Socrates declared, “the unexamined life is not worth living.”  2,500 years later, the remarkable proliferation and success of reality television shows and the Internet requires a revision: “A life not lived on television and written about on the Internet is not worth living.”  Contriving a life for a nationwide audience has become a way for people to achieve something we all crave, recognition.  People rail and cry, confess and accuse, and generally express only the most extreme end of the emotional spectrum so as to ensure a response from the monumentally large community of viewers.

Television offers a community writ large on an increasingly large screen.  It is like high school, where everyone wants to be the popular kids.   On reality television you are the popular kid because everyone is watching you.  Similarly to the pedestal on which we place celebrities — what they wear, who they date, what they have to say about anything is apparently of perennial interest to many — the popular kids are regarded with a certain undeserved awe and fascination.  “The Hills” comes immediately to mind.

Many reality TV “stars” become celebrities, the ultimate recognition.  Some “stars” have careers built on their notoriety.  Merit is not the standard for achievement.  Instead, the criterion is that flimsy entity called personality.  The problem, of course, is that the reality star’s personality is largely manufactured, first by the show’s creator, and then by the viewers who project their own fears, dreams — whatever — onto the target.  Best of all, there are no surprises.  Life remains as we think it should be.  After all, something is always staged, a circumstance is contrived, a story concocted in the editing bay.

Globalization simultaneously makes the world feel smaller but also reminds us just how many people there are.  It can leave the average individual feeling pretty darned insignificant.  Meanwhile, more than ever we live in metropolitan and suburban areas where we live anonymous lives.  How many of us know our neighbors down the street, or in our apartment building?  We generally don’t.  More likely we sit in front of our televisions or feel the glow from our computer screens as we “chat” about our favorite shows.  These shows are our communities.  “Small Town America” may now be a distant echo from our past.  But if you’re on television, everybody knows you.  The whole world becomes your town.  And your global — or at least national — neighbors gossip about you on the Internet.  Why else would anyone even think of being on a show called, “Wife Swap”?  Surely, nothing good can come from a show with a title like that.

Small Town America has been replaced by "Your Town TV," the reality community programming of your making;  you can “catch” your partner cheating on you (“Cheaters”), find a “soul mate” (“The Bachelor” and “The Bachelorette” franchises, along with, say, “Flavor of Love” and “Rock of Love”) or just go about your “daily” life (“The Surreal Life”).  You can compete with others for money that’s not worth the degradation you endure to win it (“Fear Factor”).  Why anyone would want to have others watch their humiliation and heartbreak is perplexing.  Is the result really worth the recognition or attempt to jumpstart a fading or failed career?

If reality television is the future of community, and the whole community is on TV, what will happen when there is no one left to watch?