There’s a heart-wrenching video circulating on social media of a father on an airplane gently restraining and comforting his autistic son who panicked during takeoff. In the foreground you can see a woman who is recording, on her phone, what happened. And of course the fact that I saw both the father and the woman with the phone means someone else was recording it too.
Why is it that our first reaction, when something unusual happens, seems to be to record it and post it online? Are we so desperate for attention—for 30 seconds of internet notoriety—that we need to use other people’s most vulnerable moments as entertaining content? Even if the poster’s intent wasn’t entertainment, but (perhaps) a desire to publicly share a father’s patient love—why do we now appear to think that someone else’s misfortune is designed for our consumption?
Yes, it happened in public—so no law was broken. Filming someone without permission, to my understanding, becomes problematic when there is an expectation of privacy. The economy cabin of a plane is hardly private. But while the law might not prohibit it, it does seem to cross lines of basic human decency.
Perhaps, as Neil Postman famously titled his landmark work,[1] our generation is busy amusing itself to death. Once upon a time our primary heroes in the West were statesmen, explorers, and inventors. Now they are actors and athletes—a sad indication that we have diverted ourselves away from discovery to entertainment. If Philip Myers was right in his assessment of Rome’s moral decline, it is not a positive development. Writing at the beginning of the past century—well before the Western entertainment industry profoundly impacted the world’s culture—he wrote, “Almost from the beginning the Roman stage was gross and immoral. It was one of the main agencies to which must be attributed the undermining of the originally sound moral life of Roman society.”[2]
He couldn’t have possibly anticipated a world in which everybody would become a content producer. There’s a bit of a chicken-and-egg question here: it’s not always clear if the moral decay of the entertainment industry changed our values, or if our eroded values are changing the nature of entertainment.[3] I strongly suspect it’s a bit of a feedback loop; the entertainment industry likely wouldn’t be quite as immoral if we weren’t demanding it. It’s responding to our appetite, and in return, our appetite is fed by the content.
Watch the average movie trailer and ask yourself: How are they selling this film? Usually—not always, but usually—the snippets chosen feature violence and sex: a promise that viewers will experience dopamine hits.
Just how addicted are we? I recently listened to some of the American Senate hearings over the proposed merger between Netflix and Warner Bros. If the corporations were smaller, I doubt there would be a call for antitrust hearings,[4] but these are entertainment juggernauts. The money involved is significant.
Those opposed to the merger were passionate: If the companies were combined, and competition was largely eliminated, it would mean higher prices for consumers. Some people, they argued, might not be able to afford the monthly subscription fees.
Have we become so used to convenience that we feel put out when we can’t afford to be amused?
All discussions about the value of antitrust laws aside, I was struck by the way these politicians discussed entertainment as if it were a basic human right. While it’s true that human beings have been telling stories for a very long time—around the glow of a campfire or fireplace—something changed when we moved to the flicker of a television set in the middle of the twentieth century. We no longer told our own stories, but let others tell them for us. Or to us. We relegated the ancient role of grandparents and village bards to professionals in billion-dollar studios.
I could wax eloquent on the time we waste in front of screens, but that’s not my point; plenty of preachers have done that already. What grabbed my attention in this case was the fact that people were so passionate about our supposed “right” to be entertained. These senators were not discussing such essentials as food, clothing, or shelter. They were talking about your purported “right” to watch inexpensive movies.
When, exactly, did entertainment become a fundamental human right?
It’s not uncommon for people to complain about how difficult life is: Food is expensive, medical bills can be prohibitive, and home ownership is but a dream for countless young couples. That kind of discontent is understandable. But the right to watch movies? Have we become so used to convenience that we feel put out when we can’t afford to be amused?
A while ago, as I listened to Spotify, I was reminded that—in spite of our difficulties—we are likely the most privileged generation to walk the earth. It used to be that only the wealthy could afford to listen to talented performers. To hear the latest symphony, you had to purchase tickets, dress up, and make your way to a posh theater. It was a privilege reserved for a minute proportion of the population. That changed when Edison rolled out his phonograph; it was still a privilege, but the number of people able to listen to good music broadened. As the price of technology dropped over the years, the audience grew.
Today? I can listen to whatever I want—whenever I want. I don’t even have to rise from my chair to flip over a record to hear the “other side.” Almost every recording is available to me instantly. On demand. On a computer that easily slides into my front pocket and effortlessly connects to the Bluetooth entertainment in my car.[5]
Previous generations were not able to listen to a Mahler symphony on their way to work; in fact, they might never hear a symphony . . . ever. If it suddenly disappeared, would I miss it? Absolutely. But do I consider it a fundamental right? Hardly. In no way is mass-produced entertainment essential to my survival. (In fact, in many ways it’s become detrimental to our well-being.)
I know some will produce arguments to underline the benefits of the entertainment industry. The therapeutic qualities of music are well known. Television programming—at least back when there were only two or three stations—tended to bond a diverse nation together by generating a broad sense of culture and identity.[6] The escapism of the theater helped some people temporarily escape the painful reality of the Great Depression. I’m familiar with the arguments.
We love to be entertained. But is it a basic human right? Hardly. If we can’t live without it, if we consider it to be fundamental to our survival, perhaps we have made a god of it.
[1] Neil Postman, Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business (New York: Harper Perennial, 2005).
[2] Philip V. N. Myers, A History of Rome (New York: Ginn and Company, 1917), pp. 183, 184.
[3] If you doubt the moral decay of Western entertainment, try googling “Hays Code” to see the original guidelines for moviemaking. Some of the rules, such as the prohibition on depicting interracial marriages, were obviously misplaced. The rest? Well, just read it.
[4] In the United States, anti-trust laws are designed to prevent companies from becoming monopolies that are so large and powerful that, through price fixing and other means, they preclude or seriously disadvantage others from entering the market.
[5] I write this, entirely aware that a car with an entertainment system is still considered evidence of wealth in much of the world. In the West, it’s become standard.
[6] That is still true in many countries in which the government sponsors a nationally owned station, such as in Canada. It is commonly viewed as a way of supporting common culture across a very large nation.
