Marc Wilson: Scientists chew over the psychic abilities of dogs
You may recall that one of our family members has gone deaf. He engages in a lot of reassurance-seeking behaviour, following my wife around out of concern that if he can’t hear her, she might not be home at all. And we can’t let him outside any more, for the same reasons. He barks too much. Sorry, didn’t I mention Banjo is a dog?
Banjo may be deaf, but he seems to have a superpower: he’s psychic. Specifically, he knows when we’re coming home. I know because, as I pull into the driveway, he’s looking out the window expectantly from his perch atop the couch (yes, he’s a small dog and yes, we should have trained him to stay off the furniture). I am not alone. As many as half of pet owners will say, when asked, that they have noticed their pets waiting for them. Just like Banjo.
The sceptics among you might suggest that Banjo isn’t psychic, but perhaps has heard the car coming? But remember, he’s deaf. That doesn’t mean he must be psychic, however.
Predictably, there has been a knock-down, drag-out fight in the scientific literature on this subject. Niels Bohr and Albert Einstein clashed over quantum mechanics, and Ludwig Boltzmann got into intellectual fisticuffs with Ernst Mach and others over whether or not atoms exist. In the world of “are pets psychic?” it’s Britons Richard Wiseman and Rupert Sheldrake.
Sheldrake is a biologist, best known outside that field for his theory of morphic resonance – that apparently psychic pets and a variety of other paranormal phenomena can be explained by the existence of morphic fields. These are invisible, non-material fields of influence that connect self-organising systems like molecules. And pets and their owners. Why does Banjo know I’m coming home? Because we, and a lot of everything else, are connected by morphic resonance.
“Prove it,” I hear you say. And here is the trick. Let me illustrate.
Meet Jaytee. Jaytee is Sheldrake’s poster-terrier for morphic resonance. For several years, Sheldrake and sundry other folk tested Jaytee’s psychic powers. Jaytee’s first bite at fame happened when he was five. An Austrian TV broadcaster spent a day remotely recording his behaviour while his owner, Pam, was out and about. At a randomly determined point, Pam started to head home. Jaytee, bless his soul, headed to the window within seconds of Pam starting her journey home.
Recording Jaytee’s behaviour over a longer period than “just” when Pam is heading home is obviously important. Maybe Jaytee (and Banjo) really have no idea when their owners are heading home, and spend the absence wandering back and forth to the window.
It’s also the case that we are adapted to notice patterns. For example, we tend to remember those times when we’re thinking of someone and next thing the phone rings and it’s that person, but it’s not as salient when we think of someone and the phone doesn’t ring!
Sheldrake followed this up, recording Jaytee’s behaviour more than 100 times, tightening the methodology to attempt to account for potentially confounding variables. The results appear compelling: Jaytee spent only 4% of the main part of Pam’s absence at the window, but 55% of the time when she was on her way home.
But what does Richard Wiseman, professor of the public understanding of psychology at the University of Hertfordshire, say? As signalled, he disagrees with Sheldrake’s methodology and therefore conclusions. Back in the 2010s, the pair engaged in a long-running, erm, debate. “Pseudoscience!”, countered Wiseman. When he changed the criterion from breaking up Jaytee’s day into specific chunks, he reported the dog was no more likely to be pining at the window than a coin toss.
The broader debate, of course, continues, but I personally find Wiseman’s more rigorous methodology and anti-psychic-pets hypothesis more compelling. Which is a pity. I’d love to believe Banjo has a superpower.
