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Psychedelic Apes: From parallel universes to atomic dinosaurs
What if we’re living inside a black hole? What if we’ve already found extraterrestrial life? What if the dinosaurs died in a nuclear war? What if Jesus Christ was actually a mushroom?
In Psychedelic Apes, bestselling author Alex Boese will delve into the curious scientific subculture of weird theories. Thoroughly bizarre and contrary to the established norm, these ideas are often vehemently rejected by the intellectual community.
From the creation of the universe to the evolution of humans, the birth of civilization right through to our more recent past, Psychedelic Apes explores some of the craziest ideas from science and history and shows that, sometimes, even the weirdest theories may be proved true . . .
In Psychedelic Apes, bestselling author Alex Boese will delve into the curious scientific subculture of weird theories. Thoroughly bizarre and contrary to the established norm, these ideas are often vehemently rejected by the intellectual community.
From the creation of the universe to the evolution of humans, the birth of civilization right through to our more recent past, Psychedelic Apes explores some of the craziest ideas from science and history and shows that, sometimes, even the weirdest theories may be proved true . . .
320 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 2019
33 people are currently reading
458 people want to read
About the author
Alex Boese
7 books53 followersAlex Boese holds a master's degree in the history of science from UC San Diego. He is the creator of museumofhoaxes.com. He lives near San Diego.
source: http://us.macmillan.com/author/alexboese
source: http://us.macmillan.com/author/alexboese
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 31 reviews
November 9, 2019
I love science and I love talking shit and this is just both at the same time.
September 28, 2020
Leer sobre teorías científicas fringe es un placer ni siquiera culpable. A veces me pregunto por qué me gusta tanto, y me respondo con una idea que encontré también en el prólogo de este libro. La ciencia de verdad, o sea la ciencia, hace tiempo que es inasequible para el público lego. Me encantaría poder entender teoremas matemáticos complejos, saber sobre cosmología, y física cuántica, y teorías de la conciencia, pero me falta el tiempo y probablemente me falta la capacidad. La mayoría de los personajes que alumbraron las teorías de este libro, me doy cuenta, son legos como yo. Pergeñaron teorías grandiosas, que podrían cambiar nuestra forma de ver el mundo o la propia historia humana, y lo hicieron gracias a su falta de formación académica, algo que puede leerse en dos sentidos: para sus contrarios, la ignorancia profunda de los datos, incluso del método científico (el cherry picking abunda por estos lares), es la condición de posibilidad de esas teorías; para los partidarios, casi siempre otros legos, esa condición es el no haber sido modelados por el establishment científico, ser capaces de pensar out of the box. Yo no podría más que ponerme del lado de los primeros, considerando la cuestión seriamente, pero también opto por el enfoque literario: la verdad es belleza, y la belleza es verdad. Estas teorías, que no resistirían ningún análisis, me parecen atractivas porque me retrotraen a una época en la que el mundo era todavía misterioso y podían darse estas enormes vueltas de tuerca científicas. Ahora quizás queden cosas por descubrir, pero sospecho que están todas fuera de mi alcance. Una de las ventajas de la ciencia ficción es que puede prescindir del rigor, y la ventaja de la ciencia fringe sobre la ciencia ficción es que su referente pretende ser el mundo real que habitamos, lo que multiplica sus imaginarias consecuencias.
Creo que Alex Boese comparte esta maravilla, y da cuenta de eso su particular selección de teorías. No elige las más irredimibles, sino algunas que pueden incluso sonar plausibles. Nos explica, en primer lugar, la necesidad de estas teorías, porque cada una de ellas emerge de un misterio cosmológico, biológico o histórico; luego, las evidencias que las soportan y, finalmente, las abrumadoras evidencias en su contra. Es como un truco de magia revelado, que también invita a reflexionar sobre los procedimientos del razonamiento falaz. Es muy fácil que, si seguimos la argumentación de uno de estos pseudocientíficos, nos parezcan razonables; pero, en cuanto les encontramos el truco, y los miramos en retrospectiva, se revelen carentes de sentido (reflexionaba sobre esto hace poco, a raíz de un video Quantum Fracture en el que se presentaban cinco pruebas de que 1=0 – el truco, en todos los casos, era el mismo).
Boese también intercala algunas historias de “weird became true”, teorías que en algún momento fueron consideradas fringe, y que ahora son mainstream, incluyendo la deriva continental, la hipótesis africana sobre el origen del hombre y, la gran estrella, el modelo copernicano (que, en su tiempo, sobre todo antes del rigor de Kepler y de Galileo, era una teoría fringe en toda regla). Entre ellas, sobre todo, vale la pena leer la que se refiere a las cuevas de Altamira – una historia de la que no había tenido noticias, hasta ahora, y que termina en una nota patética. Pero estas historias relativamente felices tienen poca relevancia si hablamos de ciencia fringe (incluso centrarse en ellas sería un acto de cherry picking). Vayamos a lo nuestro. Comparto acá mi Top 5 de teorías fringe en este libro:
Teoría n°5: La idiocracia. Parece ser que los seres humanos nos estamos volviendo cada vez más tontos. No individualmente (¿o quizás?) pero sí como especie. Contrario al cliché, parece que nuestros antepasados de la Edad de Piedra eran más inteligentes que nosotros. Esto porque, en esa vida salvaje, la única ventaja evolutiva de los seres humanos era la inteligencia: un carácter favorecido durante años por la evolución. Hace unos 12.000 años, la inteligencia humana alcanzó su pico máximo. El registro fósil evidencia que los cromañones tenían un cerebro más grande, tanto en términos absolutos como relativos, que el del ser humano moderno. ¿Qué pasó hace 12.000 años? La agricultura. La vida se hizo más fácil, y fue más fácil que los seres humanos menos brillantes dejaran descendencia. Ahora es casi incontestable: con los métodos anticonceptivos modernos, lo más probable es que aquellos que no saben usarlos sean quienes más hijos tengan. De hecho, este es el argumento central de Idiocracia una película de comedia que le presta el nombre a la teoría. Hay una pregunta obvia: ¿por qué, si somos cada vez más tontos, nuestros avances tecnológicos son cada vez mayores? Porque también somos cada vez más, y porque además tenemos una capacidad única para socializar el conocimiento.
Teoría n°4: Nos robaron 300 años. Antes de leer el libro, conocía una propuesta similar elaborada por el matemático ruso Anatoly Formenko. Pero en el caso de Formenko los años robados son casi mil, y esto responde a una gran conspiración en la que estaría involucrada la Iglesia Católica. Esta otra, del alemán Herbert Illig, es más modesta, y responde ante todo. Es interesante el dato del que se prendió Illig para construir, o reconstruir, todo lo demás: cuando el Papa Gregorio XIII instauró su famoso calendario, sus astrónomos ajustaron la fecha en diez días que se habían “perdido” con el calendario juliano; más o menos, uno por cada siglo que est estuvo en uso. Pero la cuenta, si la hacemos hoy, nos dice que deberían haber ajustado trece días, y no diez. Así que, ¿dónde están esos trescientos años que faltan? Bueno, para Illig, esos años son en realidad 297: los comprendidos entre el 614 y el 911 d.C. Son años que en realidad nunca ocurrieron, a los que Illig llama “phantom time”, algo que deduce de la falta de registros contemporáneos, y de hechos en general, en ese período (que es, en gran medida, lo que se conoce como la Era Oscura). El falsificador del tiempo, en este caso, sería Otto III, Emperador del Sacro Imperio Romano, que por razones políticas quería vivir en el año 1000, o sea cerca del fin de los tiempos. El Papa, y sobre todo el hecho de que el calendario cristiano no estuviera entonces extendido, ayudaron en el engaño. Por supuesto, la teoría de Illig no se sostienen ante un puñado de hechos básicos: los hechos que sí ocurrieron en este período, que incluyen a Carlomagno, a Mahoma y a los vikingos; la evidencia arqueológica y astronómica; el paralelo con otras regiones del mundo donde se computaba el tiempo de manera más fidedigna. Sin embargo, al mismo tiempo tiene algo borgiano que hace difícil renunciar a ella del todo – y, como toda teoría seudocientífica, nos invita también a pensar en la manera en que, en general, las ciencias no seudo construyen conocimiento. En este caso, por ejemplo; ¿cómo sabemos cualquiera de las cosas que creemos saber sobre el pasado?
Teoría n°3: Némesis. Cada 26 millones de años, con espantosa puntualidad, ocurre en la Tierra una extinción masiva. Este dato es, hasta donde sabemos, un hecho. La comunidad científica no lo discute, pero sí discute sus causas. La de Némesis es una de muchas hipótesis que tienden a explicar el fenómeno, pero esta, en particular, resulta más poética y más perturbadora que las otras. La idea es que nuestro Sol tiene una estrella que lo acompaña. Los sistemas solares binarios son exóticos, sí, pero han sido observados. Esta estrella sería una enana roja, pequeña, difícil de detectar, oculta probablemente tras la Nube de Oort. Némesis no solo explicaría las perturbaciones que generaron los eventos de extinción en la Tierra, sino también otras anomalías en las órbitas de objetos transneptunianos. En astronomía, muchas veces se ha avanzado de esta forma, teorizando nuevos objetos a partir de ecuaciones que no cierran. Lo de Némesis, no obstante, fue propuesto en 1984, y desde entonces faltan las evidencias y sobran las explicaciones más satisfactorias para esos fenómenos. Su presencia posible, lovecraftiana, me sigue resultando incómoda.
Teoría n°2: Los dinosaurios se extinguieron en una guerra nuclear. Esta idea se relaciona directamente con la llamada hipótesis siluriana, que no es una hipótesis sino un experimento de pensamiento. Y dice así: si una especie inteligente hubiera habitado nuestro planeta con anterioridad, digamos hace 100 millones de años, ¿qué evidencias nos habrían dejado de su paso por la Tierra? La respuesta es, sorprendentemente, que no muchas. De esto se habla también en otro libro, The World Without Us, que nos invita a pensar en lo que ocurriría si los humanos despareciéramos de un día para el otro. En 100 mil años, nada más, desaparecería nuestra huella de carbono. El Monte Rushmore sucumbiría a la erosión en 7 millones de años. Las estatuas de bronce, en 10 millones de años. El plástico duraría quizás 40 millones más, cuando los microbios finalmente aprendieran a comérselo. Estamos solo a medio camino de los 100 millones, y ya casi no hay registros de nuestro paso por la Tierra, excepto los restos fosilizados de algunos ejemplares de homo sapiens, los materiales radioactivos que creamos y las ondas de radio, eternas, que echamos a andar por el espacio. No sería imposible, entonces, que una especie antes de nosotros hubiera hecho todo esto. Una teoría que se maneja hace rato es que los deinonychus (mal llamados, en Jurassic Park, velociraptor) tenían características muy similares a nuestros ancestros simiescos: eran bípedos, poseían pulgares oponibles, visión binocular y grandes cerebros. Estuvieron a un paso de la inteligencia, pero el consenso científico dice que nunca lo lograron, quizás porque la baja en los niveles de oxígeno de la atmósfera evitó que sus cerebros siguieran creciendo. ¿Y si no hubiera sido así? Los proponentes de esta teoría fringe dice que los deinonychus, o alguna otra especie similar, se convirtieron en la primera civilización en dominar la Tierra. Y la primera en destruirla. Todos los signos que hoy atribuimos al impacto de un meteorito podrían tener otra causa quizás menos plausible: un invierno nuclear. Es una perspectiva atrayente y al mismo tiempo incómoda. Lamentablemente, las mismas bases de esta teoría -la falta de evidencias dejada por esta civilización hipotética- también hace imposible confirmarla.
Teoría n°1: Los seres humanos somos híbridos. ¿Sabías que, en promedio, un 18,4% de los espermatozoides de un humano macho son anormales o disfuncionales? En contraste, esto ocurre solo con el 0,2% en el caso de nuestros primos más cercanos en el árbol evolutivo, los chimpancés. Una anomalía que podría explicarse si asumimos que los seres humanos somos híbridos. Porque, contrario a la creencia popular, los híbridos, en su gran mayoría, no son estériles, sino que lo tienen más difícil para reproducirse. Esta observación viene de Eugene McCarthy, un biólogo, con un doctorado en ciencia evolutiva y un futuro aparentemente prometedor, que decidió por su propia cuenta convertirse en un científico fringe. Como especialista en híbridos, McCarthy ve híbridos por todas partes, y tiende a atribuirle a la hibridación un rol central en la evolución de las especies. Así es como McCarthy llegó a su particular perspectiva sobre el origen del homo sapiens. Ahora bien, si somos híbridos, ¿híbridos de qué? Nuestro parentesco cercano con los grandes monos es innegable. Pero, ¿qué características no compartimos con ellos? A diferencia del chimpancé, por ejemplo, los seres humanos carecemos (normalmente) de un vello corporal copioso, sudamos, tenemos una capa de grasa subcutánea, cuerdas vocales dispuestas en forma piramidal y narices prominentes. También bebemos alcohol y nos gusta nadar. Hay solo un animal con el que compartimos todas esas características, y ese es el sus scrofa. Un animal, de hecho, tan similar anatómicamente al ser humano, que se lo suele usar como conejillo de indias para distintos experimentos. Un animal que se consume masivamente, pero que sin embargo es un producto prohibido en muchas culturas, pues se sospecha que su carne es la más similar, en sabor, a la de los seres humanos. Este animal es el cerdo. La teoría de McCarthy, por supuesto, no pasa de ser un “mito científico” (Freud dixit), pues no hay evidencias genéticas ni de otro tipo para considerar esa atávica historia de amor entre una hembra chimpancé y un macho porcino (de la otra manera no hubiera funcionado, anatómicamente). Sin embargo, hay algo de esta teoría que la hace, al menos probabilísticamente, más cierta: que no resulta para nada halagadora a nuestra especie. Recuerden, y vuelvo a citar a Freud, las tres grandes heridas narcisistas en la historia de la ciencia: Copérnico, Darwin, el propio Freud. Es difícil, hasta hoy, admitir que descendemos de simios, a tal punto que los teóricos new age nos dicen que somos híbridos de extraterrestres superiores, y muchos les creen.
Menciones honoríficas. Algunas teorías que ya conocía de antemano, y que no me impresionaron tanto, pero que de todas formas vale la pena explorar son: la que da título al libro, avanzada por Terence McKenna; la teoría de la inmortalidad cuántica; el potencial explosivo de los planetas, y la posibilidad de que Jesús fuera un hongo (una frase que puede leerse de dos maneras distintas, o hasta tres, pero esto voy a guardármelo para alguna historia de ciencia ficción).
Creo que Alex Boese comparte esta maravilla, y da cuenta de eso su particular selección de teorías. No elige las más irredimibles, sino algunas que pueden incluso sonar plausibles. Nos explica, en primer lugar, la necesidad de estas teorías, porque cada una de ellas emerge de un misterio cosmológico, biológico o histórico; luego, las evidencias que las soportan y, finalmente, las abrumadoras evidencias en su contra. Es como un truco de magia revelado, que también invita a reflexionar sobre los procedimientos del razonamiento falaz. Es muy fácil que, si seguimos la argumentación de uno de estos pseudocientíficos, nos parezcan razonables; pero, en cuanto les encontramos el truco, y los miramos en retrospectiva, se revelen carentes de sentido (reflexionaba sobre esto hace poco, a raíz de un video Quantum Fracture en el que se presentaban cinco pruebas de que 1=0 – el truco, en todos los casos, era el mismo).
Boese también intercala algunas historias de “weird became true”, teorías que en algún momento fueron consideradas fringe, y que ahora son mainstream, incluyendo la deriva continental, la hipótesis africana sobre el origen del hombre y, la gran estrella, el modelo copernicano (que, en su tiempo, sobre todo antes del rigor de Kepler y de Galileo, era una teoría fringe en toda regla). Entre ellas, sobre todo, vale la pena leer la que se refiere a las cuevas de Altamira – una historia de la que no había tenido noticias, hasta ahora, y que termina en una nota patética. Pero estas historias relativamente felices tienen poca relevancia si hablamos de ciencia fringe (incluso centrarse en ellas sería un acto de cherry picking). Vayamos a lo nuestro. Comparto acá mi Top 5 de teorías fringe en este libro:
Teoría n°5: La idiocracia. Parece ser que los seres humanos nos estamos volviendo cada vez más tontos. No individualmente (¿o quizás?) pero sí como especie. Contrario al cliché, parece que nuestros antepasados de la Edad de Piedra eran más inteligentes que nosotros. Esto porque, en esa vida salvaje, la única ventaja evolutiva de los seres humanos era la inteligencia: un carácter favorecido durante años por la evolución. Hace unos 12.000 años, la inteligencia humana alcanzó su pico máximo. El registro fósil evidencia que los cromañones tenían un cerebro más grande, tanto en términos absolutos como relativos, que el del ser humano moderno. ¿Qué pasó hace 12.000 años? La agricultura. La vida se hizo más fácil, y fue más fácil que los seres humanos menos brillantes dejaran descendencia. Ahora es casi incontestable: con los métodos anticonceptivos modernos, lo más probable es que aquellos que no saben usarlos sean quienes más hijos tengan. De hecho, este es el argumento central de Idiocracia una película de comedia que le presta el nombre a la teoría. Hay una pregunta obvia: ¿por qué, si somos cada vez más tontos, nuestros avances tecnológicos son cada vez mayores? Porque también somos cada vez más, y porque además tenemos una capacidad única para socializar el conocimiento.
Teoría n°4: Nos robaron 300 años. Antes de leer el libro, conocía una propuesta similar elaborada por el matemático ruso Anatoly Formenko. Pero en el caso de Formenko los años robados son casi mil, y esto responde a una gran conspiración en la que estaría involucrada la Iglesia Católica. Esta otra, del alemán Herbert Illig, es más modesta, y responde ante todo. Es interesante el dato del que se prendió Illig para construir, o reconstruir, todo lo demás: cuando el Papa Gregorio XIII instauró su famoso calendario, sus astrónomos ajustaron la fecha en diez días que se habían “perdido” con el calendario juliano; más o menos, uno por cada siglo que est estuvo en uso. Pero la cuenta, si la hacemos hoy, nos dice que deberían haber ajustado trece días, y no diez. Así que, ¿dónde están esos trescientos años que faltan? Bueno, para Illig, esos años son en realidad 297: los comprendidos entre el 614 y el 911 d.C. Son años que en realidad nunca ocurrieron, a los que Illig llama “phantom time”, algo que deduce de la falta de registros contemporáneos, y de hechos en general, en ese período (que es, en gran medida, lo que se conoce como la Era Oscura). El falsificador del tiempo, en este caso, sería Otto III, Emperador del Sacro Imperio Romano, que por razones políticas quería vivir en el año 1000, o sea cerca del fin de los tiempos. El Papa, y sobre todo el hecho de que el calendario cristiano no estuviera entonces extendido, ayudaron en el engaño. Por supuesto, la teoría de Illig no se sostienen ante un puñado de hechos básicos: los hechos que sí ocurrieron en este período, que incluyen a Carlomagno, a Mahoma y a los vikingos; la evidencia arqueológica y astronómica; el paralelo con otras regiones del mundo donde se computaba el tiempo de manera más fidedigna. Sin embargo, al mismo tiempo tiene algo borgiano que hace difícil renunciar a ella del todo – y, como toda teoría seudocientífica, nos invita también a pensar en la manera en que, en general, las ciencias no seudo construyen conocimiento. En este caso, por ejemplo; ¿cómo sabemos cualquiera de las cosas que creemos saber sobre el pasado?
Teoría n°3: Némesis. Cada 26 millones de años, con espantosa puntualidad, ocurre en la Tierra una extinción masiva. Este dato es, hasta donde sabemos, un hecho. La comunidad científica no lo discute, pero sí discute sus causas. La de Némesis es una de muchas hipótesis que tienden a explicar el fenómeno, pero esta, en particular, resulta más poética y más perturbadora que las otras. La idea es que nuestro Sol tiene una estrella que lo acompaña. Los sistemas solares binarios son exóticos, sí, pero han sido observados. Esta estrella sería una enana roja, pequeña, difícil de detectar, oculta probablemente tras la Nube de Oort. Némesis no solo explicaría las perturbaciones que generaron los eventos de extinción en la Tierra, sino también otras anomalías en las órbitas de objetos transneptunianos. En astronomía, muchas veces se ha avanzado de esta forma, teorizando nuevos objetos a partir de ecuaciones que no cierran. Lo de Némesis, no obstante, fue propuesto en 1984, y desde entonces faltan las evidencias y sobran las explicaciones más satisfactorias para esos fenómenos. Su presencia posible, lovecraftiana, me sigue resultando incómoda.
Teoría n°2: Los dinosaurios se extinguieron en una guerra nuclear. Esta idea se relaciona directamente con la llamada hipótesis siluriana, que no es una hipótesis sino un experimento de pensamiento. Y dice así: si una especie inteligente hubiera habitado nuestro planeta con anterioridad, digamos hace 100 millones de años, ¿qué evidencias nos habrían dejado de su paso por la Tierra? La respuesta es, sorprendentemente, que no muchas. De esto se habla también en otro libro, The World Without Us, que nos invita a pensar en lo que ocurriría si los humanos despareciéramos de un día para el otro. En 100 mil años, nada más, desaparecería nuestra huella de carbono. El Monte Rushmore sucumbiría a la erosión en 7 millones de años. Las estatuas de bronce, en 10 millones de años. El plástico duraría quizás 40 millones más, cuando los microbios finalmente aprendieran a comérselo. Estamos solo a medio camino de los 100 millones, y ya casi no hay registros de nuestro paso por la Tierra, excepto los restos fosilizados de algunos ejemplares de homo sapiens, los materiales radioactivos que creamos y las ondas de radio, eternas, que echamos a andar por el espacio. No sería imposible, entonces, que una especie antes de nosotros hubiera hecho todo esto. Una teoría que se maneja hace rato es que los deinonychus (mal llamados, en Jurassic Park, velociraptor) tenían características muy similares a nuestros ancestros simiescos: eran bípedos, poseían pulgares oponibles, visión binocular y grandes cerebros. Estuvieron a un paso de la inteligencia, pero el consenso científico dice que nunca lo lograron, quizás porque la baja en los niveles de oxígeno de la atmósfera evitó que sus cerebros siguieran creciendo. ¿Y si no hubiera sido así? Los proponentes de esta teoría fringe dice que los deinonychus, o alguna otra especie similar, se convirtieron en la primera civilización en dominar la Tierra. Y la primera en destruirla. Todos los signos que hoy atribuimos al impacto de un meteorito podrían tener otra causa quizás menos plausible: un invierno nuclear. Es una perspectiva atrayente y al mismo tiempo incómoda. Lamentablemente, las mismas bases de esta teoría -la falta de evidencias dejada por esta civilización hipotética- también hace imposible confirmarla.
Teoría n°1: Los seres humanos somos híbridos. ¿Sabías que, en promedio, un 18,4% de los espermatozoides de un humano macho son anormales o disfuncionales? En contraste, esto ocurre solo con el 0,2% en el caso de nuestros primos más cercanos en el árbol evolutivo, los chimpancés. Una anomalía que podría explicarse si asumimos que los seres humanos somos híbridos. Porque, contrario a la creencia popular, los híbridos, en su gran mayoría, no son estériles, sino que lo tienen más difícil para reproducirse. Esta observación viene de Eugene McCarthy, un biólogo, con un doctorado en ciencia evolutiva y un futuro aparentemente prometedor, que decidió por su propia cuenta convertirse en un científico fringe. Como especialista en híbridos, McCarthy ve híbridos por todas partes, y tiende a atribuirle a la hibridación un rol central en la evolución de las especies. Así es como McCarthy llegó a su particular perspectiva sobre el origen del homo sapiens. Ahora bien, si somos híbridos, ¿híbridos de qué? Nuestro parentesco cercano con los grandes monos es innegable. Pero, ¿qué características no compartimos con ellos? A diferencia del chimpancé, por ejemplo, los seres humanos carecemos (normalmente) de un vello corporal copioso, sudamos, tenemos una capa de grasa subcutánea, cuerdas vocales dispuestas en forma piramidal y narices prominentes. También bebemos alcohol y nos gusta nadar. Hay solo un animal con el que compartimos todas esas características, y ese es el sus scrofa. Un animal, de hecho, tan similar anatómicamente al ser humano, que se lo suele usar como conejillo de indias para distintos experimentos. Un animal que se consume masivamente, pero que sin embargo es un producto prohibido en muchas culturas, pues se sospecha que su carne es la más similar, en sabor, a la de los seres humanos. Este animal es el cerdo. La teoría de McCarthy, por supuesto, no pasa de ser un “mito científico” (Freud dixit), pues no hay evidencias genéticas ni de otro tipo para considerar esa atávica historia de amor entre una hembra chimpancé y un macho porcino (de la otra manera no hubiera funcionado, anatómicamente). Sin embargo, hay algo de esta teoría que la hace, al menos probabilísticamente, más cierta: que no resulta para nada halagadora a nuestra especie. Recuerden, y vuelvo a citar a Freud, las tres grandes heridas narcisistas en la historia de la ciencia: Copérnico, Darwin, el propio Freud. Es difícil, hasta hoy, admitir que descendemos de simios, a tal punto que los teóricos new age nos dicen que somos híbridos de extraterrestres superiores, y muchos les creen.
Menciones honoríficas. Algunas teorías que ya conocía de antemano, y que no me impresionaron tanto, pero que de todas formas vale la pena explorar son: la que da título al libro, avanzada por Terence McKenna; la teoría de la inmortalidad cuántica; el potencial explosivo de los planetas, y la posibilidad de que Jesús fuera un hongo (una frase que puede leerse de dos maneras distintas, o hasta tres, pero esto voy a guardármelo para alguna historia de ciencia ficción).
February 15, 2022
3.5 stars. Still a very fun and worthwhile read, but my complaint is that almost every theory was regarding the same things (origin of the universe, early human history). I would have appreciated more diversity and other theories about completely random things and more about the present/future. It felt slightly repetitive to me, even though each theory was unique in of itself.
December 12, 2019
Entertaining and fascinating theories from the fringe of science. 35 crazy theories, most of which have proven wrong, but some that have proven right, and a lot that seem not entirely right, but do make quite a bit of sense. This book also illustrates how new theories and insights often appear insane or outrageous, until the evidence stacks up and suddenly everyone has to accept them as true, which eventually becomes "everybody knows that, duh!". It's great how this book delves up the theories that haven't quite made it yet, and explains in detail how the scientist came to his or her ideas and how they were refuted. The cover of the book looks a bit sensationalist, but the subjects are actually quite well researched. It also shows how the champions of science will often try to suppress new revolutionary insights and wreck their colleagues careers for it - but eventually, twenty or thirty years later, have to apologize. It was interesting to find that live on Mars was quite likely detected already in 1978, that the cult of Jezus was propelled by Roman emperor worship, and that there are good reasons to believe that Homer may have been a woman, and that it's quite imaginable that intelligent life has risen on planet Earth before - and destroyed itself so long ago that it's very possible we'll never find fossil records of it. The chapter "What if we live forever" is the weakest to my liking, it's actually about parallel universes, and the conclusion about living forever makes no sense when we only experience one universe at a time. That's the only place in the book where I really went "Oh come on, cut the bullshit".
June 15, 2022
3.5 stars--Some of the most unique, and sometimes bizarre, theories of scientific concepts ranging from the workings of the universe to human evolution and more are explored. It's not quite as "user friendly" as some other pop-sci books by Mary Roach et. al., so those without a strong scientific interest in all of the concepts here may find themselves occasionally lost or bored. Other sections, especially those regarding history and the development of human society, are less esoteric and more engaging to the layperson.
August 17, 2019
The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.
While it is not specifically mentioned in the book, the author must have had Arthur C. Clarke's 2nd law in mind when he wrote this. In it, he looks at the very fringe of science and history without stepping over the very fuzzy boundary in pseudo science and alternate history.
The author makes it clear that what he is examining may be at the fringe but most of the theories in this book are by respected scientists and historians who have often staked (and sometimes lost) their reputations on their more esoteric theories as described here. Just to prove that, the author includes a number of theories that were once derided by the scientific community (such as plate tectonics) but are now generally accepted. Who is to say which one of these 25 theories might one day become the next big idea to hit the mainstream.
With so many theories to cover, from cosmology to the limits of the human mind, each theory gets only a few pages to itself. Luckily the author is well up to the task of presenting sometimes complex ideas in a brief and accessible way. If any of the theories in this book pique your interest, there is a helpful bibliography to guide you further.
On the whole, this book may not be a necessary one to read if you have an interest in the furthest reaches of science, but it is engaging and entertaining one to read anyway.
October 29, 2022
Reading about fringe theories is not even a guilty pleasure. Sometimes I wonder why I like it so much, and I answer to myself with an idea that I also found in the prologue of this book. Real science -I mean, science- has long been out of reach for the lay public. I would love to be able to understand complex mathematical theorems, to know about cosmology, and quantum physics, and theories of consciousness, but I lack the time and I probably lack the ability. Most of the people that devised the theories described in this book, I realize, were laymen like me. They concocted grandiose theories that could change our way of seeing the world or human history itself, and they did so thanks to their lack of academic training, something that can be read in two ways: for their opponents, profound ignorance of the data, even of the scientific method (the cherry picking abounds in these lands), is the condition of possibility of these theories; for supporters, almost always other laymen, that condition is not having been modeled by the scientific establishment, being able to think out of the box. I could only side with the former, considering the matter seriously, but I also opt for the literary approach: truth is beauty, and beauty is truth. These theories, which would not withstand any analysis, I find attractive because they take me back to a time when the world was still mysterious and these enormous scientific twists could be made. Now there may be things to discover, but I suspect they are all beyond my reach. One of the advantages of science fiction is that it can dispense with rigor, and the advantage of fringe science over science fiction is that its referent pretends to be the real world we inhabit, which multiplies their imaginary consequences.
I think Alex Boese shares this wonder, and his particular selection of theories accounts for it. He does not choose the most irredeemable, but some that may even sound plausible. He explains to us, first of all, the need for these theories, because each of them emerges from a cosmological, biological or historical mystery; then the supporting evidence, and finally the overwhelming evidence against it. It is like revealing a secret behind magic trick, which also invites to reflect on the procedures of fallacious reasoning. If we follow the argument of one of these pseudoscientists, they seem reasonable; but as soon as we find the trick to them, and look back, they turn out to be meaningless. Boese also interjects some “weird became true” stories, theories that were once considered fringe, and are now mainstream, including continental drift, the African origin hypothesis, and, the big star, the Copernican model (which, in its time, especially before the rigor of Kepler and Galileo, was a full-fledged fringe theory). Among them, above all, it is worth reading the one that refers to the caves of Altamira – a story that I had not heard of, until now, and that ends on a pathetic note. But these relatively happy stories have little relevance to fringe science (even focusing on them would be cherry picking). Let’s get to it. I share here my Top 5 fringe theories in this book:
Theory n°5: Idiocracy. It seems that human beings are becoming more and more stupid. Not individually, but as a species. Contrary to cliché, it seems that our Stone Age ancestors were smarter than we are. This is because, in that wild life, the only evolutionary advantage of human beings was intelligence: a featured favored by evolution for many centuries. About 12,000 years ago, human intelligence reached its peak. The fossil record shows that Cro-Magnons had larger brains, both in absolute and relative terms, than modern humans. What happened 12,000 years ago? Agriculture. Life became easier, and it was easier for less brilliant human beings to leave offspring. Now it's almost incontestable: with modern contraceptive methods, those who don't know how to use them are likely to have the most children. Indeed, this is the central plot of Idiocracy, a comedy film that lends the theory its name. There is an obvious question: why, if we are getting dumber, are our technological advances getting bigger and bigger? Because there are also more and more of us, and because we also have a unique ability to socialize knowledge.
Theory n°4: 300 years were stolen from us Before reading the book, I knew of a similar proposal made by the Russian mathematician Anatoly Formenko. But in the case of Formenko, the stolen years are almost a thousand, and this responds to a great conspiracy in which the Catholic Church would be involved. This other one, by the German Herbert Illig, is more modest. The fact that Illig seized on to build, or rebuild, everything else is interesting: when Pope Gregory XIII established his famous calendar, his astronomers adjusted the date by ten days that had been "lost" with the Julian calendar; more or less, one for each century that it was in use. But the account, if we do it today, tells us that they should have adjusted it by thirteen days, and not ten. So where did those three hundred years to go? Well, for Illig, those years are actually 297: those between 614 and 911 AD. Years that never really happened, which Illig calls "phantom time", something he deduces from the lack of contemporary records, and of facts in general, in that period (which is, to a large extent, what is known as the Dark Age). The falsifier of time, in this case, would be Otto III, Holy Roman Emperor, who for political reasons wanted to live in the year 1000, that is, near the end of time. The Pope, and especially the fact that the Christian calendar was not then widespread, helped in the deception. Of course, Illig's theory doesn't stand up to a handful of basic facts: the facts that did happen in this period, which include Charlemagne, Muhammad, and the Vikings; archaeological and astronomical evidence; the parallel with other regions of the world where time was computed more reliably. At the same time, however, it has something Borgesian about it that makes it difficult to give it up altogether – and, like any pseudoscientific theory, it also invites us to think about the way in which, in general, the sciences do not construct pseudo knowledge. In this case, for example; how do we know any of the things we think we know about the past?
Theory #3: Nemesis. Every 26 million years, with terrifying punctuality, a mass extinction occurs on Earth. This data is, as far as we know, a fact. The scientific community does not discuss it, but it does discuss its causes. Nemesis is one of many hypotheses that tend to explain the phenomenon, but this one in particular, if not more believable, is more poetic and more disturbing than the others. The idea is that our Sun has a companion star. Binary solar systems are exotic, yes, but they have been observed. This star would be a red dwarf, small, difficult to detect, probably hidden behind the Oort Cloud. Nemesis would not only explain the perturbations that caused the extinction events on Earth, but also other anomalies in the orbits of trans-Neptunian objects. In astronomy, progress has often been made in this way, theorizing new objects from equations that do not add up. The Nemesis thing, however, was proposed in 1984, and since then there is a lack of evidence and there are plenty of more satisfactory explanations for these phenomena. However, it’s possible, Lovecraftian presence continues to make me uncomfortable.
Theory #2: The dinosaurs went extinct in a nuclear war. This idea is directly related to the so-called Silurian hypothesis, which is not a hypothesis but a thought experiment. And it goes like this: if an intelligent species had previously inhabited our planet, say 100 million years ago, what evidence would they have left us of its passage through Earth? The answer is, surprisingly, not many. This is also discussed in another book, The World Without Us, which invites us to think about what would happen if we humans disappeared from one day to the next. In 100 thousand years, no more, our carbon footprint would disappear. Mount Rushmore would succumb to erosion in 7 million years. The bronze statues, in 10 million years. Plastic would last perhaps 40 million more, when microbes finally learned to eat it. We are only halfway to 100 million, and there are almost no records of our time on Earth, except for the fossilized remains of some specimens of homo sapiens, the radioactive materials that we create and the eternal radio waves that we send to outer space. It would not be impossible, then, that a species before us had done all this. A theory that has been around for a long time is that deinonychus (called velociraptors in Jurassic Park) had characteristics very similar to our apelike ancestors: they were bipedal, had opposable thumbs, binocular vision and large brains. They were one step away from intelligence, but the scientific consensus says that they never reached it, perhaps because the drop in oxygen levels in the atmosphere prevented their brains from growing any further. Well, what if they did? Proponents of this fringe theory say that the Deinonychus, or some other similar species, became the first civilization to dominate Earth. And the first to destroy it. All the signs that today we attribute to the impact of a meteorite could have another perhaps less plausible cause: a nuclear winter. It is an attractive prospect and at the same time uncomfortable. Unfortunately, the very basis of this theory - the lack of evidence left behind by this hypothetical civilization - also makes it impossible to prove.
Theory n°1: Human beings are hybrids. Did you know that, on average, 18.4% of the spermatozoa of a male human are abnormal or dysfunctional? In contrast, this is the case for only 0.2% of our closest cousins on the evolutionary tree, the chimpanzees. An anomaly that could be explained if we assume that human beings are hybrids. Because, contrary to popular belief, the vast majority of hybrids are not sterile, but rather have a harder time reproducing than non-hybrids. This observation comes from Eugene McCarthy, a biologist, with a Ph.D. in evolutionary science and an apparently promising future, who decided on his own to become a fringe scientist. As a specialist in hybrids, McCarthy sees hybrids everywhere, and tends to attribute to hybridization a central role in the evolution of species. This is how McCarthy arrived at his particular perspective on the origin of homo sapiens. Now, if we are hybrids, hybrids of what? Our close kinship with the great apes is undeniable. But what characteristics do we not share with them? Unlike the chimpanzee, for example, humans lack copious body hair, sweat, have a layer of subcutaneous fat, pyramidal-shaped vocal cords, and prominent noses. We also drink alcohol and like to swim. There is only one animal with which we share all these characteristics, and that is the sus scrofa. An animal, in fact, so anatomically similar to humans that it is often used as a guinea pig for different experiments. An animal that is massively consumed, but which is nonetheless a prohibited product in many cultures, as it is suspected that its meat is the most similar, in flavor, to that of human beings. This animal is the domestic pig. McCarthy's theory, of course, is nothing more than a "scientific myth" (Freud dixit), since there is no genetic evidence to consider this atavistic love story between a female chimpanzee and a male pig (if it was the other way it wouldn't have worked, anatomically). However, there is something about this theory that makes it, at least probabilistically, more certain: that it is not at all flattering to our species. Remember, and I quote Freud again, the three great narcissistic wounds in the history of science: Copernicus, Darwin, Freud himself. It is difficult, until today, to admit that we descend from apes, to the point that new age theorists tell us that we are hybrids of superior extraterrestrials, and many believe them.
I think Alex Boese shares this wonder, and his particular selection of theories accounts for it. He does not choose the most irredeemable, but some that may even sound plausible. He explains to us, first of all, the need for these theories, because each of them emerges from a cosmological, biological or historical mystery; then the supporting evidence, and finally the overwhelming evidence against it. It is like revealing a secret behind magic trick, which also invites to reflect on the procedures of fallacious reasoning. If we follow the argument of one of these pseudoscientists, they seem reasonable; but as soon as we find the trick to them, and look back, they turn out to be meaningless. Boese also interjects some “weird became true” stories, theories that were once considered fringe, and are now mainstream, including continental drift, the African origin hypothesis, and, the big star, the Copernican model (which, in its time, especially before the rigor of Kepler and Galileo, was a full-fledged fringe theory). Among them, above all, it is worth reading the one that refers to the caves of Altamira – a story that I had not heard of, until now, and that ends on a pathetic note. But these relatively happy stories have little relevance to fringe science (even focusing on them would be cherry picking). Let’s get to it. I share here my Top 5 fringe theories in this book:
Theory n°5: Idiocracy. It seems that human beings are becoming more and more stupid. Not individually, but as a species. Contrary to cliché, it seems that our Stone Age ancestors were smarter than we are. This is because, in that wild life, the only evolutionary advantage of human beings was intelligence: a featured favored by evolution for many centuries. About 12,000 years ago, human intelligence reached its peak. The fossil record shows that Cro-Magnons had larger brains, both in absolute and relative terms, than modern humans. What happened 12,000 years ago? Agriculture. Life became easier, and it was easier for less brilliant human beings to leave offspring. Now it's almost incontestable: with modern contraceptive methods, those who don't know how to use them are likely to have the most children. Indeed, this is the central plot of Idiocracy, a comedy film that lends the theory its name. There is an obvious question: why, if we are getting dumber, are our technological advances getting bigger and bigger? Because there are also more and more of us, and because we also have a unique ability to socialize knowledge.
Theory n°4: 300 years were stolen from us Before reading the book, I knew of a similar proposal made by the Russian mathematician Anatoly Formenko. But in the case of Formenko, the stolen years are almost a thousand, and this responds to a great conspiracy in which the Catholic Church would be involved. This other one, by the German Herbert Illig, is more modest. The fact that Illig seized on to build, or rebuild, everything else is interesting: when Pope Gregory XIII established his famous calendar, his astronomers adjusted the date by ten days that had been "lost" with the Julian calendar; more or less, one for each century that it was in use. But the account, if we do it today, tells us that they should have adjusted it by thirteen days, and not ten. So where did those three hundred years to go? Well, for Illig, those years are actually 297: those between 614 and 911 AD. Years that never really happened, which Illig calls "phantom time", something he deduces from the lack of contemporary records, and of facts in general, in that period (which is, to a large extent, what is known as the Dark Age). The falsifier of time, in this case, would be Otto III, Holy Roman Emperor, who for political reasons wanted to live in the year 1000, that is, near the end of time. The Pope, and especially the fact that the Christian calendar was not then widespread, helped in the deception. Of course, Illig's theory doesn't stand up to a handful of basic facts: the facts that did happen in this period, which include Charlemagne, Muhammad, and the Vikings; archaeological and astronomical evidence; the parallel with other regions of the world where time was computed more reliably. At the same time, however, it has something Borgesian about it that makes it difficult to give it up altogether – and, like any pseudoscientific theory, it also invites us to think about the way in which, in general, the sciences do not construct pseudo knowledge. In this case, for example; how do we know any of the things we think we know about the past?
Theory #3: Nemesis. Every 26 million years, with terrifying punctuality, a mass extinction occurs on Earth. This data is, as far as we know, a fact. The scientific community does not discuss it, but it does discuss its causes. Nemesis is one of many hypotheses that tend to explain the phenomenon, but this one in particular, if not more believable, is more poetic and more disturbing than the others. The idea is that our Sun has a companion star. Binary solar systems are exotic, yes, but they have been observed. This star would be a red dwarf, small, difficult to detect, probably hidden behind the Oort Cloud. Nemesis would not only explain the perturbations that caused the extinction events on Earth, but also other anomalies in the orbits of trans-Neptunian objects. In astronomy, progress has often been made in this way, theorizing new objects from equations that do not add up. The Nemesis thing, however, was proposed in 1984, and since then there is a lack of evidence and there are plenty of more satisfactory explanations for these phenomena. However, it’s possible, Lovecraftian presence continues to make me uncomfortable.
Theory #2: The dinosaurs went extinct in a nuclear war. This idea is directly related to the so-called Silurian hypothesis, which is not a hypothesis but a thought experiment. And it goes like this: if an intelligent species had previously inhabited our planet, say 100 million years ago, what evidence would they have left us of its passage through Earth? The answer is, surprisingly, not many. This is also discussed in another book, The World Without Us, which invites us to think about what would happen if we humans disappeared from one day to the next. In 100 thousand years, no more, our carbon footprint would disappear. Mount Rushmore would succumb to erosion in 7 million years. The bronze statues, in 10 million years. Plastic would last perhaps 40 million more, when microbes finally learned to eat it. We are only halfway to 100 million, and there are almost no records of our time on Earth, except for the fossilized remains of some specimens of homo sapiens, the radioactive materials that we create and the eternal radio waves that we send to outer space. It would not be impossible, then, that a species before us had done all this. A theory that has been around for a long time is that deinonychus (called velociraptors in Jurassic Park) had characteristics very similar to our apelike ancestors: they were bipedal, had opposable thumbs, binocular vision and large brains. They were one step away from intelligence, but the scientific consensus says that they never reached it, perhaps because the drop in oxygen levels in the atmosphere prevented their brains from growing any further. Well, what if they did? Proponents of this fringe theory say that the Deinonychus, or some other similar species, became the first civilization to dominate Earth. And the first to destroy it. All the signs that today we attribute to the impact of a meteorite could have another perhaps less plausible cause: a nuclear winter. It is an attractive prospect and at the same time uncomfortable. Unfortunately, the very basis of this theory - the lack of evidence left behind by this hypothetical civilization - also makes it impossible to prove.
Theory n°1: Human beings are hybrids. Did you know that, on average, 18.4% of the spermatozoa of a male human are abnormal or dysfunctional? In contrast, this is the case for only 0.2% of our closest cousins on the evolutionary tree, the chimpanzees. An anomaly that could be explained if we assume that human beings are hybrids. Because, contrary to popular belief, the vast majority of hybrids are not sterile, but rather have a harder time reproducing than non-hybrids. This observation comes from Eugene McCarthy, a biologist, with a Ph.D. in evolutionary science and an apparently promising future, who decided on his own to become a fringe scientist. As a specialist in hybrids, McCarthy sees hybrids everywhere, and tends to attribute to hybridization a central role in the evolution of species. This is how McCarthy arrived at his particular perspective on the origin of homo sapiens. Now, if we are hybrids, hybrids of what? Our close kinship with the great apes is undeniable. But what characteristics do we not share with them? Unlike the chimpanzee, for example, humans lack copious body hair, sweat, have a layer of subcutaneous fat, pyramidal-shaped vocal cords, and prominent noses. We also drink alcohol and like to swim. There is only one animal with which we share all these characteristics, and that is the sus scrofa. An animal, in fact, so anatomically similar to humans that it is often used as a guinea pig for different experiments. An animal that is massively consumed, but which is nonetheless a prohibited product in many cultures, as it is suspected that its meat is the most similar, in flavor, to that of human beings. This animal is the domestic pig. McCarthy's theory, of course, is nothing more than a "scientific myth" (Freud dixit), since there is no genetic evidence to consider this atavistic love story between a female chimpanzee and a male pig (if it was the other way it wouldn't have worked, anatomically). However, there is something about this theory that makes it, at least probabilistically, more certain: that it is not at all flattering to our species. Remember, and I quote Freud again, the three great narcissistic wounds in the history of science: Copernicus, Darwin, Freud himself. It is difficult, until today, to admit that we descend from apes, to the point that new age theorists tell us that we are hybrids of superior extraterrestrials, and many believe them.
February 28, 2020
This book is just a wonderful journey into the lovely chaotic world of “Niche Theory”.. Every chapter is a well researched, superbly written piece that always ends with a wry smile, if not a few clicking jaws also!!!
September 6, 2019
Thought provoking and/or hilarious. Out of the box thinking can yield either. Nonetheless fun.
January 8, 2021
My favourite theory was about Jesus being a mushroom
February 24, 2024
'Psychedelic Apes' looks at the scientific theories that did not make the final grade but which were reasonably plausible on the evidence available at the time. Boese also adds in some 'weird theories' (radio astronomy, dark matter, continental drift and others) that eventually became accepted.
Where Boese scores is in the clarity of his writing and his measured approach to each theory without being snide or superior. What we get is a good understanding of how science is done but also why we should be cautious about treating scientific claims in many areas as the final word.
One periodic lesson is how scientific orthodoxy can crush a 'weird theory' that later proves right for reasons of institutional inertia and sometimes cruel arrogance. More than once, someone who would be proved right dies or is chased out of science before a new generation accepts their theory.
There is a nice flow to the book. Twenty five 'weird theories' (and another ten plausible or accepted once-weird theories) are reviewed from the cosmological through the geo-planetary to the biological, the evolutionary and the historical.
Picking a few at random, he reviews simulation theory, the two sun theory of the solar system, extremophiles, the aquatic ape theory and early Christianity as mushroom cult, explaining the context of ideas that may not have stood up in the end but which were never pseudo-science in their time.
He loses his sure touch in the historical section but that is a quibble since the scientific sections (history of science is his main discipline) are good enough to compensate. He simply does not have the background to look at historical theory with the same level of seriousness and understanding.
Nevertheless, although some of the stories are well told and are no surprise, most are explored with a completely fresh eye and are well contextualised and explained. This is solid and entertaining popular science that avoids breathless enthusiasm in favour of an inborn respect for scientific method.
July 26, 2021
Boese's 'Psychedelic Apes' is a popular non-fiction book, which reads somewhat like a comedy. It is filled with very obscure, bizarre theories surrounding history and science, and as strange as some of them are, you are bound to believe, or at least not dismiss, some of them. The reason this book is so interesting is not just because the theories are so outlandish, but because they are actually conceived of in accordance with the current evidence - they are technically plausible (the most implausible theory with practically no backing evidence is the atomic dinosaur theory that states that dinosaurs died by nuking each other). When history or science finds a theory it likes and that fits well with the evidence, this usually becomes the status quo, and whatever new evidence is stumbled upon is looked at with the assumption and interpretation that it follows current theory. However, some scholars like to provide a different interpretation. Often, these theories are very bizarre and critically met if they go against the grain, but like it or not, we need these people to keep us skeptical about what it is we know.
I sometimes like to do extended reading on certain topics within the non-fiction books I read, but unfortunately, though there is a bibliography, it is rather short. Nevertheless, it is a book I recommend for people wanting a different interpretation of history and science findings.
I sometimes like to do extended reading on certain topics within the non-fiction books I read, but unfortunately, though there is a bibliography, it is rather short. Nevertheless, it is a book I recommend for people wanting a different interpretation of history and science findings.
September 11, 2020
Human beings come up with some very interesting ways of explaining (and thereby exploring) the world/universe around them.
This book catalogues some of the more bizarre ones. That said, it's actually quite sympathetic to their creators. It doesn't defend them, but it explains why the belief/theory exists. It throws up some evidence (creative interpretation applied)
I found it really amazing. It was funny without being rude to the people involved. It set things out in a way that I found really readable and engaging.
I picked up the book because Joe Rogan had done a few episodes on the mushroom Christian thing and the mushroom monkeys thing. And so I figured it would be fun to read a bit more about those ideas.
I wasn't wrong. I wholeheartedly recommend this book to everyone. It's fantastic.
July 24, 2023
Uhhhh it would be much better if I had a physical copy of the book and was able to read one chapter from time to time. Sort of like an alternative to scrolling on your phone for half an hour. But I didn't – I listened to it as an audiobook in bigger chunks and it became a bit repetitive (the same information was often repeated a few times throughout different chapters).
Also I think it's too big? like a lot of the hypotheses, especially at the beginning seem to be quite similar to each other and I feel like in my brain they're all mixed together. I would enjoy longer explanations of fewer theories more.
And maybe I'm just not that much into science after all.
Overall: quite cool, but not for me
Also I think it's too big? like a lot of the hypotheses, especially at the beginning seem to be quite similar to each other and I feel like in my brain they're all mixed together. I would enjoy longer explanations of fewer theories more.
And maybe I'm just not that much into science after all.
Overall: quite cool, but not for me
September 19, 2023
I´ve really enjoyed this book.
¨Remain curious! Be willing to consider strange ideas that challenge mainstream opinion. That doesn´t mean embracing every wacky notion that comes along. Skepticism is important as well. But it does mean that one should never be afraid to ask questions, even seemingly stupid ones. Those are often the very best kind.¨
¨Remain curious! Be willing to consider strange ideas that challenge mainstream opinion. That doesn´t mean embracing every wacky notion that comes along. Skepticism is important as well. But it does mean that one should never be afraid to ask questions, even seemingly stupid ones. Those are often the very best kind.¨
August 24, 2024
I love science and I love (weird) stories. Some of the theories/stories (not sure how to quantify them all!) about the universe were quite challenging to understand (I’ve always been better at biology) but the writing was still comprehensible enough to understand. And it had enough winks and tongue-in-the-cheek to be entertaining at the same time!
February 24, 2023
Lots of crazy ideas with the exact right level of detail. Not too much to bore you and not too little to just resemble a blog post you could read online. It's fun to think about these theories and it gave me plenty of conversation starters.
July 16, 2020
A great reading to keep curiosity alive!
July 25, 2021
Perfect coffee table book for science enthusiast.
August 21, 2022
Crazy theories.. some rational, others extremely far-fetched... meant for casual fun reading
March 26, 2023
a very fun read and a nice reminder to stay curious, stay skeptical and listen to different perspectives and ideas:)
November 10, 2023
Kept me hooked in the whole time!
November 11, 2023
Great book for starting arguments at the dinner table.
February 21, 2024
The mention of Octavian being Julius son is legitimately wrong. He is Ceasar’s great nephew and by that i mean… come on
December 24, 2024
A really interesting and entertaining book. It made me curious and had me Googling after every chapter. For me, that’s the best thing a book can do.
January 10, 2025
A very fun, light read. I played a game where I rated out of 10 for plausibility and intellectual stimulation. Black hole universe and people getting dumber were top hits.
April 25, 2024
I need more books like this!
August 11, 2023
This was a great book. The author tells you about some science theories that go against the grain of current conventional thinking. Boese breaks down the theory, the evidence for and against the theory, how the scientist came to that theory and how the scientific community reacted to it. It was hilarious and serious all at once, highly recommend this book.
January 13, 2020
Fun read, a collection of (some not so) absurd theories.
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