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From the archive: Paul Daniels, the Philosophical Prestidigitator

Mike Hutchinson
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From the archive: Paul Daniels, the Philosophical Prestidigitator

This article originally appeared in The Skeptic, Volume 5, Issue 1, from 1991.

‘That’s a fiddle. It’s sleight of hand’ was Paul Daniels‘ reaction when, in the early seventies, Granada television showed him their film about psychic surgery in the Philippines. Their response was to say that they had watched the surgeon. ‘But l watched the assistant,’ he said. Standing next to Daniels was a leading Spiritualist who wasn’t convinced: ‘No, it isn’t a cheat’ he asserted. ‘But you can see it,’ Daniels insisted, but to no avail. The man just couldn’t be persuaded.

With eleven television series and numerous specials behind him (the twelfth series is currently being broadcast at the time of writing), Paul Daniels is a well-established household name. When I went to interview him for The Skeptic, I knew from previous interviews I had read that he is very outspoken about religion and morality (in its widest sense). However, what I wanted to discover were his opinions about psychics and psychical research, and whether he had originally been a believer in the paranormal. He answered my questions with great enthusiasm.

‘Yes, as a growing lad in the North, I believed that it was probable that people could transmit thought waves to one another. I believed in religious mysticism and I thought, therefore, that as an extension of transmitting thought waves, telekinesis might be possible. I used to sit for hours trying to move a ping-pong ball across a table. It was only when I could afford a wider range of books that I became a lot more logical, and a lot more observant.’

This wider range of books included books about magicians of the past and the history of magic itself. ‘Magic meaning conjuring,’ he clarified. ‘It was Robert Houdini in the last century who said that a conjuror is an actor playing the part of a magician, magic being a thing of fable, fairy stories, and dreams. I realised that religion was a set of rules for society to live by that was operated by a set of guys doing magic tricks. It was an Egyptian guide who explained to me that Tutankhamen was a sentence: “King Tut, son of the sun god”. At that time in history kings, pharaohs, and religious leaders were frequently called “son of god”, and frequently given a virgin birth. I thought: Why wasn’t I told this at school? Within a primitive society you may need a mystical fear to control children, but I believe that now you can educate them as to why those rules are good to live by and that if you break them there’s a pyramid effect of people who are going to get hurt by your action. I really would like to see all schools have religion removed from them. It’s time for the world to grow up. If people want religion they should give it to their children at the weekend’.

These are strong statements, and come – surprisingly – from a man who was once a Methodist lay preacher. Equally surprising, perhaps, is that Paul Daniels is very sympathetic towards Uri Geller. Humanist News once reported him as saying that he doesn’t mind Uri and that he goes up and does his act, adding that Uri ‘is a nice guy’.

Daniels told me, ‘Uri is interesting. On the next series of The Best of Magic [recently transmitted] he comes out of the closet and does a magic trick – a trick similar to one we did a few years ago in which you set a clock up and do certain things while the clock is ticking, and then you take the clock back the amount of time you’ve been busy. We boiled water for example, and although the water has boiled you pour it over your hand and it’s cold again. Oddly enough, rumour has it that despite his paranormal powers the whole thing didn’t work anyway and it had to be reset behind a screen. But he is a great showman. I don’t know where you draw the line. He is entertainment value, but, in my view, he has no psychic powers whatsoever. I don’t believe that he can bend metal by thought waves – or do anything else by thought waves. He’s a good entertainer if you leave it at that. In fact, he goes to a few magic conventions now and David Berglas (President of the Magic Circle) is a close friend.’

A silvery metal spoon with a curled, bent handle, pictured on damp ground.
A bent spoon – image by PeterDost on Pixabay

Daniels once got a typist to re-type the star sign information from an astrology book, but switched the headings around. ‘Several times at parties people asked me “What star sign are you?” and I’d say “It’s funny you should ask. I’m doing a book on that” and show them the piece marked with their star sign. They’d say “Yes, this is me”. He laughed. ‘When I told them what I’d done I lost so many friends…’.

But why do so many people seem to need to believe in the paranormal?

‘I think that because of bad education – capital B A D – people have a need for mysticism; they’re missing out on the simple fact that what you are is amazing; what you are is wonderful. What you are. No extraneous influences. What you are, inside you, is just fantastic. It really is, and yet they sit in front of the TV and watch David Attenborough going on about some mysterious animal that has developed its eyes so that it can see in the dark and they say “Isn’t that wonderful”. And they miss out on the fact that the thing that’s watching the programme is the most developed animal of all in terms of thinking, and movement, and sense – and yet they look for mysticism, and that just drives me up the wall.

‘Nobody’s promoting the human animal as being it, as being the be-all and end-all. Only Humanists to an extent. But Humanists aren’t really promoting it, are they? They’re not getting out there, writing articles and getting on television programmes. Maybe the answer to the paranormal is an awful lot of practical proof of what you are, what you can do. What we as a group can do without invoking paranormal powers.

‘Although it’s not difficult to find skeptical books, people are not made aware by the media that they exist It’s sad that the people who have written these books which say “Oh, come on! This is nonsense” don’t get much publicity. When you do, you’re the bad guy. When Doris Stokes died, I got a phone call from the press, and I told them it was nonsense before, and it’s nonsense now. I got quite viciously attacked in the press because they said I didn’t pick up on her while she was alive. Well, I did – at every opportunity. So I became the bad guy, although I was telling the truth. And I think that’s the real oddity in human nature. An oddity, but understandable. It’s a truth, isn’t it, that the mass of the people will always be poor, comparatively, and it’s the poor people that need mysticism. The mass press will therefore always promote it.

‘TV people doing skeptical programmes do it in the wrong order. People flip channels and there is research to show how soon after the start of a programme they do so.’ (This research shows that viewers flip from ‘The Paul Daniels Show later than most programmes.) ‘What they should do right at the start of a debunking programme is say “What you are about to see is a programme that will show you how these people cheat, how they play on emotions. The people are fakes”. They should say that right up front, but they don’t. Inevitably they do the programme as if it’s for real and then they do the debunking. It’s at the wrong end of the programme because by then you’ve convinced a major proportion of viewers who have changed over. “Oh well, yes it’s another psychic and we know about psychics don’t we?'”

He picked up a copy of the The Skeptic. ‘This word, “Skeptic”, is going to drive away the people you’re trying to get to. Might I suggest a change of title to The Paranormal? with a question mark?’

In the last few years Daniels has spent two days a week developing and promoting a high speed language learning system which uses an ancient Greek memory technique. Already there are courses in French, German, Italian and Spanish. Using the system, Daniels learned enough Spanish in a week to perform his act before a Spanish speaking audience. Portuguese has just been recorded and Japanese is next in line for the treatment. ‘Japanese is proving very interesting. It is different, not because of the sound, but for the way they speak. But it’s marvellous. Very difficult for the Japanese to explain it to me.’

Daniels strongly approves of James Randi’s work. ‘It’s something that really needed to be done. I think in his life he must have done more than anyone has ever done to raise public awareness – certainly in America – among thinking people. The saddest part is that Randi isn’t young, and that he isn’t on every day doing this as the audience is changing all the time. It should be taught in school. To me, the works of Randi should be taught alongside the works of Shakespeare because it’s as necessary for your quality of life as art or literature’.

James Randi, an older white man with a white beard and hair, speaks into a microphone in a red room, holding a manilla folder or notepad
The late James Randi

For several years, in addition to his series and Christmas special, Daniels also made a special Halloween show which he enjoyed doing. The BBC would only allow a 1990 show if it was made in the middle of his new magic series. This would have meant putting up with the enormous physical and mental strain of doing two different shows in two days.

‘But what I find odd is, here’s an organisation that’s got, arguably, a pretty good magician, and Halloween is a mystical kind of an evening and they don’t use it as part of an annual celebration of entertainment. I think it’s a mistake. Well, come on, it’s hard enough as it is to fill the schedules, and here’s a free gift almost. Funnily enough, a BBC radio producer phoned my manager and wanted me to go on his show and perform a miracle on Halloween. Mervyn said I wasn’t available that particular night, but would be the following week. “Oh, no!” said the man. “You don’t understand. It’s on Halloween. That’s the day their powers are greater isn’t it?” This is a BBC producer in 1989. But come on! In this day and age he believes my powers are greater on a particular day of the year!’

‘Some psychics maintain that I have a negative attitude. But I am a professional magician who has been in love with magic since the age of eleven. The one thing I would love to encounter is somebody who could really do it. This is my hobby, my life. I wouldn’t be offended at all. If I could find somebody who could really do magic, really bend metal, I’d put him on my programme. On the other hand, if you really had that power, would you want to spend your life bending spoons? To say I’m negative is a joke. I want to meet a real psychic; I want to see a ghost. And I would be prepared to pay. Even now, with all the knowledge and the reading that’s in my head, I’d really like to meet one.

Wouldn’t you?’

The ‘questionstorm’ teaching method, and the natural curiosity of students

Leo Igwe
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The ‘questionstorm’ teaching method, and the natural curiosity of students

Recently, I facilitated a critical thinking workshop at the Bay Wreath Schools in Lagos. The theme was critical thinking and teacher development. As the theme stated, the workshop was on teaching, about teaching, and for teachers. It highlighted the pedagogical value of critical and reflective inquiry. The workshop exposed teachers to critical mental habits and skills. It emphasised how critical thinking would enhance expertise in the learning and delivery of subjects in classrooms. 

I used the opportunity to discuss the questionstorm method of teaching and learning. Questionstorm is a way of teaching critical thinking for primary and elementary schools, involving the ability to interrogate all teaching objects and materials. It is a habit of questioning ideas and experiences in all areas of human endeavor. Simply put, questionstorm is question-driven inquiry.

Children are naturally curious. They thirst for knowledge and understanding. Unfortunately, the school system kills children’s curiosity and dampens their interrogative appetite. The school system places much emphasis on rote learning and memorisation. It makes the generation of answers – not questions or problems – the test of knowledge, and the determinant of intelligence. Teaching is largely drudgery, a monotonous exercise, and a process of depositing knowledge on passive recipients, the students. Teaching entails dumping information on learners whose duty is to cram and reproduce during tests or examinations. 

This teaching praxis has been criticised and blamed for the poor performance of students post-school (college and university) and their inability to think independently, creatively, and innovatively. Other teaching methods have tried to address these gaps and limitations. There have been suggestions to make teaching and instruction more active, and more student/learner/child-centred. One such method is the Montessori method. The Montessori method discourages grades and tests as ways of measuring achievement or determining intelligence and excellence. It emphasises hands-on learning and the development of real-world skills.

While the Montessori method stresses the practical approach to learning, it says very little about the authoritarian teacher-to-student approach that is the mainstay of teaching and learning in classrooms. Teaching follows a pattern that leaves students and learners in the margins and unable to question and contribute to the learning process. Teachers present what is to be learned, such as a text, and then generate questions that students respond or address to demonstrate knowledge of what has been taught. The student’s or learner’s main job is to answer questions, to look for or find answers or solutions. The teacher’s work is to get students to look for and provide answers and to reproduce what they have been taught or told. 

But students are not answer depots. Students are not memory banks or reserves. They are active minds and thinking agents.

Lagos students in their classroom, thinking and discussing, holding large posters titled 'Critical reasoning'

Under the questionstorm teaching method, the mode of instruction would change. Teaching becomes a cooperative endeavor that actively involves teachers and students. What is taught in the classroom is a collaborative note, not the teacher’s note, not a handout to students. Teachers present or generate texts or objects for learning, in response to intense questioning of the object or material by students, teachers provide information as required for that subject, topic, level, and time frame. No two instances of teaching – of the same topic or subject – are or should be the same because the input of students and teachers is not predetermined. 

This is because of an overlooked principle in teaching and learning, which I call the “uncertainty principle”.

The uncertainty principle underlies questionstorm because knowledge is not fixed. Learning is a fluid process. All that is to be learned is uncertain, it is unknown and never determined. No teacher can say beforehand what is to be taught or learned because no one knows exactly the questions and answers or replies that would arise when a topic is presented or taught in a particular class. A topic or learning material elicits unique responses and exchanges that both teachers and students cannot exactly know or predict a priori, before the fact.

A large group of Lagos students, smiling, two in front kneeling, and two to either side each holding a baby

Teaching is a shared task and responsibility. Class notes are fluid materials. They are not texts cast on educational stones and delivered by teachers to students to copy, cut, and paste as is often the case. Class notes are not written or produced by teachers for students but by teachers with students. Teachers’ notes are incomplete and insufficient. They account only for a part, not a whole of the learning process and material. Students’ input completes and complements the teaching material and learning process. Thus every class note is unique because it is a product of a specific collaborative endeavor, a product of particular teaching and learning agents and circumstances that cannot be repeated or replicated.

Thus, as a teaching method, questionstorm is set to facilitate teacher development and improve the quality of instruction in schools. The questionstorm method will help realise a paradigm shift in education and learning. I hope educators, teachers, and school managers will embrace this method of teaching and learning.

Images provided by the author

Conclave raises fascinating hypothetical scenarios within the Catholic Church

Gabriel Andrade
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Conclave raises fascinating hypothetical scenarios within the Catholic Church

Until 1870, the Papal States were a conglomeration of territories on the Italian peninsula under the direct sovereign rule of the Pope. Since the Middle Ages, the Papal States had expanded and contracted, playing a significant role in Italian politics and serving as the temporal domain of the papacy. In 1870, the Papal States were annexed by the Kingdom of Italy, marking the end of the Pope’s political power. From 1870 to 1929, the Pope lived without a state, becoming known as the “Prisoner in the Vatican.” This situation changed on February 11, 1929, when the Lateran Treaty was signed between Italy and the Vatican. This treaty, negotiated by fascist dictator Benito Mussolini and Pope Pius XI, established Vatican City as a sovereign state. Ever since, the papacy has governed the Vatican City State, a tiny territory of 44 hectares within Rome.

But the Vatican certainly punches above its weight. While it may have lost its vast territorial holdings after 1870, the modern Vatican has cultivated a different kind of power through its financial operations and diplomatic reach. The Holy See maintains formal diplomatic relations with 179 nations, demonstrating its international clout. Financially, the Vatican Bank manages billions in assets for the Church and affiliated institutions. This financial leverage, combined with the Pope’s religious authority and the Vatican’s extensive global network, allows the tiny city-state to exert significant influence on world affairs, arguably surpassing its former territorial power.

Consequently, when it comes to electing Popes – via the mechanism of a secret assembly of cardinals, known as a ‘conclave’ – the stakes are high. And for that very reason, there have been quite a few nasty affairs in the history of conclaves. For example, the papal election of 1268 lasted nearly three years and ended only when the townspeople of Viterbo took drastic measures: they locked up the cardinals, removed the roof from their palace, and fed them nothing but bread and water until a decision was made. Another contentious conclave took place in 1378, where angry mobs threatened violence if a Roman Pope was not elected. The cardinals, under duress, chose Urban VI, who turned out to be so unstable that they later declared the election invalid and selected a different Pope, leading to a schism in the Church.

We may live in a more civilised age, but the recently released film Conclave — directed by Edward Berger and based on Robert Harris’ novel— gives reason to think that within the walls of the Vatican, the Medieval dog-eat-dog world may be alive and kicking. The film unveils the raw human dynamics within the conclave, exposing a world where ambition, secrets, and competing ideologies collide, ultimately culminating in an unexpected papal selection that challenges the Church’s traditional foundations.

While secular political gatherings in many countries might mirror the procedural mechanics of a papal conclave, the catholic tradition distinguishes itself through a unique supernatural claim: that the Holy Spirit actively guides and influences the election, transcending mere human political machinations. This divine intervention, catholics believe, elevates the conclave from a simple organisational process to a mystical event where human choice is mysteriously intertwined with celestial guidance.

The notion of divine guidance in papal elections is difficult to reconcile with the historical record of questionable outcomes, such as those I previously mentioned. The tightrope walk between free will and divine guidance creates a logical conundrum: if the cardinals truly have free will, then the Holy Spirit’s influence becomes negligible at best; conversely, if the Holy Spirit genuinely guides the process, it would render the cardinals’ choices predetermined, negating the concept of free will.

Be that as it may, while catholics believe in the Holy Spirit’s guidance during papal elections, they do not claim that everything the Pope does or says is infallible. The doctrine of papal infallibility only emerged in 1870 during the First Vatican Council and was highly controversial at the time. Some cardinals argued that this doctrine lacked a solid foundation in scripture or Church tradition. For instance, they pointed to historical cases of Popes who had erred in matters of faith, such as Pope Honorius I, who was posthumously condemned for heresy in the 7th century.

In truth, this doctrine is far more limited than many assume. It stipulates that the Pope is only infallible when speaking ex-cathedra on matters of faith and morals, binding the whole Church to his declaration. This specific condition has been invoked extremely rarely since the doctrine’s establishment. In fact, there are only two universally recognised instances of infallible papal pronouncements: Pope Pius IX’s declaration of the Immaculate Conception in 1854 and Pope Pius XII’s declaration of the Assumption of Mary in 1950.

Nevertheless, the doctrine of infallibility essentially provides a blank check that any future Pope could cash at will. Provided he speaks ex-cathedra, a Pope could theoretically declare that the vision narrated by the book of Ezekiel 1:4-28 actually refers to UFOs — a claim long favoured by conspiracy theorists — and Jesus is actually a being from another planet. catholics would be obligated to accept this radical reinterpretation as infallible truth.

There is no formal mechanism to impeach a Pope or even to declare one mentally unfit for the role. This lack of oversight and balances means that even in extreme scenarios—such as a Pope exhibiting clear signs of mental instability or making wildly unorthodox proclamations—there is no established process to remove him from office or nullify his declarations.

Catholics generally trust that, since the Holy Spirit guides the papal election process, they would never end up with such a Pope. This line of reasoning bears a resemblance to the prelogical thinking behind medieval ordeals. Just as surviving a trial by fire was seen as divine proof of innocence, the mere fact that a Pope remains in office is taken as evidence that his ex-cathedra statements are divinely inspired. If one reasons that the Holy Spirit would never allow a Pope to make wild claims ex-cathedra, then that means that if a Pope ever did make them — such as Jesus’ extraterrestrial origins —, the Holy Spirit approves it.

In Conclave, the selected candidate is not mentally unstable or does not make wild proclamations — in fact, he is the most lucid of the lot. But he does have a secret that in previous epochs might have barred him from priesthood altogether (I will not spoil the plot). However, an intriguing thought experiment arises: How would the global catholic community react if a completely unfit Pope were elected? This scenario presents a dilemma. Would the faithful view it as a testament to the Holy Spirit’s inscrutable wisdom, embracing the Pope’s condition as part of a divine plan? Or would it spark a crisis of faith, prompting believers to question long-held dogmas about the Holy Spirit’s role in papal elections and the infallibility of ex-cathedra pronouncements? We skeptics can only hope for the latter. Contrary to catholic dogma, the Vatican operates as a terrestrial institution—an anachronism rooted in monarchical systems that no longer hold relevance in the modern world. The idea of divine right, once wielded to justify absolute rule, was emphatically dismissed during the French Revolution. Today, the prevailing understanding is that legitimate authority arises from human dynamics and social contracts, not from supernatural dictates. Yet, in a particular State wielding significant influence—disproportionate to its size—, over a billion people maintain that its leader’s power is divinely sanctioned. Only time will reveal whether these beliefs will be critically examined and questioned.

The assisted dying conversation requires sensitive and compassionate debate

Brian Eggo
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The assisted dying conversation requires sensitive and compassionate debate

With the backdrop of an historic vote by MPs to legalise assisted dying for terminally ill adults in England & Wales, those for and against the law continue their arguments and campaigns – because there’s still plenty to play for. The bill has still to undergo intense scrutiny and inevitable amendments during the committee stage in the House of Commons, after which it still needs to pass through the House of Lords before it will become law.

As a (hopefully) good skeptic, it’s important to try to put personal feelings aside and look at the arguments as objectively as we can. Part of your skeptical toolkit should of course be knowledge of logical fallacies, but just it’s important that we don’t treat those as ‘gotchas’, particularly in relation to literal life and death situations. With that in mind, let’s take a look at some logical fallacies at the forefront of the assisted dying debate, and why we need to look beyond them to really understand and address concerns in a reasonable and compassionate way.

The Nirvana Fallacy

For those against assisted dying, there is an argument that no law will fully safeguard vulnerable people. This is an example of the nirvana fallacy, which makes a comparison of a real-life situation with an idealised alternative. The counter-argument to this is frequently the old adage, “Don’t let perfect be the enemy of the good”. Life is of course messy, and nothing can be perfect, but dismissing the argument out of hand is inappropriate.

It’s certainly not acceptable for checks and balances to simply be ‘good’ when it comes to making a decision on a person’s eligibility to end their life in this way. Proponents argue that those are well accounted for in the legislation, but there are factors such as administrative costs and practicality that come into play.

There can of course be counter-arguments that some checks and balances take things too far, and for a heartbreaking example of a struggle to jump through administrative hoops you can read the story of Allan Cornell.

There is of course subjectivity involved in evaluating what is safe and appropriate, and no two people will draw the line in the same place. Nevertheless, a line must be drawn somewhere, and it’s likely to make more people unhappy than it will satisfy. This is not however a reason to do nothing, because that represents the drawing of a very hard line right over at the other side of the debate.

The False Dilemma Fallacy

A continuing theme of the assisted dying debate is that the provision and funding of palliative care should be vastly improved, rather than turning our attention to providing a means for dying people to finish the job early. Also known as a false dichotomy, the false dilemma fallacy is clearly evident here, where we’re being presented a choice from only two options, when there are clearly more choices at hand, and the classic ‘why not both’ meme specifically springs to mind.

There’s no doubt that palliative care is incredibly important, but it’s somewhat less understood that it can also go hand-in-hand with assisted dying. As an example, Canadian statistics showed that 77.6% of people who received Medical Assistance In Dying (MAID) had received palliative care beforehand. Add to that the inconvenient fact that even the best of palliative care still doesn’t touch the sides in the worst of cases – feel free to Google for a barrage of horror stories, or get in touch with me and I’ll talk you though my brother’s final weeks before dying of lung cancer, if you want.

All that being said, it’s undeniable that end-of-life care with or without assisted dying could and should be better, and brushing aside those who are highlighting the current shortcomings is insensitive at best. To further muddy the waters, there are calls from critics citing other ‘more pressing’ issues in society that could and should be addressed first. To address those, cries of whataboutism may not be helpful, but perhaps a reminder that it is possible to address many different issues in parallel. If we accept the ‘now is not the right time’ argument, then that right time will almost certainly never come.

The Ad Hominem Fallacy

It’s possibly the quickest and laziest way of dismissing someone’s argument – call them out as belonging to a commonly denigrated group, and you can wash your hands of anything they have to say. The ad hominem attack is particularly tempting when it comes to evangelical Christians: they’ve got a proven track record of campaigning against anything to do with bodily autonomy and equality (see anti-abortion protests and outrage over same-sex marriage as examples), and it’s frequently easier to draw a line connecting an opponent of assisted dying to the church than it is to connect an actor to Kevin Bacon.

That being said, most Christian activists are at least self-aware enough to know their assertion, that life is a gift given from God and is not ours to take away, doesn’t wash with an increasingly secular public (now the majority in Scotland).

A religious official with dark-skinned, masculine hands and cream-coloured robe cuffs breaks up wafers for Eucharist
Body of Christ? Image by Norbert Staudt from Pixabay

Even further into the realms of fantasy is the bizarre assertion from the Vatican that a request to die isn’t actually a request to die. From their Samaritanus Bonus publication on end-of life-care:

“The pleas of very seriously ill patients who sometimes ask for death should not be understood as an expression of a genuine desire for euthanasia; in these cases they are almost always anguished requests for help and affection”.

With a lack of any credible theological leverage, they are instead mostly pointing towards many other (real) concerns and statistics to bolster their arguments. Addressing those is of course important, but it’s also important to differentiate the type of faith-based concerns they may have in those other bodily autonomy debates from this one.

As an example, a great answer to Christian protests against same-sex marriage is “No problem, you don’t have to marry anyone who is the same sex as you”. This particular snippet of snipe doesn’t apply when it comes to assisted dying, because our demise is inevitable, whereas matrimony is almost always voluntary, and frequently not permanent.

It’s also important for us not to make assumptions that just because someone is Christian that they are opposed to assisted dying, or that their opposition is for religious reasons: there’s reasonable evidence to suggest that the majority of people of faith actually support the concept of assisted dying.

The Slippery Slope Fallacy

Imagine a dystopian Mad Max-style futuristic hellscape where crazed (but state-sponsored) death squads parade the streets with poison-laden blow darts. Anyone deemed to be of sub-optimal value to society is quickly dispatched for the sake of the greater good.  Designed to leverage fear, the slippery slope fallacy conjures images of devastating knock-on effects of a single smaller change.

Opponents of assisted dying are of course not conjuring up quite the same cinematic scenario as the one I’ve just painted, but there are still noticeable levels of hyperbole to be found – see the recent ‘Euthanasia is just eugenics in disguise’ headline from Premier Christianity magazine as an example. The more extreme of these may not be worth addressing, but there are still valid concerns out there, and genuine evidence of expansion of scope in other countries where assisted dying has been legal for some time. The primary examples cited are the Netherlands and Canada where the initial legislation has subsequently expanded in scope.

As such, it’s appropriate to approach such concerns with realism. It’s not entirely outside of the realms of possibility that, if assisted dying is legalised in the UK, there may be pressure to widen its scope from those who feel it doesn’t go far enough, as situations like this have been the primary drivers of expansions in other countries. Inevitably there will be at least equal, if not more pressure from the other side to reduce the scope or even abolish the law. It’s also worth noting that change of scope is not inevitable, with Oregon’s law being pretty much unchanged in over two decades.

Appeal to Popularity Fallacy

Just because a lot of people like it, doesn’t mean it’s good or right. What I used to refer to as Bieber’s Law is more commonly known as the appeal to popularity fallacy. It stands to reason that the will of the people is not necessarily always in their best interest. Pick your least favourite election / referendum / Dancing on Ice result for an example.

In terms of the assisted dying question, the numbers are strongly in favour, with a recent YouGov survey showing 73% of Britons are pro new legislation, compared to only 13% against it. The poll didn’t drill down in terms of religiosity, but a recent survey commissioned by Humanists UK did, and it found that 65% of Christians were also in favour, which seems strangely at odds with many of the official voices in the various flavours of Christianity, although it’s not entirely a novelty for the real values of the flock not to match those of the preacher.

That said, favourable numbers don’t necessarily mean a slam dunk, because good ideas can be implemented badly, and among the larger population there may be smaller groups that might be disproportionately (and adversely) affected. Most notable among them are disability advocacy groups who rightly have valid concerns due continued lack of support from the Government. Those concerns were considerably exacerbated during the Covid-19 pandemic amongst claims of unlawful Do Not Resuscitate orders, too.

Interestingly, a 2023 YouGov survey showed a significant majority (78%) of those who responded that they were “limited a lot” by disability still supported assisted dying legislation. Surveys vary in nature and statistical validity of course, but there’s an overall compelling message of support that must be weighed carefully against the valid concerns.

A personal view

For full disclosure, I’m personally in favour of the bill becoming law, and equally so its equivalent in my home country of Scotland (still at stage 1 of the process). I’ve felt that way for a number of years now (see my article from 2021 addressing some misinformation from the Care Not Killing group as an example), but those feelings became considerably stronger after watching my brother’s horrific death last year.

These logical fallacies (and others that my word count and submission deadline prevent me from covering) are the headline grabbers, and frequently contribute to decision-making opinions in our heads. As always, though, it’s wise to dig further and look for deeper truths, especially when it comes to our own deaths.

From the archive: Return To Silpho Moor – the Scarborough sky crash of 1957

Roger Ford
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From the archive: Return To Silpho Moor – the Scarborough sky crash of 1957

This article originally appeared in The Skeptic, Volume 4, Issue 4, from 1990.

Perhaps, after all, the most mysterious thing about the Scarborough Saucer Crash, is the fact that after thirty three years no one has come forward to claim responsibility for staging the ‘hoax ‘ that  this event allegedly was. As far as the write r can ascertain, after such a length of time, the whole matter seems to have been settled by sundry ‘experts’ solely on the basis of what they were prepared to believe about ufological possibilities. Evidence, what there was of it, was indeterminate, and even with the ‘crashed saucer’ to work with no one seemed able to make an informed impartial judgment in the matter. As is all too frequent in ufology the investigation was apparently approached as an exercise in belief system thinking. And who is there, even these days, who can say that they would have fared any better given the kind of information available at the time.

One of the main protagonists is known to the author, and this source still insists that the actual artifact, the anomalous aeroform, that fell from on high into a field in Scarborough, a seaside resort on the East Coast of Yorkshire, is out there somewhere. Probably in the possession of the widow of the last known holder of the ‘saucer’. Her present whereabouts are unknown, but it is likely that she does not even know she has it, as it could be among her late husband’s effects, gathering dust in garage or attic. An ignominious end for a Saucer from the Stars, wouldn’t you say?

Perhaps, even at the outset, the scenario was such that even if the story were true it stood very little chance of being accepted as such. So, what really happened?

The story goes that on the evening of 21 November, 1957, a trio, composed of Mr D and two companions, were travelling in Mr D ‘s car on Silpho Moor. Now even in those far gone, and unswinging times, Silpho Moor had a certain reputation, and one is left to wonder what these three were doing there in the first place. According to my informant they were, at that time, well known local ‘tycoons’, whose reputations might have suffered a severe setback had their presence on the Moor been discovered. A writer, rejoicing in the pseudonym of Anthony Avendel (who, it is rumoured, was eventually ‘bought off’ and went on to found his own publishing company, still extant, on the proceeds) gave the three gentlemen’s names as Frank Hutton, Charles Thomas and Fred Taylor. But my informant, Mr P. Long bottom (also an alias) intimated, without categorically stating such, that these names were as suspect as his own in the context of the story of Silpho Moor. All very confusing I’m sure. But that’s ufology, and things only got worse from there on in.

As the three witnesses were driving along minding their own businesses, whatever that might have been, they espied, in the evening sky, a ‘glowing object’ which fell to the ground very near to where they were. It is noted in the Flying Saucer Review account that immediately prior to them seeing the object the car had stalled. However as it is also mentioned that they were at the time going up a steep gradient it is not really necessary to invoke ‘electromagnetic effects’ for the car ‘s sudden seizure. Cars in those days would, and often did, seize up and stall, for the most mundane of reasons. Especially when struggling up a steep gradient with a full load. The car having stopped, Mr Hutton got out and, taking a torch with him, went to find the object they had seen fall from the sky, He found that the object had fallen only a matter of forty yards or so from where the car had ground to a halt. Having located the object he hurriedly returned to the car to fetch his two companions to see what he had found. In doing so he either left a young couple, who had also been on the Moor, standing over the object; or, he passed them making their way towards it as he was returning on the trot to the car. Whatever, when he and his two friends returned to the scene of the sky crash both couple and saucer were allegedly gone. I’ll bet Mr Hutton and Co. said ‘dash it all’, or words to that effect.

Although the saucer was later recovered for the princely sum of £10 (don’t laugh – you could nigh on retire on that amount in those days), the couple who allegedly performed the saucer snatch were never named. In fact they are quite mysterious, in that they turned up out of nowhere to perform their dastardly deed on the Moor, then returned to oblivion. It is not certain that they were the ones from whom the saucer was eventually reclaimed as whoever returned the saucer did not volunteer the object, but responded to an advert for such an object that was placed by the main protagonists in the local press. So said my informant, and he should know, as it was to him Mr D brought their find for the ‘message’ it allegedly contained to be deciphered. But really, given the loss of the original, there is no real guarantee that the one returned was the one which fell upon the Moor.

All the extant accounts, and my informant, agree that the saucer which was the subject of the following investigation was shaped something like a child’s spinning top. It was 18 inches in diameter, measured nine inches through the centre, weighed 35 lbs, and was composed of the most mundane materials. It was seemingly made to such specifications as could have been duplicated, or bettered, by Terran manufacturing processes. In other words, it looked a bit ‘home made’, in more ways than one.

According to Mr Longbottom, whom I interviewed in late ’89, even in the early stages of the investigation there were ‘rumours’ of ‘D’ notices being served on the local press to stop reportage of the incident; individuals akin to the Men In Black showed up for a brief spell, and ‘poltergeist’ effects were experienced in the witnesses’ homes. Everything out of The Good Ufologists Guide to Alien Behaviour, it might seem.

As the investigation proceeded, and the saucer was broken open, there was found inside, not advanced alien automation, but a coiled copper spring or ‘tube’ into which had been stuffed a ‘copper scroll’ upon the pages of which (17 of them in all) were incised words of cosmic wisdom. Instructions as to the disposal of the scrolls were ‘ scratched’, in similar characters, on the outside of the saucer, and looked as shown here.

[PICTURE SENT SEPARATELY OF TEXT]

Well, I agree, they only look like chicken tracks really, but the ones on the ‘copper scrolls’ were eventually ‘deciphered’ by my informant after some 100 hours of work.

This ‘message’ is the most interesting part of the whole Silpho Moor affair. It purports to be from an extra-terrestrial called Ulo. What he, she, or it, had to say might have been news in those days, but from subsequent ‘alien messages’ it can now be seen that it was the same mixture as before. Avendel, whoever he was, was seemingly the most sensible of those who came in contact with the saucer, as he seemed to accept the message as ‘genuine’, but in terms of an earthbound initiative to make certain facts known. He told the press: ‘I accept this as a message, but I don’t accept that it has come from another planet. I think it was devised as a method of presenting certain ideas to the public – either by way of propaganda or advice.’

So what was it that ‘Ulo’ had to say for himself? As usual the message revolved around mankind’s unenviable ability to turn planet Earth into a Cosmic charnel house. He stated the obvious by pointing out that we are a ‘fierce’ species, a condition he blamed on our lack of a common language. He insinuated that we would not get far in space because of sudden changes in speeds and direction and other reasons, and warned us to change our ways – or else. This strange message, which contained nothing that we did not already know, and some things which our science was on the verge of disproving, should, according to those ‘hieroglyphics’ on the outside of the saucer, be only handed to a ‘philosopher’. Perhaps it lost something in the translation and what Ulo had really meant was ‘Skolar’.

Despite the expanding ludicrousness of the affair, those bone fide UFO groups which undertook investigations did so in all seriousness. Samples were sent for analysis. Statements were taken. Diagrams were made. One group even went so far as to have the damned thing ‘psychometrised’ and by this means discovered that the object was dropped from a Mercurian Scout Ship, which, having thus delivered this momentous message, went on to Yeovil. (Perhaps, after all, there is something about Yeovil that I have been missing all these years.) It was further determined that the object was driven by ‘electromagnetic propulsion’, and that it was deliberately ‘guided’ towards that particular car by a second object of much larger size (the Mercurial Scout Ship), and that it was ‘exploded’ to fall at a predetermined distance from the car. After all that it’s a wonder it got down in one piece.

My own informant, some 32 years later, was still inclined to the opinion that the object might not have been of terrestrial manufacture even though it was made of the same materials, and apparently according to the same principles of manufacture, as domestic hot water tanks. At the time the mystery eventuated it ended very much ‘you pays your money and you makes your choice’ with one of the investigating groups, with at least one member claiming alien contact, deciding to accepting the saucer as a genuine piece of extra-terrestrial hardware. While the other group, who perhaps did not benefit from Alien Advice, decided that it was a ‘hoax by person or persons unknown’. Everybody, it would seem, missed the point completely. The point is that this sort of thing is pointless. Even if the saucer and the ‘message’ had actually come from Mercury it could have been confidently ignored, and left to rust on Silpho Moor. The ‘message’ relayed nothing we did not already know, and the saucer apparently could have been cobbled together by a half-way competent plumber. If this is an example of the best that a superior alien culture can attain then they are probably best ignored, as they have nothing to offer except a kind of unconstructive puerile paranoia, and manufacturing techniques that would clearly benefit from subcontracting to Taiwan. Therefore if, in the face of all that interplanetary ineptitude, the Silpho Moor Saucer turns out to be a message from ET, then before we can all faint from the cosmological charitableness of it all perhaps we should ask ourselves ‘what’s in it for them?’, and so possibly avoid being taken for an interplanetary ride-metaphorically speaking.

In the end it is hardly likely that the Silpho Moor affair was anything but what it appears to be. Some kind of well meaning hoax by persons or persons unknown, who allowed their Atomic Anxieties to get the better of them and tried, in their own way, to do something about it, little realising that the Human Race is the way it is because that is the way it wants to be. If we really were as socially sane as all these unnaturally altruistic aliens seem to assume, we would never have started playing with Atomic Matches in a Global Gunpowder Factory in the first place. So hoax or genuine ‘Ulo’s’ Message from Mercury (and those which have followed, and are following, and will continue to follow its example) has as much chance of persuading the Human Race to eschew its present sociologically suicidal strategies, as I would have trying to persuade a lion to become a vegetarian. For better or worse we are what we are – The Ape Who Would Be God – and it is time we matured and accepted our destiny. To be Human is enough. Anything else would be too Alien.

Droning on: shedding a skeptical light on the New Jersey UAP panic

Nick Garratt
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Droning on: shedding a skeptical light on the New Jersey UAP panic

For the past two months or so, northern New Jersey has been buzzing. No, it’s not a bunch of Mancunians having top nights out, nor a swarm of murder hornets (though that wouldn’t be the most outlandish explanation posited), but a swarm of a different kind…

Strange lights in the skies of New Jersey have been captured on blurry mobile phone videos and uploaded to TikTok and YouTube in their droves since mid-November. The lights move quickly, sometimes in groups, sometimes on their own – often blinking, but not always – and then they vanish without a trace. What could they be? Where could they be coming from? What is their purpose? As you might imagine, there have been a lot of theories.

What are they?

I have seen some wild ideas on this front. Could they be alien craft visiting our planet? Well, probably not. Interstellar travel, even for a super-advanced alien civilisation, would be incredibly taxing on resources, fuel, time, and effort. The suggestion that Marklar is travelling here from lightyears away, and setting off at a time before humans and chimpanzees had separated on the evolutionary tree, seems unlikely. For their intention, once the reach Earth, to then apparently be “lets muck about in the sky over New Jersey, but never land or try to interact with these chimps in cars” would be an incredible waste of time and energy.

Might they be inter-dimensional beings? No, because dimensions are not the multi-verse. We don’t live in a comic book, and that word doesn’t mean what authors frequently want it to mean. Interesting work has been done to study extra dimensions, but they are not mirror universes and beings do not live in them and travel here. The same goes for orbs. Nothing would “travel” here from an extra dimension; it would already be here, it would just be impossible for us to see with the naked eye.

Perhaps they are angels, or even demons? It’s hard to know what to say about that one, except to tell you to go consult a theologian or two and come back to me when you’ve decided on which one you think they are. Then demonstrate to me how you reasoned that out, because I struggle to see a valid enough argument for “they got zooped here by magic to do holy good flying/unholy evil flying” to take an opposing stance on.

Or are we actually dealing with giant drones? Well… no, probably not. Some might well be drones, but a great number of these videos – once details of the date, time, location, and direction that the camera is pointing are provided – turn out to be nothing more outlandish than planes, helicopters, satellites or (in at least one case) a zoomed in video of the planet Venus on a low-quality camera. The excellent UFO/UAP researcher and skeptical writer Mick West has done a superb job of tracking down many of these cases, to illustrate the mundane reality behind the scare stories.

Where did they come from?

I feel we have touched on these points already. They did not come from a parallel universe, because that isn’t a thing that exists. If you need more information on that, I suggest you reach out to a physicist and not an article in a magazine. They did not come from space (ditto). Some YouTubers and Facebook posters have suggested they came from an advanced civilization living under the sea, but I can’t say I have seen any evidence for that beyond “they came in from the coast.” If that were enough, then we could equally fear that all boats came from under the sea.

Videos of the lights disappearing down towards the Atlantic are just examples of forced perspective – they don’t show the lights under the water, they don’t show ripples in the water of something breaking the surface. The best you could do is say that they have moved beyond the horizon, but equally they might have moved lower to the surface and switched off their lights, or the angle of their trajectory might have obscured the lights from your viewpoint.

Which leads us to the more terrestrial answers, and here is where I should admit that I don’t have an answer. There have been some suggestions that these mystery lights are coming from foreign nations. The US government has already pushed back on the idea of an “Iranian mothership” controlling these craft, but the idea that a foreign state could be in control is not entirely beyond the realms of possibility. Doing so could easily be considered a hostile act and, potentially, an act of war, so the risks would far outweigh the benefits of the activity for hostile states working against the US.

The suggestion that these are military craft controlled by the US DOJ is not entirely without merit. But they’d have to have made the choice to test them over highly populated areas, which would seem badly thought out. There are large swathes of land across the continental United States where these tests could be carried out without rousing suspicion from the general public. I hear Nevada is quite good for this type of thing – I think they’ve got a number of Areas of land around there…

One last theory has suggested that these things are controlled by a shady cabal of individuals or a secret New World Order. Have you heard of Project Blue Beam? If not, that’s because it is a unfounded conspiracy theory that NASA is actually a front for a shady “one world government” to take over the world using a fake UFO invasion… or they could literally just be aircraft and satellites that people are misidentifying out of a want to see something interesting or score internet points.

Why are they here?

Maybe they are here to take over the world! Or to bring about the Christian rapture (but only in relatively small area of the north-eastern United States)! Perhaps this is the scouting party for our soon-to-be alien overlords, or the Iranian/Chinese incursion into the USA! All terrifying, if true. Or maybe, just maybe, there is no “they.” Maybe this is just a string of misidentified planes, planets, satellites and stars. There are lots of videos appearing, true. But not lots of videos of the same thing from different angles. And maybe that is because, from a different perspective, these lights in the sky become something very normal.

Ho Ho Holy Man? Why Santa technically doesn’t quite count as a god

Kat Ford
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Ho Ho Holy Man? Why Santa technically doesn’t quite count as a god

As an atheist, skeptic, and researcher working broadly in the cognitive sciences of religion, Christmas brings up a lot of questions. Can I celebrate this holiday? Am I a hypocrite if I put some fairy lights up? How long can I get away with not checking my emails? How many mince pies is too many? Is a plate of cheese really a meal? Prosecco counts as a mixer, right?

But a more intriguing question, to people in my field at least, is this: why isn’t Santa Claus seen as a god? 

At first glance, it’s a silly question. He just isn’t! No one thinks of Santa as a god! Only kids believe in Santa! But viewed from the perspective of the cognitive science of religion, this is actually very interesting. Before I can convince you that this is genuinely an interesting question and not just a silly rhetorical quip, I need to introduce you to minimally counterintuitive concepts or ideas and what they have to do with theories seeking to explain religion.

When looking at religions across the world – even disparate religions with different roots, rules, gods, rituals, and traditions – we can see that they often have interesting things in common. It seems that religions the world over contain minimally counterintuitive concepts. These are objects or beings that behave in ways that fit within our expectations of what that thing or object is or can do, but violate our expectations in some way. Examples of this would be a tree that can talk, a chair that can walk, perhaps a statue that can cry, a rock that can sing, or a human that can walk through walls – you get the idea.

We remember these ideas very easily – even more than we remember something completely unsurprising, like a tree that is just a tree, a chair that is just a chair, or a statue that is just a statue, and so on. Interestingly, we also remember minimally counterintuitive ideas better than we remember maximally counterintuitive ideas, such as a rock that sings but only on Tuesdays if it’s raining, because if it’s sunny it grows legs and dances the tango, but only in January, and only if there’s been no snow since New Year’s Eve. That’s far too complicated and weird, there are just too many details. No one, or very few, will remember that.

Why are religions full of minimally counterintuitive ideas? The argument goes that the slight surprise or intrigue of minimally counterintuitive ideas makes them memorable, and so they work brilliantly as memes – units of information that stick in our brains and transmit easily with high fidelity to other brains, and that is key to religion. The problem with this argument is that there is a big difference between remembering information, and believing that information. This is what often gets referred to as the Mickey Mouse problem.

The Mickey Mouse problem 

If all we need in order to kickstart a religion is a minimally counterintuitive concept that a lot of people are able to imagine, remember, and tell other people about with relative ease, then why isn’t Mickey Mouse, the mouse that wears trousers and talks, not a god? The answer to this is that while minimally counterintuitive concepts may well be an important aspect of what makes a god a god, that’s not all that is needed. 

In the paper “Why Santa Clause is not a God” (the question I have shamelessly ripped off here), Justin Barrett lays out five key attributes of culturally successful god concepts. Let’s see how well Mickey Mouse measures against Barrett’s criteria.

Firstly, gods are counterintuitive. With his job, house, trousers, shoes, girlfriend, pet dog and impressive command of spoken language for a mouse, I’m pretty happy to say Mickey Mouse meets this criterion. Secondly, gods are intentional agents, that is they have minds therefore they have opinions, desires and goals and so can act with intent. Again Mickey Mouse does appear to have this. Gods also tend to have privileged access to useful information – I am not sure this is something that can be said of Mickey. He seems like a nice enough mouse fellow and perfectly happy, but I’m not sure he can really give me much in the way of life advice, never mind offer profound insight into the mysterious workings of the universe. So on this third key feature Mickey is, in my opinion, lacking. 

The fourth key feature Barrett outlines is that gods tend to be able to interact with our world. This is a tricky one. Mickey does interact with our world, within Disney theme parks at least, and, if he were a god, Mickey wouldn’t be the only geographically constrained god. That said, even within the confines of the magic kingdom, Mickey’s interaction with our world seems to be limited to dancing, waving and occasionally hugging people. These things are lovely, and can indeed feel magical, but they are not acts that can’t be performed by regular folk. Barrett argues that Mickey doesn’t meet this criterion, but hey, it’s nearly Christmas after all, so let’s be generous and give the Mouse the benefit of the doubt. 

Finally, gods tend to inspire rituals. This is a tricky one, because it really depends on how one defines ritual. Perhaps for some, visiting one of the Disney theme parks may take on ritualistic aspects, such as the donning of mouse ears, maybe even engaging in specific activities or going on the rides in a specific order. We’re getting into the realms of “you know it when you see it” as one often does when looking at religion, but I’d argue that on the whole, Mickey doesn’t seem to inspire ritual behaviour, certainly not large-scale, coordinated rituals occurring on key days or dates.

Back to Santa

So, Mickey Mouse doesn’t quite have all the key ingredients of a god, but what about Santa? He has even more hallmarks of a god than Mickey, doesn’t he? Santa is pretty magical. He somehow visits every (predominantly Christian) child in the whole world in the space of one night, using only a sleigh and some flying reindeer. That seems counterintuitive to me. He is apparently omniscient, as he knows when you are sleeping and knows when you’re awake – and not just you, but everyone in the world. That certainly seems like privileged knowledge no normal human would possess. He even knows if you’ve been bad or good, and indeed cares about your moral behaviour. It sounds to me like Santa is an intentional agent, with a human-like mind. 

Santa then deals out punishment or reward as he sees fit: coal or reindeer poop for the bad kids and this year’s must-have gifts for the good children (if their parents can afford them). So here is Santa interacting with our world! These are excellent ingredients for a god!

What about ritual – does Santa inspire ritual? Arguably. Children are encouraged to leave out treats for Santa, such as milk and cookies, sherry and mince pies, or whiskey and sausage rolls. Plus a carrot for the reindeer. Every year and always on the same date. It’s beginning to look a lot like ritual to me. Yet, despite all this, Santa just isn’t considered to be a god – as far as I am aware there are no Santaists knocking about, apart from the occasional dyslexic goth. So, why?

A 'Cookies for Santa' hand-decorated plate on a wooden table, with a glass of milk, a mince pie and a carrot sitting on it
Things to offer Santa and his reindeer. Photo by Petr Kratochvil, via publicdomainpictures.net

Barrett’s paper outlining the key features described above ultimately concludes that Santa somehow just doesn’t quite possess all the attributes that would transform him from a character in a folk tale and cute seasonal figure into a god of some description, even though he does come pretty close. The devil (or deity) is in the details.

Yes, Santa does apparently care about moral behavior, and is said to be willing to punish behaviour he considers “bad”, but Barrett questions how often Santa (well, parents) reinforce that belief by adjusting the gifts children get in accordance with their behaviour throughout the year. Barrett also argues that although there is some ritualistic behaviour performed and some sacrificial offerings left for Santa the evening before Santa’s expected to arrive and do his reverse burglary, it is only once a year and, perhaps, this is too infrequent to reinforce the belief that he is a god. 

To me, this explanation feels unsatisfying. Maybe to figure out why Santa isn’t a god, we need to look to a concept that does, or rather did, meet all the criteria of a successful god concept, but is no longer seen as a god. 

Ex-gods

Enter Zeus! Or, more specifically, the Zeus problem. In a paper by that name, researchers Joseph Henrich and Will Gervais reply to Barrett’s paper on Santa by pointing out that even agents which meet all the criteria of a god and have been popularly worshipped do not always retain their loyal following. This is pretty compelling evidence that it is not just the content of an idea that takes a being from fictional folk figure to divine deity.

Moreover, if it was the content of a story alone that dictated whether a supernatural entity was seen as an interesting character or an actual god to be worshipped and revered, then presumably every time we hear about a new being that meets all of the god criteria we would suddenly have a new idol in our personal pantheon – that clearly does not happen, so there must be something else at play here. The paper also points out that if the content of ideas alone makes the difference between belief and non-belief, then how do we explain why children who do believe in Santa stop believing as they get older, even though the content of the Santa story doesn’t change. 

In a further paper, Gervais et al argue that it comes down to how humans learn from each other. While the content of a story or idea may be key to what information is conveyed, it’s the cultural context in which the information is transmitted that makes the difference between something we remember and something we believe. Humans are shrewd cultural learners, and have ways to perform a sort of quality control on the information they receive. We pay attention to what the majority of those around us appear to believe and are likely to follow the crowd – this is conformist learning bias.

Santa’s CREDs

We engage in prestige-based learning, paying more attention to individuals who are older, appear to be more skilled, and are looked up to by other individuals in our culture. We are also sensitive to credibility-enhancing displays, or CREDs, which are acts that verify an individual’s stated belief – do they walk the walk after they talk the talk? Is the person who told you the berries are safe to eat actually eating those berries themselves? Is the person who says they believe in a god performing regular acts of devotion or rituals dedicated to their chosen deity? 

It is this last one, the presence or absence of CREDs, that may be the most powerful when it comes to matters of faith. In a study investigating decreases in religious belief, Lanman found that children raised by parents who believe in god are more likely to grow up to be non-believers if they do not witness their parents performing credibility-enhancing displays. We adopt the religion of our culture, if we are regularly exposed to regular credibility-enhancing displays performed by individuals we preferentially learn from.

As children grow up, they are exposed to fewer CREDs validating belief in Santa, as the adults around them start putting in a little less effort into their Santa rituals. In our current culture, we aren’t exposed to peers or prestigious others performing CREDs that would signal a strong and genuinely held belief that Zeus is the almighty god of all. So CREDs – or more accurately, a lack of CREDs – may be key to why Santa (or Zeus) is not considered to be a god; he just doesn’t get the CREDs.

So, Santa isn’t a god, and now you have one current explanation of why. But, if you want to keep the magic alive a little longer, engage in some CREDs, leave out some treats for Santa and his reindeer, and allow yourself to indulge, even for just a few days, in the culturally successful stories we share in midwinter. Merry Christmas.

Spotify Trapped? The algorithm is not what’s keeping you from new music

Nick Garratt
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Spotify Trapped? The algorithm is not what’s keeping you from new music

It’s the end of the year and, as is becoming tradition, everyone’s social media is being flooded with Spotify Wrapped. This year I discovered Sleep Token and am furious with myself for missing them at Bloodstock back in 2022 (I did see them this year in Manchester, but the ordeal that was getting to that gig is a story for another day!).

And in another tradition almost as old as the Spotify Wrapped share, we are seeing the opinion pieces pouring out of every newspaper and blog feed about how we are all “trapped by the algorithm!!” And they all seem to follow the same rough outline:

Spotify is collecting all of our data. It knows what music we like, when we like to listen to it, what our friends listen to… and that is scary! Back in the good old days, we all used to go into music stores and pick up any random album we saw and thought the artwork was interesting, then we’d discover that, actually, we do like New Wave Indie Jazz! I’d share music with all my diverse friends, no two of whom had ever listened to the same band, and who constantly introduced me to something new. It was a glorious time of musical revolution! Then the algorithm came along, and now I listen to the same bands I have been listening to for decades and never find anything new – and that is the fault of the app, not me.

You can perhaps guess what my opinion of these opinion pieces is going to be. Let’s take a look at some of the claims and break them down…

Back in Good Old Days I’d constantly be finding new and interesting music!

Yes, this is probably true. When people think about this, they are usually thinking back to their teen years. You were developing your own tastes, your own means to listen to music – be that a record player, stereo stack, cassette player, Walkman, or even a CD-Walkman! Personal music devices were a game-changer (and no doubt had their own panic surrounding them).

You also had, for the first time, your own disposable income, perhaps from your first job, or maybe you got paid by your parents to do chores around the house. You were learning what bands or artists tickled that bit in your brain that makes you want to sing or dance.

You were also learning which ones weren’t your thing. I am a metalhead at heart and grew up during the 00’s Nu-Metal era. KoRn were the first concert I went to without an adult, Slipknot and Disturbed were my preferred weapons of choice against my mum’s Tina Turner and Celine Dion. I wasn’t interested in listening to Nelly Furtado or The Killers, because their music didn’t instil any great joy in me, not like System Of A Down did. Which brings me to my next point.

My friends introduced me to new music, not The Algorithm!

Again, this might be true, but why should it be any different now? My friends still introduce me to new music, and we use Spotify to do it. I share songs on social media that I like. I have a WhatsApp group full of people I met at festivals and we all share all the time: “What’s your favourite act from this year?”, “Anyone into Ren?”, “Zeal & Ardour’s new album isn’t great…” If you aren’t having these conversations with your friends anymore, maybe you should do something about it?

As for the suggestion that all our friends listened to different music – no, they didn’t. Musical taste was one of the things that helped form the “in” group. You look at Mods and Rockers, or Scallies/Townies and Moshers; the music was a defining aspect of the scene, along with the fashion. The fashion was usually a visual signifier that you were part of the same crowd, and a conversation could always be started with “so what bands are you into?” knowing there will be some common ground.

Having an app that works based on similar knowledge, by grouping artists that often appear on other users’ playlists together, means I get to discover Hilltop Hoods because my enjoyment of Watsky merged via Bliss & Esso. The algorithm helped me find a new favourite group! None of my friends were into Australian Hip-Hop, but other Spotify users were, and so it connected me.

I used to go to record stores and buy anything to hear something new, and the hit-and-miss was great!

I struggle to believe that all these bloggers and columnists were wandering around record stores, completely ignoring the genre signs above the sections of music, and buying stuff at random. Some claim that, as music journalists, they were doing this to find new music – but that isn’t how it works. Generally, a band/artist/record label/producer would reach out to music magazines asking for a review, and a journalist would be tasked with reviewing it. The journalists are rarely going out to find any random band to review, and never without a preconceived idea of their intent. That would be madness.

If you want to find new music on the app, just type in what kind of thing you want to look for, and the algorithm will spit out what people into that scene usually like. I just tried this with “alt-jazz” and that is not my thing, but now I know that for sure.

Good reasons to criticise Spotify

Spotify collects a lot of data, this is true. It massively underpays artists for their art (a typical stream of a song pays £0.003, hardly a living wage for the majority of musicians). They pay millions of dollars every year to platform a misinformation and disinformation podcaster in Joe Rogan.

The company will skew results for the artists that sign exclusivity contracts and punish those that fail to do so – make this the focus of your complaints about the algorithm. I am not saying that Spotify is incorruptible or even a good company. But the complaints around the algorithm giving people what they like are weak at best. If you got older and settled into your music choices, then that was a decision you made.

You have access to the world’s biggest music store, and you can listen to it all, any time you like. Choosing to press play on Oasis for the 100th time this year isn’t the algorithm pushing them on you, it’s you listening to your music. Don’t pretend you’d actually be into vampire-mall-punk if only the app gave you the opportunity to try it – stop blaming the algorithm, and just embrace being a 90s indie kid.

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Expert skeptical analysis of pseudoscience, conspiracy theory and claims of the paranormal.

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