by James Randi
Just how seriously have scientists adopted these “Special Rules for Psychics”? In the Journal for the Society for Psychical Research, Professor H. C. Berendt of the Israeli Parapsychology Society gives two reasons, among others, for not believing in Geller: “. . . the well-known fact of the sporadic occurrence of psi-phenomena and the limited possibility of being ‘psychic’ all the time. You cannot give one or two performances almost daily for nearly half a year, relying exclusively on psi-information or with psi-forces. Tricks must come in, even if part of Geller’s power or knowledge is paranormal.” And he adds, “It should be mentioned that, usually, a serious medium gives no stage performances or does not charge for advice, because such a medium thinks of the gift as coming from a higher power, to be used for the benefit of mankind.”
Believers observe that all psychics who have passed the test using the “Special Rules” are the genuine ones. They have come to a wrong conclusion by poor observations and, observing further, convinced that their conclusions are correct, have invented these rules to make their process of reasoning stand up to examination. There is absolutely no reason why these illogical conditions should be accepted. No other discipline would or does allow such gross lapses of logic and procedure. If we were to try applying similar rules to, say, the science of astronomy, we would be laughed out of the running. But the special rules that psychics require are accepted as part and parcel of any investigation with no qualms on the part of the scientists involved. Indeed, even the laymen who get curious about these matters blandly accept the rules as presented them and quite logically decide that, if scientists judge the phenomena and the performers by such silly processes, they must have considered the overall picture and been satisfied.
Referring to the necessity of “repeatability” of experiments designed to prove any postulate, Dr. Hansel, in his valuable ESP: A Scientific Evaluation, has said:
If anyone invents a pseudoscience in which this principle ceases to operate, the result soon becomes apparent for the new “science” fails to have predictive value and leads to more and more findings and theories that are incompatible with orthodox science. This is what has happened in parapsychology. When critics fail to confirm ESP, this is not accepted as a reason for dropping the subject; on the contrary, belief in the reality of ESP is so strong that the principle of repeatability has been rejected or rendered impotent by the invoking of new processes which are claimed as subsidiary characteristics of the phenomenon. Thus, given a high scoring subject, it would in the normal course of events be only a matter of time before every critic could be silenced, but these subjects cease to score high when tested by critics. Extrasensory perception only manifests itself before uncritical investigators. Again, Rhine and Pratt have observed, “Another major difficulty can be seen in the fact that some experimenters after a period of earlier success in obtaining extra-chance results in psi experiments have proved less effective in their later efforts. In such instances something apparently has been lost that was once a potent factor. The element most likely to change under prolonged testing would seem to be the quality of infectious enthusiasm that accompanies the initial discoveries of the research worker. Those who never succeed at all may, of course, be suspected of not ever having felt such contagious or communicable interest as would help to create a favorable test environment for their subjects.” In other words, experimenters fail to confirm their own results. And a further subsidiary characteristic emerges: ESP is affected by the mental state of the person investigating it.
With this set of rules in mind, it becomes less difficult to see why the so-called “science” of parapsychology has found less than wide acceptance among scientists. At least Dr. Joseph Banks Rhine (referred to by Hansel), who was formerly associated with Duke University, had the right idea when he began his ESP experiments to determine statistically whether there was anything to believe in it or not. But Rhine was accident-prone: He kept on bumping into reality. His approach proved only that the law of averages was pretty well intact and that people were out to fool him whenever they had the chance—and were often successful. Perhaps he should have borne Rule 2 in mind.
Hansel echoes my thoughts further, touching upon the manner in which the critic is put very much on the spot by scientists in the following way:
It is often difficult to discuss the possibility of cheating objectively. Parapsychologists tend to present their critics with a “fait accompli.” A similar situation would arise in orthodox science if a chemist reported an experimental result that contradicted all the previous research findings and theories of his fellow chemists, together with the statement “Either this finding must be accepted as valid or else you must accuse me of being a cheat and a liar. Do you accept it?” In such circumstances, orthodox chemists might feel diffident about openly expressing their doubts. They might, however, repeat the experiment to see whether they got the same result. If they failed to confirm his result, they would not go into a long discussion as to whether the original investigator was a liar or a cheat. They would just take with a grain of salt any further experimental reports from the same source.
The trickster has often been assisted by the investigator’s overwhelming confidence in his ability to detect trickery. Observers, however careful, must be prepared to make mistakes. But in psychical research many of the investigators have considered themselves infallible. Soal claimed that boys of the caliber of Glyn and Leuan could never hope to deceive him.2
If a trick is used in an experiment, this fact might be expected to make itself apparent in the course of further research. But parapsychologists have erected a system that aids the trickster and at the same time preserves experimental finding.
Then, too, there seems to be developing a public belief that science approves the trend toward parapsychological research and that “most people” believe in psychic marvels. It is a fact that the vast majority of scientists today have no interest, or belief, in these things and are content to consider the law of inverse squares, the law of averages, and conservation of energy—among others—quite unassailable and sufficient to depend upon.
In some cases, you will discover that Geller’s miracles never occurred. In others, the explanation of what did occur is clear and simple. Mind you, I will not be able to explain all of the wonders claimed for the psychic star. I simply wasn’t there, and I don’t have the information. But, lest the sheep begin roaring that maybe Uri does “a few tricks” and still has the power for the Real Stuff, let me put this proposition before you:
Can you prove to me that Santa Claus does not exist? (I assume that you are disinclined to believe in him, else you have invested your money poorly in this book.) No, of course you can’t. You can indicate that such a belief is juvenile, illogical, and improbable. You can lecture me for a day on how silly such a conviction is, but you can’t prove it isn’t so. All right, suppose we set up a test. Let us examine every gift under every Christmas tree in a certain area said to be visited by Mr. Claus. We cover a lot of the territory, and everywhere we discover gifts labeled “From Santa” but subsequently determine, by questioning, that others have actually signed the tags. So we are well on our way to showing that there is no physical evidence for this belief. But, alas, in the last home on our list we come upon several gifts labeled in this fashion, and we cannot determine by the most rigorous interrogation if others are responsible for the deception. Do we then conclude that there is indeed a man named Claus who delivers these gifts? Or that he delivers only to a few selected homes such as this one?
Consider this carefully. Are our observations sufficient to establish the existence of Santa Claus? No, of course not. Because we have not found the deceiver does not mean that the preposterous belief in Santa is true. But when we deal with such a phenomenon as Uri Geller, we are asked to come to just such an irrational conclusion if we cannot explain away every one of the reported events, whether they are substantiated or not.
I have often been asked, “Do you deny the exist
ence of ESP and other paranormal occurrences?” The answer is that I doubt their existence simply because I have never had evidence presented to me that would prove their existence. I cannot choose to believe something because I want to. Give me some hard proof, and I will change my mind; until then, I am burdened with Reality. I cannot, of course, deny that such things might exist. It would be illogical to do so.
It has taken man thousands of years to establish the concept that we call “science.” It has its imperfections, true. But basically the structure of science is quite sound, and those who profess its expertise are legitimate laborers in a trade that demands great restraint and care in its performance. That restraint also demands that no scientist claim he is infallible or that he has expertise in a field outside science, unless such is clearly demonstrable. We shall see in these pages that men of science have not always followed these demands. They have frequently allowed themselves to bring their personal bents into the calculations.
Which only shows, I’m sure you’ll agree, that scientists are human.
But is it true that “most people” believe in psychic marvels? My personal observation indicates that this is probably so. In my appearances before many hundreds of thousands of persons in the past thirty years, I have consistently denied any possibility that what I do is done by supernormal means. Yet some of my audience will argue with me at great length that some of the illusions I’ve presented are impossible of explanation by any other reasoning. Though I should certainly be the one who knows the answer to that, these people are unable to accept the obvious fact that they have not been able to solve a puzzle.
There are several good reasons for their confusion. A magician has a set of premises upon which he designs his performance. For example, he does not say what is going to occur, or when. This technique will be seen to constitute a good part of the “psychic’s” repertoire as well. Also, the magician will reconstruct the event or the preparations for same in great detail—but incorrectly, so that the subject is steered off seemingly small points of procedure and is incapable of coming to the correct conclusion for analysis.
Therefore, a person who has been entertained (we trust) by a conjuror is unable to solve the process by which the illusion is created simply because he has been misdirected—psychologically, sensorially, and physically. I will give you one small example, with misgivings that my fellow-conjurors may object: During the performance of the classic trick of the Levitation of a Living Woman (as I prefer to bill it, though it has been called by many other titles) I pass a steel hoop around the body of the girl as she floats in the air. There is naturally a great deal of suspicion from the audience concerning that hoop, since if there were any “invisible wires”—how I wish such things existed—to hold the lady suspended, small slots in the hoop might conceivably allow it to pass such supports. Now I could quite properly allow my assistant to take that hoop down into the audience for a thorough examination, but that would be a mistake because not only would the atmosphere of the performance be destroyed but the audience would then be thoroughly convinced that no wires are used! I do not want that to get through to them—yet. I want those people to wonder about that hoop. I want them to be totally preoccupied with the hoop so they will not be able to spend their attention on other aspects of the presentation. And, as soon as I have passed the hoop over the floating girl, I allow it to just touch the couch from which she rose, and the bell-like ringing that results is a most subtle convincer that this is indeed a solidly constructed hoop! But that kind of “subliminal” clincher is not remembered as such. If you were to ask the spectators afterward how they were convinced of the legitimate nature of that metal hoop, they would not remember. But they are convinced nonetheless. And bear in mind that I have allowed them to doubt the hoop until the last moment. The moments during which they might have picked up the necessary information for a solution are now past. They have been misdirected. (I must add that the hoop is really solid. Honest!)
As you read on, you may well think back to these last few paragraphs more than once. I hope so, for the very techniques—as well as many others, of course—will be written between the lines when the description of other wonders unfolds.
The articles and conversations that follow are heavily annotated to supply the reader with additional pertinent data that often change considerably the conclusion one might come to. Of necessity, I have to pass up several opportunities to reveal certain principles of the conjuring art, since legitimate folks make their living by these means, as do I. This is no cop-out; it is a legitimate rationale. There is honor even among conjurors.
Uri, if you were one of the happy people who make a living by delighting young and old by a craft as old as man, I would long ago have sought you out as a friend. But that cannot be. You have chosen to become a semi-religious figure with divine pretensions. We could have been good friends, you and I.
1 Shipi and Uri were not actually, physically, “brought to court.” A legal action was brought against Geller, and the judge accepted on behalf of the court an amount of money sent in—anonymously—to settle the charge.
2 The highly touted experiments with these two Welsh schoolboys were discredited when an ordinary dog whistle was used to perform the trick. Professor Soal never thought of such a simple rule. The boys went out of business shortly afterward.
HOW DOES URI DO IT?
Witchcraft always has a hard time, until it becomes established and changes its name.
—Charles Fort
I begin with an appropriately titled piece—“How Does Uri Do It?” by Donald Singleton in the New York Daily News. The answer to the question is not contained solely in the next few pages, but will become more and more evident in following chapters. In this excellent article Singleton has troubled to seek out expert help in attempting to assess the worth of what he has observed and has listened carefully to the advice offered. He has never made the pompous assumption that he is perfectly capable of judging a possible trickster without any qualifications for the task; nor has he concluded that, if he is fooled, it means he lacks any intellect whatsoever. For one who spent relatively little time with Geller, he has solved a good number of the basic techniques (with a little help from his friends), and I regret that he was not present when some of the heavy money was being voted into use to study Geller. I feel he would have put in more than his two cents’ worth.
I will interrupt Singleton’s narrative occasionally to insert a comment I feel is needed to amplify or clarify matters.
Uri Geller and I are sitting in adjacent seats on the Metroliner, heading toward Philadelphia.
Geller is an Israeli with a fast-growing reputation as a psychic, and I am going to spend a few days with him, watching what he does and trying to figure out (a) whether he’s for real, and (b) if not, how he manages to achieve his effects.
He asks me if I have a key with me. I don’t, having left my heavy ring of keys at home. He asks if I have some other metal object. I do; a nail clipper. Geller takes the nail clipper in his hand and examines it. He swings open the small nail file section, and tells me to hold the file in my fingers. He strokes it lightly, with one finger. A few seconds later the file bends upward. A few more seconds and it cracks. A few more seconds and it breaks in two.
“Isn’t it amazing?!!” Geller says with great enthusiasm. (During the next few days I find no matter how amazed people are by the things he does, Geller is usually the most amazed.)
I agree that the broken nail file is amazing; but, frankly, I’ve seen so many pictures of the keys and silverware he has bent of late that I am not particularly surprised at this feat.
Geller asks me if I am wearing a watch. I am not. So he asks if I have one at home. Only a pocket watch, I say. He says to pick a time of day, and draw a clock face on a pad with the time indicated. I draw a clock face with the hands pointing to 3 o’clock. Geller looks over and says it wasn’t necessary to draw the minute hand, but only the hour hand.
He says he
will try to make the hands of my pocket watch point to 3 o’clock by long-distance telekinesis (moving objects without physically touching them). I ask him what about the wind-up alarm clock I have brought with me. He says he usually can only move the hands of wristwatches, not larger clocks, but he’ll give it a try.
Later, when I open my suitcase in the hotel, the alarm clock is staring me in the face. It says 3:03 p.m. It’s a strange coincidence—that happens to be the correct time of day.
(When I arrived home three days later, I stuck the alarm clock in the dresser drawer and went to check the pocket watch. The pocket watch said 7:34 p.m. But a few days later, I happened to open the dresser drawer again. The alarm clock, which had been ticking when I put it into the drawer at about 11 p.m., had run down and stopped. The time that was, and still is, showing on the clock was less than 30 seconds after exactly 3 o’clock.)
Here enter two characters in the Geller drama who will be featured in starring parts. Yasha Katz was an elocutionist in Israel who decided to dedicate himself to Geller’s cult. He gave up his life in Israel and came with Uri to America. He has said that he believes implicitly in the man he refers to as “Savior” and that he is quite aware that Uri has cheated on a few occasions and has been detected. “But,” he says, “that just proves that every time he cheats he gets caught!” The assumption, and an illogical one, is that, when he is not caught, he is not cheating. (Refer to Rule 3.)