I have a Little Free Library in my front yard. I encourage my neighbors to take books and leave books, and many do. Children’s books are especially popular. I ‘‘curate’’ the library box at least weekly to be sure it is well stocked with books for various ages and interests: fiction, nonfiction, poetry, cookbooks, babies, storybooks, young adult literature, etc. If a book stays too long in the box, I rotate it out for a later time or donate it to another L.F.L. or to the public library.
As a book lover, I am concerned about right-wing movements to remove books from libraries; I’ve always believed that we should have free access to ideas. But I am now facing an ethical question. Someone leaves a lot of religious books in my Little Free Library. I welcome Bible stories, prayer books and religious philosophy, but recently donated books are making the case to children against evolution. In storybook form, these books state that the earth is only a few thousand years old, and that dinosaurs and humans coexisted. These are not told as stories, but as the word of God.
I realize that parents usually help children choose books from my front yard, and that I do not have an obligation to leave specific books in my L.F.L. indefinitely. Still, these anti-science books present me with an ethical dilemma: If I am opposed to schools’ and public libraries’ banning books like ‘‘In the Night Kitchen,’’ ‘‘Fun Home’’ and ‘‘Heather Has Two Mommies,’’ must I also distribute creationist children’s books? — Name Withheld
From the Ethicist:
Private providers of reading material aren’t bound by the political ideal of free expression: Marriott Hotels, founded by a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, can choose to put the Christian Bible and the Book of Mormon in their rooms, and not to place a copy of the Quran or the Upanishads there as well. Public and academic libraries, by contrast, play an important role in providing free access to varied viewpoints.
Let me step away from your front yard for a bit and acknowledge that the situation isn’t so clear cut when it comes to libraries meant for minors. School librarians must contend with issues of what’s age-appropriate, what’s consistent with the educational mission and what’s considered harmful, by parents as well as educators. In a progressive school in Brooklyn, you may not find a book viewed as hurtful to L.G.B.T.Q. people; in a Christian academy in the South, you might not find one viewed as advancing L.G.B.T.Q. perspectives. The point isn’t that they’re equivalent; it’s that people who say they’re opposed to banning books often wish themselves to keep certain books off the school shelves. Librarians, meanwhile, given budget constraints, can’t escape making choices based on content.
I favor a relatively permissive approach. Children get properly educated when they’re aware of a wide range of views, including, as they grow older, views their parents disagree with. Learning to evaluate ideas is a preparation for adult freedom. Adults, in turn, are entitled to make their own choices about what to read. That’s one way in which adults exercise their freedom.
Another way is by making choices about what books to provide to their young kids, or those in their neighborhood. So toss those creationist books if you like. Still, I doubt it would accomplish much. A parent intent on promoting creationism isn’t going to be hindered by their absence; another parent might use them to critique creationist views. Both will find a way to think outside your box.
A Bonus Question
I am strongly against the banning of any books — until it comes to my own child. My 6-year-old son likes a number of books that not only really stink but also teach him bad manners and rude phrases, like ‘‘stinky butt,’’ ‘‘total dork’’ and ‘‘dumb’’ — words that are way below my son’s capacity as a reader and thinker. After he reads these books, he turns into what could only be called a rude jerk.
That said, my not liking behaviors and phrases he learns from these books is akin to others not liking the thoughts and actions described in books that have been banned in schools and libraries across the country. I find those bans appalling. Should I let him read these books that I despise, or am I on strong ethical grounds to curtail his personal library? — Name Withheld
From the Ethicist:
Rights come with rationales. We don’t want to remove controversial books from public libraries, because we have an ideal of a society where adults make their own choices about what to read. People will decide to read things that would be deplored by literary critics or anti-smut campaigners or religious clerics or card-carrying rationalists. Some people’s views, inevitably, will be shaped by wrongheaded ideas. That’s a bad thing, but ruling out that possibility would involve giving someone else the authority to make these decisions, which would be worse.
It’s also true that, historically, magistrates and decency commissions have been curiously unworried that they themselves would be corrupted by work that, they judged, would corrupt others. A British prosecutor, urging a jury in 1960 to find a paperback edition of ‘‘Lady Chatter-ley’s Lover’’ obscene, notoriously asked, ‘‘Is it a book that you would even wish your wife or servants to read?’’ But it’s not silly to ask whether a book is one you would want your children to read. Parents properly supervise the reading of their young children.
Still, I see no problem in letting your child read books that get up your nose; children are often drawn to books that feel transgressive. Besides, learning literary discrimination requires exposure to a range of materials. The real issue here is his tendency to forget his manners after reading these books that he likes and you loathe. If you don’t like his talk, by all means show your disapproval. But there’s the basis for a deal here. You’ll let him read about stinky butts if he’ll stop talking about them so much.
We’re planning a special Ethicist column on sex. Do you have a question you’d like to have answered? Letters about the ethics of desire, intimacy, partnership, consent, kink and related concerns are all welcome. To submit a query, send an email to [email protected] by Jan. 13, 2025.
Readers Respond
The previous question was from a reader with a query about an upcoming funeral. He wrote: “I am going to tell a brief story about my friend at his funeral. The incident happened 65 years ago. The problem is that I am unsure whether the details of the story, as I remember them, are factual or just in my imagination. No one who was a witness at the time is still living. Should I make this story delightful and not worry about the facts, or make the story short, truthful and perhaps dull?”
In his response, the Ethicist noted: “Researchers in psychology and neuroscience regularly tell us that episodic memory is less like a video recorder than like a story processor. … The story you want to relate — the story that’s meaningful to you — is the one you remember. Given your uncertainty, you can simply throw in the caution ‘as I remember it.’ Others will no doubt tell stories the way they remember them and will be no less subject to the fallibility of human memory, however untroubled their confidence. The difference between you and the other speakers at this funeral, then, might be simply that you’re rightly aware your details could be wrong, while they’re wrongly convinced their details are right.” (Reread the full question and answer here.)
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Given my 50-plus years of experience with funerals as a rabbi, I thought, Surely I am more qualified than the Ethicist to answer this question. I don’t know what I expected him to say about this letter, but I must concede that the response was clear, thoughtful and spot on. I admit, I couldn’t have said it better myself. Mazel tov! — Stephen
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As someone who has eulogized friends, I support the Ethicist’s response as long as the story serves the goals of why the speaker was chosen for this important task. People invite you to offer eulogies because you represent a specific time frame (childhood, adulthood) or activity (job, church) of the deceased’s life. You are there primarily to recognize the family’s grief, to share your own and to personalize the recently departed. Telling good stories, even embellished ones, is a time-honored tradition of fulfilling all three objectives. — Amy
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My first job out of university, several decades ago, was for an oral-history project. I learned quickly that while the remembrance of events might not always be accurate, the way in which the story is told and the details that are included speak volumes about the subject. The person speaking at the funeral should tell their story with all the joie de vivre with which they remember it, as that will be truly in the spirit of the late friend and their friendship. — Timothy
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I had a similar experience to the one the letter writer is anticipating. In London last year, I realized that for the life of me I couldn’t be sure whether the deceased had actually climbed with me to the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral some 46 years earlier, or if she had waited for me across the street enjoying a glass of wine. Of course, I portrayed her as a vigorous climber (the assembled knew her as anything but) and said that this was how I liked to remember her. — Leonard
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In Tim O’Brien’s work of fiction “The Things They Carried,” which is about the writer’s experiences in the Vietnam War, he explores the concept of “story-truth.” The idea is that even when we try to relate a real story from history, the elements or facts might not line up with the details that can be verified (what he calls “happening-truth”) but communicate a valuable truth nonetheless. — Marty
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Our memories are fallible, but they have meaning. The letter writer should make his story delightful and not worry about accuracy. When my three sisters and I get together — we are all in our 70s and 80s — some old incident will come up, and our memories of it are always different, sometimes wildly so. Our accounts reveal how we felt about these experiences, not what actually happened. We all learn a lot about one another in the recounting. — Isabelle
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Exactly right answer. Humility of memory equates to wisdom. A famous aphorism says: “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.” — Kay
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