Havelock Ellis once said that “adults need obscene literature, as much as children need fairy tales, as a relief from the obsessive force of convention.” The urge toward obscenity is nothing more or less than the urge toward freedom. Those who condemn it are clearly afraid of the debauchery that freedom might unleash in themselves. They inevitably condemn what they are most attracted to. The censor is the one who slavers in private over books, films, and visual artifacts that he or she then proscribes for the rest of society.
Throughout history, the urge to censor has always been stronger in those most attracted to the freedom of the obscene. In quashing freedom in others, the censor hopes to quash it within.
“Liberation,” says Henry Miller, “implies the sloughing off of chains, the bursting of the cocoon. What is obscene are the preliminary or anticipatory movements of birth, the preconscious writhing in the face of a life to be.”
Miller goes on to say that the obscene “is an attempt to spy on the secret processes of the universe.” The guilt of the creator when he or she knows that something extraordinary is being born comes from the knowledge of tampering with godlike powers, a Promethean guilt for impersonating the immortals. “The obscene has all the qualities of the hidden interval,” Miller says. It is
vast as the Unconscious itself and as amorphous and fluid as the very stuff of the Unconscious. It is what comes to the surface as strange, intoxicating and forbidden, and which therefore arrests and paralyzes when in the form of Narcissus we bend over our own image in the mirror of our own iniquity. Acknowledged by all, it is nevertheless despised and rejected, wherefore it is constantly emerging in Protean guise at the most unexpected moments. When it is recognized and accepted . . . it inspires no more dread than . . . the flowering lotus which sends its roots down into the mud of the stream of which it is born.
Sexuality and creativity were not always divorced as they are today and as they were in Mark Twain’s day. All so-called primitive and pagan art exhibits the marriage of sexuality and creativity—whether in the form of giant phalluses, multitudinous breasts, or pregnant bellies. But the divorce between body and mind that characterizes the Christian era has led the artist to curious strategies of creation and constant guilt for the possession of the creative gift.
We see this guilt as clearly in Mark Twain as in any artist who ever lived. His creative strategies of intermittent composition, his fear of working on a book once it became clear that the process of composition would inevitably lift the veil and take him into the sacred and forbidden precincts, betrays his hypersensitivity to something we might call post-Christian creator guilt—if it weren’t such a daunting mouthful.
In primitive societies, the artist and the shaman are one. There
is
no discontinuity between artistic creation and the sacred. The shaman-artist creates in order to worship and worships in order to create.
Not so the artist in our culture. Always racked by guilt for the power of creativity
itself,
beset by censors within and without, our artists are shackled by a sense of transgression so deep it often destroys them. No wonder we use obscenity to break open the door, to lift the veil. No wonder we insist on our right to do so as if our lives depended on it. They do.
So the artist needs pornography as a way into the unconscious, and history proves that if this license is not granted, it will be stolen. Mark Twain had
1601
printed privately. Picasso kept pornographic notebooks that were exhibited only after his death.
But what about
access
to these works? Should access be restricted? And if so, how shall we decide to
whom
it shall be restricted, and how shall we decide who makes the decision? As I said earlier, this is a problem that arises only in heterogeneous societies. In homogeneous societies, tradition and taboo govern what shall be seen and what unseen, and the whole tribe agrees about it. There
is
no problem. But our society is multiethnic, multiracial, multisexual. What is offensive to a Muslim may not be offensive to a Unitarian. What is offensive to an Orthodox Jew may not be offensive to an assimilated Jew. What is offensive to a feminist may seem like free speech to a lusty adolescent. We do not even agree on the
definition
of obscenity.
Who shall make rules for the whole of society when society is so diverse and none of us agree on what obscenity is?
This is the problem we confront today. Add to it the relentlessly commercial thrust of our communications media and the fact that they are concentrated in fewer and fewer hands, and you see the danger we are in. Commercial television networks in America have “solved” the problem by editing out
anything
that may be offensive to
any
group who may petition their sponsors. Ban what is quirky, eccentric, imaginative, sexual, satirical, or strange, and the result will be the predigested baby formula American television offers. The whole country is in danger of becoming a Disney theme park whose main aim is to sell hamburgers, hot dogs, and copyrighted trinkets in the shapes of cartoon characters. Interactive media—whose main interaction is between credit card and digital order-taker—seems to be going the same way. Puritans have already attempted to ban sex in cyberspace, but apparently not selling. Selling is, of course,
not
considered obscene in America.
Margaret Mead says that all societies have two problems in relation to sex:
how to keep sex activity out of forbidden channels that will endanger the bodies and souls of others or the co-operative process of social life,
and
how to keep it flowing reliably in those channels where it is a necessity if children are to be conceived and reared in homes where father and mother are tied together by the requisite amount of sexual interest.
We must keep people together to rear families, and we must raise children who can “focus their capacities for sexual feelings on particular persons.” These two social tasks seem simple to effect, but they are not. Random sexual activity must be controlled, contained, ritualized—but not to the detriment of desire itself. Desire is necessary—not only for art but for binding parents together. Sex can be a destructive force or a cohesive one—depending on how it is used. Many primitive societies have allowed group sexual activities under particular circumstances—to propitiate the crops or to celebrate a wedding or feast. “An orgy for all which serves group goals ceases to be an orgy, and so is dignified,” says Margaret Mead.
One of the reasons we are so negative toward pornography is that we do not see pornography as serving group goals. In this we may be mistaken. The former U.S. surgeon general, Joycelyn Elders, was forced to step down a few years ago after publicly averring that masturbation might be a good thing for adolescents—a far better thing than early sexual activity and parenthood. Such was the prevalent sexual hypocrisy of the United States that this eminently sensible statement caused an outcry. Given his own predilections, President Clinton should have awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor to Elders rather than forcing her to resign.
I cheered her. Any idiot can see that masturbation is less harmful than parenthood at twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. . . . But one may not say so publicly. We are supposed to pretend that sexual desire does not exist. Sexual desire
does
exist, and every society in history has expressed it in art, literature, jokes, dances, music, sacred rituals. Now we are faced with the possibility that the heterogeneity of our society may lead to our banning those universal expressions of human feeling.
I believe that censorship is always an evil to be deplored in a free society. A far better method of keeping inappropriate materials out of the purview of those we deem too young or too emotionally vulnerable for them is a system of rating or labeling visual or literary materials so that minors and those who seek to protect them can be forewarned. To restrict access to materials
by age
is
not
the same as to proscribe them. Parents who believe it is their responsibility to protect their children from the corruptions of television, movies, books, and the Internet have but to pull the plug on the machine (or lock up the books and magazines) when danger beckons. It is unfair for such parents to demand that the state control what they themselves cannot control. So, too, with puritanical sects. If they cannot dissuade their youths from wallowing in what is morally corrupting, what kind of moral leadership are they providing? Surely they cannot demand that the
state
provide for them the moral authority their priests cannot provide?
In place of censorship I would limit access, increase parental responsibility, and urge those who do not like our mass media to create their own competing media. If we ban whatever offends
any
group in our diverse society, we will soon have no art, no culture, no humor, no satire. Satire is by its
nature
offensive. So is much art and political discourse. The value of these expressions far outweighs their risk.
Oscar Wilde—who appears to have said everything—said of censorship: “In France . . . they limit the journalist and allow the artist almost perfect freedom. Here we allow absolute freedom to the journalist and limit the artist.”
Like so many things he said, it is still true. This long after the centenary of Wilde’s sentencing for “gross indecency,” we ought to be wiser about restricting sexual expression than our predecessors were. In the name of protecting children, we cannot starve adults. In the name of social harmony, we cannot ban ecstasy. We
can
limit access based on age. I believe that is the
most
we
should
do. The enforcement may be spotty—but so, too, is the enforcement on banning nicotine for children or firearms to criminals. As long as we allow tobacco companies to addict our children to a cancer-causing substance, it is sheer hypocrisy to demand censorship of sexual materials on the grounds that they pervert and corrupt.
The well-meaning feminists who assert without evidence that pornography is rape, the evangelical Christians whose influence over their own children is so weak they want the state to bolster them, the authoritarian Muslims who read works of the imagination literally and thus proclaim fatwas against creative writers, cannot be our masters. Our concern must be with keeping intellectual and artistic excellence alive
even
in a pluralistic democracy. It is a tough challenge, and it tends to bring out the zealotry in the most academic ideologues. “Every idea is an incitement,” said Oliver Wendell Holmes. Surely that does not mean we should banish ideas.
English law on the subject of pornography attempts to ban certain materials on the basis of their tendency “to deprave and corrupt.” The Hicklin rule, on which nearly all British and American pornography decisions were based for over a century (and which has recently been revived by Catharine MacKinnon under another name), made the test for obscenity its tendency to “deprave and corrupt those whose minds are open to such immoral influences.” The Obscene Publications Act of 1959 and 1964 modified Hicklin but still relied on the test of depraving and corrupting to define pornography and to distinguish it from those productions of human ingenuity which advance medical science or art or literature. We must admit that this is an inexact test, very prone to influence by political trends. The current United States law on pornography is equally bad. It asserts “community standards” as a test and begs the question of federal standards entirely.
So we are no closer to a good definition of obscenity than we
ever
were, and as our society grows more diverse, we are in for more chaos and confusion. If you factor in the problem that defenders of public morality are not always entirely sincere and are often motivated by low political ambitions, you see how thorny the dilemma is. In his memoir,
Murderers and Other Friends,
John Mortimer has a witty passage about this very subject:
As defenders, we naturally found ourselves on the side of books and films which the prosecution was trying to ban. That didn’t mean that we found these works particularly attractive; it’s not necessary, when defending an alleged murderer, to believe that the best way to end an unhappy marriage is with a kitchen knife in the stomach. Prosecutors who seek to keep the purity of our national life unsullied can be similarly detached. Geoff and I did a long case about some questioned publication or other against a particularly jovial prosecutor who would push his way past my middle-aged knees every morning and chirrup, “Give us a kiss, darling,” as I sat gloomily preparing my work for the day. I used to write in a number of notebooks which had dark circles printed on their covers. In his final speech to the jury this prosecutor was saying, “And if this sort of publication is allowed, youth will be corrupted, authority will be undermined, family life will be in peril and civilization, as we know it, will grind to a halt.” Then, glancing down at my notebook, he muttered, “Arseholes all over your notebook, darling!” and went on with his peroration. The truth is that the defenders of public morality are not always all that they seem to be.
Indeed not. We have to admit that history of censorship from Anthony Comstock to the present has not been a distinguished one. Moreover, people being people and motivated by power first, lust second, there is an imperishable human tendency to use censorship for political ends: to crush one’s opponents, to keep dissenters silent, to prevent changes in the status quo, to keep women properly in our places. Whenever and wherever legal grounds for censorship exist, it is never long before they are used to crush the underdog, the nonconformist, the woman, the witch. Because censorship is such an obvious club put in the hands of the state, I am
mystified
by feminists who seek to renew its force. Perhaps they believe they are (or are soon to be) the state—in which case they are seriously deluded. A concern with “public morality” is—if not the last refuge of a scoundrel—the first foray of the fascist. First they burn books, as Heine said, then they burn people. For “books,” read films, Internet, television, whatever.