Enforcement, silencing, and truth

The desire to enforce homogenous certainty seems intrinsic to humanity: while we relish debate and recognise, at a deep level, its necessity in the search for truth, we also relish power. The Church has not always got this right at a practical level: over time, she came to grasp that punishing or even killing heretics does not destroy heresy – indeed it can help it to flourish. Truth has its own power to triumph and Christ taught us this.

 

In today’s uncomfortable Britain, are we allowed the freedom to debate, discuss and affirm truth? The 1960s and 70s seem rather distant now. When was the last time some one in public life made that formerly rather over-used statement “I disagree entirely with what you say, but I defend absolutely your right to say it”? In fact, that statement was never really true: we do not, and should not, have an absolute right to say whatever we like regardless of the harm it can do. There are, and must be, laws in any civilised society against that. There must be some protection against libel and slander. There is also a reasonable right to privacy – a doctor does not have the right to publicise my medical record, nor my bank the details of my finances. And there are legitimate restrictions on public revelation of information relating to public security, national defence interests, and more.

 

But where does the current obsession with “hate speech” fit into all this? There is no reason whatever to ban a discussion about whether or not it is possible to “transition” from one sex to another: it is a legitimate area of medical discussion, centred on biological facts. Recent months have seen some sinister attempts to crush ordinary discussion about human realities – a mother who wrote about the wrongfulness of deliberately mutilating a child to facilitate such “transition” was denounced to the police and received a visit from them with the threat of arrest. A teacher faced dismissal for greeting a group of girls as girls – one them had decided she wanted to be addressed as a boy.

 

 

Catholics in Britain, with a deep historical memory of savage persecution, have a particular contribution to make concerning freedom of speech. Even after the horror of torture and public execution for the crime of being a Catholic priest was finally over, Catholics faced violence and danger, from the Gordon Riots at the end of the 18th century to the “No popery” gatherings in the middle years of the 19th.

 

We have something of huge importance to offer today’s bleak Britain. Especially on matters concerning the truth about the human person, about men and women and the bond between them, about human life and human loving, about marriage and family, about faithfulness and dignity and kindliness and patience and caring for the gravely ill and the unwanted, the Church is a voice that cries out to be heard.

 

Because of this, FAITH magazine will not bend to fashionable opinions today just as it did not in its early years. We are rather proud of our record: a reputation for “speaking out” with a voice of truth and charity is something to honour. The current Editor is conscious of inheriting a rich tradition. That this is now coupled with fears that previous editors did not have to face – including the possibility of being denounced to the police for affirming truths that are age-old and rooted in our common humanity – is mildly worrying but will not deter this Editor from doing what is right.

 

 

A powerful image for 2019 emerged this spring: the golden Cross, unscathed, standing firm the badly damaged Cathedral of Notre Dame. In a secularised Europe, the sight and sound of young men and women praying, kneeling, on the streets of Paris, stirred hearts. The Rose Windows of that great church survived the flames to proclaim truth in glorious beauty to fresh generations. The Blessed Sacrament was rescued thanks to the valour of a priest. We join with men and women of all faiths and none in seeing a profound symbolism in all of this, concerning the resilience of goodness, truth and beauty.

 

It is the image, again and again, of the strangeness of Christ and the unlikeliness of everything connected with the spread of his message, in every era. It is miracles, and Cross and Resurrection, and trusting and holding up and carrying on, and mission and martyrdom and glory and grace. “Courage! It is I. Do not be afraid!”