Today's environment provides dangerously fertile ground for the spread of know-nothingism and manipulative demagoguery.

A big part of the problem is our increased capacity for information "cocooning."  The current profusion of broadcast and cable television outlets, radio stations, and Internet sites has given people unprecedented ability to tune out information that might challenge their existing beliefs and prejudices, replacing the once-vaunted principle of “All the news that’s fit to print” with simply “All the news you want to hear.”

But beyond this, our age has begun to feel the effects of a profound change in the consumption of narratives and stories of all types—fictional as well as nonfictional.  We seem to be dealing with certain inherent vulnerabilities of the human brain, which in the course of its evolution has never before had to cope with conditions like our contemporary ones.

In traditional societies, compelling narratives were in extremely short supply.  Aside from the kinds of quickly-forgotten yarns that that are made up and told around campfires, each culture typically had only a few central tales, which were told and retold endlessly through the generations.

The invention of the printing press and the subsequent appearance of the novel greatly expanded our supply of memorable narratives, but this increased supply was initially available only to people who could read.   These people represented just a small subset of the population, and one that was already relatively well-educated, and therefore presumably a bit more thoughtful than the populace at large.  Even as literacy became more widespread, the investment of time required to read a novel limited everyone’s consumption of narratives.

In our audiovisual age, when virtually any novel can be consumed in motion picture form within the space of just two hours, and when many television programs don’t require more than thirty minutes to ingest, people are awash in narratives in a way they have never been before.

What's more, this ease of consumption has been accompanied by an unprecedented ability to choose what stories we want to be told.   With no more time or effort required than putting a thumb on a remote control device, anyone can abort the telling of one lavishly-presented story, and green-light the exposition of another.

As adults, we may be intellectually aware of the differences between fact and fiction, but the narratives people consume have always affected how they see the objective world around them.  The two seem to have a way of blurring together in our memories, and being called up later as "experiences"  that affect the way we perceive ongoing current developments.

When we can select which nonfictional stories we want to be told in the form of news with the same ease as fictional ones—via the exact same devices by which we consume our entertainment—it becomes only too easy to slip into the same methods we employ in picking sitcoms or action-adventure yarns.

The problem is, what we enjoy being told is rarely the same as what really is.  By choosing our information as if it were entertainment, we tend to put ourselves into a form of extended virtual reality.

Having this muddling occur at a time when more people are able to vote than ever before  puts us all at heightened risk, and renders us easy picking for those who would use storytelling techniques for cynically manipulative purposes.

Storytelling that simply depicts the world as it is can be an effective counterforce to such schemes—provided the general public chooses to consume the more reality-based narratives.

Since depicting the world as it really is—not just on its surface, but also in a deeper sense—lies close to the core of good art (as well as good scholarship), nothing fundamental about the work of artists and intellectuals would need to change in order to provide a more effective counterweight to manipulative narratives.

What needs improvement is the ability to connect—not just with a small subset of the population that is already likely to be favorably disposed toward the message, but with the broadest possible group that is capable of understanding it.    This kind of expansion of reach is not feasible without a genuine desire to communicate to people of all kinds, as well as a determination to learn the requisite skills and techniques.

Will principled artists, writers, and other creative people step forward to meet this challenge?

This is no time to dwell on past hurts—or perhaps more important, on the possibility of future ones, including the chance of simply being rejected or ignored.

There is, admittedly, a limit to the amount of subtlety or sophistication that everyone can grasp or appreciate.   But this is no reason to ever stop trying to connect—and with as many people as possible.