I’ve recently been reading Forces of Habit by David Courtwright, a fascinating history of drug use in the modern world. The book has not only helped me to understand the genesis of today’s terrible drug problems, it has also given me some new insight into the character of contemporary entertainment culture. Here are some highlights:

You may be surprised to learn that in the early years of the drug trade—the 16th through the 19th centuries—psychoactive substances were often not only tolerated but promoted by Western powers such as the United States and Great Britain. In fact, the latter nation fought two wars in China during the 19th century in order to prevent China from enforcing its own laws against opium trade and use. Why? Because—to put the matter in the starkest terms—Great Britain made a lot of money from the opium trade.

Profit—and taxing that profit—was not the only reason the colonial powers encouraged the use of drugs. Many people found it easier to tolerate monotonous and physically demanding labor if they were taking, say, opium. So those who oversaw labor in activities such as laying railroad track allowed or even encouraged opium use. In fact, workers were sometimes partially paid in opium, a practice that more or less ensured that laborers remained trapped in their positions.

Thus today’s networks and institutions for the production and distribution of drugs are built upon the foundations laid by the government policies of earlier centuries. It has proved very difficult to dismantle the capacity for production and consumption of drugs that was built over several centuries. This raises the question of why Western powers changed course and began, about a century ago, to enact laws restricting and prohibiting the production and consumption of psychoactive substances.

There were a number of reasons for this reversal, but probably the most powerful of them were again economic. As the nature of work shifted from agricultural production and construction to manufacturing and white-collar work in bureaucracies, the usefulness of drugs for labor control diminished. You don’t want the worker who is operating machinery–or your accountant–to be taking opium. Even more basic was the fact that the new economy that was taking shape in the early 20th century offered consumers a wide range of stimulating pleasures that were enjoyable but not nearly as potentially dangerous as drugs. There was much more money to be made by providing such products as movies, music, and consumer goods than by providing drugs. And in fact, drugs get in the way of the consumer economy. People who are high much of the time are neither dependable workers nor dependable consumers, despite the fact that some drugs may give them the munchies.

What this means, if you think about it, is that our entertainment-based economy competes with drugs because the two forms of pleasure are in some ways similar. Courtwright quotes a passage from the Catholic mystic Thomas Merton (page 110): “We live in a society whose whole policy is to excite every nerve in the human body and keep it at the highest pitch of artificial tension, to strain every human desire to the limit and create as many new desires and synthetic passions as possible, in order to cater to them with the products of our factories and printing presses and movie studios and all the rest.”

Merton wrote that in 1948, and the situation he describes is to say the least much more extreme today. Little wonder, when people are brought up this way, that some proportion of them reject the path of entertainment and follow instead the more potent, and less challenging, path of stimulating themselves with chemicals.

Photo available on Flickr from the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library.

Photo by Ville Miettinen

For the benefit of my readers who don’t get out much: Role playing games are a popular form of amusement in which players assume the identity of fictional characters and embark upon adventures. Some of the parameters of these adventures are specified by the game one is playing, but these games also allow for lots of imaginative improvisation by the players.

When I began researching role-playing games for Caught in Play, I read stories about players who had gone over the edge and had been swallowed up in the imaginary world of the game. I also heard such stories from many of the role-players I interviewed. But I never met such a person, and I began to be a little suspicious of the stories. While it’s not impossible that there are such people, I’ve come to believe that they must be vanishingly rare.

Why tell these stories, then? My guess is that a role-player is likely to tell such a story to affirm that although there are people who confuse the fantasy of the game with the real world, he (or she) is not one of them. In other words, “I’m aware of this possibility, and because I’m aware of it, it can’t describe me.”

This in turn raises the question of why so many role-players are so eager to claim that they have no problem with maintaining the boundaries of reality. My research suggests an answer to this question: Role players do in fact have very powerful experiences of becoming lost in the fantasy of the game, so much so that they sometimes wonder if they are in danger of crossing this line themselves.

For example, I found that role players—without conscious planning—make gestures and movements oriented to the fantasy they are acting out, and they easily and consistently speak as their characters would. The markers of time and place in their speech (words like “now” and “here”) consistently refer to the imagined fantasy rather than the real world. In times of intense focus of the game, many role players express and feel the emotions that their imaginary characters would feel. In some very important ways, they are living in their fantasies.

But none of this means that role players have a tenuous grip on reality. In fact, these things are very similar to what happens when us non-role players get so caught up in a novel that we can’t put it down or get so focused on a spectator sport that we feel like are on the field ourselves. This capacity to get caught up in fictions and games is also the basis of pretend play in children.

Role players are not insane, rather they—like most other humans—have extraordinarily powerful imaginations that allow them to become caught up in, and carried away by, games and fictions. And this ability is not only the basis for play, it is one of the fundamental cognitive capacities that makes human ways of life possible.

Photo by Johnny Henriksen

A recent (and widely commented on)  CNN.com article reports that some viewers of the film Avatar are so desperate to occupy the fantasy world of the film that the thought of having to return to day-to-day reality here on earth leaves them depressed or even suicidal. “When I woke up this morning after watching Avatar for the first time yesterday, the world seemed … gray. It was like my whole life, everything I’ve done and worked for, lost its meaning,” wrote one young man on a fan forum.

This may sound somewhat extreme, but this is simply an example of a common phenomenon I call “getting caught up” and which a number of psychologists have studied under the label “narrative transport.” The fact is that it’s fairly normal for human beings, at least in our society, to become so immersed in stories that we feel like we are actually there. And if we really like the story we become caught up in, we don’t want to leave it—as when you don’t want to put down a book you’re reading, or don’t want it to end.

The work of developmental psychologist Paul Harris helps us to understand why human beings are so likely to become caught up in stories. By the age of two, children’s play includes complex pretend episodes that are based on imagining what some situation—such as being a firefighter or a princess—would be like. In other words, even very young children can project themselves into an imaginary situation and proceed to consistently think and talk from that situation, keeping it separate from the real world. They don’t have to plan this, they just take off and go.

Michael Tomasello’s work on the differences between cognition among non-human primates and humans provides a compelling explanation for this remarkable ability. Tomasello attributes much of the difference between the mental abilities of humans and our closest relatives to our unique ability to put ourselves “in the mental shoes” of others and easily grasp what they are up to. This cognitive ability to adopt other perspectives is what makes elaborate pretend play so easy even before our brains are fully developed. And it is also what makes it possible for adults to plunge themselves into a fiction so deeply that—for awhile—it seems and feels like the fiction is real.

For better or for worse, we live in a society in which the capacity for becoming caught up in fictions like movies, television, novels (as well as games like sports contests) is a fundamental part of our way of life. The joys of becoming caught up in entertainment are a big part of what many of us live for. In this sense, we are like those of firm religious faith who believe that a genuine paradise awaits them, except that we don’t even have to die to get there.

So, when we read about weird people who don’t want to come back to this world after visiting the vivid reality of another, we might want to consider if they are really so weird. I suspect that most of us have had the same experience at some point.

Photo by Dennis Crowley

Unless you have alienated everyone around you, in the next two months you are likely to be invited to at least one party. If you take the perspective of a visitor from outer space, parties are actually sort of weird: “The humans gather in groups and consume food and other substances that make them dizzy. Using special equipment designed to produce loud sounds, they begin to hop around and become quite excited. Sometimes they even initiate their mating practices.”

I was recently interviewed for a magazine article about parties, and as I talked I realized how much recent research on imitation can help us understand about these odd behaviors. Survival among our non-human primate ancestors was tied to effective means of coordinating and sustaining social groups with increasingly flexible and complex means of adapting to their environments. One of the most effective means of coordinating groups is imitation, because it promotes group solidarity and allows for rapid learning.

We now know that there is a system of “mirror neurons” probably present in all primates, but highly developed in humans. These specialized neurons fire both when we perform certain kinds of actions and when we observe others performing them. This means, for one thing, that we automatically imitate others much of the time, and the only reason we don’t walk around imitating constantly is that we also learn, as we grow, to inhibit many of our neural impulses to imitate. Nevertheless, and this is the key point for parties, we still imitate others all the time, often without knowing we do so.

Thus, research has shown that if you are engaged in a lively conversation with someone, you will closely imitate their facial expressions. This will have two more or less inevitable consequences: so long as you sustain a lively conversation, you and your partner will tend to like one another. (In support of these points, see the articles and comments by Ap Dijksterhuis in Perspectives on Imitation) Second, you and your partner will begin to share emotions, because it has also been shown repeatedly that emotions are triggered by associated facial expressions. As you know, a lively conversation can be very stimulating, even exciting: this is why.

Suppose you are in a setting where several small groups are having lively conversations. These folks are enjoying themselves and laughing. You are imitating those you are in conversation with, enjoying yourself, and feeling the happiness even of the other conversational groups. You are laughing and speaking excitedly—others hear this, and in turn they become more aroused and excited.

This emotional contagion may sound odd (aren’t emotions supposed to well up from within our innermost selves?), but in fact it’s an everyday sort of thing. An example I sometimes use to convey this to students: I ask them if they have ever been with a group of friends talking, and they have laughed so hard they felt they couldn’t stop. Virtually everyone says they have had this experience. Now, I say, have you ever felt that way just sitting by yourself, not reading or watching a movie, when you just think of something funny? No one has ever claimed such an experience. The point is that we are usually capable of much more intense emotions in groups than as individuals.

Now of course, parties aren’t just about conversations. There can be music, dancing, drinking, etc. But notice that all of these things also can lead to high arousal levels, even what might be called altered states of consciousness. Drums have been used since time immemorial to stimulate trance—we are highly susceptible to regularly repeated rhythms. Further, a lot of what happens with rhythm and dance is physical entrainment, a process that is closely related to imitation. Entrainment is another elemental motor process, deeply embedded in our evolutionary history, and it has been shown that infants who are but a few hours old will begin to synchronize bodily movements with their caretakers.

What does all this add up to? Intense collective celebrations have served important social functions for millions of years, even before our ancestors became human beings. At such events we find ourselves feeling emotions that we are not used to, we experience levels of arousal not familiar from day to day life, and we find ourselves doing things that we haven’t really fully intended to do. This is why parties can be so much fun. They can be so stimulating that normal conventions of comportment may seem unnecessary or irrelevant, and at a really good party, people can get pretty crazy. Not you or me, of course, but those other humans…

Photo by Patrick Byrne

Usually we regard entertainment such as TV, movies, and novels as leisure time activities, enjoyable but not terribly important. I think this is incorrect; my view is that entertainment experiences are both powerful and consequential. In part, this is because entertainment engages the strong tendency for members of our species to imitate what we see and imagine.

When we use the word “imitation” in everyday speech we are referring to one person doing the same thing as someone else. I’m speaking about humans here, but in fact many animals imitate one another in this sense. For example, a whole flock of birds may take to the skies when one does so.

Recently scientists from a number of different disciplines have made great strides in understanding imitation. There is now general agreement that there is a level of imitation that goes beyond “doing what someone else is doing.” In full imitation, A understands that B is a being like A who is pursuing a goal, and since A has a similar goal, A does what B is doing. It may be that only humans are capable of imitation in this sense, although some would assert that there are some other mammals that can do this. That’s not the point here, however.

The point is rather that many cognitive scientists argue that this sort of imitation is the foundation of human cooperation in social groups. Humans can understand what other humans are up to and can thus join in with them on a wide range of complex projects. Perhaps the single most important of these projects is language, but there are a lot of others—hunting and warfare, roads and pottery, economic and legal systems, you get the picture.

This perspective on imitation can help us to understand how entertainment works on us. We are wired to imitate what we see, even what we imagine, and to easily adopt the perspective of others; in fact, we will do so automatically before we learn the skills of inhibiting such responses . Thus, to take a single example, when you watch a romantic movie, you will automatically tend to imitate the facial expressions of the actors on the screen, and as a result you may begin to feel—really feel—the emotions of tenderness or passion or frustration that are being skillfully portrayed. The goal of the actors becomes your goal—you are desperate for the couple to get together (or in an action movie, you really want the bad guy to get what’s coming to him).

The result? Well, the obvious one is that this is an enjoyable experience, because even though we never lose track of the fact that it’s a story, it feels real. In fact, it’s so enjoyable that we will shell out good money to climb on this ride. But there is also another, less obvious, result. The experience we construct as we join into the film through our imitative capacities leaves us with a memory of some very powerful and pleasant feelings. These feelings can become an emotional standard for us, against which we judge our experiences in the real world. We know that romantic movies aren’t real, but we may still bring emotional expectations from these movies into our real relationships. And this is one reason that many can’t shake the feeling that their real-world relationships are flawed, that there is something better out there somewhere…

Photo by Sharon Mollerus

I have done a few media interviews in connection with Caught in Play, and at times I have been pressed to offer a judgment on whether the entertainment that is prominent in our culture is a good or a bad thing. I resist making such judgments, in part because that’s not my job. As a social scientist, my task is to study entertainment, not to pass moral judgments. In addition, it seems to me that the category of entertainment is too broad to be judged good or bad. Entertainment is like the weather—sometimes good, sometimes bad. But nobody makes a global judgment of weather like “weather is bad.” I don’t think global judgments of entertainment make much sense either.

That doesn’t mean that it’s impossible to generalize about the effects of entertainment on our lives. For example, we should be aware that participating in any sort of entertainment is a form of discipline. It seems odd to say this—watching TV doesn’t seem like discipline at all. That’s because we usually use discipline to refer to rigorous training, and sitting in front of a television does not seem like training at all, much less rigorous training. But our word discipline is derived from disciple, which as you may know means “follower.” To participate in entertainment like novels or movies or TV, you have to follow what is going on. You must become a disciple, a follower of the entertainment.

Those who have followed a course of rigorous training—to master a profession or a sport or a skill such as carpentry, for example—will probably be able to describe the payoff of this sort of discipline. Rigorous training makes demands, and because of that the person who goes through it is changed, something is added to the self. The disciple follows the tradition, and whether the tradition is becoming a physician or a member of a religion, the disciple is transformed.

The discipline of entertainment is not rigorous, it is fun; that’s why it is entertainment. But that does not mean we do not follow it. Entertainment can take us to relaxation and to pleasurable experiences, and it too will transform those who engage in it. Virtually everyone (including me) enjoys some entertainment. But some disciples of entertainment—like some followers of religion—become fanatics. When talking about entertainment, we use a shortened version of the word: fan. There are always some dangers with fanaticism.

At the end of the day, what people want to do with their lives is none of my business, and not something I have anything to say about. But I do feel comfortable saying this: What you follow is a pretty good guide to where you will end up.

By Sabrina Campagna

Sociologists studying love and marriage report a finding that you probably won’t find surprising: people don’t describe their marriages as the “happily ever after” bliss suggested in our romantic stories and movies.

Most people say that no matter how romantic the relationship felt when they were dating, marriage isn’t the achievement of perfection. Rather, marriage itself requires hard work, compromises, working on a friendship, etc. etc. And come to think of it, our romantic stories aren’t about long term relationships like marriages at all, they are about people in the early stages of getting to know one another. Think about the iconic romance, “Sleepless in Seattle” in which the couple doesn’t even meet until the movie’s final scene.

So why do so many people continue to hope for a blissfully romantic relationship even though they “know” it’s not a possibility? And this isn’t just a matter of day-dreaming. I’m sure you can think of people who broke up their families because they “fell in love” with someone else, only to have that new relationship eventually disappear (or else morph into a real marriage like the one they left in the first place).

One possible answer to the question of why people pursue perfect romance when they know it doesn’t exist has to do with the incredible popularity of our romantic stories. Last time I checked romance novels accounted for about half of all books sold in any given year. As I have pointed out before, we human beings are really adept at projecting ourselves into stories, so that as we become caught up in a story we actually think and feel from the fictional perspective. Our ability to do this is based in no small part on the imitative capacities that are built into our brains: we can even imitate imaginary situations and easily experience what it is like to see and feel the world from that situation. Maybe a story is not a real relationship, but for a few hours it can come close to feeling like it’s real.

So even if you recognize that eternal romantic passion isn’t really an earthly possibility, you can still experience it by getting caught up in romantic stories. This puts your mind in the interesting position of having a belief (happily ever after doesn’t really happen) that is contradicted by experience. This is probably why many of the same people who explicitly say that real relationships never work out this way continue to describe an ideal relationship as a happily ever after romance.

And that surely bears on the question I started out with. People continue to hope for and try to realize perfect romantic relationships in spite of the fact that they don’t see such relationships as possible. It kind of makes you respect the power of a story.

Abstract/photo by Frank Bonilla

Why do we love entertainment—celebrities, TV, music, etc., etc.—so much? Stupid question, right? We love it because it’s entertaining! So let me re-phrase: why are celebrities, TV, music, etc. etc. so entertaining that many people spend almost every available hour engaged with them?

The answer turns out to be similar to the question of why we love food that is laden with salt and fat: entertainment taps into aspects of our evolutionarily conditioned mental and emotional heritage. Contemporary entertainment builds upon some very powerful built-in human neural processes, and as a result it’s sort of a Big Mac for the brain.

That doesn’t mean that 25,000 years ago our ancestors were sitting around the fire and thinking, “this is really boring, I wish we had a flat screen TV.” But it’s a pretty good guess that they were telling stories. After all, no anthropologist I know of has ever claimed to observe a human culture that doesn’t value narratives of various sorts. Recent work in areas such as cognitive neuroscience and developmental psychology goes a long way toward explaining why this is so.

The key to understanding the human lust for stories is to grasp the importance of imitation in our social and cognitive processes. We sometimes think of imitation as a rather low-level mental ability (“monkey see, monkey do”) but true imitative behavior is highly complex and is probably limited to our species. True imitation entails not only doing what somebody else does, it also means understanding what that somebody else is up to.

Psychologist Michael Tomasello and others have suggested that our virtually automatic capacity–perhaps based on mirror neuron systems in our brains–to quickly grasp what other people are doing is the single most significant evolutionary advance that separates us from other primates. It is this that enables us to cooperate with others in building human culture and language.

Our easy ability to grasp perspectives other than our own is also what makes it so easy for us to enter into an imaginative situation such as a story. And we really do enter into stories. As developmental psychologist Paul Harris has pointed out, the imitative capacities of our minds enable us to almost completely occupy a fictional position, so that both our thoughts and feelings begin to be shaped more by the fiction than by our real-life situation. We feel that we are there, in the story, an experience that psychologist Melanie Green and her colleagues call “narrative transport.”

Jump ahead 25,000 years now to a world in which there are 3D movies and surround sound and computer enhanced imagery, all sorts of technologies that enable us to plunge deeper into our beloved fictions. It’s like a powerful, mind altering drug, except that it’s legal and completely safe. No wonder entertainment is so entertaining.

Photo by Bandita

Here’s a headline from MSNBC.com the other day: “Health reform idea: Put down the doughnut.” Largely missing from the health care debate, says the author, is a discussion of the role of personal choice in creating health problems such as obesity. Some people wonder why their tax dollars should be used to care for people who are ruining their own health by eating too much.

In contrast, a few days earlier Ellen Goodman had written an op-ed piece in the Boston Globe arguing that the nation’s obesity problem has something to do with the way food is marketed. The food industry has invested billions in advertising and food processing techniques in order to make food irresistible, and Goodman opined that this just might have something to do with why so many people eat too much. A lot of Goodman’s readers seemed to incline more toward the “personal responsibility” explanation; several of them combined this view with the opinion that Goodman was a sicko commie witch for even suggesting that the food industry bears some responsibility in this issue.

From my perspective, this debate is never going to get past the shouting stage until we recognize that some of our ethical concepts—in particular the way we think about intentional behavior and responsibility—have not kept up with the research on why people act the way they do. Morally, we are stuck in the Middle Ages, with assumptions like “except for reflexes, people’s actions are intentional and voluntary.” In this view, almost everything sane people do is the result of conscious decisions to act.

There is by now overwhelming evidence, from fields such as social psychology and cognitive neuroscience, demonstrating that this is flat wrong. In fact, most of what we do is orchestrated by mental processes that never reach full consciousness: deeply ingrained habits, unconscious cognitive schemata and stereotypes, and so on. My own work in this area has been especially concerned with the role of imitation: human beings are imitation machines. To take a single example, a person will closely imitate the facial expressions of a conversational partner, without any intention or even awareness that he or she is doing so.

That point has enormous implications for understanding the efficacy of advertising. Social psychologist John Bargh and his colleagues have done a number of relevant studies here; a recent paper shows that watching people eat increases eating behavior in viewers. As I argue in Caught in Play, imitation is also central for understanding the effects of our participation in entertainment more broadly. Entertainment is another domain in which automatic mental processes shape our values and behavior.

So, what’s the point? Simply this: I have no argument with those who urge consumers to be responsible. People who eat too much need to take responsibility for that. But we now know that eating behavior—to stick with this example—can be powerfully encouraged by mental processes that occur outside of conscious awareness. Who is responsible for that? Isn’t it the people who intentionally design advertising and food processing to generate over-consumption? If you demand that consumers be responsible, why not be consistent and demand that the industries promoting consumption be responsible as well?

Photo by Urijamjari

In my previous post I said that the fact that entertainment is a form of play doesn’t mean it’s not serious. On the contrary, our play—like our rituals—often forms part of the very basis of our social life by cementing emotional commitments to key cultural principles and values. In entertainment, this is accomplished in large part through experiences of which we are all aware but that we seem oddly uncurious about.

We all are familiar with the possibility of becoming “caught up” in a book, a game, or a movie. Caught in Play argues that these experiences of losing ourselves in entertainment activities are not just oddities but rather central to our way of life, for they are moments when we briefly live in the world of our dreams. When we become caught up in one of the many fictions that surround us, we momentarily forget the mundane world of our day-to-day existence and escape into the realm of entertainment, the realm of adventure, romantic passion and glamour.

The joy of stepping outside the self

Recent research in psychology and neuroscience helps us to better understand these experiences and their effects on us. It is especially important to understand that in becoming caught up in the fantasies of entertainment, we are likely to experience powerful changes in our sense of authorship of our own actions. Much of the reason that we enjoy becoming caught up is that we feel pulled along by the activity we have undertaken. This slightly out of control feeling is exciting and stimulating.

These powerful bodily experiences turn out to have some interesting consequences. In particular, they continue to shape our desires when we return to the drudgery of the day to day. The world of entertainment is in fact the means whereby a society that must demand discipline and hard work maintains an alternative set of values stressing self-indulgence and leisure. It all works out very neatly, except for the fact that this situation leaves some baffling mysteries in its wake, mysteries that turn out to have a considerable impact on our personal lives. Take, as an example, the question of addiction–the topic of  my next post.