Editor's Note: Approximately 30% of the correspondence we receive at the JREF is woo. About 20% is friendly chit-chat, another 20% is well-wishing, and the rest is a mix of media requests, hate mail, and earnest questions about skepticism. This new column is concerned with the latter.

After reading enough of these questions, it occurred to us that some of them may be of general interest. Furthermore, since the answers to these questions are more a matter of opinion than of fact, they are probably most effectively addressed by Swift's readership at large. Many of these questions deserve a plurality of answers. Please consider supplying some.

If you'd like to contribute a question for "Ask The Skeptics'" next edition, please write to This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. with the subject line "Ask The Skeptics." Some questions will be edited for brevity. All questions shall be published anonymously.


Dear Sir,

I know this is outside the JREF's general purview, but I would like to hear your feelings on the matter. I'm a single mom living in San Francisco. I have a 13-year-old son who is very intelligent, very sensitive, and very imaginative. So imaginative is he that, about six months ago, he picked up a book on Wicca and took to believing everything it said. The book is called To Ride a Silver Broomstick, and it is by a woman named Silver RavenWolf. It's ridiculous. It says, among other things, that you can bi-locate yourself via "astral projection" and meet and converse with spirit guides and fairies.

I'm not tremendously upset by this, because I understand that 13-year-olds need to experiment, intellectually and emotionally. (And dare I say "spiritually"?) It's just that, until now, my son has always seemed like a sprouting young humanist. In my position, what would you tell your son? And isn't there a risk of coming off as overly restrictive, or even punitive? I assume you have some experience in gently arguing people out of New Age mindsets. I have very little.

Thank you,
Betty, The Chemistry Teacher


Greetings, Betty.

Thank you for your words, though I'm sure we're not always as gentle as we should be.

True story: When I met James Randi, I was a teenaged Wiccan. Teenagers like Wicca. Why wouldn't they? Wiccans cast spells, wear mystical-looking clothes, and scare the hell out of their parents. (Happily, you seem thoroughly un-scared.) Plus, Wicca is one of the least threatening religions ever invented. When your kid's at school tomorrow, thumb once more through To Ride A Silver Broomstick, and note that there is no chapter entitled "Leviticus."

It's hard to express how alluring that can be to an adolescent seeking his place in the cosmos. You say you raised your son to be a humanist. Did some of this humanistic instruction involve pointing out the moral -- shall we say, "inconsistencies"? -- of the world's common monotheisms? If so, imagine how shocked he must have been to encounter Mrs. RavenWolf. This lady preaches a religion with no outmoded moral prohibitions. A religion based on love! On tolerance! Diversity! Affection for nature! A religion that isn't mean! Remember: Wicca was founded by an English naturist and popularized by hippies. You should be heartened that your son settled on the Wiccan branch of woo, with its progressive moral framework, and not some darker variant. It means his heart's in the right place.

As to his head...

Yes, Wicca is worryingly woo-ful. But unless there are extenuating circumstances that your letter failed to mention, you shouldn't be too worried. A lot of folks who are raised skeptical can't imagine how convincingly a professional woo-slinger can sling woo until they come face-to-face with it -- and in that confrontation, any 13-year-old is at a significant disadvantage.

And that's the nut of it. 13-year-olds are inexperienced, naïve, trusting, and more than a little crazy. When I told Randi of your dilemma, he said: "Tell her not to worry. One expects 13-year-olds to believe strange things. He'll grow out of it." In fact, he'll likely grow out of it sooner if you respect and support his interest in Wicca and avoid turning it into a generational stand-off. Instead, consider turning "spirituality," or whatever your preferred term might be, into a thing you and your son explore together. Don't raise objections; ask questions. Give him the tools to think critically, and in time, he'll probably use them. (If not, having a happy, healthy Wiccan son isn't the worst thing in the world.)

To Whom It May Concern:

I am a skeptic and an empiricist, but I am apparently a poor debater. This year, an uncommon number of my friends have outright refused to get their flu shots, and they are proud of this. They insist that there are all kinds of terrible side-effects to inoculation, from soreness to fever to flu itself, and when they boast about their refusals it's as though they think they've out-foxed the slimy medical establishment, which was only trying to pull one over on them. I try arguing the point, but am never successful. Does the JREF have any concise arguments I can use in these situations, or advice on how to make conversations with my friends less frustrating?

Thank you,
Flummoxed in Philly


Flummoxed:

Get new friends.

Kidding! Your friends are fine. And if you're going to keep them, you should... breathe. Stay cool. Relax. The fact is, distrust of the medical establishment is deeply ingrained in the American psyche. (The antipathy, while counter-productive, is hardly inexplicable.) No one will eradicate it single-handedly.

But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try -- calmly. Imagine you're out, mauwing on a cheese-steak with one of your flu-shot hating friends, and he begins bragging about his decision to go un-vaxed. Don't lose your cool. Don't treat him like an idiot. Say something like: "Yes, I know there are a lot of horror stories out there. It's just so hard to know if they're trustworthy. I actually did some looking into this stuff, and what I found may surprise you . . ."

. . . and then whip out some info from the CDC. And while it's conceivable that the CDC is lying about the dangers of flu shots -- and your friends may well raise that possibility -- they're probably not. There's no motive. And what the CDC says is that the absolute worst a healthy adult should expect out of a flu shot is soreness and a low-grade fever.

"Still!" some might say: "The risk isn't worth it! Fevers are no fun!" In that case, commiserate, and casually mention that, if your friend does get a flu, his immune-compromised acquaintances may well end up with something worse than a fever. They may end up dead. And while that's a heavy thing to think about while enjoying a hoagie, hey, you're not the one who brought it up. Plus, you're not the least bit discomfited by the conversation's sudden morbid turn: you got your shots weeks ago. (Didn't you?)