The Moral Guillotine: Why We Burn Books to Save Souls
Humanity has a peculiar habit: whenever we encounter a thought that scares us, we try to set it on fire. It’s a classic move from the "Human Nature 101" playbook—if you can’t argue with the logic, just delete the PDF (or in the 17th century, burn the parchment).
Comparing 17th-century censorship in the American colonies versus Old England is like comparing a jealous ex-partner to a cold-blooded corporate HR department. In England, censorship was a business. It was about State Security and Monopoly. The Crown didn't care if your soul was rotting, provided you weren't bad-mouthing the King or cutting into the profits of the Stationers' Company. It was professional, bureaucratic, and focused on "Seditious Libel."
Across the Atlantic, however, the Puritans were playing a much more intimate game. To them, a "bad book" wasn't just a political threat; it was a virus for the soul. They weren't protecting a King; they were protecting God—or rather, their very specific, very grumpy interpretation of Him. When Thomas Morton wrote New English Canaan, he wasn't just criticizing the government; he was dancing around a Maypole and inviting "heretics" to the party. For the Theo-crats of Massachusetts, that wasn't just dissent; it was spiritual biological warfare.
Desmond Morris might argue that this is simply "tribal grooming" on a grand scale. By banning books, the tribe reinforces its boundaries and flushes out the "unfit" members. We see this darker side of human nature repeating today. Whether it’s modern campus "cancel culture" or state-level book bans, the impulse remains the same: the arrogant belief that the public is too fragile to read the "wrong" things.
The irony? The more you ban a book, the more people want to find out why. Fire makes for a terrible eraser, but a fantastic spotlight.
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