Television is a medium because anything well done is rare.

Hear now the sharp words of Fred Allen, master of wit and satire, who with his tongue of irony spoke thus: “Television is a medium because anything well done is rare.” At first this sounds like jest, a clever play on words, but within the jest lies wisdom as ancient as the poets: that abundance does not equal excellence, and that where voices are many, truth and beauty are scarce. It is a reminder that in every age of communication, the flood of content threatens to bury the precious gems of quality beneath the weight of the trivial.

For the medium of television, like the theater of the ancients or the forum of Rome, holds both promise and peril. It can uplift with drama, inspire with story, and instruct with knowledge. But because it is easy to fill the air with noise, much of what is offered is shallow, repetitive, and without lasting worth. Hence Allen’s jest cuts deep: it is called a “medium” not only for its form, but because true excellence within it is rare, as rare as gold among the sands.

Consider the tale of the Golden Age of Television in the 1950s and 60s. Within that era, some works shone with brilliance—Rod Serling’s The Twilight Zone stretched the imagination, and Walter Cronkite’s reporting gave voice to integrity. Yet alongside such treasures came countless shows that were forgotten as soon as they ended, crafted not for truth or art but for profit and distraction. Even in its height, the medium was a field where wheat and chaff grew together, and the discerning soul had to labor to find nourishment.

This truth echoes through all history. The printing press unleashed a storm of words, yet only a fraction carried wisdom that endured. The stage of Shakespeare bore immortal lines, but many plays of his age lie forgotten in dust. The same is true of television, and indeed of every form of media: the capacity to produce is vast, but the works of lasting beauty and truth are rare. Allen’s remark is therefore less about television alone and more about the human tendency to create much, but to create well only seldom.

Yet do not despair, O seeker, for rarity is not curse but value. That which is rare is precious, demanding of us the labor of discernment. Just as miners must sift tons of stone for a single jewel, so must the viewer or reader sift through the many to find the few works that uplift the heart and sharpen the mind. In this way, the abundance of the medium need not drown us, but can challenge us to seek with wisdom, to choose with care, to treasure what is excellent when we find it.

Therefore, my child, let this be your lesson: Do not consume blindly the endless offerings of the screen. Seek not merely what entertains for a moment, but what enriches for a lifetime. Train your spirit to recognize the rare work of quality—the story that endures, the truth that shines, the performance that speaks to the soul. For though such works are rare, they will guide you, shape you, and remind you that greatness can still dwell within even the noisiest of mediums.

What then must you do? Approach the medium with vigilance. Watch not endlessly, but with purpose. When you find something noble, hold fast to it, share it, let it shape your life. And when you encounter what is hollow, let it pass like wind through the trees. Remember always that the rare is worth seeking, and that excellence is no accident but the fruit of effort, vision, and truth.

So let Allen’s jest echo as both laughter and warning: “Television is a medium because anything well done is rare.” Know this truth, and you will not be deceived by abundance, but will treasure the rare jewels of wisdom, art, and truth wherever you find them. In this way, you will rise above the noise and walk in the company of greatness.