No longer owning the sandwich, she has had its image tattooed onto one of her ample breasts (pictured in Poole 2007, 86). She thus demonstrates that with simulacra, belief—as well as beauty—is often in the eye of the beholder.

References:

• Chang, Daniel, and Erika Bolstad. 2004. Virgin Mary Sandwich? Church won’t likely bite. Miami Herald. Available online at http://www.miami.com/mld/miamiherald/living/religion/10280883.htm?template=contentM...; accessed November 29, 2004.
• It’s the son of Cod. 2004. The Daily Telegraph. Available online at http://dailytelegraph.news.com.au/story.jsp?sectionid=1260&storyid=2282668; accessed November 29, 2004.
• Nickell, Joe. 2004. Rorshach icons. Skeptical Inquirer 28:6 (November/December), 15–17.
• Nohlgren, Stephen. 2004. Flapjack Jesus flips along eBay. St. Petersburg Times. Available online at http://www.sptimes.com/2007/11/20/state/Flapjack_Jesus_flips_.shtml; accessed November 21, 2004.
• Penn & Teller: Bullshit! The Complete Third Season. 2006. Three-volume DVD set, produced by Showtime. Vol. 3, incl. “Signs from Heaven.”
• Poole, Buzz. 2007. Madonna of the Toast. New York: Mark Batty Publisher.
• Stollznow, Karen. 2008. Skeptical Inquirer 32:3 (May/June), 45–51.
• Thompson, Carolyn. 2004. Expert explains grilled cheese “miracle” (AP). Available online at http://www.newsday.com/news/local/wire/my-bc-ny—cheesymiracle-exp1117nov17,o,65619...; accessed November 17, 2004.
• “Virgin Mary” sandwich. 2004. Available online at http://www.cnn.com/2004/us/11/23/ebay.sandwich.ap/index.html; accessed November 23.

Chemtrails (CTs) look like contrails initially, but are much thicker, extend across the sky and are often laid down in varying patterns of Xs, tick-tack-toe grids, cross-hatched and parallel lines. Instead of quickly dissipating, chemtrails expand and drip feathers and mare’s tails. In 30 minutes or less, they open into wispy formations which join together, forming a thin white veil or a ‘fake cirrus-type cloud’ that persists for hours. . . . (Thayer 2000)

“Chemtrails” have been described as either a means of carrying out biological warfare upon the citizenry of the United States or as a method of weather modification, perhaps related to mitigation of global warming. The subject was popularized by late-night radio host Art Bell over a decade ago and is still hyped as a daring and dangerous conspiracy by numerous Web sites.

In 1999, the New Mexico Attorney General’s office contacted New Mexicans for Science and Reason (NMSR) member Kim Johnson to help answer questions from constituents regarding the alleged dangers of “chemtrails.” After his investigation, John­son told the Attorney General,

I have viewed a number of photos purporting to be of aircraft spraying the chemical or biological material into the atmosphere. I have also discussed these letters with another scientist familiar with upper atmospheric phenomena from Sandia National Laboratory and a retired general and fighter pilot who is an Air Force Hall of Fame Member. . . . In summary, there is no evidence that these “chemtrails” are other than expected, normal contrails from jet aircraft that vary in their shapes, duration, and general presentation based on prevailing weather conditions. That is not to say that there could not be an occasional, purposeful experimental release of, say, high altitude barium for standard wind tracking experiments. There could also be other related experiments that occur from time-to-time which release agents into the atmosphere. However, not one single picture that was presented as evidence indicates other than normal contrail formation. . . .

“Chemtrails” are said to last much longer than normal contrails from before 1995, but proponents are curiously oblivious of photographs of long-lasting contrails from as far back as World War II. The supposedly ominous “grid patterns” of contrails are easily explained as the expected effect of wind movement across frequently used east/west and north/south aircraft travel lanes. And one of the defining characteristics of “chemtrails”—gaps in the trails, supposedly caused by turning the “sprayers” on and off—is quite simply explained as normal humidity variations in the atmosphere. The sky often displays varying levels of humidity with spotty clouds, and the same conditions apply to the clouds condensing from jet trails. And, as far as attacking the populace with biotoxins, what dispersal vehicle could be less effective than a craft spraying indiscriminately at 35,000 feet? A low-altitude crop duster or a land truck spraying for mosquitoes would be far better at such a task.

One of the most strident promoters of “chemtrails” is Santa Fe’s Clifford Carni­com, who maintains the “Aerosol Operation Crimes and Cover-Up” Web site (Carni­com). His site is a frantic hodgepodge of pictures of alleged spray attacks, appeals to media and government officials to take the issue seriously, and detailed “analyses” of metals like barium in the “trails.” While Carnicom bemoans the fact that the media won’t give him his due, he turned down a 1999 invitation to speak to NMSR, which could have attracted some of the media attention he was demanding so shrilly. Incensed that NMSR had published a joke linking “chemtrails” to the threat of “Dihydrogen Monoxide” (i.e., H2O), Carn­icom refused to even acknowledge the invitation. Anyone who doesn’t buy into the conspiracy theory is treated as an active member of that conspiracy. Conversely, anyone who signs on to “chemtrails” is em­braced as a fellow traveler, no matter what their other beliefs. And so, Carnicom has formed a mutual admiration society with “Naturopathic Doctor” Gwen Scott, who writes on Carnicom’s site,

My interest is, primarily, finding natural medicines that can help ALL people mitigate the devastating effects of a multi-leveled assault on human health. Mr. Carni­com has provided immeasurable help in identifying contents so that I may design some natural medicine protocols around them . . . it is important that you understand one of the founding principles of natural medicine . . . Herring’s Law of Cure. This law presents that your body will rid itself of anything unwanted (diseases, etc.) from top to bottom, from the inside to the outside, and in the reverse order in which it entered your system. As you will see, much of the work on my own body follows this law exactly. . . . (Scott 2008)

(Whew! I’m glad she cleared that up for us!)

Since NMSR hosts some skeptical articles on chemtrails (Thomas), I often get e-mails from angered readers. One person demanded that I watch a YouTube video of a November 9, 2007, “Chemtrails” report by Louisiana station KSLA, in which investigative reporter Jeff Ferrell discussed tests the station had conducted on supposed “chemtrail residue” collected in a bowl by a farmer outside his house. Ferrell said, “KSLA News 12 had the sample tested at a lab. The results: A high level of barium, 6.8 parts per million, (ppm). That’s more than three times the toxic level set by the Environmental Protection Agency, or EPA.” I had to inform my angry correspondent of a problem—the actual video clearly shows 68.8 µg/L (micrograms per liter), or equivalently, 68.8 ppb (parts per billion). The reporter overestimated by a factor of one hundred, because he read the “68.8” as “6.8,” and also confused million with billion. The measured levels were far less than EPA limits. When I asked my correspondent why I should be convinced by such poor reporting, he just repeated his insistence that I take down my “stupid website.”

I’ve also been e-mailed photographs of the interior of planes filled with large containers connected by tubes, accompanied by the exclamation that “This is the spraying equipment!” But these photographs turned out to be pictures of ballast tanks used in flight testing of new airliner designs; the tubes simply allow water to be pumped from tank to tank, simulating passenger motion in the cabin for the aircraft test. Kennedy assassination and 9/11 conspiracy theorists are mere pikers compared to “chemtrail” buffs. You will rarely find a more virulently self-deluded group, anywhere.

References:

• Carnicom, Clifford. “Aerosol Operation Crimes and Cover-Up.” Available online at www.carnicom.com.
• Scott, Gwen. 2008. “Morgellons . . . A Natural Medi­cine Approach.” Available online at www.carnicom.com/natural2.htm.
• Thayer, Toni. 2000. “Chemtrails—Frequently Asked Questions.” Available online at www.rense.com/general4/fre.htm.
• Thomas, Dave. “Chemtrail Fears Thrive on Internet.” Available online at www.nmsr.org/chemtrls.htm.