Denial

Frank Furedi

Each month, Frank Furedi will pick apart a really bad idea. This month he challenges ‘denial’, which he says has become part of a secular inquisition that stigmatises free thinking.

Every now and again, I find myself in the Campo di Fiori, my favourite public place in the city of Rome. I love the bustle of the open-air food market, the wonderful smells emanating from the restaurants and cafes, the chaos as young children vie with courting couples and pensioners for a bit of space. The square is dominated by the statue of Giordano Bruno, the heretic who, on 17 February 1600, was burned at the stake for denying the Immaculate Conception.

A pilgrimage to the Campo di Fiori can be a useful reminder of how the powers-that-be once dealt with free-thinking dissidents. Today, though, I no longer think only of the past when I look at the statue – for in the early years of the twenty-first century, Western societies have become prey to powerful illiberal, intolerant and anti-democratic influences. Those who question prevailing cultural orthodoxies are often treated as immoral, evil people and their arguments depicted as a form of secular heresy.

Many influential figures have a cavalier attitude to free speech, believing that ‘dangerous’ ideas should be repressed. Disbelief in today’s received wisdom is described as ‘Denial’, which is branded by some as a crime that must be punished. It began with Holocaust denial, before moving on to the denial of other genocides. Then came the condemnation of ‘AIDS denial’, followed by accusations of ‘climate change denial’. This targeting of denial has little to do with the specifics of the highly-charged emotional issues involved in discussions of the Holocaust or AIDS or pollution. Rather, it is driven by a wider mood of intolerance towards free thinking.

Free thinking always provokes the wrath of dogmatic moralisers. People devoted to experimentation and the exploration of new ideas, including philosophers and scientists, have traditionally faced being branded as heretics. Free thinkers cannot help but to question the prevailing dogma, which often involves a denial of the official version of the truth. Many of Europe’s leading thinkers have been persecuted for their heresy. The Jewish philosopher Spinoza was denounced as a heretic for his denial of revelation, and cast out of the synagogue. In 1633, Galileo was tried by the Roman Inquisition for his criticism of the Church’s cosmology. Threatened with death and torture, he was forced to renounce his beliefs, and was then sentenced to imprisonment for the rest of his life.

So what do you do if you have serious doubts about the received wisdom, but you know that your ideas will be denounced as heresy? The scientist Isaac Newton was faced with the dilemma of whether to assert, in public, his denial of the reality of a personal devil and demons. But he had a lot to lose if branded a heretic. Some of his colleagues who denied the Trinity were deprived of their academic positions. According to one account, Newton decided to keep his views private, because ‘heretics were seen as religiously subversive, socially dangerous and even morally debased’ (1). Others also tried to avoid the wrath of the heresy-hunters. Copernicus, who denied that the Earth was the centre of the universe, avoided punishment by postponing the publication of his book until his death. Most of his colleagues and other scientists followed suit, which meant that for almost a century Copernican astronomy was virtually silenced.

However, not everyone was prepared to play this game. Giordano Bruno was the most audacious denier of Church dogma and an advocate of Copernican theory. He refused to be silenced, instead publicly upholding Copernicus’ ideas. Even after seven years in the jail of the Roman Inquisition he refused to recant. He paid with his life. This was one heretic who was prepared to flaunt his heresy to the bitter end. ‘You are perchance more afraid to pronounce your judgement than I to hear it’, Bruno rounded on his persecutors at the last hearing of his trial (2).

In the Middle Ages, the crime of heresy was associated with the denial of one of the Catholic Church’s articles of truth. In theory, the Inquisition sought to get heretics to see the error of their ways and renounce their heresy. Only if they persisted in denying certain dogma would they be handed over to civil authorities for punishment – usually to be burned at the stake. When early humanist Michael Servetus, who was hunted by the Catholic Inquisition, fled to Protestant Geneva he was executed by the Calvinist authorities for his denial of the doctrines of the Trinity and original sin. Even in England, burning heretics at the stake continued after the Reformation. During the reign of James I, Bartholomew Legatt gained the attention of the Church of England for his denial of the Deity of Christ. He was declared an ‘obstinate, contumacious and incorrigible heretic’, and burned at the stake. His accomplice in the denial, Edward Wightnan, was executed on 11 April 1612 – the last heretic to be burned at the stake in England (3). In Scotland, too, denying the Trinity was a risky business. In 1697, Thomas Aikenhead was hanged for committing this blasphemy.

Today the old Inquisition stands discredited. The Catholic Church is increasingly defensive about its past record of heresy-hunting. Indeed, it is ironic that the Catholic Church, which systematically criminalised the act of denial in the past, is today accused of being ‘busily engaged in an Inquisition denial industry’. According to some of its secular Protestant critics, the Vatican’s selective recall of its past misbehaviour is an act of Inquisition Denial (4).

Heresy-hunting in the twenty-first century

Would-be Inquisitors can no longer rely on the power of the Church or the authority of religion to silence their opponents. Indeed, Western society seems incapable of distinguishing between right and wrong these days. We’re more comfortable with talking about values in the plural, rather than any single value that everyone can embrace; instead of the truth, society prefers to lecture about ‘truths’. On most issues, we are free to pick and choose our beliefs and affiliations. Educators tell university students – especially in the social sciences and humanities – that there’s no such thing as a right or wrong answer. Instead of enforcing a explicit moral code, the authorities seek to police behaviour through diffuse rhetoric that avoids dealing with difficult questions; they talk about ‘appropriate’ and ‘inappropriate’ behaviour, for example.

Paradoxically, the absence of moral clarity today gives rise to an illiberal and intolerant climate. At a time when moralists find it difficult clearly to differentiate between right and wrong, they are forced to find some other way to draw the line between acceptable and unacceptable behaviour. So they seize examples of unambiguous evil – paedophilia, the Holocaust, pollution – in order to define potential moral transgression. Today’s heresy hunters strive to construct new taboos. The most ritualised and institutionalised taboo in Western society is to question the Holocaust, or to refuse to stand opposed to it. Numerous countries now have laws against Holocaust denial. In Austria, denying the Holocaust can lead to a 10-year prison sentence. Targeting Holocaust deniers allows politicians to occupy the moral high ground, which explains why, this month, German justice minister Brigitte Zypries called for a Europe-wide ban on Holocaust denial and the wearing of Nazi symbols.

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