In the field of astrophysics, an event horizon is the boundary between a celestial object so dense that once crossed, light and matter within is no longer observable. With age, a similar phenomena occurs as the popular culture of each preceding cohort eventually crosses the boundary of common knowledge across a broad swath of the population. It is especially ironic that in an age where virtually all of human knowledge is widely accessible, that so much of what once informed, entertained, and inspired those of us from the ‘before times’ lies fallow and unexamined.
In the 18th century, the labelling of a novel as a bestseller rose in parallel with the rise of the middle class and the increased literacy of the public, and in the centuries following, increased public literacy and awareness of cultural movements and phenomena increased, creating a society who expressed themselves with the context of these experiences. For most of the years between the early 20th century until the introduction of the iPhone in 2007, there was a fairly widespread pool of common pop culture knowledge: with books, most people could recount their basic plot, even if they had never read them, melodies to songs lived in the public dialogue as equally as language, films were seen by millions of people over its theatrical run, and television shows held the attention of most of America–if not the world–on a regular, weekly basis. The mass dissemination of music via radio, the photographic record, and, now, digital streaming, represents one facet of the evolution of the creative and marketing feedback loop that is just over a century old. Movies, their slightly younger sibling, television, and now video streaming have followed a similar trajectory of technological innovation moving towards direct, individualized access by the public, rather than the collective sense they once shared, and the iPhone and related innovations–such as the iTunes store and YouTube–atomized media, making what was collectively known now selectively known.
This is not a lament that it is likely many of my peers may have never heard a song by the Beatles, Louis Armstrong, or Jimi Hendrix, have ever read A Wrinkle in Time, or have seen Forbidden Planet. The books and songs and fantasies of all youth eventually cross over the event horizon, transferring energy into the black hole of lost memory, while those who created or consumed previously popular culture grow old and eventually pass on. Perhaps the now-aged media–presenting classic morals in a black and white snail’s pace–may look archaic to a younger eye compared to newer, slicker content, but there is still something to be learned from them, such as in Robert Wise’s 1951 film, The Day the Earth Stood Still, and it’s not just, “Klaatu barada nikto.” Only two years prior, the Soviet Union had successfully exploded their country’s first hydrogen bomb, proving that knowledge–even destructive knowledge–cannot be contained. Klaatu, the humanoid alien protagonist’s departing warning about the possibility of the extinguishing of all human life wasn’t about fictional beings destroying the Earth–it was about how we might do it ourselves.
Even the least consequential of movies, literature, and music in my younger days seem to carry more weight; I suspect in part because we had to work harder to get it. A trip to Blockbuster Video to rent the latest film always carried a non-zero risk that you might miss out on your top movie choice as all copies had been rented, forcing a second-tier choice of a film you might not otherwise have chosen. Scarcity and cost enforced a need for group viewing–creating social gatherings and human interaction that tends to be absent when every movie ever made can be streamed directly in a mobile device in the hands of individuals growing progressively more disconnected.
Before Amazon, the public library was where you might get access to the latest novel and, in the process of browsing the stacks, perhaps come across an unknown author or story that managed to grasp your attention. One of our first rites of passage into maturity was obtaining our first library card, and making our choices in what to read was among the first steps in independence from our parents. Wandering into the adult section of the library to find a book wasn’t part of some political battle or public statement–any book on a shelf you were tall enough to reach was yours for the taking.
The tragic end of Romeo and Juliet is almost universally known because almost every school-aged child was required to read or discuss the play at some point in their lives as part of a baseline understanding of how narrative stories work–alongside many classic novels, plays, and other media that have withstood the test of time. The innovative twists at the end of an episode of The Twilight Zone from the late 1950s became well-known because we experienced them together as a society. It was one of the first ‘water cooler’ shows–a piece of media so interesting, that millions of people spent part of their work or school hours discussing what they’d thought with others, face-to-face. When millions of people all over the world “react” to a 30 second TikTok video, can it really compare to a truly ‘shared’ experience? Perhaps it would be more akin to your average half-hour episode of I Love Lucy–something enjoyable in the moment, but relatively forgettable thereafter.There were a multitude of reasons as to why these stories never disappeared and the lessons learned from them were perpetuated, regardless of how they withstood the test of time.
The barriers to accessing media of virtually every type are effectively gone and the societal imperative group experience is in danger. What is lost to society if our comedies and tragedies, and our cautionary tales are disconnected from the feedback loop of face-to-face human interaction? While it is true an event horizon depicts the now-unobservable light and matter, it is also true that black holes are formed when the weight of matter becomes so great a star collapses in on itself. Centuries of stars may collapse within themselves if society continues with their growing distance from one another. As we continue approaching different event horizons throughout modern living, when will the future itself no longer be visible?