Do We Need to Censor our Thoughts Too
Mariia Vabulnik
Licensed Therapist
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Do We Need to Censor our Thoughts Too?
Sometimes, our imagination drifts into dark places: a plane spiraling from the sky, a sudden terrorist attack, the outbreak of World War III, or brutal scenes of violence and murder. These intrusive visions can be hard to shake off. They stir a whirlwind of emotions - fear, shame, guilt - and sometimes, unsettlingly, even a strange pleasure or a compulsion to keep imagining.
Why do such thoughts appear? What should we do with them? And why are we do fascinated with true crime podcasts before sleep?
These are questions psychologists often explore. But there's another angle that gets far less attention: the moral dimension of imagination itself.
So should moral norms apply not just to what we do, but also to what we think?
What Modern Ethics Overlooks
A society that punishes people for their thoughts sounds more like the plot of a grim dystopian novel than a real possibility.
Modern ethics, for the most part, is concerned with how we treat each other. From childhood, we're taught golden rules like “Don't hurt others,” “Be honest,” or “Treat people the way you want to be treated.” If you've ever taken a philosophy class, you probably know that the major ethical theories are all concerned with one main question: What is the right thing to do?
- A utilitarian will urge you to consider the outcome of your actions - if your decision brings the greatest happiness to the greatest number, then it's a moral win.
- A deontologist, on the other hand, will ask what your motivations are - are you doing it because it's the right thing, not just because of the result?
- A virtue ethicist will want to know whether your choice aligns with the kind of person you're striving to become - does it nurture the virtues you value?
At this point, you might argue: “Wait, don't philosophers do care about motives and intentions? Isn't that part of our inner, moral life?” And you'd be right - up to a point. But motives and intentions only matter insofar as they are tied to action. Philosophers tend to care about thoughts only when they're the prelude to something you do in the real world.
If someone spends their free time imagining mass murder but never acts on those fantasies, ethicists generally look away - it's psychologists who might take interest.
But it wasn't always like this.
Are “Dirty” Fantasies a Sin?
For centuries, morality followed the lead of religion. Unlike modern ethics, which focuses mostly on our behavior toward others, religious morality aimed higher - or deeper: it sought to save the immortal soul and prepare it for what comes after death. That's why keeping one's thoughts pure was just as important as doing good deeds (take a look at this forum).
In this worldview, sin wasn't just about what you did, but who you were inside. It was a state of spiritual separation from God. Even thoughts could tip the scales of righteousness. The Bible, for example, is full of verses warning against impure or sinful thinking:
“But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”
“For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit.
For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.”“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things.”
Even though we don't talk much about sin and salvation in everyday life anymore, many of us still carry the old belief that thoughts lead to actions. That's why we try to monitor and manage our mental life hoping it will keep our behavior in check.
Modern psychotherapy often taps into this same principle. For example, cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT), one of the most widely used therapeutic approaches today, is built on the idea that changing your thoughts can change your life. Once you become aware of the beliefs and mental habits shaping your emotions and actions, you can begin to shift your behavior - and, perhaps, your entire way of being.
(If you are interested in cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT) or looking for more options, book a free consultation here).
From Thought to Action: Do We Need to Censor the Mind?
It's often said there's only a step from thought to action. Building on this idea, some modern philosophers argue that ethics shouldn't stop at what we do - it should also reach into what we think. This line of reasoning, known as the consequentialist argument , suggests that ideas have consequences - and that's why some believe we need to control and censor the products of thought: books, films, TV shows, video games, blogs, and media.
If the consequentialists are right - if other people's ideas shape how we think, and our thoughts shape what we do - does that mean censorship is necessary?
Some say yes.
This isn't a new idea. Even Plato, in imagining his ideal society,
argued for banning certain kinds of poetry that stirred dangerous emotions and, in his view, led people astray. He believed that art should serve morality. This view - called moralism in philosophy - holds that art, media, and literature shouldn't just entertain or delight us; they should help us become better people.
History is full of examples of this mindset in action. Entire books have been banned or burned for their supposedly corrupting influence. As early as ancient Greece, the works of philosopher Protagoras were destroyed because of his ideas about the gods. During the Renaissance, the Catholic Church created the Index of Forbidden Books. And even in the modern era, classics like The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger, Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, and Lord of the Flies by William Golding have faced censorship for being considered immoral or dangerous.
Others say no.
According to aestheticism , the purpose of art is not to preach morals but to offer unique, aesthetic experiences - new ways of seeing the world. After all, in real life you may never get to live as a pirate, but a good novel can take you there. Art lets us explore perspectives and emotions we might never encounter otherwise.
But this freedom also has its risks. If “it's all just art,” creators can end up with a free pass to depict or even glorify anything - violence, cruelty, or other morally questionable acts - without consequence. Where do we draw the line?
Most philosophers today sit somewhere in the middle.
On the wide spectrum between moralism and aestheticism, many adopt a nuanced view.
They agree that only certain works - like didactic literature - aim directly to teach morality (think The Pilgrim's Progress by
John Bunyan or Back to Methuselah by George Bernard Shaw). Most stories are written for other reasons, though they can still carry ethical insights.
Shakespeare probably didn't write Macbeth just to tell us murder is wrong-—
yet the tragedy leaves us with a deep sense of that truth.
We also have to be cautious with the consequentialist approach. Sure, thoughts can shape our behavior - but they're only one piece of the puzzle.
How many times have we thought, “I should wake up early and do yoga,” only to snooze through the morning?
And when it comes to books, films, and games - why does a certain novel transform one person's worldview while barely brushing another? Human beings are far more complex than consequentialists give us credit for.
So maybe it's time to ask a different question:
Are thoughts themselves - without leading to action - ever truly moral or immoral?
Or is the mind a space where, for better or worse, we're still free to wander?
Judging the Morality of Immoral Fantasies
Ask person A what she likes to imagine, and she smiles:
“I picture cats basking in the sun. I pet them gently, and they purr with delight.”
Ask person B the same question, and the answer is jarring:
“I fantasize about torturing and killing children.”
Neither A nor B intends to act on these thoughts. They're just thoughts , after all. And yet, our reaction is likely swift and visceral - we feel alarmed by B's response, maybe even repulsed. We might judge her harshly, pull away, even if her actual behavior gives no hint of cruelty.
This unsettling contrast was the core of a thought experiment by Scottish philosopher David Ross, in his 1930 book The Right and the Good. He posed a haunting scenario: Imagine a global catastrophe wipes out humanity, leaving just one survivor. Would you choose for A to be that survivor - or B?
Ross guessed that most of us would choose A - even though, in this post- apocalyptic world, neither A nor B would ever act on their fantasies.
Why does that choice feel so obvious?
American philosopher Aaron Smuts picks up Ross's idea and offers an explanation:
“If we had the power to choose between two worlds,” he writes, “we would choose the one in which A survived. The world with B in it just feels worse.”
But not because B might do something terrible.
Not because some hypothetical child might suffer. And not even because B might pose a threat to us.
It's worse, Smuts argues, simply because B derives pleasure from evil - from imagining the suffering of the innocent. That, in and of itself, is enough to disturb us.
In other words, some fantasies feel morally wrong even if they never leave the confines of the mind. Not because they harm others - but because they reveal something about the inner world of the person imagining them. A world that, perhaps, we'd rather not be part of.
When Disapproval Is Enough
According to Aaron Smuts, the true moral test of a fantasy isn't whether it leads to real-world harm, but whether someone takes pleasure in imagined evil.
He isn't saying we should treat thoughts like actions - clearly, someone who tortures children in reality is far worse than someone who only fantasizes about it. But Smuts argues that even the fantasist deserves a kind of moral response: not blame , but disapproval.
This distinction - between blame and disapproval - is central to his view. We blame people who do clearly immoral things: someone who intentionally harms another person, for example. But life isn't just black and white. There are shades of gray, and not all actions (or inactions) fit neatly into the “moral” or “immoral” box.
Take this example: someone witnesses violence but chooses not to intervene, even though they could do so safely. They haven't committed the violence themselves - but we likely wouldn't admire their silence, either. They don't deserve the same condemnation as the perpetrator, but we might still feel uneasy about their choice.
That's where disapproval comes in. It's a softer moral judgment than blame. It's what we reach for when something feels off , even if it's not clearly wrong.
As Smuts puts it:
“When we react this way, we aren't accusing someone - we're withdrawing approval. We stop respecting them. We might choose to avoid them. Usually, we don't believe people should be punished for failing to intervene or for lacking compassion. After all, not everyone is at fault for the kind of person they are. Still, many would agree that being cold-hearted is a flaw.”
This kind of moral instinct has deep evolutionary roots. For humans to survive, we've had to rely on cooperation. In dangerous situations, people who stayed indifferent to the suffering of others were a liability. That's why we've evolved a rich moral radar - not just to condemn harmful acts, but to spot and distance ourselves from behavior that might not be safe or trustworthy.
In the end, Smuts believes it's disapproval , not condemnation, that should guide our ethical response to fantasy.
Someone who dreams of torturing others may never lay a hand on anyone - but in imagining evil, and enjoying it, they cross a line that deserves our moral concern.
Conscious and Unconscious Imagination: Are All Fantasies Created Equal?
Smuts's theory - that taking pleasure in imagined evil is morally troubling - can stir up uncomfortable feelings. It raises a difficult question: Is it wrong to fantasize about violence, even if I never act on it? And what if I have disturbing dreams - does that make me a bad person?
To navigate these murky waters, philosophers of imagination emphasize a crucial distinction: control. In ethics, we typically only judge people for what they can control. So while consciously fantasizing about violence for pleasure may deserve moral disapproval, dreams are a different matter. We don't choose our dreams, and the unconscious has a mind of its own.
Of course, not everyone agrees in that. Some philosophers still hold what's called the Augustinian view - who believed even sexual dreams could be sinful, arguing that people have at least some control over their dream life.
But how much control do we really have over our imagination in everyday life - say, when reading a novel, watching a movie, or playing a video game?
On one hand, we hand over the reins to the storyteller - we don't get to decide where the plot goes or what images fill our minds. In that sense, we're just passengers. But on the other hand, we do choose what kinds of stories to consume. You're unlikely to stumble upon a violent murder scene in a wholesome family movie. And beyond that, we control how we respond to what we see or read. We can agree with the author's message - or push back against it. We can feel repulsed or enchanted, challenged or comforted.
Modern philosophers also point out that not all fiction works on the imagination in the same way. Sometimes we feel like spectators, watching events unfold from a distance. Other times, we're so immersed it feels like it's happening to us. This is especially true of first-person narratives or certain kinds of video games that blur the boundary between player and character.
The same piece of content can also be experienced in dramatically different ways. One person may feel disgusted by a brutal fight scene, while another admires its cinematic beauty. The morality of our imagination depends not just on what we're imagining - but how we're imagining it, and why.
This, philosophers say, is exactly the kind of complexity that ethics of imagination needs to explore.
Analytical philosophy is only just beginning to scratch the surface of this field. There's still much work to be done - but it's a fascinating journey.
Morality in Virtual Worlds
“I wasn't having much luck with the bank robbery,” writes American philosopher Grant Tavinor. “I came out of Liberty City Bank to find it surrounded by squad cars and armed officers. They had blocked every escape route. Negotiation was off the table, so I raised my assault rifle and opened fire. My crew did the same.
Soon enough, the cops were dropping to the ground, fatally wounded. Police cars exploded as I lobbed grenades their way. It was thrilling! But when we ducked into an alley and the game fell quiet, I suddenly stopped and thought - what just happened? I had just gunned down a group of police officers with military-grade weapons. And that realization unsettled me.”
Tavinor's unease is understandable. In the real world, robbing banks and killing police officers are acts of clear moral wrongdoing. But what about when these acts unfold in a video game - a space that exists partly on the screen and partly in the imagination?
Critics - what Tavinor calls “moral panic” theorists - believe that games should not encourage or reward immoral choices, even if they're fictional. To them, getting pleasure from virtual violence desensitizes us, erodes our moral compass, and normalizes cruelty.
On the other side are those who defend the “ it's just a game ” view - including Tavinor himself. They argue that the role of art is not always to promote virtue, but to help us experience things we can't or shouldn't live out in real life. Some forms of play are dangerous in reality but safe in fiction.
These defenders also point to catharsis - a concept Aristotle introduced long ago. Just like in a tragic play, emotionally intense moments in games can help us confront inner conflicts, release negative emotions, and emerge with a sense of relief or insight. The game, then, becomes a moral playground where we explore difficult questions without real-world consequences.
When it comes to virtual violence or sexual assault, it's tempting to wave it off: “It's just pixels on a screen - not real life. Why get worked up? Nothing actually happened.”
But today's philosophers are urging us to look not at how virtual life differs from real life - but at how similar they can be.
Back in the 1990s, American journalist Julian Dibbell described one of the first reported cases of cybersexual assault in a multiplayer online game. The emotional impact on the victims, he noted, was disturbingly close to the trauma experienced by survivors of real-life assaults. The pain was real - even if the setting was virtual.
In fact, the brain doesn't always know the difference.
Neuroscientists have shown that our brains can react just as strongly to imagined or simulated events as to real ones. That's part of our evolutionary toolkit: the mere idea of a venomous black widow spider can trigger a full-body stress response - even if it's not actually crawling up your arm. That reaction might just save your life.
The more we learn about how the mind works, the clearer it becomes: imagination isn't just for artists and writers. It's something we all use - constantly. And if imagination is so powerful, maybe it's time ethics took it seriously too.
A New Kind of Ethics for a New Kind of World
The goal of an ethics of imagination isn't to shame us for our thoughts or police our fantasies. It's not about guilt or mental censorship. Instead, it invites us to explore how our inner world shapes our emotions, and how those emotions influence our moral compass.
How do our thoughts lead to feelings?
How do those feelings affect our choices?
When do imagined scenarios help us grow - and when might they steer us wrong?
One particularly promising idea is moral imagination: the ability to use creative thinking to solve ethical problems. For instance, imagining multiple futures and choosing the one that aligns best with our values. This isn't just philosophical daydreaming - it's a skill, and one we all need in a world full of uncertainty.
If you're in Japan and want to explore support options, or if you're just ready to talk about what's going on, I warmly invite you to consider a free consultation with a psychologist. Here are a few resources:
therapyjp.com - Professional, English-speaking psychologists in Japan
tell.jp - Free and confidential English-language support in Japan
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