Sydney Life

Today in my science and statistics lecture for Psychology, we got on to the topic (as we often do) of pseudo-science. This term refers to that which is not science but pretends to be.
We were told a few interesting stories about psychics, including the well known John Edward and a woman called Sylvia Browne who, in 2003, used her supernatural powers to attempt to locate a couple’s son, who had been missing for four months.

She made some very interesting predictions.

She predicted that he had died, and that the couple should search for the body
“between two jagged rocks” in a “wooded area” 20 miles southwest of a place called Richwoods. She said that he had been abducted by an extremely tall, dark-skinned Hispanic man with long hair. They searched. They didn’t find anything.

He was found alive a few years later, having been held captive by a squat, white, bearded man with short hair.

The lecturer then shed some light on how John Edward is able to “communicate with the dead”. He does something called cold reading, where he knows the most common male names, most common causes of death, most common occupations etc. and gives himself a better chance of being right, and edits out the bits where he is wrong.

The dumbest thing is that we buy into it.

As I walked into the train station today and picked up a copy of mX newspaper, I flicked to the astrology section with this new insight in mind. According to Richard Dawkins, astrology too is a pseudo-science from the 4th Century, which didn’t make sense then, and now, with the movement of the earth on its rotational axis over time, makes even less sense, unless you adjust the planetary readings by 23 degrees. I looked at my sign, Virgo, which apparently makes me meticulous, analytical and perfectionistic (is that even a word?) and thought immediately of the two unfinished essays on dog-eared sheets that I had at home in my bomb-site of a room. Apparently there is a harsh planet in my 12th House of Secrets, and Mercury was in its 6th moon phase, but it’s ok, because there is money on the horizon.

Before I could read any further, I was approached on the platform by a grimy, middle-aged man claiming he hadn’t eaten for five days, who wondered if I could lend him $2.50 for some hot chips. Since he was not looking longingly at my various fleshy parts and salivating uncontrollably, I assumed he was lying, but gave him ten cents. He then proceeded to pull out a new Discman, but only after offering to sell me some pot.

It was at that point that I realised the benefits of a university education. Not only had I learnt how to protect myself against the allure of the New Age sciences, not only had I learnt to embrace my imperfect, creative and careless self for who I am, but I had successfully hoodwinked Dimebag Daryl (or was it Starving Steve?) out of my own $2.50!

As I walked home, ten cents out of pocket, I looked to the horizon, expecting to see my cash cow. All I saw was bull.