Flying into Utah from where I live in Los Angeles for Phenomecon 2022 was like
going from the Earth to Mars. In this case, not only was the landscape alien
(but wickedly beautiful—arresting even), so was the crowd. Or at least, to
me—someone who has only ever really attended strict academic conferences.
Phenomecon was a funky paranormality fest packed with speakers from a broad
range of intellectual, academic and professional backgrounds. Everything from
bone fide scientists and academics, to your run-of-the-mill “paranormal
investigator” whose profile is fairly predictable: either former military or
police, with some training of some unknown quality in some kind of
investigative methodology (CSI and forensics seems to be common), often with
just an undergrad degree in something (not necessarily relevant to paranormal
studies or investigation). Many are just self-created, sui generis
“investigators” and “researchers” (and therefore “experts”) who’ve devoted
their lives to the strange, the bizarre, the fringe and the kooky. (And I mean
it gets kooky: the comically passionate Bostonian James Vieira, oddly unlisted
in the accompanying booklet of speakers, events and activities, gave us a wild
tour of his inner psyche with a talk on Giant humanoid creatures and—if I am
remembering the talk I so wanted to forget entirely correctly—androgynous
extraterrestrial visitors possibly mating with humans now or in the distant
past … or some such thing.)
Of course the highlight of the whole event was the presence
of, and talks delivered by, the current crop of Skinwalker Ranch researchers
(although I should benight the word with quotation marks), with supporting cast
members (the “Dragon”, the cowboy-hat-guy, the security dude, and so on,
real-life families in tow). Out of all, and by a long shot, we had the most
vociferous of the SWR crew: the inimitable Dr. Travis (The Incredible academic-degree-wielding Hulk) S. Taylor—the
now-infamous “principal investigator” (at least for a time) for the since re-named,
re-branded, shuffled, shaken and stirred UAPTF, which
the USG, somewhat haphazardly, cobbled together hurriedly in 2020 in response
to a Congressional mandate. For a certain additional fee (the basic conference
package was about 90 bucks), one could dine with the cast (wedding-banquet
style, with the guest of honor placed on a dais above the crowd), as part of
the lower caste. It was 75 bucks a pop for special lunches or dinners with the
SWR crew (or someone else to your liking—maybe the Bigfoot or demon-hauntings
guy?). And, to top it off, 100 bucks gets you driven by tour bus out to the perimeter
(the pearly gates) of the famed Ranch, to chat through the (locked) black iron
gate with one or more cast members. No unauthorized visitors allowed—not even
for your cool 100. Yeah, I demurred and stuck close to the civilized encampment
which is Vernal City, far away from Skinwalkers, wolf-men, shadow forms,
luminous orbs and the mighty march of the UAP high overhead. (Why didn’t Jordan
Peele think to film Nope in Utah—or did he?)
We will have occasion shortly to revisit the Skinwalker crew
and then get down to the brass (or iridium) tacks
of their talks: Erik Bard (principal scientific investigator, Masters-degree
holder, curiously enough) and Dr. T (vociferous backyard experimentalist and science
fictionalist extraordinaire). I was not impressed, despite the ooh-ing
and ahh-ing over the two “scientists” that permeated the rooms where they
manifested (first in the general assemblyroom—the “Ballroom”, where an actual
costume ball was held one night—and the second in the “insiders” only
conference room where paying members of the burgeoning realtime media-feed
Empire got to see the crew up close and personal).
I will admit that my attendance at the conference talks and
other sundry events was spotty. There’s only so much crappy, imprecise, vague
or shallow thinking one can tolerate in a day, and so I therefore spent much of
my time trying to get to know the UAPx team, who managed to strike quite a contrasting
note of actual scientific sincerity regarding a topic so easily consumed by the
true-believing “woo” denizens that the core enigma—which stubbornly remains so—quickly
and frequently gets exorcised in favor of so much ambiguity of indeterminate
quality, authenticity or relevance. I mean surely there’s some there to
all the paranormality, but with this cast of characters (showmen, con-artists
and plain kooks) thrown at the problem, we enter into a new world medieval with
little hope of gaining some modicum of knowledge about that there. You
ain’t finding it here…
Let’s talk about this Greg Lawson character for a moment. His
was the first talk/presentation I stumbled upon as Dr. Kevin Knuth and I
arrived late to the paranormal party, having traversed the hundred and fifty
odd miles from Salt Lake City to Vernal in just under three hours of amazing
high mountain and desert views—mesmerizing to the point of spiritual quietude.
Leaving Salt Lake, a relatively normal (if oddly antiseptic) American city
behind, you enter into this magical landscape of mountains, reservoirs, occasional
rolling hills, mesas and canyons with cattle and horses lowing about. At one
point I am struck, almost dumb, with a profound sense of connection to the
land, the place, as if I’d started to arrive home after having taking a long
hiatus some unknown time in the past. (And that was about the only dose of
possible paranormality I can, sadly, report; everything else was thoroughly
this-worldly—most especially the delicious Mexican cuisine, the most delicious
I have ever had.)
Lawson was concerned about “the evidence”. Oh no, I thought.
This should be good. He provided a list of its types: physical; latent; trace;
associative; circumstantial; testimonial; historical … a decent list and certainly
epistemically interesting if we were to dive into each one and starting
thinking more deeply about what each is, and when it comes up. But here was a
kind of expert—in forensics it would seem (at least that’s the bio we got on the web:
30-year law enforcement officer, SWAT team member, 10 year military vet, and so
on … no stranger to the act, art and maybe science of forensic investigations).
Not an academic by any stretch. So for his bone fides, he spreads the whole
range of investigative techniques and categories out before the audience. We
have to know he’s a serious guy about the paranormal. It gets boringer, of
course, since the paranormalist if often confined to the archival research
carrel, working through newspapers, magazines and the whole lot of paper
materials that haven’t (yet, at least) made it into the all-encompassing,
all-consuming Uber-Archive in the Cloud which is the omniscient Internet
(although in a more sober and serious moment, we should pause to note that it
is not knowledge that is present there, but rather mere information—knowledge-in-waiting).
It suddenly struck me in a flash of realization: I had
figured it all out (perhaps conveniently, so that I could move on to the
delicious Mexican cuisine calling for me). Paranormal investigation turns out
to be a concatenation of various professional disciplines or trades not
concerned with the paranormal as such, but with the investigation of events of
interest—a reconstructive art in which, by some forensic methodology, you
attempt to flesh the bones of the reports of what happened. You’re always
arriving to the scene too late (much like philosophy, as Hegel once wrote: “The
Owl of Minerva takes flight at dusk.”), or trying to coax back into existence
something which has receded into the mist of the possible (or, as Kripal might
put it: the impossible). The paranormal investigator vacillates between
conjurer and collector, ending up with a curiosity cabinet of tales to chill
the soul during the night—possibles, and maybes taunting the mundane-minded to
dip out to the reaches of the inner and outer cosmos of whatever is. And
the fuel for this fire of the possible is, of course, the very limitations of
human knowing that keep us wondering. After all, we just don’t know very much,
do we? Do we?
And that’s the point, really—isn’t it? Knowledge. Or at
least, coming to know something about the world which we didn’t really know
(or couldn’t honestly say we knew). But then, what is knowledge? I don’t
think you can answer that without also relating what you say to control or
mastery—or at least consistent and controllable interaction with your
epistemological object (that which you desire to know). Science, as
distinguished from religious faith-based traditions, seeks controllable,
consistent, predictable and reproducible repetitions from nature—a structure of
activity or behavior amenable to law. Science wants engagement with
nature in ways that elude other intellectual traditions, other thought-systems.
A religion is not necessarily to be excluded from this category of knowing, but
its work is often in inner and not outer space (as it were)—a domain science
unfortunately has grown to be uncomfortable with. But the paranormal is
precisely that: phenomena that seem to persist in this scientifically hazy
nether-region in between matter and mind (so to speak). And it is this
nether-region that, in my view, is what originates religion and the religious:
religions spring from this slippery region of neither-quite-matter, nor-quite-mind—a
region that makes us feel that we’re not who or what we might think we are when
all we focus on is the outer space of things subject to the laws of constant
change. We get a sense of a beyond as we contrast it with what the
materialistically-inflected sciences are all about. And this sense of a beyond
is something peculiar to our historical moment, for cultures past had an easier
time reconciling the nether-world to the world as such. We, so-called “moderns”
have this difficulty with the strange or uncanny. Even so, science (in very
practical ways) struggles with it, and only by a slow progression of concerted
and systematic thought will we be able to entertain a more sophisticated
intellectual system capable of not only comprehending the full range of
what there really is (from the normal to the paranormal), but also of
potentially interacting with paranormality in ways that, for now, seem purely
ridiculously fictional.
What’s the goal for the paranormal researcher? Not, seemingly
explanation—for the typical researcher in this field (and let me be clear: in
the field dominated by the entertainment-types: the Taylors, the Lawsons, … the
roster of Phenomecons) has neither the temperament nor the intellectual
training or discipline to work out something like an explanatory framework
within which to situate their curiosities. It remains, frustratingly, mere
compilation, collection, collation, aggregation, and archival research. But we
must ask: what would explanation look like? Since science dominates the
conceptual terrain in this regard, but yet paranormality by its nature eludes
science (for reasons we must seriously investigate—and are scientists the best
suited for this task, we wonder? Perhaps not…), paranormal research is doomed
to circle in the abyssal whirlpool of incredulity, incapacity,
indeterminateness and ambiguity.
Perhaps then the question is even more fundamental
that all that: what is ‘research’? What is ‘evidence’? And who can
authoritatively conduct the research, gather the evidence, and pronounce on the
results? Again, the nature of the phenomena—which are not even generally
accepted as real features of nature (and yes ‘real’ is a fraught
category screaming for deeper critical scrutiny—but where would this leave us?)—is
such as to cripple a scientific explanation that isn’t guaranteed to be
reductive: show that this or that paranormality is in fact a misidentified
natural phenomenon that is already understood, a pure fiction, or—when it’s
accepted at all—a mere extension of something we already understand
(electromagnetism, say). Ghosts, hauntings, spirits, apparitions … all of it
part of nature, you say? Indeed, that has to be right. But discarnate entities
manifesting what seems like a form of consciousness, able to somehow interact
with the “material” world with which we interact as incarnate beings? It all
seems so unlikely—but is that because of our categories, or because the
phenomena are simply nonexistent? It would seem you don’t need to be possessed
for your head to start a’spinnin’…
Surely the whole phenomenon of Phenomecon is one of the breaking
through—and breakdown—of evidential standards, scientific criteria of
demonstration, and the whole range of conventional epistemic structures that
keep the business—the work—of science (and so-called rational explanation) in
play. It ends up being somehow rogue in a very conventional way, for it
is short on bone fide science and long on the tallest of tales. Yet, we
wonder: what if? What if there’s something here in the rubble (willfully created)
of conventional epistemology?
Yet, all the same, we have to recognize that this kind of a
thing has its place after all—in the great dialectic of knowledge; and that
this dialectic mightn’t be aimed toward anything like a recognizable
explanation of whatever phenomena are targeted here (and exploited). This kind
of thing may just be the padding on the walls of our wagon driving towards a
new age of quasi-scientific experience-mongering, an age not unlike the prior
Middle Ages, where faith mixes with practical know-how in a confusing sea of
phenomena we know little about. If we end up abdicating our role as knowers to
the designs of artificial intelligence of all kinds, at the same time that
governments the world over tip towards self-serving authoritarian monarchies
unkind to fact, then this is the kind of world we may very well end up
inhabiting, where we sleep for a while on the concept of “fundamental
principles of nature” as the basis for explanation and understanding. Who
knows?
The speakers with the inner circle of invitees and
paying-to-play hoi polli retire on this Day One of the Phenomecon to
dine at their banquet, watched over by the speaker/guest of honor at their
raised dais of dignity. For that cool 75, I could have lunched there with
Lawson or Taylor or “Dragon” Bryant Arnold, or Erik “The Bard”, but alas, I
found sustenance elsewhere that late afternoon.
As is obvious, I opted for the cheaper option. The 90 I paid
got you access not just to the conference itself, but to at least one opening
reception—an oddly middling soirée (for the mostly non-soirée types) given an
absurdly bounteous cocktail spread of somewhat random foodstuffs arrayed neatly,
with great care but lacking in the finer accoutrement of a more civilized
affair: I mean, we got neither napkin nor utensil. (But we did get beer: my poison
was a Coors—not a CoorsLite, but the real deal, brewed with that
deliciously cold mountain-spring water from Colorado … or at least that was the
tantalizing admission on the pounder can I got for free with my single blue
ticket.) The reception was indeed rather odd. It opened approximately 12
minutes before the “Film Festival” where about 100 of us settled into an amphitheater
of sorts, nestled (as much as possible—for there’s little nestling in Utah
country) behind the main conference venue (Vernal City has a real conference
center!). Though poorly conceived as a whole (totalities aren’t the caterers’
thing, apparently), individually (and we’ve got lots of individualism on offer
in America, don’t we?) each selection was quite delectable. Cheeses, breads,
crackers, pickled things, hummuses, dips, salads, sliced meats (charcuterie
would be going too far, but sort of) … it was a Boschian delight. It was
abundant. Having neither napkin nor utensil lent a strange sense of the
pathetic to our foraging. Almost like we were left behind, and the real action
was elsewhere—in the banquet hall with the guests of honor (none of whom
stepped out of the palace to deign make their appearance at this our plebian
festival). While we foraged, the repast was held elsewhere, and it
conflicted—oddly, again lending an air of the pathetic to our little thing—with
the cinematic fest (so I suppose the elect couldn’t come: was this a design
flaw?). Well I wasn’t about to pay to play, so I stuck it out—until I could
tolerate it no more.
As I dined, the smell of unseen chicken (or horse?) manure
and urine wafted my way, drawing across my effete plate of hors d’oeuvrs
(some loudly protested the idea of this French offense, accordingly refusing to
eat it). Clearly, our dining area (peppered with curvilinear benches enwrapping
circular concrete tables) was somewhat ill-placed. But I pressed on with not
one, or two—but with three overloaded dessert plates-full of goodies.
That was my (free) dinner. I was satisfied.
I can’t quite bring myself to do a review of the films shown;
I honestly tuned mostly out in honor of the incredible landscape and
sunset/moonrise on display like a forgotten treasure. I can provide the photo
of the adverts for each of them: two Bigfoot flicks, one “alien contact”
reel, and the customary ghost flick (a lá BlairWitch). They seemed to be
well-done, documentary-style—in HD and all that. Well … ok, maybe a bit of a
(mottled) review, just to say I was there…
The first film, which I admittedly arrived late to (having
been absorbed in my finger food a bit too long—I did use a piece of bread and
one of my empty plates as a makeshift napkin, which confirmed to myself my
astute improvisatory abilities as a true homesteader) was the usual BlairWitch
mock-up, perhaps worse in this case for the realistic pretenses as a true ghost-hunting
saga. OK, Witch had those realistic pretenses too (but it wasn’t about
ghost hunting per se); nonetheless, every subsequent version of it could
no longer keep the question (is this “real”?!) suspended, and so suffer from
being the imitator—thus collapsing the pretense altogether. Accordingly, every
post-Witch flick could only be worse: they want me to believe
it’s “real”—yet Witch didn’t want anything from you but your engagement
with the scare of it all. Ghosts, spirits, demons, premonitions,
clairvoyance … it was all there (if only notionally), and therefore present in
the subsequent Q&A with the film crew. I continued to sip my authentic
Coors-non-lite.
Surely, all ironic chiding aside, there is some
phenomenon (or phenomena) here which is not entirely a notion, fabrication,
mistaken perception, fantasy or wishful thinking (driving constructed
perceptions—we can, let’s not forget, be fooled by our own designs in
the moment, of course). But what is the nature of the phenomena beyond the
stories, beyond the alleged experiences? It is elusive by its nature, dealing,
as it does, with that nether-region of mind/matter interactions. Science is
comfortable only with one-half of that divide (and this divide does
remain, as I have remarked elsewhere and as is well known in the serious
scholarly literature that cares to tackle the issue head-on), and so it looks
for only what it can see (that “matter” side). There is plenty of “matter”
going on, but it all just seems so absurd—necessarily so, since that other half
(the “mind” part of the phenomenon) goes absent or ignored or (more fairly
stated) unanalyzed in a coherent explanatory framework encompassing both matter
and mind. Nothing like the latter exists, because whenever an attempt is made,
either mind is reduced to matter, or matter to mind. (The more neutral position—the
“monism” about which we’ve written previously—is just not generally accepted
and, consequently, remains un- or underappreciated as a potential way of
resolving, or at least beginning to resolve, the puzzle.)
So there is a missing element here: the element that everyone
wants to discount because of its apparent conventionality: that these
paranormal occurrences (from apparitions, hauntings, and ghosts, to the
so-called “psychic phenomena” of PK and telepathy) are indeed a function
of someone’s (or of some) state of “mind”, and/or the emotional context within
which these phenomena are encountered. Stephen Braude tried valiantly to
expound on this possibility—it could be you, not “them”. Maybe it is a
(paranormal) projection from out of the misery or darkness of your own being
that is the “cause” of a whole range of paranormality. Maybe it’s us
after all. Without a more sophisticated—and accurate—theory of the mind/matter
relation, in which neither matter nor mind theories are taken as fundamental to
every empirically established fact of paranormal occurrence (if such there
be—an admittedly controversial and unavoidably tendentious claim), we will
never have a good grasp of the phenomena, and won’t really know what we’re
experiencing. Just that we’re experiencing it. And that’s not an
explanation so much as an assertion of what needs explaining. (And here the
chill of medievalism drifts towards us.)
The bright full moon now rises strikingly behind the self-illuminated
HD movie screen parked before us. It is an eerie benediction to the world we
ignore as we peer in the filmmakers’ worlds…
In the ensuing discussion of the film, breathless, it’s all
about “energy”, “it” feeding on it, from it, out of it. What is ‘energy’,
though, but a mere term to cloak our ignorance of the nature of
phenomena we only encounter without being able to master? The trajectory of
knowledge moves along a decisive course, does it not? Encounter, engaged
interaction, control, then, finally, mastery: bringing it forth at will. Very
little of our world material can we do this for—but we can do it. True
knowledge, then, is had for little but it is had.
The moon, bright, is consumed by dark clouds—witches’ clouds.
The show, the real show, is elsewhere. In the now darkened outdoor amphitheater,
I look around me at the crowd, which has achieved its critical mass for the evening
(numbering maybe 75?). All seem sincere. Yet on the stage I wonder:
disingenuous? The crowd: hungry, even after their hors d’oeuvre, for
phenomena. The filmmakers: ready to supply the repast.
The second film, served up shortly after the conclusion of
the first’s Q&A, was about—Bigfoot. The title is wonderful: Flash of
Beauty: Bigfoot Revealed. Now we’re talking art films…
… And I had had enough, exiting, quietly, in a flash …
