In the aftermath of the Irish same sex marriage referendum, one Irish journalist wrote that the result removed the word "tolerance" from discussion of how people pair off. The point he was making was that we can no longer apply tolerance to something like same sex marriage any more than we would to model of motor car or choice of toothpaste brand.
Subscribe now for unlimited access.
$0/
(min cost $0)
or signup to continue reading
The most powerful case for a 'Yes' vote came from commentary by people like novelist Colm Toibin and other less well-known but equally articulate supporters of change. It was clear that the issue was one that affected them deeply; their comments were intensely personal and had a major effect.
What many of those writers and speakers were saying was a rephrasing of the simple question posed by Pope Francis, "who are we to judge?" The natural extension of those words is that, provided it does not interfere with the good order of society, we should not put anything in the way of others that impacts adversely on their choices.
Most of the arguments used by those opposing same sex marriage relied on either technical, legalistic opinions or else exaggerated and carefully scripted scare campaigns. These will no doubt be heard in this country also if one of the proposed same-sex marriage bills is introduced to federal parliament.
The churches are the main organisations opposing a change to the definition of marriage. However, it is worth noting that in the Christian churches, marriage is the last of the sacraments to be added and its presence may have as much to do with the need to keep to the handy number seven as for doctrinal reasons. Indeed, the Protestant reformers of the 16th century did not regard it as a sacrament, though I do not know what their view is today.
There is no traction in the argument that marriage was instituted by God for the procreation of children, since it is freely offered by church and state to people past childbearing and to those unable to have children. Defending its sacredness because it is a sign of love, as the Catholic Church does, is akin to shooting yourself in the foot, unless you want to claim as people like Augustine did, that sexual expressions of affection are not love at all, but lust.
Our modern understanding of marriage owes as much to the Hardwicke Act of 1753 as to the churches. A legal case of inheritance and widow's pensions had come before the Parliament of Westminster, forcing them to legislate "for Better Preventing of Clandestine Marriage" so that the government could finally control inheritance and therefore taxation. Marriage was not for procreation or as an expression of love: it was for taxation.
It is accepted that the referendum in Ireland has given a huge hurry-on to Australian legislators. A referendum or plebiscite would not be necessary in this country, meaning that politicians would be open to vigorous lobbying by the churches, either directly or through one of the many organisations associated with them.
However, it is worth pointing out that Australian politicians are much less beholden to the churches than was the situation in Ireland. Thirty years ago, the church in that country ran hospitals and orphanages, reform schools and other social services, in many cases badly, but in all cases saving large expenditure by the state.
Schools and even universities were under their control – a Catholic could not attend Trinity College Dublin without permission from the archbishop. In the early 1950s, a government fell when the bishops – at the urging of the medical profession, it has to be said – opposed a scheme to provide pre- and post-natal care as part of a modest imitation of the British National Health Service.
The first chink came with Bishop Eamon Casey and his affair with Annie Murphy. This was followed by revelations of stories of other priests who condemned contraception while carrying on secret affairs. Then we learned about the cruelties of the Magdalen laundries and finally the sexual abuse crises that seemed to blow up in every diocese.
In all of these cases, there was one reply you were sure to hear. It went something like this: "The Catholic Church has survived troubles like these for 2000 years. Twenty years from now, this will be forgotten and the church will still be there." Sadly, it is a refrain that was heard recently in reports of the Ballarat inquiries.
Many of my generation have great difficulty with that argument. For the generations coming behind us, it has no relevance, because they are no longer listening. In the lead-up to the Irish referendum, the bishops were, in general, reasoned and careful in their statements, pastoral rather than dogmatic. But two-thirds of the country were not listening and will not listen again.
Frank O'Shea is a Melbourne writer.
