In 1987, a photograph by Andres Serrano earned $15,000 and the prestigious Award in Visual Arts from the Southeastern Center for Contemporary Arts. This photo also happened to set in motion a cascade of outcries, because it depicted Jesus Christ on a crucifix, submerged in a glass of the artist’s own urine.

Legal discourse on this issue revolved around what Serrano did rather than why he chose to do it – on the effect rather than the cause. Our emotions about the aptly named “Piss Christ” photo, and our beliefs about the author’s intent, were irrelevant to the fact that it was protected by the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. But is it not sometimes more important for us to ask why instead of merely scratching the surface with the question of what?

Not necessarily, you might say. Serrano is not required to answer questions about intent. Why he selected a mode of expression that happened to desecrate Christianity’s holiest figure is superfluous to our discussion. The fact is that he can, he did, and that’s all that matters. But is it really?

It comes as no surprise that Florida pastor Terry Jones has been lambasted for his plans to burn copies of the Qur’an. Jones, the author of a manual for prospective ministers which dictates that students are “not allowed to visit family members or friends,” represents a tiny fraction of evangelical fanatics that most Christians find disgraceful. To illustrate their disgust and disapproval, for example, the Massachusetts Bible Society decided to give away two free copies of the Qur’an for every copy that Jones intended to burn.

So far, this is the “what” question: fanatical weirdo, International Burn-A-Quran-Day, worldwide condemnation. But did we ask why he wanted to do this, or what he actually hoped to achieve?

First, let’s ignore the significant reality that Jones’s actions have offended the majority of the world’s inhabitants, for that is just an emotional appeal. So here are the facts:

Jones was without any moral support: most Christians and many of his congregants turned against him. Jones had no spiritual evidence for his decision to burn the Qur’ans: scores of theologians and exegetes have pointed out the exact opposite. Jones could have had no political incentives for his inflammatory plans: President Obama made it clear that the “stunt that he is talking about pulling could greatly endanger our young men and women in uniform.”

Apparently, none of this bothered Pastor Jones. Only when he heard-falsely-that the Islamic Center planned for Lower Manhattan would be moved to a different location did he cancel. Then, not only did he swiftly suspend his planned contribution to global warming, he even volunteered to fly to New York and meet with Muslim leaders.

Missing a convincing motive, reason, or purpose for his mission, we are left with the view that Jones is nothing but a propaganda fetishist, childishly seeking attention. However, that is not the lesson here.

There is a fine line to be drawn between a dangerous idea and an idea that causes danger. We must protect everyone’s right to speak freely even if we disagree with their ideas, or if they air out our dirtiest laundry. We must allow for the possibility that they are motivated by the same fundamental impulse that drives us: improving the human experience. But we must also remind ourselves that there are others who use freedom of speech as a vehicle not to transport ideas, but to smuggle hatred and enmity. There are some who will sadistically deface what you hold most sacred for no other reason than to piss you off.

The metaphor extends further. Free speech licenses people like Pastor Jones to say almost anything they want. Fortunately, we also have license to operate the same vehicle. Let us be sure to steer it in the right direction.