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Rational God

The Rational God

spaceI wrote Fringe-ology, in great part, to help push back against the new atheist movement, which contributed a new virulence to the debate over religious belief. I myself had some common ground with what they had to say: Given the contradictions in any religious text, not to mention obvious historical errors, I find it impossible to subscribe to any particular religion as the inerrant last word on God and man. But I also saw a number of problems with the new atheists in general: The ridicule they direct at religious believers strikes me as a great way to lend a new stridency to an already overwrought debate. More importantly, however, I also believe they overreach by directing so many of their broadsides against the idea of any creator at all.

On this score, I felt especially keen criticize their indiscriminate use of the word “irrational.”

“It is scarcely an exaggeration to say that the majority of atheists I know disguise their atheism behind a pious façade,” writes Dawkins, in The God Delusion. “They do not believe in anything supernatural themselves, but retain a vague soft spot for irrational belief.”

Belief in God may prove wrong. But it isn’t irrational: 1. without the faculty of reason; deprived of reason. 2. without or deprived of normal mental clarity or sound judgment. 3. not in accordance with reason; utterly illogical.

Belief in God is an understandable outgrowth of the amount of mystery still surrounding our existence. Just consider one of the most vexing questions in philosophy: Why is there something rather than nothing?

In other words, even setting aside any controversy over how humanity, specifically, came into being (and yes, I hold evolution to be true), why is there a universe? How did anything at all, from the tiniest dot of matter, come into existence?

The problem for the materialist atheist point of view should be obvious: Any cause for the universe should be physical. But, well, where did anything physical come from in the first place? The Big Bang required only a modicum of matter. But how did that matter to come into being? And additionally, what caused the laws that governed the explosion of so little into a universe so vast?

I recently read a couple of books that address this problem, including Lawrence M. Krauss’s A Universe From Nothing and Jim Holt’s Why Does the World Exist?

Krauss is a physicist and leading figure in the atheist movement. He argues, essentially, that what physicists define as empty space qualifies as “nothing.” But he himself admits, in this NPR interview, that what physicists call “nothing” is, well, “something,” even if he avoids using that word: “Empty space is a boiling, bubbling brew of virtual particles that pop in and out of existence in a time scale so short that you can’t even measure them.”

He further states: “most of the energy of the universe actually resides in empty space,” and so what physicists take to be empty space and nothing is actually a “stew” of particles winking in and out of existence.

His book is a hit, another entry in the fast-growing canon of new atheist lit. But it is a nonstarter among philosophers, who retort that Krauss’s definition of “nothing” is nonsensical.

Holt’s book stays on firmer ground because he accepts the mystery at the heart of the question and its perhaps unanswerable nature. One of my favorite moments in Holt’s book is when he meets with the Russian physicist Andrei Linde, who developed a theory that predicted the exact background radiation left over from the Big Bang.

Our universe started with “a hundred-thousandth of a gram of matter,” Linde tells him. But Holt finds this unpersuasive. Why? Because the leap to an entire universe from so little matter is scientifically comprehensible, but the jump to any matter at all from nothing isn’t.

Holt has great fun playing with the question, and meets with an array of physicists and thinkers to try and solve this riddle. Some wave the question off, arguing that we’ll never get to a first cause and perhaps that first bit of matter was just there. But granting matter the ability to bring itself into existence isn’t really an answer. It certainly isn’t the last word on the subject. And so, the depth of the mystery is so great that it could—reasonably—give rise to the sorts of thoughts that give atheists the heebie jeebies.

In fact, the appearance of one-one thousandth of a gram of matter out of nothing sounds like a supernatural event—certainly, a paranormal one, if we take a standard dictionary definition of the word: of or pertaining to events or perceptions occurring without scientific explanation.

I know. I’ve opened myself up to the charge that I am merely invoking a “God of the Gaps” argument. But the gap between nothing and something is so vast it could represent a God-sized hole.

*For a quick last couple of thoughts, keep reading.

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Me, on the Joe Rogan Podcast: “I Said, ‘Good Day, Sir!’”

RoganPsyAs I’ve been tweeting, repeatedly, I will soon be on the Joe Rogan podcast: January 7, to be exact.

If you haven’t listened to Rogan, I highly suggest you take the time to check him out.

My own experience of Rogan is probably typical: I first saw him on News Radio, where he regularly stole scenes from far more experienced actors. Then he reappeared as host of Fear Factor, a reality show in which contestants perform physical stunts at daunting heights and speeds or are merely asked to eat something gross.

I’ve never much cared for reality shows. But something about Rogan himself made me a regular viewer: He seemed genuinely decent; on a show that could have been purely exploitative, he actually rooted for the contestants.

Many years later, I spent about nine months practicing Muay Thai boxing, first as research for a story and then because I enjoyed it. I also started to follow Mixed Martial Arts on television and saw him serving as broadcaster. Dude was ripped, and knew his jiu-jitsu holds. But I didn’t really know the half of it till one day, after I finished writing Fringe-ology, a friend asked me if I’d heard his podcast.

I’ve been an avid listener ever since.

His podcasts are less interviews than great conversations. Guests range from authors like Sam Harris and Dennis McKenna to fellow comedians and MMA fighters.

He gives his guests room to talk. But Rogan, a stand-up comedian by trade, is ultimately the star—out at the edge of the culture, using the technology of the internet to take his art straight at people, unfiltered. In a purely professional sense, Rogan would make for a good case history in a college course on the modern entertainment industry. He is an object lesson, in fact, in how a talented guy with a following can now bypass the traditional middlemen in publishing and distribution and conduct an entire career in DIY fashion. But there is something more afoot. Rogan’s podcasts reveal him to be an intense student, always adventuring, searching for the next experience or piece of information that might make him more than he was the moment before. He talks—a lot—about his experiences with psychedelics and his regular use of a sensory deprivation tank.   And he revels in the mysteries of life—from the origins of the universe to alien visitation (or not) and what happens when we die.

Personally, I think the key to his already considerable and growing success is that his personal stories serve as an invitation to his audience to set about living their best possible lives. Or, at least, that’s what keeps me listening. What’s more certain is that a community is growing around him, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to talk with him.

Please, do listen to the show when it goes live. And, in the meantime, enjoy this bit of Rogan as he first appeared on News Radio.

Good Day, Sir!

Dream Baby

The following column ran, in a slightly edited version, over at Philadelphia magazine’s website. I’m publishing this fuller version here along with some additional thoughts on how this dream relates to Fringe-ology.

*

The dream started innocuously enough. I was in a hotel with my father, my wife Lisa, and our boys. We traveled down a long hallway, laughing about something. I don’t remember who was carrying Eli. But he got set down near a stairwell. He rolled over, once, and that was all it took.

DreamBabyMy tiny little son, 14 weeks old, spun right out of his swaddling blanket and tumbled—so fast—down the stairs. Hearing failed me. I don’t know what he sounded like each time his body hit the steps. I don’t know if he cried. But I remember hearing my own voice and Lisa’s spiral from silence to a disbelieving wail.

When Eli hit the landing, my father spoke, brightly, as if to convince himself: “He’s all right. He’s fine.”

I ran down the stairs, reached Eli and picked him up. He wasn’t even crying. His eyes remained open. And for a second I thought maybe he was all right. Then I saw that his head was misshapen, cratered in the back. Rivulets of blood oozed up slowly over the rim of his wound. My father dialed 911. Lisa started screaming, hitting notes reserved for mothers of dying children. I held Eli tight and hollered “Eli! Don’t go! Please, please don’t go!”

The tears rolled fast and hot over my face and I just kept yelling those same words—like the boy had a choice, like he could save himself.

Then I felt a sudden misery, a fresh hole open up in my own chest, which I figured would spread until there was nothing left of me but a little spot of grief dotting the stairwell.

The first few minutes after that dream I struggled to process what I’d seen. I looked around my bedroom, regaining my bearings. Eli slept in his crib. Lisa fed Jack, his fraternal twin. I said nothing about the dream to Lisa, not right away.

Something told me the dream served as a punctuation mark to our first few months as parents. I’ve avoided mentioning it, till now, but there was a period of maybe seven to 10 days where I felt mostly despair. The boys I’d worked so hard to have weren’t people to me, weren’t Jack and Eli, but things—obstacles always blocking me from the loves that had sustained me over the last many years: reading, writing, long conversations, dinners and time with my wife.

I fell victim to sleep deprivation and spent several days at work struggling to get through the day. Worse, I dreaded going home. Much to my shame, I behaved around Lisa and my new sons like an antelope caught in a lion’s mouth: limp, glassy-eyed, shocked, struggling not to feel anything at all. It seemed that if I allowed my feelings any momentum I’d be subsumed. So I tried to remain silent. And whenever Lisa spoke, I grunted in response. I made every motion count, trying to use up as little energy as possible because it took so much effort not to cry. The boys were barely there, just blurs in my vision, duties I had to fulfill.

I’ll likely write about those feelings and that period more in the future. But for now, just know that I acted. I called someone, a Trusted Advisor. I talked to Lisa. And I admitted everything. I said the words I felt were too raw to say to anyone else: That I worried I could not fulfill these new responsibilities; that I feared fatherhood might be too much for me.

Relief came by degrees. Speaking the words, saying them out loud—“I’m scared,” “I’m not sure I can do this”—deprived them of all the power they held as secrets. Over the ensuing days, I still felt fragile. But mercifully, the boys finally began to sleep, once per night, in a four–to-six-hour stretch. Given this reprieve, the world seemed clearer to me. I noticed that, as 5 o’clock approached, I no longer felt intimidated by the prospect of taking care of my children. And I could see the boys as people, Eli and Jack. Without giving it much thought, I quickly developed a new ritual. After I changed their diapers, redressed them and exercised their developing muscles, I laid them on their backs, stroked the tops of their heads and stared deeply into their eyes. I had tried this earlier with no result I could discern. The babies stared past me. But when I tried again, shortly after they passed 12 weeks of age, I stared right at them and they stared right back. I stroked their hair and spoke to them of the toys I’ll give them, the wrestling matches we’ll share, and the long games of catch. They responded with coos and smiles.

The nightmare arrived as this ritual established itself, forming the ground of a new relationship. And the image of either of my sons, tumbling down the stairs, struck me, initially, as a mortal threat. But as I processed what I’d seen the core truth of the dream suddenly became obvious to me. In fact, before I even got out of bed I broke into a wide grin. The nightmare contained a message, all right, and I suppose it is only natural that every time I pick up either boy I find I am doing so with a heightened sense of security. But rather than serving as a prophecy, a foretelling of some possible future, the dream illustrated for me all that had come to pass: The little creatures I had been beset by and afraid of and unable to see had become the little boys I love and could not bear to lose.

*

I am no longer surprised at the relatively small place we afford dreaming in our popular culture and our science. I am not even surprised at how many people declare “I don’t dream,” or that they often say so proudly.

But I am saddened by how ignorant we are, in general, of one of the most fundamental, unavoidable aspects of our lives.

DevilinaSuitPersonally, I made up my mind many years ago that my dreams were, at worst, an entertaining diversion. At best, they were of bedrock importance. An example: I remember, as a teen, dreaming that the back wall of the family living room fell away and revealed a broad, semi-transparent curtain. Behind this, flames roared and the devil himself stood—not a horned creature, but an immaculately well-manicured man in a suit. He roared, bragging about how he was going to kill my family and me.

In the dream, I roared back at the devil and when he failed to go quiet I charged him, prepared to do battle. Much to my disappointment, I woke up before we could grapple.

The dream was very vivid and over the years I recalled it from time to time, even poring through essays and books of dream interpretation for clues as to what it might mean. I resisted the solution for a short while, but eventually had to admit the dream signified my own penchant for drama, my habit—particularly at the time—for taking on way too much responsibility, even to the point that I felt it was up to me to defend my whole family from the devil himself.

Little boy lost.

I took myself so seriously.

My point here is that dreams can be used as a tool to better understand our selves. Now, please notice that I wrote that dreams can be used as a tool. I made sure not to write that they are a tool (or that they are anything else for that matter). In Fringe-ology, I write at length about dreaming in general and lucid dreaming in particular. (I hope to speak to Joe Rogan about lucid dreaming, too, but more on that later.) These chapters sparked some excellent publicity for me, including an appearance on Radiolab. But I’ve also encountered a bit of eye rolling. As I write in Fringe-ology, the dream has long borne some of the same stigma associated with the paranormal. But it isn’t the dream that suffers for this state of affairs.

It’s us.

The issue is practical and grounded in basic mathematics. In an average 72-year lifespan, you’ll spend an easy six years of that time dreaming. Now, you can certainly choose to ignore the sights and sounds that fill those hours. But wouldn’t it make more sense to find some creative or personal use for a solid eight-percent (or more) of your life span?

It might seem strange to say this, but after that nightmare I felt doubly blessed. Because the dream not only signified the shift in my experience of my sons, it communicated something about my relationship to dreaming.

It is difficult to dream at all in the early months after a baby is born. The opportunity to move through an entire sleep cycle, to enjoy 2:30 to 4 consecutive hours of sleep and wake in peaceful enough circumstances to remember a dream is non-existent. So my dream of Eli indicated not only that I had moved into a new relationship with my sons but also that I got a big part of my life back.

The Baby Files

Clearly, I’ve been away. My dream of forming an Existential Questions bureau is delayed, though not denied. The arrival of my boys, Eli and Jack, swallowed up the last five months. Fraternal twins, born four weeks early, our boys have required feedings every three hours, including over night, all this time.

I’ll be posting here with greater frequency now, however, as we are slowly seeing progress in terms of a coherent sleep schedule.

In terms of Fringe-ology, there is some big news. I’ll be on the Joe Rogan podcast, on January 7. For those who don’t know, Rogan runs one of the Top 10 most listened to podcasts in America, and while he happens to be a comedian he is quickly becoming that and something more. I’m thrilled for the opportunity to meet him, let alone appear on his show. I’ll write more about him and my appearance preceding the show. All of this material will be pure Fringe-ology, including some stuff on Sam Harris and further attempts on my part to contextualize James Randi.

In the meantime, though, this post and the next will concern themselves with a column I started writing since the boys were born. First, here is a near-complete list of those columns, each linked so you can dive into anything that might interest you.

June 25, 2012: Men Get Babylust, Too

July 9, 2012: My Wife, a Rock Star

July 23, 2012: A Man’s Guide to Miscarriage

Aug 6, 2012: Confessions of a First Time Father

Aug. 20, 2012: Having a Baby is Like a Second Honeymoon

Sept 4, 2012: Circumcise Your Baby Boy

Sept 17, 2012: Breastfeeding Sucks

Oct 1, 2012: When It Comes to Breastfeeding, Dads Have No Rights

October 15: Is it Safe to Bring Baby to Bed?

Nov 2: A New Parent Advises You to Shut Up

Nov 26, 2012: Thanksgiving, the Twins, the Story of Our First Road Trip

Dec 10, 2012: Men Can Breastfeed, But $150,000 Won’t Be Enough to Make Me Try

 

TOP 10 DEVELOPMENTS IN FRINGE-OLOGY: 5

JAMES RANDI: SKEPTICISM’S GREAT ACHILLES

Is the real James Randi finally coming into view?

I have long felt that the skeptical community has a James Randi Problem.

At one time or another, seemingly every professional skeptic offers thanks and praise to Randi, lauds his Million Dollar Challenge and/or joins his self-named foundation (JREF). They applaud him for forty years spent debunking all things paranormal, line up in droves to attend his annual Amazing Meeting—“a celebration of critical thinking and skepticism sponsored by the James Randi Educational Foundation”—and they rarely, if ever, engage in any critical thinking about Randi himself.

Thus far, they seem unmoved even by the specter of “Jose Luis Alvarez.”

I put the name in quotes because Randi, a Plantation, Florida resident, has lived and worked with “Alvarez” for roughly 20 years, even traveling the world together to debunk psychics and stage mediums. But the feds, this last September, arrested “Alvarez” and charged him with stealing another man’s identity—obtaining passports and getting paid under the name of the real Jose Luis Alvarez, a teacher’s aide in the Bronx.

So, who is the man who has been living in Randi’s home and working with him for 20 years? According to the Sun Sentinel, Alvarez is actually Deyvi Pena, who came to the United States from Venezuela in the mid-80s on a student visa to study at the Art Institute of Fort Lauderdale. And now? The questions about Pena extend from his identity to his age to how the feds have come to accuse him of stealing the name, date of birth and social security number of a New York man, back in 1987, in order to travel internationally with Randi. And it is this relationship—the long partnership between Alvarez/Pena and Randi—that should now concern the skeptical community.

In short, what did Randi know and when did he know it?

The answer would seem to matter—a lot.

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TOP 10 DEVELOPMENTS IN FRINGE-OLOGY: 7

FASTER THAN LIGHT: SURGING TOWARD (THE NEED FOR) A NEW PHYSICS?

We’ll make this quick.

Dark matter is still mysterious. In fact, it is probably more mysterious than ever. This New Scientist article explains the problem. A dark matter experiment called CoGeNT seemed on the verge of triumph, turning up possible sightings of the invisible stuff scientists believe makes up roughly 85-percent of the Universe. Then everything went, well, in admittedly unscientific terms, higgledy-piggledy. The dark matter scientists thought they were glimpsing is proving wildly inconsistent, appearing to be different things in different detectors, heavier in some detectors and lighter in others.

From New Scientist:

In the most extreme case, it shows up in one instrument but not in another—even when both are made of identical material and are sitting virtually next door in the same underground lab.

“The present situation is pretty confusing,” admits Juan Collar of the University of Chicago, who is head of the CoGeNT dark matter experiment, based in the Soudan Underground Laboratory in Minnesota. It is seeing something – hundreds of somethings – each of which could be a dark matter particle striking the detector. But if CoGeNT and the other experiments are truly seeing dark matter, then it’s not what anybody thought it was.

Moving on, researchers in Italy have conducted a pair of experiments they say proves the impossible: neutrinos travel faster than light, violating general relativity. The experiment itself is super-cool, sending neutrinos through the ground from Cern, near Geneva, to the Gran Sasso lab, in Italy, 450 miles away.

The results, however, qualify as an “extraordinary claim”—the theory of relativity has served us pretty well, after all—so this dispute figures to drag on for a while. (Indeed, physicists at Washington University argue that a systematic measurement error is to blame.)

Perhaps most importantly, the Higgs-Boson, predicted by the standard model of physics, and believed to confer mass to quarks, electrons and the other fundamental building blocks of our physical world, is proving elusive. And so I turn you over to novelist and physicist Alan Lightman, whose recent, brilliant Harper’s article muses:

*

“The history of science can be viewed as the recasting of phenomena that were once thought to be accidents as phenomena that can be understood in terms of fundamental causes and principles. One can add to the list of the fully explained: the hue of the sky, the orbits of planets, the angle of the wake of a boat moving through a lake, the six-sided patterns of snowflakes, the weight of a flying bustard, the temperature of boiling water, the size of raindrops, the circular shape of the sun. All these phenomena and many more, once thought to have been fixed at the beginning of time or to be the result of random events thereafter, have been explained as necessary consequences of the fundamental laws of nature—laws discovered by human beings.

“This long and appealing trend may be coming to an end. Dramatic developments in cosmological findings and thought have led some of the world’s premier physicists to propose that our universe is only one of an enormous number of universes with wildly varying properties, and that some of the most basic features of our particular universe are indeed mere accidents—a random throw of the cosmic dice. In which case, there is no hope of ever explaining our universe’s features in terms of fundamental causes and principles.”

 

*

The upshot of all this, as I see it, is that science may be leading us toward an incredible truth: That the Universe is unknowable, or at least not knowable in the way we’ve traditionally thought or hoped.

In Fringe-ology, I address some of the current debates in physics—including the Many Worlds hypothesis and Roger Penrose’s prediction that the mystery of consciousness will only be unraveled through a new physics. But, as a reporter, all I can do is wait for the jury to come in.

The wait, however, sure is entertaining.

Physics seems to encourage, if not outright require, some of the most outlandish claims in all of science. Luc Montagnier, the joint winner of the 2008 Nobel Prize for medicine, is claiming that DNA can send electromagnetic imprints of itself into distant cells and fluids, which can then be used to create copies of the original DNA. If true, this finding would thrust quantum mechanics firmly into the realm of biology.

The results of Montagnier’s experiment seem far-fetched. But multiple research teams are finding evidence for quantum effects at the level of DNA (see here and here.

Biological systems are simply thought to be too warm, wet and noisy to sustain meaningful quantum effects, which are thought to require cold, stable environments to exist. But as I also wrote about in Fringe-ology, evidence does keep turning up to suggest the presence of significant quantum actions in biological systems. There is not yet evidence so unequivocal as to force acceptance. But something strange does seem to be happening in science’s most fundamental field. With the passage of time the amount of mystery present in physics isn’t decreasing—it’s growing.

Udderly Mysterious

The animal mutilation aspect of UFO-ology is one of these areas I find needlessly combative. Sometimes, farm animals turn up dead, their extremities—sex organs and udders—missing. Of course, predators might well start with these, er, dangling, tasty bits. But, sometimes predators seem unlikely. The missing parts don’t appear, from a forensic perspective, to have been gnawed or bitten off. Instead, they appear to be removed in a more, eh, surgical fashion. And the rest of the animal is curiously untouched. The detail that’s repeated, to most chilling effect, is that the animals and the scene around them are “bloodless.”

These reports have been with us a while now, first exploding into public consciousness in the mid 70s, or so. The F.B.I. has a comprehensive collection of press clippings and correspondence related to mutilations from 1974-78. But this case, recently reported in Kansas City, Missouri, is current and appears to be worth a look. Without going all “spooky” Mulder and heading for Kansas City, I can’t be sure about any of the reporting here. But this cow seems to have met with a nasty end—its udder and vagina removed in a way that indicated, to the veterinarian who investigated, that the culprit “knew what they were doing.”

Police said no footprints or tire tracks led  to or away from the cow in question, which was lying dead behind a locked gate. And while a lot of blood would be expected, there was none at the scene. To believers in alien visitation, this all sounds like evidence. And to skeptics, it probably sounds like a faulty investigation. But to me, just going by what’s been reported, I have to say it all sounds… intriguing. I tend to think ranch hands are familiar with what ordinarily happens to the animals that provide their livelihoods, but I also don’t think mysterious circumstances equal aliens.

Some think our own government might actually be at work in these instances. I’d personally love to see an investigation so authoritative it might put the subject to rest, once and for all. But as yet, no such full-scale inquiry has been mounted to settle the matter. The story, reported by the local Fox affiliate, includes video and a grisly, still photo of the deceased.

Big ups to the K.C. broadcasters for playing it straight. Stay tuned to the last second, when it’s mentioned that the vet believes “a scalpel” was used. But I do have one serious question I might look into if I can make the time on Monday. The report says the organs were removed while the animals was still alive, with no mention of what evidence they have for that.

Less Said, The Better

Part II

 

There Is No God Particle

Is one of these Navy soldiers the elusive Higgs Boson?

John Horgan at Scientific American conducts a pretty merciless take-down of all the hoopla surrounding the hunt for the Higgs boson particle, which generates breathlessly bad, over-hyped headlines like “How The Higgs Boson Could Change the Universe,” “Has the God Particle Been Found?” and dizzy claims by no less than Michio Kaku that scientists pursuing the Higgs are close to nabbing “the biggest prize in physics” and a possible Nobel Prize.

The truth, as Horgan helpfully points out, is that the Higgs is predicted by the standard model of physics, and believed to confer mass to quarks, electrons and the other fundamental building blocks of our physical world. But the Higgs wouldn’t actually bring science closer, in any meaningful sense, to a unified theory of everything—the real holy grail of physics (to keep up the religious metaphors). Even worse, Horgan seems to suggest the standard model is hardly worth rooting for, citing Kaku’s assessment that it is a theory “only a mother could love” and noting that it is so incomplete as to exclude gravity.

Why is everyone, then, so fired up about the Higgs?

Well, I’d wager the media is in heat because of the “G” word. That nickname for the Higgs, “The God Particle,” is supposed to reflect its fundamental nature, its primary importance. But it is not as if it’s discovery will really put paid to the big mysteries. And, by the way, if you actually read the articles describing the search for this elusive particle, it’s abundantly clear that scientists are not the least bit closer to discovering the Higgs—or, at least, they don’t actually have any more evidence for it. In fact, they are getting closer only in the sense that they are running out of places to look.

All that said, the best article about the Higgs at the moment is pure satire: “Higgs Boson found on Navy Frigate,” which claims the Higgs wasn’t missing—just visiting his mum in Dorking.

Great Ghost Story

The BBC recently posted this intriguing interview with photographer Graham Morris, who took pictures at the scene of the (in)famous Enfield Poltergeist case, in which police officers, neighbors, investigators and an entire family claimed to witness a wide range of paranormal phenomena, including levitating objects, unexplained noises and even, well, floating children. Last spring, I interviewed journalist and paranormal researcher Guy Lyon Playfair for Skeptiko. This interview, from the BBC, is briefer and in its way more powerful.

Playfair has been talking up the Enfield case for decades, but Morris has been less heard from.

“We’d all been told it centered around the daughter, Janet,” Morris tells Radio 5′s Stephen Nolan. “I said, ‘Give me two minutes to get ready,’ and they all came in one at a time and as soon as Janet came through the door, bang! Things took off.”

Nolan, who at one point says, simply, “I don’t believe it,” asks Morris if he actually saw things flying across the room, to which Morris replies in the affirmative and goes one further, saying he got hit by a lego brick so hard it left a mark that lasted for a few days. Ouch.

I won’t blow the ending: Does Morris believe the place was haunted? But I will mention that Morris is absolutely convinced none of the house’s Earthly occupants was perpetrating a hoax. He calls the idea that someone was throwing objects around “Impossible!” And he goes out of his way to exonerate Janet, the person most often accused of faking the haunting. “I was watching the children,” he says. “They were petrified standing with their hands over their faces, their fingers in their mouths.”

Go listen here.