Eschewing the Notion of a Cryptozoological Discipline

What even is cryptozoology? This question has been a central debate since the establishment of the subject as a distinct line of inquiry in the 1950s or so - no consensus has emerged to date and most answers offered have been unsatisfactory. This state of disorder leads some to consider cryptozoology a pseudoscience, far removed from its original intentions. 

I, personally, have found it most conducive to treat cryptozoology not as a distinct discipline, nor a methodological extension of another discipline, but as a body of data embedded within a broader cultural movement, something to be observed and analyzed by researchers from other disciplines. Cryptozoological subjects are boundary objects, able to move through the sciences with ease. By eschewing the notion of a cryptozoological discipline, issues with methodology, definition and differentiation are alleviated, while the subject’s merit and value are preserved without restriction. Several researchers have shared a similar sentiment in recent years, and my goal with this post is to bring this line of thought to a broader audience.

CRYPTOZOOLOGY AS ZOOLOGY

The essence of cryptozoology, a fascination with the potential biological reality of "monsters" and animals known only from anecdote, has existed in some shape or form since the fourth century, if not earlier. It's difficult and arguably incorrect to synonymize the works of Aristotle or even the later Linnaeus with modern cryptozoology, but one could feasibly build a bridge between the two, a bridge populated by Hyltén-Cavallius’ lindorms, Pontoppidan’s aquatic hybrids, and H.G. Wells’ ogres. Such a bridge would be home not just to the fantastical, but also the comparatively mundane animals of standard zoology - cryptozoology has never just sought out monsters. For example, Edward Blyth, Curator of Zoology at the Royal Asiatic Society of Bengal, caught flak in 1866 because "Nothing delight[ed] him more than to get a hold of some old tradition or natives' report, or to untomb some black-letter notice of antiquity regarding some unknown animal, and to bring his great knowledge to bear in expiscating its meaning and determining the species thereof" (Murray, 1866, p.172). 

The claim which incited this comment - Blyth's belief that a rhinoceros inhabited Borneo, based on anecdotal evidence - was entirely correct. The critic, Scottish naturalist Andrew Murray, wrote about mystery animals himself, such as African tigers. This sort of inquiry was a standard facet of nineteenth and twentieth century zoology, bringing forth the gorilla and okapi, and remains significant even today - 40.5% of new primate species discovered since 1980 have been located through the aid of anecdotal evidence and indigenous knowledge (Rossi et al., 2018). Notably, none of these scientists call themselves "cryptozoologists" as their work constitutes standard zoological fare. This dilemma has led Darren Naish to write that "the overlap that exists between cryptozoology and mainstream zoology...is so extensive that we might even wonder whether there's such a thing as cryptozoology at all" (Naish, 2007). Cryptozoology, in its ill-defined form, means very little to science.

The first to try and properly distinguish the two was the "father" of cryptozoology, Bernard Heuvelmans. Bernard most succinctly defined cryptozoology as "the scientific study of hidden animals, i.e., of still unknown animal forms about which only testimonial and circumstantial evidence is available, or material evidence considered insufficient by some” (Heuvelmans, 1988), stating that "by thus orienting itself toward the discovery of hidden animals, cryptozoology can contribute significantly towards making as complete as possible the inventory of our planet’s fauna" (Heuvelmans, 1982). Cryptozoology was regularly likened to a spear, a precise hunting tool, contrasted with zoology's nonspecific "net" of mass collection by trawling rainforests and the deep sea, and in this way presents itself as more of a zoological methodology than discipline, something noted by even its practitioners (e.g. Arment, 2016; "For years, I have noted that cryptozoology is best viewed as a methodology rather than a distinct field of study. This removes a number of trivial debates (e.g. how large an animal must be to be relevant to cryptozoology) and focuses on a well-supported zoological discovery technique"). Cryptozoology diverges from standard zoology not by its methodology, but by its practitioners - starting with Bernard Heuvelmans himself. 

Bernard's approach to cryptozoology derived heavily from his personal opinions, beliefs, and experiences, oftentimes at the cost of objectivity.  Bernard wrote in his 1982 paper that "A long-range goal of cryptozoology, in my opinion, is to obtain the strict protection of species menaced with extinction before they are even officially recognized. The spread of its methods of investigation is an urgent matter, and a major motive for its reproof of the “wait and see” attitude"" (Heuvelmans, 1982). This "wait and see attitude" refers to the perceived passivity of zoologists awaiting a physical specimen before confirming a species; scientists were indirectly aiding in the extinction of unknown animals. Bernard was very strongly anti-authority, something which manifested in his disdain for the "scientific establishment". He felt regularly slighted by this establishment, describing it as "a shadowy organization always united to prevent at all cost any revelation likely to disturb the intellectual comfort of its members"; "for years this Freemasonry of Science has blocked my path…In the Middle Ages, we would have been burned at the stake; today it is enough to gag us" (Heuvelmans, 2016). Conservation and rebellion are inherent to cryptozoology; I've written about Bernard's intertwining of the two here. 

THE SHORTCOMINGS OF HEUVELMANSIAN CRYPTOZOOLOGY

Bernard's feelings about "the establishment" directly impeded the quality of his research, conclusions, and style of cryptozoology as a whole. Academia actively seeks out and encourages novel perspectives, so long as they meet a certain evidentiary standard, to ensure fair analysis and incorporation. One way this evidentiary standard is upheld is through peer-review, the cross-checking of publications for quality and accuracy. Peer-review regularly involves the recommendation of relevant research; the academic community in general, being the ones who produce it, have their finger on the pulse of the scientific literature, and reviewers combine their individual knowledge and perspectives to contribute information others may have missed. Amateur research, especially when conducted by a single individual, regularly becomes difficult and offers an incomplete perspective without this sort of communal thoroughness; something quite apparent in Bernard's cryptozoological work. 

Bernard's views on cultural anthropology and folkloristics were quite anachronistic, derived first from popular anthropological books of the late 1800s, then justified by the flawed works of Jung and the sociobiologists. Bernard felt that '"mythic" should never be used as synonymous with "fictitious"; on the contrary it generally refers to what is thought to be fundamentally true. It would seem that any information from the outside world received through our senses, when passing that part of the central nervous system sometimes called the "emotional brain", is systematically distorted and completed according to deeply embedded mental stereotypes in such a way that it loses the frightening nature of the unknown, and, having thus become more familiar, is accepted without risk of harming the mind's balance and comfort" (Heuvelmans, 1990). This can only be described as euhemerism, which “combines elements of both the natural and supernatural, specifically the way in which the theory appears rationally to deconstruct uncanny myths and root them in the quotidian, while at the same time losing little of the magic and narrative satisfaction originally associated with the myth” according to Emily Fergus, who studied similar processes in the history of popular interest in fairies (Fergus, 2019). Euhemerism strips folklore of key elements and its individuality, diverting its evolution onto a new path. 

The appeal of cryptozoology is its preserved magic, the allure of a plausible mystery in an increasingly rational world. Unfortunately, Heuvelmans’ fundamental “truths” are equally farcical, as is criticized in Cryptozoologicon Volume I. Darren Naish writes that "In creating cryptids from eyewitness accounts and other sources, cryptozoologists have indulged in an incredible amount of speculation on the identities and evolutionary histories of the creatures concerned. A cryptid is not just allocated to a specific group of organisms: its evolutionary history, biogeography and ecology are hypothesized as well. In short, cryptozoologists can be accused of 'theorising' hypothetical animals to life." (Conway et al., 2013). Through the summation of outdated information gathered from popular-audience zoological books and cherry-picked traits from folklore, cryptozoologists imagine a “plausible” organism in a practice not far removed from Dixonian speculative evolution. If you treat cryptozoology as zoological discovery, this methodology has led to an overwhelming lack of zoological discoveries, and instead stagnation - the cryptozoologists are not doing what they set out to do, but performing different social functions instead (for example, maintaining public intrigue or offering reassurance to witnesses).

One of the first authors to challenge Bernard's euhemerism was French folklorist Michel Meurger, in his book Lake Monster Traditions - a must read for anybody engaging with cryptozoology. Meurger writes that "Whether searching for hidden creatures or for pieces of wood, cryptozoologists and sceptics consciously refuse to accept myth as a product of the human mind, as an imaginary story. They accept Man as a witness of nature, but not as a creator of a mythified naturalist. For them, myths and legends are always the echo of an objective experience...This often leads to a number of consequences: firstly, the legend, as a container of facts, gains scientific status as a document. Secondly, the present scientific-rationalistic approach is moralized and projected into the past, to judge mentalities according to their degree of likeness to the modern mind". To treat folklore as fact is to treat indigenous peoples as noble savages, or alternatively too stupid to invent their own complex lore, and often leads to the lore’s bastardization, against the will of indigenous peoples who created it in the first place. Meurger advocates, instead, for cryptozoological anecdotes to be treated as "cultural puzzles"; "We have to carefully dismantle the puzzle to be able to understand the complexity of its structure". By understanding cultural and individual influences, information is appreciated in its respective context and able to be analyzed in full (Meurger & Gagnon, 1988).

My favorite summation of this all appears in the context of famed Bigfooter Grover Krantz. Krantz was a physical anthropologist who, much like Heuvelmans, drew from long outdated literature and disparate anecdotes to theorize Bigfoot into existence as a living Gigantopithecus; his key pieces of evidence were casts of alleged Bigfoot tracks. In these tracks, Krantz claimed to recognize distinct anatomy indicative of muscle, bone, skin and injury, even recognizing the same "individual" across several sets of tracks. Krantz developed a private methodology for determining real tracks from fakes, claiming he could never be fooled. He supported several admitted hoaxes and in one case championed the legitimacy of a faux track made to intentionally deceive him (for more, read Brian Regal's Searching for Sasquatch). Krantz's contemporary and adversary, Bigfooter René Dahinden, describes the situation quite aptly: ”Remember the Hitler diaries of a few years ago? Several experts said that the handwriting was just right, that all the dates and events were historically correct, and therefore they had to be authentic. But it turns out that the ink used was not invented until 1954, so the diaries are a fake. So who cares about the handwriting or the dates. The same thing applies to the [Bigfoot] tracks. They are fakes, so who gives a damn about Krantz and his dermal ridges!”" (Dennett, 1989). 

DOES THIS MAKE CRYPTOZOOLOGY A PSEUDOSCIENCE?

Heuvelmans' methodology, being reliant on outdated literature, euhemerism and egregious speculations, leading to nothing but stagnation, has led many to suggest that cryptozoology is little more than pseudoscience. However, labeling anything a pseudoscience is a complex process - "pseudoscience" is not a monolith, and neither is cryptozoology. A good place to start reading about pseudoscience is this Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy article by Sven Ove Hansson. I use it as a source here for simplicity and digestibility's sake, though it must be stressed that my summations are incomplete and imprecise.

Defining "science" and "pseudoscience" has proved to be a consistent plight since the establishment of these terms. The sciences can be generally understood as systematic, critical fact-finding practices attempting to acquire the best understanding of the world we inhabit, while pseudosciences are non-scientific practices posing as legitimate ones, despite actively contradicting the sciences in crucial ways. Not all incorrect sciences are pseudosciences; "bad science" is legitimate science done incorrectly, while "parascience" covers topics outside the bounds of science, unable to be adequately tested and verified. Pseudosciences are inherently deceptive and contradictory; Hansson writes that "The distinction between science and pseudoscience has much in common with that between accurate and inaccurate journalism, as well as that between properly and improperly performed criminal investigations". 

What counts as pseudoscience may vary with time as knowledge grows and develops, and may only apply to an individual or sub-community rather than the whole of a discipline. Recognizing a pseudoscience is dependent entirely on its context and, accordingly, authors propose looking at a subject's history, practitioners, and often cross-compare a subject with a list of essential scientific criteria. This is a frustratingly complex process, and even the obvious cases (e.g. Young Earth Creationism, astrology) have had many debates about what exactly makes them a pseudoscience. 

To date, there has not been a satisfactory attempt to clarify why exactly cryptozoology constitutes a pseudoscience, despite it often being treated as definitive. As discussed above, the core of cryptozoology is a standard facet of zoology, it is not contradictory in any significant capacity. Many oft-cited issues with cryptozoology trace back to Bernard Heuvelmans, but I'd argue "bad science" is a more appropriate label for most of his work, though this is certainly debatable. Even if one considers just Heuvelmans' cryptozoology pseudoscience, many contemporary cryptozoological authors have entirely shed his methodology; they apply accepted scientific methodologies and frameworks to cryptozoological information, produce independently testable, sound results, are accepted into respected, peer-reviewed journals, and treated no different than any other academic study. As Darren Naish has said several times, you can "do science" with cryptozoological data. To call this work pseudoscience, as some do (e.g. Wikipedia), is inaccurate and disingenuous, if not outright malicious. Cryptozoology, as a whole, is not a pseudoscience. 

ESCHEWING THE NOTION OF A CRYPTOZOOLOGICAL DISCIPLINE

But the question of what cryptozoology is still remains unresolved. Most modern cryptozoological studies are objectively scientific, but are almost entirely independent and uncoordinated, not sharing methodology or terminology. No significant attempts have been made to unify them in any coherent way and it instead seems that modern cryptozoological workers are entirely unconcerned with the question of discipline.

Marjorie Halpin and Michael Ames write in the preface to Manlike Monsters On Trial, one of the first proper academic reviews of a cryptozoological topic, that "Since monsters by definition do not fit the normal categories of experience, the scholarship of the monstrous cannot, as yet, be confined within any one academic discipline" (Halpin & Ames, 1980). This book, composed of papers presented at a conference focused on wildmen, represents one of the first truly academic cryptozoological efforts, so this comment is very significant - a direct predecessor to this current discussion. 

Halpin and Ames treat individual cryptozoological subjects as fluid, changing to fit the needs of the interpreters. This aligns with the sociological concept of "boundary objects", described as "objects which are both plastic enough to adapt to local needs and the constraints of the several parties employing them, yet robust enough to maintain a common identity across sites. They are weakly structured in common use, and become strongly structured in individual site use. These objects may be abstract or concrete. They have different meanings in different social worlds but their structure is common enough to more than one world to make them recognizable, a means of translation. The creation and management of boundary objects is a key process in developing and maintaining coherence across intersecting social worlds" (Star & Griesemer, 1989). If we treat cryptozoology as composed of flexible moving parts, of boundary objects, there is no need for a united cryptozoological discipline - everybody can cooperate and coordinate from their own fields without compromise or challenge, contributing to a greater whole.

Some view cryptozoology as data, things to be scrutinized and resolved to some degree, while others view the subject as discourse, the cultural back-and-forths which result in new ideas, concepts and trends. I view these two perspectives as intertwined - the data forms discourse and is influenced by said discourse in turn. The shift of cryptozoology in recent decades from Heuvelmansian "science" to a collection of cutesy, marketable creatures makes the best case for cryptozoology as a collection of boundary objects. Sharon Hill's Pop Goes the Cryptid, the defining paper on this transition, states that "Understanding the current state of cryptozoology - now better defined as discourse about any unusual, sentient, liminal creatures alleged to exist but supported only by indirect evidence - requires an immense broadening of scope beyond the original concept and into areas of regional economies, folklore, and customs, conspiracy belief, social fears, consumer culture, art, and media" (Hill, 2026).

The freedom of movement between disciplines has allowed for the proliferation of novel academic work over the last fifteen or so years - what I describe as a cryptozoological renaissance; cryptozoology has only succeeded thanks to this approach. Unfortunately, the amateur community seems stuck on cryptozoology as either discipline or pseudoscience, I presume because they simply haven't been introduced to these concepts or engaged with these sorts of questions. Hopefully this post serves as a worthwhile introduction. To demonstrate the sheer scale of new research, I am currently working on an expansive bibliography of literature from this "renaissance" as a sort of sequel to this post, but this will take some time, so I offer some examples below as a sample, to conclude this post.

Using cryptozoology as data, staticians note trends in eyewitness testimony and popular conception, model discovery curves, extinction dates, potential size limits, probability of observation, and hypothetical ranges, using this to learn key concepts. Geneticists use DNA to resolve long-standing cryptozoological mysteries through identification of remains and suggest that cryptozoological targets may be rich testing grounds for rediscovery techniques. Some zoologists still turn to cryptozoological data as an avenue for zoological discovery. Elsewhere, folklorists and ethnologists analyze and backtrace individual cryptozoological stories to their broader cultural contexts, oftentimes cross-examining with other similar stories. 

As subjects of popular culture, scholars like Justin Mullis, Brian Regal and the aformentioned Sharon Hill analyze literary and cultural trends to trace the history of belief, imagery, and impact. Sociologists survey the cryptozoological subculture, as with Jamie Lewis and Andrew Bartlett's Bigfooters and Scientific Inquiry, a detailed ethnography of Bigfooters and Bigfooting. These works delve into conservation, theatrics, law, queer studies and more, all in the hopes of understanding why cryptozoology is appealing and relevant, and how it operates within society. The collective efforts of these two groups has broken cryptozoology wide open - and there's only more to come.

REFERENCES 

Chad Arment, 2016. Developing A Potential Discovery Path within Cryptozoology. BioFortean Notes 5, 22-26.

Conway, John, Kösemen, C.M., & Naish, Darren. Cryptozoologicon Volume I. Anomalist Books, 2013.

Michael R. Dennett, 1989. Evidence for Bigfoot? An Investigation of the Mill Creek 'Sasquatch Prints'. Skeptical Inquirer 13(3), 264-272.

Emily Fergus, 2019. Goblinlike, fantastic: little people and deep time and the fin de siècle. Thesis.  

Halpin, Marjorie & Ames, Michael. Manlike Monsters on Trial. University of British Columbia, 1980.

Sharon Hill, 2026. Pop Goes the Cryptid: The Evolution of Cryptozoology from Scientific to Social. Contemporary Legend 4(4), 7-26.

Bernard Heuvelmans, 1982. What is cryptozoology? Cryptozoology 1, 1-12.

Bernard Heuvelmans, 1988. The sources and method of cryptozoological research. Cryptozoology 7, 1-21.

Bernard Heuvelmans, 1990. The Pervasion of Knowledge by Myth. Fortean Times 54, 46-47.

Heuvelmans, Bernard. Neanderthal: The Strange Saga of the Minnesota Iceman. Anomalist Books, 2016.

Meurger, Michel & Gagnon, Claude. Lake Monster Traditions. Fortean Tomes, 1988.

Murray, Andrew. The Geographical Distribution of Mammals. Day and Son, 1866.

Darren Naish, 2007. Monster hunting? Well, no. No. Tetrapod Zoology, http://scienceblogs.com/tetrapodzoology/2007/10/monster_hunting_well_no_no.php.

Lorenzo Rossi, Spartaco Gippoliti & Francesco Maria Angelici, 2018. The role of indirect evidence and traditional ecological knowledge in the discovery and description of new ape and monkey species since 1980. Primates 59(4), 327-337.

Susan Leigh Star & James R. Griesemer, 1989. Institutional Ecology, 'Translations' and Boundary Objects: Amateurs and Professionals in Berkeley's Museum of Vertebrate Zoology, 1907-39. Social Studies of Science 19, 387-420.

This post is an example of the successes of the aforementioned communal peer-review. Many thanks are owed to:

- Bamiyas for making me aware of Murray's criticism of Blyth
- Tyler Greenfield for sending me a copy of Heuvelmans & Meurger's 1990 debate and for suggesting the concepts of fuzzy sets/logic (though ultimately unused)
- Magonia00 for furthering my perspective on cryptozoology as "data", offering relevant commentary on cryptozological flexibility, and, alongside Dr. Jamie Lewis, for sharing the concept of boundary objects
- Justin Mullis for some helpful discussions on euhemerism and the social function of cryptozoology, which led to the incorporation of the quote from Emily Fergus, among other small tweaks
- Lex (begrudgingly) for a helpful back-and-forth which led me to revise and clarify several sections of this post