OU blog

Personal Blogs

Jim McCrory

Stepping Out of Plato's Cave

Visible to anyone in the world
Edited by Jim McCrory, Sunday 10 August 2025 at 09:13

sketch.png

Stepping Out of Plato's Cave

It happens like this, a video pops up — Intolerance, political drama, social injustice, indoctrination or whatever. It's all there like the Woolworth's pick 'n' mix counter, inviting you to taste. You succumb. Minutes later,  feeling that sense of outrage. Then another video appears. And another. Hours pass, and you’re still there, eyes fixed, brain buzzing like a bees hive with righteous indignation, unable to pull away from this hobbit cave.

You finally switch off, but your mind doesn’t. The anger and fear linger, replaying in your thoughts like a bad song on repeat. Sleep becomes difficult. Even in the morning, the heaviness hasn’t lifted. You feel more irritable but don't know why. 

Emotional contagion the psychologists call it. When we constantly consume content designed to provoke outrage, the brain’s stress systems fire repeatedly like a faulty engine. Cortisol, the stress hormone, stays elevated. Our nervous system is on high alert as if the danger is in the room with us. Over time, this erodes mood, memory, and even physical health. The same happens with soap operas or high-tension dramas. They may not be political, but they keep the mind braced on fight or flight mode.

The truth is, we were not meant to live in this  constant state of agitation. We need periods of calm, of forest bathing, of relaxation for our thoughts to settle and our emotions to reset. But outrage-driven media hijacks the brain’s reward system, giving us little hits of dopamine every time we click for the next shocking reveal. It’s a loop that leaves us exhausted yet craving more. We are addicted.

But there are other implications. I was reading up on the philosophy of Plato's Cave; it's one of the big players in philosophy courses. Plato warned us about this side of our nature long before the age of social media.

In his allegory of the cave, prisoners are chained underground, forced to watch shadows flicker on a wall. They believe these shadows are reality because it’s all they’ve ever seen. Today, we sit in a different kind of cave. The assumed reality  isn’t from firelight but from out computer screens. The shadows are videos curated by algorithms, designed to feed us only what will keep us watching.

Like Plato’s prisoners, we can mistake this narrow stream of images for the whole of reality. We get a distorted view of what is truth; it's like being in the Mad Hatter's Tea Party. We come to believe the distorted reality that the Mad Hatter and the March Hare are trapped in six-o'clock. And, like the prisoners who resist leaving the cave, part of us fears stepping away. After all, what if the world outside feels less thrilling, loveless, worrying?

But freedom comes when we use our critical thinking and turn away from the shadows and walk toward the light, when we choose real conversations over virtual, reflection over theatrical presentations . The sunlit world, a walk in nature, a conversation with a stranger may not give us the same jolt of adrenaline, but it gives something better. Besides, it reduces those cortisone levels that have us on hyper alert 

The most radical thing you can do is close the laptop, step outside, and remember that the world is more than the shadows dancing on your screen.

"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think on these things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me, put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you." Philippians 4:8 BSB.

Permalink
Share post
Jim McCrory

The Mad Hatter and the Measure of Humanity

Visible to anyone in the world
Edited by Jim McCrory, Thursday 21 August 2025 at 22:56

sketch.png

Image by Copilot

The Mad Hatter and the Measure of Humanity

Lewis Carroll never meant the Mad Hatter to be a moral philosopher. He was a creature of nonsense, stitched together from riddles, contradictions, and a teacup that was never emptied. And yet, there he sits in our imagination, a strange figure with something to say about what it means to be human.

The Hatter lives in a world where time has stopped. Forever six o’clock, forever tea. He has quarrelled with Time and lost, condemned to an endless repetition. If that is not a parable for human life when we abuse the gift of days, then what is? We too can find ourselves trapped in cycles, of work, of distraction, of chasing things that do not satisfy. Like the Hatter’s tea party, we move from seat to seat, but never really go anywhere. His madness reflects our own when we live without awareness that time is finite, that each day is unrepeatable.

And yet, there is another layer. The Hatter is eccentric, outside the circle of what others call sane. He reminds us that humanity is not uniform. We are all, in one way or another, hatters at our own tables, quirky, odd, prone to peculiarities that others may not understand. To be human is to carry these strange contours in our personality, and to recognize them in others without judgment. The world is poorer when everyone tries to be the same.

But the Hatter also raises a question about sanity itself. Who is mad, the one who refuses to bow to nonsense, or the society that insists upon it? Alice begins to see the absurdities of Wonderland as reflections of her own world. And we might too. How often do we dress up empty rituals and call them meaning? How often do we sit at a table where no one listens, repeating what has always been done, and call it tradition? The Hatter’s riddles, though absurd, shine light on our own contradictions.

What does this tell us about being human? That we are creatures of time, gifted with days that must not be wasted. That we are eccentric, each bearing the oddities that make us unique. That we live in societies full of conventions, some good, some foolish, and we need courage to distinguish between them. Above all, that our humanity is fragile. Like Alice, we are dropped into a world that does not always make sense, and we must learn to navigate it without losing our reason, or our wonder.

The Mad Hatter will never be a sage. But perhaps he is a mirror. And when we look at him, his endless tea, his riddles without answers, his quarrel with Time, we are really seeing ourselves. To be human is to laugh at the absurd, to grieve the waste of days, to cherish the moments that are not endless but fleeting. Unlike the Hatter, our clock still ticks. And therein lies both the madness and the beauty of being human.

Permalink Add your comment
Share post

This blog might contain posts that are only visible to logged-in users, or where only logged-in users can comment. If you have an account on the system, please log in for full access.

Total visits to this blog: 871355