NPR science correspondent Shankar Vedantam had a great spot on NPR’s Morning Edition today about the disputes among social scientists over the impact of violent video games on kids. [“It’s A Duel: How Do Violent Video Games Affect Kids?”] You won’t be surprised to hear I wholeheartedly agree with Texas A&M psychologist Chris Ferguson, who noted in the spot:

Ferguson says it’s easy to think senseless video game violence can lead to senseless violence in the real world. But he says that’s mixing up two separate things.  “Many of the games do have morally objectionable material and I think that is where a lot of the debate on this issue went off the rails,” he said. “We kind of mistook our moral concerns about some of these video games, which are very valid — I find many of the games to be morally objectionable — and then assumed that what is morally objectionable is harmful.”

I’ve written about Ferguson’s work and these issues more generally many times over through the years here at the TLF. Here are some of the most relevant essays:

• Video Games, Media Violence & the Cathartic Effect Hypothesis
• More on Monkey See-Monkey Do Theories about Media Violence & Real-World Crime
• Video Games, Free Speech & the Lunacy of “Ecogenerism”
• Video Games and “Moral Panic”
• Video Games, Violence, & Social “Science”: Another Day, Another Fight
• Do video games create cop killers?

In these essays, I’ve tried to make a couple of key points about the social science literature on “media effects” theory:

(1) Lab studies by psychology professors and students are not representative of real-world behavior/results. Indeed, lab experiments are little more than artificial constructions of reality and of only limited value in gauging the impact of violently-themed media on actual human behavior.

(2) Real-world data trends likely offer us a better indication of the impact of media on human behavior over the long-haul. And all those trends show encouraging signs of improvement even as video game consumption among youth and adults increases.

(3) Correlation does not necessarily equal causation. Of course, whether we are talking about those artificial lab experiments or the real-world data sets, we must always keep this first principle of statistical analysis in mind.

(4) Finally, it’s worth reconsidering whether more weight should be given to the “cathartic effect hypothesis” in these debates. 

A bit more on this final point since I feel quite passionately about it…

The battle over media effect theory goes all the way back to the great Greek philosophers Plato and Aristotle. While Plato thought the media of his day (poetry, plays & music) had a deleterious impact on culture and humanity, Aristotle took a very different view. Indeed, most historians believe it was Aristotle who first used the term katharsis when discussing the importance of Greek tragedies, which often contained violent overtones and action. He suggested that these tragedies helped the audience, “through pity and fear effecting the proper purgation of these emotions.” In Part IV of his Poetics, Aristotle spoke highly of tragedies that used provocative or titillating storytelling to its fullest effect:

Tragedy is an imitation not only of a complete action, but of events inspiring fear or pity. Such an effect is best produced when the events come on us by surprise; and the effect is heightened when, at the same time, they follow as cause and effect. The tragic wonder will then be greater than if they happened of themselves or by accident; for even coincidences are most striking when they have an air of design. We may instance the statue of Mitys at Argos, which fell upon his murderer while he was a spectator at a festival, and killed him. Such events seem not to be due to mere chance. Plots, therefore, constructed on these principles are necessarily the best.

And for me, that remains the best explanation for how humans process dramatic depictions of violence and tragedy. We humans are unique among all mammals in our ability to adapt to changes in our environment and to process new and different forms of content and culture. We process. We learn. We assimilate. We adapt. Thus, we can enjoy the “tragic wonder” of watching a violent Greek drama or playing a violent video game without running for the kitchen to find a knife to plunge into somebody’s back. We can separate fantasy from reality and we do so every day of our lives.

Yet, many social scientists today, echoing Plato, continue to search for proof that the alternative is true and that depictions of violence on the stage or screen will have a direct and quite deleterious impact on human behavior. They subscribe to the “monkey see-monkey do” theory of media effects. Again, I think that’s utterly bogus and flatly contradicted by real-world facts. After all, if there was anything to their theories, shouldn’t it have shown up sometime, somewhere in real-world data trends by now?

Still, don’t expect this debate to ever end.  Just wait till virtual reality technologies go mainstream!  Oh boy, now that will have the “monkey see-monkey do” crowd whipped into a lather.  I look forward to the debate (and to playing those VR games with my kids!)

Having covered free speech and media policy issues for many years now, one of the arguments I hear a lot is that we moderns have an unnatural fascination with murder, mayhem, and violence as well as gossip and celebrities. Social critics and proponents of media content regulation often wax nostalgic about the supposed “good ol’ days” when all we thought and talked about was enlightened and enriching topics.

It’s all complete nonsense. Anyone who has seriously studied our nation’s history — or, for that matter, the history of any country or civilization — knows that we humans have always been fascinated by the morbid and tales of debauchery, especially when those tales involve public officials or celebrities.

I was reminded of this again today when reading two articles in the Washington Post. One was an article by Shankar Vedantam, who pens the the always entertaining “Department of Human Behavior” column for the Post. His column today is entitled, “Why Fluff-Over-Substance Makes Perfect Evolutionary Sense.” He asks:

Why are we more likely to discuss a gossipy rumor at a party than a policy error that can actually make a material difference to our own lives? One explanation is that cultural mores attune us to certain stories — we live in an era where gossipy scandals rule. To test this, psychologist Hank Davis at the University of Guelph in Ontario examined hundreds of sensational stories on the front pages of newspapers in eight countries over a 300-year period, from 1701 to 2001. Remarkably, he concluded that the themes of sensational news were identical not only across the centuries but also in diverse geographic locales — from the United States to Bangladesh, from Canada to Mauritius. The stories that editors put on the front pages of newspapers — presumably stories that interested readers — included headlines such as “Crocodiles Tear Apart Thai Suicide Woman.” The stories were sometimes about important things and sometimes not, but they nearly always involved the kind of themes that people who are part of small groups like to know about one another: lying and cheating, altruism and heroism, loyalty and disloyalty.

Again, the more things change, the more they stay the same. For whatever reason, we humans have always been fascinated by the dishing of dirt.

Similarly, humans have always been interested in tales of murder and mayhem. A second Post article today reminds us of that. It’s a book review by Patrick Anderson of a new collection of essays on crime and murder: True Crime: An American Anthology, edited by Harold Schechter.

I’ve written about Schechter’s work before, especially his brilliant Savage Pastimes: A Cultural History of Violent Entertainment.

In that book, Schechter meticulously documents the prevalence of violent fare throughout the history of art and entertainment. He notes that even “the supposedly halcyon days of the 1950s” were replete with violent fare, much of it aimed at children. “[T]he fact is that — contrary to popular belief — there was a shockingly high level of sadistic violence and gore in some of the most popular commercial entertainments of the 1950s.” Mickey Spillane’s best-selling “Mike Hammer” novels were a prime example. “Even the most vehement critics of contemporary popular culture would be hard-pressed to find anything in today’s mainstream mass entertainment as alarming as the gore-drenched, gun-worshipping fantasies that Spillane and his publisher dished out for the delectation of millions of ordinary American readers in the supposedly halcyon days of the 1950s,” argues Schechter. He also recounts the extraordinary gore of “pulp” comics during that decade, which were often replete with macabre, masochistic scenes. Schechter also notes the top-rated television program of 1954, Disney’s Davy Crockett series, “contained a staggering amount of graphic violence,”including scalpings, stabbings, “brainings,” hatchet and tomahawk blows, and so on. The series finale takes place at the Alamo and contained, in Schechter’s opinion, a “level of carnage [that] remains unsurpassed in the history of televised children’s entertainment.” (Incidentally, the show aired Wednesday nights at 7:30 to target the elementary school crowd!)

Anyway, I have not yet had the opportunity to read Schechter’s new collection of True Crime essays, but Patrick Anderson’s review confirms the general thesis I have set forth here. He points out how many of the essays in Schechter’s compendium were written by revered American authors, and they are just as engrossing today as they were decades ago:

The anthology’s 50 nonfiction pieces, most originally published in newspapers and magazines, include some by authors as celebrated as Mark Twain, Nathaniel Hawthorne, James Thurber, Theodore Dreiser and Truman Capote. [and…] The New Yorker’s Annals of Crime series has employed the talents of Alexander Woollcott, James Thurber, A.J. Liebling and Calvin Trillin; their articles collected here include Liebling’s classic “Case of the Scattered Dutchman,” which concerns body parts found floating in the East River. The anthology is almost obscenely entertaining, if one has a strong stomach and a certain mind-set, but it is also a searching look at the dark underside of American reality, at an aspect of the human condition that both horrifies and fascinates us.”

Anderson really nails it there. There truly is “an aspect of the human condition” that leads us to remain interested in this stuff. It’s always been with us and always will with us. It’s silly for media critics and would-be censors to suggest otherwise.