PHILOSOPHY
Although we may refrain from stating it openly — out of politeness or fear — we may readily think that one of the disasters of the modern world is the preoccupation with freedom of expression. Of course, in principle, it is a wonderful notion: but its practical consequence is that insane, infuriated assertion swamps accurate and deep reflection. Ironically, one of the people we should (gently) blame for this was the most intelligent figure of the 18th century: François-Marie Arouet, called Zozo by his family and closest friends, but better known to the world by his nom de plume, Voltaire. Born in Paris in 1694, his family were very minor nobles and he was supposed to become a lawyer but he became obsessed with poetry and philosophy. From the start of his writing career Voltaire found himself in conflict with the authorities: they believed in bowing to tradition, he was a devotee of reason, logic and evidence. The Dictionary was published in Geneva in 1764. It’s a study of a few key words that, he thinks, sum up the problems and hopes of the epoch. But his underlying concern is to advocate the freedom to think and say whatever one believes. A central example comes in his entry on The Society of Friends (or Quakers as they are generally known). Based in England, these thoughtful and deeply serious people were denied public expression of their convictions. Voltaire is outraged. We desperately need freedom of speech — he argues — to liberate the wisest, kindest, most self-questioning voices so they can triumph over superstition, bigotry and narrow-minded conventions. His impulse was deeply loveable and at the time must have seemed entirely justified. The only people he knew who were ever censored, or denied a public platform, were the cleverest, most imaginative, most empathic and most intellectually honest individuals. In time his pleas were heard. It understandably didn’t occur to him that freedom of expression would equally empower every idiot on the planet. What do we learn from Volatire? To spend more time thinking about what precisely we hope for. His error was to confuse a means (freedom to say what one likes) with an end (the triumph of reason). The lesson is not that freedom of expression is inherently bad, but rather that it is only one element in a more complex equation. What he wanted — but didn't state plainly — was an answer to the question: how can wisdom prevail over ignorance? How can generosity of spirit triumph over bitterness and prejudice? And to this urgent question, his proposal — let anyone say whatever they want — is manifestly inadequate. We are the inheritors of a problem he, and others influenced by him, created. Our immense need now is to understand how to support the reasonableness, care and self-awareness he so prized. It’s a task our world is largely unprepared for

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