Hay una m茅trica que cada vez me interesa menos: la cantidad de seguidores.
Prefiero una comunidad peque帽a, intelectualmente inquieta y dif铆cil de convencer, antes que una multitud dispuesta a aceptar cualquier afirmaci贸n extraordinaria simplemente porque confirma aquello que ya desea creer.
Prefiero lectores antes que espectadores.
Personas cr铆ticas, cultas, que investiguen, contrasten fuentes y comprendan que interesarse seriamente por el fen贸meno OVNI exige algo m谩s que consumir videos de alguien que prefiere alimentar el misterio por un par de d贸lares antes que arriesgarse a proponer una mirada nueva.
La ufolog铆a lleva demasiado tiempo conviviendo con una extra帽a amalgama donde caben, casi sin filtros, conspiraciones planetarias, cat谩logos de razas extraterrestres, sanaciones cu谩nticas, canalizaciones, federaciones gal谩cticas y toda esa ensalada new age que ha terminado desdibujando la frontera entre investigaci贸n, creencia y entretenimiento.
Hay divulgadores que llevan 20 a帽os transmitiendo pr谩cticamente el mismo discurso: los mismos casos, las mismas fotograf铆as, la misma desclasificaci贸n definitiva y la misma promesa de que “ahora s铆” conoceremos la verdad. Cambiaron la televisi贸n de los noventa por las plataformas digitales, pero el libreto permanece casi intacto.
Y entonces cabe una pregunta bastante sencilla:
Despu茅s de 20 a帽os siguiendo a determinado uf贸logo, ¿d贸nde est谩n sus investigaciones documentadas, publicadas y expuestas al escrutinio p煤blico? ¿D贸nde?
Porque el conocimiento ufol贸gico serio sigue estando, en buena medida, donde siempre estuvo: en los libros, los archivos, la casu铆stica documentada, las investigaciones publicadas, el trabajo de campo y, especialmente, en la capacidad intelectual de confrontar nuestras propias convicciones.
Aqu铆 no buscamos masividad.
No nos interesa seguir a alguien porque aparezca en televisi贸n, acumule cientos de miles de seguidores o haya adquirido, por simple repetici贸n, el t铆tulo de “referente”.
Nuestro p煤blico objetivo es deliberadamente otro.
Me interesa conversar con quien sabe, al menos, qui茅nes fueron J. Allen Hynek, Jacques Vall茅e, John Keel, Donald Keyhoe o Aim茅 Michel. Y tambi茅n con quien todav铆a no los conoce, pero siente la curiosidad intelectual de descubrirlos.
Si buscas revelaciones semanales, razas extraterrestres clasificadas por procedencia, federaciones gal谩cticas o certezas acerca de qui茅nes nos visitan y cu谩les ser铆an sus intenciones, probablemente este no sea tu lugar.
Internet est谩 repleto de espacios para aquello.
Pero si te interesan la investigaci贸n de campo, la casu铆stica nueva, los documentos, los libros, las hip贸tesis contempor谩neas y la posibilidad de pensar el fen贸meno incluso desde posiciones que contradigan aquello que creemos, entonces qu茅date.
Prefiero una audiencia intelectualmente exigente que eleve la discusi贸n a una audiencia numerosa que solo alimente la estad铆stica.
Testimonio OVNI: menos es m谩s.
When the quality of the audience matters more than its size.
There’s one metric I care about less and less: follower count.
I would rather have a small, intellectually curious community that is difficult to convince than a crowd willing to accept any extraordinary claim simply because it confirms what they already want to believe.
I prefer readers to spectators.
Critical, well-read people who investigate, cross-check sources, and understand that taking the UFO phenomenon seriously requires more than consuming videos from someone who would rather keep feeding the mystery for a few dollars than risk proposing a genuinely new perspective.
Ufology has spent far too long coexisting with a strange amalgam where, with almost no filters, you can find planetary conspiracies, catalogs of extraterrestrial races, quantum healing, channeling, galactic federations, and the entire New Age salad that has ultimately blurred the line between research, belief, and entertainment.
There are popularizers who have spent 20 years delivering essentially the same narrative: the same cases, the same photographs, the same supposedly definitive disclosure, and the same promise that “this time” we will finally learn the truth. They traded 1990s television for digital platforms, but the script has remained almost entirely unchanged.
And that raises a fairly simple question:
After 20 years of following a particular ufologist, where are their documented, published investigations, open to public scrutiny? Where?
Because serious ufological knowledge remains, to a large extent, where it has always been: in books, archives, documented case studies, published research, fieldwork, and, especially, in the intellectual ability to challenge our own convictions.
We are not seeking mass appeal here.
We are not interested in following someone because they appear on television, have hundreds of thousands of followers, or have acquired, through sheer repetition, the status of an “authority.”
Our target audience is deliberately different.
I am interested in talking to those who know, at the very least, who J. Allen Hynek, Jacques Vall茅e, John Keel, Donald Keyhoe, and Aim茅 Michel were. And also to those who do not know them yet, but have the intellectual curiosity to discover them.
If you are looking for weekly revelations, extraterrestrial races classified by origin, galactic federations, or certainties about who is visiting us and what their intentions might be, this is probably not the place for you.
The internet is full of places for that.
But if you are interested in field research, new case studies, documents, books, contemporary hypotheses, and the possibility of thinking about the phenomenon even from perspectives that contradict what we believe, then stay.
I would rather have an intellectually demanding audience that elevates the discussion than a large audience that merely boosts the numbers.
Esta selecci贸n re煤ne los que, a mi juicio, son algunos de los libros que forman parte de la columna vertebral de la ufolog铆a. No porque todo lo que plantean sea correcto, ni porque debamos compartir las conclusiones de sus autores, sino porque resulta dif铆cil comprender c贸mo ha evolucionado este campo sin haber pasado por estas obras.
Hay investigaci贸n de campo, casu铆stica, historia, psicolog铆a, hip贸tesis extremadamente audaces, cuestionamientos al paradigma extraterrestre y tambi茅n posiciones esc茅pticas. Algunos libros probablemente nos resultar谩n fascinantes; otros inc贸modos, discutibles o incluso equivocados. Pero creo que precisamente esos 煤ltimos tambi茅n hay que leerlos.
Conocer la ufolog铆a no consiste solamente en acumular casos o leer a quienes piensan como nosotros. Tambi茅n implica conocer los argumentos que contradicen nuestras convicciones y entender por qu茅 otros investigadores llegaron a conclusiones diferentes frente al mismo fen贸meno.
Si siempre leemos aquello que nos autocomplace, terminamos construyendo un sesgo alrededor de nuestras propias ideas. Es igual a rodearte de amigos que te golpean la espalda y te dicen que todo est谩 bien, cuando todo el mundo se dado cuenta de que has extraviado el rumbo.
Leer libros que cuestiona nuestras ideas puede ayudarnos mucho m谩s que esos que simplemente las confirman.
1. J. Allen Hynek — The UFO Experience: A Scientific Inquiry
Una aproximaci贸n cient铆fica y sistem谩tica al fen贸meno OVNI, escrita por quien fuera asesor de la Fuerza A茅rea estadounidense y creador de la clasificaci贸n de encuentros cercanos.
2. Jacques Vall茅e — Passport to Magonia
Una obra fundamental que cuestiona la explicaci贸n exclusivamente extraterrestre y conecta los encuentros OVNI modernos con antiguos relatos de folklore y experiencias extraordinarias.
3. Jacques Vall茅e — Dimensions
Explora la posibilidad de que el fen贸meno sea mucho m谩s complejo que simples visitantes extraterrestres, incorporando aspectos relacionados con percepci贸n, cultura y conciencia.
4. Jacques Vall茅e — Confrontations
Presenta investigaciones de campo y casos de alta extra帽eza, incluyendo efectos f铆sicos y experiencias que desaf铆an explicaciones convencionales.
5. Jacques Vall茅e — Revelations
Analiza la compleja mezcla entre fen贸menos an贸malos, desinformaci贸n, manipulaci贸n, rumores y construcci贸n de creencias dentro de la ufolog铆a.
6. Jacques Vall茅e — Messengers of Deception
Examina el contactismo, los supuestos mensajes del fen贸meno y los riesgos de interpretar literalmente aquello que los testigos creen haber experimentado.
7. John Keel — UFOs: Operation Trojan Horse
Una cr铆tica radical a la hip贸tesis extraterrestre convencional que relaciona OVNIs, entidades, folklore y otros fen贸menos an贸malos.
8. John Keel — The Eighth Tower
Una obra especulativa sobre percepci贸n, conciencia y realidad que intenta comprender los fen贸menos an贸malos como parte de un sistema mucho m谩s amplio.
9. Edward J. Ruppelt — The Report on Unidentified Flying Objects
Relato hist贸rico de primera mano del antiguo director del Project Blue Book sobre las investigaciones oficiales de la Fuerza A茅rea estadounidense.
10. Richard H. Hall — The UFO Evidence
Una extensa recopilaci贸n de casos organizada seg煤n patrones observables como radar, pilotos, efectos electromagn茅ticos y caracter铆sticas de los objetos.
11. Allan Hendry — The UFO Handbook
Uno de los grandes manuales metodol贸gicos de la ufolog铆a, dedicado a investigar testimonios, identificar errores y distinguir anomal铆as de fen贸menos convencionales.
12. J. Allen Hynek — The Hynek UFO Report
Una revisi贸n cr铆tica de d茅cadas de investigaciones oficiales y de las dificultades que enfrent贸 el estudio cient铆fico del fen贸meno.
13. Jacques Vall茅e — Anatomy of a Phenomenon
Una de las primeras obras de Vall茅e, donde comienza a estudiar sistem谩ticamente los patrones presentes en los reportes OVNI.
14. J. Allen Hynek & Jacques Vall茅e — The Edge of Reality
Di谩logo intelectual entre dos figuras fundamentales de la ufolog铆a acerca de evidencia, metodolog铆a y naturaleza del fen贸meno.
15. Leslie Kean — UFOs: Generals, Pilots, and Government Officials Go on the Record
Investigaci贸n basada principalmente en testimonios de pilotos, militares, funcionarios y documentaci贸n oficial que defiende la necesidad de estudiar seriamente los UAP.
16. Robert Hastings — UFOs & Nukes
Investigaci贸n sobre numerosos reportes de fen贸menos OVNI asociados a instalaciones y armamento nuclear, especialmente en Estados Unidos.
17. Timothy Good — Above Top Secret
Investigaci贸n hist贸rica sobre documentos, testimonios militares y el supuesto inter茅s gubernamental e institucional por el fen贸meno OVNI.
18. Richard Dolan — UFOs and the National Security State
Extensa reconstrucci贸n hist贸rica de la relaci贸n entre los OVNIs, organismos militares, inteligencia y seguridad nacional.
19. John E. Mack — Abduction: Human Encounters with Aliens
Estudio de experiencias de abducci贸n desde la perspectiva de un psiquiatra de Harvard, centrado especialmente en la vivencia y transformaci贸n de los experienciadores.
20. Budd Hopkins — Missing Time
Uno de los libros que establecieron el paradigma moderno de las abducciones y el fen贸meno del “tiempo perdido”, aunque su metodolog铆a ha sido ampliamente debatida.
21. David M. Jacobs — Secret Life
Investigaci贸n sobre relatos de supuestas abducciones que propone patrones comunes entre experiencias, con conclusiones controvertidas que requieren lectura cr铆tica.
22. Carl Gustav Jung — Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Skies
An谩lisis psicol贸gico y simb贸lico del fen贸meno, examinando c贸mo los OVNIs interact煤an con el imaginario, los arquetipos y las necesidades humanas.
23. Bertrand M茅heust — Science-Fiction et Soucoupes Volantes
Estudio sobre las sorprendentes relaciones existentes entre relatos de ciencia ficci贸n anteriores a 1947 y la posterior casu铆stica ufol贸gica.
24. Philip J. Klass — UFOs Explained
Una de las obras cl谩sicas del escepticismo ufol贸gico, que intenta explicar numerosos casos mediante errores perceptivos, fen贸menos naturales y causas convencionales.
25. Donald H. Menzel — Flying Saucers
Temprana interpretaci贸n esc茅ptica del fen贸meno que propone explicaciones principalmente astron贸micas, atmosf茅ricas y perceptivas.
26. Carl Sagan & Thornton Page — UFO's: A Scientific Debate
Debate acad茅mico que re煤ne posiciones diferentes respecto del fen贸meno y permite confrontar argumentos favorables y esc茅pticos desde una perspectiva cient铆fica.
27. Curtis Peebles — Watch the Skies!
Historia cr铆tica del fen贸meno OVNI y de c贸mo los platillos voladores fueron evolucionando tambi茅n como fen贸meno cultural y social.
28. Karl T. Pflock — Roswell: Inconvenient Facts and the Will to Believe
Investigaci贸n cr铆tica del caso Roswell que examina sus evidencias, contradicciones y la posterior construcci贸n de uno de los mayores mitos de la ufolog铆a.
The 28 Essential Books for Understanding Ufology
This selection brings together what, in my view, are some of the books that form the backbone of ufology. Not because everything they propose is correct, nor because we should necessarily agree with their authors’ conclusions, but because it is difficult to understand how this field has evolved without engaging with these works.
There is field research, case studies, history, psychology, extremely bold hypotheses, challenges to the extraterrestrial paradigm, and skeptical perspectives as well. Some of these books will probably strike us as fascinating; others as uncomfortable, debatable, or even wrong. But I believe those last ones are precisely the books we also need to read.
Understanding ufology is not simply about accumulating cases or reading authors who think the way we do. It also means becoming familiar with the arguments that challenge our convictions and understanding why other researchers reached different conclusions when confronted with the same phenomenon.
If we only read what reinforces what we already want to believe, we end up building a bias around our own ideas. It is like surrounding yourself with friends who pat you on the back and tell you everything is fine when everyone else has already realized that you have lost your way.
Reading books that challenge our ideas can help us far more than those that simply confirm them.
J. Allen Hynek — The UFO Experience: A Scientific Inquiry
A scientific and systematic approach to the UFO phenomenon, written by the former U.S. Air Force consultant who developed the classification system for close encounters.
Jacques Vall茅e — Passport to Magonia
A seminal work that challenges an exclusively extraterrestrial explanation and connects modern UFO encounters with ancient folklore and extraordinary experiences.
Jacques Vall茅e — Dimensions
Explores the possibility that the phenomenon is far more complex than simply extraterrestrial visitors, incorporating aspects related to perception, culture, and consciousness.
Jacques Vall茅e — Confrontations
Presents field investigations and high-strangeness cases, including physical effects and experiences that challenge conventional explanations.
Jacques Vall茅e — Revelations
Examines the complex interplay between anomalous phenomena, disinformation, manipulation, rumors, and the construction of belief within ufology.
Jacques Vall茅e — Messengers of Deception
Examines the contactee movement, the alleged messages associated with the phenomenon, and the risks of interpreting literally what witnesses believe they have experienced.
John Keel — UFOs: Operation Trojan Horse
A radical critique of the conventional extraterrestrial hypothesis that connects UFOs, entities, folklore, and other anomalous phenomena.
John Keel — The Eighth Tower
A speculative work on perception, consciousness, and reality that attempts to understand anomalous phenomena as part of a much broader system.
Edward J. Ruppelt — The Report on Unidentified Flying Objects
A firsthand historical account by the former director of Project Blue Book about the U.S. Air Force’s official investigations.
Richard H. Hall — The UFO Evidence
An extensive collection of cases organized according to observable patterns, including radar encounters, pilot reports, electromagnetic effects, and object characteristics.
Allan Hendry — The UFO Handbook
One of ufology’s major methodological handbooks, devoted to investigating witness reports, identifying errors, and distinguishing genuine anomalies from conventional phenomena.
J. Allen Hynek — The Hynek UFO Report
A critical review of decades of official investigations and the difficulties encountered in the scientific study of the phenomenon.
Jacques Vall茅e — Anatomy of a Phenomenon
One of Vall茅e’s earliest works, in which he begins systematically examining patterns found in UFO reports.
J. Allen Hynek & Jacques Vall茅e — The Edge of Reality
An intellectual dialogue between two major figures in ufology concerning evidence, methodology, and the nature of the phenomenon.
Leslie Kean — UFOs: Generals, Pilots, and Government Officials Go on the Record
An investigation based primarily on testimony from pilots, military personnel, government officials, and official documentation, arguing for the need to take the study of UAP seriously.
Robert Hastings — UFOs & Nukes
An investigation into numerous reports of UFO phenomena associated with nuclear facilities and weapons, particularly in the United States.
Timothy Good — Above Top Secret
A historical investigation into documents, military testimony, and alleged governmental and institutional interest in the UFO phenomenon.
Richard Dolan — UFOs and the National Security State
An extensive historical reconstruction of the relationship between UFOs, military organizations, intelligence agencies, and national security.
John E. Mack — Abduction: Human Encounters with Aliens
A study of abduction experiences from the perspective of a Harvard psychiatrist, focusing particularly on the experiences themselves and the transformations reported by experiencers.
Budd Hopkins — Missing Time
One of the books that helped establish the modern abduction paradigm and the phenomenon of “missing time,” although its methodology has been widely debated.
David M. Jacobs — Secret Life
An investigation into accounts of alleged abductions that proposes common patterns among the experiences, reaching controversial conclusions that call for critical reading.
Carl Gustav Jung — Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Skies
A psychological and symbolic analysis of the phenomenon, examining how UFOs interact with the human imagination, archetypes, and psychological needs.
Bertrand M茅heust — Science-Fiction et Soucoupes Volantes
A study of the striking parallels between science-fiction narratives predating 1947 and the UFO case literature that emerged afterward.
Philip J. Klass — UFOs Explained
A classic work of UFO skepticism that attempts to explain numerous cases through perceptual errors, natural phenomena, and conventional causes.
Donald H. Menzel — Flying Saucers
An early skeptical interpretation of the phenomenon that proposes primarily astronomical, atmospheric, and perceptual explanations.
Carl Sagan & Thornton Page — UFO’s: A Scientific Debate
An academic debate bringing together different perspectives on the phenomenon, allowing favorable and skeptical arguments to be compared from a scientific standpoint.
Curtis Peebles — Watch the Skies!
A critical history of the UFO phenomenon and of how flying saucers also evolved as a cultural and social phenomenon.
Karl T. Pflock — Roswell: Inconvenient Facts and the Will to Believe
A critical investigation of the Roswell case that examines its evidence, contradictions, and the subsequent construction of one of ufology’s most enduring myths.
Hay algo que considero esencial en cualquier 谩mbito donde se investigue, se escriba, se formulen hip贸tesis o se expongan ideas p煤blicamente: debemos aprender a convivir con la cr铆tica y, sobre todo, a distinguirla del ataque personal.
La historia de la ufolog铆a ofrece buenos ejemplos de aquello.
Jacques Vall茅e se atrevi贸 a cuestionar abiertamente la interpretaci贸n extraterrestre predominante cuando buena parte del mundo ufol贸gico la consideraba pr谩cticamente el marco natural para explicar el fen贸meno. Pero tambi茅n fue cr铆tico del trabajo de otros investigadores, entre ellos John Keel. Lo interesante es que esa cr铆tica no le impidi贸 reconocer aspectos que consideraba valiosos en su trabajo: pod铆a valorar su investigaci贸n de campo, algunas de sus observaciones e intuiciones y, al mismo tiempo, discrepar respecto de determinadas conclusiones o de la solidez de algunas fuentes.
Y probablemente ah铆 existe una ense帽anza importante: se puede respetar profundamente a una persona y cuestionar parte de su trabajo.
Se puede reconocer el esfuerzo detr谩s de una investigaci贸n y pensar que metodol贸gicamente uno habr铆a seguido otro camino. Se puede admirar a un autor y discrepar con una de sus conclusiones. Incluso se puede modificar la propia posici贸n cuando aparecen nuevos antecedentes. Eso no debilita al investigador; es parte natural del pensamiento cr铆tico.
Por eso considero fundamental diferenciar: una cr铆tica constructiva de una descalificaci贸n.
No hablo de aquellos espacios —lamentablemente frecuentes en internet y particularmente en algunos canales de YouTube— donde se denosta, ridiculiza, prejuzga, injuria o incluso se levantan acusaciones contra otras personas. Eso no es cr铆tica y personalmente estoy completamente en contra de esas pr谩cticas.
Pero tampoco podemos caer en el extremo contrario: interpretar cualquier discrepancia como una agresi贸n.
Quienes decidimos investigar, escribir libros, formular hip贸tesis, participar en entrevistas o expresar p煤blicamente nuestras ideas estamos, inevitablemente, sometidos al escrutinio de los dem谩s. Un periodista, un investigador, un lector o cualquier persona puede preguntarnos qu茅 pensamos sobre nuestro trabajo o sobre el trabajo de otro. Y deber铆amos tener la leg铆tima libertad de responder con sinceridad, siempre que lo hagamos con argumentos, respeto y altura de miras.
Me preocupa cuando se generan espacios donde pareciera que opinar cr铆ticamente sobre el trabajo de otro pudiera interpretarse como una traici贸n o una falta de lealtad. Creo que ocurre justamente lo contrario: una comunidad madura deber铆a ser capaz de aceptar la discrepancia respetuosa como parte natural del intercambio de ideas.
M谩s a煤n cuando hablamos del fen贸meno OVNI/UAP, un campo en el que convivimos permanentemente con informaci贸n incompleta, testimonios, interpretaciones, hip贸tesis y distintos grados de evidencia. Si existe un 谩mbito donde deber铆amos estar especialmente abiertos a revisar nuestras conclusiones, es precisamente 茅ste.
Por eso, cuando recibimos una cr铆tica, quiz谩s convendr铆a hacer primero un ejercicio muy sencillo: leer exactamente lo que est谩 escrito y no aquello que emocionalmente creemos que est谩 diciendo.
¿Existe descalificaci贸n, ninguneo, prejuicio, injuria o calumnia? ¿Existe una intenci贸n evidente de da帽ar o desacreditar a la persona?
Si nada de aquello est谩 presente y lo que encontramos son argumentos, preguntas, diferencias metodol贸gicas o una interpretaci贸n distinta, entonces no estamos frente a un ataque. Estamos frente a una discrepancia leg铆tima, vale decir una critica constructiva.
No podemos pedir pensamiento cr铆tico frente a las afirmaciones de los dem谩s y esperar inmunidad cuando se examinan las nuestras.
La cr铆tica constructiva no debilita una investigaci贸n: nos deber铆a de poner a reflexionar si pudimos haberlo hecho distinto o algo de esa critica nos sirve para considerarla a futuro.
Y quiz谩s una se帽al de madurez, tanto personal como colectiva, sea comprender finalmente que discrepar no significa enemistarse y cuestionar no significa que sea un ataque personal.
En un campo donde todav铆a existen tantas preguntas abiertas, ninguno de nosotros posee la verdad absoluta y todos podemos aprender del escrutinio respetuoso de los dem谩s.
Disagreeing Is Not Attacking: The Value of Constructive Criticism
There is something I consider essential in any field where people conduct research, write, formulate hypotheses, or present ideas publicly: we must learn to live with criticism and, above all, to distinguish it from a personal attack.
The history of ufology offers some good examples of this.
Jacques Vall茅e dared to openly question the prevailing extraterrestrial interpretation at a time when much of the UFO community regarded it as virtually the natural framework for explaining the phenomenon. But he was also critical of the work of other researchers, including John Keel. What is interesting is that this criticism did not prevent him from acknowledging aspects of Keel’s work that he considered valuable: he could appreciate his field research, some of his observations and insights, while at the same time disagreeing with certain conclusions or questioning the reliability of some of his sources.
And perhaps there is an important lesson in this: we can deeply respect a person while questioning part of their work.
We can recognize the effort behind a piece of research while believing that, methodologically, we would have taken a different approach. We can admire an author while disagreeing with one of their conclusions. We can even change our own position when new information emerges. That does not weaken a researcher; it is a natural part of critical thinking.
That is why I believe it is essential to distinguish constructive criticism from disparagement.
I am not referring to those spaces—unfortunately common on the internet, and particularly on some YouTube channels—where people are denigrated, ridiculed, prejudged, insulted, or even subjected to accusations. That is not criticism, and I am personally completely opposed to such practices.
But neither can we fall into the opposite extreme: interpreting every disagreement as an attack.
Those of us who choose to conduct research, write books, formulate hypotheses, participate in interviews, or publicly express our ideas are inevitably subject to the scrutiny of others. A journalist, a researcher, a reader, or anyone else may ask us what we think about our own work or the work of someone else. And we should have the legitimate freedom to respond honestly, provided that we do so with reasoned arguments, respect, and an open mind.
I find it concerning when spaces emerge in which expressing a critical opinion about someone else’s work can be interpreted as a betrayal or a lack of loyalty. I believe the opposite is true: a mature community should be capable of accepting respectful disagreement as a natural part of the exchange of ideas.
This is all the more important when we are talking about the UFO/UAP phenomenon, a field in which we constantly deal with incomplete information, testimonies, interpretations, hypotheses, and varying degrees of evidence. If there is any field in which we should be particularly open to revisiting our conclusions, it is precisely this one.
That is why, when we receive criticism, perhaps we should first engage in a very simple exercise: read exactly what has been written, rather than what we emotionally believe it is saying.
Is there disparagement, belittling, prejudice, insult, or defamation? Is there an evident intention to harm or discredit the person?
If none of those things are present, and what we find instead are arguments, questions, methodological differences, or a different interpretation, then we are not dealing with an attack. We are dealing with a legitimate disagreement—in other words, constructive criticism.
We cannot demand critical thinking when examining the claims of others while expecting immunity when our own claims are examined.
Constructive criticism does not weaken research. It should prompt us to reflect on whether we could have done something differently, or whether there is something in that criticism that may be useful for us to consider in the future.
And perhaps one sign of maturity, both personal and collective, is finally understanding that disagreement does not mean hostility, and questioning someone’s work does not mean launching a personal attack.
In a field where so many questions remain open, none of us possesses the absolute truth, and all of us can learn from the respectful scrutiny of others.
Termin茅 de leer Los creyentes, de Diana Walsh Pasulka, con bastantes expectativas. Quiz谩s demasiadas. Por el perfil de la autora, pero sobre todo por el nivel de las personas involucradas en la historia, esperaba encontrar algo que finalmente profundizara en ciertos aspectos del fen贸meno que normalmente quedan en el terreno de la especulaci贸n. Sin embargo, termin茅 el libro con m谩s o menos las mismas preguntas con las que entr茅.
Por momentos tuve la sensaci贸n de estar leyendo una historia construida sobre un guion que va avanzando por etapas. Aparece un personaje, ocurre algo que aumenta el misterio, viene una nueva revelaci贸n, despu茅s otra experiencia y as铆 sucesivamente. Funciona muy bien narrativamente y hace que uno quiera seguir leyendo, pero justamente por eso hubo momentos en que me cost贸 separar cu谩nto hab铆a de investigaci贸n y cu谩nto de construcci贸n narrativa.
Algo parecido me pas贸 con las coincidencias o “sincronicidades”. Son interesantes, por supuesto, pero algunas me parecieron interpretadas desde una mirada demasiado subjetiva. Cuando uno comienza a conectar acontecimientos despu茅s de que ocurrieron, siempre existe el riesgo de encontrar patrones donde quiz谩s simplemente hubo coincidencias. Y sent铆 que el libro pocas veces se detiene realmente a tensionar esa posibilidad.
Tambi茅n me llam贸 la atenci贸n lo humanizadas que terminan siendo muchas de las situaciones. Hay experiencias extraordinarias, personajes excepcionales, secretos, encuentros inesperados y una especie de progresi贸n casi inici谩tica. Todo eso hace que el libro sea entretenido, pero a m铆 personalmente me termin贸 alejando un poco de lo que esperaba encontrar.
Y probablemente mi mayor decepci贸n tiene que ver con la supuesta recuperaci贸n de materiales.
Ah铆 esperaba mucho m谩s.
Si estamos hablando de personas vinculadas al mundo cient铆fico y de la recuperaci贸n de un material potencialmente an贸malo, esperaba al menos conocer qu茅 elementos conten铆a, qu茅 an谩lisis se realizaron, qu茅 instrumentos se utilizaron, qu茅 laboratorio los examin贸, qu茅 resultados aparecieron y, sobre todo, qu茅 ten铆a exactamente ese material que permitiera considerarlo fuera de lo com煤n.
Pero cuando llegamos a uno de los puntos que podr铆a haber sido m谩s importantes del libro, nuevamente quedamos principalmente en el terreno testimonial.
Y considerando el nivel de las personas involucradas, eso me result贸 particularmente extra帽o.
No digo que lo relatado sea falso. Tampoco creo que ese sea necesariamente el punto del libro. Pasulka viene de los estudios religiosos y su inter茅s parece estar mucho m谩s en observar c贸mo estas experiencias transforman a las personas y c贸mo alrededor del fen贸meno se construyen creencias, mitolog铆as y nuevas formas de entender la realidad.
Desde esa perspectiva, el libro es interesante.
Pero si uno llega buscando datos que permitan avanzar en la comprensi贸n objetiva del fen贸meno, probablemente se quede con gusto a poco.
En mi caso, termin茅 Los creyentes pensando que hab铆a le铆do una historia fascinante sobre personas que est谩n convencidas de haber estado muy cerca de algo extraordinario.
Lo que todav铆a no tengo claro es qu茅 evidencia tenemos nosotros, como lectores, para llegar a la misma conclusi贸n que ellos.
馃敾 Review: American Cosmic | When the Narrative Outweighs the Evidence
By Iv谩n Vega R.
I finished reading American Cosmic by Diana Walsh Pasulka with fairly high expectations. Perhaps too high. Given the author’s background, but especially the caliber of the people involved in the story, I expected to find something that would finally dig deeper into certain aspects of the phenomenon that normally remain in the realm of speculation. Instead, I finished the book with more or less the same questions I had going in.
At times, I had the feeling I was reading a story built around a script that unfolds in stages. A character appears, something happens that deepens the mystery, a new revelation follows, then another experience, and so on. It works extremely well as a narrative and keeps you wanting to read, but precisely because of that, there were moments when I found it difficult to separate the research from the narrative construction.
I felt something similar about the coincidences, or “synchronicities.” They are interesting, of course, but some of them struck me as being interpreted through an overly subjective lens. Once you start connecting events after they have already happened, there is always the risk of finding patterns where there may simply have been coincidences. And I felt the book rarely stops to seriously challenge that possibility.
I was also struck by how humanized many of these situations ultimately become. There are extraordinary experiences, exceptional individuals, secrets, unexpected encounters, and a kind of almost initiatory progression. All of that makes the book entertaining, but personally, it ended up taking me somewhat further away from what I had hoped to find.
And probably my biggest disappointment has to do with the alleged recovery of materials.
That was where I expected much more.
If we are talking about people connected to the scientific world and the recovery of potentially anomalous material, I expected at the very least to learn what elements it contained, what analyses were performed, what instruments were used, which laboratory examined it, what results were obtained, and above all, what exactly it was about the material that justified considering it unusual.
But when we reach what could have been one of the most important points in the book, once again we are left primarily in the realm of testimony.
And considering the caliber of the people involved, I found that particularly strange.
I am not saying that what is described is false. Nor do I think that is necessarily the point of the book. Pasulka comes from religious studies, and her interest seems to lie much more in observing how these experiences transform people and how beliefs, mythologies, and new ways of understanding reality are constructed around the phenomenon.
From that perspective, the book is interesting.
But if you come to it looking for data that might advance an objective understanding of the phenomenon, you will probably be left wanting more.
In my case, I finished American Cosmic feeling that I had read a fascinating story about people who are convinced they came very close to something extraordinary.
What I am still not clear about is what evidence we, as readers, have to reach the same conclusion they did.
El problema comienza cuando clasificamos una idea antes de comprenderla
Por Iv谩n Vega Recabal
Existe una forma bastante habitual de aproximarnos a las hip贸tesis sobre el fen贸meno OVNI. Leemos una propuesta, escuchamos una entrevista o conocemos un nuevo modelo y, casi inmediatamente, intentamos ubicarlo dentro de aquello que ya conocemos. Pensamos que esto es parecido a Vall茅e, que aquello ya lo dec铆a Keel, que determinada explicaci贸n se parece a tal teor铆a o que, en el fondo, es pr谩cticamente lo mismo que propone otro investigador.
La comparaci贸n es inevitable. Nuestro conocimiento funciona precisamente as铆: comprendemos las ideas nuevas relacion谩ndolas con referencias anteriores. Es una forma natural de orientarnos frente a algo desconocido. El problema aparece cuando esa primera semejanza se transforma demasiado r谩pido en una conclusi贸n y dejamos de examinar qu茅 est谩 proponiendo realmente cada hip贸tesis.
En ufolog铆a esto ocurre con bastante frecuencia. Las distintas interpretaciones del fen贸meno terminan convirti茅ndose, casi sin darnos cuenta, en una especie de mapa de posiciones. Est谩n quienes se inclinan por la hip贸tesis extraterrestre, quienes consideran m谩s plausibles los modelos interdimensionales, quienes ponen el foco en la conciencia, quienes prefieren aproximaciones psicosociales y quienes adhieren a propuestas m谩s recientes sobre la interacci贸n entre el fen贸meno y el testigo.
Nada tiene de extra帽o sentirse intelectualmente m谩s pr贸ximo a una explicaci贸n que a otra. Todos lo hacemos, de una manera u otra. El problema comienza cuando esa afinidad condiciona la forma en que recibimos cualquier propuesta nueva. Entonces ya no la leemos solamente para comprenderla. La comparamos de inmediato con aquello que previamente consideramos correcto y, muchas veces, basta encontrar dos o tres semejanzas para clasificarla.
Pero una hip贸tesis no es una colecci贸n de palabras.
Pensemos, por ejemplo, en dos maneras distintas de explicar un mismo encuentro. En ambas, la conciencia del testigo participa de alguna forma y ciertos elementos de su memoria pueden aparecer durante la experiencia. A primera vista, las dos explicaciones podr铆an parecer muy similares. Sin embargo, la diferencia aparece cuando preguntamos c贸mo llegaron esos elementos hasta all铆.
Imaginemos a una persona que, durante un encuentro con una anomal铆a, ve repentinamente un ciervo. Pero no se trata de un ciervo cualquiera. Por alguna raz贸n, le recuerda de inmediato al que aparec铆a en un cuento que su madre le le铆a cuando era ni帽o. Es una imagen asociada a un recuerdo 铆ntimo, algo que pertenece a su historia personal.
Una primera hip贸tesis podr铆a proponer que una inteligencia tuvo acceso, de alguna manera, a ese recuerdo, lo seleccion贸 y lo incorpor贸 deliberadamente a la experiencia. Si eso fuera lo que ocurri贸, tendr铆a sentido preguntarnos por qu茅 eligi贸 precisamente esa imagen. ¿Intentaba comunicar algo? ¿Buscaba provocar una determinada reacci贸n emocional? ¿Quer铆a que el testigo reconociera algo familiar? En este modelo, el ciervo no aparecer铆a por casualidad: habr铆a sido escogido y, por lo tanto, su presencia podr铆a responder a una intenci贸n o contener alg煤n significado.
Pero existe otra manera de explicar exactamente la misma experiencia, y es aqu铆 donde podemos utilizar como ejemplo la Hip贸tesis ORBIT.
Seg煤n ORBIT, cuando una anomal铆a irrumpe en nuestro campo observable y se encuentra con el perceptor, se produce el entrelazamiento. Durante ese proceso puede existir una extracci贸n de informaci贸n cognitiva, pero esto no significa que haya existido un inter茅s deliberado por buscar aquel recuerdo infantil del ciervo. Nadie habr铆a tenido que rastrear la memoria del perceptor, encontrar esa imagen y escogerla entre muchas otras. Por el contrario, a trav茅s de un proceso autom谩tico y aleatorio, ese contenido podr铆a proyectarse en la micro realidad y formar parte de una realidad emergente.
El ciervo seguir铆a teniendo relaci贸n con la memoria del perceptor. Seguir铆a siendo significativo para 茅l. Incluso podr铆a provocarle una reacci贸n emocional intensa. Pero eso no significar铆a necesariamente que alguien escogi贸 esa imagen para transmitirle un mensaje.
Esta diferencia es importante.
En la primera explicaci贸n hay una selecci贸n: una inteligencia accede al recuerdo, escoge el ciervo y lo incorpora a la experiencia por alguna raz贸n.
En ORBIT, en cambio, el contenido podr铆a emerger como consecuencia del propio proceso de interacci贸n. Nadie tendr铆a que haber escogido el ciervo.
Desde el punto de vista del perceptor, ambas experiencias podr铆an ser pr谩cticamente indistinguibles. En los dos casos vio algo profundamente relacionado con su historia personal. Incluso podr铆a salir del encuentro convencido de que aquella imagen fue colocada all铆 espec铆ficamente para 茅l.
Sin embargo, detr谩s de esa misma experiencia estar铆amos proponiendo dos mecanismos completamente diferentes.
Y eso cambia tambi茅n las preguntas que hacemos despu茅s.
Si una inteligencia seleccion贸 deliberadamente el ciervo, resulta razonable preguntarnos qu茅 intentaba comunicar mediante esa imagen. Pero si el ciervo apareci贸 autom谩ticamente como consecuencia de la interacci贸n, la pregunta “¿qu茅 quisieron decirme?” parte de una suposici贸n equivocada. Tal vez nadie quiso decir nada mediante esa imagen.
Aqu铆 aparece adem谩s otro problema: nuestra tendencia a interpretar lo ocurrido desde una perspectiva profundamente humana. Si aparece un recuerdo personal durante una experiencia extraordinaria, resulta casi inevitable pensar que alguien lo escogi贸 por una raz贸n. Buscamos un prop贸sito, una intenci贸n, un mensaje. Incluso podemos llegar a considerar que existi贸 una predisposici贸n previa del perceptor para que el encuentro ocurriera. Pero parte de ese razonamiento podr铆a provenir de nuestro propio antropocentrismo: estamos acostumbrados a pensar que, si algo parece dirigido hacia nosotros y tiene un significado personal, entonces alguien debi贸 haber querido mostr谩rnoslo.
La Hip贸tesis ORBIT propone una posibilidad distinta. No ser铆a necesario que existiera un prop贸sito detr谩s de esa imagen ni una intenci贸n dirigida hacia el perceptor. Lo que habr铆a ocurrido ser铆a un proceso autom谩tico en el que determinados contenidos —im谩genes, recuerdos, miedos u otras proyecciones provenientes del propio perceptor— podr铆an emerger de forma aleatoria dentro de la experiencia.
Esto no significa que esos contenidos carezcan de significado para quien los experimenta. El ciervo puede seguir siendo profundamente significativo para el perceptor. Lo que cambia es algo mucho m谩s espec铆fico: que sea significativo para 茅l no demuestra que alguien lo haya seleccionado con la intenci贸n de comunicarle algo.
El acontecimiento puede parecer id茅ntico, pero la explicaci贸n no lo es.
¿Ahora qu茅 sucede cuando aquello que emerge no tiene una relaci贸n tan evidente con la historia del perceptor?
Imaginemos que, durante un encuentro, el perceptor observa una entidad humanoide vestida con lo que parece ser un traje tecnol贸gico. La entidad sostiene una peque帽a caja met谩lica. En determinado momento la abre y, desde su interior, comienzan a salir mariposas azules.
La escena es extra帽a. Incluso absurda.
¿Por qu茅 una caja? ¿Por qu茅 mariposas? ¿Por qu茅 azules? ¿Qu茅 relaci贸n podr铆a existir entre esos elementos y una supuesta inteligencia desconocida?
Nuestra primera reacci贸n probablemente ser铆a buscar un significado. Las mariposas representan transformaci贸n. Tal vez el color azul simboliza algo. La caja representa confinamiento. Podr铆amos construir muchas interpretaciones y algunas incluso resultar铆an bastante convincentes.
Pero supongamos que, tiempo despu茅s, al reconstruir la historia del perceptor aparecen algunos detalles inesperados. Su padre guardaba herramientas en una peque帽a caja met谩lica muy parecida. Durante su infancia coleccionaba im谩genes de mariposas. El azul estaba presente en la fachada de su colegio y la apariencia de aquella entidad guardaba cierta semejanza con una amalgama de ilustraciones de ciencia ficci贸n que hab铆a visto en su adolescencia.
Ninguno de esos recuerdos contiene la escena completa, tan solo son fragmentos de recuerdos almacenados en su memoria e inconsciente.
Entonces aparece una pregunta: ¿y si nadie construy贸 deliberadamente aquella escena para transmitir un mensaje? ¿Y si los distintos elementos emergieron del background cognitivo del perceptor y terminaron combin谩ndose, durante la interacci贸n, en algo completamente nuevo?
En ese caso, estar铆amos frente a una experiencia que para el perceptor es real, coherente mientras ocurre y profundamente desconcertante, pero cuya apariencia podr铆a haberse formado a partir de recuerdos, emociones, temores, expectativas e im谩genes almacenadas a lo largo de su vida.
Y aqu铆 el problema se vuelve todav铆a m谩s interesante.
Porque cuanto m谩s absurda sea la escena, mayor puede ser nuestra tentaci贸n de buscar detr谩s de ella una inteligencia que deliberadamente construy贸 el absurdo.
Pero quiz谩s, al menos en algunos casos, el absurdo no sea el mensaje.
Sea el resultado.
Y precisamente por eso dos hip贸tesis pueden hablar de conciencia, percepci贸n, recuerdos e interacci贸n y, aun as铆, no estar proponiendo lo mismo. Para comprender realmente una hip贸tesis no basta con reconocer las palabras que utiliza. Tenemos que averiguar qu茅 mecanismo propone detr谩s de ellas.
En ese caso, buscar una intenci贸n detr谩s de cada elemento podr铆a llevarnos en una direcci贸n equivocada.
El acontecimiento puede parecer id茅ntico. La explicaci贸n no lo es.
Por eso considero que la frase “esto ya lo dijo alguien antes” tiene una utilidad bastante limitada si no damos el siguiente paso. Naturalmente existen antecedentes. Despu茅s de cerca de ocho d茅cadas de la etapa moderna del fen贸meno OVNI, si tomamos como referencia el ciclo iniciado en 1947, ser铆a dif铆cil encontrar una hip贸tesis que no comparta elementos con propuestas anteriores. Conciencia, percepci贸n, otras realidades, inteligencias desconocidas, componentes ps铆quicos, simbolismo, folklore, participaci贸n del observador y alteraciones de la experiencia han sido discutidos durante d茅cadas.
Eso es parte natural de la construcci贸n del conocimiento. Las ideas no aparecen aisladas. Se forman dentro de una historia, dialogan con propuestas anteriores y, muchas veces, nacen precisamente de las dificultades que dejaron esas propuestas.
Jacques Vall茅e no apareci贸 en un vac铆o. John Keel tampoco. J. Allen Hynek modific贸 profundamente su propia manera de aproximarse al fen贸meno a medida que acumul贸 experiencia con la casu铆stica. Carl Jung examin贸 el problema desde un territorio completamente diferente. Bertrand M茅heust estudi贸 sus relaciones con el imaginario cultural y la ciencia ficci贸n. Thomas Bullard abord贸 la estructura de los relatos y su relaci贸n con el folklore. Jos茅 Antonio Caravaca ha desarrollado posteriormente un modelo espec铆fico en el que la psique del testigo desempe帽a un papel central. M谩s recientemente, tambi茅n han surgido nuevas propuestas que intentan reorganizar algunos de estos elementos desde mecanismos distintos, como la Hip贸tesis ORBIT, desarrollada por Iv谩n Vega Recabal.
Podemos encontrar puntos de contacto entre ellos. Ser铆a extra帽o que no existieran. Pero sus trabajos no son equivalentes simplemente porque coincidan en determinados aspectos. Lo interesante est谩 precisamente en las diferencias.
Sin embargo, cuando convertimos las hip贸tesis en una especie de cat谩logo de escuelas, podemos terminar haciendo algo curioso: en vez de utilizar a los autores anteriores para comprender mejor una propuesta nueva, los utilizamos para clasificarla antes de haberla examinado completamente. Encontramos una semejanza, colocamos una etiqueta y, poco a poco, la etiqueta comienza a reemplazar el an谩lisis.
Esto ocurre tambi茅n en sentido contrario. Una persona convencida de la hip贸tesis extraterrestre puede descartar r谩pidamente cualquier modelo que incorpore la conciencia porque interpreta que est谩 negando la realidad f铆sica del fen贸meno. Alguien interesado en aproximaciones psicosociales puede considerar innecesario postular una anomal铆a objetiva. Quien se siente pr贸ximo a determinado investigador puede interpretar cualquier propuesta semejante como una repetici贸n de sus ideas.
En todos esos casos sucede algo parecido: la hip贸tesis nueva deja de ser examinada desde aquello que propone y comienza a ser interpretada desde la posici贸n previa de quien la recibe. La pregunta deja de ser “¿qu茅 est谩 diciendo esta hip贸tesis?” y pasa a convertirse, aunque no siempre lo advirtamos, en “¿d贸nde la coloco dentro del mapa que ya conozco?”.
Quiz谩s por eso ser铆a 煤til abandonar por un momento la pregunta acerca de qu茅 hip贸tesis “seguimos”. No necesitamos pertenecer a ninguna.
Podemos encontrar extraordinariamente valiosa una parte del trabajo de Vall茅e y discrepar con otra. Podemos reconocer intuiciones importantes en Keel sin aceptar todas sus conclusiones. Podemos considerar que una hip贸tesis extraterrestre explica razonablemente determinados acontecimientos y resulta insuficiente frente a otros. Podemos encontrar interesante un modelo centrado en la conciencia y, al mismo tiempo, cuestionar el mecanismo concreto mediante el cual intenta explicar esa participaci贸n.
Incluso podemos considerar simult谩neamente varias hip贸tesis. No existe ninguna contradicci贸n en hacerlo mientras ninguna haya sido demostrada.
Esto es especialmente importante porque todav铆a ni siquiera sabemos si aquello que denominamos “fen贸meno OVNI” corresponde a una 煤nica clase de acontecimiento. El propio t茅rmino puede estar agrupando experiencias y observaciones de naturaleza muy disimiles simplemente porque, en un primer momento, no hemos podido identificarlas o explicarlas satisfactoriamente.
Estamos intentando encontrar una sola explicaci贸n para fen贸menos diferentes. De seguro una parte de la casu铆stica tenga explicaciones convencionales; otra podr铆a corresponder a tecnolog铆as desconocidas para los observadores, y otra podr铆a contener acontecimientos cuya naturaleza todav铆a no comprendemos. Incluso dentro de este 煤ltimo grupo podr铆an coexistir causas distintas.
No sabemos si es as铆, pero mientras esa posibilidad contin煤e abierta deber铆amos tenerla presente. Si ese escenario fuera correcto, preguntarnos cu谩l es “la hip贸tesis verdadera” podr铆a estar mal planteado desde el comienzo. Podr铆an existir varias explicaciones verdaderas para distintos conjuntos de casos.
Esto cambia bastante la manera de aproximarnos al problema. En lugar de pedir a una sola hip贸tesis que explique todo aquello que hemos colocado bajo una misma denominaci贸n, podr铆amos preguntarnos qu茅 clase de acontecimientos consigue explicar, cu谩les quedan fuera de su alcance y en qu茅 circunstancias deja de funcionar.
Por eso la diversidad de hip贸tesis no deber铆a entenderse como una competencia donde finalmente una tendr谩 que derrotar a otra. Podemos colocarlas frente a los mismos acontecimientos y observar qu茅 consigue explicar cada una, d贸nde aparecen sus dificultades y, especialmente, qu茅 nuevas preguntas nos obligan a formular.
Ah铆 las peque帽as diferencias adquieren una importancia enorme. Una hip贸tesis que propone una interacci贸n deliberada buscar谩 determinadas caracter铆sticas en un caso, mientras que una que propone un proceso autom谩tico buscar谩 otras. Una que interpreta el absurdo como comunicaci贸n intentar谩 encontrar significado. Otra podr铆a investigar si ese absurdo presenta correlaciones con contenidos cognitivos del testigo. Una propuesta que considera literalmente la apariencia de una entidad formular谩 preguntas distintas de otra que contemple la posibilidad de una manifestaci贸n emergente.
Y esas preguntas importan porque terminan orientando aquello que buscamos en los casos, lo que registramos de los testimonios e incluso los detalles que podemos pasar por alto. Desde cierta distancia todas pueden parecer variaciones de una misma idea. Cuando llegan a la casu铆stica dejan de serlo.
Ese es, a mi juicio, el criterio m谩s 煤til cuando conocemos una nueva hip贸tesis. Antes de preguntarnos a qu茅 autor se parece, podr铆amos intentar comprender exactamente qu茅 proceso est谩 proponiendo: qu茅 ocurre primero y qu茅 sucede despu茅s; qu茅 necesita asumir y qu茅 decide dejar abierto; qu茅 papel concede al testigo y cu谩l atribuye a la anomal铆a; si necesita intenci贸n o comunicaci贸n para funcionar y, sobre todo, qu茅 observaciones deber铆an aparecer en los casos si realmente estuviera en lo correcto.
Esta 煤ltima pregunta me parece particularmente importante. Una hip贸tesis no solo deber铆a ayudarnos a reinterpretar lo que ya conocemos; tambi茅n deber铆a permitirnos preguntarnos qu茅 esperar铆amos encontrar si el mecanismo que propone tuviera alguna correspondencia con aquello que ocurre.
Despu茅s podemos compararla con todo lo anterior y seguramente encontraremos semejanzas. Eso no deber铆a sorprendernos ni disminuir el valor de una propuesta. Muchas veces el conocimiento avanza precisamente porque alguien reorganiza elementos conocidos, establece una relaci贸n distinta entre ellos o descubre que una peque帽a diferencia en el mecanismo lo cual permite mirar los mismos datos desde otro lugar.
La m煤sica es posiblemente uno de los mejores ejemplos. Con un n煤mero limitado de notas se han creado millones de canciones, y seguimos creando otras nuevas. Las notas pueden ser las mismas; lo que cambia es la manera de combinarlas, el ritmo, la relaci贸n entre ellas y las emociones que esa nueva composici贸n consigue producir.
Con las hip贸tesis puede ocurrir algo parecido. Compartir algunos elementos no significa necesariamente estar frente a la misma explicaci贸n.
Una idea no necesita surgir completamente aislada de todo antecedente para resultar valiosa. Lo importante es averiguar qu茅 a帽ade, qu茅 modifica, qu茅 explica de manera distinta y, sobre todo, si esa diferencia tiene consecuencias cuando regresamos a los casos.
Podemos tomar como ejemplo la Hip贸tesis ORBIT. Algunos de sus elementos pueden encontrar puntos de contacto con propuestas anteriores, especialmente cuando hablamos de conciencia, percepci贸n, interacci贸n o participaci贸n del testigo. Pero quedarse 煤nicamente con esas semejanzas impedir铆a observar algunas diferencias importantes en el mecanismo que propone.
Entre sus principales distinciones podemos mencionar:
•El entrelazamiento ser铆a autom谩tico. No ser铆a iniciado deliberadamente por la anomal铆a ni provocado por el perceptor. Esta diferencia tiene implicaciones importantes, porque elimina la necesidad de atribuir desde el comienzo una intenci贸n al origen de esa conexi贸n.
•El efecto burbuja y la micro realidad ser铆an dos procesos distintos. Aunque ambos puedan presentarse asociados dentro de determinados encuentros, esta hip贸tesis no los considera dos nombres para describir un mismo fen贸meno. Distinguirlos permite analizar sus caracter铆sticas y consecuencias por separado, en lugar de asumir que toda alteraci贸n de la experiencia responde necesariamente a un 煤nico mecanismo.
•La anomal铆a no tendr铆a que ser necesariamente un ente inteligente. La Hip贸tesis ORBIT deja abierta la posibilidad de que aquello con lo que interact煤a el perceptor pueda corresponder a una inteligencia, pero tambi茅n contempla que pudiera tratarse de un proceso cuya naturaleza todav铆a desconocemos. El modelo, por tanto, no necesita resolver de antemano qu茅 es la anomal铆a para describir el mecanismo de interacci贸n.
•No existir铆a una intenci贸n o prop贸sito dirigido hacia el perceptor. Si el entrelazamiento ocurre autom谩ticamente, la experiencia no requiere necesariamente que la anomal铆a haya elegido al perceptor, quiera comunicarse con 茅l o pretenda producir deliberadamente determinados contenidos.
Como pueden ver, aqu铆 se distingue el problema de clasificar una hip贸tesis 煤nicamente por los conceptos que comparte con otras. Si dij茅ramos simplemente que ORBIT relaciona anomal铆a, conciencia, percepci贸n e informaci贸n cognitiva, encontrar铆amos antecedentes con relativa facilidad. Pero eso todav铆a no nos dir铆a qu茅 est谩 proponiendo.
Para comprenderla tendr铆amos que observar c贸mo relaciona esos elementos, qu茅 procesos considera autom谩ticos, cu谩les distingue entre s铆, qu茅 supuestos necesita y, a煤n m谩s importante, cu谩les ya no necesita asumir.
Ah铆 es donde una semejanza deja de ser una equivalencia.
Por eso las hip贸tesis no deber铆an convertirse en bandos, especialmente para quienes las leemos, escuchamos o utilizamos para intentar comprender el fen贸meno. No necesitamos escoger una camiseta antes de entrar a la discusi贸n.
Podemos leer a Vall茅e sin volvernos “valleanos”. Podemos interesarnos por Keel sin interpretar cada caso desde Keel. Podemos estudiar propuestas contempor谩neas sin sentir que aceptar una idea obliga a rechazar inmediatamente las dem谩s. Tambi茅n podemos cambiar de opini贸n y, de hecho, deber铆amos conservar siempre esa posibilidad.
No hay que olvidar que una hip贸tesis es, precisamente, una herramienta provisional para aproximarnos a algo que todav铆a no comprendemos por completo. Si la evidencia futura obliga a modificarla, combinarla con otra o incluso abandonarla, hacerlo no deber铆a interpretarse como una derrota. Deber铆a formar parte del proceso.
A medida que la propuesta fue desarroll谩ndose, Vega Recabal termin贸 cuestion谩ndose algunos de los supuestos sobre los que hab铆a construido esa primera interpretaci贸n. Advirti贸 que estaba atribuyendo a la anomal铆a caracter铆sticas demasiado cercanas a nuestra propia manera de pensar: intenci贸n, prop贸sito, voluntad e incluso determinadas formas de relacionarse con el perceptor. En otras palabras, estaba intentando comprender algo cuya naturaleza desconoc铆a utilizando categor铆as profundamente humanas.
La propia evoluci贸n de la Hip贸tesis ORBIT ofrece un ejemplo de ello. En 2023 dej茅 registrado en mi libro Contacto de otra Dimensi贸n, espec铆ficamente en la p谩gina 306, un primer atisbo de algunas de las ideas que posteriormente formar铆an parte de la g茅nesis de ORBIT.
Hoy puedo reconocer que aquella primera interpretaci贸n conten铆a un problema.
En ese momento estaba atribuyendo a la anomal铆a caracter铆sticas demasiado cercanas a nuestra propia manera de pensar: intenci贸n, prop贸sito, voluntad e incluso determinadas formas de relacionarse con el perceptor. Sin advertirlo completamente, estaba intentando comprender algo cuya naturaleza desconoc铆a utilizando categor铆as profundamente humanas.
Podr铆a haberme conformado con aquella explicaci贸n. Despu茅s de todo, ya la hab铆a pensado, desarrollado y finalmente publicado. Tambi茅n podr铆a haber seguido buscando argumentos para sostenerla, reinterpretando aquello que no encajaba o defendiendo una idea simplemente porque era m铆a.
Pero habr铆a sido contradictorio con el mismo principio que estoy defendiendo en estas p谩ginas.
Si una hip贸tesis es una herramienta provisional, la m铆a tambi茅n tiene que serlo.
Por eso decid铆 volver sobre mis propios supuestos y cuestionar aquello que yo mismo hab铆a propuesto. No fue simplemente cambiar una explicaci贸n por otra. Fue reconocer que algunas de las preguntas que estaba formulando pod铆an estar condicionadas por una premisa que yo hab铆a introducido sin suficiente justificaci贸n: que detr谩s de la anomal铆a necesariamente deb铆a existir una inteligencia con intenci贸n.
Y entonces apareci贸 una pregunta bastante m谩s inc贸moda: ¿y si estamos buscando intenci贸n simplemente porque nosotros necesitamos encontrarla?
Ese cuestionamiento termin贸 siendo importante en la evoluci贸n de ORBIT. La anomal铆a ya no necesita necesariamente querer comunicarse, elegir al perceptor o construir deliberadamente cada elemento de la experiencia. Incluso queda abierta una posibilidad m谩s radical: que aquello que llamamos anomal铆a no corresponda necesariamente a una entidad inteligente, sino que pueda tratarse de un proceso cuya verdadera naturaleza todav铆a desconocemos.
Abandonar una idea que uno mismo ha publicado puede resultar inc贸modo, pero aferrarse a ella 煤nicamente porque lleva nuestro nombre ser铆a todav铆a m谩s problem谩tico. Si ma帽ana aparece evidencia suficiente para demostrar que ORBIT est谩 equivocada, tendr茅 que hacer exactamente lo mismo.
Creo profundamente que comprender el fen贸meno deber铆a ser siempre m谩s importante que defender la explicaci贸n que hemos construido sobre 茅l.
Las hip贸tesis son mapas provisionales de un territorio que conocemos muy poco. Algunos se superponen. Otros quiz谩s contengan solamente una parte de la respuesta. Tambi茅n es posible que ciertos mapas resulten 煤tiles para una zona del territorio y completamente inadecuados para otra.
Precisamente por eso ser铆a prematuro convertir cualquiera de esos mapas en una frontera.
Entonces cuando una nueva hip贸tesis emerge e irrumpe en nuestro campo observable, deber铆amos concederle primero algo mucho m谩s sencillo: la oportunidad de explicarse antes de decidir a cu谩l de las anteriores se parece.
HYPOTHESES ARE NOT CAMPS The Problem Begins When We Classify an Idea Before Understanding It
By Iv谩n Vega Recabal
There is a fairly common way of approaching hypotheses about the UFO phenomenon. We read a proposal, listen to an interview, or encounter a new model and, almost immediately, try to place it within what we already know. We think that this resembles Vall茅e, that Keel already said something similar, that a particular explanation sounds like a certain theory, or that, deep down, it is practically the same as what another researcher has proposed.
Comparison is inevitable. This is precisely how our knowledge works: we understand new ideas by relating them to previous points of reference. It is a natural way of finding our bearings when confronted with something unfamiliar. The problem arises when that initial resemblance turns too quickly into a conclusion and we stop examining what each hypothesis is actually proposing.
In ufology, this happens quite often. The different interpretations of the phenomenon end up becoming, almost without our realizing it, a kind of map of positions. There are those who favor the extraterrestrial hypothesis, those who consider interdimensional models more plausible, those who focus on consciousness, those who prefer psychosocial approaches, and those who subscribe to more recent proposals concerning the interaction between the phenomenon and the witness.
There is nothing unusual about feeling intellectually closer to one explanation than to another. We all do it, in one way or another. The problem begins when that affinity shapes the way we receive any new proposal. At that point, we are no longer reading it simply to understand it. We immediately compare it with what we already consider to be correct, and often finding two or three similarities is enough for us to classify it.
But a hypothesis is not a collection of words.
Consider, for example, two different ways of explaining the same encounter. In both, the witness’s consciousness participates in some way, and certain elements from their memory may appear during the experience. At first glance, the two explanations might seem very similar. The difference emerges, however, when we ask how those elements got there.
Imagine a person who, during an encounter with an anomaly, suddenly sees a deer. But this is not just any deer. For some reason, it immediately reminds them of the one that appeared in a story their mother used to read to them when they were a child. It is an image associated with an intimate memory, something that belongs to their personal history.
A first hypothesis might propose that an intelligence somehow gained access to that memory, selected it, and deliberately incorporated it into the experience. If that were what happened, it would make sense to ask why it chose that particular image. Was it trying to communicate something? Was it seeking to provoke a specific emotional response? Did it want the witness to recognize something familiar? In this model, the deer would not appear by chance: it would have been chosen, and therefore its presence might reflect an intention or carry some meaning.
But there is another way of explaining exactly the same experience, and this is where we can use the ORBIT Hypothesis as an example.
According to ORBIT, when an anomaly enters our observable field and encounters the perceiver, entanglement occurs. During this process, cognitive information may be extracted, but this does not mean there was any deliberate interest in searching for that childhood memory of the deer. No one would have needed to search through the perceiver’s memory, locate that image, and select it from among many others. Instead, through an automatic and random process, that content could be projected into the micro-reality and become part of an emergent reality.
The deer would still be connected to the perceiver’s memory. It would still be meaningful to them. It might even trigger an intense emotional response. But that would not necessarily mean that someone chose that image in order to convey a message.
This distinction is important.
In the first explanation, there is a selection: an intelligence accesses the memory, chooses the deer, and incorporates it into the experience for some reason.
In ORBIT, by contrast, the content could emerge as a consequence of the interaction process itself. No one would have had to choose the deer.
From the perceiver’s point of view, the two experiences could be virtually indistinguishable. In both cases, they saw something deeply connected to their personal history. They might even come away from the encounter convinced that the image had been placed there specifically for them.
Yet behind that same experience, we would be proposing two entirely different mechanisms.
And that also changes the questions we ask afterward.
If an intelligence deliberately selected the deer, then it is reasonable to ask what it was trying to communicate through that image. But if the deer appeared automatically as a consequence of the interaction, the question “What were they trying to tell me?” begins with a mistaken assumption. Perhaps no one was trying to say anything through that image.
This also reveals another problem: our tendency to interpret what happened from a profoundly human perspective. If a personal memory appears during an extraordinary experience, it is almost inevitable to think that someone chose it for a reason. We look for purpose, intention, a message. We may even come to believe that the perceiver had some prior predisposition for the encounter to occur. But part of that reasoning may stem from our own anthropocentrism: we are accustomed to thinking that if something seems directed at us and carries personal meaning, then someone must have intended to show it to us.
The ORBIT Hypothesis proposes a different possibility. There would be no need for a purpose behind that image or for an intention directed toward the perceiver. What would have occurred instead is an automatic process in which certain contents—images, memories, fears, or other projections originating from the perceiver—could emerge randomly within the experience.
This does not mean that such contents are devoid of meaning for the person experiencing them. The deer may still be deeply meaningful to the perceiver. What changes is something much more specific: the fact that it is meaningful to them does not demonstrate that someone selected it with the intention of communicating something.
The event may appear identical, but the explanation is not.
Now, what happens when what emerges has no such obvious connection to the perceiver’s personal history?
Imagine that, during an encounter, the perceiver observes a humanoid entity wearing what appears to be a technological suit. The entity is holding a small metal box. At a certain point, it opens the box, and blue butterflies begin to emerge from inside.
The scene is strange. Even absurd.
Why a box? Why butterflies? Why blue? What possible connection could there be between those elements and a supposed unknown intelligence?
Our first reaction would probably be to look for meaning. Butterflies represent transformation. Perhaps the color blue symbolizes something. The box represents confinement. We could construct many interpretations, some of which might even seem quite convincing.
But suppose that, sometime later, while reconstructing the perceiver’s personal history, a few unexpected details emerge. Their father used to keep tools in a small metal box very much like that one. As a child, the perceiver collected pictures of butterflies. Blue was prominently featured on the facade of their school, and the appearance of the entity bore some resemblance to an amalgam of science-fiction illustrations they had seen during adolescence.
None of those memories contains the complete scene. They are merely fragments of memories stored in the perceiver’s memory and unconscious.
A question then arises: what if no one deliberately constructed that scene in order to convey a message? What if the different elements emerged from the perceiver’s cognitive background and, during the interaction, ended up combining into something entirely new?
In that case, we would be dealing with an experience that is real to the perceiver, coherent while it is occurring, and profoundly bewildering, but whose appearance may have been formed from memories, emotions, fears, expectations, and images accumulated throughout their life.
And this is where the problem becomes even more interesting.
Because the more absurd the scene, the greater our temptation may be to look behind it for an intelligence that deliberately constructed the absurdity.
But perhaps, at least in some cases, the absurdity is not the message.
It is the result.
And that is precisely why two hypotheses can speak of consciousness, perception, memories, and interaction and still not be proposing the same thing. To truly understand a hypothesis, it is not enough to recognize the words it uses. We have to determine what mechanism it proposes behind them.
In that case, searching for an intention behind every element could lead us in the wrong direction.
The event may appear identical. The explanation is not.
That is why I believe the phrase “someone already said this before” has fairly limited usefulness unless we take the next step. Naturally, there are precedents. After nearly eight decades of the modern era of the UFO phenomenon, if we take the cycle that began in 1947 as our reference point, it would be difficult to find a hypothesis that does not share elements with earlier proposals. Consciousness, perception, other realities, unknown intelligences, psychic components, symbolism, folklore, observer participation, and alterations of experience have all been discussed for decades.
This is a natural part of how knowledge is built. Ideas do not emerge in isolation. They take shape within a history, enter into dialogue with earlier proposals, and often arise precisely from the difficulties those proposals left unresolved.
Jacques Vall茅e did not emerge in a vacuum. Neither did John Keel. J. Allen Hynek profoundly changed his own approach to the phenomenon as he accumulated experience with the case material. Carl Jung examined the problem from an entirely different perspective. Bertrand M茅heust studied its relationship with the cultural imagination and science fiction. Thomas Bullard explored the structure of encounter narratives and their relationship to folklore. Jos茅 Antonio Caravaca later developed a specific model in which the witness’s psyche plays a central role. More recently, new proposals have also emerged that attempt to reorganize some of these elements through different mechanisms, such as the ORBIT Hypothesis, developed by Iv谩n Vega Recabal.
We can find points of contact among them. It would be strange if there were none. But their work is not equivalent simply because they coincide on certain aspects. What is interesting lies precisely in the differences.
However, when we turn hypotheses into a kind of catalog of schools of thought, we can end up doing something curious: instead of using earlier authors to better understand a new proposal, we use them to classify it before we have fully examined it. We identify a similarity, attach a label, and little by little, the label begins to replace the analysis.
This also happens in the opposite direction. Someone convinced of the extraterrestrial hypothesis may quickly dismiss any model that incorporates consciousness because they interpret it as denying the physical reality of the phenomenon. Someone interested in psychosocial approaches may consider it unnecessary to posit an objective anomaly. Someone who feels particularly aligned with a certain researcher may interpret any similar proposal as merely repeating that researcher’s ideas.
In all these cases, something similar happens: the new hypothesis is no longer examined on the basis of what it actually proposes and instead begins to be interpreted through the preexisting position of the person encountering it. The question ceases to be “What is this hypothesis saying?” and becomes, even if we do not always realize it, “Where do I place it within the map I already know?”
Perhaps that is why it would be useful, for a moment, to abandon the question of which hypothesis we “follow.” We do not need to belong to any of them.
We can find one part of Vall茅e’s work extraordinarily valuable while disagreeing with another. We can recognize important insights in Keel without accepting all of his conclusions. We can consider that an extraterrestrial hypothesis reasonably explains certain events while proving insufficient when confronted with others. We can find a consciousness-centered model interesting while, at the same time, questioning the specific mechanism through which it attempts to explain that participation.
We can even consider several hypotheses simultaneously. There is no contradiction in doing so as long as none of them has been demonstrated.
This is especially important because we do not yet even know whether what we call the “UFO phenomenon” corresponds to a single class of event. The term itself may be grouping together experiences and observations of very different natures simply because, at first, we have been unable to identify or satisfactorily explain them.
We may be trying to find a single explanation for different phenomena. A portion of the case material almost certainly has conventional explanations; another portion could involve technologies unknown to the observers; and another could contain events whose nature we still do not understand. Even within this last group, different causes could coexist.
We do not know whether this is the case, but as long as that possibility remains open, we should keep it in mind. If such a scenario were correct, asking which is “the true hypothesis” might be the wrong question from the outset. There could be several valid explanations for different sets of cases.
This substantially changes the way we approach the problem. Instead of asking a single hypothesis to explain everything we have placed under the same label, we could ask what kinds of events it succeeds in explaining, which ones fall outside its scope, and under what circumstances it ceases to work.
For this reason, the diversity of hypotheses should not be understood as a competition in which one must ultimately defeat the others. We can place them alongside the same events and observe what each one succeeds in explaining, where its difficulties arise, and, especially, what new questions it forces us to ask.
This is where small differences become enormously important. A hypothesis that proposes deliberate interaction will look for certain characteristics in a case, while one that proposes an automatic process will look for others. One that interprets absurdity as communication will attempt to find meaning. Another might investigate whether that absurdity correlates with cognitive content belonging to the witness. A proposal that takes the appearance of an entity literally will formulate different questions from one that considers the possibility of an emergent manifestation.
And those questions matter because they ultimately shape what we look for in cases, what we record from witness testimony, and even which details we may overlook. From a distance, they may all appear to be variations of the same idea. Once they are applied to the case material, they cease to be so.
That, in my view, is the most useful criterion when encountering a new hypothesis. Before asking which author it resembles, we could try to understand exactly what process it is proposing: what happens first and what happens afterward; what it needs to assume and what it chooses to leave open; what role it assigns to the witness and what role it attributes to the anomaly; whether it requires intention or communication in order to function; and, above all, what observations we should expect to find in the cases if it were actually correct.
This last question seems particularly important to me. A hypothesis should not only help us reinterpret what we already know; it should also allow us to ask what we would expect to find if the mechanism it proposes actually corresponded, in some way, to what is occurring.
Afterward, we can compare it with everything that came before, and we will surely find similarities. That should neither surprise us nor diminish the value of a proposal. Knowledge often advances precisely because someone reorganizes familiar elements, establishes a different relationship between them, or discovers that a small difference in the mechanism allows us to look at the same data from another perspective.
Music is perhaps one of the best examples. With a limited number of notes, millions of songs have been created, and we continue to create new ones. The notes may be the same; what changes is how they are combined, the rhythm, the relationships among them, and the emotions that the new composition is able to evoke.
Something similar can happen with hypotheses. Sharing certain elements does not necessarily mean that we are dealing with the same explanation.
An idea does not need to emerge completely isolated from every precedent in order to be valuable. What matters is determining what it adds, what it changes, what it explains differently, and, above all, whether that difference has consequences when we return to the cases.
We can take the ORBIT Hypothesis as an example. Some of its elements may have points of contact with earlier proposals, particularly when we speak of consciousness, perception, interaction, or the participation of the witness. But focusing solely on those similarities would prevent us from recognizing some important differences in the mechanism it proposes.
Among its principal distinctions are:
•Entanglement would be automatic. It would not be deliberately initiated by the anomaly or triggered by the perceiver. This distinction has important implications because it removes the need to attribute intention to the origin of that connection from the outset.
•The bubble effect and the micro-reality would be two distinct processes. Although both may occur in association with one another during certain encounters, this hypothesis does not regard them as two different terms for the same phenomenon. Distinguishing between them makes it possible to analyze their characteristics and consequences separately rather than assuming that every alteration of experience necessarily results from a single mechanism.
•The anomaly would not necessarily have to be an intelligent entity. The ORBIT Hypothesis leaves open the possibility that whatever the perceiver interacts with could be an intelligence, but it also considers that it might instead be a process whose nature we do not yet understand. The model therefore does not need to determine in advance what the anomaly is in order to describe the mechanism of interaction.
•There would be no intention or purpose directed toward the perceiver. If entanglement occurs automatically, the experience does not necessarily require the anomaly to have chosen the perceiver, to want to communicate with them, or to deliberately produce particular contents.
As we can see, this illustrates the problem with classifying a hypothesis solely according to the concepts it shares with others. If we simply said that ORBIT connects anomaly, consciousness, perception, and cognitive information, we could find precedents relatively easily. But that still would not tell us what it is actually proposing.
To understand it, we would need to examine how it relates those elements, which processes it considers automatic, which ones it distinguishes from one another, what assumptions it requires, and, even more importantly, which assumptions it no longer needs to make.
That is where similarity ceases to be equivalence.
This is why hypotheses should not become camps, especially for those of us who read, listen to, or use them in an attempt to understand the phenomenon. We do not need to choose a jersey before entering the discussion.
We can read Vall茅e without becoming “Vall茅eans.” We can take an interest in Keel without interpreting every case through Keel. We can study contemporary proposals without feeling that accepting one idea obliges us to immediately reject all the others. We can also change our minds—and, in fact, we should always preserve that possibility.
We should not forget that a hypothesis is precisely that: a provisional tool for approaching something we still do not fully understand. If future evidence requires us to modify it, combine it with another, or even abandon it altogether, doing so should not be regarded as a defeat. It should be part of the process.
As the proposal developed, Vega Recabal eventually began to question some of the assumptions on which he had built that initial interpretation. He realized that he was attributing to the anomaly characteristics that were too closely aligned with our own way of thinking: intention, purpose, will, and even particular ways of relating to the perceiver. In other words, he was attempting to understand something whose nature was unknown by using profoundly human categories.
The evolution of the ORBIT Hypothesis itself provides an example of this. In 2023, in my book Contacto de otra Dimensi贸n, specifically on page 306, I recorded an early glimpse of some of the ideas that would later become part of the genesis of ORBIT.
Today, I can recognize that this initial interpretation contained a problem.
At the time, I was attributing to the anomaly characteristics that were too closely aligned with our own way of thinking: intention, purpose, will, and even particular ways of relating to the perceiver. Without fully realizing it, I was attempting to understand something whose nature was unknown by using profoundly human categories.
I could have settled for that explanation. After all, I had already conceived it, developed it, and ultimately published it. I could also have continued searching for arguments to support it, reinterpreting whatever did not fit or defending an idea simply because it was mine.
But that would have contradicted the very principle I am defending in these pages.
If a hypothesis is a provisional tool, then mine must be provisional as well.
That is why I decided to revisit my own assumptions and question what I myself had proposed. It was not simply a matter of replacing one explanation with another. It meant recognizing that some of the questions I was asking might have been shaped by a premise I had introduced without sufficient justification: that behind the anomaly there necessarily had to be an intelligence with intention.
And then a far more uncomfortable question emerged: what if we are searching for intention simply because we need to find it?
That question ultimately became important in the evolution of ORBIT. The anomaly no longer necessarily needs to want to communicate, choose the perceiver, or deliberately construct every element of the experience. An even more radical possibility also remains open: that what we call the anomaly may not necessarily correspond to an intelligent entity at all, but could instead be a process whose true nature we still do not understand.
Abandoning an idea that one has already published can be uncomfortable, but clinging to it solely because our name is attached to it would be even more problematic. If sufficient evidence emerges tomorrow to demonstrate that ORBIT is wrong, I will have to do exactly the same thing.
I firmly believe that understanding the phenomenon should always be more important than defending the explanation we have constructed around it.
Hypotheses are provisional maps of a territory we know very little about. Some overlap. Others may contain only part of the answer. It is also possible that certain maps may prove useful for one region of the territory while being completely inadequate for another.
That is precisely why it would be premature to turn any of those maps into a boundary.
So when a new hypothesis emerges and enters our observable field, we should first grant it something much simpler: the opportunity to explain itself before deciding which of the previous ones it resembles.
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