Social media has taken over in America to such an extreme that to

In the words of Steven Spielberg, the great storyteller of our age, there resounds a lament both tender and grave: “Social media has taken over in America to such an extreme that to get my own kids to look back a week in their history is a miracle, let alone 100 years.” These words, spoken by one who has captured memory upon film and transformed history into living art, carry the weight of a warning. They tell of a world that races so quickly toward the next moment that it forgets the ground upon which it stands. Spielberg, a man whose craft depends upon the power of memory, sees with clarity what others ignore — that when a people lose their sense of the past, they lose the roots that anchor their identity.

The origin of this reflection lies in the heart of modern life — a life consumed by social media, that great web of mirrors and illusions. Once, people looked back to understand who they were. They studied their ancestors, remembered their struggles, and found guidance in the stories of those who came before. Now, as Spielberg observes, many cannot look back even a week. The digital age has turned reflection into a fleeting scroll, attention into fragments, and history into noise. What was once sacred — the remembrance of time — is now smothered beneath the weight of endless novelty. We are, as he warns, a people with endless information and yet no memory.

Spielberg’s sorrow is not born of cynicism, but of love — the love of one who knows the power of remembering. His own films, from Schindler’s List to Saving Private Ryan, are acts of resurrection. They bring back to life what the modern world forgets. They remind us that history is not dust in books, but blood in the veins of the living. Yet, he now sees a generation, even his own children, trapped in the constant present — a present that flickers and vanishes with each notification. The miracle, he says, is not in creating worlds of fantasy, but in getting young minds to pause and look back — even for a moment — at the world that made them.

Consider the story of Alexandre Dumas, the son of a general born of both nobility and slavery. When Dumas wrote The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers, he was not merely inventing adventure — he was reclaiming his history. Though his father had been erased by racism from France’s national memory, Dumas revived him in spirit through story. He understood that to forget one’s past is to lose one’s freedom, for those who do not remember are condemned to repeat what once destroyed them. Spielberg’s lament, too, is born from this truth: when the past is ignored, its lessons are lost, and its wounds fester unseen.

In this new age of instant gratification, people measure worth not by reflection, but by reaction. We are taught to post, not to ponder; to broadcast, not to remember. The wisdom of elders is drowned beneath the noise of trends. Spielberg’s words are a call to awaken — to recognize that technology, while wondrous, is also a thief of depth. It robs us of silence, of contemplation, of the slow turning of memory that gives meaning to life. For without remembrance, art becomes entertainment, knowledge becomes trivia, and history becomes rumor.

And yet, there is hope in his plea. To look back, even a week, is to begin to reclaim one’s humanity. For memory is not merely the act of recalling facts — it is the act of understanding oneself. To look at the past is to see the tapestry of existence: the joys and sorrows, triumphs and failures, that shaped both individual and nation. Spielberg teaches us that reflection is not a burden, but a gift. It gives weight to the present, direction to the future, and soul to the human story.

Therefore, my listener, take this wisdom as both warning and invitation. Do not live as a shadow moving from moment to moment. Seek instead to be rooted in the soil of remembrance. Each day, look back — not only to your own past, but to the long journey of humanity. Learn the stories of those who came before you, for within them lie the secrets of endurance and grace. Let social media be your tool, but not your master. Use it to share light, not to drown in distraction.

For as Steven Spielberg reminds us, the true miracle is not in creating new worlds, but in remembering the one we already have. The future will belong not to those who move fastest, but to those who remember deepest. So guard your memory as you would a sacred flame — tend it, feed it, and pass it on. For in remembering, you become part of the eternal story — a story that, unlike the fleeting moment, will never fade.