The Pornographers and Those who make them Rich

It is a fact universally acknowledged that great evils persist because the good men and women who could stop them do nothing. Laila Mickelwait is not one of those who do nothing, not one to stand by while evil has its way. Instead, armed with her conscience, her compassion for victims, her moral certitude, and an indefatigable fighting spirit, Mickelwait has singlehandedly brought a multi-billion dollar business to its knees under the growing weight of lawsuits, criminal investigations, and the righteous anger of an outraged public.

This is the story told in her new book, Takedown. It is an unflinching (and at times disturbing) tale of the author’s crusade against the execrable PornHub. It reads like a hybrid memoir and crime thriller. The writing is competent for the task at hand, which is telling a story dramatically from the first person perspective. Potential readers should know that Mickelwait doesn’t hold back from describing the criminal videos she discovers in her efforts to hold PornHub accountable, and for this reason the book is harrowing to read (or listen to); it’s not for the faint of heart.

A Distinction

The book, like the law, makes a distinction between ‘regular’ pornography on the one hand and criminal pornography—content involving children or non-consensual acts—on the other. This is an important moral and legal distinction, but it was striking to see just how much and how often the author took pains to assure the reader that she was not against ‘legal’ pornography. What the typical reader might not realize however is that the legality of pornography itself has always been in question, with numerous courts adjudicating the tension between free expression and obscene materials in the US and Canada in recent decades.

This insistence on the part of the author is a strong signal as to what kind of moral compass a mass-market book can assume in its audience. It is taken as a matter of fact that pornography featuring consenting adults is perfectly fine, while the non-consensual variety is a heinous evil that should be tirelessly opposed. I agree of course with the second part of the previous sentence, but what I want to point out is how much moral significance is invested into the rather thin category of consent. Can consent really serve as the north star for our morality? And do we realize just how recently, as a society, we swapped out older and deeper moral foundations for the proverbial duct tape of consent?

My own view of pornography is that it is a poison for all involved, and that this can be established without necessarily drawing on Scripture. For example, consider the words of Roger Scruton from his book, Beauty:

The old morality, which told us that selling the body is incompatible with giving the self, touched on a truth. Sexual feeling is not a sensation that can be turned on and off at will: it is a tribute from one self to another and—at its height—an incandescent revelation of what you are. To treat it as a commodity, that can be bought and sold like any other, is to damage both present self and future other. The condemnation of prostitution was not just puritan bigotry; it was a recognition of a profound truth, which is that you and your body are not two things but one, and by selling the body you harden the soul. And that which is true of prostitution is true of pornography too. It is not a tribute to human beauty but a desecration of it.

Not only is this kind of moral clarity foreign to much of our society, there is even an inversion at work such that people who hold views like mine (and yours?) are discredited from having something worthwhile to say in the public square. Don’t believe me? Consider that the main strategy of PornHub’s apologists to discredit Laila Mickelwait was the claim that she was “one of those anti-pornography crusaders.” And this accusation was countered strategically by Mickelwait listing her pro-porn bona fides.

That is really something, if you stop and think about it.

A Criminal Enterprise

The book makes it abundantly, disturbingly clear that PornHub—and one has to assume there are many websites like it—has been involved in facilitating, profiting from, and committing crimes. For years the site has employed top-shelf PR firms and marketing companies to burnish their image and present themselves in a way not unlike Playboy did in decades past; as sophisticated and a little naughty. A knowing smile and a wink, “Hey, everyone does it, right?

The dirty little secret was that the site was a rats’ nest of criminal child pornography and video evidence of serious sexual crimes—and that PornHub not only knew this but embraced it as a lucrative aspect of their business. Laila Mickelwait led the charge to uncover this reality, thus taking on one of the biggest and most profitable websites in the world. Unsurprisingly, the men who were comfortable getting rich off the life-destroying trauma of victims had no problem hacking, harassing, doxing, and threatening physical injury to Mickelwait and her family. The reality is that the owners of PornHub, just like its content, were more than just ‘a little naughty’—they were criminal and evil.

The fact that it has taken such a Herculean effort to get the authorities to treat PornHub like a criminal organization is a sad reflection on our culture’s moral confusion. And yet the book focuses in on those people who decided to do something rather than looking away, and that is a heroic act. I wholeheartedly applaud them for that, and hope that many others rise up to join them. People are clearly hungry for moral clarity and a worthy cause to fight for—here is one where even at this point in our divided culture we can still find a general consensus.

The Enablers

But what is also clear from the book is that we cannot expect corporations to do the right thing, no matter how black and white the case looks. Consider the example of the credit card giants, VISA and Mastercard. It was not enough for the VPs of these companies to be given direct evidence that PornHub was hosting illegal content, that the site was knowingly doing this, and that they were prioritizing making money off the illegal content—the traumatic sexual abuse of minors, lest we forget—over the frantic requests of those very same victims to have the videos taken down. No, all of that was not nearly enough, because large corporations tend to function like sociopaths. If there is a good chance they might get away with something immoral, even illegal, they will tend to do it, guided by the profit motive.

Don’t underestimate the almost limitless ability of people in these corporations to rationalize their behaviour away. In order for them to do the right thing, only one thing must be clearly demonstrated: that they will lose far more money or face criminal prosecution if they continue than if they stop. In VISA and Mastercard’s case, they had to be pressured intensely and relentlessly not only by customers through petitions but also by power brokers: billionaire hedge fund managers like Bill Ackman, Pulitzer-prize-winning New York Times columnists like Nicholas Kristoff, and elite lawyers armed with track records of billion-dollar settlements like Michael Bowe. These companies do not deserve any credit for “doing the right thing.”


A Failure of Education

The experience of reading this book got me thinking about what kind of people become pornographers, profiting on the exploitation of vulnerable women and boys. This question is especially poignant because of my geographical proximity to many of the people working at and leading PornHub. I grew up in the English community in the greater Montreal area, and many of my friends (and some family) have studied at Concordia, where two of the founders of PornHub first met and got their start. This reflection has connected in my mind with the larger theme of education and moral formation, which I’ve written about recently. Here is what I mean.

It’s become clear to me that as a society we have lost the ability to educate young people in a way that would have been recognizable to the great thinkers of the past: Plato, Aristotle, Augustine, Boethius, Aquinas, etc. Modern education is focused on pragmatics, utilitarianism, and increasingly aligned with the radically nominalist ideology of the LGBT movement. The goal of the modern educational approach has been: helping students get a good job and succeed in the world. That’s the pragmatic utilitarian side. Increasingly even this has been jettisoned for progressive activism in the classroom. But in contrast to both of these modern approaches, the older approach to education was about the cultivation of the virtues, forming not just the mind but the chest (to borrow from C.S. Lewis); not just right thinking, but right feeling.

Today we have almost totally lost the idea that one’s emotions and affections need to be trained, but this is something the best of our forebears knew. We tell students to look within themselves to discover what great wonderful uniqueness is just waiting to come out. A properly educated person in centuries past was trained to know and to love the good, the true, and the beautiful. We utterly abandoned this approach to education in the late 19th and early 20th century, and I would argue that this goes a long way to explain the moral decrepitude of the obviously intelligent and well-educated (in computer programming or whatever discipline) men and women working at PornHub. But in the deepest sense, these people are not educated, they are not properly formed. There is a corruption deep in the soul that is at odds with the moral fibre of the universe.

I went to school with these guys, and I recognize the type. Cut adrift from a clear moral foundation to build upon, and with all that modern life and the internet makes available within easy reach, it’s not surprising to me that so many today think nothing of consuming violent pornography or working for a company that exists to peddle and get rich off such filth—even if some of it isn’t technically illegal. It’s a toxic cocktail of nihilism, cynicism, and ennui.

While children are not morally pure, they have a beautiful innocence that can mature into a love for what is good and a hatred for evil. But the appetites are malleable, and our hearts can be drawn away towards evil in all kinds of directions, not only from outside influences, but by the evil that grows naturally in every fallen human heart. And let’s not forget the Biblical testimony about the spiritual beings who prey on the sinful human heart and lead it to ever darker domains of depravity; indeed the depth of evil and cruelty one encounters in this realm is difficult to explain without reference to the demonic.

The Troubled Conscience

One interesting theme in the book is the role of the whistleblowers and insiders, former and current PornHub employees who reach out to Mickelwait to help her. When some of the early stories about PornHub came out a few years ago, I went to a popular employer-rating website and looked up what employees were saying about PornHub. I was fascinated by the people who would admit to working there. I remember reading many complaints about the management, but the most fascinating were those who were complaining about the soul-crushing nature of the work, especially content moderation (which involves watching the worst flagged videos for 8 hours a day).

One has to wonder what kind of person agrees to this work in the first place, and then what kind of reflection takes place—some flowering sense of morality, guilt, and shame—such that they turn against their employer and partner with Mickelwait in her efforts to take it down. This offers us a lens into the human conscience. Even after it has been seared and suppressed for years, it can be awakened by the suffering of innocent people and by the proper human response: righteous moral outrage. We might even say such people are taking their first steps in their true education.

Something Dark was Let Loose

As encouraging as it is to see these criminals get their comeuppance as the lawsuits and investigations pile up, I confess this book has left me with gloomy thoughts. Why? Because by all available evidence the problems of child sexual abuse and the prevalence of pornography, especially of a violent nature, are getting worse, not better. The reason we’re talking about this is because there is an endless and insatiable market for this material, a black teeming mass of abusing and abused souls, perpetrators and victims—the pornographers and those who make them rich.

The sexual revolution promised to set free the repressed love and desire that was making unfulfilled people miserable, but considered from this vantage point, it delivered instead a spirit of unbridled desire that commodified and objectified the human person, a spirit which too often revealed itself as desiring not just the bodies of others but the suffering of others. And once set free, it has proven impossible to bind that spirit of lust and destruction. PornHub’s empire was but one large and visible manifestation of what is a far more pervasive and profound moral rot.

When the only forbidden thing is to forbid, it is the weakest, the women and children, who inevitably suffer the most. One can be forgiven for wondering if the sexual revolution was such a good idea after all, whether consent can really be the guide for our morality, and whether that older morality was not altogether better than what we’ve got now.

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Sorry, Finch: Robots Aren’t Humans

My wife and I like Tom Hanks. When we are flipping through the options on a quiet evening, if we see a Tom Hanks movie we haven’t seen, we’re more inclined to look into it and watch the trailer than not. So here we were with access to Apple TV (because we got it for free when we bought our TV recently, and then paid for an extra month to finish Masters of the Air, and then forgot to cancel it), and this Tom Hanks movie shows up: Finch. Post-Apocalyptic? Hmm, we aren’t really into cannibalism. Oh it’s just PG-13, and apparently mostly about a dog. Okay sure, let’s try it.

Fair warning: I’ll be dropping some real spoilers here. The story is that Finch, a man dying of radiation poisoning (we are never told how he got it), has been living by himself in a wind-turbine powered facility outside St. Louis after a worldwide cataclysm caused by a freak solar flare. I’ll give them points for going with a climate catastrophe that isn’t human-caused; very counter-cultural. He stays away from people because they are doing what people always do in post-apocalyptic movies: hunting and stealing and killing and eating each other. Thankfully all of that is left pretty much off-screen – there are plenty of movies where you can get your fill of such things. Finch has a dog who he really loves, and a couple of robotic helpers that he designed, built, and programmed.

His greatest creation is the robot we meet near the start of the film, a bipedal, humanoid robot with a kind of advanced AI ability to learn and pre-loaded with a huge chunk of the accumulated knowledge of humankind. This robot is eventually given the name Jeff. What becomes clear as the movie progresses is that Finch has designed Jeff to take care of the dog when he is gone. And in order to escape a deadly storm, they take a dangerous road trip to San Francisco in a special RV.

Hanks is a good enough actor to carry this movie by himself just like with the classic, Cast Away. “Wilson!” But what I found particularly interesting was the way in which the writers and moviemakers decided to present the robot, Jeff. Everything was designed to make the audience like Jeff. His questions and foibles early on are exactly those of a curious and naïve toddler. Later he takes on the character of a typical teenager as he insists on driving the RV before Finch is ready to trust him with it. Lastly, he matures into the caretaker Finch wanted for his beloved dog. What it boils down to is this: everything likeable about Jeff is what reminds us of humans and not robots. Robots cannot and do not have agency or will, they do not have consciousness or conscience. But we are pretty obsessed with projecting our own internal experience of human selfhood onto the robotic creations we make.

So this is why the robots like C-3P0 and R2-D2 in Star Wars are actual characters – because they behave like human beings and not robots. Back in the 70s the kinds of robotics in the movie were a far-off dream. But not anymore. The more technology and AI advances, the more this spell will be cast, trying to convince us that somehow robots can be as human as we are, that they can think and feel as we do. If you pay attention, this messaging is already out there loud and clear. I will not here divert into the separate but related conversation about whether AI or any other artificial brain-like technology can be somehow influenced or occupied by discarnate intelligences. The answer to that question is a thorny mess of nightmare fuel. For now, let’s stick to the movies.

There is an interesting comparison to be made between Cast Away and Finch. In Cast Away, Hanks’s character becomes so lonely that he paints a face on Wilson and starts talking to him like a friend. The audience knows Wilson is not real, but we also understand that there is something deeply human about the need to connect with someone else like us. It is not good for man to be alone. After all the animals had passed by Adam, the conclusion of the matter was: “But for Adam no suitable helper was found.” This goes deep. We understand that extreme solitude will strain and fray the sanity of almost anyone. But Cast Away does not try to convince us that Wilson is really a suitable friend for Hanks. If anything, the movie helps us realize that pretending to have a friend as a way of holding on to your sanity is better than losing it entirely.

But Finch is a different story. After a pretty interesting opening and middle section—the character is compelling, the robot and dog are amusing, the adventures are exciting—the ending is one of the most dissatisfying movie experiences I can remember. And it is so dissatisfying exactly because it tries to present itself as a happy ending. What is that ending? A montage multiple minutes long of the robot, Jeff, taking care of Finch’s dog after Finch dies. Playing fetch. Feeding it. Ta-da! A robot taking care of a dog, and all the humans dead and gone, or still killing each other like animals off screen somewhere. Finch tries to convince the audience that humans are expendable, and that the best parts of humanity—the love, care, and goodness—can be pulled off just as well by clever robots. Cast Away took away all the humans except one to reveal something profoundly true about humanity; Finch took away all the humans and pretended it didn’t matter.

I’ll tell you – this really did not sit well with me. “Who cares?” I said to myself. If there are no humans to experience it, remember it, tell of it; no children to raise and bequeath what little we have to— then who cares if a robot takes care of a hundred dogs for eternity? The image of God resides not in robots and dogs, as good and glorious as technology and the canine species is. How could that be the ending of the movie? How could that possibly feel like a happy ending to anyone? Because—guess what?—there will not be any robots or dogs watching and comprehending this movie. Why? Because they can’t.

The way this movie resolved, it felt like an advertisement for post-humanity. “Time for this failed experiment called humans to shuffle off the stage and leave things for the robots and animals.” It felt like it was trying to get me to feel good about something that my whole soul was screaming “this is BAD” about. I hope I’m not being unfair here. I love dogs and robots! But they aren’t humans. And no movie made by humans for humans should pretend it’s somehow going to have a satisfying ending for human hearts and minds if that ending has all the humans we spent 90 minutes getting emotionally invested into dead and buried. The only way people could make this movie is if they really convinced themselves that, at bottom, there is no fundamental difference between humans and dogs (just slightly different mammals) or between humans and robots (just computers in bodies).

This gets back to a theme I’ve been returning to repeatedly in this space, and that is the idea of a robust, Christian anthropology. What is a human being? The church really needs to get a handle on its answer to this question, because the assaults against human nature are going to get exponentially worse. If a robot can demonstrate some evidence of consciousness, should we grant it human rights? What about DNA alterations? What about the integration of digital hardware directly into human bodies, like the recent Neuralink patient? What is the Christian response to these things? Are they good? Permissible? Sinful? Demonic?

In a recent podcast interview with Annie Crawford, she quoted a certain Stratford Caldecott as saying: “We don’t know how to educate, because we don’t know what a human is; we don’t know what a human is because we don’t know what reality is; and we don’t know what reality is because we don’t know the One who made reality.” This sums up the depth of the problem nicely, as well as the beauty and nestled, fractal unity of the ultimate Answer.