Wednesday, 30 November 2011

The Loose Ends of Causal Correlation

Humanity has an uncanny ability to neatly tie up loose ends of our knowledge with huge flights of fancy. This is a frustrating phenomenon that logical thinkers are continually trying to destabilise by diluting with education and reasoning, yet we remain stuck in a rut in which science has taken a back seat for far too long as myths and fiction rule society’s thinking.

Our brains are keen to stick to linear lines of logic – A happening before B, and therefore A being a cause – yet, for many people, this order of occurrence is enough proof that the former either provoked or wholly resulted in B. This intuitive way of thinking is causes us to accept that 2 precedes 3, 4 follows 3, and 1 begins the whole process – what is seemingly a sensible thing to believe in theory, but the real world cannot be pigeon holed so easily.

Events interrelate and seemingly important happenings can have no relation to overall results, and equally overlooked factors can have drastic effects in the long run. Yet the natural inclination to assign cause and effect is an over powering one, and it forces us into hasty decisions. We have all made hideously premature judgements that we have later regretted or let skew future decisions through our unfounded assumptions.

I recently had one of these occurrences made clear to me by a friend; Dom (see beloew) drew my attention to the threat of a double dip recession facing the UK economy. One could easily assume that, as the government ought to have good control of our economy, this is wholly their doing, but one must approach these things with a level head. As one young Tim Hoyland did, wading in to give some reasonable perspective. I then followed up with some kind of weak and disappointingly unfunny attempt at satire that merely showed my ineptitude. I’ll not be expecting a phone call from Ian Hislop for a regular article in Private Eye.



Nevertheless, this shows exactly how we are programmed to accept a given series of events, provided we have a facilitator and a result. We can be worryingly callous with the middle bit.

These causal relationships are formed and embedded into our minds by anyone seeking to direct our thinking. I just finished A History of the World in Ten and a Half Chapters (well worth a read if you’re looking) which discusses the uncertainty of historical storytelling, a point that is seemingly evident here. A healthy dose of perspective in approaching any issue is a sensible route to take, I feel.

Whilst allowing ourselves a reasonable level of scepticism, this does mean we unsettle the earth beneath our feet; by raising suspicions about the building blocks of society, we raise questions about our own identity. Whether you chose to rebel against it or conform wholly to the norms of society, this predetermined entity needs to have a strong base for you to either stand on or push against.

As these suspicions grow, we are forced into only looking to the present for reassurance of what is real, the past and future steeped in doubt (at least until time travel is possible, so I’ll keep my eyes on result from CERN) and we are left with only the material present to reassure ourselves of what has not been skewed by middle men.


Approach everyday stories given to us can show how easily we can be led. Something, I’m sure, is put some constantly to the evils of the media, as they try to corrupt our minds and create a world of greed-driven morons, totally inept of thinking without the aid of a TV or Google. What is often forgotten, though, is that people enjoy playing into the hands of the media, we love to be told a story: we yearn for someone to spin a yarn to us, to play with our emotions and to fool us. The media is there to entertain us, and if it begins to change us, we have the control and inclination to stop consuming, we are not mindless drones.

Examples of this direction of emotions are everywhere, but I turn to the documentary series Frozen Planet that has captivated the country every Wednesday for the past few weeks.

A polar bear is as easily shown to be a killer, a ball of pure muscle designed to rip apart seals and other small animals in order to sustain its high octane life of hunting. Just as easily, though, this animal can be shown to be a gentle bear, its white coat luring us to stroke it and its long snout and almost canine features makes it lovable to the dog-lovers amongst us.



When either side of this coin is shown we willingly forget the other, not because David Attenborough has hoodwinked us as a part of his dastardly plan, but because we understand that the world is an infinitely complex place and we cannot reasonably expect to fathom it all at once.

Equally, we are complicated beings – our emotions are a finely tuned set of chemicals and pulses, which are manipulated with ease by anyone who knows how to tell a story. It is our prerogative, as owners and users of these emotions to feel them, to experience the full range of things we can, and similarly, we also wish to see all the things that can spark these emotions – keen to partake in the confusing world, and taking ourselves away from the motionless dullards some people seem to think media-consumers are.

It is imperative that we experience things, that we delve into the unknown and see where things start, understand how they develop and revel in their results. We are not primitive beings as part of a complex web of life; we are hosts of one of the most complex entities in the known universe – the human brain. A tool that is moulded by complex societies, formed by complex developments of social and biological evolution, caused by incredibly intricate yet bafflingly simply physics and chemistry .

It is these systems of science and creation – the wonderful concepts so carefully created and monitored for accuracy – that can explain the most inexplicable occurrences around us. The fanciful spiritualists and religionists can keep their scriptures, their tarot cards and their flights of fancy, I will happily bask in glory of logic and reason and allow myself.

I can see why people might want to leave out the middle stage of logic and just skip from cause to effect, but it is so much more rewarding and enchanting to discover the rhyme and reason behind all the world’s processes. The intricacies of the universe will continue to baffle humanity forever, but what will never go away is that longing to not be baffled, stage 2 and 3 may never be discovered, but looking for them is cause enough for celebration.

Thursday, 10 November 2011

The Lies of The Sun


My feelings for the unfathomably popular publication – The Sun – are fairly obvious; the continuous spiel of irrelevant and uninteresting nonsense continues to be read by the pig-ignorant and is thoughtlessly lapped up as the mutant limb of the Murdoch empire grapples with their independent thought and thrusts speculative flights of fancy into the realms of ‘truth’.

I’ve had mild grumblings regarding this celeb-obsessed rag before, but this morning I awoke to the news that a good friend of mine had a ‘night of lust’ with X Factor’s resident librarian, Frankie Cocozza.

This ‘story’ is yet another example of an exaggerated and fictitious tale, conceived almost wholly within the minds of two dullards, concerned only with making the front page and becoming Rupert Murdoch’s latest lap dog. Andy Crick and Caroline Grant are typical examples of these Sun journalists; pedalling lies about a topic that has no relevance to the real world and has greater ramifications for no-one but the slandered.



The cowardly language used by these tabloids – ‘romp’, ‘night of lust’ – tickle around the edge of meaning and toy with the line of the law. The public all know their intentions, yet the arbitrary law allows this foul innuendo to prevail and the ill-talented writers like Crick and Grant are given free rein to fantasize about the habits of pseudo-celebrities, hell bent on simply being famous.

The system of remaining legally ambiguous enough for publishing emphasizes the fact (yes, I am able to deal in those) that the article they’ve written isn’t worth the ink it’s printed with. If there was a story worth printing, there would be facts available to report on and something to actually tell the country. As it is, explicit nudges are made towards a fabricated event and the ever-willing hoards of the ill-informed make the leaps of judgement necessary.

Thanks to the wonders of the internet, these readers make sweeping judgements within moments and share them instantly;


It must really be quite humbling to have someone calling themselves ‘cats-dogs-hamsters’ putting you to rights, and also I imagine it would make you change your life around immediately. Some hideously stupid Sun-reader deciding that you have no shame or morals is certainly something that would make me sit up and listen.

The problem is that the judgements spread, this story will be taking up by other more reputable papers (although still rather questionable as they are reporting on the X Factor) and the stereotype has the potential to stick.

To make the matter worse, Crick and Grant haven’t even spoken to the two girls linked to the fictional ‘romp’. Quotes have been put together to give the story credibility and presented as if they were actually collected from the horses’ mouths. The dabbling with the law surely comes into problems when manufactured quotations are given as hard facts, yet the gold plated lawyers Murdoch has spawned would easily deflect any attempts at justice by any ‘little people’.

It really does astound me that people continue to read and believe the endless tirade of fiction that comes out of that god-awful newspaper. I implore you to boycott this terrible publication and refuse to believe any lies that come from its bowels.


This post, I feel, now needs adapting slightly since the publication of a follow-up story in which said friend admitted various deeds with the X Factor charmer.

I still hate The Sun, though.

Tuesday, 1 November 2011

Late-Night Train Travel

There’s nothing quite like the solemnity of a late night train, as the doors bleep and flash their willingness to open to a baron, silent carriage that is simply waiting for the next station with heavy lids and blurry eyes.

The rumble of movement subsides and gives a brief moment of stillness in the night. A lone passenger decides to depart and sparks into life the sole event reliable enough to stir you from your delicate state of half-sleep; the invigorating snap of alertness that comes from the chill of the evening air tickling your ankles as your gently warmed microcosm is thoughtlessly bitten into by the inky blackness.

The muting of announcements and the subsidence of the hubbub of daytime travel, paired with the foetal rocking and gentle vibrations through the sombre darkness outside pushes us all into a state of drowsiness, while we desperately cling to consciousness, dreading the moment we emerge from sleep – eleven stops past home – at the end of the line with no locomotion until the early hours of tomorrow morning.


Despite my unrelenting disappointment of Sunday-service trains, the experience of dozing through the coastal countryside is a somewhat comforting one. The familiarity of the obscure station stops and the knowing feeling of what is still to come makes the journey infinitely easier to stand. Especially when I have unusual picnics to feast upon.



I also saw this on the Stephen Merchant Amazon page, any fans of the radio shows and podcasts will surely join me in a chuckle. (Bottom left, click for higher resolution)