2009 marked the twentieth anniversary of the fatwa against author Salman Rushdie after the publication of his novel The Satanic Verses [Ref: Guardian]. But twenty years on, free speech campaigners argue that society is more confused than ever around censorship in the arts. Mark Lawson argues that the Noughties were a schizophrenic decade [Ref: Guardian]. On the one hand violent and sexually explicit films such as Antichrist and 9 Songs pushed the barriers of taste further than ever before; on the other, he argues, moral panics such as those around paedophilia led to censorship of works by respected artists such as Nan Goldin [Ref: The Times] and Richard Prince. The removal of Prince’s sexually suggestive image of a ten year old Brooke Shields from a Tate Modern exhibition {Ref: Guardian] ignited the controversy around the limits of artistic expression, just as did debates around the novel Jewel of Medina in 2008 [Ref: BBC News] or the Danish cartoons in 2005. These discussions are not just confined to traditionally ‘high arts’ or politically incendiary material though. Comedians [Ref: Scotsman] and dramatists have complained about a growing culture of offence and censorship which has been seemingly reinforced [Ref: The Times] by new BBC guidelines regulating offensive material [Ref: Guardian]. But some critics argue that many artists now revel in being offensive for the sake of it, which not only reinforces unpleasant attitudes towards vulnerable groups, but leads to bad art [Ref: The Times]. This argument suggests that artists shouldn’t be censored, but should exercise better judgement: but some point out that there is a very fine line between better judgement and self-censorship. Does art offer society something unique and is therefore worth defending no matter how shocking? Where does criticism end and censorship begin? Is art a special category separate from usual restrictions, or is it more important to defend the freedom of everyone’s speech?

‘Edgy’ or offensive?
Many are familiar with works being censored (and defended) because they challenge or insult religious groups and cultural sensitivities [Ref: Index on Censorship]. But artistic expression is controversial in secularist circles too. Comedians have recently come under fire for making jokes about the elderly, the disabled and other minority groups [Ref: Guardian]. Many commentators have expressed discomfort that what passes as ‘edgy’ and challenging today would’ve been rightly criticised for its bigotry in the past. John O’Farrell worries that jokes about domestic violence normalise and even encourage the act in reality [Ref: Daily Telegraph]. But others counter that while there is a precious right to free speech, there is no such thing as a right not be offended. Moreover, Tim Black claims that far from being Mary Whitehouse, today’s censorious lobby is a self-appointed ‘offencerati’ more concerned with taking offence on behalf of others and who often possess many narrow-minded prejudices of their own [Ref: spiked].

Better judgement or self-censorship?
Even from those who feel art has become too shocking, there is a reluctance to see artistic value defined by the police or state bodies [Ref: Guardian]. Instead, they argue that artists should exercise better moral judgement in who and why they offend. But, says Kenan Malik, the Rushdie affair showed that self-censorship is even more pernicious than its imposed form, as it means the public are not even granted the chance to discuss or debate challenging ideas and opinions, and is a victory for those who hate free speech [Ref: The Times]. Censored novelist Sherry Jones says she is a victim of a disturbing new trend of pre-emptive censorship, where work is banned or not published before it’s even had a chance to cause offence [Ref: New Humanist]. Stanley Fish, however, says moral criticism is not the same as censorship [Ref: New York Times] and that making aesthetic judgement over what to include or exclude is integral to creating (and understanding) great art [Ref: Routledge]. Other critics point out that controversies over art and child pornography usually, and often deservedly, generate more public censure than state censorship [Ref: Guardian]. The philosopher Roger Scruton argues that the real problem is that art’s moral role as a universal civilising influence is no longer taken seriously, and the traditional Western goal of disinterested aesthetic judgement is being replaced by personalised and emotive responses: which inevitably leads to moral outrage when feelings are hurt and sensibilities offended [Ref: Spectator].

For art’s sake?
Much of the current debate expresses an ambiguity around art’s function in contemporary society [Ref: New Statesman]. Many defend artistic freedom because artworks contextualise and allow us to reflect on ideas and actions which would be shocking or illegal in real life [Ref: The Times]. Prince did not take the photograph of Shields, he merely reproduced it, and Spiritual America can be understood as a commentary on the sexualisation of children in a fame and image-obsessed culture. Philosopher Henri Bergson referred to comedy’s humanising virtue in allowing a ‘momentary anaesthesia of the heart’ which allows us to suspend normal moral judgements [Ref: Authorama]. But if art can only be defended in moral terms, is there a place for work which reflects or depicts immoral acts? When a work features indecent images of a child taken without their consent, or could result in others being physically harmed, should there be some artistic responsibility [Ref: BBC News]? Does art have a specific moral purpose, or can it be defended for its own aesthetic sake: where our response is simply whether it is good or bad?