The Effect
It is the mid-1970s in Manila, the bustling capital of the Philippines. The city is alive with the sounds of jeepneys pootling down crowded streets, the scent of street food wafting through the humid air, and, in a small, dimly lit room tucked away from the chaos, a bizarre event is happening. The room is thick with incense, the air heavy with anticipation and hope. Family members cluster around a table, their faces serious. At the centre of it all stands a man wearing a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, his hands bare and steady—he is a psychic surgeon.
There are no sterilised surgical tools, no antiseptic, no beeping monitors. Instead, the only instruments are the surgeon’s hands. Hands that are not even wearing surgical gloves. A 55 year-old American man named David, lies on the table, eyes tightly closed. He has exhausted every other medical option to cure his stomach cancer. The psychic surgeon begins with a prayer or a chant, sometimes invoking the names of saints or ancestors, setting a ritualistic tone that blurs the line between medicine and mysticism.
Then, with a series of dramatic gestures, the surgeon appears to do the impossible. He presses his fingers into David’s abdomen, and to the astonishment of David’s watching family, his hands seem to sink into the flesh as if it were soft clay. There is no scalpel, no incision—just bare hands parting the skin. Blood wells up, dark and vivid, his family gasps. The surgeon’s hands move with practised precision, and suddenly, he pulls out what looks like a tumor—a mass of bloody tissue, still pulsing, unmistakably organic. He holds it aloft for all to see.
David, who moments before was writhing in pain or weakened by illness, now sits up, dazed but apparently healed. The skin is unbroken, the wound vanished as if it had never existed. Family members weep with joy, his wife falls to her knees in gratitude. The psychic surgeon, calm and composed, offers a gentle smile, as if to say, “This is all in a day’s work.”
Word of these miracles had spread rapidly, first through local communities, then across the nation, and soon, around the world. By the late 1970s, the Philippines has become a global destination for those seeking cures for cancer, arthritis, and every manner of chronic or terminal illness. International newspapers and television crews descend on Manila, eager to capture the phenomenon. The stories are everywhere: “I saw it with my own eyes!” “My pain vanished!” “He saved my life!” Even celebrities and politicians are drawn in—Andy Kaufman, the American comedian, famously travelled to the Philippines in search of a cure for his cancer, and Shirley MacLaine, the Hollywood actress, wrote about her experiences with psychic surgeons in her memoirs.
The media can’t get enough of these stories that seem to defy the very laws of nature. Documentaries air footage of the procedures, showing blood, tissue, and apparent healing, all performed without anaesthesia or surgical tools. The psychic surgeons become celebrities in their own right, their reputations growing with every “miracle” performed. For those in the room, and for millions watching from afar, it is nothing short of a modern-day miracle. The impossible, it seems, has become reality.
The Method
Psychic surgeons seem to hold the power to cure the incurable, quickly and painlessly giving life saving operations that no hospital surgeon could do. But as with all great illusions, the closer you look, the more the cracks begin to show. Behind the scenes, psychic surgery is not a miracle, but a masterclass in sleight-of-hand, psychological manipulation, and the exploitation of hope and desperation.
The so-called “incision” is, in reality, a carefully crafted illusion. The psychic surgeon uses his fingers to pinch and fold the patient’s skin, creating the convincing appearance of penetration without ever breaking the surface. Skilled surgeons can bend their fingers at the top knuckles, giving the impression that the tips of their fingers have just pierced the flesh. With proper timing they can bend their knuckles in a wave as they press their hand down. This creates a striking visual of their hand slowly sinking right into the patient’s body.
The hands move with the practised dexterity of a stage magician, using misdirection to draw the audience’s eyes away from the crucial moment. In the palm of the surgeon’s hand, or perhaps hidden beneath the table, are animal parts—most commonly chicken livers, hearts, or bits of offal—wrapped in gauze or tissue, ready to be palmed and then “produced” from the patient’s body. Sometimes, a small balloon or packet of fake blood is concealed in the hand, ready to burst at just the right moment, adding a final touch of gruesome realism.
The entire performance relies on psychological suggestion. The patient, primed by ritual, prayer, and the expectations of those around them, may genuinely feel relief—thanks to the placebo effect, the power of suggestion, or simply the natural ebb and flow of chronic symptoms. In some cases, patients are selected for their suggestibility or for conditions that are known to fluctuate, ensuring that at least some will report feeling better after the procedure.
Scientific investigations have repeatedly exposed the secrets behind psychic surgery. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, magician and sceptic James Randi travelled to the Philippines to observe and document these procedures. Using video cameras and the trained eye of a professional illusionist, Randi and his team demonstrated that no actual surgery took place—no incisions, no removal of real tumors, and, crucially, no lasting cures. In one famous demonstration, Randi himself replicated the entire procedure using nothing but sleight-of-hand and a chicken liver, fooling even experienced observers.
Medical researchers have also weighed in. In a 1975 report published in the Journal of the American Medical Association, investigators found that the “tumors” removed during psychic surgery were invariably animal tissue, and that patients who underwent the procedure showed no medical improvement. In fact, many patients suffered real harm by delaying or forgoing legitimate medical treatment in pursuit of these so-called miracles. A 1984 study in the New England Journal of Medicine documented cases where patients with treatable cancers died after relying on psychic surgery instead of conventional therapy.
The techniques used by psychic surgeons are nearly identical to those employed by stage magicians and illusionists: misdirection, palming, and careful management of the audience’s attention. The ritualistic atmosphere—the incense, the chanting, the prayers—serves to heighten the sense of mystery and distract from the mechanics of the trick. The surgeon’s calm demeanor and confident movements reinforce the illusion, making it all the more convincing.
Despite decades of debunking, the allure of psychic surgery endures. The stories of miraculous healing continue to circulate, fuelled by hope, desperation, and the human tendency to see patterns and meaning where none exist. What appears to be supernatural healing is, in reality, a carefully orchestrated performance—one that preys on the vulnerable and undermines trust in conventional medicine.
© 2025, Lora Jones. All rights reserved. Reproduction prohibited without written permission.
