Celebrities and the State

I’m not a big country music fan, but Brad Paisley’s hit song “Celebrity” just might make me reconsider. The song—which, as I write this, is at no. 25 on the Billboard charts and no. 16 on Country Music Television’s weekly video countdown—is a hilarious parody of fame, pride, and banal reality shows. The music is catchy, and the video is even more uproarious than the song.

But as I consider Paisley’s take on the American idolization of celebrities, it strikes me that his satire parallels another oft-worshipped creature—the state. Let me explain what I mean. As the old Puritan divines used to say, we may observe this relationship in five aspects.

For one thing, celebrities and the state don’t necessarily have to be good at what they do in order to be popular: “Someday I’m gonna be famous. / Do I have talent? Well, no. / But these days you don’t really need it, / Thanks to reality shows.” That’s actually a striking indictment of the current state of American government. The civil magistrate is supposed to have “talent,” just like a musician: skill at defending the people from invaders without and criminals within, as well as in properly running its operations so as to best protect the “blessings of liberty” and preserve them for the next generation. Yet we have a government (speaking of the federal level) that burst the bands of its supreme law in a detestable power-grab in the 1860s, took even more control in the 1930s, and finally culminated in the Leviathan of today. Talent, indeed. But there’s more. Not only has our “Celebrity” been unable to limit itself constitutionally, but it’s also failed to protect Americans as it should. A gaping hole stands in Manhattan to remind us.

A second parallel between celebrities and the state is that they both tend to disrupt the institution of the family. Brad satirizes those who “can’t wait to sue [their] dad” and insists that he “can fall in and out of love” and “have marriages that barely last a month.” When these go down the drain, the celebrity can simply “blame it on the fame.” The statist blames his disruption on other things (the greater good, progress, enlightenment, social harmony, diversity, and so on ad nauseum), but the disruption is pretty similar. Again, take our own government. Compulsory attendance laws and oppressive regulation of homeschooling hamper the one unit that best handles education; misguided child abuse statutes attempt to prevent a traditional but politically-incorrect method of child-rearing; Social Security removes the care of the elderly from the sphere of familial responsibilities. Laws such as these indicate that the state isn’t too comfortable with the family, and would probably not mind taking more of its responsibilities on itself. At least it can be said for celebrities that they don’t resort to coercion.

The third characteristic the state shares with celebrities is that both often live in a different world. “When you’re a celebrity / It’s adios reality.” Ever notice how the state never needs to compete—how it earns its revenue through coercion? In the real world, the inefficient or worthless business gets squeezed out of the market; in the world of the state, the government schools get to stay, and Amtrak gets a taxpayer bailout. In the real world, you can’t spend your whole paycheck at Starbuck’s; in the world of the state, you can create cash by fiat. Adios, reality.

Again, the state is like Paisley’s celebrity in its reaction to trying situations: “I can throw a major fit / When my lattè isn’t just how I like it.” And when the state throws a fit, that means war. War on Poland. War on Prussia. War on France. War on Scotland. War on Wales. War on the Colonies. War on the South. For the state, war must never be limited to the defense of the nation against an invader; it must be available as an option for carrying out state policy. The state should be able to use it for empire building (Caesar, Napoleon), territorial expansion (Louis XIV, Hitler), protecting a wool trade (Edward III), enforcing unjust taxation (George III), the “preservation of the Union” (Lincoln), or making “the world safe for democracy” (Wilson). And this policy must be praised as a patriotic duty. It must be the highest honor to give one’s life for the state.

And, fifth, the state must exclaim that “it’s just so tough / Being a celebrity.” That’s why the various duties and responsibilities people always appear extremely difficult through the lens of statism. The family really can’t arrange for the education and upbringing of children or care of the elderly—that’s why it needs the government schools and FDR. The church and voluntary organizations really can’t minister to the poor—so the state needs to do it. Citizens aren’t astute enough to know what to do with their own money—so they ought to let Congress tell them. The harder our problems look, the more we’ll need the state to solve them.

I doubt, of course, that Brad Paisley agrees with all or even most of these complaints about statism. His purpose is to poke fun at the fame game, and to show us, through humor, that celebs are overrated. But surely we can see a few parallels between the two subjects—and that the state is a little overrated too.

Christopher Alexion is a homeschooled high school senior with interests in a Calvinistic view of apologetics, philosophy, and politics. He pursues these interests through writing, and several of his articles have appeared on the Internet. When not immersed in an essay or good book, however, he can often be found listening to secular music (from the Baroque era), working on projects around the house, and—though not often enough—playing baseball. He lives in New Castle, Delaware.